IT WAS STARTING to feel a lot more like Christmas when Tilly and Harry arrived back at the old family villa after their shopping expedition.
Suddenly, there was too much to do. They needed to change clothes and head into the township for the Christmas gathering in Craig’s Gully, but there were parcels and bags to be unpacked from the Jeep and hidden carefully so that surprises didn’t get spoilt if they ran out of time to wrap gifts. There was Christmas music playing and the living room was a bombsite, with emptied boxes and packing materials scattered everywhere but also with a magnificently decorated tree, its lights already twinkling and parcels underneath.
Lizzie had been there helping Jim Dawson with the decorations for hours and she wasn’t leaving any time soon, apparently.
‘I’ve told him he can’t go to the barbecue,’ she told Tilly, ‘and now I’ll have to stay long enough to make sure he doesn’t try to persuade anyone else to take him out gallivanting around the countryside.’
‘It smells like you’re already cooking dinner. Or have you been baking?’
‘People have been coming by. Bringing casseroles and mince pies and gingerbread and all sorts of other things to go under the tree. I think it’s a bit of a shock that their beloved local doctor could have killed himself falling off the roof.’
Tilly didn’t need to see that hint of a smile on Harry’s face as he slid a quick glance in her direction to remember what he’d said about being a country GP and being significant in the lives of so many people. That a whole community could become like a family. Seeing the love and support that was coming out for her father did make it seem like a balance to the side of a close-knit community that Tilly couldn’t handle—the gossip and judgement that came from everybody knowing too much about everybody else.
She was still thinking about it when she was getting changed into a summer dress, having hidden her parcels in the back of her wardrobe. She might have been an only child but the bond she had with her father was unbreakable. She knew that kind of bond was the same but with more strands to it in bigger families and she’d seen the support of family groups gathering in the emergency department over many years now.
There was a special glue in those bonds that came, at least in part, from knowing everything. You celebrated the good stuff but you still accepted people despite any not so good stuff and that was the kind of acceptance that built and strengthened those bonds. It had to be a diluted form of that glue that brought unrelated people in communities together. And a not so diluted form that created real friendships.
Like the friendship that seemed to be forming between herself and Harry? He knew about her bad stuff but he not only accepted her, he seemed to like her more. To care more.
Tilly paused for a moment after pulling sandals onto her bare feet.
It felt good, this bond that was forming with Harry.
So good that, like seeing the outpouring of concern from the community for her father, it made Tilly wonder if she’d made a mistake by allowing herself to become so distant. Why had she spent so much of her life trying to be so independent, anyway? To prove that she didn’t desperately miss her mother when she wasn’t around so that people wouldn’t feel sorry for her? Because she adored her father and didn’t want him to feel any worse when he was already stressed, trying to cover all parental duties when he was missing his beloved wife and he still had to respond to all the needs of a community that depended on him? Whatever the reason had been, Tilly had learned as a child that she could cope on her own and had believed it had stood her in good stead when it had felt as if her life was falling apart as an adult. Had it, instead, been the foundation for barriers she’d strengthened ever since?
Perhaps it was because it was Christmas that was making her so aware of the concept of family. Maybe it was because of her father’s accident. Or it could be that something else was the catalyst for what was making Tilly’s heart feel as if it had broken out of some kind of cage and was filling up more than it had ever been able to do before. Making her yearn for things she had believed she would never be able to have.
It seemed quite likely that that something else was Harry Doyle...
Tilly’s soft cotton, floaty dress was a complete contrast to Harry, who was resplendent in the full Father Christmas attire designed for a northern hemisphere Christmas as she drove him into Craig’s Gully township late that afternoon.
The grass square with a war memorial in its centre was a hive of activity.
There were old oak trees around the edges of the grass square, which provided some welcome shade.
‘There’s your throne.’ Tilly pointed to an oversized chair, covered in red velvet, under one of the trees. A Christmas tree covered in shiny baubles was on one side of the ornate throne and two small ponies with reindeer antlers on their heads and strands of tinsel tied into shaggy manes and tails were tethered on the other side beside a large bucket of water.
‘They look like the ponies Maggie’s grandchildren were riding yesterday,’ Tilly said.
‘Thank goodness they’re in the shade. Along with my throne.’ Harry pushed the white curls of his wig off his forehead. ‘I knew it was crazy to have Christmas in the middle of summer. I’ve only got my togs on underneath this outfit but I’m already cooking. The coat is sticking to my back, and you have no idea how itchy this beard is.’
Tilly could only offer him a sympathetic smile. One that melted into something even softer as she noticed that his ears were showing through the curls beneath a hat that was a size too small.
