Holly's Christmas Gift

by Alex Brown

  A few seconds later, Holly had it. Chocolates! Yes, Dad seemed to love those sea-salt truffles from the sweet shop in town, the one in the square in the centre of Market Briar. She remembered how he had eaten nearly all of them in the box he bought for Mum on Valentine’s Day about two years ago, the last time he had been properly home. Mum had teased him about it and they had laughed together, saying that he really wanted the chocolates for himself and that’s why he had bought them for her. But that was when Mum was still being nice to him. Yes, it was the perfect present. And Dad might even think that Mum was thinking about that Valentine’s Day and wanted to get back with him, so it would be a romantic thing too. Brilliant. Holly would buy some on Saturday when she went there on the bus with her best friend, Katie Ferguson. She could wrap them up and take them to Granny Dolly’s house to give to Dad and pretend that Mum had sent them. To say sorry for being so horrible earlier on and sending him away. How evil is that?

  And then Holly wondered if she should bother sending flowers to Mum from Dad. She wasn’t sure Mum deserved them, after the way she had carried on … And she must have said something really nasty to Dad before he left to make him nearly run down the path to get away from her. Holly wished she hadn’t been watching a Zoella make-up tutorial on YouTube with her headphones on, because she’d been so angry with Mum. Maybe, if she’d been paying attention, listening on the landing or something, then she would have heard what had happened and could have done something to stop it all.

  But it wasn’t too late, she was convinced of that. And first thing tomorrow she was going to put her ‘Get Mum and Dad Back Together in Time for My Birthday’ plan into action. Obviously she’d have to come up with some more ideas, too, because just sending flowers and chocolates was a bit of a rubbish plan. But Aunty Jude was bound to have some really cool ideas … she used to live in LA. And everyone knows that LA is the coolest place on earth. Apart from Disneyland, that’s super-cool too. Holly hadn’t been to either place; in fact, apart from visiting her dad in Singapore and Malaysia last year, there were so many places she still hadn’t been to. But she’d Google-Earthed loads of towns all over the world and none of them was as nice as Singapore … in fact, if Mum didn’t stop being so angry at her all the time, then that could be her back-up plan. Go and live in Singapore with Dad. It had to be better than being here on her own with Mum in a rubbish mood all the time.

  Holly looked at the page again and underlined the words ‘Get Mum and Dad Back Together in Time for My Birthday’. That was her wish! Even though she was thirteen years old now and knew deep down that wishes probably weren’t actually a real thing … she still believed in them sometimes. Surely, if you wished hard enough, anything was possible? She had already wished for ages that Dad would come back home, and here he was! So, it could happen. It was just positive thinking and all that. They had a lesson about it at school. In Personal, Social and Health Education. Or PSHE as everyone said. All about mindfulness and the power of thought and focus. And Pinocchio was still one of her favourite Disney films. Especially the bit at the end with the ‘When You Wish Upon a Star’ song … she loved singing along to it. She remembered the first time she saw the film, on the sofa snuggled up in between Mum and Dad. They had watched it and sung along together with a big bowl of popcorn, which Mum used to make in the microwave, and then let her tip sprinkles all over it. This was before the diabetes, of course. And before Dad worked away all the time. Now Mum never wanted to watch Disney films. Perhaps if she did, then she’d chill out a bit and feel a whole lot happier, Holly surmised.

  She thought of the Pinocchio song, going through the lyrics in her head. Pausing on the part about ‘anything your heart desires will come to you’. And she knew this was what her heart desired … to get Mum and Dad back together! And it was her birthday soon … and you were never too old to blow candles out and make a wish. She wondered if she could have the wish early and use it right now.

  Holly looked down at the words and double-underlined them one more time. The Wish … Get Mum and Dad Back Together in Time for My Birthday.

