by Daisy James
‘Oh, would you? That would be such a help.’
Kirstie looked at Josh, her heart ballooning. She had forgotten how considerate he was, how often he thought of others before himself. He had been working non-stop since he arrived to collect her that morning yet he still had energy to spare to offer help where it was needed. Why had she forgotten that about him?
Josh carried the tree into the living room, which looked like a toyshop had exploded, in the middle of which sat two small boys throwing Lego bricks at each other until they looked up and saw Josh. Their eyes widened in shock and they waited for their mother to shout at them.
‘Boys, this is Josh and Kirstie. They’re friends of Reverend Clarke. Now, do you think you could show them where you want the Christmas tree to go and then help them decorate it with lights and tinsel and those decorations you made at school last week?’
‘Yay! Yay!’ they chorused, rushing over to help Josh slot the tree into a stand and discuss with Kirstie the best way to wind the lurid green tinsel round the branches.
It was ten o’clock when they finished and the boys trotted off to bed willingly, calling goodnight to Josh and Kirstie as they left.
‘That was one of the most amazing days I’ve ever experienced,’ said Kirstie laying her head back against the headrest and letting out a long sigh. Despite the hard work and the numerous emotional encounters, she felt happy and that was all down to the man by her side.
‘Me too. Happiness is definitely found in the smaller things in life, although I did this last year and something was different today.’ Josh drew up next to his Spider in the cobbled car park of the Dancing Duck and turned in his seat to face Kirstie, his mahogany eyes searching her face. ‘I’m glad you came.’
‘So am I,’ she whispered, her heart quickening at the way Josh was looking at her.
For a short time that afternoon, it had felt like she and Josh had never been apart, as though Josh was still the other half of her, exactly the same feeling she had enjoyed all those years they had been together. They sat in the dilapidated van staring at each other for what seemed an eternity, neither of them wanting to make a move for fear of breaking the spell that seemed to have descended.
It was Sunday night. The lights in the pub were out and the building looked like a sleeping hound after an exhausting day chasing imaginary rabbits. The only thing that would make the day better for Kirstie was to run upstairs to the flat and collapse in Josh’s arms where she could sleep in the security of his protection.
‘Josh …’
‘Kirstie …’
‘You go.’
‘No, you.’
They laughed. Josh reached over and took her hand, rubbing it between his palms.
‘I want to talk to you about what happened, Kirst. But I won’t do that until you are ready. I’m here for you. I’ve always been here for you.’ He lifted her hand and deposited a kiss on her fingertips before turning quickly to stare out of the windscreen.
Kirstie wanted to open up to him, to explain why she had reacted in the way she had, but she just couldn’t. She jumped down from the van, forcing the widest smile on her lips.
‘Thanks, Josh.’
She shut the door and walked to her front door – alone again, of course.
Chapter 15
Kirstie made sure she was out of bed and showered by seven a.m. the next day. Because she had spent the whole of Sunday away from the pub she knew she had to put in a full day’s work to make up for it. She pulled on a pair of Olivia’s old tracksuit bottoms and a long-sleeved lavender T-shirt. They were so baggy that it wasn’t until she got downstairs and started polishing the tables that she realized they were maternity wear. As she didn’t intend meeting anyone, she blasted though her morning chores regardless, following a routine that was ingrained into her soul.
Leon arrived just as she was hanging up her mop and bucket in the kitchen. He whistled happily as he sorted through the goodies he had bought at the market.
‘What do think of this sea bass I managed to snag? I’m thinking of baking it en papillote with a few herbs.’
‘Want a hand?’
‘Sure.’
Leon slotted his arms into his chef’s jacket and plunged into the morning’s preparations – a routine just as automatic to Leon as the cleaning was to Kirstie. She hadn’t had the chance to get to know Leon well as he had started at the Dancing Duck after she had left for London, but some people you just know are on the same wavelength. Of course, Kirstie didn’t have to look too far for the reason – a mutual passion for cooking and an avid interest in experimenting with new ingredients.
