The Christmas Wish List: The perfect cosy read to settle down with this autumn

by Heidi Swain

  ‘Fingers crossed,’ he said. ‘It might need a bit of tweaking between films but I think it should be OK. Time will tell, I suppose. The electrics on the other hand . . .’

  ‘I’m sure it will all be fine,’ said Dolly, making herself comfortable. ‘And if it isn’t, you’ll soon sort it.’

  Clearly, she had great faith in the skills of the much-loved and most popular handyman in Wynbridge.

  ‘And about what you told me last night, Hattie,’ he said, dropping his voice a little, ‘about your decision not to move . . .’

  Dolly picked up her bag and opened it, ostensibly rifling for something to make it look as though she wasn’t listening.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Well, I just want you to know that I did take it on board, even if it didn’t seem like it.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘I was just shocked,’ he went on, ‘still am, to be honest. Obviously, I don’t know what prompted your change of heart and we’ve never discussed the circumstances surrounding your decision to go in the first place,’ he said, fixing me with a penetrating gaze, ‘but it was a surprise to hear you’d changed your mind.’

  He still hadn’t said whether he was pleased or not. The only emotion he had expressed was shock, but there was a look in his eyes which suggested there was something more going on in his head than feeling surprised.

  ‘Right,’ he said just as Dolly looked up from her bag brandishing a bag of sweets, ‘I better get backstage or whatever it’s called. See you later.’

  ‘There,’ said Dolly, when he was out of earshot, ‘you were worrying over nothing.’

  I don’t know what she’d been listening to but it obviously wasn’t mine and Beamish’s conversation.

  ‘Right as rain,’ she beamed. ‘Do you want a pear drop?’

  The place had filled up in the time it took us to settle, and the noise level of excited chatter had reached fever pitch by the time the vicar stepped up on to the stage to address the audience, thank them all for coming and remind them that the evening was being laid on as a fundraiser for the church roof and that if it was a success, then the council would consider making it a regular event. His words were met with claps and shouts of approval and then the first film began.

  I didn’t pay much attention to Will Ferrell charging around New York saving Christmas so it would have been hard to say if Dolly’s determination to make me fall for all things festive had worked. My mind was fixed firmly on Beamish and the words I would use to explain to him about Jonathan.

  Our strange exchange before the film had left me in no doubt that I had to do it and by the time the curtains had closed and the applause had died down I didn’t want to wait a minute longer. It was now or never.

  ‘Back in a sec,’ I said to Dolly, who was selecting a bar of chocolate from the usherette who had kindly come over to her ahead of the queue which was forming in front of the stage.

  The girl was even prettier close to and her kind-hearted gesture would have made her the perfect match for generous Beamish.

  ‘Where are you off to?’ Dolly frowned, but I didn’t answer.

  I wasn’t going to let anything thwart my resolve to share my secret. There was an hour between the films and I would use that time to come clean and ask if we could start our relationship over again.

  ‘Have you seen Beamish?’ I asked Alison from school, who was waiting in line for the loos.

  ‘He was heading towards the back room a minute ago,’ she said, pointing over her shoulder, ‘muttering something about the electrics in the kitchen. Are you OK? You look a bit flushed.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ I nodded. ‘It’s just a bit warm in here, isn’t it?’

  I slipped into the room she had suggested and could hear someone moving about. I closed the door behind me.

  ‘Is that you, Mike?’ Beamish called.

  ‘No,’ I swallowed, ‘it’s me, Hattie.’

  ‘Even better.’

  I was relieved he thought so.

  ‘Can you give us a hand?’ he asked, sounding agitated. ‘I literally need another hand to see what’s going on with this fuse-box. It’s so damn dark in here.’

  The room was badly lit with just a single dim bulb overhead. I ventured to the back of the room, around the corner and found Beamish precariously balanced in the near dark at the top of a ladder in a sort of cupboard.

  ‘What on earth are you doing up there?’ I gasped.

  ‘What does it look like?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I snapped back, ‘that’s why I asked.’

  ‘It’s where the blasted fuse-box is,’ he said, sounding strained. ‘Something’s blown in the kitchen and I need to see what it is. If that lot out there don’t get their teas and coffees . . .’

