The next morning after breakfast, I walk through reception to the back office for another, real proper snoop before Laura gets in. There, I stop, frozen.
Mitchell is lying on the sofa in the corner, on his back, his arm thrown over his eyes. Wearing only a pair of boxers.
Without uttering a word, I backtrack out of the room, hoping he hasn’t heard me, but I bash my elbow against the doorframe and he’s instantly alert.
‘Jesus, it’s not seven o’clock already, is it?’ he groans, jumping up and pulling on his jeans. He grabs his old shirt, balling it up and stuffing it into his back pocket.
‘Not yet,’ I answer, turning away. But, in one embarrassed glance, I’ve noticed a great deal. He’s achingly handsome, with a body to die for. A body that he hides very well under large sweaters and—boy, I shouldn’t be thinking these things. I’m here to work.
But his shoulders are wider than I’d thought, and his chest is covered with a good dose of dark hair that looks incredibly soft, leading to a six-pack that simply can’t be improved on.
Not that I’m here to catch myself a man, mind you. Besides, in a few weeks I’ll be gone. I’m not quite sure where I’ll be going, if I keep my shenanigans up. I know I’ll come to regret my lies to my boss, but Susan has the power to pulverise him if she chooses to, and she most definitely will, if I don’t protect him. Maybe it’s my strong sense of justice, or that I just don’t like seeing people getting fired, but my instinct is to help him.
‘Sorry, I, uhm, just wanted to get some photocopying done before the start of the day,’ I lie. ‘I had no idea you slept here. I’m so sorry, I feel so bad…’ He can’t live like this, like a refugee with no real bed. It’s bad enough he doesn’t have, as far as I know, a real home in the area. Goodness, what have I done? I’ve literally kicked a man out of his home. The least I can do is try to save him from losing his job.
Mitchell zips up his jeans.
‘Look,’ I say, ‘Danny and I will move out—’
‘Don’t be silly. It won’t be forever.’
That much is true. In less than three weeks’ time I’ll be out of here. I only hope he will be staying, though.
He slides past me, a sleepy grin on his face as he winks, and I can smell the wonderful smell of what can only be described as bed on him. Male. Cosy. Sexy. I inhale, like a dog sniffing a pot roast, and my senses, which have been turned off for the last eight years, are instantly alert, back in the saddle.
‘Shower time…’ he whispers as his arm touches mine in salute.
Huh? Shower? It’s not an invitation, you daft, daft girl.
Now, normally, I’m not one to ogle men – I never do, ever. But, as he’s leaving, I get a view of his bare, broad but lean back, and am particularly enticed by the tendons on either side of his spine. I have to make an effort to shut it all out of my mind. He’s slim but muscled. Which would all be bearable, were it not for his gravelly bed-voice that stirs all sorts of thoughts I’d buried a lifetime ago.
In the past years, I’ve had a bit of office flirting banter here and there, but haven’t been out on one single date. There’s simply no one I’ve fancied enough to say yes to. But Mitchell… he’s taken me completely by surprise. And, oddly enough, it’s all come at the worst of times. If there is one man I shouldn’t be having anything to do with – ever – it’s Mitchell Fitzpatrick.
What the heck is happening to me? Three days in and I’m already thinking about a stranger’s scent? I’m not like that. I just don’t behave that way at all.
Mark’s dumping me had changed my ways forever. I had not only lost my young girl’s self-confidence, but I’d also lost, at a very young age, my faith in the opposite sex. So, no – this is definitely not the way I normally behave around men. I never have, never could. So, what’s all this sniffing Mitchell all about?
When Laura comes in a few minutes later, she looks at me and cocks her head. ‘You look… frazzled. Are you hot?’
Hot? I’m literally self-combusting. And I have a headache and a half. ‘I’m fine.’
Laura puts her bag down. ‘You don’t look fine to me. Did you not sleep well?’
Sleep? How could I, sick with worry about this bloody evaluation and Susan calling at all hours? I just know I’m going to get another call from her today wanting an update, and I still have to get my nose into the bowels of the secrets of the Old Bell Inn. Because something is still bothering me. ‘I’m fine, thanks,’ I say as I take my place at my desk and look up my favourites on my laptop with the goal of rereading the reviews for the umpteenth time. Apart from the timing, and the viciousness, something else is staring me in the face. I can feel it, but I just can’t figure out what it is.
In order to keep abreast of any new reviews, I log on with an alias (am I getting good at this sneaky business or not?) and sign up for alerts from each and every one of the sixty-three negative bloggers, in the hope that I may discover any clues as to what is happening.
