The Deluxe Small Town Christmas Bundle

Lottie

I hate Christmas.

Hate is a strong word, I know. But it’s the truth. I hate, hate, hate Christmas.

The same old songs play every year on the radio. I can’t walk around barefoot in the house, otherwise I get jabbed in the foot by pine needles. And every year I get sick.

Every. Single. Year.

If that isn’t enough to put me off, everywhere I turn there are reminders the season is upon us. It’s just impossible to avoid.

In fact, I’m pretty sure the rate of car accidents rise in the winter purely because of the Christmas season. More drinking, less sleeping, endless sneezing (do you know how hard it is to drive in a straight line and sneeze?) And eye-wateringly bright Christmas lights, which seem to be more extreme as the years go by.

I guess if I am being honest with myself, I will admit that the real reason I hate Christmas is because of the fact my father announced he was leaving my mother, on Christmas eve.

Happy Christmas Darling.

Since I was eleven, it’s been just me and my mum. We live in one of the roughest areas of Bristol, because it was the only place my mum could afford on her single wage. It’s not as bad as it sounds. Despite my neighbourhood’s reputation of street fights and break ins, the people who live there are some of the most down-to-earth, kind and genuine folks you’ll find anywhere.

For example, when my mum had a nervous breakdown, she started throwing oranges at posh cars as they drove by in the street. She was like a mischievous monkey at a drive through Safari. Our neighbours hurried out and took her in for a cup of tea while their kids picked up all the oranges off the road. When the drivers made angry comments about their cars, the other neighbours would shout and flail their hands in the air violently to scare them off.

Now I’m sat in my car, my arms frozen on the steering wheel and my heart racing so fast I think I might throw up. Not only do I hate Christmas, I hate driving too. And today, I have to drive my mum and I to Swindon to stay with Nanny Mavis. It takes over an hour, and the roads are always busy.

I wish my mum would drive, but she hates driving even more than I do. So much so, that she never took driving lessons. I suggested we got the train; Temple Meads station isn’t too far away, and we could get a taxi from the station to Nanny Mavis’ house.

“That would cost an arm and a leg, Lottie,” she had said to me with one of those stern mothering looks that told you not to argue back.

I winced at the mention of my name. Even at twenty-three, I haven’t outgrown it. I guess I never will. I’m Charlotte Andrews. Or Lottie, to my mum. She’s got all the neighbours trained to call me Lottie as well. There’s no point fighting against it, even though the name made me feel like I am eleven. And I don’t want to be reminded of the time I was eleven thank-you-very-much.

“What are you waiting for? We best go now to avoid traffic,” Mum says, staring at me pointedly. I resist the urge to huff and roll my eyes but plant a fixed smile on my face in return.

“Right, off we go,” I say, doing my best impression of a fed-up Disneyland tour guide.

The journey isn’t as bad as I imagined. It helped that we left at seven o’ clock in the morning and traffic was minimal. We arrive outside Nanny Mavis’ country home just after eight, a line of servants come out to greet us.

I peer around the familiar surroundings. The gardens are sparkling with the morning dew and a light frost has settled on the driveway. We get out of the car and the chill in the air tells me snow might be on the way. I look up. The sky is so blue, if I didn’t have huge Goosebumps forming on my bare arms––why didn’t I wear a coat? ––I can totally believe we have transported through time and it is now Spring.

“Welcome to the Shire,” my mum spreads her hands out dramatically as she speaks. This time I do roll my eyes. She does that every time we come here. There is nothing about Nanny Mavis’ house that is like the Shire. Except maybe the garden.

Mum told me that when she was a kid, she and Auntie Sarah would run around the gardens and play out scenes from The Lord of the Rings. Pretending that the mole hills were hobbit houses and the little brook down the lane was where the hobbits escaped the Knight Riders.

I follow mum into the house, leaving the car doors open and unlocked. The service staff jump into action, two of them open up the back of the car and retrieve our luggage.

“How is she today?” I hear mum mutter to the lady at the doorway. Elaine, maybe? I forget their names. If everyone had a number, I’d be right on it. But names slip through the cracks of my mind faster than water through my fingers.

