Christmas at Strand House: A gorgeously uplifting festive romance!

‘Yeah, yeah, so there is,’ Lissy said. ‘It didn’t seem to matter much at the art workshop though, did it?’

‘No. And it doesn’t matter now really,’ Bobbie said. ‘I was just saying.’

Bobbie was right – the difference in their ages didn’t matter at all, not back then and not now in Lissy’s beautiful house with Christmas to look forward to together. Janey’s head was a mishmash of thoughts and she struggled to find something to say – she was finding it slightly embarrassing now that all the attention was on her.

‘Thanks,’ Janey said. ‘All of you. For being so kind …’

‘Stuff and nonsense,’ Bobbie said, giving Janey’s hand a squeeze. ‘It’s what friends are for.’

‘Oh my! Gosh! Is that the time?’ Lissy said jumping up. ‘Janey, will you be okay here with Bobbie while I get on with supper?’

Janey nodded.

‘No one’s going to harm you anymore, Janey,’ Lissy said, her tone softening. ‘Not if the three of us have anything to do with it. You’re safe here. Right, gang?’

‘Right,’ Xander and Bobbie agreed.

Janey hoped not, but surprised herself with what words actually came out of her mouth.

‘I won’t let anyone hurt me. Not anymore.’

Bobbie let go of Janey’s hand and put an arm around her shoulders, gave her a squeeze, but when Janey turned to look at her she saw there were tears in Bobbie’s eyes. What, she wondered, had Bobbie had to put up with in her life?

Again, a silence fell over them all, soft as gossamer, not uncomfortable.

‘I think it’s time we had some Christmas music. Vonny loved Christmas music, the carols and the classical stuff.’ Lissy went over to a dresser, opened a drawer and brought out a handful of CDs. ‘Player’s over there, Bobbie. Can I leave you in charge of light entertainment?’

‘You can.’

‘And help yourself to drinks.’ Lissy waved an arm towards the drinks trolley. ‘Oh, and Xander, could you put the wreath Janey made on the front door?’

She marched over to the couch, the hostess taking charge of the situation again, and reached out a hand to help Xander up, although he didn’t exactly look reluctant when he took it.

Well, well, well … what might happen there, Janey wondered, as Bobbie put a CD in the player and Bing Crosby began to croon.

Chapter 11 (#ulink_035bd859-a9ff-5abe-a610-fe21062a4e2b)

Xander

‘I hope it’s not all going a bit Pete Tong,’ Xander said.

‘What?’ Lissy asked. ‘This savoury swirl filling? It firmed up a bit when we were in there with Janey. I’ll need to loosen it, fill the pastry, and then whack it in the top oven.’

Xander watched as she lobbed in a tablespoon of mascarpone and gave it a vigorous stir. He began to salivate, thinking about supper. A side of salmon sat in a dish, covered in some herb or other and slices of lemon ready, he supposed, to go in the oven when these swirl things were done. Claire had never made swirls. Or cooked salmon for that matter. Cooking hadn’t been Claire’s thing and the few times she’d attempted it had been total disasters so that they’d had to go up to the Boathouse to eat or get a takeaway.

‘No, not that,’ Xander said. ‘I meant your plan for a jolly, ho ho ho, Christmas break. All Santa hats and stockings and champagne and mince pies.’

‘The plan is still on track, if running late a little,’ Lissy said, smiling warmly at him. Her cheeks looked like little crab apples glistening with the effort of her cooking under the downlighters of the kitchen island. ‘Although I’m right out of stockings, I’m afraid. The felt variety with Christmassy logos on, I mean.’ She pressed her lips together and gave him a cheeky look.

Was that a wink? Xander gulped.

Before he could think of how to reply that wouldn’t have been ‘I bet you’d look dead sexy in stockings’ which would be sexist and inappropriate in anyone’s opinion, Lissy filled the conversational gap.

‘If you mean Janey having the shock of her life and a bit of a wobble, then it’s not spoiling anything for me. Is it for you?’

‘No. I was a bit out of my depth with what to say though. Poor Janey. I’m right out of my comfort zone with men who abuse women, and I’ve met a few. Employed a few before I found out their true colours and then got rid of them again. It’s a mercy that was the taxi driver at the door and not Janey’s husband or I’d have done him over. Anyway, I’ll get this wreath Janey made on the door and then I’ll come and give you a hand. I’m a fairly domesticated example of the male species.’

Xander picked up the wreath along with a ratchet screwdriver and a couple of screws Lissy had put ready. Crossing the hall, he could hear Bobbie and Janey laughing. He let out a sigh … thank goodness for that.

