Home for Christmas

Chapter 2

I’d never been much of a drinker, so the following morning I was feeling the impact of every single one of the cocktails I’d downed the night before. Rather than walk home, Tink and I had crashed with Jeanie in her room at the pub, while Holly and Jasper had gone back to the railway carriages at Cuckoo Cottage in a taxi.

‘Don’t, Tink,’ I said, and grimaced, pushing her off as she sat on my chest and licked my face.

‘She’s offering you hair of the dog,’ Jeanie laughed, sounding far too sprightly for my liking.

‘Ugh, don’t even think that,’ I said, pulling a pillow over my head to block out both Tink’s unwanted attention and the light. ‘Let alone say it.’

‘Perhaps you should have stuck to the mocktails,’ Jeanie teased.

‘I didn’t know there were mocktails,’ I groaned.

‘Well, there were, but they’re long gone now. How about a bacon sarnie instead?’ Jeanie offered. ‘I’m having one, with extra brown sauce.’

‘I should really get back,’ I said, my voice muffled, as I tried not to think about gloopy sauce, brown or otherwise. ‘This is not how I wanted to feel today.’

‘Some carbs and protein will sort you out,’ Jeanie said sagely. ‘Come on,’ she added, quickly tugging the pillow away. ‘Let’s have breakfast and then I’ll drive you home. Save you having to do the walk of shame in that lion costume.’

It was lunchtime by the time she dropped me off and I still wasn’t feeling much brighter – even less so when I opted to have a quick look around the house ahead of shedding the costume and taking a shower in the apartment.

‘You’ve got to be kidding me,’ I muttered as a rush of emotions, none of them positive, coursed through me. ‘Just as well we didn’t see all this yesterday, hey, Tink?’

Had I known the house had been left in such a state, it would have ruined the party.

‘What would Nanna and Grandad say if they could see this?’ I tutted.

There were only a few requests I made for the guests to fulfil ahead of their departure, but the last visitors had selfishly ignored them all. The beds hadn’t been stripped or the bins emptied, and the dishwasher was haphazardly stuffed full of crockery, cutlery, pots and pans with food so firmly welded on that it would doubtless take more than one cycle to come clean. There was what looked like a red wine stain on the sitting room carpet, too, and I was sure I could smell cigarette smoke in the downstairs bedroom.

Tink, I noticed, hadn’t ventured far over the threshold, and I couldn’t blame her. Having pulled on a pair of rubber gloves, I sorted the dishwasher, turned off the heating and opened all the windows, then headed up to the apartment for strong coffee and the heavy-duty cleaning supplies. The longed-for shower would have to wait, but I did get changed.

‘The thing that really pees me off,’ said Mum, who had telephoned for a catch-up while I was mid mucking out session, ‘is that you can’t complain about them.’

‘I know,’ I huffed.

‘They can rate you and the house online,’ Mum ranted on, ‘but you can’t give them a one-star review for being slovenly and disrespectful visitors, can you?’

Having sorted as much as I could, I flopped down on the sofa to carry on with the conversation. I went to run a hand through my curls, but with limited success because it was still full of the product which had transformed it into the Lion’s mane.

‘Oh, never mind my guests,’ I sighed, wanting to change the subject. ‘Let’s talk about something else. Tell me, how’s Alain? How’s France?’

Mum had moved across the Channel a while ago. She had initially been lured to look at French property by programmes such as Escape to the Chateau , but had soon realized that she had neither the skills nor the exuberance of the Strawbridge family to make a success of a huge renovation project and opted instead to buy a small, but comfortable, house on the edge of a traditional market town, which needed nothing more specialized than cosmetic updating.

I admired my mum immensely. Having been abandoned by my father when I was a baby and then by my wicked stepdad a few years later, she’d thrown herself into work and forged herself a hugely successful career.

For years, she had worked harder than anyone I knew, and her comfortable retirement and home in France were the much-deserved rewards of her endeavours and the very decent returns on a number of shrewd investments. Retirement had given her a whole new lease of life – and now she had time, men were finally featuring on her radar again. Alain being the latest.