“She is keeping in high spirits,” the lady replies in a fake positive tone. She is sort of the head servant. If that exists. Mum keeps telling me off for calling them servants.

They’re service staff, Lottie.

I inwardly scoff.

Yeah, well this house is like a castle, so Nanny Mavis is a queen and these people are servants. That’s my childhood imagination running wild now.

We step into the entrance hall and I quietly groan. Not quietly enough though, because my mum’s head turns back to me and she gives me a look to silence all the groans in the world.

“Sorry,” I mouth as we walk into the large kitchen area. A woman stands with her back to me at the breakfast bar, I don’t need to see her face to know who it is. She’s bent over icing cupcakes. Her blonde wispy hair is obscuring her face, I imagine she’s got her teeth clamped against her upper lip. She always does that when she is trying to concentrate.

“Hi Auntie Sarah.”

She drops something and swivels around on the spot, her red lips spread wide as she beams at us. Auntie Sarah hugs mum and for a moment I wonder who is who. My mum and Sarah are identical twins. They even buy the same blonde hair dye to cover their greys. I think that’s weird. If I had a twin, I would dye my mousey blonde hair black or something. I’d hate to have another person walking around looking exactly like me.

I would be okay with having a non-identical twin. Like Nanny Mavis. Great Aunt Dora could not look any more different, being much shorter and thinner than Nanny. But they have always been inseparable.

“I’m so happy you’re here Jodie.” My thoughts fizzle away as I look at my Auntie and she turns to give me a super-tight hug. “Lottie, you look even more beautiful than the last time I saw you.”

I snort into her shoulder and cough at the strong perfume catching in my throat. The last time we visited was for Nanny Mavis’ birthday party. The kids ran wild outside in the garden, and I was in charge of keeping them alive. I ended up soaked head to toe in pond water, smelling like fish, because Eddie––the toddler––had bolted right into the water. Perhaps he thought he was going to run across it? He was obsessed with watching the Incredibles at the time. He’s moved onto Lego Batman now.

“Where are the kids?” I ask, looking around the quiet kitchen. There is a box of Christmas decorations sitting on the dining table, my heart sinks at the sight of it.

“They’re home with Matty, they’re getting ready to do some Christmas shopping.” Sarah brushes her hair away from her face and covers her forehead with flour.

“Are those for that place you work at, Something Sweet?” I ask, motioning to the stack of iced cupcakes sitting on the breakfast bar. My stomach growls at the sight. Who cares if it’s early and I haven’t even eaten breakfast yet? Those sweet bites of heaven are calling my name.

“Don’t be silly, Lottie,” my mum says with a musical laugh. She reaches out and without another moment, she stuffs a cupcake whole in her mouth. I grin. Everyone in our family have a sweet tooth, it’s our Achilles heel.

“Something Cheeky,” Auntie Sarah corrects me, with her hands on her hips. She watches me and my mum tucking into the cupcakes and moaning with pleasure. We’re both too deep in a sugary bliss to notice the reproachful look on her face. “Save some for later, will you?”

My mum and I nod and wipe our cake covered mouths with tissues. Auntie Sarah has always made the best cakes, the whole town knows it. Heck, her reputation has even reached as far as Portishead.

“How is she?” My mum’s smile is gone and she’s looking at Auntie Sarah sternly, daring her to lie and say everything is fine. When we all know it. Everything is not fine.

“As well as can be expected. She wants this Christmas to be perfect,” Auntie Sarah says barely above a whisper, her eyes flicker up to the ceiling.

“Aunt Dora hasn’t left her side for three days; I don’t think she’s even slept.”

The serious exchange is interrupted by the doorbell. It drones and echoes through the whole house and sounds like the chime of an old grandfather clock.

“Will you see who it is? Aunt Dora has been making all sorts of arrangements for the party,” Auntie Sarah says quickly, her voice a bit more normal now.

I offer a sarcastic salute and march across the hall. Isn’t this what the servants are for? What’s the point in having them if they don’t get the door? I grab the large handle and the giant door swings open with a creak.

