A Novel Christmas

by Lynsey M. Stewart

  ‘It’s only a short journey from here to the island. You ready to go?’

  ‘Be gentle with us,’ Sam replied. ‘We’re not used to such a small plane.’

  ‘Trust me,’ I replied, a sting of a memory passing through. Cal’s wonderful face. Her hesitancy as I flew us to the theatre for the first time. ‘This will be your main mode of transport if you get the job. I promise not to kill you.’

  ‘That’s…reassuring.’

  ‘You’ll be fine. I’ve done this at least…once before,’ I said, ushering them into the plane.

  The flight over was reasonably smooth considering it was late winter. Jenson and Sam were already falling in love with the place long before we arrived at the gates of Karensa.

  ‘I’ve set up one of the cottages for you for the weekend. That way you can get a feel for the place and we can perhaps make some decisions about where you would like to be based.’

  This all felt too familiar. The last guest I brought here was Cal. She’d been gone over a month. A whole month. How had that happened? I couldn’t bring myself to let them have the cottage she stayed in over Christmas. It was hers. Belonged to her. Always would. It still smelt like her, the flowery perfume that followed her around had climbed into the walls. The desk she sat at to write was still set up like it was waiting for her return. Her bed was turned back, unmade, sheets carrying the same perfume. There was even a bottle of purple shampoo in the bathroom, a wine bottle in the fridge. Hers. I stayed there most nights, Archie on the floor beside me as I tried to lose the memories of her. It was proving impossible; every inch of the place felt touched by her and I was aching for the same touch.

  ‘These are beautiful, Drew. You rent them out?’ Jenson asked, taking his bag out of the boot of the car as he looked at the cottages.

  ‘Yeah. That’s the idea. Holiday accommodation.’

  ‘Are you busy?’

  I was stunned for a moment, unsure of how to answer, not wanting to give away that the place had been stagnant until the beautiful writer arrived and transformed the place, including the man who ran it.

  ‘We have been,’ I mumbled. ‘I have a few writers come out and use them. A writer left…recently…Cal. Cal Dixon.’ Damn, it was hard to say her name without breaking.

  ‘Oh, really? My sister and her friends love her books. The romance writer, yeah?’ Jenson replied.

  ‘Yeah. That’s right.’ Fuck. I missed her.

  ‘So…is that a regular thing?’

  Sam cut in. ‘What he’s trying to say is will she be coming back because he’d love to get signed copies of her latest for Rach’s birthday.’

  My heart sank. I felt slightly nauseous. Her latest book. The one about the jilted recluse who was standing in front of them.

  ‘I’m not sure…I’ve had a few writers from Cal’s publisher. They had a retreat a few months ago and Gerry is keen to set something up for more…she has a new book out?’ I asked, unable to keep it in.

  ‘Soon, apparently. My sister has a countdown on her phone. She’s obsessed,’ Jenson replied.

  ‘What’s it called?’ I asked, trying to appear indifferent. Unconcerned. Unflappable. I missed the mark by miles and almost fell when I oh-so casually leant against the car and missed it.

  ‘I’m not sure. I can text her if you like?’

  ‘No, it’s fine,’ I replied as he got out his phone and started typing a message. I wafted my hand, encouraging them to follow, taking them to the third cottage, empty for the last year, just as I heard Brian’s battered old Land Rover pull up. The door creaked and Brian got out.

  ‘Sam, Jenson, this is Brian. He runs the local farm shop and the convenience store and probably everything else on the island,’ I smiled as Brian wiped his hands down his trousers and held one out. Soil was hard to remove from underneath your fingernails, especially when it appeared to be fifty years’ worth.

  ‘Good to meet you,’ Brian replied. ‘Happy to see this place get some life back.’

  ‘We’re excited to be here,’ Jenson replied. ‘Hoping I’ll be leaving on Sunday with a new job.’

  ‘That I’m sure of, my boy. That I’m sure of.’

  ‘What can I do for you, Brian?’ I asked, knowing full well he was here to mix a personal grocery delivery with a dose of let’s-talk-about-the-situation-with-Cal straight talk.

