‘Livie, I …’
‘It’s your last chance to decide what you want to take from the pub, too. You’ve been promising to come down and help me with the packing for the last six weeks. I know it’ll be a traumatic experience but we’re signing the contracts at the end of December and the sale will complete in the new year. We have to make a start – Mum and Dad accumulated so much stuff over the years. Miles Morgan made it absolutely clear that what we don’t take with us will be going in the skip.’
‘The skip? Oh, my God …’
Olivia laughed for the first time. ‘I know. Dad would have been horrified to think of his collections of ancient tools being chucked away. All his wonderful treasures being reduced to landfill.’
‘Best place for them,’ murmured Kirstie, a weak smile appearing on her lips as she recalled with a stab of nostalgia her parents’ penchant for scouring the local auction houses and charity shops whenever they had a few hours off.
Don and Sue Harrison invariably came home with a carload of questionable antiques and ancient knick-knacks, which they proudly displayed around the walls and shelves of the pub and the Old Barn at the other side of the cobbled car park. Oil paintings, watercolours, pencil drawings, ceramics, horse brasses, Oriental vases, vintage drinking glasses, paperweights, not to mention the larger items such as wardrobes, chests of drawers, chairs, trestle tables, rugs, coat and umbrella stands, mirrors.
Every December a cornucopia of porcelain Santa Clauses, reindeers, antique fairies, and vintage glass baubles would appear as if by magic to clutter every spare nook and cranny alongside the largest fir tree Don could get his hands on, which would be draped in a proliferation of decorations, old and new. It had been her mother’s favourite time of the year, as well as her daughters’, until the tragedy two years ago when the world changed for ever.
Kirstie swallowed down hard as a surge of grief, always so close to the surface, threatened to overwhelm her in the deserted train station waiting room. She glanced out of the window and was relieved to see it had stopped snowing.
She made a decision – she had to allow Harry and Olivia to rush to George’s bedside without feeling guilty about leaving the pub at such a critical time. She would step into the breach with a beaming smile and a confident tilt of her chin just like she did every day when she faced the FMTV cameras. She would make the Dancing Duck’s last Christmas under the Harrison name the best one ever, and make her sister, and her parents as they looked down on her, the proudest they had been. It was her turn, after all.
‘No problem, Livie. Go to Ireland and tell George to get well soon from me. Don’t worry about the pub. Emma is the best barmaid ever, so together I’m sure we will manage to deliver the village of Cranbury the absolute ultimate in Christmas celebrations, one that everyone will remember for years to come. I won’t let you down.’
‘Thank you, Kirstie. I knew you would do it. Oh, and by the way, you’ll have the benefit of an extra pair of hands to help you.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I haven’t had chance to tell you yet, but I’ve taken on a new bar manager to help out when I’m busy with Ethan.’
‘You did? Well, that’s a great …’
‘It’s Josh. Josh Turner.’
‘Oh, no, Livie, I …
‘Sorry, Kirstie, got to go. The taxi’s arrived to take us to the airport. If you make your way to the station car park Josh will be waiting to give you a lift home.’
‘Livie …’
But her sister had disconnected. Kirstie stood there, her phone still clamped to her ear, as memories ricocheted around her brain before crystallizing into a clear image of Josh Turner. Heat rushed through her veins and her heart hammered against her ribcage to the tune of ‘Last Christmas’.
Kirstie inhaled a deep, steadying breath, grabbed the handles of her bag, and stalked out of the waiting room. She had no intention of accepting a lift from Josh Turner so she could be interrogated once more about the choices she had made. She remembered the last time she had seen Josh, disappearing into the distance without a backwards glance. Anxiety gnawed at her stomach, swiftly followed by an invasion of guilt.
She made her way to the taxi rank but was dismayed to see that she would be seventh in line for a ride to Cranbury. It had only been an hour, but she missed London already, with its proliferation of black cabs and Uber cars. There was no way she could stand in the queue without a coat to protect her from the biting wind, so she let out a sigh, gritted her teeth, and made her way to the car park.
She couldn’t fail to spot the vehicle that belonged to Josh. He had always been totally predictable when it came to his choice of transport – the flashier, the better. An old, lipstick-red Alfa Romeo Spider purred softly in the third bay from the entrance, reggae music rippling from within.
She rapped on the window and was gratified to see his initial reaction was a wide welcoming smile: a smile she had dreamed of every night for months after he had screeched away from the car park of the Dancing Duck that dreadful night over eighteen months ago. She should have been at his side; after all they had been planning the trip together for months. She could still recall the jagged pain of those first few weeks after his departure. She had craved some kind of contact, but there had been no email or text or even a postcard, and Josh had never been a fan of social media. It had been like starting the grieving process all over again.
‘Hi, Kirstie!’ That familiar grin with the cute dimples curling like brackets to frame his lips – lips she had kissed so often that they were as familiar as her own.
‘Hi, Josh. I’m sorry Livie sent you to collect me. I had no idea you were working at the Dancing Duck.’
‘Well, someone had to help the poor girl out. And if you had come home more often you would have known I’ve been managing the bar for the last three months.’
Josh’s mouth tightened at the corners, his mahogany eyes boring into hers as he leapt from the driver’s seat to stow her suitcase in the back seat. Kirstie groaned – this was going to be an even more uncomfortable experience than standing in the taxi queue freezing her butt off. She glanced over her shoulder to see that only two people remained in line and she contemplated making a run for it. However, the car was warm and Kirstie was starting to get the feeling back in her fingers. Maybe if she feigned sleep, the ride wouldn’t be so uncomfortable? She was the Queen of Wishful Thinking!
‘Look, Josh, can we just …’
‘Forget what happened? Take the easy option? Nothing new there then, is there, Miss Harrison?’
Josh fired the ignition and the engine thrummed into life with a powerful surge. Through the windscreen, twilight had morphed into dusk and ripples of indigo and violet streaked across the sky like an artist’s palette. She decided to try again, this time with a smile and a conciliatory tone.
‘I’ve promised Livie that I’d make sure this was the best Christmas ever at the Dancing Duck before it’s sold. If we’re going to work together over the next two weeks, we should try to put our differences aside and …’
‘So you’re happy about the pub being sold, are you?’
‘Well, not happy as such, but it’s probably for the best.’
‘The best for who?’ Josh asked, rubbing his palm over the dark stubble on his chin as he took a bend in the road at speed. ‘Livie and Harry have been working their socks off to keep the pub afloat after what happened to Don and Sue. Every spare penny has been ploughed back into the business. Livie might not have said anything to you but she’s devastated about losing it. And all you have to say is that it’s for the best? One more thing you can erase from your past, eh?’
‘Josh,