‘You’re a hero for doing this, Harry,’ she said. ‘My dad thinks you’re the best thing since sliced bread and that I’m the luckiest girl in the world.’
She had to look away from Harry now. Away from those adorable ears and those captivating blue eyes. She didn’t want him to see anything in her face that might make him wonder if this pretence might be getting a bit out of hand. To see something that might make him feel sorry for her when they stepped back into reality the day after tomorrow? The way he’d felt about having to disappoint that young nurse, Charlotte?
Thank goodness she could make it sound as if she was simply going along with how well Harry’s acting gig was going in public.
‘Look...you’ve got more members of your fan club already.’
A small queue was forming in the shade on the Christmas tree side of the throne. A young mother with a toddler in her arms, another pushing a pram and several older children who were unaccompanied. Their parents were no doubt amongst the adults who were firing up the barbecue grills, setting food out on trestle tables in another shady spot and organising games for the children. Someone’s father was setting up a camera to record the annual tradition of sitting beside Father Christmas and spilling their most secret wishes.
‘I remember coming here,’ she told Harry. ‘And even though I knew it was my dad being Santa, I still loved it. When I got older I couldn’t understand why people did this on a day when they would already be so busy, the day before Christmas, but... I think I get it now. Tomorrow is plenty of time for all the smaller families to be together. This is celebrating that big family you were talking about.’
She waved a hand at the scene around them. Someone was handing out ice creams from a half wine barrel full of ice and another barrel had cold drinks for the adults. ‘You were right when you pointed out that there’s a positive side to everyone knowing your business. I think I’m only just realising how much I’ve missed it.’
Was it because those barriers she’d probably started building way back when she was just a kid, missing her mum, and had made impenetrable after the trauma of the assault, were starting to crumble? Because she felt different since last night?
Because of Harry...?
That internal melty feeling was threatening to bring tears to her eyes. The need to give something back to Harry suddenly seemed of the utmost importance because...good grief...this felt like a whole lot more than gratitude for anything he’d done for her.
It felt a lot like love...
She caught his gaze. ‘I’m beginning to think being a GP in Craig’s Gully might not be such a bad thing,’ she said quietly. ‘And I think I get why you feel you need to go back home to Ireland. I really hope you find what you’re looking for there because...you deserve to be happy, Harry.’
Tilly also wanted to tell him how special he really was. How very glad she was that he’d offered to come home and share Christmas with her. She could have even told him that she loved him in that moment—in a light-hearted kind of way that a friend could say it so it wouldn’t lead to any awkwardness later—but the arrival of Father Christmas had been spotted and excited children were jumping up and down.
‘Santa! Santa! Santa!’
‘Good luck,’ was all she had the chance to say in the end. ‘I’ll come and save you from heatstroke later.’
If he hadn’t been quietly cooking inside the Santa suit, this would have been quite fun. Harry had never been into dressing-up so it was a novelty to be disguised so well that, even if people knew him, he couldn’t be recognised. Tilly was the only person here who knew who was inside the suit and he liked that it was a secret just between them. He sat on the throne and had small children sitting on his knee, babies in his arms, older children sitting on cushions beside him and even dogs lying at his feet as photographs were taken and secrets were whispered. He heard about the toys and games and electronic devices that children were hoping would arrive overnight.
Tilly turned up with an icy cold beer in a paper cup.
‘Ho-ho-ho!’ Harry said. ‘You’re a good girl, Matilda.’
‘The queue’s getting shorter,’ she told him. ‘Hang in there. Can you see the little girl in the pink tutu?’
Harry peered over the top of the gold-rimmed spectacles. ‘Yes.’
‘That’s Ava. Jase’s daughter?’
‘Ah...’ Harry finished his drink and handed Tilly the empty cup. ‘Do you think he remembers the promise I made to find out what she wants for Christmas?’
‘I know he does. He just asked me to remind you.’
Tilly pointed to where picnic rugs and chairs were being set up near the tables and, sure enough, Jase was sitting on one of the chairs, his arm in a sling and a smile on his face.
When it was Ava’s turn to whisper her secret, Harry found himself holding his breath, but the little girl was suddenly shy.
‘What is it that you’d like Father Christmas to bring you, pet?’
‘I forget...’
‘Have a think about it while we smile for our photo. Is that your mummy there? With your baby brother?’
‘Yes. My daddy’s got a sore arm.’
‘I know. But it’s going to get all better soon. Can you see my reindeer?’
‘They’re not reindeer,’ Ava giggled. ‘They’re ponies.’
Harry lowered his voice. ‘Do you like ponies, Ava?’
