We'll have a Wonderful Cornish Christmas

  We’ll have a wonderful Cornish Christmas

  CP Ward

  “We’ll Have a Wonderful Cornish Christmas”

  Copyright © CP Ward 2019

  * * *

  The right of Chris Ward to be identified as the Author of this Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  * * *

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the Author.

  * * *

  This story is a work of fiction and is a product of the Author’s imagination. All resemblances to actual locations or to persons living or dead are entirely coincidental.

  For the residents of Tintagel,

  who will no doubt be appalled at the liberties

  I’ve taken with their village.

  * * *

  Thank you, and Merry Christmas!

  Also by CP Ward

  I’m Glad I Found You This Christmas

  We’ll have a Wonderful Cornish Christmas

  Coming Home to Me This Christmas

  Christmas at the Marshmallow Cafe

  Christmas at Snowflake Lodge

  We’ll have a wonderful Cornish Christmas

  Contents

  1. An Unexpected Visitor

  2. Confessions

  3. Therapy

  4. Christmas Party

  5. Road Trip

  6. Breakdown

  7. Hitchhiking

  8. Glamping

  9. Night Out

  10. The Lighthouse Keeper

  11. Celebrity

  12. Online Troubles

  13. The Coordinator

  14. Heart to Heart

  15. Call to Arms

  16. Revelations

  17. Preparations

  18. Fudge Making

  19. Visitor

  20. Vocal Training

  21. Test Flight

  22. Beach Barbeque

  23. Final Preparations

  24. Speeches

  25. Krampus

  26. Goodbyes

  27. Mince Pie Hunt

  28. Hustling Fudge

  29. Social Justice

  30. Karaoke

  31. Surfing

  32. Talent Show

  33. Sprouts

  34. Presents

  35. Accident

  36. Rescue

  37. Grand Arrival

  Afterword

  Merry Christmas

  Acknowledgments

  Also available

  Also Available

  Contact

  About the Author

  1

  An Unexpected Visitor

  Lucy Drake spun the biro across the top of her fingers with the deftness and confidence of a mastered skill. None of the customers browsing the stands of Sunny Day Travel had noticed yet, but they would, sooner or later. She lifted her hand, preparing to repeat the process, when the front door swung open and a man came bundling in, a baby in his arms, with a woman behind him struggling to get a baby stroller through the closing door. As one wheel got stuck on the corner of carpet that was always coming loose, Lucy immediately started to stand. It was an automatic reaction to a common situation, but as she moved for the gap between her desk and Paul’s, she glanced once more at the man.

  A face accurately described as bland was made no better by a cheap Christmas scarf, two pixilated knitted Father Christmases swinging back and forth across his neck. He frowned at the baby as a chubby hand reached for one line of tassels, making a confident cooing sound as he looked back at the woman. He gave a smug chuckle then muttered, ‘Come on, Percival, wait your turn.’

  Lucy froze.

  Oh no. Not now, please.

  ‘Lucy?’

  Melanie, the manager and owner, was staring at her. Already engaging with a client, it left only Lucy or the new guy Paul to deal with this fresh drama before it unfolded.

  But Paul was on a break. Lucy glanced at the clock, and her heart sank. Impossible that she could leave the family struggling in the doorway for the four minutes it would take for Paul to return.

  Her best chance to avoid the man was to engage with the woman. She hurried around the desk, her head lowered, putting her back to the man as she reached for the door.

  ‘Here, let me help you with that. It’s always getting stuck.’

  A blast of wind through the open door ruffled her neatly clipped hair. If only Paul was back, she could use it as an excuse to hide—

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ve got it,’ the man said, one arm poking into Lucy’s line of vision to hold the door. ‘Multi-tasking and all that. Not just a skill for women, is it?’

  She didn’t need to look up to know it was him. She closed her eyes, keeping her head lowered, afraid Dennis Faber would recognise her after all this time. She had changed a little—dyed her hair and put on a stone—but life had been relatively sedate over the last twelve years. No great dramas or stresses beyond the everyday ones, leaving her no more than an early-thirties version of the girl he had humiliated at their Sixth Form ball.

  ‘There you are,’ Lucy said, still not looking up as the stroller’s wheel finally came loose. The woman pulled it into the shop and the door mercifully swung shut.

  ‘Thank you very much,’ the woman said. ‘It’s such a struggle getting this thing around sometimes.’

  Lucy, keeping her back to Dennis, smiled at her. ‘If you’re just looking to browse, you’ll find all our Christmas deals on the rack here—’

  ‘Oh no, we’re ready to reserve,’ Dennis said, cutting her off. ‘Lapland all the way. Show the little one what Christmas is all about.’

  As the smugness in his voice began to grate, Lucy felt an urge to mention her own solo trip to Lapland five years ago, when a power cut had reduced the inclusive Christmas dinner to cold cuts, it had snowed so heavily she had seen nothing out of the roof of her fabled glass-igloo capsule room, and the Northern Lights hadn’t shown up. An expensive waste of money, but if that was what they wanted and it would get them out of the shop as quickly as possible—

  ‘Frankie? Frankie, is that you? Oh my God, talk about blast from the past.’

