Mince Pies and Mistletoe at the Christmas Market Read online

  ‘Oh, we know old Billy,’ nodded Gordon and some of the others. ‘Most of us went to school with him!’

  ‘Well,’ Tom continued, ‘he’s offered to donate and set up a small display for next Saturday. We aren’t quite sure how it will work just yet, but he seems to think that if we move the mayor’s platform to the front of the old town hall then he’ll be able to set up there. What do you all think? Fireworks should give the event an extra bit of sparkle and excitement, shouldn’t they?’

  ‘Oh yes, that’s an excellent idea!’ called out Marie. ‘I’ve lost count of the number of mums and dads who have been moaning about there not being enough for the kiddies to look at once the lights are on!’

  ‘Hear, hear!’ chorused some of the others.

  ‘Well, that’s settled then,’ said Tom, looking well pleased.

  ‘I was wondering if the market could stay open?’ I shouted as loud as I dared, determined to sound out the idea while everyone was gathered together. ‘I know most of the shops will be shut, but if we all stay open and perhaps string up some more lights like the ones I’m using on the Cherry Tree stall, people would be bound to stay and look around for a bit longer.’

  ‘I could fire up my old candyfloss machine and sell it alongside the chestnuts,’ offered Peter. ‘I’ve still got the machine packed away at home. Kids love candyfloss!’

  ‘And I could make some mulled wine for the grown-ups,’ chimed in Marie, ‘and perhaps someone else could put together a lucky dip or some simple games for people to play.’

  ‘Perhaps every stall could offer something,’ joined in Tom. ‘How about pin the red nose on Rudolph?’

  Everyone began to chatter at once, each trying to claim Tom’s festive game idea for their own.

  ‘And we could have some music!’ shouted Ben from his spot at the bar with Lizzie.

  Tom looked at me and winked, clearly delighted that everyone was so keen to get involved.

  ‘But we still need someone better than the bloody mayor for the switch-on,’ Chris’s voice boomed out again.

  ‘I’m working on it, Chris,’ nodded Tom, ‘I’m working on it.’

  Once the excitement had died down and everyone had decided what their stall was going to be offering I pulled up a seat next to Bea who had just arrived, and settled down for a chat. We hadn’t been talking for many minutes when a hand reached between us and half a pint of cider was plonked on the table alongside our other glasses.

  ‘I probably owe you more than that,’ said Jemma, planting a kiss on my cheek, ‘but Jim says stocks are running low and apparently you can down a pint in a heartbeat!’

  ‘The cheeky bugger!’ I laughed twisting round to face her.

  ‘But seriously,’ she said, ‘thanks, hon.’

  ‘What’s she done now?’ asked Bea, with a nod to the glass. ‘I’ve only been out of the loop for a couple of days and I’ve come here tonight and found the town and the traders in uproar. I’m guessing this has something to do with you?’ she asked, cocking an eyebrow in my direction.

  ‘She’s saved my sanity,’ explained Jemma, ‘and put the smile back on my husband’s face.’

  Bea raised her eyebrows even further and looked from one of us to the other.

  ‘Oh, I know what I mean,’ Jemma giggled, as she patted my shoulder. ‘She made him reinstate date night,’ she told Bea, ‘and offered to help out with this whole Christmas nightmare that landed on his desk a couple of days ago.’

  ‘But I thought your dad dealt with Christmas, Ruby?’ said Bea, looking just as shocked as everyone else had been when they discovered that Dad had handed everything over to Tom. ‘I thought Wynbridge seasonal cheer was his responsibility and his alone.’

  ‘It was,’ I said, taking a sip of cider and thinking not for the first time how out of character Dad’s decision actually was, before remembering the reason as to why he’d made it, ‘until it looked like the natives were going feral and demanding that steps were taken to save the ailing fortunes of the market of course, then he decided to give Tom the opportunity to manage the fall-out.’

  ‘Oh, that was generous of him,’ laughed Bea, looking around and taking in the air of renewed optimism and excitement with fresh understanding, ‘and I’m guessing that accounts for why everyone has joined forces and are in such high spirits. I get it now.’

