Mince Pies and Mistletoe at the Christmas Market Page 2

  Chapter 2

  During the next twenty-four hours Dad surreptitiously tried every trick in the book to talk me out of taking up Jemma and Lizzie’s proposition. He even offered to cash in one of his ISAs to fund my dreams of travelling the world out of his own pocket.

  ‘But I thought you had that money earmarked for a new conservatory,’ I reminded him just before bedtime on Saturday night. ‘When you and Mum came to my graduation ceremony you said that you’d had a couple of local chaps in to measure up and that you were already thinking about designs that would complement the garden!’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, neatly folding his highlighted paper and setting it aside, ‘well, that was before I knew what you were planning.’

  I had known when I accepted Lizzie’s offer that he was going to think the job was beneath me, but I hadn’t bargained on him having had trouble with the traders as well. I had based my decision to push ahead in part on the fact that the market was, and always had been, an important part of the town and as such, given Dad’s usually fierce local pride, I hoped he would be happy to see me working amongst the tight-knit community.

  ‘Could you just clarify,’ I asked, as another idea suddenly occurred to me, ‘are you not happy that I’m going to be working on the market, or are you pissed off that I’ll be rubbing shoulders with the Dempster family?’

  Steve’s dad, Chris, and my dad had hated each other for as long as I could remember. It had been a nightmare when Steve and I were dating, but Steve’s mum, Marie, had always been kindness itself and my mum welcomed Steve with open arms, as long as Dad was out of the house, of course.

  Neither Steve nor I had ever known the real reason behind our fathers’ feud, but it went back years and for us was a complete pain in the backside. The men were both born and raised in the town and as such should have been firm friends, but they couldn’t stand the sight of each other and I’d never bothered to try to get to the bottom of why. Perhaps now was the ideal time to start investigating.

  ‘For a start,’ Dad frowned, ‘I will not tolerate that kind of language under my roof and secondly, this has nothing to do with the Dempster family. This is about you, Ruby. You need to be stretching yourself and looking for a position that matches your level of education and intelligence. How do you think “seasonal market trader” is going to look on your CV?’

  ‘Considering jobs are so hard to come by in a small town at this time of year, industrious and adaptable, I hope,’ I said cheekily, before slipping out of the room and up to bed.

  Unfortunately he was still on a roll as we sat down to eat Mum’s legendary Sunday roast beef dinner, and for that I begrudged him all the more. I had been craving her thick, rich gravy and crispy roast potatoes since the moment I decided I was first coming home and I resented the fact he wouldn’t let the argument drop even long enough to let me clear my plate. His increasingly dogged attitude left me in no doubt about what Mum had had to put up with in the run up to my return.

  ‘ “He won’t be that bad”!’ I hissed in her ear as together we loaded the dishwasher after we’d finally cleared away our plates. ‘Those were your exact words when we spoke on the phone, “I think he’s coming round to the idea of you coming home early.” ’

  ‘I know,’ said Mum, biting her lip. ‘He does seem a bit wound up, doesn’t he?’

  ‘A bit!’ I frowned. ‘He ruined dinner for me and I’ve been craving your Yorkshire puddings for weeks.’

  Mum shook her head and set the machine to start.

  ‘I can’t believe,’ I went on when she didn’t say anything else, ‘that after all your years of being married to him you read him so wrong!’

  ‘Well, if you’d told me about this market stall plan before you arrived,’ she said sagely, ‘I could have been working him round to the idea of that as well, couldn’t I? How was I to know you had that little twist tucked up your sleeve?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said, rubbing her arm and feeling guilty for expecting her to shoulder the responsibility for what I’d set in motion. ‘I just didn’t think it would be such a big deal. To tell you the truth, I thought he’d be pleased that I’d got something lined up and that I wouldn’t be cluttering up the place watching TV all day.’

  ‘You thought, that with your wonderful degree, he’d be pleased you were moving back home to be a Wynbridge market trader?’ Mum said doubtfully.

  ‘Oh God,’ I sighed, wrinkling my nose. ‘I really didn’t think this through properly, did I?’