As she whipped up a batch of her dad’s signature Parmesan cheese straws to tempt drinkers to indulge in lunch, she interrogated Leon on the exotic spices he had cooked with when he was in Thailand.
After a while she asked, ‘Was the brasserie busy yesterday?’
‘Once again, I am pleased to say that we were fully booked,’ said Leon, his accent music to her ears, his ebony eyes shining like a pair of black sea pearls. ‘This month we’ve enjoyed the best attendance since I became head chef. I’ve also checked the bookings up to Christmas Eve and every night we are busy. Can I not persuade you to reconsider Olivia’s decision not to open the restaurant on Christmas Day and Boxing Day? I have no plans to travel home to Rheims until … well, until my services are no longer required.’
‘I think by the time Christmas Day arrives you and Michel will be desperate for a break from the kitchen and a well-earned rest. Don’t forget, we have Saturday to get through. If the success of the Christmas Craft Contest is anything to go by, we’re going to be run off our feet at the Big Christmas Baking Bash. Even with Rachel and her dad helping us, we’ll still need your expertise to make sure the food is at least edible. Don’t forget that we’ve also promised the Rev and Sandra to help set up the church hall ready for the villagers’ annual Christmas lunch.’
‘How many reservations do they have?’ asked Emma who had appeared at the kitchen door, carrying a pile of freshly laundered tea towels, ready to start her lunchtime shift.
‘Sandra says they’re up to thirty-five, but there’s still a week left until the big day so she reckons it could be around forty,’ said Kirstie. ‘They’ll be grateful for all the help they can get. When Josh saw her yesterday she told him she had five huge turkeys to roast, not to mention the sprouts to peel and the carrots to slice. Just as well the rest of the food is being donated from the Baking Bash.’
Leon rolled his eyes and placed his hands on his hips. ‘I will offer my services for the day as sous chef because I have no other place to be.’
Kirstie saw him flash a quick look at Emma, but she had her back to him, busily folding the napkins.
‘Tell her,’ mouthed Kirstie.
Leon pulled a mock angry face and shook his head.
‘I’ve told Sandra I’m up for doing the waitressing. We don’t eat Christmas dinner in our house until later on so it’s not a problem. I might have to leave you with the washing up though.’
‘Bah,’ declared Leon, holding up his finger to inspect the damage he had inflicted on himself with the knife he was using to gut the fish.
‘Oh, oh, hang on.’ Emma rushed over to Leon’s side and guided him to the kitchen sink where she held his finger under running water for a few seconds. ‘Hold it there while I fetch the first-aid box,’ she ordered before dashing from the kitchen.
Kirstie exchanged a knowing smirk with Leon whose face reddened. She knew he wouldn’t have sliced his finger on purpose but he was certainly enjoying reaping the rewards. Emma reappeared, gently patted his finger dry, and affixed a plaster with all the ceremony of an A&E nurse.
Leon grinned. ‘Merci, ma petite choux.’
‘I told you not to call me that. Who wants to be compared to a cabbage?’ She flicked Leon’s unruly curls with the end of her tea towel.
Kirstie decided to leave them to their flirting. It was clear to her, and no doubt to every
one else who saw them together, that the only person who didn’t know they were in love was Emma. She knew it was none of her business, but she resolved to talk to her best friend at some point over Christmas before she went back to London.
She sat down at one of the bashed copper tables in the bar and glanced around the familiar room. A light perfume of furniture polish, mingled with ash from the fire and a hint of beery yeast, wrapped around her shoulders like a toddler’s comfort blanket. A feeling of complete contentment descended and she leaned back against the burgundy velvet banquette to savour the moment, allowing her eyes to roam around the walls.
How on earth was she going to dismantle all those memories? More to the point, when would she have the time? Brad was expecting her back at FMTV studios next week to talk through her ideas, ready for a sparkling start to Kirstie’s Kitchen Kick-Start in the New Year. She intended to book her train ticket to London for Tuesday the twenty-seventh of December, the day Olivia was due back from Dublin, to allow herself time to do her research properly.
