Christmas at the Dancing Duck

by Daisy James

  ‘But the most potent of all are the scents associated with Christmas. Mum and Dad loved everything about Christmas, always flung themselves into the celebrations, didn’t they? That day on the Christmas Kitchen episode I just about managed to deal with the cooking during the recording but when we’d finished I lost it and started to ramble on about hating Christmas. Stupid, I know.’

  ‘Not stupid at all. Look, Kirstie, everything you did was because you suffered something so traumatic it caused you to go into protection mode. It’s okay – it’s normal to feel the things you did. You are not a freak or a crazy person. I totally understood.’

  Josh repositioned himself on the stool, his legs astride so he could face Kirstie properly.

  ‘What upset me was your refusal to let me in, to let me help, even to talk to me so we could grieve together. I missed you so much that every bone in my body ached. I’d not only lost two fabulous friends but I’d also lost my soulmate, the person I loved more than anything in the world, the person I knew I would always love.’

  ‘Oh, Josh, I’m …’

  ‘I couldn’t handle it. Unlike you, all I could think of was getting away from Cranbury and the only way of doing that was by sticking to the plan we had made together. So, I packed my bags and hopped on the next flight out of the country. Mum and Dad tried to talk me out of it, but what could they do? I was an adult. I kept my promise to ring them every Sunday night to regale them with my adventures and I think I managed to convince them that I was doing okay, that I’d moved on.

  ‘I was in Phuket, at this scruffy little beach bar nursing a beer with Leon when I heard you’d got the gig on the late-night show. I used the last of my Baht in an internet café trying to find a recording on YouTube just so I could see your face, to see if you had changed, to scour your body language for a soupcon of hope that you missed me as much as I missed you. Every week I would log on and splurge on all five episodes and when you moved on to the morning show, I devoured every second of those too, although by that time I had exhausted my wanderlust and watching you made me yearn to go back home – so I did.

  ‘And it drove me crazy not knowing where you were living. I knew you were in Hammersmith – Livie told me that much and she took an ear bashing from me I can tell you before she relented – but she remained loyal to you. I even went up one weekend just to see if I could get a glimpse of your copper curls flouncing round a corner in the distance, your laughter ringing through the air.’

  ‘Don’t get me wrong, Kirst. I was happy to see you had made a new life for yourself and you are a natural in front of the camera, although I always knew you would be. I wanted to email you, post on your Facebook page, but I convinced myself you wouldn’t want to hear from me. So, I realized the best thing for me to do was keep busy. When I heard that Angus had put a couple of his barns up for sale with planning permission, I got a loan from Dad and threw myself into the project. Even if I do say so myself, the place is amazing and I’d love to show you what I’ve done with it some time.’

  Josh smiled, his eyes filled with renewed hope for their friendship, and Kirstie’s heart melted. The walls that she had carefully constructed between them crumbled away and she felt his arms around her. As he pulled her closer, she inhaled the familiar spicy aftershave she loved. Through his sweater, she could feel his heart beating rapidly.

  A maelstrom of emotions rushed at her: guilt, remorse, sadness, then relief, hope, and contentment. She was grateful that everything she had kept bottled up was out in the open, that one of the gaps in her heart had been filled now that she could welcome Josh back into her life.

  He had forgiven her and it was the best Christmas present she could ask for.

  Chapter 21

  Kirstie hummed to herself in the shower. She felt better than she had for … well … for two years. She felt lighter, more free, and the concrete slab that pressed on her chest had lifted. To have made her peace with Josh was something she had often thought about but had never dared to dream would happen. Especially that it would turn out to be something as simple as sitting down and talking.

  She smiled as she thought back to the conversation she’d had with Olivia when she woke up that morning. Noisy Christmas wishes chorused from the background in the Cassidy household that was rejoicing in the fact that George had been discharged from hospital the previous evening. A true Christmas gift indeed.