‘I love ponies,’ she whispered back.
‘Is that what you’d really like for Christmas?’
Ava nodded and Harry patted her head. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’ He raised his voice to a cheerful boom. ‘Merry Christmas. Ho-ho-ho...’
Right at the end of the queue were the twins he recognised as Maggie’s grandchildren. They were both wearing red headbands with Christmas decorations on them.
‘Which one of you is Sammy and which one is George?’ he asked.
‘I’m George.’ The girl had three tiny angels on her headband. ‘And he’s Sammy.’ Sammy had a Christmas tree made of green felt on his headband. It was decorated with tiny golden balls and bows made of silver tinsel.
‘How do you know our names?’ Sammy sounded suspicious.
‘I’m Father Christmas. I know everything.’
‘You’re not the real Father Christmas. He’s at the North Pole and he doesn’t get here till tomorrow.’
‘Okay...you got me.’ Harry was too hot and tired to argue. ‘I’m one of his helpers.’
‘Where’s the real one?’
‘He’s busy wrapping presents. And loading up his sleigh. He comes to New Zealand first, did you know that?’
‘Which way does he come?’
‘From the north.’
‘Which way’s that?’
‘Um...’ Harry wasn’t sure, so he waved vaguely at the hills. ‘Up there. He’ll come over the top of those hills later tonight so you’d better tell me what it is you’re hoping for most of all so I can get a message to him.’
‘We already wrote him a letter,’ George told him.
‘That’s good.’ Harry nodded. ‘But you could tell me too.’
‘We both want the same thing.’ Sammy still sounded suspicious. ‘If you know our names you should know about that too. Unless the letter didn’t get there...’
George tugged on his sleeve. ‘I’ll tell you,’ she whispered. She knelt up on her cushion and put her mouth so close to his ear that it tickled. He could hear her gulp of breath that advertised how important this was. ‘We want Nana to get better.’
Oh...
Harry closed his eyes in a long blink as he pulled in a breath.
‘I know what she said,’ Sammy growled into the silence. ‘So...?’
Harry looked down at the small boy, still lost for words.
‘So...can you do that?’ Sammy demanded.
‘I’m so sorry that your nana’s sick,’ Harry said carefully. ‘But I know that it’s very special for her to be able to have this Christmas with you.’
‘So you’re not going to make her better.’ Sammy glared at Harry as he slid off his cushion. ‘You can’t, anyway, because you’re not the real Father Christmas. Come on, George.’
But George sat there for a moment longer, gazing up at Harry with tears about to spill from her eyes.
Harry bent his head and spoke softly. ‘Sometimes, getting better can be about when things stop hurting,’ he said.
George nodded slowly. ‘Like when my foot stopped hurting,’ she said, ‘After Geronimo stood on it.’
‘Is Geronimo your pony? I mean your reindeer?’
‘No, he’s Sammy’s pony. My pony is called Bilbo and he’s too kind to step on anybody’s toes.’ She was smiling as she climbed off the throne. ‘I need to go and find Sammy,’ she said. ‘And my mum. She said we could have an ice cream next and maybe that will make Sammy feel not quite so sad.’
Harry took off his spectacles as he watched her go after her brother. He was using the sleeve of his jacket to wipe his eyes as Tilly appeared from nowhere.
Her brow furrowed as she looked up at him. ‘Are you okay?’
‘I don’t think I’ve ever been this hot in my entire life,’ Harry told her. ‘I might actually have hyperthermia.’ He let his breath out in a sigh. ‘And I just had Maggie’s grandchildren tell me that the only thing they want for Christmas is for their nana to get better.’
‘Oh...’ Tilly’s eyes seemed to get bigger and darker. She looked over her shoulder at the crowd of people sharing food and laughter as children played around them. And then she looked back at Harry and he knew that she knew being part of that group was the last thing he wanted right now.
She held out her hand.
‘Come with me,’ she said. ‘I know exactly where you need to be.’
The lake was deserted.
Tilly knew it would be, because everybody who might have been there was at the barbecue in the town square, so this was not only private, she’d known it would provide exactly the kind of serenity that Harry badly needed.
She needed a bit of it herself, to be honest. Harry had told her, word for word, about his conversation with Sammy and George and his suggestion that Maggie being free of her pain was a form of ‘getting better’ had squeezed her heart enough to bring tears to her eyes.
He was going to make the best father ever, she thought as she brought the Jeep to a halt. And the woman he chose to be the mother of those six children was yet to discover how lucky she was.
The lake was as still as a mill pond. The scorching heat of the sun was softening as the long summer twilight began, but the stones of the beach had soaked up the warmth enough to make the clear, cool water of this small lake even more inviting.