That meant she had just eight days left to decide what she wanted to do with the fixtures and fittings, decorations, ornaments, and pictures in the place she had called home for most of her life. An agonizing thought occurred to her when she recalled Olivia’s warning that what they didn’t take with them would end up in a skip. That had to mean that Miles did intend to strip the whole place back to the stone so he had a blank canvas to work with.
A surge of despair rolled over her at the thought of losing the serenity the empty bar had offered her – was still offering her – as she distributed the plates of cheese straws, just as her father had done before her, before opening the doors to its thirsty patrons. She realized she wasn’t ready to lose it.
Yet, she had to face reality. Once she was back in London, her busy life would resume. Although it was tempting to leave everything to Olivia and Harry to sort out, she knew she couldn’t do that to them. It was going to be such an emotional journey. She had to be there to shoulder some of the load, even though Olivia was the eldest Harrison and technically the head of the family.
Kirstie’s eyes lingered for a while on the painting above the fireplace of the snow-covered village her mother had always insisted was Cranbury. Whether it was or not, the picture was one of her mother’s most treasured. There was no way she could contemplate losing that. But what about the watercolour of the harbour at Whitby, the town where her parents had spent their honeymoon, and the pastel drawing of the church where they had been married? Then there was the assortment of Toby jugs and the horse brasses and the Delftware in the kitchen. Her mother had professed to have an inherent connection with every article she displayed.
How could she contemplate getting rid of anything? Yet if she kept everything, where would she put it? Her apartment in Hammersmith was no more than an extended broom cupboard. And Olivia and Harry couldn’t take it all with them. Bramble Cottage was tiny so they wouldn’t be able to store much either, although it did have a garage.
As she sat there, watching the disturbed dust particles dance a tango on the shafts of sunlight drifting through the windows, an idea formed in her head. She grabbed her phone and dialled.
‘Hi, Livie. How’s George today?’
‘Ah, Kirstie, it’s great to hear your voice. George is improving, slowly but surely, but he’s lost the use of his left arm and his speech has been affected. The doctors are most worried about his ability to swallow. He’s being fed by a tube so he’s not going anywhere for the time being. Francesca is worried sick, but she’s coping. I think having Harry and Ethan in the house is what’s keeping her going at the moment. Are you okay?’
‘Yes, I’m fine. And don’t worry about The Duck, everything is under control.’
‘I feel awful dumping it all on you. And I should be there to talk to you about what happened at the studio. Have you heard anything from Brad?’
‘Got a text yesterday asking when I’ll be back up in London. Said he’s looking forward to chatting about the new year. He said he had some exciting suggestions.’
‘So you’ve been working on a pitch?’
‘Not yet, but I have a few ideas rolling around my brain. What do you think about me asking Leon to do a slot on the French way of staying healthy after the festivities?’
‘It’s an excellent idea. I feel so guilty about Leon, Kirst. He’s put so much effort into making the brasserie a success. He’s only staying on because of loyalty to Josh. But I’ve no worries about either of them finding something else when the pub is sold.’
‘That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. What do you want to do with Mum and Dad’s collections? I have no idea what to keep, what to sell, and what to recycle.’
‘Me neither. Not a task I’m looking forward to, to be honest.’
‘Well, I’ve had an idea. What do you think about asking Angus to help us out?’ Kirstie laughed. ‘You know, most of Mum and Dad’s highly treasured possessions probably originated from his auction rooms anyway. It would be poetic justice to ask him to take it all back and auction it off to the next brigade of gullible idiots. Of course, we could keep a couple of the paintings, and a few of the ornaments we love the most. You and Harry can have the pick of the furniture for your new place too. I don’t want anything. My place is too small even for an extra toaster.’
‘Sounds like a plan,’ muttered Olivia, her voice wavering.
‘You okay?’
‘Yes. It’s just heartbreaking that Miles Morgan is going to change everything beyond all recognition. The Dancing Duck is an institution in Cranbury – just like St John’s, and no one would consider ripping the heart out of that building. I know we have to move on though, and if I’m honest we should have done this straight after the probate came through instead of keeping their memory so vibrant every day. It was just delaying the inevitable. I’m sorry I failed, Kirstie.’
