A Novel Christmas

by Lynsey M. Stewart

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Your muse,’ she replied.

  I sighed, knowing she’d figured me out.

  ‘His name is Drew. He owns the place where I’m staying.’

  ‘A new book and a new love. What a magical place!’

  ‘A new book maybe, but not love.’

  I told her Drew’s story, the backwards and forwards, the hot and cold, the reasons why he was cautious and didn’t want to take a chance. She stayed quiet, nodding and frowning when she needed to, smiling when I told her how handsome, kind, and caring he was. Amazing. Frustrating.

  ‘Oh, poor man. What he’s been through,’ Mum said, ‘I can’t imagine, and with all the other things to think about too. Running that kind of business isn’t easy.’

  ‘I think he’s making progress. I’ve noticed that he’s been up at the barn a lot during the day. I can see the lights through the atrium and he brings bags of stuff back on the golf cart. He was there until well after midnight last night.’ I decided to leave him to it. I wasn’t sure if he was clearing the place, cleaning it or just needed some space to work out what he was going to do next. He always took Archie with him and that reassured me that at least he had some company.

  ‘As a mum who loves and misses her daughter. Can I ask you something?’

  ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘Everything you’ve told me is all about Drew and how he’s feeling or how cautious he is, but what about you, darling? How will you feel about leaving him?’

  I hadn’t let myself think about that yet. I knew if I did I would lose a little of myself again. The words would vanish, the ink would dry and the inspiration would be left here, swirling around on the beaches of Cornwall, carried away on the waves. An image of Drew flashed in my mind, looking a little lost, a lot lonely and all I could think about were the words missed opportunity and how desperately crushed those words made me feel.

  ‘Missed opportunity,’ I said softly, not realising I was saying the words out loud.

  ‘Oh, sweetheart. We can live with facts and figures and reasons and justifications for not going ahead with something or trying to make things work, but missed opportunities? They’re what drive you a little insane.’

  ‘I don’t know, Mum.’ My voice was shaky and that stab of upset I was holding onto was now getting fiercer. ‘Maybe he’s right. I’m leaving soon. What kind of a future would we have anyway?’

  ‘Who’s talking futures? I’m talking about a little Christmas cheer,’ she replied, smiling, and I wanted to hug her so much.

  ‘There isn’t much Christmas cheer at Karensa. Look at this.’ I turned my phone to the sad little Christmas tree on my desk. ‘That’s the most Christmassy we’ll get around here.’

  ‘That isn’t a Christmas tree, that’s a disaster. Surely the island sells real trees, if not, go and hack one down yourself. Rural living and all that.’

  ‘I’ll ask Brian,’ I replied.

  ‘Who the heck is Brian? Another muse? Is it going to be a ménage à trois?’

  ‘He’s the local farmer and he’s probably older than dad!’ I said, laughing.

  ‘Oh. Right. Definitely not an appropriate muse. Listen, I need to go. I’ve booked a spa treatment and we’re having dinner with the Captain. It’s all very glamorous and I need to shave my legs. I hate to think of you miserable, Cal. It’s a very different Christmas for you this year. Why don’t you invite Drew over for Christmas dinner? It doesn’t even have to be turkey and all the trimmings. Do something different, create a new tradition. Curry on Christmas Day or a nice Shepherd’s pie. Just promise me you won’t be alone.’

  ‘I won’t, Mum. I’ll have my laptop and my characters and hopefully, they’ll still be talking to me by then.’

  ‘Cal. Stop being stubborn. Invite the man for dinner.’

  ‘Listen to your mother,’ my dad said from over her shoulder. ‘Love you and miss you.’

  ‘Love you too,’ I repeated.

  Miss you so much.

  I worked for a couple more hours before realising I’d missed lunch. Stomach growls had become my time marker, almost like a writer’s sundial. The kitchen cupboard no longer contained Brian’s cookies and that wouldn’t do, so I grabbed my coat, hat and gloves, and started walking to the farm shop, intent on getting more writing fuel.

  On the way, I saw the convenience store on the other side of the road and decided anything would be convenient at this moment, including chocolate, biscuits and crisps. The sign in red letters said ‘Brian’s’. Of course it did—the guy runs the island. I was half expecting him to turn up on Christmas Eve dressed as Santa and delivering a parcel.

