Second Chances at the Log Fire Cabin

by Catherine Ferguson

  My mobile rings, making me jump with fright.

  Poppy’s name appears.

  I look at Flo, who’s buttering toast, and groan. ‘Here goes.’

  ‘Hi, Roxy? Listen, you’re going to hate me but I’m going to have to ask you to manage on your own today.’

  ‘Oh? Is something wrong?’

  Poppy groans. ‘I’m not well, Roxy. I don’t think those kedgeree leftovers I ate yesterday agreed with me. I keep thinking I’m going to throw up.’

  My heart sinks. Can I really let her down when she’s feeling so rotten? ‘Poor you. So … you need me to make the mince pies and the gingerbread Santas?’ I shrug helplessly at Flo.

  Maybe I could just go and help out today, until she’s feeling better. Then I’ll tell her I can’t continue …

  ‘Oh, Roxy, I’d be so grateful. I’ll pay you double time. Because obviously it’s not fair on you when you’ve only just started. Uh oh, hang on, gotta dash!’ She hangs up abruptly.

  I turn to Flo. ‘What could I do? She’s ill.’

  Flo shakes her head. ‘You’ll never get over Jackson if you have to keep on seeing him.’

  I heave a sigh. ‘Don’t worry. Now that I’ve got over the shock of seeing him again, I’ll be absolutely fine.’

  Flo looks dubious, to say the least.

  ‘Honestly, I’m struggling to remember what it was I saw in him.’ I shrug. ‘Jackson who?’ I give her a big smile and rise to my feet to go and get ready.

  Escaping from the kitchen, I sag against the wall and stare up at the ceiling. The storm of emotion I’m feeling at the thought of returning to the Log Fire Cabin is worrying, to say the least.

  If I’m this much of a mess now, it will be a hundred times worse when I’m back there …

  Driving along, my whole body is literally quaking at the thought of bumping into Jackson again.

  It’s an odd mix of feelings, though. Because amongst the stomach-churning dread of seeing him again, there’s a weird little breathlessness going on – similar to the elated feeling I always got when I was due to see him again.

  I take a couple of deep breaths to calm myself down.

  Jackson is with Sophie now. There’s no future for him and me whatsoever, so I need to just turn up at the Log Fire Cabin and do what I can to help Poppy. Then, once Poppy’s feeling better, I’ll explain the tricky situation I’m in with Jackson and she’ll totally understand that I can’t possibly continue there …

  I’m approaching the turn-off but my hands are trembling so much, I fumble with the indicator and the motorist behind me flashes his lights.

  Turning off, I pull into the side of the road leading to the lake and the Log Fire Cabin, and switch off the engine. Then I stare ahead at the frost-encrusted pine trees lining the road. They look just like a Christmas card and I feel as frozen as they are – with indecision.

  I could turn the car around and head home, and phone Poppy to explain. But then I think of how she’ll feel, losing the contract. The way we met in the supermarket definitely felt like fate. And fate has also led me back to Jackson.

  I’m not a huge believer in destiny, but it’s quite an extraordinary coincidence that I should run into Poppy who just happens to be hosting Christmas for Jackson! Maybe it’s not a coincidence at all. Maybe some things really are meant to be. In which case, shouldn’t I just go along with it instead of fighting it all?

  Starting the engine, I’m still not sure what I’m going to do.

  But as the road is too narrow to turn the car around right there, I have no option but to drive onwards, towards the Log Fire Cabin. And then my fate is sealed because Alex is walking towards the front door as I draw up, and he gives me a wave.

  I wave back and drive into one of the parking spaces, nausea washing around in the pit of my stomach.

  Alex waits for me and holds the door to let me in first.

  ‘You came back,’ he says.

  I’m about to make a jokey reply when I catch something in his expression and, in a flash of clarity, I realise.

  He knows.

  ‘I wasn’t sure you’d actually be back,’ he murmurs, with a slight air of apology. ‘Not after last night …’

  We linger in the hallway and I can sense he’s saving me from having to talk about it with others listening in.

  I force a smile. ‘Yes, well, as far as shocks go, that was pretty much off the chart. Seeing Jackson. Or Jack, as you all call him. And I did wonder if I could face coming back. But hey, Poppy needs help. I couldn’t let her down.’