  ‘A minute of your time,’ he replied, a brief smile disappearing as quickly as it came. He wasn’t my best fan after Cal left. Told me I must enjoy being miserable, brought it on myself. When I argued that a betrayal of trust was enough reason to let her walk away, he told me I needed to see a doctor, followed by a psychiatrist.

  ‘Gentlemen, are you happy to have a look round yourself?’ I asked. ‘I’ll join you later.’

  ‘Of course. We’ll make ourselves at home.’

  ‘Take your time,’ Sam added as they opened the door.

  ‘They seem nice,’ Brian said as we walked back to my cottage. I didn’t like to tell him I was staying at Cal’s. That made me seem rather…fucked up. ‘Not as lovely as your last guest, though.’ I took two fast strides in front of him to the front door, just to stop the conversation and block the floodgates from opening. ‘Now then, boy. No point in me dropping off your carrots here when you’re pining around—’ he pointed to Cal’s cottage, ‘—over there.’ Just as I was about to say, Don’t be so ridiculous. Why would I be sleeping in Cal’s bed, clutching her pillow at night? Archie barked from inside her cottage. Traitor. I didn’t say a word, just casually walked up to her door, unlocked it, bashed my shoulder against it and swept my hands to the side inviting him in. ‘Archie lad! Hello,’ Brian said as Archie bounded towards him, appreciating some different company apart from his moping owner. I swear he still looked for Cal. Every night around seven, he twirled around in all corners of the cottage and looked as forlorn as me when he didn’t find her. ‘Are you missing that lovely lady too? Oh dear, boy. Oh dear.’

  ‘Aren’t you forgetting my groceries?’

  He turned around slowly; looks could kill. ‘Deadpan. Nice. That’s the way it’s going to be is it?’ he replied, folding his arms.

  ‘I have guests.’

  ‘I’ll be out of your hair in a minute. A man can check in on his friend, can’t he? See how the moping is working out for you?’ He turned his attention back to Archie. Classic distraction mode. ‘Heard from her, then?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You been in touch?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Bloody lizards alive!’

  ‘What? What do you want me to say? That I forgive her for writing a book about me? That I can somehow find it in me to get the trust back that had only just started building again after the last…humiliation.’

  He huffed out a heavy breath as he sat on the sofa before finally meeting my eyes. ‘Remember when you brought Cal to the farm shop for the first time and you said something about being careful or she’ll put you in a book? ’ I thought back to the conversation. Cal had been doing that friendly flirting she was so good at. The kind that made you feel at ease and walk away feeling like you’d met a fantastic person.

  ‘I remember.’ Clearly. Like it was yesterday.

  ‘What did I say?’

  ‘There’s no point in answering because you’re going to tell me anyway,’ I said, dropping down in the opposite chair. I slipped my hand down the cushion and found a pencil, one of Cal’s. I knew because it said, Write that shit down. Instead of laughing, I took a sharp breath and tried to resist sobbing as I pressed it against my chest.

  ‘You’re a bloody mess,’ Brian said, removing his woolly hat and scratching his head.

  ‘Brian, this is a lovely visit. I’m enjoying it, really I am, but can you get my groceries and leave me to it?’

  Brian tutted. ‘I’m not finished, lad. We were in the middle of reminiscing about the visit to the farm shop. Tell me what I said again?’

  I sighed. Found myself sniffing the bloody pencil. I eyed Brian chuckling.
‘I don’t remember,’ I replied, running my fingers across the wood.

  ‘I’ve been on this earth a long time, lad. I don’t have a lot of time left to waste.’

  ‘Your reply to the comment about being careful or she’d put you in her next book was as lovely as Cal.’ He gave a tight smile as I blew out a breath. ‘You said she would only do that if she fell in love,’ I replied. ‘And your point is?’

  Please don’t tell me your point. Please. I can’t take it.

  ‘My point is that she fell in love with you. You inspired her writing so much that she wanted to immortalise you. Make your love last forever. Inspire generations of hungry romance readers to come, year after year. That is the highest form of compliment if you’re asking this old fool.’

