“Fine,” she said when she remembered he’d asked her a question. “Thank you for drying my clothes. I feel like the amazing shrinking woman.” The sleeves of his sweatshirt hung over her hands, and the track pants were in real danger of falling down.
“No worries,” he said. “I rang the garage, by the way.”
“Oh?” Her heart skipped a beat.
His hesitation told her it wasn’t good news. “I’m sorry. They said the waterline was as high as the dashboard, and the fact that it was salt water makes it twice as bad. The water had stirred up a lot of sand, and it’s in the engine, the transmission, and the fuel system.”
“That doesn’t sound good.”
“It’s not a quick fix. They can dry it out, but there’s so much crap in all the systems that they said it would make more sense to try to get your insurance company to write off the car.”
Angel’s legs gave way, and she sat heavily on the nearest chair. Just when she thought she was managing, something else came along to knock her sideways. “Shit.”
“I’m so sorry.” He lowered himself to the sofa.
She gave him a weak smile. “It’s not your fault. You’ve done enough to help.”
“I’m not just going to abandon you now. It’s nearly Christmas. I’m sure this wasn’t how you saw your vacation starting.”
“Not quite, no,” she said wryly. Her head was spinning. She’d have to get in touch with the insurance company, and they’d send round a loss adjuster who’d determine whether they would write off the car. But it was December 23 and a Saturday; most companies would have closed for Christmas now.
“Baby steps,” Hal said, obviously seeing the look on her face. “I have an idea. If you don’t mind keeping an eye on Jamie and Brenna for a few minutes, I’ll go to the garage, take a look at the car, and have a chat to Ian, who runs the place. After that, I’ll take you down to meet George so you can get the key to your cottage. I’ll bring back your bags, and you can see what’s salvageable.”
“That would be great, thank you so much.” She leaned back and passed her hand across her face.
“Are you feeling okay?” Hal asked.
“Not too bad. Tired and a little low, I suppose. To be expected.”
“You’ve been through a lot,” he said kindly. “You need rest and time to process what’s happened. Are you okay to stay with the kids or would you like me to take them with me?”
“No, no, I’ll be fine. They’re lovely children, Hal. You must be very proud.”
“I am,” he said, and smiled. Then he tipped his head to the side. “You don’t have kids?”
“No.” She looked into the fire. “I broke up with my boyfriend last Christmas, and I haven’t been out with anyone since. I’ve... not been well. I’m feeling a bit better now, but Christmas is a difficult time for me, so I’ve come here to spend a bit of time on my own. It’s supposed to be a healing island, isn’t it? Isn’t that how it got its name?”
“Yes,” he said. “Holy Island is full of quiet places to ponder. I hope you find what you’re looking for here.”
“Me too,” she said softly, liking the fact that he hadn’t pushed her to tell him more.
He got to his feet. “Well, I’ll go and see Ian now. I’ll be back in a while, and then we’ll get you to your cottage.” He took a business card out of his back pocket and gave it to her. “It has my mobile number in case you need it at any time.”
“Thank you.” She brushed her thumb across it. Halvar Carlson, Architectural Illustrator.
She heard him walk into the kitchen and tell his children he was going out for a while, but that she would be looking after them. He went to the front door, pulled on some boots and a coat. Then the door open and closed, and he was gone.
Angel looked at the clothes he’d brought. He’d folded them neatly, including her panties and bra. Her face grew warm. She should change into them, really. She’d do it in a minute, when she’d checked the kids were okay.
It was nothing to do with the fact that his sweatshirt smelled nice, and she wanted to keep it on for a bit longer.
She went into the kitchen, hoping that in the few minutes she’d left the kids unattended they hadn’t set fire to the place or cut their fingers off with scissors. They hadn’t. Hal had sat them at the dining table with a book of press-out Christmas decorations, coloring pencils, and glitter pens, and they were busy crafting while Christmas songs played on the radio in the background.
Angel’s heart melted a little at the sight of them coloring diligently, Jamie occasionally helping his little sister when she got stuck.