  He nods slowly. ‘I knew I recognised you but I couldn’t think from where.’

  ‘You wouldn’t be the first person who’s said that to me in the time since that horrible night! And I guess you won’t be the last.’

  He frowns. ‘Sorry, I never thought of that.’

  ‘Don’t apologise. At least you were subtle about it and didn’t follow me along the high street singing a rowdy, Bridget Jones-style rendition of “All By Myself”.’

  ‘That actually happened?’ He looks aghast.

  I smile grimly. ‘Oh, yes.’ I quail inside at the memory. They were just teenage girls having a laugh but still …

  I have to ask him. ‘Has Jackson said anything to you – about knowing me?’

  Alex shakes his head.

  His reply makes me feel cold inside. The fact that Jackson hasn’t even told his closest friends about our relationship makes me feel even smaller than I already did. Which is saying something.

  ‘It’s probably difficult for him, though, with Sophie here,’ Alex points out.Tears well up but I blink them away quickly and force a smile. ‘That’s true.’

  We stand there, rather awkwardly, for a moment. Then Alex murmurs, ‘Listen, if you ever feel the need to get away – from anything – remember I’m on hand to give you a skating lesson.’

  He gives me a sly, sideways grin and, against all the odds, laughter bubbles up inside me. ‘God, I can’t imagine ever being that desperate. But I’ll bear it in mind.’

  ‘You do that. Poppy’s upstairs, by the way. She said to tell you to go straight up.’

  We turn at the sound of footsteps from behind us.

  It’s Jackson and my heart swoops.

  In the second our eyes meet, before I look away, I take in his long legs in the faded jeans, his bare feet that he hated but I loved, and the blue checked shirt I bought him for his birthday back in October.

  ‘Hi Roxy. Good to see you again.’ He gives me one of his dazzling million-watt smiles that always turns my knees to jelly. Today is no exception.

  I mutter a hello, feeling awkward as hell, in total contrast to Jackson, who seems to be taking my sudden appearance at the cabin completely in his stride. He does actually look genuinely pleased to see me.

  ‘Poppy will be glad you’re here,’ he says smoothly.

  I catch a waft of his familiar cologne and it almost floors me.

  ‘Hope you’re not monopolising her, Al,’ he comments jokily to his friend. ‘Roxy’s got work to do.’

  I’m not sure what Alex’s response is because I’m already fleeing past him up the stairs. If I have to keep dodging out of Jackson’s way like this, it’s going to be one very long fortnight …

  Chapter 8

  Poppy is in bed, propped up on her pillows, looking pale. She groans when she sees me.

  ‘I should have known eating two-day-old kedgeree would give me a gippy tummy. I’m so sorry about this, Roxy.’

  ‘Hey, it’s fine. Are you feeling any better?’

  She nods. ‘A bit, thanks. The symptoms have worn off at least. But I think I should stay away from the kitchen for a while, just in case any germs get transmitted.’

  ‘Well, no problem, that’s what I’m here for.’ I sound far more confident than I’m feeling. ‘You can direct proceedings from the comfort of your bed.’

  She smiles. ‘Thank goodness I had a meltdown over that burst bag of flour. If I hadn’t, we’d never have met �
�� and then what would I have done? At least we already made a start on the next order of mince pies yesterday.’

  ‘True. We made a hundred and eighty.’

  ‘Well remembered.’

  I screw my eyes up, calculating. ‘So that’s just another … three hundred and twenty to make today?’ I smile brightly to conceal the panic that’s surging up at the very thought. We haven’t even discussed the gingerbread Santas!

  Poppy grimaces. ‘I guess that’s about the size of it. Look, just do your best, Roxy, but don’t feel pressured. I can always get up very early tomorrow morning to make the rest.’

  ‘Can I bring you anything before I start?’

  ‘No, thanks. Jed’s been really sweet, actually. He keeps popping in to make sure I’m still alive.’ She smiles fondly. ‘He’s nipped out but he said he’d bring me back some magazines to relieve my boredom.’

  I grin. ‘Not content with The People’s Friend from the skating rink kiosk, then?’