  ‘No,’ said Chris who happened to be walking back to the bar and must have been privy to our conversation. ‘You really don’t.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ I frowned.

  ‘Well, let’s put it this way,’ he said, stumbling slightly as he came closer. ‘It’s going to take a whole lot more than a bloody Christmas tree and a few sodding fireworks to save this market.’

  ‘Well, we’re doing what we can . . .’ I began.

  ‘And you,’ he said, his tone suddenly more menacing than merry, ‘you need to look a bit closer to home, Ruby Smith! If you had half the wits you think you have then you’d see what was happening right under your pretty little nose and realise that this Christmas shenanigans is little more than an elaborate farewell!’

  His voice had risen to almost a shout and everyone in the pub was staring. I had no idea what he was talking about and even though he was more than a little tipsy, the sight of him standing over the table waving his finger in my face was somewhat intimidating to say the least. I swallowed hard and felt sharp tears stinging the back of my eyes. I couldn’t believe the change that had come over him and wondered if perhaps Dad’s dislike of him had sprung from an encounter with this previously unknown ugly side of his personality.

  ‘What exactly are you talking about?’ I croaked.

  ‘Ignore him,’ said Steve, suddenly appearing and pulling his father away by the arm. ‘He’s drunk.’

  ‘No,’ I said, feeling slightly more confident now that Steve was there to restrain the menace that alcohol had unleashed, ‘I want to know what he meant.’

  ‘What I meant—’ Chris started again.

  ‘It’s nothing,’ Steve insisted, pulling harder, ‘he meant nothing. He’s drunk more than his fill and he’s just mouthing off. He’s worried about the market. Like we all are.’

  He might have thought he could convince me that he was speaking the truth, but I had known Steve Dempster long enough to know a lie when it fell out of his mouth.

  Chapter 10

  ‘I know you probably can’t, and I’ll more than understand if you have to say no, but I was wondering if I could ask a favour.’

  ‘What,’ I laughed, ‘another one! You want to be careful, Tom. Folk will talk.’

  ‘Oh, pack it in,’ he tutted, ‘can you do it or not?’

  ‘Well, that would depend on what it is, wouldn’t it?’ I teased, cradling my mobile against my ear as I rearranged some bags of iced and spiced buns that Angela had just delivered from the café.

  ‘I need to get some paperwork over to Skylark Farm,’ he explained, ‘but I haven’t got time to take it and your dad is watching me like a hawk. I think he’s got wind that something’s up. He keeps asking how the switch-on plans are coming on. I’ve managed to fob him off so far, but I don’t want to blow it.’

  ‘No problem,’ I told him. I was especially keen to help if it meant keeping Dad off-track for a bit longer. ‘If you can get the papers to the café I’ll take them later this afternoon.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ I insisted, determined to do my bit and make Tom’s life, and in turn Jemma’s, as simple as possible. ‘It looks like it’s going to be another quiet Tuesday here so I won’t be missing out if I pack up a few minutes earlier than usual. What are the papers for anyway?’

  ‘Jake and Amber who own the farm have offered to run a hog roast on Saturday night. I just need them to fill in some forms to make it official.’

  ‘Oh, that’s fantastic!’ I gasped. ‘What a brilliant idea.’

  ‘Isn’t it?’ agreed Tom. ‘It’s a new project they’re trying out. They’ve been keepi
ng rare breed pigs in their orchards and then selling the meat alongside the cider and now they’ve decided to try their hand at some occasional outdoor catering for events such as ours.’

  Since I had developed a taste for Skylark Scrumpy I’d heard nothing but good things about how the couple living at the farm had turned around the fortunes of the place.

  ‘They’re keen to play a part in the community,’ Tom continued, ‘and from what I can gather they won’t be making much of a profit. This is their way of thanking everyone for their support and advertising the newest aspect of their diversification plan.’

  ‘Well, that all sounds amazing,’ I agreed, ‘very entrepreneurial, and fingers crossed they’ll be making their own local apple sauce as well then,’ I added.

  ‘Oh, I hadn’t thought of that,’ Tom drooled, ‘lovely. Make sure you ask about that, won’t you? And try to stay off the cider!’