‘You did not fail. You’ve been amazing. It’s me who should be apologizing to you. I should have spent more time down here. I should have been around to help you and Harry especially after Ethan was born. I had no idea how much effort it takes to run the pub single-handedly. I don’t mind admitting to you that I’m absolutely exhausted and I’ve only been here for a week so heaven knows how you must feel. I’m so sorry, Livie, I’m a useless sister. I know being in Dublin is hardly a holiday with all the worry about George, but try to get some rest and enjoy the break from the routine. Celebrate Ethan’s first Christmas with his grandparents.’
A sharp image popped into Kirstie’s mind’s eye of the cosy family tableau in the Cassidy house, with Harry hanging up the stockings on Christmas Eve, Francesca fussing over the food and handing round her famous chocolate brownies that went so well with a glass of Irish stout. She was grateful that Harry’s family had taken Olivia into their hearts and she had no doubt Francesca was in her element having her first grandchild to spoil.
‘How are you getting on with Josh?’
‘Fine.’
‘No fireworks? I find that hard to believe.’
‘Well, he’s clearly not happy we’re selling the pub.’
‘I know. He was very polite and understanding when we told him, but he couldn’t hide how upset he was. Harry has been really open with him and Leon, and Emma too. He showed them the accounts and explained the ultimatum we’ve been given by the bank.’ Olivia paused. ‘You know, Kirstie, this is the perfect time to talk to Josh. I think it will do you both good to clear the air. Give the guy a break. He suffered as much as we did when Mum and Dad died. They were like surrogate parents to him, especially Dad who always treated him like a favourite son.’
‘Livie …’
‘Just saying. Christmas is a time of forgiveness for all men, and that includes Josh Turner. Anyway, he’s still as gorgeous as he always was. I don’t know how you can resist those abs of steel and firm sculpted buttocks from humping the casks. If I didn’t have Harry I would definitely be cornering him in the cellar. And don’t y
ou think that smattering of grey hair at his temples makes him even more desirable? Like a younger version of George Clooney with those come-to-bed eyes and liquorice lashes I’d give my right arm for.’
‘Livie! Enough! I promise I’ll talk to him when the time is right.’
‘Oh, Kirstie, the time is never right. You just have to take a deep breath and do it. And you know, I don’t want you to send any other Christmas present in my direction apart from a text to say you have made your peace with Josh. Now, moving on, tell me all about the Christmas Craft Contest I spent the last three months organizing. Who won the wreath-making competition? I bet it was Carolyn Frobisher. I know she’s been practising twisting wire just by focusing her evil stare on it for weeks …’
Chapter 16
Kirstie’s chat with her sister had lifted her spirits. Somehow, she felt lighter, freer, less stressed about what lay ahead. She peeked around the kitchen door to see Leon’s dark curls mingled with Emma’s blonde locks as they studied a recipe book together.
‘Just popping down to the bakery to talk to Rachel about Saturday. Want me to get you anything?’
‘Yes. Can you get me a dozen of Tony’s French baguettes, please?’
‘Oh, and could I have one of those Eton mess cupcakes with the marshmallows on the top?’ added Emma.
‘Sure.’
Kirstie pulled on Olivia’s Barbour jacket, wrapped a hand-knitted crimson scarf around her neck, and set off down the street to the cute village bakery, decorated in its signature peppermint and cream colours. She had purposely avoided visiting Rachel at the shop since she arrived in Cranbury for obvious reasons. However, she knew she had to work on improving her stiff upper lip when it came to dealing with the Big Christmas Baking Bash on Saturday. She certainly did not want a repeat of the fiasco that had played out live on air the previous week.
She knew exactly what triggered her unfortunate emotional reactions. It wasn’t the sight of the abundance of artisan Christmas cakes, yule logs, and Christmas-inspired cupcakes. Whilst they did instil memories of happier times, she could work with that. No, it was the aromas that accompanied the festive treats: the fragrance of cloves and vanilla, the perfume of warm cinnamon and baked gingerbread. Those scents just seemed to press her nostalgia buttons and sent her thoughts into a spiral of agony.