  ‘Oh, God, no!’ she says in a plummy voice, doing a fairly impressive impersonation of Sophie. ‘It has to be Harper’s Bazaar or nothing!’ She attempts a laugh then clutches her stomach miserably. ‘Jed and I were supposed to be taking part in a pairs skating contest at the rink on Tuesday night, but I’m not going to be able to do it.’

  ‘You might be feeling better by then.’

  She sighs. ‘Hopefully. But I’d already decided I’m far too busy to take part, even though it would have been fun. I’ve asked Jackson and Sophie to fill in for us.’

  I swallow miserably. They’ll make a very glamorous pair on the ice. Jackson seems to be good at everything he turns his hand to, so it wouldn’t surprise me if they were to win.

  ‘We’ll all go down there and watch. Sylvia’s closing the rink to the public for a couple of hours on Tuesday evening so the contest can go ahead.’

  ‘Sounds great,’ I lie.

  She shrugs. ‘It’s Sylvia’s way of getting a bit of publicity for the local businesses involved in her ice rink venture, including Truly Scrumptious, of course. Every business has nominated a couple to represent them – so for us, that will be Jackson and Sophie.’

  ‘Right, well, I’d better get started.’ I paste on a smile, having heard quite enough already about Jackson and Sophie, and head for the kitchen.

  But, as I run down the stairs, I tell myself it’s only a fortnight and the money will come in very handy indeed. And Poppy is so easy to get along with. I keep having to remind myself that she’s actually my boss.

  I make it to the kitchen without running into Jackson again. Closing the door behind me, I breathe a sigh of relief and go in search of my ingredients.

  For the next few hours, I immerse myself completely in making the delicate sweet pastry the way Poppy demonstrated the day before, and following the recipe for her special apple, cinnamon and mincemeat filling. While the huge block of pastry chills in the fridge and the gorgeous fruity compote bubbles on the hob, filling the kitchen with the aromas of apples and Christmas spices, I take a look at the gingerbread recipe. It can’t be that hard with the instructions in front of me, can it? And it would take the pressure off Poppy. Imagining how pleased she’ll be if I’ve made a start on the gingerbread Santas, I decide to take the initiative and try to bake a batch myself.

  I sift together the flour, ginger and cinnamon and pour them into the bowl of the food processor, then I cut the butter into the mix – feeling like quite the professional – and whiz until it starts to look like breadcrumbs. Adding the sugar and big dollops of deliciously gooey golden syrup, I set the mixer off again but more slowly this time, like Poppy did the day before. Then I roll out the dough and carefully use the special cutter to make lots of perfect Santa shapes, which I lay on a series of greased baking trays.

  Once they’re in the oven, I decide that, if Poppy were here, she’d be suggesting a break for a cuppa. I put the kettle on and decide to go up and see if she would like one. But first, I clear off my work surface, my eyes lingering on the golden syrup spoon lying in the mixing bowl. A quick glance at the door and then I’m over by the window, staring out at the frosted lake scene, slowly licking the golden syrup spoon clean.

  I close my eyes in the stillness of the warm kitchen, enjoying the very moreish taste of the syrup on my tongue and thinking about Jackson. I heard him in the hallway with Sophie earlier. She was complaining about the lack of things to do in the countryside and Jackson was making fun of her for being a townie.

  ‘What’s up with you this morning, anyway?’ I heard Sophie say, just before the front door closed behind them. ‘You seem remarkably cheerful. Normally I can’t get a word out of you in the morning until you’ve had at least three coffees!’

  ‘Caught you!’ A male voice cuts into my thoughts and I spin round guiltily.

  Jackson?

  But it’s Alex standing in the doorway.

  Arms folded, he grins at me. ‘Don’t worry, that’s an extremely necessary ritual. I doubt the mince pies would turn out right if you didn’t lick the spoon.’

  I smile back. ‘That’s an interesting theory. Do you bake much yourself?’

  ‘Never. Although I’m excellent at operating a microwave.’

  I nod, pretending to be impressed. ‘Raymond Blanc, eat your heart out!’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with Pop-Tarts.’

  ‘Definitely not.’ I adopt a solemn expression. ‘It’s a little known fact but Pop-Tarts are actually the new cupcakes.’

  We laugh and I say, ‘I’m making tea. Would you like one?’

  ‘I’ll have a strong coffee if there’s one going.’

  ‘Okay. I’ll bring it through.’