  Chapter Five

  ‘You make me feel so young, you make me feel as though spring has sprung …’ Jude twirled her auburn curls up into a big bun and secured it with a hairband as she sang along heartily with Frank Sinatra on her Spotify playlist. She really was happy to be back in lovely Tindledale with Dad and her friends, relishing the earthiness and realness here, but she’d be lying if she said it hadn’t also come as a bit of a shock. Back down to earth with a bump after all the fakery and full-on fast lane of her life in LA … And she really missed her mum’s cousin, Maggie. They had spoken on the phone last night and she could tell that Maggie was putting on a brave face, being stoic and selfless in telling her she slept well at night knowing Tony was happy having his daughter back. Dad had called Maggie shortly after she’d got home, to thank her for everything she had done for Jude, and especially for bringing Mum’s memory alive. Also for the keepsake box that Maggie had entrusted Jude to give to him. The box had been her mum’s, and inside were notes and cards that Dad had given her when they’d first started courting. A pressed rose secreted between the pages of a pamphlet advertising the first dance he took her to in the old ballroom in Market Briar. Even a faded old photograph of them both cuddled together under a tree on the village green. It had near taken his breath away, he had said, when he saw it all.

  Jude wandered across the shop and rearranged the scented candle display for the trillionth time. Business had been slow for the first week since she’d opened and she had spent most of her time either knitting yet another square to add to the pile waiting to be stitched together to make a blanket, as that was the extent of her knitting skills. Or moving cushions and candles from one side of the shop to the other. But, in contrast to the last few days’ weather, the sun was shining today, bathing the narrow, cobbled lanes and surrounding fields full of springy white lambs in a warm, golden glow. So the lovely villagers of Tindledale were either supping ice-cold beer in the Duck & Puddle pub garden, or on the village green paddling in the pond and not bothering themselves with shopping of any kind.

  Just as Jude wondered if she’d made a mistake in opening the shop here, and maybe should have focused on selling antiques online, as that part of the business was thriving as it always had done, the phone rang.

  ‘Darling Antiques and Interiors,’ she answered cheerfully, practically falling on the phone, such was the novelty of it actually ringing during business hours. It often rang shortly after five when she had turned the sign on the door to CLOSED, but typically it was her dad, Tony, asking if she wanted a lift home, or Chrissie to see if she fancied a glass of Prosecco and a catch-up. Which reminded her, she wanted to call in on Chrissie later to see how things had gone with Sam. Chrissie had told her that he was coming back and that they were going to be seeing each other for the first time in ages. Jude wished she could understand where things had gone wrong between Chrissie and Sam. They had so much going for them. Of course, no marriage was perfect, and they were quite different people. Chrissie was much steadier than Sam, who Jude secretly thought was a bit of a dreamer; a carefree, creative, surfer type, if they’d lived near the sea. She could see him now in a pair of shades, sliders on his feet, a MacBook under his arm and lots of ideas. He was an accomplished architect, but had always been a bit unfocused. That was until the last few years when he’d really thrown himself into work, especially after Holly’s diabetes was diagnosed. Jude wondered if that was where the connection was? She couldn’t even begin to imagine how it must feel to have your thirteen-year-old daughter with a serious condition like diabetes; it was hardly surprising that it had put a strain on their marriage.

  Jude let out a long breath and shook her head, as if to create a feeling of equilibrium once more.

  ‘What?’ A gruff male voice asked to open the conversation, bringing her back to the moment and the telephone call.

  ‘Pardon?’ she replied, taken aback.r />
  ‘Is that the antique shop?’ the man demanded in a London accent.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Err, yes, quite sure,’ Jude confirmed, wondering if this was some kind of prank call.

  ‘But you just called me darling—’

  ‘No I didn’t.’

  ‘Yes, you did!’

  ‘Darling is my name and I sell antiques and … things for interiors such as—’

  ‘What kind of a name is that?’ the man cut in rudely. ‘Are you having me on?’ He sounded as if he might be laughing at her. Jude contemplated hanging up, but before she could decide, he added, ‘Can you come and see me? I might have some work for you.’

  ‘Depends,’ she said, not missing a beat.

  ‘Depends! What sort of way is that to talk to a potential customer?’

  ‘The sort of way that means … I don’t know who you are, or what work you would like me to do. So, until I have that information, I can’t decide if I want to come and see you.’

