The Christmas Wish: A heartwarming Christmas romance Page 3

  ‘It was fun, and for a while I liked it, but I don’t miss it. You can’t think with all that stuff going on sometimes.’

  ‘I should think not. Still, there’s not a lot in Little Dove Morton for young ones.’

  ‘I’m not that young!’ Esme laughed. ‘In some eras I’d have been considered middle-aged.’

  ‘Young enough to want the company of people your own age – not an old hen like me.’

  ‘I’m happy enough right now. I quite like spending my time with an old hen, even if the old hen can’t quite believe that I’m perfectly content helping her bake and dig the weeds from the garden.’

  Matilda gave a sage nod. ‘Perhaps for now it’s for the best. I know you lost a lot of your old friends when you started courting that man, but perhaps, in the months ahead, you might want to look them up again?’

  They passed a field of cows, faces impassive as they lifted their heads from the grass to watch Esme’s car roar away. Esme understood that her grandma’s comments were made in an attempt to steer Esme’s life back to some kind of normality. The problem was, Esme wasn’t ready for that – not just yet. The Peaks were a world away from her old life in London but, right now, she rather liked it that way.

  Four

  It would be a few hours until dusk fell and it would be dark enough to really appreciate the coloured lights and twinkling Christmas displays that festooned the little town of Bakewell. It had taken time to find a parking space too, and while Matilda had muttered about how it never got any better and didn’t Esme think the council would do something about it, and how the last time she’d come with Esme’s granddad back in 1989 it had been exactly the same, Esme nodded mildly and persevered. And her patience was rewarded when a space was vacated just as she’d done her second circuit of their third car park and she drove right in, content that she’d rather keep the quaint and unspoilt town and have to wait for a parking space from time to time than have it developed into somewhere faceless and cloned and full of multistorey car parks.

  The town was comfortingly familiar to Esme, who hadn’t been here since she’d fallen out with her parents, but it seemed tiny in comparison to the metropolis she’d been calling home for the past three years. Even though it was bigger than Little Dove Morton, it still felt small. It had been raining that morning but the sky was clearing now, pockets of sun in a still heavy sky bouncing blinding rays onto wet pavements. The cottages that crouched over narrow roads were squat and sturdy, built from local stone, some of them converted into shops with wonky doorframes and windows like keen eyes in old faces. The town seemed to Esme to be old-fashioned, rooted in days long gone, and yet there were stores lit by bright displays of colourful modernity – radios and kitchenware, trendy toiletries and designer clothes. Imposing Christmas trees, dressed in pearls of yellow light reflecting on slick cobblestones like stars on a black sea stood sentry at their thresholds, the doors wreathed in scarlet holly.

  ‘Isn’t it gorgeous?’ Esme said, but more to herself than to anyone else, as if she needed to somehow reinforce what her eyes could see, convince herself somewhere so pretty could be real.

  But then she turned, aware that her grandmother was no longer at her side, and saw that Matilda was flagging, even though they’d only just left the car park.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, walking back to offer an arm for her grandma to hang on to. ‘I’m walking too fast for you? I’m used to rushing everywhere and it’s hard to stop doing it.’

  ‘Not a bit of it,’ Matilda said stiffly, though Esme could hear the wheeze in her voice. ‘I’ve just been distracted by all the lovely decorations.’

  Esme said nothing. Matilda was as practical as ever and she’d never let herself get distracted by such trifles as fairy lights when there was a list of Christmas presents as long as her arm that needed to be bought. It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy the beauty of a town adorned in red and gold, and she was as fond of a spot of Christmas cheer as anyone else, but there was a time to appreciate such things for Matilda and that was after the job in hand was done. But Esme knew better than to air these thoughts.

  ‘We could stop awhile if you like,’ she said instead. ‘I wouldn’t mind a lazy shopping day if I’m honest. We could take our time; there’s no need to rush.’

  ‘I wonder if the little teashop is still by the river…’ Matilda gave her head a tiny shake. ‘What’s the name of it again…?’

  ‘I don’t think I’ve ever been to it.’

  ‘I don’t suppose it’s still open now. It’s years since I went there.’