  Archie came and put his big head on my lap, almost like he understood what Brian was saying and agreed with every word. I pulled his ears back and wrestled with the voices I’d been listening to simultaneously since Cal left. One saying, She let you down, Drew. You’ve done the right thing letting her go, and the other chanting, But you fucking love her, you moron. What are you playing at?

  ‘You think I made a mistake? Handled it wrong?’

  He chuckled, his shoulders bouncing. ‘I think you’re a prize prat!’ Archie barked, agreeing again.

  ‘Thanks. You’ve been helpful,’ I muttered.

  ‘Bloody hell. I can’t believe you haven’t been in touch with her.’

  ‘There’s still a small issue of the book, Brian. It’s going to be released soon. What if people put two and two together and know it’s me?’

  ‘What if they do? Bloody hell, there are worse things in the world than being mistaken for a shirtless woodcutter who likes to copulate.’ I laughed because I was pretty sure that word would be on Cal’s list of unsexy words never to be used in a romance novel. ‘Let me ask you a question, Drew. Things were difficult for you. I understand. You were heavily affected by Meghan’s betrayal, the humiliation and despair of being left with this place and not knowing what to do with it. You were miserable. Consumed by the loss. But answer my question truthfully.’

  ‘Go on,’ I replied, hesitating.

  ‘Are you feeling more miserable now that you’ve lost Cal or did you feel worse before she arrived?’

  ‘Both were pretty bad,’ I mumbled.

  ‘You bring a man down, Drew. I hate to tell you this, but I had more fun at my mother’s funeral than I do talking to you.’

  ‘Jesus. Kick a man when he’s down.’ Even Archie got off my lap and moved to sit at Brian’s feet.

  ‘I only have so much patience…answer the question, boy.’ He scratched Archie behind his ears and he immediately sat up, telling Brian in doggy speak that he wanted more. ‘What are we going to do with him, Archie? I know. I know. He’s a fool. An absolute fool.’ I threw my arms back and sank back into the chair, closing my eyes and groaning just as a knock at the door made Archie bark. ‘Not so fast, lad. I’m waiting for an answer.’

  I opened one eye. I knew the answer, but I wasn’t sure I was ready to let it out in the open. I’d carefully kept it hidden for the past month, hoping that when enough time passed by I would no longer feel the desperate ache of wanting Cal in my life. I had finally let my heart feel, feel her, until she let herself in, finding the key I’d buried underneath the foundation of Karensa that I’d put there after Meghan left. I was edging towards somewhere I never thought I would find again, the ability to open up and say something that I never thought I’d say to someone again…I love you.

  ‘Well? No groceries until I get an answer,’ Brian said, hauling himself up off the chair. ‘An honest answer.’

  I nodded, glancing up at the man looming over me. A man who had been a wonderful friend to me when times were rough.

  ‘Before doesn’t even touch it. I’m so miserable without her I can’t imagine smiling again.’

  Brian patted me on the back. ‘Go and bloody get her, boy.’

  He opened the door to reveal Jenson and Sam sitting on the wall outside the cottage. ‘Hey. We were wondering if we could go and see the barns…but if you’re busy, we can just have a look around the grounds.’

  ‘Of course, sorry. Let me get these bags and we’ll go up,’ I said.

  ‘Oh, before I forget, my sister replied. Cal Dixon’s new book is called To Be Continued,’ Jenson said, putting his phone back in his pocket. I stood still, my mouth open in confusion as I folded my arms. That wasn’t the title I saw on the cover mock-up. Had Cal decided not to publish it? Brian tapped my shoulder and pushed a paper bag into my chest. I caught it and noticed a small cardboard box on top of the groceries.

  ‘I caught the delivery driver as I came in,’ he said. ‘Looks interesting, doesn’t it? Book shaped wouldn’t you say?’

  I dropped the bag onto the floor and opened the box, pulling it apart to get into it as quickly as I could. There was a card slipped underneath a red satin bow that was tied around a book.

  To Be Continued by Cal Dixon.

  I turned it over and read the tagline on the back cover.

