A Cornish Gift: Previously published as an eBook collection, now in print for the first time with exclusive Christmas bonus material from Fern

Summer’s chubby face split into the sunniest of smiles as she saw Helen. ‘Gan Gan!’ she cried joyfully and reached out her little hands for a cuddle.

‘I can’t believe how much you’ve grown!’ Helen exclaimed. ‘And is that a new tooth I can see?’

‘Yes, and it’s unbelievable the trouble that one tiny tooth has caused,’ said Sean as they headed indoors.

He placed the car seat on the floor and started to undo the clasp that held Summer safely in place. The moment her granddaughter was free, Helen swept her up and showered her with kisses, which were returned enthusiastically.

This done, and after more hugs and kisses all round, they made their way into Helen’s cosy sitting room, where Sean and Terri sank into the comfy armchairs with relief. The telltale signs of disturbed nights and fraught days were all too obvious to Helen as she took in the dark circles under their eyes.

‘Teething can be a rotten old business for everyone,’ she concurred, gently stroking Summer’s flushed cheeks. ‘Well, the good news is that Granny is here to take some of the strain. This Christmas, the only things you’ll need to worry about are eating, drinking and making merry. We’ve got Piran on chef duty – he’s a much better cook than me and he can’t bear having me in the kitchen with him, which means I’ll have more time to spend on you three.’

‘You have no idea how good that sounds,’ said Terri, gratefully. ‘The cottage looks amazing by the way.’

‘Thank you,’ Helen preened.

Interior design was a passion of hers and she had lovingly devoted the last few days to making sure that her cottage really looked the part this year. The windows and doorway were wreathed in branches of fir adorned with twinkling lights, while giant candles flickered in storm lanterns on the window ledges. The banisters and mantelpiece were decorated with more fir branches and holly, and there were beautiful handcrafted wicker reindeer dotted around the room. Taking centre stage, the tree by the fireplace was utterly gorgeous; decorated sparingly with hand-painted sea-glass decorations that twinkled and cast dancing reflections of the crackling fire in the stove. The combination of fairy lights and candles gave the room a warm ambient glow, and the aroma of pine mingled with oranges and cloves scented the air.

‘It’s absolutely heavenly,’ sighed Terri, sinking deep into the armchair.

Tempting as it was to lean back and enjoy the chance to relax, Sean forced himself to his feet. ‘I’ll just grab the last of the bags and then I’ll be ready for one of your legendary winter warmers, Mum.’

‘I’ve added a dash of sloe gin to the mulled wine this year and I’ve got some mince pies warming in the oven – not home-made, I’m afraid, but they are from the new artisan bakery in Trevay and they’re scrummy.’

‘Amazing.’ Sean gave his Mum a peck on the cheek and set off to get the rest of their luggage.

‘You’re all in the big bedroom!’ she shouted after him.

‘But that’s your bedroom,’ Terri protested.

‘It’s got more space and Piran and I will be quite happy in the little one, it’ll be very cosy.’

‘How is Piran?’

‘Oh, you know.’ Helen smiled ruefully, thinking about her grumpy, difficult, enigmatic, yet oh-so-magnetic boyfriend. They had chosen not to live together, both valuing their independence. He could be infuriating and unreadable but at the same time generous, exciting and sometimes completely magnificent. Lately, however … Helen couldn’t put her finger on it, but he’d been far more withdrawn and brooding than usual. Probably the full moon, she told herself. Nothing to worry about – yet …

Helen checked her watch. It was gone five o’clock.

‘Hope you both fancy a good laugh tonight. We’ve got tickets for the local am-dram panto – they’re doing Aladdin.’

Sean struggled in with the luggage. ‘Oh, great. All wobbly sets and fluffed lines as usual?’

Helen laughed. ‘Guaranteed! I wouldn’t miss it for the world!’

*

It was a packed house at the church hall. There were only three performances of the panto and tonight’s would be the last. Helen’s best friend, Penny, had landed the plum role of Aladdin. Penny was a hotshot TV producer and owner of Penny Leighton Productions, best known for her worldwide success with the Mr Tibbs Mysteries series and for her work on the Oscar-nominated film Hats Off, Trevay!. Helen knew that Penny would rather be chewing her own arm off than getting sucked into yet more village bother, but she also knew that Penny took her role of vicar’s wife very seriously indeed and that meant supporting the panto, all proceeds of which went to support the church’s charitable work.

Also wanting to do his bit, Simon Canter, Penny’s husband and the father of their daughter Jenna, had gamely taken on the role of Widow Twanky. Much as she adored him, Helen couldn’t help but feel that Simon had been hopelessly miscast. He was a wonderful person – kind, decent and a thoroughly good egg – but there was no denying that he lacked the requisite bawdy humour essential for making the part sing. The topical jokes he’d been given about Kim Kardashian’s bum and ‘twerking’ had fallen flat in the first act. And watching him now, holding two melons and doing a ‘nudge nudge, wink, wink’ over a ‘lovely pair’ was quite painful. It was hard to escape the thought that this was all rather inappropriate behaviour for a vicar. Penny was doing her best to carry the show, but she was far above her material, Helen thought.

