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

by Karen Clarke

  Where was Charlie, anyway?

  Deciding to send him a quick text, in case Dolly hadn’t had a chance to let him know she’d gone home and left me (me!) in charge, I patted my trousers for my phone, before remembering it was charging upstairs in my room.

  There was no time to go and get it, so I whipped the tray of almond croissants through to the café, relieved to see that Stefan and Celeste had the queue under control – even Tattoo-Neck had found a table in the corner – and managed to lay out the pastries without too much incident (I dropped one on the floor and Stefan trod on it).

  I returned to the kitchen to get a fresh cloth to see Ryan by the fridge and this time, instead of screaming, I said, ‘Thank God you’re here.’

  Nineteen

  ‘Four words I never expected to hear from you.’ There was a mildly sardonic edge to Ryan’s voice, and I wondered if he was recalling my hasty departure from the living room the night before.

  ‘It’s all gone to hell,’ I said, restraint dissolving in a sea of panic. ‘I’m completely out of my depth.’

  He scanned my workman-like outfit. ‘Charlie told me that Dolly’s gone home to look after Frank and that you’re in charge.’

  ‘You’ve spoken to Charlie?’ My voice leapt up an octave. ‘When? What did he say?’

  He looked taken aback by my fractious questions. ‘I just got a message to say his car’s broken down and he can’t get back for a while.’

  ‘You’re kidding.’

  ‘Nope.’ He shook his head. ‘He asked if I’d come down and help you out.’

  I spun round, a hand clasped to my mouth, aware I was reacting as though the end of the world had been announced. ‘I told Dolly she should go home.’

  ‘That’s… thoughtful of you?’ He seemed puzzled by my tone.

  ‘She’s not well and I thought Charlie would be back by now.’ I rounded on him. ‘I didn’t know he’d gone out in the car. He told me he rarely drives these days.’

  ‘I’m just the messenger,’ said Ryan, holding up his hands. ‘Listen, I’m more than happy to help out, but I’ve never worked in a café.’

  ‘Me neither.’

  ‘Celeste and Stefan are here, though?’

  ‘Celeste’s going soon, she’s having her plait dyed, and Stefan’s brother usually does the tables and dishwasher, but he’s got this virus too.’

  ‘OK.’ Ryan took on the barrage of information and braced his shoulders. ‘Good job I didn’t keep my dressing gown on,’ he said, tugging the front of his ‘country-singer’ shirt.

  ‘That’s not the most pressing issue right now.’

  ‘It’s fine, we’ll manage.’ He gave a firm nod. ‘I used to work in a bar,’ he said. ‘It was a long time ago, but they did have a coffee machine, and Dolly gave me a lesson the other morning.’

  ‘You too?’ I shook my head. ‘She’s obsessed with that thing.’

  ‘Just as well, eh?’

  ‘Not really,’ I said. ‘It took me about an hour to produce one teeny espresso.’

  ‘Maybe leave that to me, then.’ He rolled up his shirtsleeves, and I suddenly wanted to hug him, past caring about his complicated personal life. I was just glad to have some help.

  The look of relief when Ryan rounded the counter was evident in Stefan’s smile. Determined to show I could be perfectly calm and capable of doing something I was good at, I set about tidying tables and straightening chairs, and even swept the floor while Ryan made a pretty good job of dishing out drinks under Stefan’s supervision. He looked quite at home behind the counter and I could see he’d attracted interest from most of the female customers – there was a lot of bright, flirty laughter going on – and one man, who kept adjusting his cycle helmet on the table as if to attract his attention.

  Celeste came through for her coat and bag while I was loading the dishwasher for the second time. ‘You will need to make muffins from freezer into oven, for ladies with needles,’ she said, which sounded like a riddle until I realised she was talking about Dolly’s knitting group. ‘I put oven to correct heat.’

  ‘Thanks, Celeste.’

  This time, I managed to produce something that looked edible, without setting the kitchen alight, and left the cranberry muffins cooling on the side as I went out to check whether the ladies had arrived. I was sure they’d be disappointed that Dolly wasn’t here, but would do my best to make them feel welcome.

  I made some quick adjustments to the Christmas tree – a few of the decorations had been taken off and clumped together on one branch – and stood by the door for a moment to catch my breath, willing Charlie to return. My arms felt stiff from transporting heavy trays, my cheeks ached from constantly smiling and my temples throbbed with the effort of making myself understood. I’d caused some hilarity after mispronouncing oignon when recommending Dolly’s onion soup.

