Page 19 of Not Just for Christmas

Sometimes, no matter how exhausted Dylan was, sleep didn’t come easy. Like last night after the gig when he’d ended up staring at the ceiling until two in the morning. His big mistake was looking at his social media. He especially shouldn’t have checked out Amelia’s Instagram to see who the new guy was. Some hot-shot football player from Chicago, younger and fitter than Dylan. Maybe if Dylan hadn’t told her that he was ready to settle down, have kids … But that would probably only have delayed their break-up. And if he was honest with himself, he had never been truly, madly in love with her. Still stung, though, that she’d moved on so quickly.

The feeling of loneliness he’d had last night flitted back, but he brushed it away. He should get up, get moving, stop feeling sorry for himself. He had loads to be grateful for. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and put his feet on the rug, one at a time.

Thank. You.

It was a practice his therapist had taught him years ago. Put your feet on the ground and say thank you. Say thank you that you’re alive, thank you that you have the day ahead of you, thank you for all the good things you’ve got. It only took a second, but it worked. He’d stopped doing it for a while. Then Jack died and the shock of it made him want to start up the practice again.

Before he’d even had a chance to stand, his phone buzzed with a text message. His spirits lifted at the sight of the sender: Lucy Oakley. He sprang up off the bed and opened the message.

Please come to the farm and stay for Christmas it will be more fun if you are here and Sam is Josehp in the nativity and he wants you to watch please say yes

‘What the––? You have got to be kidding me.’ Dylan’s heart shuddered against his ribs as he took in the message. He puzzled over the spelling and lack of punctuation. Maybe she was outside in the farmyard. He pictured her, cold hands stabbing at her phone screen, her breath misting in the cold air.

Memories of the farm came rushing back as he read the message through twice more. He loved that place, and over the years it had become even more important to him, a place to escape, be himself, where fans couldn’t get to him.

Happy times. Hiking across the insanely beautiful countryside with Jack, navigating the tiny narrow lanes in the tractor, surfing in the ocean, the water so cold it took his breath away. Any time he could get away from work, the farm had been his haven, from a whole month one summer, through to a flying visit between gigs. And of course, his first trip to England when he’d met Lucy on Craggy Bay beach and invited her out for a drink.

So much had changed since then, so much life under their belts, and now death too. He’d wanted to go back, to be there for Lucy and Sam, he really had. But it was complicated.

He had almost gone back in the summer for Sam’s birthday party. He hadn’t made it in the end. His record company had committed him to record a track for a charity album, one of those big multiple artist things. There’d been no way he could turn it down, not for such a good cause, and there were so many other performers involved that it was impossible to reschedule. Plus, if he was honest with himself, he had been relieved to have an excuse not to go. He wasn’t sure how he’d feel, being at Merrydown with just Lucy and Sam, and no Jack. Because the thing was, that first spark of attraction he’d felt for Lucy all those years ago had never really faded. He’d buried it of course. Lucy was married to Jack, and Jack was his best friend. He never would have jeopardised that.

But now she’d invited him for Christmas and he just so happened to be free. A frisson of something he couldn’t name vibrated through him. Whatever it was, it made his heart sing.

He read Lucy’s words one last time. She and Sam wanted him there. It was time for him to go back.

He quickly typed a reply before he could change his mind.

Christmas at Merrydown Farm with you two? Hell yeah x

Chapter 9

At six o’clock the next morning, I was woken by Elvis singing that it would be lonely this Christmas. Thanks, Elvis, but not what I need to hear right now, I thought, scooting across the expanse of empty mattress to Jack’s side of the bed to switch it off. I could move that radio alarm clock to my side, but the shock of the cold sheets ensured that I didn’t fall back to sleep.

When Jack and I had taken over the farm from Heather and Jim, we hadn’t wanted to move into their bedroom, because he’d said it felt weird. So we’d taken over the next biggest room and bought ourselves a new king-sized bed instead.

The bed felt huge now for just me. I’d even tried to train Gus to sleep beside me, but he preferred being in front of the Aga. I loved it when Sam woke up in the night and crept into bed with me, forcing his way into the crook of my arm and tucking his hot little head under my chin. That had happened a lot during those first few awful months, when most of his conversations were variations on a theme of where his daddy had gone. He seemed to have settled down recently, midnight visits had lessened and when he did appear he was more preoccupied with Christmas than anything else.

I snapped on the bedside lamp, blinking as my eyes grew accustomed to the light, and felt for my phone. All I found was the end of the charger cable, which meant that I’d left the phone downstairs and it would probably be dead by now.

Damn. I wasn’t expecting any exciting messages, but Merrydown Farm was computerised and linked up to my phone. If a cow was ill, or in labour, or if there was a problem with the milking equipment, I would get an alert. It worked with my laptop too, but at night, I relied solely on my phone. A brilliant system, but only if I kept my phone charged up.

Annoyed with myself, I got out of bed, pulled on a fleece over my pyjamas, wriggled my feet into a pair of Jack’s thick socks and ran downstairs to the kitchen, where I last remembered seeing it.

Before I could do anything, Gus barrelled over, thumping his tail enthusiastically against my legs, demanding his morning fuss. I ruffled my red border collie’s ears and let him out into the yard, and only then did I sift through the piles of paperwork on the kitchen table. I located my phone under a small landslide of unopened envelopes. I must get on top of the admin at some point. I used to be the organised one, dealing with every piece of correspondence as soon as it arrived. Jack had relied on me to know where everything was. Now I was constantly chasing my tail, or in the case of our suppliers, being chased. I jabbed at the screen but as predicted, it remained stubbornly dead. I plugged it in, and while I waited for it to charge, I turned on my laptop to check for any farm emergencies – thankfully there weren’t any – phew. Next, I busied myself with the comforting ritual of making coffee. The hiss of the kettle, the warm, nutty smell filling the kitchen giving me a quiet moment before any messages arrived.

Coffee poured, I settled at the table as the phone flickered into life and notifications began to chime in. School notices, updates from the dairy that collected our milk, funny Instagram videos from Caroline and … a text message from Dylan.

I choked on my coffee. It had been weeks since I’d heard from him. I clicked on the message.

Christmas with you two at Merrydown Farm? Hell yeah x

What? I blinked at the screen. What was that supposed to mean? I scrolled further up the conversation and gasped. Dylan was replying to a message from me sent last night. Except that I hadn’t sent him one.

‘Shit,’ I muttered under my breath. ‘You are kidding me.’

I knew instantly what had happened. That was the Christmas surprise that Sam had wanted to borrow my iPad for. The little monkey had obviously decided to ignore me and invite his godfather to come for Christmas regardless.

And Dylan had accepted.