“Hello,” he said when he looked up and saw her in the doorway. “We’re making decorations.”
“Do you want to make one?” Brenna asked.
“I’d love to.” She sat between them, and Jamie passed her the book of decorations.
“Which one would you like?” he asked.
Angel flicked through them and smiled as she saw a bauble with Rudolph’s head on it. “That one.”
Jamie pressed it out for her. “You color both sides and then stick them together with a piece of cotton in the middle,” he explained.
“Like this,” Brenna told her, proudly showing her nearly finished bauble.
“Right. I’d better get started then.” Angel picked a red felt-tip and began coloring in Rudolph’s nose.
“You’re still wearing Daddy’s top,” Brenna said.
“Oh, yes.” Angel’s cheeks warmed. “Your dad has gone out to get my cases for me. Hopefully not all my clothes are ruined. Once I’m in my cottage, I’ll have a shower and change into something else.”
Brenna looked dismayed. “You’re leaving?”
“She doesn’t want to stay here,” Jamie said in a hushed voice, as if he thought Angel wouldn’t be able to hear it. “She’s come for a holiday. She doesn’t want to babysit two kids.”
“I don’t mind at all,” Angel said when Brenna’s bottom lip trembled. “But I don’t want to get in the way. This is your special time with your dad.”
Jamie shrugged and turned his decoration over to the other side. “He’s not bothered about us. He’s always late whenever it’s his turn to look after us.”
“Aw,” Angel said. She didn’t want to get involved in a drama, but she could see that this family was suffering at the moment, and it seemed like such a shame when both Hal and his kids were so lovely. “He has to work a long way from here. It makes it much harder to get home on time, especially living on the island.”
“He hates his job,” Jamie said, coloring his snowman’s hat a little too hard.
“Really?” Angel drew carefully around Rudolph’s antlers. “He sounded like he loved it.”
He stopped coloring for a moment, and played with the lid of the pen. “He doesn’t mind working. But he doesn’t like his boss.”
“He’s a nob,” Brenna said.
“Brenna!” Jamie gave her a guilty look, as if aware she’d picked up the word from him.
Angel laughed, though, and Jamie grinned. “It’s hard when your boss is a nob,” she said. “It can make it very unpleasant to go to work.”
“It’s not just that.” Jamie started coloring again. “Charles lives with Mum now.”
Angel stared at him. “Your mum lives with your dad’s boss?”
“Yeah.” Jamie changed to the orange pen to color in his snowman’s nose.
Angel studied the little boy, not knowing what to say. Hal had told her that his ex-wife had had an affair. It must have been with his boss. How awful for him to have to go into work every day and answer to the man who’d had an affair with his wife. It was none of her business, and yet her heart went out to Jamie as he bit his lip hard, tears glimmering on his lashes. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “It must be very hard for all of you.”
Jamie just sniffed and shrugged.
“Charles has white teeth,” Brenna said.
Jamie met Angel’s gaze and gave a wry grin. “D
ad told me he puts white paint on them.’”
Angel giggled, and the children giggled with her. “Don’t make me laugh,” she scolded. “Your dad will tell me off.”
“What are you doing on Christmas Day?” Brenna asked.
“I don’t know,” Angel said. “I normally spend it with my family, but this year I might go for a walk, then watch a movie or something.”
“We have Finding Nemo and Frozen DVDs if you want to borrow them,” Brenna offered.
“She doesn’t want to watch those,” Jamie said.
“Why are you on your own?” Brenna asked, coloring the baubles on her Christmas tree with glitter pen and going all over the lines. “Are you married?”
“No,” Angel said.
“Do you have a boyfriend?”
“Not right now.”
“Boys are yuck,” Brenna said.
“Your dad isn’t,” Angel pointed out with a smile. “He’s very yummy.”
Brenna giggled, and Jamie’s eyebrows rose into his fringe.
“Did I say that out loud?” Angel said, suddenly realizing they were bound to tell him because kids seemed incapable of keeping a secret.
“I think he’s yummy,” Brenna said. “I’m going to marry him when I’m growed up.”