  ‘You say “fingernail”,’ Stefan explained, when I asked what they were laughing at. He stuck out his fingers, which were long, like a pianist’s, and pointed at his neatly-trimmed nails. ‘Ongle.’

  ‘It’s an easy mistake,’ said Ryan, dusting a cup of hot chocolate with cocoa powder like a professional. ‘Someone asked what I did for a living, and I told them I was a novel.’ I gave a splutter of laughter. ‘I thought roman meant novelist.’ He smiled. ‘Serves me right for showing off.’

  ‘Sometimes, I say Russian words wrong, but my Spanish, it is very good.’ Stefan sounded proud.

  ‘You’re wasted here,’ I said.

  ‘One day, I will be translator for United Nations.’

  ‘Talk about aiming high,’ said Ryan, but I could see he was as impressed as I was. ‘In the meantime, could you show me again how to work the grinder thingie?’

  I grinned as I turned away, glad I wasn’t the only one who couldn’t remember all the technical terms – or any of them.

  The knitting group ladies were a surprisingly rowdy bunch, who immediately commandeered several tables, where they shook off their coats and unloaded their various works-in-progress, creating a woolly blanket of colour in various shades and degrees of ability. Dolly’s absence was greeted with sorry murmurs and sympathetic headshakes, but no one seemed to expect me to sit and chat, so I placed their coffee orders with Stefan and Ryan and returned to the kitchen to fetch the muffins.

  For a moment, I couldn’t work out what I was seeing. Or rather, not seeing. Where the muffins had been cooling, there was just an empty cooling rack and a scattering of crumbs trailing from the worktop to the floor. I rushed over to look more closely, as if they might just have shrunk, and almost fell over a guilty-looking canine by the oven.

  ‘Hamish!’ He lowered his head, unable to meet my eye. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Glad it’s not just me, getting the catchphrase,’ Ryan said behind me. ‘Gérard just came in. He said Hamish had made a dash round the side of the building, and he couldn’t catch him.’

  ‘He must have smelt my muffins.’

  Ryan’s eyebrows flew up, then he followed my gaze and understanding dawned. ‘Oh crap.’

  ‘He’s eaten the lot,’ I said. ‘Hamish, not Gérard.’

  ‘How did he get in?’

  ‘I forgot to close the back door when I burnt the croissants.’ I was starting to feel a bit weepy. As if sensing my mood, Hamish shuffled over and nudged my hand with his damp nose. ‘Don’t you dare be cute,’ I said. ‘Those treats weren’t for you.’

  ‘Could you whip up some more?’ Ryan looked at the crumbs as if wondering whether it was possible to fashion them into a new batch.

  ‘Whip up some more?’ I gave him a withering look. ‘Those weren’t mine, they were Dolly’s. I’ve never made muffins in my life, I wouldn’t know how,’ I said. ‘I can barely boil an egg.’

  ‘You could follow a recipe, I suppose.’

  ‘Why don’t you follow a recipe?’

  ‘I wouldn’t want to embarrass you with how good I am at baking.’

  ‘Very funny.’ I looked at him.
‘Are you?’

  He nodded. ‘I like making cakes.’

  ‘Well, we don’t have time.’ It was almost a wail. ‘The knitters will have to make do with something else.’

  As I turned to leave, there was a dreadful retching noise and Hamish regurgitated the muffins all over Ryan’s shoes.

  ‘Oh God.’ I clapped a hand to my mouth.

  Ryan’s expression of friendly amusement changed to queasy horror. ‘That’s…’ He stared at the colourful mess. ‘That’s disgusting.’ Hamish whined an apology, then scampered out of the kitchen, presumably in search of Gérard. ‘What now?’

  I had an urge to giggle at his look of stunned incomprehension. ‘You’d better clean up,’ I said. ‘I’ve got hungry ladies to feed.’

  By closing time, I was ready to collapse. There’d been a rush on Dolly’s soup, and I’d had to heat another panful – thankfully, there was plenty in the freezer – and I’d burnt my arm pulling baguettes from the oven. My feet and back ached, and I never wanted to see another dirty plate as long as I lived.

