Page 12 of Home This Christmas

‘It’s wonderful,’ I say, surprised at the stirring of emotion I feel as I take it all in, and recall the first time I admired it as a child, with Mum and Dad.

‘I have always loved this church.’ He glances up at the church tower. ‘I like to go in and light a candle for my mum, if ever I am over this way. She passed away a few years ago.’

‘That’s a nice thing to do.’ I smile, thinking that I will do the same thing for my dad.

Inside, there are one or two people in the church praying, so we silently head towards the copper candle stand, both of us selecting a candle and lighting one. There are fresh floral displays of wildflowers around the church and a hint of polish, which has left the pews and wooden altar gleaming.

Although I am not particularly religious, I take a seat for a few seconds and say a silent prayer for Mum to keep her safe on her travels.

I hope the people she encounters are good people – then realise I am thinking like the mother, who might worry when their child goes off travelling, rather than the daughter.

I also pray for all those poor souls who are suffering in the world right now.

Once outside, Will offers to take me for a coffee, and I accept. What else am I going to be doing, other than checking my phone for updates on the trains? Not to mention feeling slightly nervous at the thought of judging the gingerbread competition in the village hall.

We cross the road to the high street and enter a cosy café with chunky wooden tables.

The walls are painted cream with a forest mural along the back wall, and cream pendant lights.

A bookcase at one end is lined with books, and one or two people are ensconced on comfy-looking leather chairs, reading.

I could imagine myself curled up there with a good book.

‘This is a lovely idea, having a reading area,’ I tell the proprietor as she delivers our coffees to a table.

‘I think so.’ She beams. ‘I don’t mind people sitting reading as long as they buy a drink,’ she says, as the tinkle of the door alerts her to new customers.

‘Some people think that there should be a café in the library over the road, but then I suppose I would have competition.’ She winks.

‘Then again, the days of the library might be numbered…’

Am I imagining things, or did she just give Will a forced smile?

I am about to ask her why she thinks that, when my phone rings.

‘Sorry, I need to get this,’ I tell Will as I head outside for a second, never one to conduct my business in a café.

‘Flooded?’

‘Yes,’ the administrator of the village hall tells me.

‘The heavy rainfall last night following the snow has leaked through the roof of the village hall. The whole place is sodden.’ She sighs.

‘Those loose tiles should have been fixed long ago,’ she says in frustration.

‘We have started the cleaning-up process, and there are heaters on full blast, but I am afraid it isn’t enough. ’

‘So what now?’ I ask.

‘There is no choice but to postpone the gingerbread competition until tomorrow, I am afraid,’ she tells me. ‘At the earliest.’

‘Tomorrow?’ Surely this can’t be happening.

After my call, I head back inside the café that offers welcome warmth after standing outside. When our drinks are almost finished, I feel reluctant to head outside again into the bitter cold – but I urgently need to speak to someone.

‘Can you excuse me for five minutes? I will be back, I promise. Oh, and it looks like I will be staying here for another evening. The gingerbread competition has been postponed until tomorrow,’ I tell Will.

There is a small queue of customers at the bakery, so I wait patiently until they have all been served, before I tell Penny all about the flooded village hall.

‘I can’t imagine it will be even ready by tomorrow… Ideally, I would have liked it over with today so I could head off, but I guess these things happen.’

‘Hmm, I don’t suppose a damp, musty-smelling hall would be particularly festive,’ she agrees. ‘And I think some more snow is forecast this evening.’

‘No, really?’ I sigh, thinking of those loose roof tiles at the village hall

‘I guess with enough help from volunteers, I could host it here,’ suggests Penny, which I had been hoping she would.

‘But that sounds perfect! I will let Cath at the village hall know; she will get the ball rolling.’

‘Happy I can help. We could schedule it for two p.m., give us a chance to set up after the morning rush,’ she suggests, as a customer enters the shop.

I call Cath at the hall who is cock-a-hoop at the news, and I return to the café with a new spring in my step.

‘Sorry about that,’ I apologise to Will.

‘No problem,’ he says amiably. ‘And as you are here for another evening, I was wondering if you would like to join us for dinner.’

‘You and Henry?’ I ask.

‘And our neighbours,’ he adds, as he drains the last of his coffee. ‘Henry is at their house now. He said it was too cold to come out for a walk.’ He grins.

‘Oh right, thanks…’ I’m a little surprised by his invitation. ‘Will you be doing the cooking?’ I ask, curious if there is a partner at home.

