A Cosy Christmas in Cornwall: The most heartwarming Cornish Christmas romance of 2019!

by Jane Linfoot

So I take it that’s a ‘no’ to the Instagram post then. If she’d said that earlier she’d have saved me forcing the issue with the Twiglets and the hat and scarf sets. I’m concentrating so hard on Libby as I step down onto the rink, my skate hits the ice before I’m ready, and I’m slithering, waving my arms madly, trying to get back to the safety of the barrier when some fingers close around mine.

  ‘No need to panic there, Ivy – just push one foot forwards, let yourself glide, then do the same with the other. You can relax now, I’m here, I’ve got you.’ It’s Milo, and his hand is so warm I can feel the heat through my glove. As his other arm extends out across my back I’m suddenly steadier.

  ‘Okay.’ It’s not. I’m still jerking forwards, trying to divert and make a lunge for the side.

  ‘Keep going, you’re completely safe with me.’ His voice is calm and encouraging beside me and somehow – don’t ask me how – we make juddering progress forwards and we’re still standing up. ‘Skating’s new to you, now you know how I feel in my ridiculous new country clothes.’

  I can’t help laughing. ‘You do know you’ve still got the price labels on?’

  ‘Shit, tell me I haven’t?’

  Somehow I manage to nod and wobble forwards at the same time. ‘Hanging out the bottom at the back.’

  He lets out a groan. ‘Damn. Here’s me, trying my darnedest to impress you with how cool and countrified I am and I end up looking like a total loser.’

  ‘So you are here for me, then?’ It’s out before I know, but I care less than I should because we’ve made it to the barrier at the other end of the rink, and now I’ve got something to cling on to I can stop worrying about falling arse over ice skate. And as I’ve blurted, we might as well clear this up.

  Milo comes to a halt with his own little flourish, and then suddenly he’s smiling beside me. ‘You’ve rumbled me! Is that a problem?’

  I drag in a breath. ‘I don’t know what they’ve told you …?’

  As he interrupts me his eyes are shining. ‘Absolutely loads, but don’t worry, it’s all really good, I can’t wait to get to know you better.’

  In the face of so much puppy-eyed warmth, I have to come clean. ‘It’s only fair to tell you, Milo, whatever they said, the last thing I want is another boyfriend.’

  He gives me a nudge, then his face creases as he winks. ‘Ivy, it’s fine, it’s five minutes skating round an ice rink, no one’s asking you to sign up for life.’

  ‘You don’t mind you’ve been dragged here on false pretences?’

  He’s doing the nose wrinkle again. ‘Never say never, you don’t know what’s around the corner.’ Then he clears his throat, and pulls a face. ‘Actually, I’ve got my own confession to make …’

  My stomach sinks. ‘You have …?’ Girls Aloud have finished, and Bing Crosby’s started singing White Christmas, and even though he’s crooning really slowly he gets through a whole reprise before Milo begins again.

  ‘Dad and Miranda are convinced I’m here looking for love … but I’m afraid that’s mostly a cover.’

  I feel my eyes go wide. ‘So why are you here?’

  He drops his voice to a low whisper. ‘I’m looking out for Dad.’ He wiggles his eyebrows. ‘Making sure he doesn’t get too involved with Miranda.’

  ‘Really?!’ I’m so shocked my voice is a squeak, but I yank it back to normality again. ‘And how’s that going?’

  His mouth is so close to my ear, I can feel the warmth of his breath through my woolly hat. ‘She’s lovely, but if you had any idea how many husbands she’s had, you’d see why I have to put a stop to it.’

  Oh my. I’m not going to tell him most of us have lost count. ‘So you’re here to break them up?’

  From his sigh he’s not thrilled about this either. ‘Dad is completely besotted, and Christmas is a very romantic time. I’m simply here to step in – if the worst comes to the worst – to save him from himself.’

  I’m sure Libby and Fliss would be delighted to know he’s got this, but I’m still uneasy. ‘I get where you’re coming from, but they’re adults not teenagers, they should have the right to decide for themselves.’ I flash my glare at him. ‘Without interference.’

  Milo sighs. ‘We only lost my mum last year, he’s very vulnerable.’ From all the outward signs he’s loaded too, but he’s skimming over that.