‘Oh,’ Mum said lightly, ‘Alain went back to Provence a few weeks ago. Ask me how Henri is instead.’

‘Oh, Mum,’ I laughed, thinking that we were peas in a pod when it came to our attitude towards relationships. ‘Fleeting but fun’ could have been our joint mantra. ‘How’s Henri?’

‘He’s very well,’ she said, and I could tell she was smiling. ‘But France is freezing, so I’m having extra radiators put in and a stove installed in the kitchen to run them off.’

‘Is that all happening now?’

‘Hopefully within the next couple of weeks,’ she said. ‘I won’t make it back for Christmas, though. Is that all right?’

‘You’d already said you wouldn’t,’ I reminded her. ‘And it’s fine. I’ve got so much extra work to do, I’ll probably sleep right through Christmas.’

‘Oh, Bella,’ Mum laughed. ‘You couldn’t sleep through Christmas if your life depended on it!’

‘That’s true.’ I laughed along with her. ‘And that’s down to you, isn’t it? Well, you, Nanna and Grandad. The three of you always made Christmas so special for me, and I want to continue that feeling, but I do think I’ll be yawning through the celebrations this year.’

‘It’s good that you’re busy, though,’ Mum said keenly. ‘The business is really taking off, isn’t it?’

She was proud of my venture, even though the line of work I was committed to was nothing like hers had been. You didn’t tend to find fabric fairies on the corporate ladder.

‘It is,’ I proudly confirmed. ‘And moving back into the house couldn’t be better timed.’

‘Will you set up a production line for the new range?’ Mum asked. She knew all about the new fairies I would be selling on the market and at fairs. ‘Make all the bodies first, then paint the faces, add the wings—’

‘Of course not,’ I cut her off. ‘I’m going to carry on making them all one at a time, even though I’m sure your suggestion would be much quicker.’

‘But with much less heart,’ Mum added kindly. ‘I was only teasing. I know you’ll carry on making them individually and add that special brand of Bella magic as a result.’

‘I certainly will,’ I said as my cheeks began to glow. ‘You know they’re all unique and special to me.’

‘And you’re special to me ,’ Mum said with emphasis. ‘And so is Henri,’ she added playfully. ‘He’ll be back from the boulangerie any minute, so I’d better go and get the table set for lunch.’

‘Lunch,’ I tutted, as my stomach growled. ‘It’s practically dinnertime.’

‘Not for me,’ she said contentedly. ‘I go slow here.’

‘Give this Henri my love,’ I said, smiling. ‘And save some for yourself, won’t you? We’ll talk again soon.’

‘Yes, my darling. Love you, sweetheart.’

‘Love you, too.’

I sat for a few minutes, curled up with Tink on the sofa, and mulled over some of what Mum had said. By the time I had finished thinking and processing, I had made up my mind about the workshop at the café.

‘Come on,’ I said to Tink as the apartment shower began to call to me. ‘It’s freezing in here. Let’s fire up the heating and move back in properly later when it’s warmed up a bit.’

The next morning, I took my time rearranging what had originally been my childhood bedroom and further personalising the whole house with my cushions, throws, paintings and nicknacks – my style was the opposite of minimalist – as well as carrying down the collection of plastic crates which contained everything I needed to create my fairies.

Some were filled with fabric, others with buttons, sequins and lengths of ribbons and tulle. I hoarded anything I was drawn to in the knowledge that it would come into its own at some point. Jeanie often called me a magpie, and it was a fitting description.

It was getting close to midday by the time I’d got everything organized and, with my decision about the workshop filling my head with ideas and my tummy with butterflies, I headed into town to talk to Lizzie and Jemma.

‘Bella!’ Lizzie called, beaming, when I walked in and set the brass bell above the café door tinkling. ‘See, Jemma, she isn’t avoiding us.’

Jemma shook her head and blushed.

‘I have been a bit,’ I confessed. ‘But now I’ve finally made a decision—’

‘Please say it’s a yes,’ Lizzie begged and crossed her fingers.