  ‘My, my, look at this vision,’ Brian said as I opened the door.

  ‘Anything else you do on the island, Brian? Perhaps run the local pub in your spare time? Clean the B&Bs as a side job?’

  He chuckled, ‘I’ve been known to!’

  ‘I wish I had your energy. What’s your secret?’ I asked.

  ‘The love of a good woman,’ he said tapping his nose.

  ‘Aww, Brian! I’d love to meet your wife. I bet she’s just as busy as you are, if not more.’

  ‘She’s currently helping to impregnate a pig.’ He chuckled as I grimaced. ‘Don’t ask.’

  ‘You sound…well-suited.’

  ‘She’s the light of my life. Fifty years and still going strong!’

  ‘That’s beautiful. Look how giddy you are when talking about her.’ He was practically bursting, and I was about to ask him more when I spotted my books on a table in the corner. A makeshift sign said ‘Famous local author. £20 a book. Sexy stories bound to get you going.’

  ‘What the ever-loving fudge?’

  ‘Ah, you’ve spotted my homage!’

  ‘Brian, I’m not famous and I’m certainly not local.’

  ‘You are at the moment. Staying up the road. Local.’

  ‘Where did you get them from?’ I asked, bewildered.

  ‘Amazon. I’m with it, Cal. Just because we’re out in the sticks doesn’t mean I’m not using technology,’ he replied. ‘Would you care to sign them, lovely? I can bump the price up to twenty-five quid.’

  ‘I’m not sure you’ll get many customers,’ I replied, rolling my eyes.

  ‘My daughter was the first. Isn’t that right, Heather?’

  I turned to find Brian’s daughter, Drew’s disastrous date standing next to the cash register. She was wearing a leather apron, there was a knife sticking out the pocket and as she held out her hand and smiled at me, she was missing a front tooth. You really couldn’t make it up. This book was writing itself.

  ‘Nice to meet you, Heather. I’m Cal.’

  ‘I know,’ she said, quietly. ‘I love your books. I’ve just started the third one.’

  ‘Thank you. I’m so glad you like them. Have you bought them from your dad?’ I asked and she nodded shyly. ‘If I’d have known, I would have given you copies myself. Between you and me,’ I said, my hand shielding my mouth, ‘he’s bumped up the prices considerably.’

  ‘I know,’ she giggled. ‘I don’t mind.’ She was a quiet woman and I guessed that she appeared much younger than her years. I wondered if she was the same age as me or slightly younger.

  ‘Would you like me to sign it?’

  She nodded before disappearing into the back of the shop. Brian came up behind me and was already filling a basket with goodies. ‘I’ve got a stash of those cookies you like in the back. Don’t tell anyone I have them. They’re supposed to be exclusive to the farm shop.’

  ‘My lips are sealed,’ I replied as Heather returned, holding out a book and a pen in front of me. ‘What did you enjoy most about the book?’

  She thought for a second before replying. ‘It made me hopeful.’

  My breath caught and my heart shuddered and I remembered why I loved writing so much. Books could take you on a journey, a different destination for each reader. ‘Go on.’

  ‘Hopeful for love. There’s someone out there for e
veryone. For me,’ she replied. ‘Love can happen to anyone.’

  ‘Haven’t you found the one?’ I asked, my heart flipping.

  ‘Not yet. But I will, just like your characters.’

  I watched Brian smiling at his daughter, so proud and unwavering in showing his love for her. I imagined him holding her in his arms for the first time, bursting with adoration as she took her first steps, beaming as she kissed him goodnight and told him she loved him. I took the lid off the pen and started to write, her words echoing around me, thoughts of her disastrous date with Drew, her timid ways and young years.

  I handed the book back to her and she read my dedication.

  ‘To Heather, You are already loved. Best wishes. Cal.’

  Her head popped up, wide-eyed and innocent, but most of all confused.

  ‘Look at that man over there.’ She turned to Brian who waved back at her. ‘See how much he loves you. That smile…wow.’ She giggled and dropped her eyes. ‘You already have a wonderful kind of love. Unconditional and strong. Until the one comes along, embrace this kind of love.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she replied, clutching the book to her stomach and returning to the back of the shop.

