Escape for Christmas (25 page)

Cal placed his hands on her shoulders and gently turned her to face the far end of the kitchen.

“Happy birthday, happy Christmas, happy Forever,” he said softly.

Gemma’s hand flew to her mouth – and it was just as well that Cal had her shoulders, because her legs suddenly felt as soft as cookie dough. Positioned exactly where she’d imagined it, and in pride of place, was the cherry-red Aga that she’d dreamed of.

“Open the warming oven.” Cal was biting his bottom lip again. “Go on, Gem, have a look.”

Still feeling stunned, Gemma did as he suggested, running her hands over the cool shiny enamel in disbelief before unlatching the warming oven. Inside was a box.

“Open it up,” Cal urged. He was looking serious now. “Go on, Gem, it’s for you.”

Intrigued, she lifted the lid. Inside were a key and another box.

“It’s the key to the cottage,” Cal beamed when she looked at him wonderingly. “Welcome home, Gemma.”

Penmerryn Cottage was really her home? It was too much to take in, and with shaking hands she began to unwrap the smaller parcel. Almost before she’d realised what he was doing, Cal was down on one knee in the middle of the kitchen – and Gemma didn’t need to finish opening the velvet-lined box to know what was inside.

“I love you, Gemma Pengelley,” Cal said quietly. “Sometimes I feck up, I eat too much and I know I have dreadful relatives, but I love you. I never want to be without you again.”

The box fell open. Nestled against a bed of shamrock-green velvet was a perfect square solitaire. Gemma’s eyes widened.

“Will you marry me?” said Cal. “And give me an answer soon, Gems, because this stone floor is killing me poor auld footballer’s knees!”

But Gemma could only nod and smile as Cal rose to his feet and slipped the ring onto her finger. It was a perfect fit, just like he was for her.

“From now on there’ll be nothing between us but total trust,” Cal promised as he folded her into his arms and brushed his mouth across hers. “Sure, I’ve learned my lesson, Gem. No matter how good the intentions there’ll be nothing but complete trust and honesty between us. I promise. No more secrets.”

But as Cal bent to kiss her again, Gemma began to laugh – because there was one very important secret left, wasn’t there? A secret that she could hardly wait to share with him, and one that she knew with all her heart was going to make their Christmas escape to Penmerryn Creek absolutely perfect.

“In that case,” she said softly, winding her arms around Cal’s neck and pulling him closer, until her lips were right against his ear, “there’s something very special that I need to tell you…”

THE END

Dear Reader,

Escape for the Summer
was a book that became a personal escape from many upheavals in my own life.  Andi, Angel and Gemma were my best friends for many months and I really missed them when the book was finished. They kept on chatting away to me and I drove my partner mad talking about them. Luckily I wasn’t alone because lots of my readers wrote to me and asked whether there would be another book about the girls.  When I sat down to write my Christmas novel I suddenly imagined that I was shopping in Truro with Gemma and Angel and that was it – I was off and so was the Christmas novel!

It was so much fun to hang out with the
Escape
characters again and with every word I wrote they became stronger, taking on a life all of their own and driving the narrative in all sorts of unexpected directions. New characters arrived too and I loved finding out what happened next.  I’d love to see more of Builder Craig, Naughty Dougal and Lady Daphne – I feel a short story coming on! In the meantime I have
Escape to the Sun
and
The Wedding Escape
planned and simmering away nicely for sometime next year, which will follow the further adventures of Angel and Andi. I can hardly wait to get started.

I really hope you enjoy
Escape for Christmas
as much as I loved writing it. Please feel free to write to me and let me know your thoughts and feelings about this book. I’d love to hear from you.

Finally, I need a favour! Reviews can make or break a book and it really helps the word to spread if a book has lots of reviews. If you enjoyed
Escape for Christmas
and have the time to post a review on Amazon and Good Reads, that would be very much appreciated.

Thanks so much, and thank you too for sharing in Gemma and Cal’s story. If you enjoyed
Escape for Christmas
then you might like
Dead Romantic
, a paranormal romance with a seasonal flavour.  Here’s a sneak preview!