“You can’t marry Dad,” Jamie said with exasperation.
“Don’t worry,” Angel told her when the little girl’s lip wobbled. “You’ll meet your Prince Charming when you’re older.”
“Girls don’t want Prince Charming anymore,” Jamie commented. “That’s what Mum said.”
“Oh, I still want my Prince Charming,” Angel said. “I just hope he doesn’t mind waiting until after I’ve slain the dragon and saved the kingdom.”
Jamie laughed, and Angel smiled as she started coloring in Rudolph’s bright blue eyes.
Chapter Nine
Hal walked briskly through the streets of the small town, his hands jammed in the pockets of his jacket. It was raining a little—cold sleet again, and the temperature was icy, the breeze slicing through him whenever he rounded a corner. There would definitely be snow by Christmas Day. If it fell overnight, it was possible the kids would have to stay with him over Christmas. He could just imagine Rebecca’s annoyance if that were to happen.
But it wouldn’t be fair to the kids. They wouldn’t have all their presents from the rest of the family, or the magnificent five-course dinner Rebecca would have organized. Hal was planning to have a frozen ready meal and a microwaveable Christmas pudding. Cooking wasn’t one of his skills.
He’d miss them, but he was glad to be out of the family home. Two years ago, when he’d discovered she was having an affair, he’d moved out the week before Christmas. He’d come to the house for Christmas Day for the kids’ sakes, but he’d left before it got dark, the atmosphere too bitter for him to stay.
The previous Christmas, after Charles had moved into the family home, Rebecca had invited him for Christmas dinner, saying it would be best for the kids to have him there, and they should all be able to act like grownups. He’d hated every minute of it, and had spent most of the two hours glaring at Charles, who’d done his best to touch and kiss Rebecca in front of him every chance he’d had. The day had fallen completely flat, with neither of the kids being convinced by their parents’ faked happiness. This year, Rebecca would be genuinely happy, because Charles pandered to her every whim.
That probably wasn’t fair, but Hal didn’t care much.
The streets of the Holy Island of Lindisfarne, were relatively quiet this Saturday morning. The island was currently cut off from the mainland, and, as it was only nine a.m., there weren’t many visitors. The island had a population of around 160 people, but thousands of tourists came every year to see the ancient priory and castle, to sample the island’s famous mead, and to experience the strange sense of isolation when the tide came in. After one o’clock, when the tide went out, there would be an influx of cars carrying tourists looking for unusual last-minute Christmas presents, although the numbers might thin out if snow started to fall.
The local choir group from the church of St. Mary the Virgin stood outside the Heritage Center, singing carols. Hal slowed as he passed them and threw the change he had in his pockets into the hat one of them had placed on the ground, giving them a wave. They were singing Once in Royal David’s City, the haunting melody sending a shiver down his spine that was nothing to do with the freezing temperatures. When he was a child, Hal had been a choirboy, and he’d sung with the group for several years running, until he was in his late teens and had gone to university. He no longer went to church, but the singing reminded him of those Sunday mornings in the old building, the sun streaming through the stained-glass windows and casting colored light on the flagstones like scattered jewels.
He was in a fanciful mood this morning, he thought. It must have been something to do with the angel he rescued last night. He chuckled to himself and continued walking along Marygate, toward the garage.
As he neared the building, he saw Angel’s car parked on the forecourt with all its doors open and a heater blasting hot air into the interior. Ian came out as he neared, and the two men shook hands. They’d been good friends for a long time, and Ian had gone through a bitter divorce several years ago, so he had a lot of sympathy for Hal’s predicament. Luckily, he’d met another girl and was now happily married. Hal liked Cheryl, who often invited him around when she was cooking Sunday lunch.
“Thanks for rescuing the car last night,” Hal said.
“No worries. I sent Peter,” Ian said with a grin, referring to the young guy who worked for him. He gave Hal an appraising look. “So, you rescued a damsel in distress? What’s she like?”
Hal thought about it. For too long. Ian’s grin spread. “That good, huh?”