  Silence followed. Jude caught sight of her face in the gilt-framed mirror on the wall near the little desk where the phone was and mouthed ‘idiot’ to herself. He might be cocky and rude and making fun of her name, but here was a potential customer. That’s what he had said, and she was being flippant. ‘Err, what I actually meant was,’ she quickly pulled back the conversation, ‘how can I help you?’

  ‘That’s better!’ And he actually laughed again. A big belly laugh this time. Jude hated him immediately. ‘So will you come or not?’ She looked again at her face, her cheeks all flushed and florid like two bruised tomatoes. How dared he? Who the hell did he think he was? And then, as if telepathically accessing her mind, he announced, ‘I’m Myles King. Rock legend! Will that do you?’

  A short silence followed. ‘You’ve probably heard of me …’ More silence. Jude’s jaw dropped. There had been a rumour going around in the village. Her dad had told her last night over drinks in the pub that the megastar of the Noughties, albeit faded now, had bought the old Blackwood Farm Estate. Lord Lucan (not the infamous one who disappeared all those years ago, of course) and his wife, Marigold, had sold the estate and retired into the lodge house at the edge of the wildflower meadow, for a slower pace of life.

  ‘Can’t say I have,’ she said nonchalantly, unable to resist. Of course she’d heard of Myles King. Everyone had. And here he was on the end of her phone proclaiming to be a ‘potential customer’. But she’d seen it all before in LA. The obnoxious behaviour and oversized egos.

  ‘Where have you been then? Living in a cave?’ Myles chortled at his own joke. ‘Or, oh don’t tell me … you haven’t been banged up, have you? But then again, I thought they let you have radios and tellies in there for good behaviour.’

  Jude exhaled, willing herself to get a grip. ‘Namaste. Namaste,’ she chanted over and over inside her head, as she been taught to do by her yoga teacher back in LA, for when dealing with unexpected ‘moments of heightened stress’. But, feeling like an utter arse, she promptly stopped, balling her free hand into a boxer’s fist instead, perfectly poised to land a right hook.

  ‘When would you like me to come and see you?’ She almost choked on the words, before adding, ‘Mr King,’ as sweetly as she could muster.

  ‘Now. See you in ten.’ And the line went dead. Jude stared at the receiver, just like they do in films when somebody hangs up unexpectedly, as she got her head around what had just happened. Is he for real? Talk about rude. And entitled. And pleased with himself. She’d never heard anything like it. And she had met some very high-maintenance characters in her time, travelling around the world working with exceedingly wealthy clients, some of whom seriously thought manners were just for the minions and not something that they needed to be bothered with at all.

  But she had to admit that her curiosity had been well and truly piqued. Plus, she really couldn’t afford to pass by an opportunity to get her fledging business off the ground. So, she reluctantly blew out the fabulously fragranced candle, slipped her handbag over her shoulder and scooped Lulu off an armchair and into her arms.

  After putting the Be Back Soon sign in place and locking the shop door behind her, she headed over to the Duck & Puddle pub to track down Tony. He was bound to be in there with his best mate, Barry, owner of the locksmith and hardware shop, with it being a Saturday afternoon. If she was lucky, he wouldn’t have started on his second pint, so would be in a position to give her a lift in his van down the lane to the Blackwood Farm Estate. But she knew she would need to be quick – Tony and Barry had been friends since school, in other words, donkeys’ years. So when they got going in the pub, there was no stopping them from reminiscing about the much-feted ‘good old days’, when nothing bad ever happened in Tindledale. Or so their respective memories seemed utterly convinced of. When, in actual reality, those days were most likely pretty much the same as – or similar to – how they were now. Tindledale was hardly a buzzing metropolis at the sharp edge of popular culture, always one step ahead of the current trends.

  An hour later, and Jude had just got off the bus at the nearest stop to the entrance of the estate. Tony hadn’t been in the pub. ‘Got called away to sort out a potential leaky pipe over in the village hall,’ Cher, the pub landlady, had told Jude as she put his silver tankard back behind the bar for later. So, after trekking back across the village green, and past the paddlers by the duck pond, Jude had just missed the bus. On the hour every hour. She cursed herself for forgetting this important reality of growing up in the countryside, whilst marvelling at how some things never change, especially in the sleepy, rural idyll of Tindledale. She’d then had to wait for the next bus, all the while vowing to buy a car as soon as possible, which wouldn’t be any time soon, seeing as she had sunk all her cash into getting the shop up and running.