  ‘You’ve made her happy,’ Brian said as he passed me two bags of shopping. I had no idea what they contained. Russian roulette of shopping.

  ‘No. You’ve done that,’ I replied, kissing him on the cheek.

  ‘Anything else you need?’

  ‘Yes, actually. A Christmas tree. A real one.’

  ‘Oh, really. Sorry, I don’t keep them in stock,’ he chuckled.

  ‘Where can I get one? One that’s big and says Christmas is here!’

  ‘Hasn’t Drew made it very Christmassy for you?’ he asked. ‘I’ll have to have a word.’

  ‘He left a tiny little tree on my desk, which was lovely but not really cutting it.’ I flopped across the counter. ‘I’m homesick, Brian. I need a strapping tree with a gold star and flashing lights. I want to feel like it’s Christmas. I want carols and brass bands…snow and mulled wine. Christmas cake, even though it’s vile, and dried figs, they’re even worse, but it’s Christmas and I have to have them!’

  He folded his arms and smiled. ‘Leave it with me, lovely.’

  Chapter 18

  Drew

  ‘Happy Christmas!’ I sang, holding up a Christmas tree. It has to be real, Brian said, and strapping with a star and lights. I rooted around in the cupboards back at the barn and found some old decorations. I went to the farm shop to get a bottle of Brian’s best mulled wine and some spiced cookies. He handed me a packet of dried figs and a Christmas cake. I tried to argue that, yes, everyone had them at Christmas, but who actually ate them because they’re fucking vile. He’d told me to shut up and take them, and then added that Cal was feeling homesick, not at all Christmassy, and a real tree was going to be the key to her happiness. I wanted to make her happy. It was important to me that she was happy. I didn’t know why. I couldn’t fathom the feeling, didn’t want to get trapped in the quicksand of what that meant. It just was.

  ‘Oh, my goodness! That’s amazing!’ she squealed, clapping her hands and jumping up and down. ‘A real tree! Just like home! Thank you!’ It was like a balm to my soul seeing her like that—childlike, a huge smile, perfect. Bringing her a Christmas tree and planning the most Christmassy day in the history of Christmases was the least I could do after she essentially helped me clear the remnants of my wedding a year after the non-event. She was selfless like that. Always looking after others. Making sure everyone else was sorted and OK. Too good for me. ‘Come in!’ she said, stepping to the side and waggling her hands like that was going to get me through the door faster. ‘How did you know?’ she asked before recognition streaked her face. ‘Sneaky Brian!’

  ‘He may have contacted me,’ I replied, but I didn’t want to say anymore. I didn’t want Brian to take the credit. I wanted that smile to be because of me. I’d kicked myself because I didn’t know how homesick she was, I didn’t pick up on her unhappiness. I must have a flawed detector for these things. Why didn’t I know? I knew the answer, really. I was keeping my distance, busying myself purposefully to stay away from her. Avoiding temptation. Protecting myself. Hiding my heart.

  ‘Where is it going to go? It’s huge!’ she said, still delirious with happiness. I almost made a quip, a sarcastic comment, a deadpan delivery. Normally those defences came out immediately. That’s what they all say. Said the actress to the bishop. I’m sure we can squeeze it in. But this moment deserved more than that. It deserved to be recognised and accepted for what it was. Raw honesty. She was missing her family and therefore, I needed to bring Christmas to her and make it fucking spectacular in the process.

  ‘I think it will look great in that corner,’ I said, watching that smile, that electric smile.

  ‘That’s what I was thinking!’

  ‘If you go to the front door, I’ve left a bucket and some soil, could you bring them in?’ She practically ran. I was trying to ignore that she was wearing an oversized cream polo neck that swamped her but made her look all elfin and cute. Accompanying that was a pair of little cotton shorts with knee-high socks to cap off the let’s-torture-Drew-with-my-gorgeous-body look. While I was waiting, I hatched a plan to avoid all eye contact and focus on the tree.

