Page 11 of Home This Christmas

TEN

It takes me a second to remember where I am when I first wake, and I push down a slight feeling of nervousness.

I find myself thinking about Nathan, and wondering, not for the first time, if I have made the right decision coming here.

Downstairs in the breakfast room, ‘Tomorrow’ is being hummed by blonde-haired June as she bustles about. Occasionally she breaks into actual song, and I can’t help but smile.

‘Good morning, love.’ She beams. ‘Wishful thinking, eh, me singing about the sun coming out tomorrow.’ She chuckles.

‘It’s as grey as a badger out there. There is nothing nicer than a crisp winter day with a blue sky, is there?

I can’t be doing with overcast skies,’ she says with a grimace.

‘Oh, by the way, the pavements have iced up overnight, so be careful out there. I was nearly doing my Jayne Torvill impression when I nipped out this morning.’ She laughs. ‘Right, love, full English, is it?’

I had been thinking about taking a walk after breakfast to the church to have a look at the nativity scene, so I’m grateful for her advice.

‘Actually, I think I will just have some scrambled eggs, and coffee.’ I’m still not really feeling hungry after last night’s meal. Besides, my stomach is turning over a little at the thought of judging the contest.

‘Coming right up.’ She winks as she bustles off humming a tune once more.

Great. It’s now freezing and treacherous outside. I scroll through my phone and discover that trains are still disrupted, but normal service will be resumed either later today or tomorrow. Hopefully I won’t end up stuck here after all.

It’s not that I dislike being back in Brindleford. In fact, I am beginning to appreciate my old village and the small changes that have brought it up to date.

But… There’s no denying that the main reason for me wanting to leave the village is so I don’t have to bump into Nathan.

I hate to admit it to myself, but I thought about him a lot when I was driving here.

That’s what we sometimes do when a relationship breaks down, though, isn’t it?

View a previous relationship through rose-tinted glasses, wondering what might have been.

I don’t regret anything, but all the same, I do not fancy running into him and possibly a wife.

‘Thanks, June, that was delicious,’ I tell her, as she begins to clear my plates away.

‘We aim to please. Although I am disappointed you never went for the full English; the sausages from the butcher’s next door are award winning.’ She winks.

I may well have done myself a service not having a huge breakfast – I have been wanting to have a peek at the bakery… Maybe even sample something… ‘Perhaps I will indulge another time,’ I tell June.

‘Well, it would be lovely to see you again, should you ever fancy a break from the hustle and bustle of London. That is assuming you won’t be staying on for another night?’ she queries.

‘I suppose there is a possibility actually,’ I tell her. ‘The trains might be running as normal later today, but it seems unlikely.’ I sigh. ‘I keep checking my phone for updates on the situation in case things change.’

‘Right you are. It’s just that there have been one or two email enquiries about renting a room. So, if you are going to keep it for another day, I would need to know,’ she says kindly.

‘In that case, yes, I will have it for another night. You have a business to run after all.’

‘Not a problem, hun. I will refresh your tea tray later, then.’ And with that, she continues to bustle about.

I wind my blue cashmere scarf around my neck and pull on my heavy woollen coat and start to head over to the imposing eighteenth-century church, with its sandstone colour and beautiful stained-glass windows.

On the way, I pop my head into the bakery, and the scent of delicious vanilla hits my nostrils.

‘Good morning.’ A cheerful woman, her dark hair tied back in a ponytail, greets me with a wide smile.

‘Morning,’ I say, as I head towards the counter.

The bakery is painted in a pale yellow, with posters of cakes and Bournville chocolate on the wall, that give it an almost vintage feel, were it not for the modern lighting and sleek silver coffee machine behind the counter.

Beneath the glass counter are rows of giant pastries filled with cream in every colour of the rainbow, including what looks like buns with my favourite pistachio filling. Gone are the custard tarts and chocolate eclairs that I remember as a young woman.

‘That is our best seller,’ says the shop worker, as my eyes fall on a super-sized bun oozing with cream.

‘It’s raspberry and white chocolate. Although the pistachio is very popular, along with the salted caramel and chocolate tarts,’ she informs me.

‘Wow, everything looks divine!’ I exclaim, as my eyes scan the treats in front of me.

‘We do have the usual favourites such as vanilla slices that the older customers seem to love, but we sell out quickly in the morning.’