Sean had opted to stay at home with Summer, who was a bit grizzly, so Helen had ended up sitting between Terri and Piran. A happy and animated Jenna was bouncing on her knee, shouting out loudly and eagerly every time her mummy and daddy came on stage.

Helen risked a glance at Piran from the corner of her eye. He’d barely said a word all evening, except to ask them what they wanted to drink during the interval, returning with plastic cups of orange squash. While everyone around them was laughing at the antics on stage, Piran’s head was lowered and his piercing blue eyes stared disdainfully from hooded eyelids. His hand covered his mouth as if trying to stop angry words from escaping and he jiggled his leg impatiently. Clearly, his mood had not improved. Helen sighed and turned back to the performance.

Aladdin and Princess Lotus Blossom – who was being played by Lauren, one of the village girls – were making their escape on a magic carpet while murdering, or at least committing grievous bodily harm on ‘Up Where We Belong’, accompanied by the children of Pendruggan Juniors, who were pretending to be a flock of birds. What might have looked good on paper was somewhat let down by the execution. Firstly, the ‘flying’ carpet was supposed to appear suspended mid-air, not draped across one of the trestle tables normally reserved for serving biscuits and tea at church coffee mornings. Lauren was a well-fed lass and when she began giving it her all and belting out the lyrics, the table became decidedly unsteady. Secondly, the children shuffling onstage weren’t quite progressing with military precision. Some were standing around looking bewildered, a couple of little boys were gurning at each other, and one little girl broke off and wandered to the front of the stage to tell her mummy she needed a wee-wee.

While the audience stifled their laughter, Aladdin and Princess Lotus Blossom continued gamely emoting about eagles crying on a mountain high, but their dirge was finally cut short when the shaky table leg gave way. Titters tuned to guffaws as Princess Lotus Blossom went arse over tit and ended up on her bottom, skirts in the air, with her frilly pink thong on show.

Tears of laughter streaming down her face, it was all Helen could do to hold on to Jenna, who was on her feet, screeching enthusiastically at the sight of her mummy rushing to help Lauren to recover whatever was left of her dignity. Rocking with mirth, Helen turned to say something to Piran, but the words died on her lips as she saw his stony face, eyes dark with displeasure.

*

‘Well, that went off really well!’ said Simon, happily supping at his post-panto pint of ale in the comfort of The Dolphin’s cosy saloon bar and seemingly oblivious to the general consensus that this would go down as one of the most shambolic village pantos in living memory.

Penny turned to her husband, incredulous. ‘Were you performing in the same play as the rest of us?’

Simon’s good humour wasn’t to be dented. ‘I’d say it was at least as good as last year’s Jack and the Beanstalk. Arguably, that was a lot worse. Don’t you remember?’

‘Oh, yes.’ Penny shuddered at the memory of Queenie, who’d been playing Old Mother Hubbard, setting fire to the stage curtain while having a sneaky fag in the wings.

‘Exactly! And we’ve raised over a thousand pounds from the box office, which will certainly go a long way to help with the funds for the trip to Canterbury Cathedral at Easter.’

‘That’s what I love about you, Simon – you’re always able to see the positives in everything.’ Penny gave her ruddy-cheeked, balding and bespectacled husband a loving kiss on his nose.

Helen couldn’t help smiling at the display of affection. It was just the four of them in the pub; Terri had gone home to relieve Sean of babysitting duties, and little Jenna had fallen asleep, exhausted, and been carried home by Penny’s brother, who’d come down with his family for the holidays.

‘You’re very quiet, Piran,’ said Simon. ‘How did you rate the performance this year?’

Piran kept his morose gaze firmly on his pint. ‘No comment.’

‘Not tempted to sign yourself up for next year?’ Simon added playfully. ‘Perhaps we could put on Peter Pan and you could play Captain Hook. You’ve got the perfect temperament for it and everyone loves a baddie!’

Piran glowered. ‘Is that supposed to be a compliment?’

‘No, no, I just meant—’

‘I know what you meant!’ Piran snapped. ‘We haven’t all got the urge to prance around like bloody fools for the merriment of others. Some of us have better things to do.’

Helen was shocked at the sharpness of his tone. ‘Simon was only having a bit of fun, Piran.’

This earned her a fierce scowl, too, then, muttering darkly under his breath, Piran pushed his chair back and stalked off to the bar to buy another drink.

‘Perhaps Prince Charming would be a better fit?’ Helen said to his retreating back.

‘I heard that Beauty and the Beast were casting.’ Penny gave her friend a wry smile.

At this point, Audrey Tipton, the village busybody – a woman Helen always thought of as the love-child of Margaret Thatcher and Mussolini – came striding into the pub, with her husband Geoffrey, otherwise known as Mr Audrey Tipton, trotting along in her wake. Spotting Simon, Audrey held up a finger to her husband, as if commanding a dog to stay, then made a beeline for their table while Geoffrey hovered timidly by the pub entrance.

‘Ah, Reverend Canter. I’m glad I found you.’