“You rang,” I say in a low, creepy voice. My best impression of Lurch from The Addams Family.

I chuckle to myself as my eyes rest on the giant box staring at me. The box has a pair of legs and two pale hands are keeping it from falling to the ground. I don’t even need to see anything else. Those legs, wearing dark denim jeans, are the most beautiful legs I have ever seen. And those knuckles bulging, as the hands secure themselves around the edges of the box send butterflies in my stomach.

It’s him.

“Lottie? Is that you?” His deep voice rumbles through my eardrums and send wonderful shivers through me. I smile drunkenly. It’s fine when he calls me Lottie. He could call me anything.

A tuft of strawberry blonde hair comes into view over the top of the box. I take it in my arms and sigh like a teenage girl. My hands are dangerously close to his forearms, I can feel his body heat against my skin.

“Hi Lucas,” I say now that I’ve found my voice. We lower the box to the floor and he stands up, brushing his hands on his jeans. I let go of the box and straighten up too, my eyes greedily taking in the sight of him. Lucas Green. Now that’s a name I never forget. If he had a number, he’d be number 1. My number 1.

I’ve had a crush on Lucas for as long as I can remember. He’s a few years older than me, but he’s the type of guy you want to marry. He’s funny––so funny you end up creased over crying from the pain in your side––handsome, and just a genuinely nice person. The only problem is, I’ve been stuck in the friend zone since I was fourteen and he was twenty. Now I’m Twenty-three and he’s Twenty-nine, but it’s impossible to get him to notice I’ve grown up.

I rest my hand on my hip and stick out my lips in a weird pout I’ve seen on TV. Lucas’ eyes widen as he looks at me, I realise it probably looks like I’m doing a duck impression. But I’m committed now. I tilt my head to the side and inwardly scold myself for wearing the most hideous pair of leggings––the ones I had worn so much, they had holes at the knees––and a baggy white T-shirt. I also can’t remember the last time I washed my hair.

“Come here, nice to see you’re in town,” Lucas pulls me in for a hug. It’s a sacred moment, I relax and fall into his embrace with a reverent sigh. It’s a hug I don’t want to end. But I can already feel him breaking away.

“Nice to see you too,” I say in a voice that doesn’t sound like my own. We stand for a few moments, averting our eyes and looking around the hall. As if there might be some topic cards posted on the walls. Neither of us have ever been very good at chit chat.

“Do you think it will snow?” I ask weakly. If in doubt, always talk about the weather. It’s the British thing to do.

Lucas shrugs and glances out the front door. The muscles in his neck flexes as he moves, my mouth hangs open as I stare.

“I hope not,” he says as he looks back at me, like a flash I close my mouth. “It’ll be hard to deliver these around the town in the snow,” he points to the giant box on the floor.

I wonder how he managed to get it here on his bike. I glance outside and see a big white van with the words “Something Sweet, Deliveries” painted on the side.

“New wheels?” I say, trying to sound cool.

Lucas nods. The weak sunlight shimmers across his golden locks. I wish I could stroke his hair. I wonder what it feels like. Then I realise I’m being creepy and, in my creepiness, have stopped paying attention to my hearing. Lucas is talking. I retune in and nod along to his words.

“You know, my brother-in-law is looking for someone to cover for my cousin at their café, Something Cheeky.”

“Oh right.” I fold my arms and look mildly interested.

“How long are you staying in Swindon?”

“Just for the season.” I can’t bring myself to say Christmas. The word gets stuck in my throat.

Lucas scratches his chin. “Do you want me to put a word in? They could really use some back up.”

I’m waving my hands and shaking my head, just as Auntie Sarah enters the hall with my mum on her tail.

“What a great idea,” she says her voice bright and breezy. She turns to me, her eyes glinting naughtily as she grins. Her perfectly white teeth threaten to blind me. “Ada’s due any day now, isn’t she? Hasn’t she found anyone yet?”

Lucas shakes his head. “No, she hasn’t. Hey, Lottie do you want to come with me? I’ll take you to the café and we can have a chat.”