  ‘No,’ said Mum, ‘you didn’t, but then I suppose you were too busy thinking about . . .’

  ‘Don’t say it,’ I warned her. ‘Lizzie and I have already been through it and I’ve told her it’s all fine.’

  ‘What are you two whispering about in there?’ Dad called through from the dining room.

  ‘Nothing!’ we chorused.

  ‘We’re just finishing the dishes,’ Mum added.

  ‘Well when you’ve done, come and look at this, Ruby,’ he called again. ‘I’ve found a vacancy in last week’s job supplement that you might be interested in: great salary and benefits, and before you say anything, it’s only a temporary contract, six months at the most. It would be the perfect position and far better for you than risking frostbite every day.’

  Mum and I looked at each other and rolled our eyes.

  ‘Are you there?’

  ‘No!’ shouted Mum, switching to stealth mode and quickly steering me towards the utility room. ‘She’s just popped out to stretch her legs.’

  I looked at her, open-mouthed.

  ‘Oh go on,’ she urged, ‘take my coat and go and get some fresh air for goodness’ sake.’

  It was freezing outside and already getting dark, but the atmosphere was considerably more relaxed than the one I’d just left behind. I rammed Mum’s woolly gardening hat on my head, grabbed her battered old wax coat and set off, thinking how ironic it was that I had planned to make my first appearance in public looking polished and pristine and here I was, wind-blasted with pinched features and frozen digits. I set off at a brisk pace, deciding to stick to the outskirts of the town, and wishing I had thought to pick up my purse so I could treat myself to a hot drink should I come across anywhere that was open.

  I skirted the edge of the park which, thanks to the brisk northerly breeze, was all but deserted. Only the most determined dog walkers were out, rushing along, heads bent, with no time or inclination to admire the dramatic silhouette of bare branches or the ragged clouds which scurried across the darkening sky.

  I stopped for a second to look at the bandstand and remembered how it had been the focal point of so many clandestine teenage meetings. I had endured my first, and last, taste of a cigarette under its roof and enjoyed many, many lingering kisses. Giving myself a little shake I set off again, only now wondering if I had perhaps underestimated the impact that the thought of seeing Steve again had had on my decision to accept Lizzie and Jemma’s timely invitation.

  It didn’t seem to matter how fast I walked or how far, I simply couldn’t get warm and just a little further on I realised I could barely feel my toes. Gratefully I ducked through the gate of St Mary’s Church with the intention of thawing off a little in the covered porch before heading back home. I forced myself not to think about how Steve had promised that one day this was where we would be married and have our children christened or how, just weeks later, his brother’s funeral had snatched away all those youthful fantasies.

  I had barely set foot on the hallowed ground when I spotted the man himself crouched over his brother’s headstone tenderly arranging the flowers that I knew were replaced every week come rain or shine. Rooted to the spot, I stared at his bent head, my heart beating wildly in my chest and the chill of the wind suddenly no longer an issue. If anything I was grateful for its cooling impact on my blazing cheeks.

  My first instinct was to turn tail and run, but I fended it off and instead raised my eyes to the heavens, threw up a quick prayer and continued alon
g the path towards him. Why wait for our first meeting in the packed market square when I could get it over and done with in the relative privacy of the churchyard?

  ‘Steve!’ I called, my voice catching in my throat and the wind carrying it off and away.

  I took another step closer and tried again.

  ‘Steve!’ It sounded odd, hearing my voice calling his name after all this time.

  He twisted round, a frown firmly etched on his handsome face and the expression in his dark, heavily lashed eyes unfathomable from that distance. He stared at me for what felt like minutes but was actually only seconds, then stood up and walked to meet me on the path.

  ‘Ruby?’ he mouthed, evidently still not really sure that it was me.

  ‘Hey,’ I said, only just remembering the hat.

  I pulled it off and quickly stuffed it in my coat pocket, then gave a silly, self-conscious little bob and a wave.

  ‘Ruby Smith,’ he said again, the frown now banished and a tentative smile stepping up to take its place. ‘My God, what are you doing here?’