Harry had removed the big black belt and unzipped the jacket of his suit, throwing the pillow into the back of the Jeep as Tilly had driven him here. He had also discarded the hat, wig, beard and spectacles and kicked off the black boots, but he still looked...almost shell-shocked.
‘Why don’t you get the rest of your kit off?’ she suggested as soon as they were standing on the beach.
‘What?’
‘You’ve said you put your swimming shorts on underneath, didn’t you?’
‘Yes, but...’
‘It’s going to be the fastest way for you to cool off. I can pretty much guarantee we’ve got this place to ourselves for a while, so you could go skinny-dipping if you prefer. I won’t look...’
Tilly tried to find a smile but found her lips were strangely wobbly as she remembered what Harry had said only yesterday about having to go swimming naked because he hadn’t brought his togs with him. It felt a lot longer ago than yesterday. A lifetime ago, in some ways...because this wasn’t stirring feelings that were going to make her unbearably nervous. Tilly couldn’t feel even a hint of that kind of fear and the relief was as overwhelming as whatever emotions Sammy and George had stirred in Harry.
Standing there with his sweat-dampened curls, bare feet, the pants of his suit rolled up to his calves and the red and white jacket open so that his bare chest was visible was making Harry Doyle the sexiest Santa Claus imaginable but, also strangely, Tilly wasn’t feeling any shafts of that heat that she was learning could be triggered by physical desire. She wasn’t even thinking about wanting Harry to kiss her again.
This was something deeper. Emotional rather than physical. This was about things that were going to be lost, like the grief that Maggie’s grandchildren were going to have to experience soon. It was about things that had already been lost, like both their own mothers. Like Tilly’s ability to trust. Or take risks. And about whatever it was that had been keeping Harry from finding what he was searching for. There was love in that mix too. The love that Harry had to give. Her gratitude—and love—for what he’d already given her.
This was about life, Tilly realised. As huge and complicated and wonderful and sad as it all was and how much it mattered to find a connection with another human who could be there when it was all a bit too much.
Harry hadn’t moved. He was staring at Tilly as though he was seeing her for the first time, but she couldn’t blame him. Just a day or so ago he wouldn’t have believed that the ‘Ice Queen’ would be suggesting a skinny-dip. She wouldn’t have believed it herself.
Not that she was going to go quite that far. Tilly was wearing a perfectly respectable bra and panties under her dress.
‘Last one in’s a rotten egg,’ she announced, reaching for the hem of her dress so she could pull it off over her head.
The stones hurt her feet and the water was cold enough to make her squeak, so Tilly had to keep going until it was deep enough to dive and then swam as hard as she could. By the time she surfaced her body was adjusting to the temperature of the water. She used her legs and arms to keep her head above water, waiting for that delicious moment when it would start to feel like cool silk rippling around her body, and she scanned the lake around her to see where Harry was.
There was no sign of him.
She could see the heap of red and white fabric on the beach, so he’d stripped off, but if he’d followed her into the lake he hadn’t left so much as a ripple. A beat of alarm made Tilly’s breath catch in her throat. Had Harry been even more overheated than she’d realised? Had the sudden immersion in cold water given him cramps or a cardiac arrhythmia? Had he sunk without a trace and was drowning?
The squeak Tilly had made on entering the water was nothing to the squeal as she felt her ankle being gripped and tugged. Her head went underwater but she was released instantly and she came up spluttering—with laughter. The best she could manage in return was to scoop water in her hand and aim it for Harry’s face. The water fight that ensued lasted for a good ten minutes and left them both exhausted and breathless, from treading water and laughing so hard. By tacit agreement, when they found themselves in water at neck level when their feet could touch the stone bed of the lake, a truce was called and they stayed still as the ripples subsided and the echoes of their laughter vanished into the fading light.
It was Tilly who broke the silence. ‘Feeling better?’
Harry grinned at her. ‘So much better.’
‘Want to get out?’
Harry shook his head. ‘I think I might want to stay here for ever.’
Tilly smiled. ‘For ever is quite a long time, you know.’
‘I might change my mind in a minute or two. It is getting colder.’
‘I think I’m getting goosebumps.’
She felt Harry’s finger brush her arm under the water. ‘You are. Okay...it’s time to get out.’
Except neither of them made any movement other than the gentle rocking that meant they could keep their balance in the water and, although the water was crystal clear, the ripples were enough to blur the image of their bodies so the only part of Harry that Tilly was aware of was his face. He had wet hair plastered to his head and she could even see droplets of water in the tangle of his eyelashes, but it was those astonishing blue eyes that captured her. No. It was the way he was looking at her.