I gulp and glance over at Auntie Sarah who is giving me the thumbs up. My mum’s face is pink as she just smiles at us. She knows I’m crazy about Lucas. She probably thinks this situation is brilliant. I however, am mortified. I look down at my outfit and drag a hand through my hair, my fingers get stuck in the knots.

“I look a mess,” I think aloud.

Lucas shakes his head and grabs my hand. He’s holding my hand and my whole arm burns in response.

Don’t freak out Charlotte, but Lucas Green is holding your hand.

I imagine myself running around the room squealing like a fangirl.

“Come on,” he says. He pulls me forward and I walk with him out of the house. Obedient to his every will. I turn to see my Auntie Sarah and mum waving at us from the doorway.

“Send my love to Nanny Mavis,” I call out. “Tell her I’ll be back to visit later.”

Lucas lets go of my hand and walks over to the driver’s side of the van. I get inside and bite my nails as he gets in.

“So Lottie, are you seeing anyone?” The question is almost lost in the rumble of the engine as he starts the van.

I want to flip my hair back, flutter my eyelashes and say in a deep silky voice.

“The only man I see, is you, Lucas.”

But instead, a nervous giggle escapes my lips, my cheeks burn as––probably my entire face–– blushes and I mutter something that isn’t even English. In fact, judging by the sound and syllables, I’m pretty sure I respond with “Happy Birthday,” in Klingon.

Lucas shakes his head to himself and eyes the road as we leave my Nanny’s estate.

And I want to climb into a hole in the ground and never come out.

“Hollie! A word.”

I zip round the corner and make a dash for the stairs but Lloyd, my landlord, is too fast. I have no idea why I bother trying to escape. He knows where I live.

For four months now, I’ve been able to pacify him and sneak past with lines like “I just need to get my check book,” and “I’ll wire the rent right now.” In truth, I barely have a bank balance. I’ve been in the red all year, and every spare cent goes to food or gas.

Lloyd’s heavy footsteps follow me, then he slams his hand on the rail and everything shudders. I force myself to turn around and meet his angry stare. All I see are two black eyes staring at me, unblinking.

“I’ve asked you nicely. I’ve been patient. But this has gone on long enough. If you don’t pay me the rent right now, you’re evicted.”

“Right, I’ll just go and––”

“No! You bleeding well won’t!” Lloyd’s eyes are blazing. “You’re staying right here where I can keep my eye on you, and if you don’t get out that pretty little phone of yours and wire me the money, or if there isn’t a wad of Benjamin Franklin’s in my hand in thirty seconds, I’m calling the locksmith.”

If there is any time for me to have a bag like Mary Poppins, a cute tote that I could simply whip out something extraordinary from, now is that time. I rummage in my purse, shifting my meager possessions around — half a stick of gum, three lip balms and my very empty wallet.

I have one move left.

“Please, Lloyd. Please don’t kick me out. It’s Christmas!” I press my hands together and beg the man, putting on my best butter-wouldn’t-melt face.

Lloyd is unmoved, unsurprisingly. The man’s heart is made of stone. Last week, he evicted little old Margaret Booth when he discovered she had a pet pigeon. And everyone in the complex heard the shouting when he evicted Marty Jones for missing his rent by a week. A week.

It’s a miracle he’s let me get away with not paying up for months. But that won’t stop me begging for more time.

My eyes flood with tears as I beg. “I have nowhere to go. Please. I promise I’m going to get some money soon. Just give me until New Year.”

“No.” Lloyd shakes his head, pulling a phone out of his pocket. “I’m sorry Hollie, but you’ve had more than enough chances. I’m not the Bank of England, you know. I have debts to pay because of you.”

I drop my hands as my heart plummets. “Just give me an hour to pack up my stuff.”

Lloyd nods, then mutters into his phone and turns away, leaving me to my thoughts.

I lied to him before. There is no money coming in soon. Ever since I moved to New York, it’s been one disaster after another.

I made a friend on the subway on the very first day I moved in. At least, I thought he was a friend. The guy was dressed in a crisp dark suit and had one of those fancy briefcases you only see with businessmen. After telling him that I’ve never been to the city before, and how I’m going to be a big shot actress some day, the guy hands me his card, telling me he’s an agent and he’s interested in signing me on.