  For a second I couldn’t supply him with an answer. I stared dumbstruck at the familiar but different face of the boy who had now become a man, and a stunning specimen of a man at that. His thick dark hair was worn longer than I remembered and the stubble was a little darker, but the deep brown smiling eyes and slightly crooked nose courtesy of the rugby pitch were familiar enough. He was broader than I remembered too, and taller. I realised with a jolt that the boy I had fallen in love with was all grown up and I can’t deny there was a fleeting, but very definite flicker of disappointment that I no longer had a claim on his heart.

  ‘I’m back for Christmas,’ I said eventually and somewhat huskily. ‘I’ve come back to see Mum and Dad.’

  ‘My God,’ he said, shaking his head as he devoured me with his eyes and his complexion flushed deep enough to match my own, ‘I can’t believe you’re actually here.’

  He seemed so genuinely pleased to see me that it was impossible not to wonder why he had let me go in the first place. I had begged him to give our relationship a chance to work long-distance but he had been adamant that a clean break was the only option and the best choice for both of us.

  ‘Crikey,’ he said, scratching his head and scuffing at the path with the toe of his boot, ‘I don’t know what to say. It’s been so long.’

  ‘I know,’ I swallowed, ‘I almost ran in the opposite direction when I spotted you.’

  ‘Well, I’m glad you didn’t,’ he said, ‘I can’t tell you how many times I’ve wanted to get in touch and see how you’re getting on.’

  My heart was off and running again, like a steam train at full stretch and I couldn’t help wishing I’d plucked up the courage to talk to him the last time I’d seen him instead of turning away and melting into the background.

  ‘So why haven’t you?’ I asked, knowing full well that I hadn’t been any braver.

  ‘Because I couldn’t think of what to say or text,’ he admitted, ‘and I was pretty sure your dad wouldn’t be particularly thrilled if I just turned up on his doorstep. I can’t imagine he would have welcomed me with open arms, can you?’

  ‘No,’ I said, biting my lip, ‘I guess not.’

  It was nice to know that he had been thinking about me, but I couldn’t help wishing he’d acted on his feelings.

  ‘So what are you up to these days?’ he asked, rubbing his hands together before thrusting them deep in his coat pockets. ‘Are you still at uni? You must have finished your degree by now.’

  I opened my mouth to try and form some sort of response but was fortunately saved from having to explain that I would be working practically side by side with him for the next few weeks. Truth be told, I suddenly wasn’t quite so sure that my heart and stomach could stand seeing him all day every day, especially if their current behaviour was anything to go by.

  ‘Steve! Are you nearly done? I’m freezing. That bloody church is as cold as a morgue!’ A tall slim figure with cascading blonde hair that, I couldn’t help noticing, seemed to be behaving beautifully despite the breeze, stepped around the corner. ‘Oh hello,’ she said, looking me up and down before quickly linking arms with my former heart’s desire. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘This is Ruby,’ said Steve before I had a chance to introduce myself. ‘She’s an old friend,’ he continued. ‘We go way back.’

  ‘Oh do you now?’ said the woman, sounding less than impressed as she readjusted the collar of her immaculate red woollen coat.

  ‘Ruby, this is Mia,’ Steve went on, ‘she’s . . .’

  ‘Freezing?’ I interjected.

  I had no desire to have the intricacies of their relationship spelled out. Given the proprietorial grasp Mia had on Steve’s arm it was pretty obvious that she was his current other half. Now my heart felt like lead in my chest and had slackened its pace to merely ticking over.

  ‘Well,’ I said, pulling Mum’s hat out of my pocket and ramming it back over my now less than glossy locks whilst trying to sound jolly and carefree, ‘don’t let me hold you up. It’s about time I was getting back anyway.’

  I had almost made it as far as the church gate before the tears came and Steve shouted after me.

  ‘Hey, Ruby Sue!’ he hollered. ‘It’s really good to see you again!’

  He was the only person in the world who ever called me that. He had assigned me the nickname after one of the characters from National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation. We had been snuggled under his duvet one snowy Sunday in December enjoying a festive film marathon when he first said it and it had just stuck. His unexpected utterance of it again did nothing to stem the flow of tears as I hurried home.