  ‘We could go and see? It might be open, even if it’s not under the same management?’

  Matilda paused for a moment before giving her head a firm, final shake. ‘Not yet. Later, when we’re done.’

  Just as Esme had suspected – her grandma would always be practical to the last. But she couldn’t banish the growing, nagging concern that day-to-day living was not quite as easy for her grandma as it had once been, and it saddened her that she hadn’t been around to help Matilda through this change in the years it had been creeping up on her.

  ‘It sounds like something to do with gardening…’ Matilda murmured, as if the name of the teashop being so elusive to her caused her some distress. ‘It’s…’

  ‘Gardening?’

  Matilda clicked her fingers with a triumphant look. ‘Capabilitea Brown’s! Oh, such a dear little place. Granddad loved the scones and clotted cream.’

  ‘I could definitely eat a scone,’ Esme said with a smile. ‘I’m up for walking along to see if it’s still there when you’re ready to take a break.’

  ‘That’s if we have time. I’ve got so much to do it’ll likely be dusk by the time I’ve finished.’

  ‘Where do you want to go first then?’ Esme asked.

  ‘I’ll get your gift first.’

  ‘But I thought we’d agreed that I didn’t want a gift because I’ve been living with you rent free—’

  ‘Nonsense! We agreed to no such thing! You said it and I didn’t reply.’

  ‘But I thought that meant you’d agreed!’

  ‘Well, that was a daft thing to think. Do you make every decision in life based on the lack of a reply of anyone else involved?’

  Esme blinked. And then she started to laugh. ‘You’re such an infuriating pain! Anyway, you can’t buy a gift for me when I’m with you.’

  ‘That’s easily remedied. I presume you’ll be wanting to buy one for me today?’

  ‘Well, yes, but—’

  ‘Then we’ll have to part company at some point or it will all get a bit silly.’

  ‘Ah, but Bakewell is a small place. You can guarantee we’ll bump into one another at some point and it might be just at the moment one of us is buying the other’s gift!’

  Matilda smoothed a prim hand down her coat, but when she looked up at Esme her eyes were full of mischief. ‘Then we’ll just have to pretend we haven’t seen anything.’

  ‘OK.’ Esme laughed. ‘I suppose we could do that. You’re sure you’ll be alright on your own?’

  ‘I’ve been alright all the other times I’ve shopped alone so I expect I will be this time.’

  ‘Meet back here then? Say around twelve? We could go and see if that teashop is still there and get some lunch?’

  ‘That sounds lovely,’ Matilda said. ‘Let’s do that.’

  * * *

  Finding the perfect gift for her grandma was always going to be a struggle. Not only was she a practical woman who had neither time nor patience for beauty regimes or creams or lotions or potions, or make-up or perfume or expensive clothing, but the only one indulgence she did allow herself – jewellery – was party to the same practicality. The only things she really wore were the few pieces Esme’s granddad had bought for her during their years together. But Esme felt the weight of a gratitude that she needed to show in a way greater than any words she had, and the perfect gift seemed like a good way to show it. If not for her grandma, there was
no telling where Esme might be right now. Matilda had taken her in at a moment’s notice, with no argument, no reproaches, no need of an explanation and wanting no thanks. She’d been ready to listen and not judge when Esme needed to talk and ready to fill hopeless silences with exactly the right words to banish them. When Esme had only been able to cry, Matilda had sat quietly with her until she was done, and when Esme had been tempted by Warren’s silky promises and words of remorse, Matilda had shaken the sense back into her. Warren had been very persistent with texts and phone calls and if Esme had been living with anyone else she was sure he would have won her round. But she was coming out of the other side of that long tunnel now, she could feel it, and it wouldn’t be long before even Warren’s most fervent pleas would leave her unmoved. She’d loved him when she’d left him, and she still loved him a little even now. Her grandma understood this and, unlike Esme’s parents, she didn’t judge Esme for it.