Well, I thought I hit the jackpot.

Oh, what a naive, small-town girl I was. My dad always says, “If something sounds too good to be true, it probably is.” I should have listened to that voice in my head. At the time though, I was stubborn and on a mission to prove to my parents that I didn’t need them, or anyone else in Snowdrop Valley.

What kind of name is Snowdrop Valley, anyway? You’d think a town that tiny would be sleepy, at the very least. On the contrary, it’s as full of busy bodies as an anthill. When I got my first bra, the whole town knew about it within an hour. My mom told Sally — the hairdresser — who told her cousin, Gertrude — the town librarian.

By the way, I have no idea how Gertrude became a librarian. She has to be the world’s worst one. That woman has the loudest whisper on the planet. She was telling her sister about my mom getting me my first bra, and everyone in the library heard. Including Mrs. Lovelo, the mother of my first crush.

There are no secrets in Snowdrop Valley. Even the mundane ones spread like wildfire. I remember when the topic of the week was that Wyatt Croft had been seen in town wearing a—wait for it—smile. Rumor was no one had ever seen the guy smile. Ever. I’d never noticed. When that news spread, it fanned flames of the rumor that maybe, introverted Wyatt¹ had found someone who made him—dare they say it—happy.

I’m not the type of person who feeds off gossip and other people’s business. I was too busy dreaming about getting as far away from the town as possible, and living up the glitz and glamor as an A-lister. I’d be schmoozing with people like Blaze Hopkins² — the most-wanted action hero in Hollywood. Billionaire life coach Zoe Walsh³ would be my bestie, and I’d live in a lake house by the beach. Far, far away from the prying eyes of my small-town neighbors.

Anyway…

This guy I met on the subway — Ted — well… I gave him most of my life savings, and it took six months of false promises for me to realize he’s not a real agent, but they say lessons don’t come for free.

My parents hide their skepticism with fake smiles, but every now and then the mask slips and nothing can hide their concern for me. It couldn’t have been more than two minutes after my parents waved me off in my tin can of a car before the whole town was placing a bet on how long it would be before I came home broke, with my dreams shattered and my tail between my legs.

I don’t have a lot of things. I can still fit everything I own into the same two luggage bags I brought with me from home. At least they look brand new — I’ve never had the cash to go anywhere.

I tell myself it could be worse. I could be walking out of the apartment complex with one bag duck-taped at the sides while the other suddenly breaks open and spills all my intimates out on the street.

I choose to walk out with my head held high instead. Maybe I’ll pretend I’m going on a long vacation.

I bundle everything into my car and climb in. The cold December air seeps in through the windows and I shudder at the thought of having to sleep in the car from now on. I shut my eyes, force back a tear and swallow hard.

I will not cry. Crying is admitting defeat.

But without money, I’m not going to get very far.

I switch on the ignition and the car judders to life, then the gas light comes on with a ping and I’m on the move, trundling down the dirty back alley. Andy Williams sings “It’s the most wonderful time of the year…” on the radio.

I’m not sure what it is that finally breaks the wall. Maybe it’s the fact that I’ve not had a single callback from any of the auditions I’ve been to. Or the fact that, after eight long months in New York, I still haven’t yet got my heel caught in a drain cover and fallen into the arms of Mr. Right as a result.

In truth, it’s most likely the cruel reality of my situation hitting me — I can’t sleep in my car. The most reasonable thing I can do now is drive home to Snowdrop Valley and face the many ‘I told you so’s’ waiting for me.

It’s most likely a combination of all those things too.

The bottom line is, one minute I’m driving calmly and the next minute I’m beating the radio with my fist while, like some sick joke, the cheery holiday music grows louder.

The ugly crying starts after that.

This is the worst Christmas of my life.

¹ Read all about Wyatt’s romantic story in The Makeover Surprise.
² Blaze’s romantic story can be read in The Terrible Personal Shopper.
³ Zoe’s scandalous romantic comedy is called Love Me One More Time.