Page 76 of The Merry Christmas Project

They both laughed.

The cut-off date was two weeks away, but he wasn’t going to leave it to the last minute ; it wasn’t Cole’s way. Give him a deadline and he liked to smash it. He’d bought almost everything : for Freya, art stuff and a portable karaoke machine which Lydia hadn’t been over the moon about ; joggers, jeans and pyjamas for his son who’d apparently shot up since September. He still wanted to get little stocking fillers, things to make them smile on Christmas morning. But that wouldn’t take him long.

‘Will you be OK on your own this Christmas ?’ Lydia asked out of the blue.

There was a note of guilt in her voice, he noticed. She felt bad for depriving him of time with his kids over the festive period. She still cared about him in a way, and he cared about her. He was glad they’d overcome the initial stiffness in their relationship which had followed their break-up. Now they could focus on what was important : doing the best for their kids.

‘I’ll be fine,’ he told her. ‘I’ve got lots to keep me occupied.’

And besides, if he ever managed to pluck up the courage to ask Merry out, maybe he wouldn’t be on his own after all.

Chapter 24

Merry

29 NOVEMBER

It was Friday afternoon, two days before the school Christmas Fair and the town lights switch-on and I was working in the kitchen in the old bank, humming to myself as I experimented with my new essential oils.

I was attempting to create an aroma which had been haunting me for the last week. It was a scent which had the power to lift my mood, set my pulse racing and induce a feeling of calm all at once. It was woody, fresh and peppery but with hints of sweetness to lighten it. It would appeal to men and I had a feeling that women would adore it too and when I finally got it right, it was going to make the most amazing candle.

This was my third batch, and I was getting closer to my goal with each one. Lime had been the wrong addition to batch two, so this time I was trying lemon with sandalwood, pink peppercorns, and the merest hint of vanilla. Satisfied that it was thoroughly combined, I poured the concoction of oils into the waiting hot wax and stirred rigorously. Then I jotted down the proportions of oils in this batch before I forgot them and finally, I poured the wax into two plain glass jars.

This was the part of making candles I loved the most : mixing, blending, adjusting, more of this oil, less of another. It was fun and creative and challenged my olfactory organs to be ultra-responsive, to detect the minute differences each oil made to the finished candle. I was like a kid playing with a chemistry set and it didn’t feel like work at all. I was overdue some play-time, I thought, reaching for the kettle to make another pot of coffee. I’d never been so busy in my entire life. Not that I was complaining, I loved every minute of it. I made candles all day long and went to bed dreaming of candles, well mostly ; there was one other subject which had infiltrated my dreams lately.

Scented candles, it seemed, were on everyone’s list this Christmas. I was waking up every morning to a fresh flurry of orders from Etsy, and Nell seemed to get through as many as I could make. January could be a completely different ball game, but I’d worry about that when it happened; for now, I was making hay while the sun shone, or should that be making candles while the days barely got light before they started getting dark all over again ?

But at least it wasn’t dark in the old bank anymore. Every light burned brightly, Cole had made sure of that ; he’d been and put new bulbs in every light fitting, even the ones which hadn’t needed it. It had been no bother, he’d assured me, and he felt happier knowing I wouldn’t be plunged into darkness again for a while.

Warmth bloomed somewhere deep inside me as I conjured him up. Again. Cole Robinson featured as frequently in my thoughts and dreams as my candles. There was something about him which made my heart tingle. He was good-looking, obviously, but it was more than that. He had a good heart too; I could tell from the way he talked about his dad and his sister, and his kids especially. And he had been so good to me that night when I’d been locked in the dark. He hadn’t mocked me for being scared or told me I was overreacting. Instead, he’d done everything in his power to put me at ease. He’d listened to me, and when he had spoken, he’d somehow known exactly the right words to calm me down. The moment Olek set me free and the door had opened and I’d seen Cole waiting for me was a moment that kept playing on a loop in my head. It had been the most natural thing in the world to be in his arms. If Olek hadn’t been there, would he have kissed me, would I have been bold enough to give him more than a peck on the cheek? I felt a bit breathless at the thought.

Since that night our paths hadn’t crossed. We’d sent each other text messages and he’d left me various notes about things he’d fixed after he’d been here once or twice late at night. A part of me was worried that I’d put him off with my oversharing. But what was done was done, I told myself, as I tipped cold coffee from the coffee press down the sink and gave it a wash.

Cole probably didn’t realise how privileged he was that I’d confided in him ; I didn’t talk about my early years much to anyone. It was hard for people to hear about a child being placed regularly in the care of foster parents, and even harder to learn of an orphan, completely without family, growing up in a children’s home. I wasn’t ashamed of my background, but I knew from experience that some people found it impossible not to have preconceptions about a child who’d gone through the care system. That needed to change. The more I opened up, the more I’d challenge those preconceptions. And didn’t those special to me deserve to know as much about me as I’d want to know about them ? And Cole was someone I counted among the special ones.

My mum was still special to me too. Our life together had been painfully short and hadn’t fitted the mould of a traditional family unit, but it had been the only family I’d known, and I’d never stopped wanting it back. A family to call my own, big or small, was my one true goal in life, not money, or nice cars, or big houses, just a place to call home and people I belonged to.

And I had a feeling from what Cole had said that the concept of home was important to him too. Ridiculous as it sounded, I missed him and had started a new habit of checking my phone every five minutes to see if he’d sent me a message, and then jumping every time my phone rang, hoping that it would be him. Nell said I ought to deliberately spring a leak somewhere as an excuse to get him to visit, but as tempting as it was, I couldn’t do that – I knew how busy he was.

Besides, Hester Smart would be attending our lights switch-on event and Cole had promised to chaperone her, so I only had another two days to wait. Hester and I had had several conversations about Sunday’s proceedings ; she sounded lovely and down to earth and very chatty, but surprisingly she was almost more interested in asking about me than the event itself. Was that because Cole had talked about me ? Or was it the opposite and he hadn’t mentioned me at all ? Either way, I was looking forward to meeting her.

As I was pouring boiling water on fresh coffee grounds, my phone rang. I gave a yelp and almost dropped the kettle in my haste to answer it.

It rang a lot at the moment, either with an order enquiry or one of my fellow committee members on the Christmas Project keeping me updated.

Only a few minutes ago I’d been on the phone to the Christmas tree farm. After our initial worries that we wouldn’t be able to accommodate everyone, we’d only had forty-seven requests for Christmas trees, which was just right. The closer we got to Christmas, the more I was beginning to realise what a big logistical job it was going to be to coordinate the allocation and decoration of an entire forest’s worth of fir trees in and around a busy market.

This time the call was from Nigel. ‘Merry !’ he boomed. ‘Seasons greetings ! You haven’t got a snow machine I could borrow, have you ?’

‘Sorry, no,’ I replied, laughing. ‘I don’t have much need for one.’

‘Pity,’ said Nigel. ‘I’m just walking around the marketplace and thought we could take the Narnia theme one step further and spray everywhere white.’

‘We’ll have to hope for real snow instead.’ I had to hand it to Nigel, I might not always agree with his ideas, but at least he had plenty of them.

‘It’s cold enough, so you never know. Oh, by the way,’ he added. ‘Just been talking to the Christmas tree man, he wants to give you a present for all the extra business you’ve sent his way. OK if I give him your address ?’

‘That’s so kind,’ I said, flattered. ‘How about he delivers it to the old bank for ease ? I’m using it as a work studio at the moment.’