There was no one watching them. No one to appreciate any performance intended to convince them that Harry was head over heels in love with her, but that was how this gaze was making Tilly feel. She had no idea whether her foot slipped on the pebbles beneath them, or whether there was some mysterious current in the lake that made it happen, but it felt as if she simply floated even closer to Harry and it was instinctive to catch her balance by reaching out to touch the bare skin of his shoulders. The warmth of his arms coming around her should have counteracted the goosebumps caused by the cold water but, in fact, she could feel them become more pronounced when she lifted her face and felt the touch of Harry’s lips against hers.
It was when she felt the soft, silky touch of his tongue against hers that she was aware of a warmth through her entire body that no chilly lake water could possibly compete with. A warmth that made it impossible for Tilly to freeze, in any sense, and there was only one thing she wanted to do.
Kiss Harry back.
And to stay here for ever.
They’d been in the water for too long.
As welcome as the cooling effect had been after hours of sweltering in that Santa suit, when he felt Tilly beginning to shiver in his arms Harry knew it was time to get out.
Which meant it was time to stop kissing her as well. But maybe that was a good thing because he couldn’t quite remember whose idea it had been to do it in the first place and he had to be very, very sure that it was something that Tilly wanted as much as he did.
The stones on the beach still held the heat of the sun but Harry draped the jacket of the Santa suit around Tilly’s shoulders.
‘Have you got a towel in the car?’
‘No. Just the bag with your change of clothes. I wasn’t planning on swimming.’
‘Of course you weren’t. You should still be at the barbecue. Do you want to head back?’
‘It’ll be all over by now. The carol service will be just about finished. Everybody will be heading home so they can get the kids to bed as early as possible.’ Tilly smiled. ‘They’ll probably be up again at about five a.m. when it starts getting light. Another disadvantage of having Christmas in the middle of summer, I guess.’
‘I think I’m starting to like it,’ Harry said. ‘There’s something about this place. Something that feels like Christmas even when it shouldn’t. It’s breaking all the rules.’
‘Like roaring fires and mulled wine and lots of snow?’
‘Exactly.’
‘Did you always get a white Christmas in Dublin?’
‘Not at all. It only happens once every few years. I’ve got a photo of one when I was about eight. I think it was 1995. My mam and I built the best snowman ever, with lumps of coal for his eyes and buttons and proper forked branches so that his arms had hands with fingers.’
‘No... I don’t believe it. Fingers?’
‘I’ve got a photo. I’ll prove it to you. I gave him my hat and scarf to wear.’
‘I’d like to see that.’
He could hear the smile in Tilly’s voice but didn’t turn his head to see it.
‘Everyone said the most spectacular white Christmas ever in Dublin was in 2010,’ he told her. ‘There was so much snow and it made everything so much prettier. Even the tenement block Mam was still living in didn’t look so bad with all the edges softened and the lights shining.’ Harry stared out at the still lake, as if he could see the reflections of his own life in its surface. ‘She was already sick with the cancer, but she never told me about it. And that was the last Christmas we ever had together...’
It had to be trickles of water still escaping from his hair that were rolling down his face like tears. Harry didn’t cry. He’d learned not to when he’d been about Sammy’s age, because it only made the bullying worse. It was time to make someone laugh. Himself as well as Tilly with any luck, if he could think of a good joke.
But then he heard the tiniest sound of a sniff and, when he turned his head, he saw Tilly rubbing her nose. He could see the tears making those dark eyes of hers shimmer in this soft light and the knowledge that she had absorbed his own pain made something shift in his chest. Something that moved enough to give his heart room to expand. Yeah...this felt like Christmas.
Because it felt like family. It felt like love. And wasn’t that what Christmas was all about?
Harry reached out to use the pad of his thumb to brush away a tear that escaped, curling his fingers around her jawbone at the same time. Because he wanted to kiss this woman again. And again.
He wanted, very much, to make love to her, if Tilly wanted him to. And if it happened to be on a deserted lake beach as daylight faded, using a Santa suit to cushion the stones, it could well become the most favourite Christmas memory ever.
Tilly knew what he was thinking. He could see his own thoughts reflected in her eyes. He could feel the warmth of her skin as he leaned towards her. And he heard the sharp intake of her breath. Not because of his touch, though. There was another sound they could both hear—the demanding ring of a phone coming from the front seat of the Jeep.
‘I’d better get that,’ Tilly said, pulling the jacket around her as she scrambled to her feet. ‘Nobody would call at this time of night on Christmas Eve if it wasn’t something important.’