He had the wreath fixed in minutes and now, with the front door firmly closed, he stood with his back to it looking out to sea. The moon was up, casting its beam towards him. How strange it was that wherever anyone stood looking out to sea the moon’s beam always came directly at them, putting them in a sort of lunar spotlight. In high summer, on hot nights when it was too clammy and uncomfortable to sleep in their bed, he and Claire had often walked along the beach in the moonlight, when all the holidaymakers were tucked up in their holiday accommodation or in a club somewhere. Hand in hand. Until Claire always raced away from him shouting back at him that the moon’s beam was on her which was a cue for Xander to race in the opposite direction and yell that no, she’d got that wrong, the beam was on him. And then they’d run towards one another colliding in a slightly wobbly fashion as the sand shifted under their feet, their lips eventually meeting. On more than a few occasions those kisses had led the way to other things, the way kisses do, and they’d thrown caution – and the possibility of a conviction for a breach of the peace – to the wind and made love under the pier, tucked under the overhang of the ice cream kiosk.

Xander stood and let memories of Claire wash over him but he was struggling these days to remember the scent of her, the feel of her skin on his, the exact depth of the brown of her eyes, and that scared him at times.

‘I hope you’re at peace,’ he whispered into the night before turning and going back into the house. Memories wouldn’t bring Claire back. He still had a future and it was time he got on with having one. Everyone he knew said so.

‘Do you need any help?’ Xander asked, when he went back in to join Lissy.

She was washing down the evidence of pastry making and savoury swirl mixture that had spilled out onto the worktop. There was a delicious smell filling the kitchen now.

‘Please. You could pour me a drink. Glasses in the cupboard over there.’ She pointed to a floor-to-ceiling range of shelves and cupboards. ‘Second row of cupboards down on the far left. There’s a bottle of white open in the fridge. Have one yourself unless you’d prefer beer. That’s in the larder.’ Lissy waved an arm towards a door Xander deduced was the larder.

‘I’ll join you with the wine,’ Xander said, fetching the glasses. He took a bottle of Viognier – the only bottle in there that was already opened – and poured two glasses. ‘This is one vast kitchen you’ve got. I reckon the whole floor plan of my cottage would fit in here!’

‘Most people’s would, I expect,’ Lissy laughed. ‘It was quite a surprise when I was told Strand House was now mine. And everything in it.’

‘Claire spoke very fondly of this place,’ Xander said, a tad cross with himself that just a few moments ago his thoughts had told him it was time to move on and now he was going back again.

‘We had some good times here.’ Lissy had finished wiping down and was now taking plates and bowls from a cupboard in the island. ‘Vonny was very welcoming. She never minded that we came back from the beach covered in sand with bits of shell sticking to us. Or seaweed between our toes. I’ve got a ton of photos back in Exeter. I was going to thin them down because if there’s one of Claire and me with our arms around one another’s necks, making stupid faces at the camera, there must be dozens, if not hundreds. But, well, after she died I just couldn’t.’

‘Yeah, yeah,’ Xander nodded. He knew the feeling. He’d kept all of Claire’s clothes for two years before dealing with them – charity shop donations mostly. But still there was a pair of socks – neon pink with yellow butterflies on them – that he couldn’t bear to part with. Claire had always worn them in bed on cold nights. Xander still slept with them under his pillow.

‘Claire always came here. I rarely went to her house, even though it’s only a couple of houses down the road.’

‘She said. Her parents still live there.’

‘Hmm,’ Lissy said. She was rather noisily searching out cutlery now. ‘I’ve thought about calling to say hello. Do you think I’d be welcome, or …’

‘I’m not,’ Xander cut in. ‘They’ve more or less cut me off. There was the funeral that we organised together and I gave her mother all Claire’s jewellery, except her wedding and engagement ring, but after that if I rang to say I was thinking of popping over they always said they were busy or going out or it wasn’t convenient or something. I got the hint in the end.’

‘Oh, that’s so sad for you. I’m sorry. But I suppose people grieve in different ways, Xand,’ Lissy said.

Xand? Only Claire had ever called him Xand, and his mother sometimes, and he’d always resisted letting anyone else call him that. Hearing Lissy say it gave him a good feeling.

‘Yeah, I suppose.’ And I’m being bloody gracious saying that because I was a very supportive son-in-law to them. He’d even done any jobs they’d needed doing around their house for free. Because they were family. But not anymore, it seemed.

Lissy took a tea towel from the airing rack of the cooker and began polishing the cutlery with it. She sniffed the air. ‘Ah, the savoury swirls are done, I can smell them.’

She took them from the oven, placing the hot baking tray straight onto the granite working surface. Xander had put in more than a few granite worktops for people. Horrendously expensive stuff, granite. And heavy. It always took at least three of them to carry and fit it.