I'll Be Home for Christmas: A heartwarming feel good romantic comedy

by Karen Clarke

  ‘No need to apologise.’ Gripping my hands, she tipped her head to one side, her apple-cheeked face wreathed in sympathy. ‘Your mum told me everything that happened. Someone else’s wedding was the last thing you needed, what with losing your gran on top.’

  ‘It was selfish,’ I said, pierced with guilt, not sure I deserved her forgiveness. ‘Frank looks lovely, though. Mum showed me the pictures.’

  Dolly waggled her hand to show off a narrow gold band nestled on her wedding finger. ‘Never thought I’d wear one of these again,’ she said. ‘Did your mum tell you that Elle took the official photos?’ Her face – softer and rounder than Mum’s, but with the same crinkly-eyed smile and spiky lashes – melted into a smile. ‘Charlie’s girlfriend,’ she added, in a way that suggested she’d never tire of saying those two words – at least until she could start saying Charlie’s wife.

  ‘She might have mentioned it once or twice.’

  ‘Mum, I don’t think Nina needs to hear about my love life.’ As Charlie returned with two steaming mugs on a tray, and a plate of assorted pastries, I realised he had a shine about him I hadn’t noticed at first. He was in love.

  ‘I’m pleased for you,’ I said. Charlie deserved to be happy. He’d avoided serious relationships, ever since his long-term girlfriend fell for my brother, eight years ago, causing a family rift that had lasted until they broke up, eighteen months later. I could still recall the heart-wrenching sound of Charlie’s stifled sobs in the bathroom the night he’d caught Emma kissing Ben in the barn, drunk on champagne at Mum’s fiftieth birthday party. ‘Do I get to meet this amazing woman?’

  He gave an endearingly bashful smile. ‘She’s in England at the moment, selling her house, but will be back for Christmas.’

  ‘She came to Chamillon to look for her birth mother and found she had an aunt. Then she and Charlie fell in love so she’s coming to live with him here.’ Dolly seemed ecstatic to have someone new to impart this information to, and I couldn’t help smiling at the look of mortified delight on Charlie’s face.

  ‘Mum,’ he said, shaking his head as he placed the tray on the table, laughing when I picked up a pain au chocolat and took a giant bite. Bing Crosby was singing ‘Let it Snow’ and although several customers looked baffled, most were jigging their shoulders, getting into the spirit, and my toes itched to join in.

  ‘They’re adorable together,’ Dolly continued, catching Charlie around the waist to give him a squeeze, her head only reaching his chest. Her hair was dark-blonde like his, but with a heavy fringe she’d had for as long as I could remember.

  ‘Can’t wait to see it for myself.’ I picked up my mug to take a long drink of sweet, milky coffee, feeling the warmth spread down inside my chest.

  ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if wedding bells…’ Dolly tactfully caught her bottom lip between her teeth while Charlie sucked in a breath.

  ‘Don’t worry, we’re allowed to talk about weddings,’ I said briskly, but my appetite had dwindled. I put down the half-eaten pastry and almost-empty mug and pinned on a smile. ‘Would you mind if I went upstairs, Dolly? I’m pretty tired.’

  ‘Of course I don’t mind, love.’ She and Charlie exchanged a look. ‘I’ve put you in my old room, if that’s OK.’

  ‘Thank you.’ I gave her a grateful smile. ‘I’ll see myself up, shall I?’

  ‘Erm, hang on a minute.’ Charlie touched my elbow as I bent to scoop up my things.

  ‘What is it?’ Straightening, I caught a glimpse of panic in his eyes. ‘Chuck?’

  ‘It’s nothing, really.’ He scratched his ear, then ruffled his hair – a sure sign it was something. ‘Listen, Nina, I know you’re here to get away from everything, and that you probably don’t want to have to speak to anyone, apart from me and Mum.’

  ‘Spit it out,’ I said, unease swilling in my stomach. ‘What’s going on?’

  Charlie swallowed hard and flicked a glance around the café, as if hoping for a distraction, but the staff appeared to have everything under control. ‘It’s just…’ He pressed his lips together, a plea in his eyes.

  ‘What?’

  Dolly let out an exasperated huff. ‘He’s got a friend staying.’

  I flipped my eyebrows up. ‘What sort of friend?’

  ‘Mum,’ growled Charlie, signalling her with his eyes.