  ‘There’ll be a riot.’

  ‘Exactly, so are you going to help or not?’

  ‘I’ll go and find the vicar.’

  ‘No,’ he said, sounding impatient. ‘I don’t need the vicar, I need you.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said, ‘right.’

  ‘You’re lighter than he is.’

  ‘What’s that got to do with the fuse-box?’

  Quite a lot as it turned out. With just the one ladder between us, Beamish thought it would be a good idea for me to climb up ahead of him and he would follow up behind, as it were. My job was to shine the torch at the fuse-box, leaving his hands free to fiddle about with whatever it was that needed his attention. It didn’t sound like the safest of ideas but with the clock ticking I scaled the heights with Beamish hot on my heels.

  ‘Am I squashing you?’ he asked, once we were in position.

  ‘A bit,’ I said, feeling him lean into me. ‘I hope this ladder is safer than it looks.’

  ‘It’s fine,’ he muttered, pressing his body closer.

  ‘Can you see anything?’ I squeaked, trying not to look down for fear of feeling even giddier.

  ‘I think so,’ he said, stretching around me.

  ‘Look,’ I said, even though the timing was ridiculous, ‘I really came to find you because I need to talk to you about something.’

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, shifting a little to give him better access to the box.

  ‘Well do you think you can hang on to it for a bit?’ he groaned, pressing me further into the rungs.

  ‘I suppose so,’ I gasped.

  ‘For pity’s sake, hold the torch higher.’

  I didn’t much care for his tone but stretched as far as I could. He was quiet for a few seconds and I hoped he was working on the problem.

  ‘Hattie,’ he whispered.

  ‘What?’ I gulped. ‘Have you done? I don’t think I can breathe like this for much longer.’

  ‘What’s that on your wrist?’

  ‘Oh,’ I said, jerking my arm back and almost dropping the torch. ‘It’s nothing.’

  Out of all the details I had planned to divulge, my bruises were the one thing, especially given Beamish’s family history, that I was going to keep quiet about.

  ‘It looked like something to me.’

  ‘It’s nothing.’ I said again.

  ‘Look,’ he said, squashing me even flatter as he flicked a switch, ‘I’ve got my hands full right now, but—’

  ‘That you certainly have!’ shouted a voice from below, making us both wobble. ‘What the hell’s going on here, Hattie, Beamish?’

  My heart was suddenly beating a tattoo and I could hear the blood rushing in my ears. It was a wonder I could keep hold of the torch because my palms were covered in sweat. I didn’t need to shine the beam down the ladder to see who was standing at the foot of it.

  ‘I said,’ roared Jonathan’s voice. ‘What the hell’s going on?’

  ‘Good evening, Jonathan,’ said Beamish as he climbed down and Jonathan thankfully took a step back. ‘Hattie has been helping me sort a problem with the fuse-box.’

  My legs had turned to jelly and I had to summon every ounce of courage I had to climb back down the lad
der. I reached out to steady myself grasping Beamish’s arm as my feet touched the ground.

  ‘How do you know his name?’ I stammered, fumbling to turn off the torch. ‘How do you know who he is? How long have you known?’

  I knew I was gabbling, but it was all such a shock. Not just Jonathan turning up when I had finally begun to think that he wouldn’t, but both men casually dropping each other’s names into the conversation as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

  ‘Which one of us are you talking to?’ sneered Jonathan.

  Shakily, I pointed at Beamish.

  ‘I’ve known about Jonathan for a few days,’ he said, ‘courtesy of your Facebook profile. I had been going to send you a friend request, but decided against it when I realised that I didn’t know you after all. You need to check your privacy settings, Hattie,’ he told me, ‘if you don’t want the world knowing your business.’

  I shook my head, still not believing what was happening. His words, and the sad tone in which he delivered them, made my head pound.

  ‘According to your relationship status and timeline pictures,’ he carried on. ‘Jonathan’s been your boyfriend for quite some time.’

  ‘Fiancé now, actually,’ said Jonathan, pulling a ring box out of his coat pocket. ‘I’ve come here tonight to ask you to marry me, Hattie. I know I should have done it earlier but with one thing and another the timing was never quite right.’