  What happens when a love story doesn’t have the happily ever after you hope for?

  Read the first instalment of the To Be Continued duet.

  How will this epic love story end?

  ‘Where’s the shirtless woodcutter?’ Brian asked as he peered over my shoulder. The picture now featured a loved-up couple a second away from a great kiss. I was confused, couldn’t make sense of what was happening. I opened the card, recognising Cal’s handwriting immediately.

  Drew,

  I thought it was only fair that you get to see a copy before its official release date in a couple of weeks’ time. It’s a deeply personal story because it’s ours. The plan is to tell it in two parts. I couldn’t bring myself to write an imaginary ending for us. Writing ‘to be continued’ seemed an easier option. I never do cliffhangers. They’re not popular in my world so I hope I can start the follow-up soon. They need a happy ending, Drew. It’s part of the romance rule book, but you understand that, don’t you? You’re the man that named his business after the Cornish name for love. And you say you don’t believe in romance. I don’t agree.

  I hope you read it.

  Yours forever,

  Cal

  ‘Let me take you up to the barns,’ Brian said to Jenson and Sam, wrapping his arms around their shoulders. ‘Drew is going to be otherwise engaged for the rest of the afternoon.’

  Chapter 30

  Drew

  It was the early hours of the morning when I finally finished reading. I wanted to take my time. Savour it. I needed a few breaks to clear my head, grab a coffee, maybe even stop hating myself before the next chapter. Christ, Brian was right. I was hard work. How this love story ever came to be was a bloody miracle.

  The dedication simply said, ‘For Drew.’ I traced my finger along my name, falling into the romance of it all before slamming it shut and throwing it onto the coffee table. I imagined her there, legs spread, touching herself for me. Another image I couldn’t shake away. Didn’t want to. I sat back, wrapped my arms around my legs, stared at the book and picked it up again, holding it like it would crumble in my hands.

  I wasn’t sure how I would feel when I finally turned to the first chapter, touching the paper against my fingers, reciting the words from Cal’s note, You say you don’t believe in romance. I don’t agree. The original book was based loosely on my back story, but this was based tightly on us. At first, it felt personal. The flitter of anger, the feeling of trust sinking to the floor again rumbled through me. Too close to the bone. Far too close. And it was, don’t get me wrong, but as I continued to read each chapter and was swallowed by the love story and taken on a journey, I felt a heady rush of emotions so powerful it was enough to knock me over. I had a deep urge to keep reading, and I did until the light faded around me and I was forced to put it down to turn on the lamp beside me. I knew Cal could tell a story. I read her other books over the space of a few d
ays, but this seemed more heartfelt, like she had opened her soul and let it splash across the pages. She touched on every emotion, each one I recognised from the critical moments of our story. The early, getting-to-know-you banter. The flirting, the conversing. The spark of attraction. The purple shampoo, the sink on the floor. I was laughing one minute, crying the next. As the story built and the words of the first sex scene started to unfold, an entirely different feeling crept back in. Arousal. A longing. A need to feel her skin against my fingers, hear her whimpers against my ear, and I had the desire to grip my cock and stroke myself as she reenacted those glorious moments so clearly. She was like a word conductor, a master of phrasing, a genius at setting the tone, the pace, and then pulling it from under you just as quickly.

  When I read the final words ‘To be continued…’ I felt uplifted. I didn’t feel the familiar pinches of humiliation of knowing people would be reading about the reclusive woodcutter, jilted at the altar and living a life of misery. I felt proud. Proud of Cal for telling such a beautiful story and proud that I’d worked through the rejection, no longer needing to protect myself from being hurt again—to come out unscathed on the other side.

  I’d fallen in love again.

  Before I fucked it up.

  But still, the greatest feeling was knowing that after everything I had put her through, she still believed in me. The backwards and forwards. Leading her on and letting her down. The push and pull. The tension. So much tension. How could I do that to her? Why didn’t I see what was so glaringly obvious sooner? I started falling in love with her the moment I saw her on the airport runway wrapped in her Louis Vuitton blanket and smiling brightly as our eyes met.