  The one good thing that came out of Steve’s surprising use of my nickname was that it got me off the hook with my best friend Bea. So busy with packing and planning, I hadn’t found the time to even tell her I was moving back home, let alone that I would be working on the market, and I had all my fingers crossed that furnishing her with a blow by blow account of my churchyard meeting would put her in a forgiving mood.

  Bea had been my closest pal ever since we met. I had been studying for my A levels at college and she was working in her family’s holistic health centre and attending college part-time. Ordinarily our paths probably wouldn’t have crossed but Bea had a fondness for cake, anything sweet in fact, and more often than not it was me who ended up waiting on her table at The Cherry Tree Café during my time working there. Consequently we soon began to chat when we spotted each other at college and struck up a friendship that had stuck.

  There had only been one awkward time in our relationship and that was when she started dating Steve’s best friend, Sam. Fortunately however, I was immersed in university life by the time they got together and knowing how crazy she was about him I knew I had no right to make a fuss. I might have only been in my late teens but I recognised true love when I saw it.

  ‘You know you really should have told me you’d decided to come back,’ Bea pouted when I phoned her later that day and explained what I was planning to do. ‘The last time I heard from you, you were staying in your seedy student pad for Christmas. I can’t believe you’ve made all these decisions without me. I thought I was supposed to be your best friend!’

  A heartfelt apology furnished with all the juicy details of my reacquaintance with Steve (excluding the unsatisfactory reaction of my heart) had, as I hoped, proved enough to gain Bea’s forgiveness. I have to admit it was rather nice having a clandestine phone conversation about boys hidden under the duvet, hopefully out of earshot of my disapproving dad. I think we both felt about seventeen again.

  ‘And he actually called you Ruby Sue?’ Bea gasped when I told her how my little church visit had ended.

  ‘Yep,’ I confirmed, ‘shouted it loud enough for the whole world to hear.’

  ‘The cheeky bugger.’

  ‘I know,’ I said, biting my lip and feeling grateful that she was on the end of the phone line and not standi
ng in front of me, because the way my eyes filled up again would have been a dead giveaway about how I was really feeling about what had happened.

  I still couldn’t believe he’d said it, especially not with the beautiful Mia clasped to his side. Initially he’d seemed awkward and a bit tongue-tied when he saw me but he’d obviously gotten over it pretty sharpish. Evidently he still had the cheek of the devil tucked away in his seductive armour.

  ‘So what about you and Sam,’ I enquired, knowing that nothing pleased Bea more than the opportunity to talk about her hunky firefighter boyfriend, who was coincidentally still Steve’s best buddy. ‘How are things going?’

  Unusually she sounded less than certain.

  ‘All right,’ she said dully. ‘I guess.’

  ‘Just all right,’ I frowned. ‘That doesn’t sound like you two. Normally when I ask about him you’re tripping over yourself to tell me all about his latest grand romantic gesture.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘well. There haven’t been quite so many of those lately.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

  ‘So am I,’ she said sulkily. ‘I really thought he was the one, Ruby, but my dream Christmas proposal feels like it’s slipping further out of my reach every day.’

  ‘Oh Bea,’ I sympathised, now wishing we were together so I could give her a comforting hug.

  I knew there was nothing in the whole world that she wanted more than to live her life as if it had been lifted straight from the pages of a romance novel and ever since she had started dating Sam she had been hoping that he was the one who would deliver her heart’s desire, along with her fantasy festive wedding proposal.

  ‘Oh never mind,’ she said briskly, ‘tell me some more about what Mia was wearing.’

  ‘No,’ I said, unwilling to go back over it all again even though I knew she needed cheering up. ‘I’ve already told you everything I can remember. God,’ I sighed, ‘can you imagine if they got engaged at Christmas?’

  ‘Not likely,’ sniffed Bea, ‘I didn’t even know they were dating and Sam tells me everything about Steve’s love life. Sometimes I can’t help thinking he envies his best friend’s freedom to pick and choose a different woman every week.’