  Managing a café wasn’t in my blood, however lovely the location and the customers. And most of them were. Even Tattoo-Neck had nodded a polite goodbye as he left, and no longer looked as if he wanted me sacked, and the knitting ladies had been happy with Mathilde’s strawberry and pistachio macarons, which she’d made the day before.

  Ryan had returned in cleaned-up shoes, looking a bit peaky, and I’d felt a twinge of guilt that he’d uncomplainingly cleared up Hamish’s mess when it had only happened because I’d left the door open. Hamish, none the worse for wear, had snoozed at Gérard’s feet, unaware of the chaos he’d created.

  ‘Gérard said thank you for yesterday,’ I said to Ryan, as the old man left to join Jacqueline and Holly outside, realising I’d missed an opportunity to give him back the letters, I’d been so preoccupied. ‘Apparently, Jacqueline was a bit confused when he told her you’d been discussing your lip with him.’

  ‘My lip?’

  ‘I thought I’d said book… livre, but it must have got lost in translation.’

  Ryan shook his head smilingly. ‘I suppose he had other things on his mind.’

  Once we’d seen Stefan out and locked up, I checked the kitchen was clean and tidy and Ryan checked his phone.

  ‘Charlie’s going straight to Dolly and Frank’s,’ he said, a crease between his eyebrows. ‘Apparently, she thinks she’s coming down with whatever Frank’s got, so he’s going to check on them.’

  A surge of worry tightened my stomach. ‘Maybe I should go too. She won’t be able to cope if they’re both ill.’

  ‘Charlie says they’re probably infectious and we’re to stay here, just in case.’

  ‘He really said that?’

  Ryan held out his phone and I read

  They’re probably infectious so stay there, just in case.

  I tutted. ‘What about Charlie? If he comes down with it too, we’ll be left holding the fort and I’m really rubbish at it.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know.’ Ryan checked the back door was locked and switched off the lights, and as we made our way upstairs I had that strange feeling again, of us being a couple on our way home. ‘I think between us, we did OK.’

  ‘Don’t you think it’s a bit strange?’ I said, once we were seated in front of the fire with plates of chicken chasseur and mashed potatoes, which Ryan had rustled up (as well as lighting the fire), while I took another long shower and got into a pair of leopard-print pyjamas.

  ‘Strange?’ Ryan poured us a glass of wine each, from a bottle of Sauvignon blanc that Dolly had helpfully labelled ‘needs drinking ASAP!!’ before sitting once more at the opposite end of the sofa. ‘I hope you don’t mean my food. I put it in the slow cooker this morning,’ he said. ‘Dolly’s idea, so don’t blame me if it’s awful.’

  ‘It smells great.’ I took a mouthful, savouring the taste. ‘No,’ I said when I’d swallowed. ‘I mean, it’s strange that Dolly and Frank both fall ill when they were fine a couple of nights ago, and Charlie has to rush off and look after them, leaving us alone.’

  Ryan nodded as he ate, balancing his plate on the arm of the sofa. ‘It does seem like another coincidence, now that you mention it,’ he said. ‘But there has been a virus going around.’

  ‘Who told you that?’

  His brow furrowed. ‘Actually, it might have been Dolly.’

  ‘There you go.’

  ‘You did say Dolly looked feverish, though.’

  That was true, she had. And she never took time off work.

  ‘Ignore me,’ I said, concentrating on piling chicken on the end of my fork. ‘My imagination’s working overtime.’

  ‘Mine too, thank goodness.’ It took me a second to realise that Ryan was talking about his book.

  ‘How’s it going?’ I said, taking a few sips of wine. It was cool and grapey and went well with the chicken, so I drank some more. ‘The book, I mean.’

  ‘It’s… flowing.’ He sounded cagey. ‘Like I said—’

  ‘You don’t like talking about the book,’ I chorused. ‘I just meant, generally. I thought you might have stayed up for a while last night, writing.’ After the phone call from Nicole, I didn’t add, not wanting to sound as if I was digging for information.

  ‘I did,’ he admitted, his gaze fixed on his plate, and I knew he was remembering the phone call too, followed by my swift exit.

  ‘How did you come up with the idea for Grace Benedict?’ I asked quickly.