  I have to say my piece. ‘Happiness isn’t easy to find and Miranda’s a wonderfully warm and thoughtful, talented and creative, loving human being. If your dad is happy with her, is it right to take that away?’ It’s all very tricky and involved. Obviously Milo doesn’t want to see his dad get hurt. And he definitely won’t want Miranda ripping her way through his inheritance. And it’s true, Miranda’s track record is awful. But sometime soon she has to meet Mr Right. And if that is Ambrose, it has to be wrong for Milo to wreck their chances.

  He gives a shrug. ‘I know, I know, it’s hard.’ His voice drops again. ‘You will keep my secret? I’d hate Ambrose and Miranda to feel I’m treading on their toes.’

  My voice goes high again. ‘But you are. And it’s not just their toes, you’re stamping on their future with your size nine wellies.’

  His eyebrow goes up. ‘Size tens. Hunters come up very small apparently.’

  I nod. ‘I should know that, they’re always saying that in shoes at Daniels.’ The number of present returns they get is phenomenal. And we’ve somehow moved on, but at least he knows where I stand on this.

  Then his frown softens and he smiles again. ‘Is this a good time to have that cake?’

  I sigh. ‘Just when I was getting good on here too.’ It’s ridiculous feeling disappointed we’re leaving the ice now. But you know me, if I have to choose between hot chocolate or exercise, there’s never a contest. ‘Did I see Bailey’s cupcakes at the skate hut?’

  ‘You did.’ He does the nose thing again. ‘We’ll skate back to the start nice and slowly so Ambrose and Miranda see us being coupley, then we’ll head straight for the cafe.’ As he takes my hand again he grins at me. ‘Come on then, big beams to show everyone how well we’re getting on.’

  But for once even the thought of hot chocolate to come isn’t quite enough to make me completely smiley.

  21.

  This way to the North Pole

  Okay, it’s official. The Little Cornish Kitchen is our new favourite bakery, more so because they do mini cupcake tasters to help you decide which large one you’d like. After my first I would have sworn the Bailey’s ones were my new favourite. But then I had a mini chocolate reindeer one, which Fliss decided was good for me. The way she insisted that eating what I have an aversion for should help me regain my power, she sounded more like Willow than Willow. But there again she might have had a point. If all my fears were chocolate flavour, I’d inhale them too. Either way, I closed my eyes, concentrated on the butter cream instead of the antlers and nose, and it scored ten out of ten on our taste chart, and became my new favourite for all of ten seconds before I progressed to the coffee with roasted hazelnuts. Which knocked the others out across the bay. Willow was persuaded too and guess what? – she chose the gluten free low sugar style with the purple petal and the sprig of real lavender, and took a box of six mini ones for the Twiglets for later. Which is progress of a kind.

  And then Milo plonked his chair down between Ambrose and Miranda’s, which as a separating technique was about as subtle as jumping in there with his size tens. But as he was also holding Harriet who had a very sticky cupcake in each hand and was doing side swipes at Ambie’s cashmere overcoat, it did in the end put significant distance between them. The best thing was, with Harriet being looked after, it meant that Fliss, Oscar and I were free to go back to ease our cupcake consciences with a few circuits of the rink. And as Keef had gone to some other pressing engagement that could have had something to do with a meeting at the Happy Shark, at least Ambie and Miranda were back together.

  As for Fliss and I, once we hit the ice again you could say we
amazed ourselves. When you get your legs and body swinging in time to the Christmas tunes, this skating lark is a lot easier than you’d think, and like the cupcakes, it’s very more-ish. Fliss and I always had a thing for Justin from The Darkness – a straight guy who can carry off a sequined jumpsuit and make it ironic at the same time is our kind of hero – so the second his voice comes out over the speakers we’re pretty much zooming around singing along to Christmas Time, don’t let the bells ring at the top of our voices. In fact we’re so engrossed by the time we clock that Bill’s here too, he’s already tearing around the ice. The giveaway is, he’s not wearing bashed up borrowed skates like the rest of us, he seems to be wearing his own. Which kind of suggests to me he must have an ice rink at Downton as well as a stately home.

  I break off half way through the chorus to roll my eyes at Fliss. ‘Someone should tell him the Olympic speed skating track is the other way.’