  Olivia had recounted Ethan’s face as he had watched wide-eyed from his bouncy chair while the family unwrapped their presents and her sister had sent several photographs that made Kirstie’s heart squeeze with joy. If she were honest with herself, the happy family montage also sent a spasm of envy through her veins. Yet she knew that her Christmas Day would also be filled with love and laughter and the feeling of sharing the goodwill with others less fortunate. She couldn’t wait to get the day started.

  ‘Ho, ho, ho, Merry Christmas!’ declared Josh, presenting her with a mug of coffee when she eventually strolled into the kitchen. He handed her a small box, gift-wrapped in shiny red paper tied with frilly golden tinsel. ‘I hope you like them.’

  Kirstie smiled. ‘Happy Christmas to you too, Josh,’ and she leaned over to deposit a kiss on his bristly cheek before handing him her gift.

  Like an over-excited schoolgirl, she tore at the paper. ‘Aw, thanks, Josh, I adore them!’

  Kirstie held up a pair of the most exquisite silver earrings with amber droplets reflecting shards of gold in the halogen lights overhead.

  ‘No prizes for guessing who made them!’

  ‘Emma is really talented, isn’t she?’ Kirstie was about to go on to say that she hoped when the Dancing Duck closed its doors on the last day of the year, Emma would concentrate on building her business into something even more fabulous, but she didn’t want any mention of their uncertain future to spoil the day.

  ‘So, what’s in here?’ asked Josh, holding his present up to his ear and rattling it. Nothing happened of course as he found out when he unwrapped a pair of tickets to watch England play at Lord’s. ‘Oh, Kirstie, thanks. Will I be able to persuade you to be my plus-one?’

  ‘You should know the answer to that by now! No way am I spending a whole day watching cricket. I’ve never been able to understand what’s happening, even with you giving me a running commentary. I know Callum or Greg will be falling over themselves to go with you.’

  ‘You’re right. Okay, we’d better get moving. Give me five minutes to hop into the shower and we’ll present ourselves for inspection as Sandra’s Chirpy Christmas Elves.’

  A surge of pleasure rippled over Kirstie. Apart from spending the day with Olivia, Harry, and Ethan, the next best thing would be to spend it with Josh. She set about rinsing their coffee mugs and wiping the benches before sauntering over to the window and drawing the blind. What she saw made her gasp.

  Throughout the night, the meteorological gods had bared their teeth with a vengeance and the strength of the wind and the occasional rumble of thunder had woken Kirstie on a couple of occasions. All was calm and all was quiet when she awoke and now she knew the reason why. The whole village looked like it had been dusted with a generous sprinkling of powdered sugar. The village green sparkled under a delicate blanket of snow, untouched by human activity. The apex of the roof and the eaves of the church were outlined in a ruffle of white, the slate-grey spire a dark silhouette against the clear azure sky. As Kirstie drank in the idyllic scenery she let out an exclamation.

  ‘What’s happened?’ asked Josh emerging from the bathroom, his dark hair damp and messy, his jaw smooth in honour of Christmas Day, but with a look of concern on his handsome face.

  ‘Nothing.’ She laughed, indicating the window. ‘Come and have a look.’

  Josh dropped the towel round his shoulders and strode across the room towards Kirstie, delivering her a great view of his toned stomach muscles and biceps as he stood at her side.

  ‘Beautiful, don’t you think?’ she said, not sure which she was referring to: the
snow-enhanced scene or the naked torso next to her.

  ‘It is. But to me, Cranbury is beautiful every day of the year. You know, I think your mum was right.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Come on. I’ll show you.’

  Josh pulled on a lavender sweater and slid his palm into hers, snatching up their coats as they trotted down the stairs and into the bar.

  ‘Josh, what are you doing?’

  ‘Look!’ He pointed to the gilt-framed painting of the snowy village that hung on the wall next to the fireplace. Her mother’s favourite picture.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ exclaimed Kirstie. ‘It’s our village!’

  ‘Our village?’ Josh smiled and Kirstie knew that no matter where life took her, Cranbury would always be her village, her home, the place she could come to find solace from whatever grenades life tossed in her path. But then her pleasure melted away when she recalled that in less than two weeks the pub would no longer be theirs and she would have no more ties to the village. Of course, she would still visit Olivia and Harry, and Ethan, but if the last two years were any indication of future intentions, that would be three times a year at the most. The thought depressed her greatly.