“She’s very nice,” Hal said.
Ian nodded and gave a short laugh, obviously realizing there wouldn’t be any more details forthcoming.
Hal walked toward the car. “So, you think it’s a write-off?”
Ian followed him, wiping his hands on a rag. “Well, everything can be fixed, given enough time and money. We can dry it out, clean every little piece of the engine—which will take a long time and cost a pretty penny. But I guarantee she’ll drive it for a week and want to get rid of it. It’ll never be the same. She’ll have trouble getting a loss adjuster to come out before the New Year, though.”
“Yeah, I know.” Hal peered inside. A thick layer of sand covered the seats and the footwells. The engine had fared no better. Ian was right—the cost of returning it to working order would be more than the cost of replacing the car.
“I put her cases and coat inside,” Ian said. “I’ll go and get them.” He walked off.
Hal checked the interior of the car again, making sure there was nothing else there she might need. He flipped down the glove compartment. A couple of soaked maps he was sure she wouldn’t be interested in. A pair of sunglasses that he placed in his pocket. A plastic bag containing a small bottle of engine oil and a flyer advertising one of the shops in the service station on the M6. He realized he hadn’t asked her where she lived. She had a southern accent, so he suspected she didn’t come from Liverpool or Manchester. Had she driven all the way from Bristol or the West Country?
About to stuff the flyer back into the glove compartment, he flipped it over and saw it was covered with handwriting. The seal on the plastic bag had been almost perfect—only a few drops of water had gotten through. He smoothed the note out, not meaning to be nosey, but wondering whether it was something she needed to keep.
At the top, she—or at least he assumed it was Angel’s handwriting, big and round and full of loops—had written the words ‘Wish List’, and all over the paper she’d drawn fancy bubbles filled with ideas.
It was oddly intimate, like reading her mind, and Hal knew he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away. It was a collection of dreams, of things she obviously felt would make her life better. B
ut she wasn’t asking for a million pounds. He felt a catch in his throat at the mundaneness of some of them, which showed how such tiny things could influence someone’s life. A better job. New clothes. A subscription to her favorite history magazine. A Tudor coloring book. There was no mention of love or men.
He recalled the fact that she’d said she’d broken up with her boyfriend last Christmas, and that she’d been unwell. Maybe the guy had broken her heart, and she’d had trouble recovering.
Then his gaze fell on the item at the bottom. ‘Orgasms. Lots of. Perhaps a vibrator might help here.’ She’d finished with a smiley face.
His eyebrows rose.
Slowly, his lips curved up.
“Here you go.” Ian appeared beside him with two cases and a pink coat with a fake-fur trim hood.
Hal folded the plastic bag with the note and put it in his pocket. “Are the cases soaked?”
“One’s fairly wet. The other’s not too bad. A quick wash and dry and they’ll be fine.”
“That’s great, thanks mate.” Hal put the coat through the handles of one of the cases. “I’m guessing you’re closing early today?”
“At twelve, but you know where I am if you need me. I’ll be back on the twenty-seventh if the insurance company wants to visit. I’ve taken plenty of photos anyway.” He adjusted the heater a little. “I’ll keep the dryer going until all the moisture has gone, but I’ll hold off cleaning it up until the insurance company has seen it.”
“Fair enough.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to come around for Christmas dinner?” Ian asked. “Cheryl’s bought a turkey big enough to feed all of Northumbria.”
“Nah, I’m good,” Hal said with a smile.
“But you’ll come to the pub on New Year’s Eve?”
“Yeah, sure. I look forward to it. Catch you later.” Hal walked off, carrying the cases.
Instead of heading for home, though, he walked around to St. Cuthbert’s Square to George’s house. After explaining to the old guy what had happened the night before, he picked up the keys to the cottage, then walked next door and let himself in. He placed Angel’s bags in the hallway, and went into the living room and made up the wood stove. He waited until flames were leaping merrily before placing the safety guard in front, closing the door, and leaving it to develop into a warm glow.
If Kisses Were Snowflakes Page 6