  She had gifts to buy for them too – they would be visiting soon in a bid to put the past behind them and make friends again, and although Esme was pleased by this, what did you get for the parents you’d barely spoken to for three years? It had been Esme’s fault really – looking at it now she couldn’t say anything else. Being with Warren had driven all common sense from her and when he snubbed someone – as he had her parents – she snubbed them too. That was how she’d come to lose not only family members but friends as well, until she’d had nobody left, nobody to turn to, nobody to rely on but Warren. Perhaps that was how he’d wanted it, but Esme tried not to think about that possibility. She believed him capable of many things, but that kind of manipulation seemed a cruelty too far. And now all that turbulent water was under the bridge and her parents were ready to welcome her back. But how could a simple Christmas gift even begin to rebuild such a broken relationship? Esme had no idea what the right thing would be, but at least that was one problem her grandma would be able to help with. She put those gifts out of her mind for the moment. First, Esme had to use her time alone to find something perfect for Matilda.

  Esme perused the shelves of a craft shop, pored over swanky kitchen goods and expensive china (both of which would probably end up in a cupboard as ‘best’, meaning they’d never see the light of day again), sniffed at various toiletries and tested out make-up, despite knowing that those gifts weren’t right at all. After coming away from each establishment empty-handed and frustrated, Esme’s gaze was drawn to the travel agents. It sat in a long row of stone-fronted shops, huge posters of Caribbean beaches with sugary sand and turquoise seas in the window. It was open but the staff within looked faintly redundant as they sat at desks and chatted, each with a mug in front of them, while a pack of biscuits lay open between them. Esme supposed it wasn’t a busy time for travel agents when everyone was thinking about Christmas gifts. But it had her mind racing. Would her grandma really dismiss the idea of that trip to see the Northern Lights? She might have been half-joking when she’d suggested it before, but Esme knew her grandma had always wanted to go – she could recall in vivid detail conversations between her grandma and granddad about it over the years. They had been full of banter, good-natured and witty sniping, but, ultimately, even Esme had been able to sense the very real longing in her grandma, despite the cool retorts and laughter. Matilda hadn’t asked for much in life and Esme could count on one hand the foreign countries her grandma and granddad had travelled to together. Suppose Esme booked it right now – they couldn’t possibly go this Christmas, could they? Could her grandma be ready? And more to the point, would it be fair to expect her to break with her annual traditions, to part with the age-old routines and timetables that had been a feature of her Christmases for the last sixty years? Perhaps such a trip would be less of a gift than Esme imagined; perhaps all it would do was throw Matilda into turmoil, not knowing how to reject a present that really wasn’t something she felt up to doing at all. Not to mention the impending reconciliation with her parents, who might not see it as much of a reconciliation at all if Esme upped and left just when she was meant to be putting things right with them.

  With a faint pang of regret, Esme quickly dismissed the idea of the Lapland trip. Maybe next year, when they’d had time to plan and talk about it. And maybe not during Christmas at all. She’d approach her grandma over dinner later, suggest it again as something they could do together when they could both be ready for it.

  Instead, her gaze turned to a jewellery and fancy goods shop across the street. Taking advantage of a gap in the traffic, she rushed over to take a closer look at the window display and her eye was immediately drawn to a beautifully gilded silver photo frame. Only the previous week the old mother-of-pearl one that housed Matilda’s treasured wedding photo had fallen from the wall as she’d dusted it, the rusted hook finally giving way, and it had cracked beyond repair. It sat on the kitchen dresser now, propped up by a pile of cookbooks while Matilda wondered what kind of tradesman she’d need to find to repair such a thing when everyone, she said, threw things away now once they’d broken. Esme didn’t want to add that no tradesman she knew would make the journey out to them for such a tiny job and she’d never heard of a shop that took in repairs like that.

  The silver frame in the shop was expensive, but it was stunning and Esme had planned to spend a lot, despite her grandma’s warnings about overspending on her. Besides, Esme was due to start a new job at the local farm shop after Christmas, once their current sales assistant had retired, and her savings would soon get topped up again. Not that they’d been paltry to start with – after all, she’d been saving for a wedding. It had never happened in the end, but the way she saw it, she might as well spend the money on something else that would make her happy – something just like this.

  The shop had a bell that chimed as she pushed the door open and went inside, and a young man looked up from a newspaper spread out over the counter. He smiled, folding it away.

