Christmas Day, morning
‘Happy Christmas.’
My eyes open on a man in a Santa hat and nothing else. Cal stands by the side of the bed, holding a parcel. It looks like he wrapped it in the dark while wearing mittens.
I sit bolt upright on the pillows. ‘What time is it? We have to start cooking the turkeys.’
‘Relax. Polly’s son-in-law has already put them in the cafe and farmhouse ovens.’
I slump back on the pillows and frown. ‘You haven’t got any clothes on.’
‘Glad you finally noticed.’ He waggles the parcel and I try not to be too impressed by what waggles underneath it. ‘I have Christmas dinner to cook for eighteen people.’
‘Aren’t you going to open it?’ he says. ‘If you don’t like it I can take it back. It doesn’t matter.’
‘I do like it. I will like it.’
‘Why the long face, then?’
I swallow hard. ‘I haven’t had any Christmas presents for a long time. I’m not used to having them.’
Cal flashes me a sexy smile. ‘Take your time, but can you budge over so I can get into bed. I’m freezing my rocks off out here.’
And very nice rocks they are, I think as I rip off the paper like Mitch will later when he gets his new dog bed. I pull out some smooth fabric.
‘It’s a Christmas apron.’ Laughing, I unroll it and see that it has my name embroidered across the top.
‘Try it on,’ he says.
Aware that I’m naked, I get out of bed into the chilly Christmas morning air and slip the apron on.
Cal sits back, his hands behind his head. ‘Let’s have a twirl, then.’
As I turn slowly round, knowing he can see my bare bottom, he lets out an ‘ohhh’ of approval. ‘Another bum Christmas present, never mind,’ he says, but the look in his eyes, a slow-burning intensity, tells me how he really feels. A glow has kindled under my skin and deep inside me. I’m beginning to feel that everyone can look after themselves today.
‘Oh, it looks as if someone’s left something in the pockets,’ he says.
I dig out a small package from the apron pocket. It’s a smallish oblong blue box. When I flip the lid, a beautiful bracelet nestles on a white silk interior. It’s made up of tiny silver shells and starfish, interspaced with freshwater pearls that remind me of the colours of Kilhallon Cove on a still summer’s day.
Before I came to Kilhallon, I’d become good at not crying when things were bad. I’d had no reason to cry when things were good, but Kilhallon has ruined me.
‘You don’t like it?’ Cal says, probably spotting my bottom lip trembling.
‘I don’t like it. I love it. It’s … it’s dreamy. I can’t believe it’s mine.’
His eyes light up with pleasure, though mine are misty. ‘Good. I liked the colours. Robyn made it to my specific instructions before she left for Oz.’
A tear escapes and runs down my face.
‘Bloody hell. Anyone would think I’d given you the sack!’ he says, grabbing my hand and pulling me back into bed on top of him. ‘You’d better take that off. We don’t have to cook Christmas dinner quite yet.’
Against all the odds, dinner is ready. To loud ‘ohs’ and ‘ahs’ we carry the turkeys to the table. Polly and her family, and Will and Emma and their girls, follow us with the vegetables, gravy, cranberry sauce, roast potatoes – everything that a traditional meal should have and probably more. When our other ‘normal’ paying guests heard about the feast, they all chipped in and donated some of their wine, chocolates and other goodies.
We’ve had a few tears in the kitchens and there are more now as lunch is served. There are lots of brave faces while the crackers are pulled and cheesy jokes shared. Some of our guests will be out of their homes for weeks, even months, and they must be devastated, but for a few hours I hope we can give them a Christmas to enjoy and some fun times for the children.
After lunch, the little kids – and some of the big ones – point and gasp as our secret ‘Santa’ strides in, carrying a sack. The tiny one who asked about the cockerel has one finger stuck up his nose and the other pointing at Santa.
His dad crouches down by him and murmurs in his ear, ‘Oh, look. It’s one of Santa’s helpers.’
‘Ho ho ho.’
‘No, it’s not. It’s just the man who owns the holiday park,’ Max chirps up and everyone laughs.
Undeterred, ‘Santa’ hands out presents to the kids and even Max seems mildly impressed by his gift, a new game for his console.
‘Where did these come from? They must have cost a fortune,’ I whisper as Cal strips off his Santa costume in the staff cubby hole.
‘Local traders donated some of the presents. Emma collected them while we were busy yesterday and she and Will also paid for some extra gifts.’
‘Wow.’
‘They’re loaded, apparently. He owns a chain of climbing-equipment shops. They also gave me a very generous donation for the flood hardship appeal and offered all the families a break at his place in the Lake District if and when they want it.’
‘I had no idea.’
‘Google him,’ says Cal. ‘You’ll see. He has an MBE for his work with the mountain rescue up there.’
We start to clear up. Some of the kids and adults play games. A couple of Twister mats have been produced, and, to my amazement, a tipsy Polly joins in.