  The pain was starting to kick in. Lucy squeezed her eyes closed, steeled herself for the impending horror of a confrontation, then forced a smile and opened them again. She turned to face the first of many boyfriends to dump her.

  ‘Dennis Faber? I’m sorry, I didn’t recognise you.’

  Dennis gave her a wide, punchable grin and spread his arms. One held the baby like a wrapped sandwich as chubby arms waved in the air.

  ‘Come on, Frankie … or are you going by Frances now? I haven’t changed much. Perhaps matured with age, like a fine wine—’

  Lucy risked a glance at Melanie’s desk, but her older boss’s head was down as she talked with a client. With a bit of luck she hadn’t overheard.

  ‘Dennis? Is this an old friend?’

  The woman wore a frown as she cocked her head in that politely suspicious way Lucy had used herself on occasion when confronted with an ex’s former partner.

  ‘School friend,’ Lucy said, using the nicest word she could, even though they had never been friends. Confidence-booster might have worked better from her side, pity-shag from his, even though she had never let him get that far. ‘And I go by Lucy now.’

  ‘Oh, your middle name? I suppose that makes sense.’ Dennis leaned forward. He glanced at his yet-to-be-introduced wife and gave a conspiratorial wink. ‘This is the girl I was telling you about,’ he said, and Lucy realised she had never felt more like punching someone than
now. ‘The one who could empty a room in five seconds.’ He looked at Lucy. ‘Do you still do it? Or have you had it fixed?’

  Lucy glowered at him. She suddenly felt sick, and thought it quite possible she would vomit all over his gaudy scarf, Ralph Lauren sweater, and baby Percival too, if she didn’t get out of there right away.

  A door opened behind her. She glanced back, saw the face of her saviour, eighteen-year-old trainee travel agent Paul, hair greased to his head in one of those post-adolescent hairstyles he still thought was cool.

  ‘Paul will help you,’ she gasped, clutching her stomach. ‘I’m afraid nature calls.’ She glanced at Dennis’s wife. ‘That time of the month,’ she added, giving half a shrug.

  ‘We’re back on those too, aren’t we?’ Dennis said with an embarrassing chuckle. ‘After nine months of bliss.’

  Lucy wished she had time to slap him as his wife turned to give him a sharp reprimand, but she really had to get out of there before something went wrong. She ran for the STAFF ONLY door and burst through into a little office and kitchen as the muffled sound of Dennis laughing off his wife’s anger came from behind her.

  Then she was diving through the door into the cubicle toilet and locking it, wishing she could lock out all the stresses of the world at the same time. The situation was so absurd that she wanted to laugh, but she had promised herself on that long ago day when her humiliation had reached its Everest summit, that she would never, ever, ever, laugh again.

  2

  Confessions

  ‘You know, lying on a C.V. has to be some kind of crime,’ Melanie said, handing Lucy a coffee, then lifting an eyebrow and nodding at the sugar bowl as though that would make everything all right. ‘So you switched your first and middle names? A good job I’m too lazy to ask for passport copies, isn’t it? So your name is Frances Lucy Drake?’

  Lucy sighed. ‘It gets worse, since this is confession time. It’s Frances Lucinda Scullion-Drake. Scullion is my mother’s maiden name. Somehow that got me the nickname of Onion Duck in primary school. It only dropped when we started on the Spanish Armada in secondary school history class. Never mattered to the other kids that the male version is spelled differently. I’d get kids I barely knew hollering ‘Admiral’ or ‘man the cannons’ at me from the other end of the corridor. I went with Frankie for a while, but that always felt so … eighties.’

  Melanie chuckled. ‘Could be worse, being named after a historical figure. Melanie Dorothy Jones … pretty boring, don’t you think?’

  ‘It’s a nice safe name. Francesca was my grandmother’s name on my father’s side. Apparently, he went with Frances because it was easier to spell.’

  Melanie laughed again. ‘You must be able to see the funny side. You’re good at your job, but you could do with lightening up a little.’ Melanie lifted her coffee. ‘Anyway, your secret’s safe with me. And possibly with Paul, but I don’t think he really caught what was going on.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Have you decided where you’re going for Christmas this year?’

  ‘Can’t you just keep the shop open? I’ll work it on my own if you like.’

  Melanie’s face turned serious. Lucy had heard the story before, but Melanie looked set to tell it again.

  ‘Absolutely not. My father died of a stroke on December 28th, 2003,’ Melanie said, taking a long sip of coffee and then wincing at the heat. ‘I wasn’t there, because I was working. I worked all that Christmas period, and I vowed I never would again.’ She smiled. ‘And now this is my shop, so I can do what I like. Doors close December 18th, and I’ll see you again on January 2nd. No arguments. And if you pitch a tent outside I’ll call the council to come and sweep you away.’

