The Cornish Cream Tea Christmas
Page 10
Chapter Nine
Hannah’s train rolled into Newquay station on time; even though it was already dark and bitterly cold, she knew she was about to get a welcome that was infinitely warmer than the one she’d had the last time she’d been in this situation. She smiled to herself, remembering how Noah had been as cold as the weather, and how much had changed since then.
She wrapped her rainbow scarf around her neck, put on her coat and hefted her huge suitcase down from the luggage rack. A man with silver-grey hair took one end as she wobbled dangerously, and then lifted it down the steps for her. She thanked him and peered at his face, but there was no flash of recognition.
‘Bit of a strange time of year to be ’avin’ an ’oliday,’ he said in a broad Cornish accent.
‘Oh, it’s not a holiday,’ Hannah replied, keen to strike up a conversation with this stranger. Keen, in fact, to tell anyone who would listen. ‘I’m moving here.’
‘To Newquay? In the depths of winter? You’re a braver lass than me, and I’m not even a lass!’ He chuckled, and Hannah grinned.
‘It’s Porthgolow, actually. I’m going to be the new chef in the pub there. The Seven Stars. I don’t know if you’ve heard of it?’
‘The village, I ’ave. That bleddy food market. Best burgers for miles around, mind. Got it marked in me calendar.’ He smiled, doffed an imaginary cap and left her to it.
Hannah wheeled her suitcase through the tiny station and out into the car park. This time she didn’t have to scout around for her lift, because he was there, leaning against his shiny Land Rover, Spirit on a lead at his feet, already barking. She dropped to a crouch and accepted the dog’s fevered greeting, letting him lick her hands and burrow his nose into her neck. Eventually she stood up, and Noah gave her a wry smile.
‘Missed him, did you?’
‘A lot,’ Hannah said gravely. ‘Almost as much as I missed you.’
‘Almost?’
‘Well, OK. I missed him more, but it would have been nice to see you, too. My bed was cold.’ She gave him her saddest expression, and he laughed.
‘Come here.’ He bridged the gap between them, tilted her chin up and gave her a kiss so passionate and purposeful, so full of promise for the months and years stretching ahead, that Hannah felt weak at the knees. This was her man, her future. Her happiness.
When the kiss was over, Noah put her case in the boot and opened the back door. Spirit jumped up willingly.
‘Have you got him trained?’ Hannah asked, her eyes wide.
‘Barely. He’s spent too much time with Marmite to be well-behaved. But we rub along OK. Your flat in Porthgolow’s all set up?’
‘Yup. I called Hugh yesterday and everything’s ready, except – perhaps – for me.’ She squeezed her hands together.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Can I really be in charge of my own kitchen?’ she asked him, seriously.
‘Hannah, of course you can.’ He turned to her, the car keys in his hand. ‘You were meant to do this. And you’re lucky that Hugh got in there first, that you’ve got the flat above the pub and an entire kitchen to make your own. My mum would have had you at the deli, making coffees and lunch rolls, if she’d had her way. You will be brilliant as the Seven Stars head chef, and I know Hugh’s over the moon about it.’
‘Have you been spending a lot of time in Porthgolow without me?’ she asked, feeling a twinge of envy.
‘Don’t look so forlorn,’ he said, laughing. ‘You’ve only been gone a month, though it’s felt a lot longer. Charlie and Daniel are already thinking about their wedding, and Sam and Lila have rented a cottage in the village, so they’ll be there too, at least until the second series of Estelle has finished filming.’
‘Sounds as if there’s loads I need to catch up on.’
‘We’d better get going, then.’
As they drove, Noah told her about everything she’d missed while she’d been in Edinburgh, although in truth they’d spoken and FaceTimed so often that hardly any of it was new. She’d loved seeing him in his house, with the snow globe she’d bought him for Christmas – a Cornish port town blanketed by sparkling flakes, which she’d found in the depths of Myrtle’s Pop-In and dusted off – on his desk, where he worked on saving the planet one project at a time.
She had told him, in turn, about her various goodbyes. Her mum was tearful but, she thought, happy that Hannah was finding her own way, even if it meant a drastic change of career path so soon after qualifying. Gerald had been shocked and disappointed to lose her, and threatened to take Noah off the books for the part he’d played in her jumping ship, and Saskia had been devastated she was moving so far away, until Hannah showed her photos of Porthgolow and they put a date in the calendar for her to visit in the spring. Hannah was also looking forward to her mum and Mike coming to see her sooner rather than later, and her mum’s long-overdue reunion with a certain kind-hearted publican.
It had felt difficult, at first, to dismantle her life there, losing her walks through the Edinburgh streets, always interesting and full of life; her get-togethers with her friends; her family being so close by. But, as she put everything in motion for the move – changing her address with Royal Mail, cancelling her lease with her landlord, going through her flat and deciding what to keep and what to give away – her excitement mounted. And there were the messages, calls and photos from Noah and Spirit, from Charlie and Lila, to remind her why she was doing it and what was waiting for her at the other end.