  ‘Hold on,’ she said heaving the bucket down, essentially squatting. Sexy fucking squatting in those little cotton shorts, showcasing the curve of deliciousness otherwise known as her arse. Avoiding all eye contact wasn’t working. My cock was taking an interest too and that was alarming because there were times around Cal when it had a mind of its own, and because she was still squatting and I was hovering above her, I decided I didn’t need an erection-in-Cal’s-face situation.

  ‘I can do that,’ I said quickly, pulling her up and eliminating the problem, except now I was staring into her perfect face and all that was doing was having the same effect on my cock. ‘It’s heavy and squatting hurts. Pulls muscles, that type of thing.’

  ‘Are you OK?’ she asked, narrowing her eyes.

  ‘Never better,’ I huffed as I picked up the tree and placed it in the bucket.

  ‘Where did you get the decorations from?’ she asked, pulling out tinsel and beads.

  ‘From the barn. I’ve been up there quite a bit, doing some sorting.’

  ‘Great. Meghan’s castoffs. How Christmassy,’ she smirked.

  ‘Not Meghan’s. They were used to decorate the tree in reception,’ I said swatting her leg, which didn’t help at all because it was on the sweet section of bare fucking skin between the little shorts and knee-high socks.

  ‘I’m glad to hear you’re spending time up there. Have you made any progress?’ she asked.

  ‘Actually, yes. I’ve updated the website and I’m going to put out an advert for a wedding planner.’

  ‘That’s so exciting!’ she said, genuine happiness spreading across her face. See? Totally selfless. I’d spent the last couple of days telling her I wasn’t interested in anything more than friendship and the nights staring at the ceiling telling myself what a lying dick I was.

  I was interested and it was killing me.

  ‘Probably won’t get any response until after Christmas, but it’s a start. All because of you. If I haven’t said it before…because…I’m an idiot…thanks.’ She nodded and smiled before gazing in awe at the tree again.

  ‘We need to get the net off. Break it free. I’ll get the scissors,’ she said, disappearing into the kitchen, and that flash of bare thigh my eyes connected with made me think about kissing it. Pressing my lips there as my fingers found her wet and soaking through those tiny cotton shorts. ‘Drew?’

  ‘Yep.’

  I shook my head, clearing the daze and took the scissors from her as we set about arranging the tree.

  ‘You know, Dad always let me put the star on top of the tree.’ She was standing on top of the step ladder, fiddling with the tinsel and lost in memories. She neve
r looked more beautiful. Her hair was falling out of a bun that had been piled precariously on top of her head. A pen was sticking out of it and she was make-up free, freckles on show. Just lovely.

  ‘Why did you have a star and not a fairy?’ I asked waiting for her answer because I could listen to her talk all day.

  ‘My mum thought it was undignified to plonk it on top, nethers first,’ she said giggling, making ‘V’ shapes with her fingers and scissoring them together.

  ‘I never thought of it that way before. Poor fairy. Tree in the vag for the whole of Advent. I can think of better ways to spend Christmas.’ Like sunk inside of you.

  ‘Hmm, so can I,’ she said before turning to me. ‘Oh, I meant to ask you how you’re getting on with my books. I’m expecting written notes and a dissertation. Did I mention that?’

  ‘I don’t think you did,’ I replied, knowing that if she asked, I would do it in a heartbeat. I had most of the sex scenes memorised anyway. ‘Shame.’

  ‘Let’s be serious, my friend.’ No, not friend. Christ, don’t say that again. I want more but I can’t. I fucking can’t. ‘Tell me how far you’ve read. First one finished?’ I dipped my head, one nonchalant nod. Yes, the first fucking night. I couldn’t put it down. ‘Second book all the way past the angsty bits?’ I put my finger on my chin in fake contemplation. Finished. It broke me. I thought the story was epically traumatic and the sex…talk about a connection. She put her hands on her hips and rolled her eyes. ‘Third book? Have you got that far?’

  ‘I’m a good way in.’ I only put it down because Archie decided in that very inconvenient moment—the hero was about to fuck her senseless on a table and I had a boner that probably matched his—that he needed to relieve himself. Oh, the irony.

  ‘Wow, I’m impressed,’ she said, returning to the task at hand and draping some more tinsel. Her fingers stilled and I could sense she wanted to say something, but she was either too embarrassed or not ready to hear my verdict. ‘So…what do you think of book three so far?’