  Josh was watching her closely. She felt as though he could see the cogs moving in her brain as the realization of what she was about to lose slowly began to sink in at last. It had been a long time coming.

  ‘I don’t want to lose the pub, Josh,’ she whispered.

  Josh opened his mouth to say something and she knew the words ‘I told you so’ loitered on the tip of his tongue. But it was Christmas Day and not the time to enter into the minutiae of what could have been – and they had a party to organize. Instead, he patted her hand and with one last look at the painting her mother had adored, they left the pub hand in hand.

  Once outside the icy air nipped at Kirstie’s ears and the tip of her nose. Nevertheless, she dashed down the lane to the undisturbed expanse of white that was the village green and threw herself to the ground, flapping her arms and legs shouting, ‘Come on, Josh. You know you want to!’

  He laughed and joined her in making a pair of snow angels just outside the church gate. Brushing the snow from their sleeves, they passed through the lych gate towards the church hall, grateful that someone had already been out to clear and grit the path. They chased each other towards the doorway, snowballs flying through the air, past the graveyard where the headstones poked through the snow like crooked green ogre’s teeth.

  Giggling, they fell into the foyer, rubbing their palms together and blowing onto their fingers, Kirstie’s hair ballooning like a wild Medusa on steroids. As they pushed open the glass door into the hall itself, they were met with silence.

  ‘Oh my God! What happened?’ Kirstie’s hand flew to her mouth.

  Sandra, tears running down her rosy cheeks, was being comforted by Reverend Clarke and her friend Iris who helped with the church flowers. Two other regular congregation members leant on mops, whilst their husbands struggled to lift a large sheet of plasterboard off the centre table.

  ‘Hello, Kirstie, Josh. Thank you for coming over. But, as you can see, I don’t think your waitering services will be required today, sadly.’ Reverend Clarke managed a weak smile but it didn’t reach his eyes.

  ‘What happened?’ asked Josh, taking in the debris dotted around the hall.

  ‘Burst water pipe. Must have happened during the night.’

  ‘Everything is ruined,’ wailed Iris as she swung her eyes around the waterlogged room.

  Kirstie hadn’t realized when she tumbled into the village hall with Josh that she was standing in an inch of water. Part of the suspended ceiling had fallen in and tiny pieces of plaster were strewn among broken crockery that they had taken such care to set out the previous evening. The Christmas crackers, silver cutlery, and table decorations lay scattered on the floor. It looked like the place had been ransacked by a rampaging pack of bears at a tea party. It was a heartbreaking sight after all the effort everyone had put in to make it such a special day.

  Kirstie caught her breath, determined not to cry. Josh slung his arm around her shoulders and pulled her towards him. The brigade of advance helpers stared at the chaos, their expressions solemn.

  ‘We’ll have to get messages out to everyone that the party is cancelled,’ muttered Sandra, averting her gaze from the mess, wiping her eyes on the hem of her apron and moving towards the door.

  ‘No, no, you can’t do that,’ said Josh. ‘Kirstie and I will round up Leon and Michel and a few others and we’ll have the place clean and tidy in no time.’

  ‘It’s kind of you to offer, Josh, but we can’t hold the party here. We have no electricity for a start, and even if we found a generator at short notice …’

  ‘Angus has a generator. I’m sure he …’

  ‘We have no water either, which means the plumbing doesn’t work. We can’t hold a party without bathroom facilities. Most of our guests are elderly and we can’t expect them to attend a venue with no toilets.’

  ‘They can use the bathroom facilities at the Dancing Duck!’

  ‘Josh, there’s a gaping hole in the ceiling. If it rains, as I understand it is forecast to do, then I will have fifty people eating their Christmas dinner under a freezing cold shower. Much as I’d like to salvage the celebration of Christ’s birth, I just can’t take the risk that someone will get hurt by the falling debris.’