  Fliss pulls a face. ‘It’s a bloody good job he’s good at weaving in and out.’ She tilts towards me with a low laugh. ‘If this is a competition, he’s certainly putting old Milo in the shade.’

  I shake my head. ‘Those two and their baking wars, what are they like?’

  She tilts her head and gives me a sideways look. ‘That wasn’t quite the competition I was talking about.’

  ‘So which one did you mean?’

  She gives me a wink. ‘If you don’t already know, it doesn’t matter.’

  Then I remember. ‘How could I forget. Smiley Milo versus Misery Bill. How can he scowl that much and still concentrate on skating?’

  And then Justin stops singing, and as if that wasn’t enough bad news on its own, I hear some very familiar guitar picking start, and my heart sinks.

  Scout lets out a shriek. ‘Willow, it’s Feliz Navidad!’ She launches herself into a series of spins, and when she pulls out of the last one she, Sailor and Solomon start whizzing around the ice faster than Bill, all singing in Spanish.

  There’s a serious scraping sound, a shower of crystals flying up from the ice, and Bill suddenly comes to a halt next to us. He half closes an eye, and when he talks it’s somehow obvious he’s addressing me, not all of us.

  ‘Did you notice, they’re playing our tune, Pom Pom.’

  Apart from brushing the ice chips out of my eyes, and off my jacket, I absolutely don’t react. ‘Yours maybe, Bill. Mine is Shakin Stevens.’

  He’s still staring at me. ‘I thought you said yours was I Wish It Could Be Christmas Every Day?’

  I’m holding firm on this. ‘No, that’s my tag line, not my favourite song.’ I’m happy to point out, he doesn’t know me as well as he’s trying to pretend.

  He shakes his head. ‘There’s a difference?’

  Of course there bloody is. ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘Jeez, as I’ll say, and not for the first time, who knew Christmas was so complicated?’ He’s holding out his hand. ‘Come on, while we’re here, you might as well see what it feels like to skate properly.’

  ‘I-I-I-I …’ I’m trying to say I totally don’t think so, but that’s as far as I get. The next thing I know it’s as if my feet grew wings and jet packs too. This is nothing like what I was doing when I was rigid with fear and hanging onto Milo. With Bill it’s as if he’s got the power and the balance for both of us, and as we tear round the ice I’m so shocked and surprised, I actually forget to breathe. By the time we pull up, I’m dizzy, and it has to be from lack of oxygen.

  ‘So how was that?’ Bill’s staring down at me.

  ‘The music’s going on a long time.’

  ‘That’s because I asked them to play it on repeat. So how was the skating?’

  ‘Great.’ That’s probably the closest I’ve ever come to space travel, but I have to be straight with him. ‘To be honest I’d probably have enjoyed it more if you weren’t so up yourself, and superior about it all.’

  His frown deepens. ‘And what do you mean by that?’

  I’m looking at his skates. ‘Those show-off look-at-me shoes for starters.’

  He’s looking like he has no idea what I’m talking about. ‘They’re just my skates.’

  I hold my ground. ‘Whatever you do, you always have to do it in a way so you look down on everyone else.’

  ‘Now you’re being ridiculous.’

  The way he says it flatly, as if it’s the only opinion there is, and no one else’s is valid, completely backs up my point. My chest is tightening. ‘And do you always have to look so damned miserable? Here we are, everyone’s trying their damnedest to have a good time …’ I know that’s not completely true, and no one’s actually succeeding, but they might be ‘… but when you’re there like Grinchy McScrooge-face looking down on us all it’s very hard for everyone not to feel like shit.’ My voice has gone really high and a lot squeakier than I’d like, and I can sense that the skaters around the rink are sliding to a halt.

  His nostrils flare as he blows out a breath. For a moment he looks really dark, then he turns to me. ‘Well, I may look miserable, but that’s way better than making a fool of myself like you were earlier.’

  This is so far away from anything I was expecting, at least the shock has made my voice more low and normal. ‘ExCUSE me?’ I really have no idea what he’s talking about.

  His eyes flash. ‘Running round, throwing yourself at a guy like Milo, I’d have thought you’d have more self-respect.’

  If my chest was tight before, now it explodes. ‘AND WHAT IS THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN, BILL?’