‘Come on!’ I say as she falls in a heap with an ‘oof’.
Slowly she sits up. ‘I’ve gone all funny after that. I think I’d better call it a day and make myself a cup of tea.’
She wobbles towards the kitchen, making me worry about health and safety, but in few seconds, I find myself spread-eagled on the slippery Twister mat with Cal and one of the mums, shaking with laughter, far too full of turkey and Christmas pudding and in danger of collapsing at any moment.
Darkness falls outside and people begin to wander back to their own accommodation.
Max’s mum, the one from my cottage, clutches the hand of her daughter who’s still wearing her party hat, while the little cockerel boy dozes on his dad’s shoulder.
‘I didn’t think, after what’s happened, that we could possibly enjoy today. In fact, I think today has been one of the best Christmas Days we’ve ever had. Thanks, love.’
‘Thank you, Demi,’ says her daughter.
I crouch down and hug the little girl. ‘All the best,’ I say. ‘Stay as long as you like.’
‘My cousin’s coming for us tomorrow. But I’ll never forget this,’ her mum says. Max is engrossed in his computer game, but does manage a mumbled ‘thank you’.
‘Kids, eh?’ the mum says and they head to my cottage, still laughing and chattering about the party and the hens. At least they’ve been able to forget their troubles for a few hours. I’m happy about that.
Now it’s eight o’clock and only Polly and her family, me, Cal, my dad and Rachel are left in the cafe. Even Will, Emma and the twins have gone to watch a Disney film on their TV.
Rachel rests her stockinged feet on the farmhouse settle in the cafe, rubbing her bump. Dad brings some dirty glasses into the kitchen where I’m reloading the dishwasher yet again.
‘Rachel’s done in so we’d better get her home, but I’ll come back to help clear up.’
‘Thanks but there’s no need. It’s almost done.’
‘OK. If you’re sure?’
‘Yes. You can use the sitting room at the farmhouse if you like. It’s not bedtime yet and the new Bond film is on soon.’
‘Thanks, but Rachel’s shattered and I’ll probably keep her company. We’ve not had much sleep over the past few days.’
‘When will you be back in your place, do you think?’
‘I don’t know. Weeks, possibly. I hope it’s before the baby arrives.’ He hesitates. ‘I wish I’d got you a present.’
‘I’ve managed without one for years, Dad. I can cope now. Ouch, I didn’t mean it to sound like that, but I don’t need gifts from you. You always made sure I was fed and had what I needed for school, even during the worst times, it just wasn’t the material stuff I needed.’
‘I know that.’
‘Have you heard from Kyle?’ I ask. ‘You said he was in the army and on a tour of duty.’
‘He’s been at a UK base but their regiment is in Cyprus at the moment and won’t be back until spring. He’s been to our old house, but not to the new one – good job he can’t come back for Christmas now we’re flooded out. He asked me where you were in an email last week and I told him you were well and working at Kilhallon, but that we weren’t speaking still.’
All I can do is nod.
‘When he’s back on leave, why don’t you come and see him, if we’re in our place by then? You can see the baby too.’
I swallow a lump in my throat. ‘Yeah. I might do that. I’ll definitely think about it. I’d like to see Kyle again even though we were never close. And the baby too.’
‘OK.’ He touches my arm. ‘If you don’t want to or it’s too soon, that’s fine. I am sorry. For everything. Give me another chance. Give us another chance. People can change, and it helps that I’m off the booze now.’
‘I noticed you stuck to the fizzy apple juice with your lunch.’
‘I thought drowning my sorrows even more than I already did would help me after your mum died. It blocked out the guilt and pain for a while and then it only made things worse. It was tough and I won’t say I wouldn’t love a drink right now, but I’ve been sober for three years. Rachel’s helped me.’
‘Has she?’
‘Yes. It must be hard for you to see me with her. She’s older than she looks, if that makes things any easier for you.’
I shrug. I still don’t know how I feel about hearing any of this. Warm, fuzzy feelings are going to take a while, if they ever come, but I do want to see Kyle, and the baby. Especially the baby for some reason, maybe because she represents a fresh start for all of us.
‘I’d never try to replace your mother, I swear it, but I’ve been so lonely and lost. You left, your brother went. I’m sorry, how many times do I have to say that I’ve changed? People can change, Demi.’
‘Yeah. I know.’
He blows out a breath of relief, but he hasn’t realised that I mean I can change too. I can try to meet him, if not halfway then somewhere along a path that leads us much closer together.
‘Demi?’ he says, touching my arm briefly.
‘I know you’ve changed. It might take me longer but Mum would want us to try so I will. Just give me time, OK?’
He nods. ‘I can definitely give you that.’
Cal pokes his head around the door. ‘Everything OK?’
‘Fine,’ we both say in unison and he smiles.
‘Then let’s lock up here and go back to the house.’