  How could he possibly think that the timing, given that I’d already broken up with him, was ever going to be right?

  ‘And how is it, that you know Beamish?’ I asked Jonathan, my eyes darting between the two men who couldn’t have been more different.

  ‘You mentioned him, and his job one day and I tracked him down on the school website,’ said Jonathan, as if it was the sort of thing any rational person would do. ‘Initially I assumed the school caretaker would be some semi-retired grandad, but,’ he added with another menacing sneer as his eyes returned to Beamish, ‘apparently not.’

  ‘Did you know who he was when you turned up here before?’ I demanded, the puzzle pieces finally slipping into place as my brain began to unscramble everything.

  Jonathan didn’t answer, but he didn’t have to. Of course, he had known then. I daresay his internet stalking was the real reason he’d turned up and tried to drag me away.

  ‘Were you with him last weekend?’ Beamish asked, pointing at Jonathan.

  ‘Yes,’ I whispered, feeling ashamed. ‘Yes.’

  ‘And did Dolly know?’

  I nodded, unable to say it out loud.

  ‘Right,’ he said, making for the door. ‘I see.’

  Of course, he didn’t see because I hadn’t had the chance to make him. All he had in plain sight was the man from some staged, sunny online photographs brandishing a ring box and offering me a happy ever after. He had no idea what the sickening truth beneath the glossy veneer was.

  ‘I’ll give the pair of you some privacy then,’ he said huskily.

  ‘No,’ I said, reaching out and grabbing his arm, ‘please don’t go.’

  He looked down at my hand, my jumper had stretched back again and the bruises on my wrist looked even worse now they were lit by the bulb in the ceiling as opposed to the torch. Beamish looked quickly back at Jonathan and narrowed his eyes. I needed to think fast.

  ‘Like I told you yesterday, Jonathan,’ I said firmly, turning to stand between him and Beamish. ‘I’m not moving with you, I don’t want to be in a relationship with you, and I certainly don’t want to be your wife.’

  Jonathan shook his head and raised his eyebrows.

  ‘Oh right,’ he sneered, looking first at Beamish and then at me. ‘I get it. You’ve moved on already.’

  ‘Don’t be so ridiculous,’ I spat. ‘Beamish is just a friend.’

  ‘Oh really.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘a real friend who has shown me what a healthy friendship looks like as opposed to the sick and twisted one that you turned ours and our relationship into.’

  I was saying the words for Beamish’s benefit, not Jonathan’s. I wanted him to know how much I valued the time we had spent together but his stony expression when I glanced back indicated I wasn’t reaching him at all. I couldn’t blame him. Had I just discovered that Beamish had a partner tucked away somewhere, I would have felt deceived too. My reaction to seeing him casually chatting with the usherette was proof enough of that.

  ‘I’ve told you a hundred times that things will be different when we’ve moved,’ Jonathan carried on. ‘I admit I’ve been stressed, trying to organise everything—’

  ‘And that warrants resorting to physical violence, does it?’ growled Beamish.

  The last thing I wanted was for them to start fighting. This was way beyond a Daniel Cleaver and Mark Darcy, Bridget Jones style scrap now.

  ‘You think that using aggression will make for a happy marriage, do you?’ Beamish carried on, his voice becoming louder with every word.

  I knew that he had painful first-hand knowledge that it certainly wouldn’t and that at any moment the situation could escalate out of all control.

  ‘It really doesn’t matter how you would answer that Jonathan,’ I jumped in, ‘because I know now that your treachery runs far deeper than any mark you could have left on me with your fists.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ he scowled.

  ‘I know how you manipulated my relationship with my parents,’ I said, lifting my chin in defiance. It felt easier to stand up to him with Beamish behind me. ‘I shared my deepest secrets with you and you used them to get what you wanted. To pull me and my family apart.’

  Jonathan shook his head and slipped the ring box back into his pocket.

  ‘How is that love, Jonathan?’ I sobbed. ‘How can you possibly think that the lies you’ve told can have anything to do with love?’

  He shrugged, his shoulders dropping a little and I hoped that meant my words were finally making an impact.