  She gingerly went to push open the mildew-covered old wooden gates at the entrance to the estate, then thought better of it on seeing how dilapidated they were. The gate on the right-hand side was half hanging off the hinges. So she stepped through the little arched side entrance that was barely bigger than a Hobbit’s front door and went to put Lulu down on the soft grass. But the pampered pooch sniffed around disapprovingly, probably getting a whiff of the crusty, dried-up cowpats dotted around, and promptly went to scrabble her way back up Jude’s jean-clad legs in a bid not to get her carefully groomed paws dirty.

  ‘Oh, come on then, you spoilt madam,’ Jude laughed as she helped Lulu up and under her arm. ‘I’m going to have to get you one of those pet carriers if you keep on like this.’

  ‘What are you doing?’ A blowsy woman appeared from behind a hedge and stood squarely in front of Jude, making her jump. Lulu growled and bared her little teeth. Wearing a tweed skirt and a navy padded waistcoat, with a peacock print headscarf over a thatch of static grey hair, the woman struck a formidable pose. And with her ruddy complexion as she clasped a clipboard to her ample bosom, she looked as if she’d just stepped out of a Thelwell cartoon.

  ‘I’m here to see Myles,’ Jude smiled keenly as she batted a persistent bumblebee from her face.

  ‘What’s your name?’ the woman demanded, consulting her clipboard.

  ‘Jude Darling.’

  A short silence ensued.

  ‘Are you sure?’ The Thelwell woman stared for a second, before frowning.

  ‘Err, yes. Quite sure.’ Jude sighed inwardly, wondering if Dad had a point after all. But back in LA nobody had ever batted an eyelid over her unusual surname, so she had kind of forgotten about it, to be honest. ‘So adorable. Quaint. And like totally British,’ is what they had said over there.

  ‘Well then, that’s a nice name. Very jolly.’ And the woman actually smiled, which momentarily threw Jude, given her sudden switch in temperament.

  ‘Oh, thank you.’

  But the thaw was short-lived when the woman snapped, ‘Sorry, you’re not down here, I haven’t had any notification of your visit,’ and tapped the clipbo
ard. ‘I can’t let you anywhere near the house if you haven’t been booked in. I’ll have to ask you to leave.’ The woman gestured with her hand for Jude to go back the way she had come, in through the Hobbit door.

  ‘But, Myles …’ Jude’s voice came out way too high, so she paused, swallowed, and then continued calmly, ‘Mr King just called me and asked me to come to see him. I’m a bit late. I was going to get my dad to give me a lift down here, but he couldn’t and then I missed the bus and … well, I’m here now.’

  ‘Hmm, sure he did,’ the woman smiled dismissively, reverting back to her frosty setting. ‘Come on now, my dear, you really do need to leave.’

  ‘It’s true!’ Jude folded her arms, irritated that she seemed to have wasted her time on quite frankly the rudest man she had ever spoken to. And no guesses as to who this woman was – his mother, no doubt, must be, given that she was just as rude. It was clearly a family trait.

  ‘My dear, if I had a penny for every time a girl like you had tried that one on just to get inside and up close to Mr King, then I certainly wouldn’t be standing here, dodging the cowpats, talking to you. Certainly not. I would be sipping a Dubonnet and gin cocktail on the deck of a yacht moored somewhere on the banks of an Italian hideaway. Good day to you!’ And the woman went to walk away. How bizarre. Jude stared after her, slack-jawed and furious. Then, after swiftly reuniting her chin with the rest of her face, she hoisted Lulu firmly under her arm and dashed after the woman, determined to salvage something from the trip. She had paid out for the bus fare, not to mention her time spent away from the shop, which could quite possibly have consequences for her fledgling business – like losing paying customers if she wasn’t there to actually serve them. Well, maybe … if she was really lucky, but that wasn’t the point. She had come here in good faith, and was damn well going to see Myles King, even if meant fighting this tedious woman right here in the garden.