The Country Village Christmas Show Read online

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Elaine’s Festive Gingerbread Biscuits

  Copyright

  For my husband and children, with love always

  Chapter 1

  ‘Look at me, Mum!’

  Clare Greene’s heart fluttered. She turned, expecting to see her son, but instead her gaze fell on the empty space in the back garden where the swing used to be. The house and garden were full of ghosts and, as she made her way round one final time, she was being assaulted by memories and voices from the past.

  Closing her eyes, Clare could picture her son, Kyle, swinging high, remember her anxiety that he’d fall off and hurt himself. But his laughter as he’d soared through the air and the joy on his face as he’d called to her, keen to garner her approval, had made the fear worth it. Her ex-husband, Jason, had taken the swing down years ago, but it had stood there for a decade, from the time Kyle was seven, and he’d had so much fun on it. Kyle was twenty-one now and at university in Bath studying performing arts – a grown man and no longer her little boy.

  A cold wind whipped around the garden, tugging at her coat, and she shivered. Time had passed so quickly: she was forty-five and often felt that her life had passed her by, that she had practically sleepwalked through the days. If only it were possible to have some of that time back to savour the good times . . .

  Her heart lurched and she pressed a hand to her chest. Looking down, her eyes found her wedding ring. As difficult as it would be, she really needed to take it off. Jason had removed his when the divorce was finalised, sighing at the white mark that remained on his finger. Just like the emotional scars left by the end of their marriage, it would take some time for physical marks like that to go.

  She trudged back up the garden to the semi-detached house, went in through the French doors and closed them behind her, lifting the handle slightly until it clicked, then turned the key. There was a knack to locking these doors. They should have had them fixed years ago, but it was one of a list of jobs that had never been done and now it would be someone else’s problem. But the new owners would also have so much to enjoy here. Clare had loved her home and was sad to leave it, but she knew it was time, even though her throat tightened as she realised she would never walk on the lush green lawn again, never sit on the patio as she savoured her morning coffee, never listen to the jazz drifting from next door on sunny afternoons. Her fragrant roses would be tended to by someone else, the shed would house the tools and bikes of others, and the birds that flocked to the feeders would become accustomed to different humans.

  Slipping out of her garden shoes and into her plimsolls, she made her way through the open-plan kitchen diner with its large fireplace and driftwood mantelpiece, her soft rubber soles seemed strangely noisy on the wooden boards, the sound echoing around the empty house, making it feel as though she had company. The furniture had been moved into storage and the clothes and belongings she couldn’t bear to part with, such as Kyle’s baby photo albums, from a time when people had actually printed photographs, were packed in her treasured Mini Countryman, the remaining finance on it cleared with some of her half of the house sale. The car had seemed to groan under the extra weight but she felt compelled to take them with her.

  She passed the lounge where she had given birth to Kyle three weeks before his due date, taken by surprise as she’d thought the pains were practice contractions. He’d slid out onto the rug, red and furious at his early arrival. Kyle’s entry into the world had been dramatic and he hadn’t changed a bit; he still enjoyed being the centre of attention. Clare had been just twenty-four then, so young and innocent, convinced that life had plenty to offer and that she was destined for something special, even though she hadn’t had a clue what that something would be.

  How things changed.

  In the hallway, where the October sun streamed through the window above the door, she took slow deep breaths, treasuring the sights, sounds and scents of home, storing them safely in her heart. Who knew when she would have a home of her own again? When her vision blurred, she knew it was time to get moving.

  Her mobile buzzed in her pocket, making her jump, and she pulled it out to check the screen, expecting a message from the removal company. When she saw Kyle’s name, her heart lifted.

  Hey Mum,

  Hope you’re OK. I know today will be difficult, but you can do it! When one house door closes another one opens and all that. Let me know when you’re safely at Nanna’s.

  Love you millions! X

  Clare hugged her mobile to her chest for a moment, thanking the universe for the gift of her precious boy. Whatever happened, she had a wonderful son and she would always be grateful for that. After firing off a quick reply, she slid her phone back in her pocket then opened the door and stepped outside, put the key in an envelope and posted it through the letter box, preparing to start the next chapter of her life.

  Clare was ten minutes away from the village where she had grown up, but it would probably take her twenty to get there because she was stuck behind a tractor. Her Mini ambled along through the narrow country lanes and her feet ached from braking and pressing the clutch as she had to stop/start the car. Behind her, a row of cars was building and she knew it wouldn’t be long before some of the drivers started beeping at her, pressurising her to overtake. But Clare knew better; these lanes could be deadly and visibility was poor. There was always the risk of crashing into some idiot taking the bends at sixty miles per hour.

  The whole journey from Reading to Little Bramble in Surrey only took about forty minutes, but she had to admit that she hadn’t made it very often, particularly over recent years. There had always been an excuse, whether it was a dinner with Jason’s colleagues from the prestigious law firm in Reading where he had been a partner, or an author event at the library where she had worked for twelve years as a library assistant (a job she had adored until they’d had to make some staff redundant six months ago due to cutbacks), or generally just feeling too tired to make the effort. A lump formed in her throat from the guilt. Her mum was seventy-five, fit and healthy, a busy member of her local community, but she wouldn’t be around forever and in some ways she’d taken her for granted. They hadn’t ever been that close but, even so, she was aware that she could have made more of an effort to visit.