  Dolly ignored him. ‘A male one,’ she said, smoothing the little black apron fastened around her waist. ‘His name’s Ryan.’ She held my gaze, adding, in case I’d failed to understand, ‘He’s a man.’

  Two

  ‘So, this man… he’s here?’ I said, as though Dolly had announced that a serial killer was hiding out upstairs. ‘In your apartment?’

  Charlie nodded, moving aside to let the young waiter deliver mugs of hot chocolate to a table of women, fighting to be heard over the music. ‘He’s an old mate from home,’ he said, and I instantly remembered him mentioning his best friend Ryan, who’d lived on the same street in Buckinghamshire when they were growing up. They used to be in and out of each other’s houses all the time and I’d been vaguely jealous that I didn’t have a best friend like that, because our home in Somerset was quite remote and none of the girls at my school were keen to hang out on a farm. ‘He was supposed to get married this year too—’

  ‘And you thought we’d have something in common?’

  ‘Maybe a bit,’ Charlie said, scrunching his nose. ‘He called off the wedding at his stag do—’

  ‘His stag do?’ I cut in. ‘Wasn’t that a bit late to be having second thoughts?’

  ‘It was… complicated.’ He tugged his earlobe, clearly not comfortable giving away any details. ‘He wanted to do what was best for the children, and—’

  ‘Children?’

  Dolly rested a placatory hand on my arm. ‘Things have been difficult for Ryan and so Charlie invited him over on the spur of the moment.’

  ‘Well, that’s… nice,’ I said, wishing I’d known. I hadn’t envisioned a stranger staying here too, and the last thing I wanted was to make small talk with anyone.

  ‘Ryan wanted some time away too,’ said Charlie, as though reading my thoughts, which were probably plastered all over my face. ‘He’s got a writing deadline to meet, so he’ll be busy with that.’

  ‘I’ll be busy too.’ I thought of my blog, waiting patiently for me to post something on it. ‘We probably won’t even see each other.’

  Dolly, distracted by the young girl Holly asking the man who owned the little black dog if he was older than Father Christmas, discreetly backed away.

  ‘If you do, just don’t ask him any personal questions, will you?’ Charlie sounded anxious. ‘He doesn’t like talking about what happened.’

  ‘You have my word.’ I wouldn’t have any trouble keeping that promise. ‘Obviously, I’ll be polite though,’ I said. ‘And I really appreciate you and Dolly letting me stay.’

  ‘It’s about time. You haven’t been here for ages.’ He bent and grabbed my holdall, testing its weight with a furrowed brow. ‘Is this all you’ve got?’

  ‘I’m travelling light.’ I flung my arms out to demonstrate. ‘I wasn’t planning on attending any functions while I’m here.’

  ‘Just as well,’ he said, with a grin. ‘We’re not exactly known for our state dinners.’ He weighed the bag again. ‘You’ve obviously forgotten our Christmas pressies.’

  I inwardly cringed. I’d decided to skip Christmas shopping this year on the grounds it was too Christmassy. Plus, Mum and Dad never knew what they wanted, and Ben had declared he’d found the woman of his dreams (lovely Lena) and didn’t want anything else, so I’d taken him at his word. ‘They’re very small gifts,’ I said. ‘And I might not have bought them yet.’

  With a knowing smile, he eased my bag over his shoulder and I followed him through the café to a soundtrack of ‘Frosty the Snowman’, pausing on the way to make a fuss of the dog, whose name, the owner informed me, was Hamish.

  ‘Ma femme était ecossaise,’ he s
aid, translating in thickly-accented English as Hamish rolled onto his back so I could tickle his tummy. ‘My wife, she was Scottish.’

  ‘C’est un beau chien,’ I replied, earning an approving nod. My great-grandmother Augustine had been French, and despite growing up in England she’d often lapse into her native language, so Ben and I had picked up the odd word and phrase. ‘Nous avons un mouton appelé Tess.’

  ‘You just told Gérard you have a sheep called Tess,’ Charlie said with a chuckle as I joined him in the kitchen, which smelt overwhelmingly of mince pies – the one pastry item I’d been confident of avoiding in Chamillon.

  ‘No wonder he looked surprised,’ I said. ‘I meant sheepdog, though obviously we have sheep too.’

  ‘I can’t believe Tess is still going strong.’ Charlie raised his eyebrows. ‘Does she still bark to go out, then bark to come straight back in?’

  ‘Yes, but she won’t go out at all now unless Mum joins her.’

