Page 61 of The Merry Christmas Project

‘The Holly Cottage tenant is in charge of the project and was really struggling to find a suitable celebrity; she asked me if I knew anyone famous.’ Cole gave his sister his most winning smile. ‘And luckily for me, I do.’

She raised an amused eyebrow. ‘Ah, now I get it, is she the one you kitted the old bank out for, with all the little romantic touches ? You should have said, I’d have agreed straight away. I’m looking forward to meeting the woman who’s managed to get my brother buying flowers and candles.’

‘Oh, shut up,’ he replied, mirroring her reply.

‘Is that the lass organising the Christmas Project in the market square ?’ Fred asked.

‘Merry.’ Cole felt a buzz of energy running through him at the chance to talk about her. ‘Yes, have you met her ?’

‘No, my friend told me about her.’ Fred gave a self-conscious cough. ‘My friend Astrid.’

‘A Christmas Project,’ said Hester slyly. ‘And I thought you were cancelling Christmas this year.’

‘I am. Christmas without my kids isn’t Christmas at all,’ said Cole gruffly. ‘I’m just going to crack on at the old bank. Get the kitchen in.’

‘I know this year will be different,’ said Hester not unsympathetically. ‘But you’ve been working flat out. You are entitled to a break now and then.’

‘She’s right, Son,’ Fred said wisely. ‘Besides, if you’re not there there’ll be no chance of decent roast parsnip for Christmas dinner.’

‘Rude,’ said Hester, ‘but true.’

Cole laughed ; he did a mean honey-roast parsnip, if he did say so himself. ‘It’s good to know I have my uses, but you should be glad I’m a hard worker. It’s your investment too. The sooner we get it finished, the quicker we can turn a profit on it.’

‘Except for the fact you’ve put your new friend in there.’

‘Tenant,’ he corrected. ‘And not for long. Holly Cottage will ready for her to go back to by early December.’

He hadn’t anticipated that the repairs would take this long, but once they’d stripped back the kickboards under the kitchen units, they’d found that the water had risen up the back of the cupboards and swelled the wood. The kitchen had seen better days anyway, he told himself. He was making a good job of it because it made business sense, that was all, nothing to do with being fond of his tenant.

‘You’re a model landlord, I must say.’ Hester looked at him knowingly, an amused smile playing on her lips. ‘I take it she’s single ?’

Cole ignored her. ‘Have you been taking it easy since your fall, Dad ?’

Fred scowled. ‘I wish everyone would stop saying a fall. I fell. There’s a difference.’

‘Correct,’ said Hester promptly. ‘When you fall, you get up again, brush yourself down and carry on. When you have a fall, a friend helps you home and calls your next of kin and you sit around for the next week with a hot water bottle on your privates.’

‘Oi,’ said Fred, ‘you might be thirty-something but I’m still your father, so less of your lip.’

‘We just care, Dad,’ said Cole. ‘My heart did stutter a bit when I got that call from your friend.’

‘Groin strain for pity’s sake. Pass me that pouffe,’ Fred grumbled, lifting his feet up so Cole could slide it under his legs. ‘The indignity of it. On one hand it was a good job that Astrid was there but, by Jiminy, I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life. How did I get so unfit ? Get me a mince pie from that tin on the dining table will you, Son ?’

Hester gave a snort.

‘I can’t imagine,’ said Cole, fetching the tin and squeezing his sister’s shoulder as he passed her.

The tin wasn’t one he’d seen before. It looked a bit battered and well loved and had a picture of the snowy Alps on it. He took the lid off and the smell of alcohol hit him ; they were chunky and a bit misshapen but nonetheless looked delicious. He was transported straight back to his mum’s kitchen. It had been one of the family’s traditions ; she used to bake non-stop as Christmas approached : cakes, pies, sausage rolls. He wanted to do that, he realised : instil some traditions of his own. Maybe the kids would like to join in ? Next Christmas would be different, he promised himself.

Fred bit into a mince pie, chewed for a moment and set it on the coffee table beside him.

‘Actually, who am I kidding ?’ he said, sounding subdued. ‘I’m unfit because I’ve been sitting on my backside for the last year. Losing your mum messed me up, kids. A lot more than I realised.’

Cole exchanged looks with his sister ; Fred had been a closed book since his wife had died. Perhaps he was about to start opening up ?

‘That’s natural, Dad.’ Hester moved up the sofa until she was within touching distance and covered Fred’s hand with hers. ‘You were grieving.’

‘I’m sure you still are,’ Cole added. ‘We probably all are.’