  She turned the radio on and listened to the DJ chatting to a celebrity author called Cora Quincy about her latest self-help book. Cora was all of twenty-five but spoke as if she’d lived a long and difficult life. Admittedly, Clare had read about Cora (a fashion model turned actress turned author who’d married someone from a boyband Clare could never remember the name of) online, and knew that she had endured a challenging childhood, but even so, her tone was slightly patronising. Clare had been married for almost as long as the woman had been alive – surely she had more life experience to draw on, more wisdom in the bank?
And yet here she was: homeless, jobless, clueless about what came next.

  The traffic came to a standstill as the tractor stopped to make way for an approaching car. Clare pulled up the handbrake and turned, gazing at the hedgerow to her left, almost bare of leaves now in October’s colder days. Dark twigs poked out of the hedge, threatening to scratch any vehicles that got too close, and others stretched up to the sky like gnarled brown fingers. Beyond the hedges were fields where farmers grew corn and vegetables, where livestock roamed and nurtured their young.

  As a child, Clare had thought she’d grow up to be a vet or own her own stables. She’d loved the wildlife around the village, had been a keen horse rider who had spent Saturday mornings at the stables then worked on Sundays at the local farm shop just outside Little Bramble, where she got to feed the chickens and ducks in her breaks, care for the motherless lambs in spring and play with the fluffy collie pups. Yes, she’d had a good childhood, even if she hadn’t been as close to her mum as she’d have liked. At university, she’d studied English Literature (after deciding at sixteen that taking A-levels in the sciences was not for her), met Jason, and her ambitions had slipped away like smoke on the breeze. She’d been so infatuated with him, so taken by his apparent maturity and intelligence that she’d have followed him to the end of the earth if he’d asked her, so when he proposed, she’d accepted without hesitation.

  The tractor started moving again and Clare released the handbrake and set off again at a snail’s pace.

  ‘Oh, absolutely!’ Cora’s decisive tone burst from the car speakers and broke into Clare’s thoughts. ‘I’d spent far too long worrying about what everyone expected of me, trying to be that perfect creature that pleased the world, and then one day . . . BOOM! I had an epiphany! I was like, alleluia! Eureka! And all that jazz.’ She giggled, clearly very pleased with herself.

  ‘And so . . . do you have a message for our listeners?’ Darryl Donovan, the long-time Radio 2 DJ asked.

  ‘I do, Darryl, I really do. Whoever you are and whatever you’ve been through, put yourself first. Decide what YOU really want and go for it! I realised, and your listeners can too, that I had to live my life for me before I could be with anyone. If you don’t love yourself, how can you possibly love anyone else?’

  Clare rolled her eyes. It was all very well saying that at twenty-five. It was a message Clare had heard many times in the past, but not one she’d ever managed to take on board. She’d been a daughter, a wife, a mum, a library assistant (although that had been something for her because she’d enjoyed it so much) so her roles had been centred around others and she’d been content with that. The idea of shaking off those responsibilities and doing things solely for herself seemed unimaginable.

  Now, for the first time in her life, Clare realised that she felt very much alone.

  Clare had always been a daddy’s girl and tried to make her father proud whenever she could. When he’d died ten years ago, he’d left a gaping hole which she’d struggled to fill. She didn’t have a close relationship with her mum. Elaine Hughes had always been busy with her own life – for many years with her job as a drama teacher, then later on with her work as a chief examiner and as chairwoman of the village amateur dramatics society. With Jason bringing his and Clare’s marriage to an end, she was no longer committed to making him happy, but this in itself was another difficult loss to deal with. And then there was Kyle: her darling son, her reason for everything, her joy. But Kyle was grown up and had gone off to university, leaving Clare feeling redundant in that aspect of her life as well, especially after losing her job. Her whole life had changed when she’d least expected it. She’d been prepared for Kyle leaving home, but losing her job and her marriage at the same time was too much.

  Would it be possible for Clare to start again and live her life for herself? Could she turn things around and discover what it was that she really wanted?

  The left indicator on the tractor started flickering and it pulled into a layby, so Clare put her foot down on the accelerator and drove past it, singing along to the uplifting track from the eighties that the celebrity had chosen as her theme tune.

  Perhaps the young woman wasn’t so naïve after all.

  Sam Wilson unclipped the soft leather lead from his yellow Labrador’s collar then watched as she ran ahead, her long tail wagging, nose pressed to the ground. He looked forward to his twice-daily walks with Scout. It was his time out, his time to breathe deeply and enjoy the peace and quiet. He’d have walked anyway, but having Scout for company made the walks around the countryside surrounding Little Bramble even better. The two-year-old Labrador was good company: she enjoyed being outside as much as Sam did and she didn’t feel the need to fill their time together with random chatter or demands. As long as she was fed and walked, could snuggle on the sofa and was praised for good behaviour, Scout was happy, and that made Sam happy too.