‘I might just have to treat myself after I’ve popped into the church,’ I say, glad I didn’t go for the full English breakfast this morning.

‘Here.’ She pops a raspberry cream-filled bun into a paper bag with the name Penny’s written across it. ‘As it’s the last one, it’s on the house.’ She winks.

‘That’s so kind, thank you.’

‘I hear you are in town for the judging of the gingerbread contest,’ she mentions cheerfully. I almost ask her how she knows who I am, before remembering I am a well-known face.

‘I am.’ I smile. ‘And then I will be heading back to London for Christmas.’

‘Rather you than me. About judging the contest, I mean, not going to London.’ She laughs. ‘It is so difficult to judge competitions, especially in a village. It feels a bit like upsetting friends.’ She pulls a face.

‘I can imagine,’ I say, now dreading it a little more. ‘So, have you judged similar contests?’

‘Occasionally, yes. Last year, we had a Christmas cookie competition right here in the bakery.’

‘Here?’ I look around doubtfully, as the shop seems so small.

‘Out the back,’ she explains, noting my puzzled look. ‘I will show you, if you like.’

She leads me behind the counter and through a door to a vast space that has me gasping. A large central wooden island is surrounded by colourful stools and flanked by huge shiny ovens.

‘I extended. There was no need for the yard outside.’

‘Wow, I’m impressed, it looks amazing,’ I say, as I take it all in.

‘Thank you. By the way, my name is Penny.’

‘Pleased to meet you, Penny, I’m Ruby,’ I say, introducing myself formally.

I tell her all about my Saturday job here, as a young woman.

‘Really? A bit before my time, so I don’t remember the previous owner. Shame you’re not staying; I could do with an extra pair of hands when it gets busy.’ She laughs. ’Although I do have a part-time worker who should be arriving any time now.’ She glances at her watch.

After leaving the bakery, pleased to have found a place that sells my favourite pistachio buns, I cross the road to the church.

A smile spreads across my face at the scene of the nativity housed in a wooden shelter, the figures almost life size.

Next to it, the Christmas tree is strung with baubles and salt dough decorations made by the children in the village school.

The sight of it fills me with a sudden feeling of Christmas cheer.

My mind wanders back to my own childhood, and the nativity play that was always held in the church and its grounds.

I felt such pride when I played the part of Mary, having been elevated from my two previous Christmases as a shepherd and an angel respectively and thrust into the full spotlight of the audience.

As I think of it, I can almost smell the faint mustiness of the costumes that were pulled from a cupboard in the hall every year by our class teacher.

After the annual school play, shepherds, angel and animal costumes would be hung on a rail covered in a black bin liner, ready for the following year.

Not like in a lot of places these days, when nativity costumes appear in the supermarkets, ready for the onslaught of busy parents eager to buy them ready made and brand new.

I am taking in the nativity scene, still recalling the pride I felt when I played Mary, when a voice pulls me out of my daydream.

‘We will have to stop meeting like this.’ As I turn around, I see Will. He is wearing a padded brown jacket, jeans and brown leather boots. His hair is a little windswept, giving him a slightly wild, but undeniably sexy look.

‘We certainly will. What are you doing here?’ I ask, briefly wondering if I am the victim of a stalker. This is not his village after all and yet here he is again.

‘Just looking at a possible site for one of my housing projects.’

‘Oh right. Somewhere nearby?’ I ask, thankful that it appears to be a coincidence running into him again so soon.

‘Not too far from here,’ he says vaguely.

I glance around at the distant fields, where there is certainly room for development, but I can’t help but feel that it would ruin the landscape, just like we discussed during our conversation at his home when we first met.

How much more green land can be built on, I wonder?

‘People are in need of houses,’ he explains, as if reading my mind.

‘I guess so,’ I reluctantly agree.

‘And it gives the second generation a chance to buy a home in their own village.’

‘I get that, you don’t need to convince me. Even though it’s a pity that some of this God-given land will have to be sacrificed.’ It really does seem a shame.

‘So, are you heading into the church?’ he asks, changing the subject.

‘I might do actually. I was just admiring the nativity scene first. I don’t think I have seen anything like it elsewhere. Apart from in the Home Alone movie.’

‘It’s quite something, isn’t it?’ says Will as he admires the giant statues.