Throughout the car journey she kept her hand over Noah’s on the gear stick, squeezing it or tracing the shape of his knuckles with a finger, Spirit snoring loudly on the back seat.
It was the end of January, and even colder than it had been in December, but Hannah didn’t care. Porthgolow Bay appeared below them as they reached the top of the hill, the houses lit up like a constellation, Crystal Waters gleaming on the opposite side of the cove. Hannah felt a flash of nostalgia for all that had happened there, all the emotions she’d felt during those few weeks.
Noah parked in the car park of the Seven Stars, its pub sign illuminated in the dark. He got out and came round to open Hannah’s door before she’d had a chance to undo her seatbelt.
‘Your castle awaits,’ he said with a flourish, helping her down from her seat.
Hannah looked up at her new home. Hugh had warned her that, being above a pub, the flat on the first floor would be noisy, even once she’d finished her shift. But Hannah had been used to late nights at the Whisky Cellar and, living in Edinburgh, had rarely had quiet outside her flat. Besides, this was a sleepy village pub, not a nightclub. She had assured him she felt nothing but excitement for her new job and accommodation: she would wake up to the sound of the sea, its ever-shifting moods right on her doorstep.
‘OK?’ Noah asked quietly.
‘I am every inch OK,’ she said, turning to him. ‘You’re coming for dinner, aren’t you? Are you staying, you and Spirit?’
‘If you’ll have us. Unless you want to get settled in tonight?’
‘That is exactly what I want to do.’ She tugged the lapels of his coat, bringing him closer. ‘And I want to do it with you. I don’t mind how we split our time between here and Mousehole. I won’t be working every evening, and you’ll always be welcome here, Noah. I came back for you: I want you to be part of my life. And I know it’s an hour’s drive between here and Mousehole, but—’
‘Don’t worry about that,’ he said. ‘I was all set to plan for the gap between Cornwall and Edinburgh, so Porthgolow to Mousehole is nothing. I think you were the one who said I could drive the route with my eyes closed.’ He looked down at her, a dark curl falling onto his forehead and a smile whispering on his lips.
‘I’ve changed my mind,’ she said. ‘Please don’t try it, Noah.’ She tugged harder at his coat, bringing him closer.
They kissed and kissed, making up for the missed days and weeks, while the waves beat out a rhythm on Porthgolow beach and Crystal Waters
sat, like a modern-day lighthouse, on top of the cliff. Hannah was aware only of Noah, of his taste and his touch, his hands pressed against the small of her back, his lips on hers, warm and content in their bubble of two. Eventually they broke apart, and Noah brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes before taking her case from the boot and opening the door to let Spirit down.
‘Inside?’ she asked.
‘Lead the way,’ he said.
She held out her hand and he took it, and with Spirit close at their heels, they walked into the warmth and welcome of the Seven Stars.
This, Hannah thought, as Hugh came around the bar to greet them, was her new life. She had left everything behind and started afresh, throwing a fair amount of caution to the wind. And while it was very early days, she knew from the excitement that thrummed through her when she thought of running her own kitchen, from the happiness she felt being back in Porthgolow, and the way her pulse quickened when she looked at Noah, that this was exactly where she was supposed to be.
Acknowledgements
I started The Cornish Cream Tea Christmas just before lockdown arrived, so most of it was written – not to mention all the edits, proofreading, and other stages that come after that initial first draft – in our altered world. This has made it more of a challenge but has also proved to be another reminder of all the incredible people who have helped make this book a reality.
Kate Bradley, my brilliant editor, has been a voice of reason, warmth and good humour throughout the whole thing. She took my first draft and showed me how to make it shine and sparkle, as all good Christmas books should.
My agent, Hannah Ferguson, has also been amazing and has supported and inspired me at a time when it was easy to feel isolated. The whole Hardman and Swainson team have adapted quickly, and I’ve found their guidance invaluable.
The HarperFiction team has been as dedicated as ever, ensuring my book is as polished as it can be, making it look beautiful and getting it into the hands of readers. Thank you to Penny Isaac for her copy-editing wisdom and attention to detail, and to designer Holly Macdonald and illustrator May Van Millingen for the stunning Christmassy covers. Thank you also to Katy Blott and Lara Stevenson, Kim Young and Fliss Denham.
I arrived at Book Camp on the 16th of March, which was the day the UK Government made its first daily statement on Coronavirus. It was a scary time, but being isolated in a large house in Somerset with my favourite writing friends felt right, somehow, and we managed to get words written despite what was happening. So a massive thank you to Cesca Major, Rachael Lucas, Holly Martin, Katy Colins, Emily Kerr, Pernille Hughes, Ali Harris, Tasmina Perry and Basia Martin – and also to Kirsty Greenwood, Isabelle Broom, Jo Quinn, Cathy Bramley and Liz Fenwick who were with us virtually. That week will always be woven into the fabric of The Cornish Cream Tea Christmas.
To David, who has kept me sane – and not just while I was writing this book. My Zoom Diet Coke Break man, and the only lockdown, and life partner I ever want.