  Moving to the village over three years ago had been a fresh start for him and for his younger sister, Alyssa. After years of living in London, renting flats and saving hard, Sam had wanted to put down roots and settle somewhere quiet, friendly and beautiful. Little Bramble was perfect, and when a colleague in London told him that a former university friend of hers was looking for a partner to invest in her village veterinary practice, Sam had felt a flicker of hope that he hadn’t experienced in a long time. He’d travelled to the village to meet Miranda Fitzalan and had liked her blunt, no-nonsense approach, her devotion to the animals in her care – and the very reasonable asking price for a share of the practice. Miranda’s former business partner had decided to retire to Spain and she was looking for someone keen to enjoy being a part of village life. Sam’s years of saving and investing his money wisely had finally reaped a reward.

  Scout came running back to him, a chunky stick in her mouth. She dropped it at his feet and looked up at him, wagging her tail, her mouth open in what looked like a wide smile.

  ‘You want to play, do you?’ He reached out and rubbed her soft head and she barked in reply. ‘OK then, girl. Ready?’

  He picked up the stick then swung his arm back and threw it as far ahead as he could, laughing as Scout scampered after it, knowing that this process would be repeated many times before they reached home again. Repetition and routine were the things that kept his life moving forwards and he didn’t think to want for more.

  Chapter 2

  Clare pulled up in front of the secluded cottage at the edge of the village and cut the engine. She pushed her shoulders back, trying to ease the knots that had formed during the drive. Actually, who was she trying to kid? The knots had been there for months, possibly years, and most of the time she managed to forget about them, but certain seating positions – like driving – made them more acute.

  Home.

  The word made her start as if someone else in the car had whispered it.

  Her mum’s cottage hadn’t been home for years, not since she’d left for university aged eighteen. Although she had returned to the village over the years, once she’d met Jason she’d made her home wherever he was. It had been a happy home when she was a child, a busy placed filled with music and laughter, where there always seemed to be people coming and going, where the aromas of coffee and freshly baked bread and scones filled the air and where Clare had felt safe.

  But, of course, there was another reason why she’d avoided returning too often, especially for the last ten years. A reason that made her chest tight, her heart ache, a cloud of sadness hover above her . . .

  Dad.

  She closed her eyes and pressed her lips together hard, waiting for the pain to fade. If she just thought about something else, like the weather or the scuffs on the toes of her plimsolls, then she could forget.

  For a while at least.

  Clare could be remarkably good at pushing things away, at forgetting – something she suspected she’d inherited from her mother – but it also added to that feeling of sleepwalking through life. For years she�
��d managed to push away the fact that her marriage was struggling, to forget that, once upon a time, she and Jason had been friends, had been in something that she’d believed to be love, had been lovers. At some point it had lessened, weakened, but Clare had shut her eyes tight and ignored it, because the alternative had been devastating.

  The failure of her marriage had left a sour taste in her mouth, left her questioning everything she’d thought she had, thought she’d wanted.

  She opened her eyes and took a few slow deep breaths.

  Too much to think about.

  So she wouldn’t.

  For now.

  She got out of the car, went to the boot and opened it, lifted out her two suitcases. Along with the three boxes on the back seat, the carrier bags for life stuffed behind the seats and the plastic crate on the passenger seat, this was all she had to show for the twenty-six years of their relationship, twenty-two of them married. A mutual friend at university in Reading had introduced them when Clare was nineteen and Jason twenty-two, both so young, she thought now. Clare was studying English Literature, Jason was three years into a law degree and they’d become inseparable immediately. When Jason graduated, he moved out of student accommodation and rented a flat and Clare had moved in while she finished her final year. They had married soon after her graduation. Of course, there was the furniture in storage and the things Kyle had asked her to keep for him for when he finished his degree and Jason’s belongings (his half of everything), but she had brought what she could in her small car. She just hoped she’d chosen wisely because she’d hate to want something – a book, a DVD, a pair of shoes – that was in storage in Reading because there was no turning back now.

  Jason was travelling lightly too. She tutted, something she’d found herself doing whenever she thought about how his eyes had lit up when their divorce was finalised. They had lived together, sleeping in separate rooms, until the divorce had been sorted, but once he’d realised it was done, that he was, at last, free to jet off and find himself, he’d not been able to hide his pleasure. That was what he’d called it: finding myself. As if he’d been lost since he was twenty-two and had met Clare, and now he was able to find the person he’d wanted to be all along. According to Jason, Clare had placed pressure on him, albeit unknowingly, to be the husband, father and provider that she wanted him to be and Jason had felt suffocated, trapped, stifled by the roles. Clare had been gobsmacked at first, numb with shock, but as the days had progressed into weeks and then months, as they’d talked over dinners and bottles of wine, as they’d weeded the back-garden side-by-side, the numbness had morphed into acceptance. At times, that acceptance had been tinged by anger (perfectly natural according to the counsellor Clare had seen for six weeks), and Clare had come to agree with Jason that they were not living their best lives at all. They were simply existing, having lost whatever it was that had brought them together in the first place. Clare had been replaced, not by another woman, but by her husband’s realisation that he wanted more from life before it was too late, and she too had come to see that she also wanted something, but she had no idea how on earth she was going to work out what it was.