  As promised, I packed up the stall a little earlier than usual and raced across to the Cherry Tree to drop off the stock and collect the paperwork. I had almost made it back through the door when Chris appeared, blocking my escape and looking extremely sheepish. I swore under my breath, annoyed to find myself cornered when I’d so successfully managed to avoid everyone in the Dempster family since the one-sided showdown in the pub.

  A couple of days had passed and I was still none the wiser as to what he had worked himself up into such a lather about and no one at the market had been in a rush to tell me either. Even Steve had dramatically cut down on consumption of his beloved mince pies and I had my suspicions that I was being avoided just as much as I was the one doing the avoiding.

  ‘Excuse me,’ I mumbled when he didn’t budge.

  ‘Can I just say something before I let you pass?’ he asked, his brows knitted together and his hands twisting his cap into a tight ball. ‘I think I need to apologise, don’t I?’

  ‘If you think you’ve got something to apologise for,’ I shrugged, pretending I didn’t care either way.

  ‘Of course I bloody have,’ he said, turning red. ‘I should never have spoken to you in the pub like that, Ruby. You of all people.’

  ‘It’s all right,’ I said, my heart softening as I took in his genuine tone and humble expression. ‘You’d had a lot to drink and you’re scared that the market might close. I get that.’

  ‘I had,’ he sighed, ‘and I am.’

  ‘But,’ I added, hoping he might feel inclined to say a little more now he was sober and Steve wasn’t there to stop him, ‘I can’t help thinking there was more behind what you said than I know about. There’s something else going on with the market, isn’t there?’

  He looked at me for a second and I could tell there was something he wanted to say, it was right on the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed it down and stepped aside to let me pass.

  ‘Steve’s been like a different lad since you came back,’ he blurted out, just as I drew level with him. ‘I know it’s not my place to say, but he was broken-hearted when you left.’

  ‘So was I,’ I said, forcing down the slab of heartache which determinedly made its presence felt whenever his name was mentioned these days.

  ‘He should never have let you go,’ Chris continued. His voice was full of sadness and regret.

  I didn’t know what to say. He had caught me completely off guard and this was the last thing I expected him to be telling me. Steve had Mia now so as far as I was concerned his heartbreak had healed and whether or not he should have let me go was irrelevant.

  ‘They were tough times,’ I croaked, ‘for everyone. He did what he had to do. I understand that. I don’t hate him,’ I said, finally daring to look up at him.

  ‘Well that’s something,’ he nodded. ‘At least you can still be friends.’

  ‘Of course,’ I agreed, ‘we can be friends.’

  I can’t honestly say I can remember much of the journey to Skylark Farm. My mind was awash not only with trying to work out what this extra information about the market everyone was keeping from me might be, but also Chris’s admission that Steve had been so heartbroken when I left town.

  I pulled into the farmyard, parked next to an incredibly sleek Mercedes which I couldn’t help thinking looked totally out of place, grabbed the pile of papers and rushed over to the house, determined not to let Chris’s words distract me from the job in hand. A cacophony of barking and shouting broke out as I raised the knocker and I took a step back, wondering if I should just leave the papers in the porch and head for home.

  ‘Sorry!’ called a woman’s voice above the din. ‘Just give me a sec!’

  The door was eventually tugged open and a brace of Labradors raced out, their tails wagging ninety to the dozen, to see who had disturbed their peaceful afternoon.

  ‘Don’t mind them,’ said the woman, jiggling a pretty dark-haired little girl on her hip, ‘come in, please. You must be Ruby? Tom said you’d be coming.’

  ‘Yes,’ I smiled, pushing my way between the dogs that seemed more determined to lick me to death than maul me. ‘I’ve got the paperwork for the hog roast you’re going to be running on Saturday night.’

  ‘Excellent.’ She beamed, transferring the little girl to her other hip. ‘I’m Amber, by the way,’ she added by way of introduction, ‘and this is my daughter, Honey. Come and have a seat and I’ll make us some tea.’

  ‘No, it’s fine,’ I said, ‘you’re obviously busy.’

  ‘Oh, I’m always busy!’ she laughed. ‘Come on. Jake will be here in a minute. We can probably get these papers signed off and you can take them straight back with you. As long as you don’t mind, of course?’