To Mum, Dad and Lee, for just being the best. Always.
Now more than ever, books are providing a much-needed escape, and I say that as a writer and a reader. If I didn’t have readers, then my stories – the places I create and escape to in my head – wouldn’t ever be brought to life, and I am so happy, and so lucky, that they are. Thank you for picking up this book. I hope it is the sparkling, romantic and Christmassy read you were hoping for.
Cressy’s Christmas away from home …
I have only had one Christmas away from home, but it was in Australia so I did it properly. Kate, my best friend since secondary school, had the opportunity to do the second year of her degree out there, and when she asked if I wanted to come and see her for a month over Christmas I jumped at the chance. The two of us had spent six weeks between A-levels and university backpacking up the East Coast from Brisbane to Cairns, and it was one of the best things I’d ever done, so going back was an easy decision.
Australia celebrates Christmas during their summer, so it is as far from icy paths and bitter winds, mulled wine and hearty, warming food as you can get. Sometimes when we stepped out of Kate’s air-conditioned Sydney apartment it felt like we’d opened the oven door rather than the front door. The week before Christmas the temperature reached 40 degrees.
One of Kate’s Aussie friends, John, invited us to stay with his family for a few days, and so we made the six-hour drive from Sydney to the rural town of Wagga Wagga, and on Christmas Day itself had cold cuts of meat and potato salad, champagne and strawberries. We went for drives through beautiful forested landscape where kangaroos and emus roamed like sheep, and on walks where you had to tread carefully because venomous snakes lived in the long grass.
When we drove back from Wagga Wagga to Sydney, it was through land recently scorched by bush fires, blackened husks of trees and pockets of still-burning ground, the air thick with smoke. Back in Sydney, we took tram rides into the city, drank iced coffee, went to Irish bars and pizza restaurants, and had two days watching Australia vs South Africa at the Sydney Cricket Ground – where I got more sunburnt than I have ever been in my life. I shook out my duvet every night to check for funnel web spiders.
The best part of the whole trip was New Year’s Eve. Kate, John and I, along with a couple of other friends, went to Sydney Harbour to watch the firework display; magnificent plumes of light and colour filling the sky over the water and the distinctive shape of the opera house. Then we bar-crawled our way around the city, talking, laughing and playing pool until four in the morning, when we got a taxi to the beach. We sat on the sand and watched the sunrise, the sea glowing pink as the New Year dawned.
It was unlike any other Christmas that I’ve had, and I will always remember it. Not least, the one Australian Christmas card that has stuck in my mind: Santa and his sleigh on top of the roof of a house, about to load presents down the chimney. Except in place of Rudolph, there was a sprightly kangaroo, and rather than the house – complete with decorated tree in the window – sitting in a dusting of snow, this particular destination was surrounded by sand. It was good to experience something totally different, but also to realise that, even on the other side of the world – and with a few necessary adaptations – some things about Christmas will always be the same.
Keep Reading …
If you enjoyed All I Want for Christmas is Cake, the complete e-book of A Cornish Cream Tea Christmas is available to pre-order now! …
Also by Cressida McLaughlin
THE CORNISH CREAM TEA SUMMER
Click here to buy now
THE CORNISH CREAM TEA BUS
Click here to buy now
THE HOUSE OF BIRDS AND BUTTERFLIES
Click here to buy now
THE CANAL BOAT CAFÉ
Click here to buy now
THE ONCE IN A BLUE MOON GUESTHOUSE
Click here to buy now
A CHRISTMAS TAIL
Click here to buy now
About the Author
Cressy was born in South-East London surrounded by books and with a cat named after Lawrence of Arabia. She studied English at the University of East Anglia and now lives in Norwich with her husband David. When she isn’t writing, Cressy spends her spare time reading, returning to London or exploring the beautiful Norfolk coastline.
If you’d like to find out more about Cressy, visit her on Twitter and on Facebook. She’d love to hear from you!
/CressidaMcLaughlinAuthor
@CressMcLaughlin
https://cressidamclaughlin.com
Also by Cressida McLaughlin
The Canal Boat Café series
All Aboard
Casting Off
Cabin Fever
Land Ahoy!
The Canal Boat Café Christmas: Port Out
The Canal Boat Café Christmas: Starboard Home
The Once in a Blue Moon Guesthouse
Open For Business
Fully Booked
Do Not Disturb
Wi
sh You Were Here
Primrose Terrace series
Wellies & Westies
Sunshine & Spaniels
Raincoats & Retrievers
Tinsel & Terriers
A Christmas Tail – The Complete Primrose Terrace Story
The House of Birds and Butterflies
The Dawn Chorus
The Lovebirds
Twilight Song
Birds of a Feather
The Cornish Cream Tea Bus
Don’t Go Baking My Heart
The Éclair Affair
Scone’s Away
The Icing on the Cake
The Cornish Cream Tea Summer
All You Knead is Love
Beauty and the Yeast
My Tart Will Go On!
Muffin Compares to You
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