  ‘Thanks, Roxy. That would be great. I’ll be in the living room.’ He flashes me a grin and disappears.

  The aroma of ginger filling the kitchen reminds me that my baking needs to come out of the oven. Carefully, I transfer the Santa biscuits to several large cooling trays, overlapping them slightly to fit them all on. Most of them have turned out fine, much to my surprise. There are just a few that have caught slightly at the edges.

  After that, I make some tea and take it up to Poppy.

  She’s sunk into an exhausted sleep, curled on her side, so I just leave it on her bedside table and return to the kitchen to make Alex’s coffee. At the last minute, I waft one of the biscuits in the air to cool it faster, then I quickly make up a little icing the way Poppy showed me yesterday and give the Santa a funny, cross-eyed expression. Then I pop it on Alex’s saucer, hoping he’ll appreciate my artistry!

  Just as I’m emerging from the kitchen, the front door opens and Sophie walks in, followed closely by Jackson.

  ‘Oh no, we couldn’t possibly use the hotel for a fashion photo shoot,’ Sophie is saying. ‘We’d need to completely redecorate first. Those curtains in our bedroom!’

  ‘I think they’re quite nice,’ murmurs Jackson. ‘They match the quilt.’

  ‘Well, precisely! That’s my point entirely.’

  They catch sight of me, waiting there with a fixed smile on my face. ‘Hi, Roxy,’ says Sophie. ‘Hey, were you named after that sex worker in the Sting song?’

  Jackson glances down at his feet.

  I smile brightly. ‘I was, actually. Mum liked the song but I don’t think she listened to the words properly.’

  Sophie’s ice-cool gaze sweeps over me.

  ‘If you want to go Christmas shopping, we’d better leave now,’ says Jackson shortly. ‘Town will be murder if we leave it any later.’

  I swallow. It’s obvious he can’t wait to escape.

  ‘Ooh, can we go for coffee at that little place we found?’ Sophie slides her hands coyly up over his chest and round his neck. ‘Pretty please?’ she begs in a little-girl voice.

  He smiles and kisses her nose. ‘Yes, of course we can.’

  ‘Great! I’ll just get my bag from the living room.’

  ‘Could you take this through to Alex, please?’ Smiling pleasantly, I hold
out the cup to Sophie.

  She stares at it for a moment. Then she spots the cross-eyed gingerbread Santa on the saucer and her eyes widen. ‘Are you really serving that up?’

  Shaking her head and ignoring my request, she clatters off along the hallway.

  Jackson meets my eye awkwardly and takes the cup for Alex himself. He frowns down at the Santa. ‘Er, you might need more practice doing the icing, Roxy. His face doesn’t look quite right.’

  I shrug. ‘He’s supposed to be cross-eyed.’

  ‘Really? But …’ He looks genuinely puzzled.

  I shake my head and retreat to the safety of the kitchen. God, this is awful. I need to stay out of Jackson’s way, but it’s so difficult when he’s liable to pop up at any moment.

  I’m removing the block of sweet pastry from the fridge to start on the next batch of mince pies when the door opens, and when I turn, Jackson is standing there.

  ‘Roxy.’ He takes a step into the room and my foolish heart starts beating in double-quick time. ‘I just wanted to say how sorry I am for the way things ended.’ He holds out his arms in a shrug of bemusement. ‘I honestly couldn’t believe it when you said … er … that in front of the cameras. Naturally, I was flattered. Who wouldn’t be? But I’m sure, once you sobered up, you realised it was all a bit premature?’

  He walks over and, before I know what’s happening, he’s enveloping me in a hug. ‘But hey, we can still be friends, can’t we?’ he says into my hair, as I stand there, my arms at my sides. He steps away from me. ‘It was great while it lasted, though, wasn’t it?’ He winks at me and walks calmly out of the kitchen.

  I stare after him, dumbfounded at the cool way he just dismissed our relationship as something that was ‘great while it lasted’. I’d thought it was pretty special. More fool me! He’d displayed no sadness over the fact that it hadn’t worked out for us. And he clearly had no conscience at all over the speed with which he’d moved on to his next conquest – before I’d barely had a chance to draw breath!

  When the door opens again, I almost jump into next week with shock.

  But it’s Poppy this time.