  His voice is low and steady. ‘Believe me, I know.’

  ‘Actually, you know ZILCH!’ As I look down I realise he’s still holding onto my hand, really tightly. So I tug my hand away from him, but he won’t let go at first. It’s only when I pull really, really hard and his grasp suddenly loosens that I get away. But the force of my jerk sends me lurching backwards which would be fine if we were on the harbourside. But here on the rink things are working against me. One, I’m on ice which when I think about it is the slipperiest surface known to man. And two, I’m wearing sodding great boots and if that wasn’t enough, there are also great bits of spikey metal attached to the bottom. One of those, I might have managed, all three to contend with, and I’m staggering backwards. My arms are flailing, I’ve almost got my balance back but my feet are all over the place. And then the end of my skate catches in the bow of my laces, and that’s it. I’m jumping backwards, arcing downwards, as my feet shoot forwards from under me, my back thumps down onto the ice.

  One massive thud, and I’m horizontal. Gazing up at the pale grey clouds racing across other darker grey clouds.

  Which actually is okay. Everyone’s been falling over. It’s what you do. It’s a bloody skating rink. That’s the metaphor, it’s the physical embodiment of slick and skiddy surface on which it’s impossible to stay upright. In which case, why the hell is there a circle of faces at the edge of the clouds all staring down at me with open mouths, their eyes wide, gasping.

  Fliss is staggering towards me across the ice and the way her arms are out she looks a lot like Bill when he was at his most Olympic. ‘It’s absolutely okay, Ivy, you absolutely don’t need to worry, really, really, REALLY, nobody’s going to mind …’

  And that’s when I put my hand to my head. And feel the back of my head and my hair resting on the soaking ice. My hat’s completely gone. And my long sideways fringe thing that I’ve grown so carefully to hide the left side of my face has flipped upwards and sideways. Anywhere except where it’s supposed to be in other words.

  ‘Shit, where’s my …’

  I can see Tom’s face looking down at me from inside the comfort of his hoodie. ‘So that’s why she gets to wear a hat inside. Okay, all good, now I understand. A scar like that, she has to hide it.’

  As I push myself up to sitting Fliss is rushing towards me holding out my bobble hat that’s soaking from the layer of water on top of the ice. ‘Here … put it on again … really, Ivy-leaf, no one minds … they just don’
t …’

  Willow’s there too. ‘It’ll all be fine, concealment is so confining, exposure is very cleansing, no wonder your chakras are all over the place …’

  Miranda’s voice is booming across the harbour as she hurries out onto the ice again. ‘Sweetheart, it’s only a scar … and it’s so much better than it used to be … no one minds, darling … you’ll always be beautiful … we really can’t see it now you’ve grown your hair …’

  And Tiff’s there, her eyes flashing, her pink tulle skirt whirling, shouting as she turns on them. ‘Will you all stop being horrible, and LEAVE HER ALONE!!’

  And it’s like magic. Suddenly they all shut up and just stare at her. And here’s this awful, awful child who I’ve spent the last few days completely despising. And suddenly I want to hug her.

  She and Tarkie are gently helping me to my feet, then Tansy joins in too, but over their heads I can see Bill. As he moves towards me, his face is creased with concern and the way his arms are outstretched, I just know as soon as he reaches me he’s going to wrap those arms around me. And even though I also know that’s the last thing I would ever want, part of me is already anticipating the warmth. His strong hands closing around my back. The whole wonderful scent of him as I bury my nose in that charcoal cashmere. The feeling I used to dream about for months after Chamonix, if not years. Of wanting to be wrapped in those arms forever.

  And just for today, I’m not going to fight it. The back of my fur jacket is soaking, my jeans are stuck to my knees, my hair’s all damp and straggling out of my sodden hat. But just this once I’m not going to beat myself up, I’m going to lean in and let the wonderful happen. I’m going to drink it in, I’m going to soak up every bit of strength and wellbeing that hug is going to give me. I’m going to carpe those effing diems, abandon myself and enjoy the goddamn moment.

  Somewhere in the midst of my mind ramblings I must have closed my eyes. When I open them again what I’m expecting is the sweet, blissful moment, the impact of my cheek against Bill’s jumper. But instead what I get comes careering across the ice out of left field and sends Bill flying out of the frame.