‘It’s a yes,’ I said, feeling my legs wobble, even though I was certain now that it was the right answer.

It wasn’t that I didn’t have faith in my work; my former hesitation had been all about the reaction my love of fairies had received during a high school GCSE presentation. When I’d previously put my passion for my winged friends in the public domain, it had been met with teasing, taunts, derision and then, as my confidence completely faltered, a total tech mess-up as the PowerPoint I’d prepared froze and the un-sympathetic teacher failed my efforts. Jeanie had stood firmly by me during the fairy fallout (as she’d called it), but the experience had entirely put me off any sort of public speaking.

However, the conversation I’d had with Mum about my fairies being special had got me thinking. The people who signed up to a specific workshop to make them were bound to already be believers, weren’t they? They would already be of the opinion that fairies were special, and that would hopefully knock my nerves on the head.

‘Oh, thank goodness!’ said Jemma, fanning herself with a paper order pad. ‘Because we’ve just had two workshop cancellations and we were really hoping you would agree to fill them.’

‘ Two workshops?’ I squeaked as Lizzie guided me to a table.

‘I was going to ring you about it this afternoon,’ she told me.

‘I see.’ I swallowed. ‘Well, I hope the dates aren’t too soon, because—’

‘It’s this Friday and Saturday.’ Lizzie winced, pulling an apologetic face.

‘What?’ I gasped. ‘You’re kidding.’

‘I wish.’ She sighed. ‘And I know it’s short notice—’

‘It’s not short notice,’ I countered, wondering if I had enough of everything I was going to need. ‘It’s no notice. You haven’t even got a week to advertise it.’

‘Oh, don’t worry about that,’ said Jemma, waving my words away. ‘We’ll fill the spots, no problem. A few of the people who had signed up for the cancelled workshops have already said they’ll come along to whatever we can find to run in their place.’

That put paid to my hopes that potentially the attendees would definitely be fairy fans, then.

‘You’re right that time is of the essence, though, Bella,’ Lizzie said, even though I hadn’t put it quite like that, ‘so email me some pics of what people will be making while you’re here, and I’ll get some posters made up.’

‘Email you now?’ I repeated.

‘Yes,’ Lizzie laughed at my dazed reaction. ‘Here’s the Wi-Fi code if you can’t get a signal.’

I numbly unlocked my phone and sent her images of the simplest fairies I could find, and she rushed off to design the posters and an online ad for the website and Facebook page before I had the chance to say I’d changed my mind.

‘Depending on numbers,’ Jemma told me, ‘we’ll either set you up in here or in the gallery next door. Now, what can I get you for lunch? It’s on me.’

‘Whatever you’ve got on the specials board, please,’ I requested, as it was easier than trying to focus on the menu in my current shocked state. ‘The veggie option if there is one.’

Jemma soon returned with a huge vegetarian sausage roll and a hot chocolate that was the size of a sundae. As I began both, I looked at the photos I’d sent Lizzie and mentally broke the fairies down into their component parts. I then ran through their construction and thought of ways I could keep my instructions simple and concise, but still add some magic.

I knew it wasn’t half-term that week, so the Friday workshop would be made up of grown-ups, but there might be youngsters coming along on the Saturday. Something else to consider. Tiny fingers might not be as dextrous as mine…

‘What do you think?’ asked Lizzie as she thrust an A4 poster in front of me. ‘I’ll put one in the window here as well as next door, and it’s already up online.’

‘It’s perfect,’ I said, feeling surprised at how well the photos had transferred. I then experienced an unexpected, but most welcome, rush of excitement. ‘I wasn’t expecting to feel like this, but I think I might actually be looking forward to it.’

Jemma looked delighted by my reaction.

‘And so you should be,’ Lizzie said, smiling, not knowing the traumatic reason behind why I might not have been. ‘I know you’re going to be in demand.’

I was amazed to leave the café with a spring in my step and my former annoyance over how the last guests had left the house completely forgotten. This was it. I was going to throw myself into everything I’d somehow managed to manifest and, best of all, I was going to achieve it all while I was home for Christmas.