About an hour later, as I have made no progress whatsoever all morning, I look about me, at the beautiful but bare stone walls and decide to start fixing the things I actually can.
‘Sally, have we got a Christmas tree?’ I ask as she wheels past me with her cart full of cleaning products.
She stares at me as if I am barking mad. ‘Christmas tree?’
‘And decorations. And lights,’ I add. ‘Surely you have some stuff lying around from last year?’
‘Don’t get your hopes up too high. When Diane left, she took most of her stuff with her.’
Diane. Why did she really leave him? Was it really because she hated Cornwall? I find that alone impossible to believe. What kind of couple were they? And then I remind myself why I’m here, and that none of this is any of my business.
‘If you want, I’ll have a look for you,’ Sally offers.
‘Thanks, Sally. I’d really appreciate it.’ I smile at her. With her tired face and hands worked down to the bone, I have a feeling that she bears the weight of not only the inn, but the entire world on her slim shoulders as well. And yet she always finds the time to smile, to ruffle Danny’s hair, to say something cheerful to anyone walking past her, and to even bring me a croissant. She is truly a rare gem of a woman whose whole existence is built on her own hard labour and sacrifices.
‘You are a star, lady,’ I say as I wink at her just as Mitchell is walking by.
‘Awh, thanks, luv, so are you…’ she returns.
He stops to watch the exchange as Sally, who is now blowing me kisses, steps back against him.
‘Oh-oh,’ she says with mock fear. ‘I hit a brick wall. Please don’t tell me it’s the boss.’
‘I’m afraid it is,’ he whispers back.
She chuckles and moves away.
‘Hi, can I have a word?’ I ask.
Mitchell turns to look at me. ‘About?’
‘Christmas.’
‘What about it?’
‘Well, haven’t you noticed anything?’
‘What?’
‘It’s completely missing. There is not one sign of Christmas here in this inn.’
‘We don’t need a sign. Everyone knows it’s Christmas.’
I sigh inwardly. Why am I not surprised, I wonder? I know he’s having a tough time at the moment. I know last Christmas he was dumped by his wife and is not particularly keen on celebrating this time of year. No one knows it better than I do, but right now, I need him to shine more than ever, just as much as I need his lobby to sparkle with bright Christmas lights.
Besides, shouldn’t he be happy I’m making the inn all the more festive for Lola to enjoy? All children love Christmas, and even with a father like Mitchell, I’m sure she does as well.
‘I’m going to put up a tree,’ I announce.
He groans. ‘What for?’
‘To spread Christmas cheer and make guests feel all the more welcome and at home.’
‘If they wanted to feel like they were staying home, they would’ve stayed home,’ he snaps as he marches to his office.
‘Maybe it would be preferable, rather than hang around this mausoleum!’ I snap back, rising out of my seat, only to duck back down when I spot a couple of hens sashaying past Reception, an amused smile on their faces. Sybil Fawlty couldn’t have done it better. Are Mitchell and I becoming the Fawltys, without even being a couple? Everything I want to do, he simply turns around and vetoes.
From my station, I can see him through the open door, rubbing his face in exasperation. What the hell is his problem? And whatever it is, for the good of his business, he should be trying to get over it. And I’m going to help him do that. I’ll make this place so festive, the poor man won’t know what hit him. He’ll be so cheerful he won’t even recognise himself when I’m done with him.
When Sally returns half an hour later with a stack of boxes full of decorations, I can hardly contain my glee.
‘Oh, goody, thank you, Sally!’ I chime, and Mitchell looks up from his desk to see what the commotion is all about, only to frown when he sees the cause.
‘Be right back!’ I call to him as I hike my turtle neck around my ears and brace myself for the cold temperatures outside to go and look for Danny in the stables.
We always decorate our Christmas tree together back home, and just because we’re not home this year doesn’t mean that we should be forgoing Christmas altogether. It has always been special to me, and more so after Danny’s birthday on Christmas Eve. I have a lot to be thankful for. And, even if Mitchell can’t see it, so does he. I’m assuming he’ll be seeing his daughter either for Christmas or the New Year. Maybe that’s it. Maybe he won’t see her until the New Year and maybe that’s another reason why he’s so bloody miserable. If that’s the case, I’ll make sure Danny cheers him up.
I find him and Jeremy in the stables, caressing what is possibly the most derelict horse I’ve ever seen. She’s way past her prime, even I can tell.