  ‘No,’ I said, pulling out a chair. ‘That makes perfect sense.’

  We settled at the table and were soon discussing the overwhelming success of Skylark Scrumpy and the merits of homemade apple sauce versus shop-bought. Honey was happily installed in her high chair and squeezing slices of bread and butter between her fingers, when the house door was suddenly flung open and a man rushed in, clearly intent on making quite an entrance.

  ‘Jake said to tell you he’ll be back in a bit, Amber,’ he announced, reaching between us for a plate and a slice of cake which he then began to scrutinise. ‘He said something about frozen pipes. I don’t honestly know if I’m going to be able to cope with this “life in the sticks” malarkey. Oh, hello,’ he smiled at me, the sulky tone instantly banished. ‘You didn’t say we were expecting company, Amber, and such pretty company at that.’

  Not usually prone to reacting to such cheesy lines I was surprised to feel my cheeks redden under the man’s twinkling blue gaze, but given who I thought he might be I considered my behaviour was somewhat justified. Rather than return his intense stare I distractedly began crumbling the remains of my cake on my plate and developed a sudden fascination with the pattern on my teacup.

  Amber let out a long slow breath and rolled her eyes.

  ‘Well, aren’t you going to introduce us?’ demanded the man as he abandoned his plate and flung his coat across the armchair in front of the Aga with a flourish.

  His diva-like behaviour confirmed my suspicions regarding who I thought he was.

  Amber stared at the coat and then at the man wearing an expression my mum would have said, could have ‘curdled milk’.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said sheepishly, retrieving the coat and hanging it on a peg next to the door. ‘Forgot where I was for a moment there. Now, about that introduction—’

  Personally I didn’t need one. I had already worked out that I was in the presence of Paul Thompson, celebrity caterer to the stars and host of the most controversial cookery show currently topping the TV ratings, but I had no idea what he was doing in the Skylark Farm kitchen!

  ‘Actually I think I know who you are,’ I said, finally finding my voice as I smoothed my hair behind my ears, ‘you’re Paul Thompson, aren’t you, the celebrity caterer off the TV?’

  ‘Notorious bad boy and outrageous flirt, more like,’ Amber put in with a snor
t. ‘Whatever you do, Ruby, don’t salve his ego and certainly don’t believe a word he says!’

  ‘Hey,’ pouted Paul, running a manicured hand through his thick blond hair and looking mortally wounded, ‘I have to say I think that’s a little harsh.’

  ‘Given what some of my colleagues were reading about you in the newspaper this morning, I think Amber is spot on!’ I laughed, feeling rather less star-struck.

  ‘See,’ said Amber, retrieving Honey’s bread from the floor before the dogs found it. ‘I told you, you were all over the red tops this morning and before you say it, I know you can’t believe everything you read in the papers, but mud sticks, my friend.’

  Paul bit his lip and was momentarily chastened into silence.

  ‘Forgive me for asking,’ I said, feeling more than ever as if I’d fallen into some sort of surreal dream, ‘but what exactly are you doing here? According to the newspapers you were supposed to be jetting off to somewhere hot and exotic for a break before you finish filming the current series.’

  ‘That little fabrication was his agent’s idea,’ Amber explained. ‘Paul needed a bolthole and so I offered him our holiday cottage for a few days. He’s supposed to be keeping a low profile,’ she added pointedly.

  ‘Well, you can’t expect me to stay down there with no water or heating,’ he retaliated, ‘it’s absolutely freezing.’

  ‘But what I really meant,’ I laughed, ‘is why are you here? How do you two know each other?’

  ‘Oh, Amber and I go way back,’ Paul began, echoing what Steve had said to Mia about us, but Amber soon cut him off, obviously keen that I should hear the truth behind their acquaintance rather than the twisted version Paul was no doubt about to try and spin.

  ‘Before I moved here,’ she explained, ‘I worked for a high profile corporate hospitality firm in London. Paul was one of our top caterers and when I left the city, for some strange reason, I decided to keep in touch. That was before the media beckoned to him, of course. He was far less arrogant and affected before the cameras found him and the curse of celebrity beckoned to the man who used to just feed the celebrities!’