  ‘No chance, then?’

  ‘None. What are your plans? Come on, we can get some juicy staff discounts. What was it last year? Trekking the Black Forest?’

  Lucy shook her head. ‘That was two years ago. Last year I walked the Scottish coast path.’

  ‘In the freezing cold? I bet that was fun.’

  ‘I enjoyed it. It didn’t snow every day. In fact, mostly it just rained. Must have been the sea air. I was thinking of something a little more Christmassy this year, like doing the Mont Blanc circuit.’

  ‘How will that be Christmassy? Snow alone does not a Christmas make.’

  ‘Well, what do you suggest?’

  Melanie grinned. ‘Here’s a radical idea. Why don’t you go and see your family this year? I know I can’t force you, but you know what I feel about it….’

  Lucy shrugged. ‘I went there for Christmas Day last year. I flew out for Scotland on Boxing Day.’

  ‘So you gave them one day of your vacation? How kind of you. You know that goes against my philosophy, and Christmas Day is the worst anyway, because that’s when everyone’s rushing around trying to get things opened, drunk, cooked, and served. It’s the other days that are the best, when you’re just lounging around. Why don’t you spend a few of those with them?’

  Lucy closed her eyes. Other unpleasant memories were coming back. ‘I don’t like being around too many people,’ she said. ‘I find it awkward. All that joviality, all that laughter—’

  Melanie put down her coffee cup with a sudden bump. ‘Look, Lucy, I’ll be straight with you. You’re a pretty girl. At thirty you’re probably not quite as pretty as you were at twenty-two, but you’re not on the shelf just yet. You’re wasted traipsing through forests over Christmas. You should be with your family, or in the arms of some lusty woodcutter … or is that why you go?’ Melanie lifted an eyebrow and flashed a conspiratorial grin. ‘What aren’t you telling me?’

  Lucy gave a violent shake of her head. ‘No—’

  ‘Just lighten up a little. You know, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you laugh.’

  The conversation was moving into areas Lucy wanted to avoid. ‘I think my break’s over,’ she said.

  Melanie rolled her eyes. ‘You’re not on a break. This is a staff meeting. And as your manager, I’m commanding you to enjoy yourself this Christmas.’

  ‘I like deserted beaches and forests. Perhaps this year I’ll go ice-canoeing in the Norwegian fjords, get the best of both worlds.’

  ‘Alone?’

  ‘Of course.’

  Melanie shook her head. ‘I can see into your head, Lucy Drake.’ She lifted her glasses and squinted at Lucy. ‘And what I see is a girl running away.’

  ‘I’m not running away. I just like solitude a lot more than I like being around big groups of people, all laughing and trying to get me drunk, and … and laughing….’

  ‘I’ll tell you what,’ Melanie said. ‘Either you spend some quality time with your family this year or I’ll change your name tag to Frances Drake and put you in charge of historical holidays.’

  ‘You wouldn’t do that, would you?’

  Melanie lifted an eyebrow. ‘Try me.’

  ‘I’ll think about it.’

  ‘Good. Right, we’d better get out there. It sounds like Paul’s run off his feet.’

  They went back through into the shop and found Paul standing alone by the leaflet rack advertising student holidays to Eastern European cities.

  ‘All right?’ he said, turning around. ‘Just tidying up.’

  ‘Paul,’ Melanie said, ‘how do you like to spend your Christmas?’

  ‘With me mates,’ Paul said.

  ‘How about family?’

  Paul shrugged. ‘Depends how much booze the old man has got in.’

  Melanie lifted an eyebrow as she turned to Lucy. ‘See? Paul likes to spend his holidays with his friends and family.’

  Paul looked from one to the other then gave a shrug as though older women were an entirely different and unexplainable species.

  ‘You’ll love it,’ Melanie said. ‘And it’ll do you good.’

  ‘I’ll think about,’ Lucy said with another sigh.

  3

  Therapy

  It was a casual invitation. Melanie, forty-five a
nd divorced but still attractive in that carefree-but-drinks-a-little-too-much way, would no doubt have the vodka on tap to celebrate her first night of the Christmas holidays, be looking to get laid and ideally get Lucy laid too. She had invited the staff of every retailer on the Clifton Triangle to her townhouse on Clifton Avenue, a three-storey divorce-settlement monstrosity set in its own grounds which she shared only with a geriatric Labrador now that her two adult children were off at university. She had even taken Lucy with her to invite the staff of the new sports shoe store two doors down from the Starbucks, because ‘they’re all young guys, and once you get some Kahlua punch in them they’ll be anybody’s.’

  Lucy, who had last made the mistake of drinking too much six months ago at an old university friend’s party, wasn’t keen. She didn’t have a specific excuse, so after Melanie had closed the travel agent for the Christmas holidays at lunchtime and gone off to do some last-minute shopping, Lucy wandered up and down Park Street, idly looking through the trendy townie and student shops, half hoping that some chancer would cast her an evening cinema invite on a whim.