  There was an old woman by the central worktop, vigorously dusting the mince pies with icing sugar, which rose in a cloud around her head, giving her a ghostly air. She returned my curious look with a fierce glare.

  ‘Hi, Mathilde,’ said Charlie loudly and with obvious affection. ‘C’est mon cousin, Nina.’ Mathilde’s heavily wrinkled face formed a sinister smile. ‘She’s a bit deaf,’ he added. ‘She and her husband used to own the café and Mathilde still pops in every week to help.’

  I remembered now that Mum had likened Mathilde’s presence at Dolly’s wedding to that of a mafia granny, but said Dolly and Charlie were genuinely fond of her; had both adopted her as a grandmother replacement.

  ‘She doesn’t speak English, right?’

  ‘Right,’ said Charlie, but I got the feeling she’d understood every word as she beadily tracked our progress through the side door leading to the apartment, where I paused to look around. Since my last visit, the walls had been painted white to reflect the light from a narrow window on the landing, where a flurry of snowflakes was whirling past the glass. The sky had darkened and I remembered it was an hour later here than in England, making it late afternoon. ‘I take it Auntie Serena and Uncle Rick are still enjoying farm life?’

  ‘Always,’ I said. ‘I can’t imagine Dad ever retiring, and Mum’s had a new lease of life since opening the farm shop last year.’

  ‘No plans to work there permanently, now you’re living back at home?’

  I angled a disbelieving look at Charlie’s trouser-clad calves as he climbed the stairs. ‘I’m not planning on staying forever, and can you honestly see me as a farmer?’ I didn’t wait for a reply in case he said yes. ‘That’s Ben’s department,’ I said. ‘He’s got the travelling bug out of his system and finally accepted his fate.’

  ‘I bet your dad’s happy about that.’

  ‘Over the moon.’ I was glad we could mention my brother without too much awkwardness. They’d made up before Charlie moved to Chamillon, after Ben begged his forgiveness, though I doubted they’d ever really be close again.

  As Charlie pushed open a door off the landing, I looked past him, reminding myself of the layout. ‘What about you?’ he said. ‘Have you decided what you want to be when you grow up?’

  The tips of my ears grew hot with embarrassment. It was humiliating to be unemployed at my age. My job at the art gallery had ended with my relationship – not that it had been my perfect career choice in the first place. More a case of my boyfriend giving me a job because he didn’t like me working in a pub.

  ‘Almost,’ I said, edging into the bedroom before Charlie’s friend emerged and insisted on introducing himself. ‘I’ve decided to start a travel blog.’

  ‘Sounds very grown-up.’ Charlie switched on the overhead light and placed my holdall on the bed underneath the window, which was covered by a marshmallow duvet. The cover was a lavish colour that made me think of peacock feathers, and matched the curtains at the window.

  I threw my coat over a velvet-padded chair inside the door, admiring the arrangement of the room. Dolly had obviously taken my advice last time, about maintaining a functional and clutter-free space – in her bedroom, at least. ‘I’ve been keeping my options open,’ I said. ‘Using some of the money Gran left me to try and figure out what I might be good at.’

  ‘You didn’t do anything with your introduction to beekeeping then?’

  I tutted, wishing Mum and Dolly didn’t regale each other with every tiny aspect of our lives during their Skype catch-ups. It was obvious that Dolly shared more with Charlie than Mum did with me, but that wasn’t really surprising when they lived and worked together. Until eight months ago, I’d been living in Southampton with Scott – a long way from where I’d grown up. ‘I didn’t hit it off with the bees and got stung,’ I admitted. ‘Though I did end up with a thimble full of honey at the end of the day.’

  ‘I bet that was useful.’

  ‘I had it on a slice of toast.’ I turned from the inky view of the harbour, which was partly obscured by snow, to see that Charlie had thrown himself on the bed, hands laced behind his head. ‘It was delicious.’

  ‘What happened to your dalliance with horse whispering?’ His face was alight with amusement.

  ‘It was equestrian psychology,’ I said, affecting a haughty accent. ‘And it was actually fascinating.’

  ‘Not fascinating enough to make a living at?’

  ‘Jobs like that are thin on the ground.’ I tried not to sound defensive. ‘Plus, I got kicked, which put me off. I had a horse-shoe shaped bruise on my thigh for a fortnight.’

  ‘Ouch!’ Charlie winced. ‘Sounds like fate was trying to tell you something.’