‘Hi, Mum! Look, this is Mabel!’ he whispers so as not to spook the poor animal. ‘She’s Mitchell’s favourite. But we have to retire her for her own good.’
I come close to her and softly caress her nose. ‘Hello, Mabel. Hello, beautiful. Is she sick?’
‘No, just old,’ Jeremy answers. ‘It’s time for her to rest.’
‘Mabel’s going to be put out to pasture,’ Danny informs me. ‘And Jeremy said I can take care of her all on my own.’
I look at my son and see how quickly he’s changed in only a few days. He is more confident, more responsible. He even looks wiser. And certainly he is happier here. It’s almost as if by travelling out here, Danny has become more in touch with himself. Because that’s what Cornwall does. It lets you get back into a relationship with yourself and your loved ones. It gives you time to feel. There is no soul-destroying routine of fighting your way through the mad crowd to take the Tube. No faceless city that will swallow you if you only let it. Here, all is calm, all is silent. All is love. Just like Christmas should be.
I look up at Jeremy who has a strange expression on his kind, withered face. And I understand that he has complete faith in Danny. ‘Thank you, Jeremy, for trusting Danny with such an important horse.’
He smiles. ‘Thank Mitchell. He asked specifically for Danny to take care of her.’
‘Oh? That’s great,’ I answer through a tight throat. Just when you think that Mitchell Fitzscrooge is hopeless. I swallow back a strange emotion that I can’t quite place. It’s a mixture between pride for my son, and gratitude to Mitchell. He and I might not see eye to eye on business, granted, but he keeps finding ways to tell me that he isn’t actually half bad at all.
‘Uhm, darling, would you like to help me decorate the Christmas tree?’
Danny’s eyes swing to Jeremy’s. ‘Do you mind?’
‘Go on, son. Mabel is in for the night now. You’ve done a great job.’
Danny gets to his feet and strokes Mabel’s nose. ‘Okay, then. Goodnight, beautiful Mabel,’ he whispers into her ear. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow. Thank you, Jeremy,’ he says without me having to prompt him. Back home, he hardly ever spoke to adults other than his teachers. Even in shops, he was always so shy. But here, it’s different. He’s found a friend with common interests, and it’s helping him open up.
He dusts himself off and comes to my side, searching for my hand. He may be growing up, but part of him will always be my little boy.
‘Thanks, Jeremy,’ I say, smiling, when really all I want to do is give the old man a great big hug.
Back in the lobby, Danny runs to the boxes and starts pulling out the sections of a fake Christmas tree. It would have been nice to have a real one, but this is the best we can do on such short notice.
‘Mum, look at the size of this tree!’ Danny exclaims after we have connected all the pieces together and stood it just to the right of the main entrance, by a window so that it will be enjoyed from outdoors as well.
He is right. It stands at least ten feet tall, which is how I feel every time my son smiles up at me. It’s not a real tree, but with a little TLC it will look more than good.
‘Shall we decorate it now, darling?’ I suggest and he immediately dives into the stack of boxes containing the decorations.
There are countless choices as there is a mismatch of everything. ‘We can have a silver and red theme, or blue, or—’
‘Let’s do all of the colours!’ Danny exclaims. ‘Let’s make it really colourful and bright! And let’s put up as many lights as possible!’
‘Okay,’ I say with a laugh. I swear I’ve never seen him this excited about a Christmas tree. Or Christmas, for that matter. What looked like a blue Christmas without the family is shaping up to be quite pleasing indeed.
As I reach into one of the boxes for a bauble, my hands touch a bit of bubble wrap. I carefully unwrap the round object. It is a silvery-blue baby ornament, with a baby in onesies depicted on one side. I turn it over and gasp when I read: ‘To Mitchell on his first Christmas, with love from Mum and Dad’.
‘Rosie, would it be possible for you to… Rosie…?’
I turn around at the sound of Mitchell’s deep voice. And the panicked look on his face at the sight of our colourful mess of decorations on the floor is simply to die for.
‘Hi, Mitchell!’ Danny and I chime in unison.
‘What’s all this?’
‘Christmas cheer. Remember that?’
He opens his mouth to retort, but due to Danny’s presence, thinks better of it. Without a word, he takes off in the opposite direction. I knew he didn’t want to celebrate Christmas because it’s the time of year his wife left him. But he’s done such a good job of looking as if he was over it that I actually believed it. The question is, now, is it his pride that hurts, or is his heart still aching?