  He took a slug of wine, as if he needed fortifying before answering, and I guessed he must get asked that question all the time. ‘I don’t really know is the boring answer,’ he said. ‘It was going to be a male detective, but then her voice just came to me with this strong Irish accent, and there she was.’

  ‘It must have been amazing to get a book deal.’ It was nice to chat – as long as we stayed away from anything inflammatory, like relationships.

  An involuntary smile crossed Ryan’s face. ‘It was pretty good,’ he said. ‘I celebrated with a glass of whisky and a bit of twerking.’

  I almost choked on my chicken. ‘That’s something I hope never to see.’

  ‘Your loss.’ He put down his now-empty plate and picked up his wine glass again, hoisting one foot on the other thigh and massaging it through his sock. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever spent so long on my feet in one stretch as I have today.’

  ‘I’m not going to massage it for you, if that’s what you’re hinting at.’

  ‘Again, your loss.’

  I grinned and fell silent while I finished eating and Ryan poured us some more wine. ‘That was delicious,’ I said, sitting back and curling my legs beneath me. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘My pleasure.’ He sat back and gave me a speculative look. ‘So, tell me,’ he said. ‘What sort of wedding were you going to have?’

  Twenty

  I almost gasped at the unexpectedness of Ryan’s question. ‘I thought we weren’t talking about our pasts.’

  ‘I’ve told you plenty about mine, and I’m curious,’ he said. There was a looseness to his posture and limbs that I guessed was down to the food and wine. Mostly the wine. ‘Was it going to be a big do?’ He twirled a hand. ‘Cathedral, stately home, honeymoon in Guatemala?’

  ‘It wasn’t going to be Lady Gaga at Wembley Stadium big, just medium-sized, I suppose, and not in a cathedral, just an ordinary church, where… where my gran and grandad got married.’ I paused. ‘On the same date, actually, the twenty-first of December.’

  He narrowed his eyes. ‘That’s tomorrow.’

  I nodded and swallowed some wine to wash away the feeling that something had lodged in my throat. ‘And not Guatemala, or anywhere exotic like that. Tromsø in Norway, actually, to see the Northern Lights.’ I fixed my eyes on the flames dancing in the fireplace. ‘It was something my gran had always wanted to see, but never got around to.’

  ‘So, you were going on her behalf.’

  His gentle tone made
my eyes prickle. ‘I’d have been happy for her to come with us, but she had terminal cancer, so…’ My voice trailed off and I twisted a tuft of hair around my finger – a habit I’d got out of since having it cut.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Ryan shifted so he was facing me. ‘You were obviously very close.’

  I nodded, not trusting myself to speak for a moment. ‘She was only hanging on to see me get married in that church.’ I swallowed. ‘And to hear about the honeymoon and see the pictures,’ I added. ‘I promised to take loads of photos and have them printed out for her. She was old-school like that, liked proper photographs in albums.’ I felt the weight of Ryan’s gaze, but couldn’t look at him. ‘She died a week after I called off the wedding.’

  He was silent for a moment. ‘And you blame yourself?’

  ‘I knew it would have happened anyway, of course I did, but I’d so wanted to give her that one thing,’ I jabbed my thigh with my finger. ‘The thing she’d been looking forward to the most.’

  ‘I’m sure she understood.’

  ‘She said perhaps it was meant to be, but it was the sort of thing she’d say to make me feel better.’

  He flashed me a look. ‘That’s the guilt talking,’ he said. ‘But you’ve nothing to feel guilty about.’

  ‘It sounds like you’ve been carrying some guilt of your own, about Lulu and Jackson.’

  ‘But we’re not talking about me,’ he said gently. ‘Why did you call off your wedding, anyway?’

  ‘Oldest story in the book.’ I snapped out a laugh. ‘He was seeing someone else, and by seeing, I mean sleeping with. Or rather, not sleeping.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said again, and I had to look away from the intensity in his eyes. ‘That must have been awful for you.’

  ‘It wasn’t great.’

  ‘And you didn’t know?’

  I took a shaky breath. Where was the harm in saying it? It wasn’t as if he was in any position to judge me. ‘Actually, I knew he’d been seeing her before, but he promised it was over and asked me to marry him.’ I glanced at the space on my finger where, for a short time, I’d worn an expensive ring embedded with diamonds. To match your eyes, Scott had said, and even as I’d exclaimed, I’d thought, how corny is that?