  ‘Well, I listened.’ I perched on the side of the bed and tugged off my boots. ‘No more bees and horses from now on.’

  ‘You’ve still got your diploma in creative problem solving and decision making.’

  I groaned. ‘The worst diploma in the world,’ I said, still mortified that I’d stuck it out, simply because I didn’t know what else to do. I couldn’t take the humiliation of going back home after university, and hung onto my bar job long after my friend Anna had started working for a firm of chartered accountants. ‘I never did anything with it,’ I added, focusing my gaze on the shaggy cream rug by the bed, even though Charlie wasn’t the type to judge. ‘I stayed at the old pub for ages.’

  ‘Which was actually called The Old Pub.’

  I glanced at him and smiled. ‘So unimaginative.’

  ‘And which you transformed and made really popular, if I remember correctly.’

  ‘Bit of a stretch,’ I said, though it was true that the pub, stuffed down a side street in Southampton, close to the university, had been a bit of a dump. But it had paid my half of the rent and bills at the tiny flat I’d shared with Anna, and when I discovered some amazing furniture and old paintings in the pub’s basement and suggested doing the place up, the landlord had given me the go-ahead, figuring he had nothing to lose when business was already bad. It had been the happiest week of my life – especially as it meant I didn’t have to work behind the bar – and business had tripled. ‘I really enjoyed it though.’

  ‘You always liked moving stuff about,’ said Charlie. ‘Remember when you came to stay with us once, and you reorganised Mum’s bedroom?’

  ‘And she went mad with me, because she couldn’t find anything, but then I showed her how I’d arranged everything on those shelves she’d forgotten were there.’

  ‘She said it was unusual for an eleven-year-old to enjoy tidying up.’

  Tidying up. That’s what Scott had called it too, when I’d happily reshuffled the furniture in his townhouse after I moved in, to make the design more appealing. For God’s sake, Nina, stop tidying all the time. You’re like a fifties housewife.

  ‘You probably saved that pub from closing down,’ said Charlie.

  ‘You might be right.’ It was still my proudest moment.

  ‘And then you met Scott.’

  I sighed.
‘And then I met Scott and thought I’d made it,’ I said. ‘Whatever “it” is.’

  ‘Didn’t you like working for him?’

  ‘Maybe, at first.’ I picked the skin around my thumbnail, uncomfortable at revisiting the past. ‘I was never a very good fit for the gallery, though. It was boring a lot of the time, and he wanted me to wear little dresses and be all knowledgeable about art.’

  ‘Pretty important if you’re the face of his gallery, I suppose.’

  I smiled. ‘I suppose it wasn’t an unreasonable request, and I did get quite interested in art. I used to borrow all these books from the library.’ Which Scott had found ‘charmingly old-fashioned’ though I didn’t say that to Charlie.

  ‘I’d never have put you two together,’ he mused, having met Scott once, at my twenty-first birthday party at the farm. ‘He seemed a bit up himself.’

  I gave a wry smile. ‘You know, when he came into the pub with his friends the night we met and asked for my number, I gave him an extra three digits because I thought he was a pretentious tosser, but he rumbled me.’

  ‘I bet he was impressed because you were “different”.’ Charlie made quote marks with his voice. ‘I’ve seen those films.’

  ‘I forgot you like a good romcom.’ I didn’t add that Scott had said meeting me had been like a ‘lightning bolt’. It was the sort of thing he used to say in the early days that made me feel unique, before the novelty began to wear off.

  ‘You were right about him being a tosser.’

  ‘Shame it took me so long to realise.’ My skin burned with shame. ‘He just liked the idea of moulding the little farmer’s daughter into a gallery-owner’s wife.’

  ‘He should have known he was messing with the wrong person.’ Charlie nudged my elbow with his knee. ‘Anyway, you came here,’ he said. ‘That was a wise decision, so your diploma hasn’t been completely wasted.’ I flashed him a grateful smile. ‘So, what’s with this travel blog you mentioned?’

  For some reason, I felt a blush spread across my face. ‘Oh, I… er… I thought that now there’s nothing holding me back, I could do some travelling and post lots of lovely pictures of where I’m staying, the attractions, best places to eat and drink, and offer travel tips,’ I said, fumbling with the words I hadn’t spoken aloud to anyone, wishing I didn’t sound so unconvincing – like an heiress, plotting how to fill her empty days by doing something expensive and superficial.