  Silence permeated the room as the group contemplated the task in hand – a totally different scenario than the one they had expected when they woke up that morning.

  Sandra sniffed and blew into her delicate lace handkerchief. She inhaled a deep breath and squared her shoulders. ‘Darling, you go and get ready for your Christmas sermon. You can make an announcement beforehand about the party. I think most of the guests were planning to come straight from the service to the hall. But there are five or six others who were being collected afterwards.’

  ‘Don’t worry about that. If you can give me their telephone numbers I’ll call them to explain,’ offered Iris.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Hang on a minute,’ said Kirstie.

  All eyes swivelled in her direction.

  ‘What is it, dear?’ said Sandra.

  ‘You don’t have to cancel the party.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Don’t cancel it – just change the venue.’

  ‘But …’

  ‘We’ll have it at the pub.’ Kirstie’s eyes shone with excitement. ‘It’s the perfect solution. The brasserie is closed today and tomorrow. What better way to say thank you to the village for their support over the last thirty years than to hold a Christmas lunch and a goodbye party all rolled into one?’

  ‘That’s a wonderful suggestion. Are you sure?’ said Reverend Clarke smoothing a stray hair over his bald patch, his face flooding with gratitude and hope. Clearly his prayers had been answered.

  ‘Absolutely. Come on – let’s get moving. There’s a lot to do.’

  Kirstie rushed forward and started to collect the cutlery that the pub had loaned to the church into the washing-up bowl. Sandra scooted over to help her, a wide smile stretching her cheeks. She enveloped Kirstie into a fragrant hug, sending the scent of Parma Violets and face powder into her nostrils.

  ‘Kirstie, you are an absolute angel.’

  Over Sandra’s shoulder, Kirstie beamed at Josh, thinking of the snow angels they had created that morning, overcome with pride that she was able to give something back to the village after having taken so much away with the sale of their beloved pub. It was a small gesture but at least it was something.

  When she was released from Sandra’s clench of gratitude, Josh strode over and took her in his arms, pausing briefly. Then, his lips crushed down on hers, gentle at first, as though uncertain of the reaction, then becoming more insistent and only breaking apart when Kirstie became aware of the ripple of applause from the small audience of onlookers.

  Chapter 22r />
  Josh swung into action, calling on all his friends to help set up the brasserie to feed fifty hungry diners the best Christmas lunch they had ever had in the space of four hours. Reverend Clarke, Sandra, Iris, and the others had all trotted off to deliver the Christmas Day service with a song in their hearts whilst Kirstie and Josh collected together what they could salvage from the church hall and carried it across the village green to the Dancing Duck.

  Leon and Michel had reacted with undisguised excitement at the chance to have a dining room full of guests. It was the kind of challenge they thrived on to hone their expertise in culinary agility. After all, Leon had reminded them, it hadn’t been his idea to close the restaurant on Christmas Day.

  The two French friends had arrived within twenty minutes. They set about checking the quiche and tartlet starters and plundering Sandra’s vicarage kitchen for whatever additional accoutrements they could muster – bags of watercress, cucumbers, tomatoes to add as a salad garnish – and carrying the huge pans of pre-prepared vegetables Sandra’s friends from the WI had peeled the night before with the help of several glasses of sherry. In fact, Leon concluded that there was very little preparation left to do – it just needed that final touch of French magic to pull the meal together with panache.

  Rachel arrived with her parents, an extra batch of mince pies, and a huge intricately decorated Christmas cake the family had been planning to have as a Christmas teatime treat, but insisted on donating to the party. They rolled up their sleeves and got busy with what they knew best: organizing the desserts, including making an enormous vat of fresh custard to accompany the apple pies donated by the competitors of the Big Christmas Baking Bash.

  Finally, Emma arrived and promptly declared the brasserie to be in desperate need of some Christmas cheer. She fetched the last box of Christmas decorations from the summerhouse and spent the next half hour turning the restaurant into a kitsch version of Santa’s grotto, much to Leon’s silent disgust.