‘Well, Dad certainly won’t be.’ He grins. ‘And don’t worry, I won’t be serving you any burnt offerings.’

‘So, no other half then?’ I ask out of interest, thinking of the woman at the Italian restaurant last night.

‘What? Oh no, resolutely single. Or more accurately, divorced,’ he reveals. ‘The lady at the restaurant last night was Sally, my neighbour. She joined us last night as her husband was out on his Christmas golf outing,’ he explains.

‘Right,’ I say, feeling inexplicably intrigued at the news he is not married. ‘Well, I was keeping my eye on train updates, but as nothing appears to be changing, why not? I’ll be staying on at the pub.’

‘Great news. Not about the train situation obviously. But I am glad you can join us.’

I am beginning to think ahead that I will need to book a taxi, when Will tells me he will arrange a cab to collect me from the pub at seven.

‘If that suits you?’ he asks. ‘I would collect you, but I will up to my arms in food prepping.’ He winks.

‘Yes, that’s fine, I look forward to it,’ I say, realising that I actually am.

Outside, the cold air hits my face and as I pass the village hall out trots a face I haven’t seen for many nears.

‘Marilyn, gosh it is you, isn’t it?’ I ask the woman standing in front of me. I am suddenly nine years old, sitting on a rug in the church presbytery and listening to the parable of Jonah and the whale.

‘It is indeed.’ She smiles before wrapping me in a hug. ‘How are you, Ruby?’ She pushes me at arm’s length and appraises me. ‘You look wonderful.’

‘I’m fine – and you look great too; you have barely changed.’

Apart from her hair being cut into a short, slightly spiky style, and dyed a soft pink, she is just as I remember her. She is wearing some rather fetching gold-rimmed glasses.

‘I am so glad I have run into you,’ she says warmly. ‘Someone mentioned seeing you last night at Roberto’s, so I was heading over to the Swan to invite you over for supper this evening. I assumed you would be staying there.’

‘As it is the only hotel around, I noticed. It seems the Greyhound is now Roberto’s.’

‘Which is a fabulous addition to the high street,’ says Marilyn. ‘I simply can’t resist their seafood linguine.’

‘I can vouch for the food,’ I say, recalling the delicious meal I enjoyed there last night.

‘Shame about the Greyhound,’ says Marilyn. ‘But I think its days were numbered. The young ones in the village rarely used it. I don’t think there was much call for a pint of best bitter.’

‘Or pork scratchings,’ I say, and she laughs.

‘I’m beginning to think I ought to have called June at the Swan and left a message instead of venturing out, though, as it’s treacherous out here,’ says Marilyn, who is at least wearing sensible walking boots, in contrast to my fashionable ankle boots.

‘You have a point. And thanks for the invite, Marilyn, I would have loved to have come for dinner, but I have literally just made other arrangements.’

‘Oh, that’s a shame. Doing anything interesting?’ she asks as she slowly falls into step beside me.

I tell her all about my dinner invitation to Will’s house before adding, ‘I would love to have a catch-up with you, though, as I will be heading home tomorrow. After the gingerbread competition – which has hurriedly been moved to the village bakery.’

‘Yes, I have just heard. Thank goodness for Penny coming to the rescue like that.’

I don’t tell her that it will also minimise any chance of seeing Nathan if I am in and out of Brindleford. It’s already a nuisance that I even have to stay an extra day. Saying that, I am looking forward to dinner this evening. There is something very captivating about Will’s company.

‘I heard Will Sutton was in town last night…’ she comments. ‘At Roberto’s.’

News travels fast around here, reminding me how things work in a village. So, she knows his surname, which is more than I do. I recall all the stares from the diners too.

‘You know him?’ I ask her.

‘I do. As do most people around here,’ she informs me.

‘Ah of course, I guess that’s because he builds sustainable housing.’ I nod. ‘I imagine it’s quite a godsend for locals who want to live here, having the chance to buy some affordable accommodation.’

‘Probably.’ She nods.

Perhaps Will is a bit of a local hero and that’s why he attracted so many glances as he was leaving the restaurant last night. There’s no denying he is seriously attractive too. Come to think of it, I noticed one or two people whispering behind their hands.

‘So, do you still run the Sunday school for the children?’ I ask Marilyn. I remember always looking forward to the drink and the biscuits at the end, more than the actual scripture.