  ‘Anything I can get you or would you just like to look around?’ he asked.

  He was fair, the kind of blond where even his eyelashes looked like spun gold, and his eyes were a startling aquamarine, and perhaps if her heart hadn’t still been quite battered, Esme might have fancied him. It was hard to tell his age but he looked younger than Esme. Old enough, though, she decided. Then she noticed the chunky wedding band and shook away the silly daydream. Instead, she returned his smile and pointed to the window display.

  ‘Could I look at the silver photo frame?’

  ‘Certainly – just let me get it for you.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Esme stepped aside to allow him access. The shop was tiny and crammed with shelves of delicate-looking items that made it difficult to get around but at least it was just the two of them. If it had been full of customers she might have walked out again and tried to come back when things had calmed down rather than risk knocking a display unit over getting out of people’s way.

  ‘Here we go.’ He pulled a duster from his pocket and gave the frame a gentle wipe before handing it to Esme. ‘Christmas present?’

  Esme nodded, the cold, solid frame oddly tactile and satisfying beneath her fingers as she traced the delicate rosebuds embossed into the metal.

  ‘It’s heavier than it looks, isn’t it?’

  ‘It’s lovely quality,’ he said.

  ‘But would it be too heavy to stay on a wall? My grandma’s old one fell and broke and I don’t want the same thing to happen.’

  ‘Even if this did fall off I doubt it would break. I doubt it would fall off either – it’s got quite a sturdy hook. Good workmanship. We get it from a craftsman down in the Welsh valleys – none of your mass-produced rubbish.’ He tucked the duster back into his pocket. ‘We can engrave a message on the back too if you’d like. Free of charge, while you wait – doesn’t take too long.’

  Esme handed him the frame. ‘I’ll take it.’

  ‘You want me to engrave anything on it?’

  Esme looked at the frame. It could be so much more perfect with
the right message, and yet how could she possibly conjure a single phrase that could encompass all that was in her heart?

  ‘Yes,’ she said uncertainly.

  ‘You want a minute to think about it?’

  ‘If you don’t mind.’

  He gave a slight nod. ‘Be my guest. Would it help if I left you alone while you pondered it?’

  She looked at the frame again. Perhaps the simple approach would do just as well. Her grandma was hardly one for pomp and fuss anyway, and words straight from the heart would hold just as much meaning to her as flowery prose. In fact, Esme had to wonder if a simple expression wouldn’t mean more to her grandma than flowery prose, because it was straight from the heart. She looked back at the shopkeeper.

  ‘If you could engrave: To Grandma, with more love than I can ever express, from Esme, that would be perfect.’

  ‘Esme,’ he said, taking it to the counter. ‘You don’t come across many Esmes.’

  ‘Don’t you?’

  ‘Well, I don’t recall the last time I heard it.’ He gestured to an old, deeply varnished, high-backed seat standing against a wall. ‘Take a load off if you like; it’ll be about ten minutes. Unless you have somewhere you need to be, then you can come back and pick it up later if it suits.’

  ‘I’ll wait. My grandma is shopping for my present somewhere in the town and this way I won’t bump into her until I’ve finished.’

  ‘Let’s hope she doesn’t have the same idea and come in here then,’ he said with a smile. ‘At least, not until you’ve gone.’

  ‘I don’t think we need to worry. Knowing her, she’s probably buying me a vacuum cleaner as we speak.’

  ‘Doesn’t everyone dream of owning a vacuum cleaner?’

  ‘Possibly,’ Esme replied, laughing.

  She sat down and watched as he lifted a heavy piece of machinery onto the counter and put on some safety goggles. Out of habit, she pulled her phone from her bag and swiftly checked for messages. Nothing, and the odd feeling she’d had for the whole of this week persisted. Warren had finally given up. She should have been relieved… she was relieved. But there was also a sense of closure that she hadn’t been ready for. This was it – she was on her own. When she’d left Warren this was what she’d wanted, wasn’t it? His constant messages had brought her nothing but misery and distress. But instead of being happy, she now felt somehow unloved, as if something about her was unlovable. While Warren had kept trying to get her back, at least she’d felt desirable; she’d felt as if she meant something. But now?