  ‘You do understand now why I’m not coming with you, don’t you?’ I carried on. ‘Surely, you can see that what you did was unforgivable?’

  I held my breath, waiting for his answer.

  ‘Are you really telling me,’ he said, ‘that you can’t see beyond all that? That you can’t appreciate how much better off you’d be without parents like yours?’

  I shook my head. He was completely unhinged. I felt Beamish bristle behind me.

  ‘Would you really rather stay in this crappy backwater, with the likes of him, than move with me to a life of five-star luxury where you’d never have to lift a finger or work another day in your life?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said resolutely, ‘yes, I would. And I’ll tell you why, Jonathan. Because, I don’t want five-star luxury and I certainly don’t want to give up my parents or my work, especially as I’ve only just decided what I want my next job to be.’

  It was too much for him to bear and without warning he sprang forward and tried to catch my wrist again, but Beamish was too quick for him. Within a blink he had Jonathan pinned against the wall with his arm twisted behind his back.

  ‘Jesus,’ Jonathan groaned, crying out in pain as Beamish squeezed his arm harder. ‘I could have you for assault!’

  ‘And I could have you charged with that too, couldn’t I?’ I breathlessly reminded him. ‘And much more besides.’

  ‘I’m going to see you off the premises now,’ Beamish said quietly. ‘With no drama or fuss.’

  His calm demeanour was far more powerful than any punch he could have thrown.

  ‘And you’re going to promise me that I won’t see you in Wynbridge ever again, aren’t you?’ he added.

  ‘You know what,’ said Jonathan trying to push Beamish off, but failing. ‘I wouldn’t be seen dead in this dump and I’m beginning to think I’ve had a lucky escape. You’re welcome to her, mate.’

  ‘I’m not your mate.’

  The look Beamish gave me as he spun Jonathan out of the room suggested t
hat he didn’t want me either. I might have finally been rid of Jonathan, but his eradication from my life had come at the highest possible price.

  I gave it a minute before going back into the hall. There had been no shouting so I guessed Jonathan had gone quietly, but Beamish hadn’t come back to find me.

  ‘There was a guy looking for you in the interval,’ whispered the usherette who was now standing behind the audience. ‘Really good looking.’ She grinned, blinking her long dark lashes. ‘Did he find you?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘he found me.’

  ‘Is he a friend of yours?’

  ‘No,’ I said, ducking back to my seat, ‘absolutely not.’

  ‘Shame,’ she laughed. ‘I wouldn’t have minded his number.’

  ‘Where’s Dolly?’ I asked Jemma, who was now sitting in the row behind where I had left my friend.

  ‘Alison has taken her home,’ Jemma said, a deep frown knitting her brows as she leant forward to explain and the couple behind her grumbled about not being able to see. ‘Dolly said she wasn’t feeling well and that she didn’t know where you’d gone, so Alison took her back to the cottage.’

  I hadn’t thought the evening could get any worse, but losing Beamish and my confrontation with Jonathan turned out to be just the tip of a very catastrophic iceberg.

  Chapter 25

  I grabbed my coat, told Jemma and her husband Tom to make use of the empty front row seats if they wanted them and rushed out, through the town and back to the cottage. My breath was sharp in my chest by the time I turned down Dolly’s road and saw a car I didn’t recognise parked up outside. The ‘doctor on call’ card displayed on the windscreen confirmed what Jemma had said, but Dolly had been fine when I left her to find Beamish. What on earth could have happened?

  As I pushed open the gate, the front door swung open.

  ‘I’ll be as quick as I can,’ I heard Alison say as she appeared in the pool of escaped light from inside, stuffing her arms into her coat.

  A man’s voice drifted out after her, but I didn’t hear what he said.

  ‘Alison!’ I shouted, ‘what’s happened?’

  She pulled the door shut behind her and rushed to meet me on the path.

  ‘I was just coming to look for you,’ she frowned. ‘There’s something the matter with Dolly, but I don’t know what. She said she felt ill and asked me to bring her home and call the doctor. Now she’s saying she has to speak to you before anyone else. It’s all a bit of a mystery.’