Brightest wishes,

x Ruth x

Music Mad
interview with Rafe and Alex Thorne, 23
^rd
December 2009

Thorne take Christmas number one

Music Mad
feared that the days of unmanufactured music basking in the Christmas limelight were long gone. In these bleak times of mass-production stranglehold it seemed unlikely that a genuine band would ever take the Christmas number one again.
Thorne
’s festive hit,
“One Christmas Kiss”
, has taken the music world by very welcome storm. The haunting lyrics and soul-wrenching vocals have kicked saccharine pop right back to the eighties dustbin where it belongs. With Rafe Thorne widely regarded as one of the foremost songwriting talents on the British music scene, and with “One Christmas Kiss” playing at parties the length and breadth of the UK and being downloaded every nine seconds, what’s the secret of his success?

“Honesty,” Rafe Thorne is quick to answer. “When you don’t write from the soul your music doesn’t ring true. Sure, there’s a formula, but people aren’t stupid. They soon figure out music by numbers.”

With this Christmas number one Rafe has spilled not only his musical guts but his emotional ones too. His face clouds when pressed about the origins of the song. “Yes, it’s written from the heart. It’s very personal. What more can I say? The song is about something that really happened.” He pauses. “It’s about somebody I knew was really special.”

So the Christmas kiss was real?

Rafe nods. “It was Christmas Eve and I was travelling home to London from a crappy gig – without Alex, for once. I think some girl had taken pity on him and he’d got lucky!”

At this point Alex Thorne stubs out his cigarette and punches his brother on the arm. “There had to be some perks to playing the outskirts of Watford for forty quid! And anyway, she liked you best. You’re just too picky!”

The brothers banter. They finish one another’s sentences and clearly know each other inside out. Noel and Liam they are not.

Back to the song?

Alex grins. “Yeah, don’t stop now, bro. Tell them about how your eyes met across the snowy track and the angels sang. It’s pure Mills and fuckin’ Boon!”

Rafe laughs. “Mills and Boon just bought you an Aston! Anyhow, my train home was cancelled and I was stranded at this godforsaken branch-line station miles from anywhere, waiting ages for the next one. It had been snowing and there was nobody about for miles.”

Just like in your song?

“Yeah, just like that. This girl was waiting for her lift, this goddamn amazing girl. She had the greenest eyes and sunset-red hair.” He hesitates. Gone is the rasping anger of his hits “Dead Lines”
or “Killed”. “We sat on this bench and she was shaking with cold. Her mum was really poorly and she’d come home for Christmas to spend some time with her. She was so upset and I couldn’t help it; I put my arms around her.” He shrugs. “I expect you can guess the rest.”

We don’t need to guess; Thorne’s lyrics speak for themselves.

Rafe sighs, clearly exasperated with himself. “One Christmas Eve kiss was all we had. Man, like an idiot I never even asked her name. Then her father arrived all distraught and my train pulled in. She’d scribbled her number down but it blew away in the snow. I haunted that station for months but I never saw her again. I knew, though. She was the one. The only one.”

And that’s Rafe Thorne’s gift: he can wrap raw emotion up in notes and lyrics that echo through the heart and soul. The opening bars of “One Christmas Kiss
”
are filled with the bitter-sweetness of lost love, the magic of Christmas Eve and the pain of unfulfilled dreams.
Music Mad
predicts that for many Christmases to come this song will be right up there with Wham!
and Slade.

With his brother lost in reminiscences it’s up to Alex to lighten the mood. “Yeah, the song’s about Rafe’s famous ‘one that got away’! Who knows, maybe she’ll read this and recognise herself? Then she’ll find him and they can live happily ever after!”

Rafe’s girlfriend,
FHM
favourite Natasha Lacey, will no doubt have something to say about that. Still, with “One Christmas Kiss” outselling everything else in the charts and set to become a Christmas classic, Rafe Thorne seems very likely to live happily ever after, with or without his mystery girl.

“But if I could,” Alex says quietly to his brother, “I’d move heaven and earth to find her for you.”

Chapter 1

November

“Is that a normal latte, Madam, or one of our seasonal lattes?”

The teenager behind the counter pauses to allow me to make this challenging decision. He needn’t have bothered. Seasonal latte in early November? What’s that about? I’ve enough problems dealing with Christmas in December; foisting it on me now is nothing short of cruelty.

“It comes with a mince pie,” the helpful teen adds, in case this is enough to tip the balance.

I nearly walk out. All I want is a quiet coffee while I wait for Susie to arrive. The last thing I need is a festive reminder that before long Dad will be on the phone wondering what I’m planning to do for the holiday, the silences between us filling with unspoken disappointments and memories.
Are you coming home, Cleo Rose?
he’ll ask and, as usual, I’ll pretend I have to work or am planning to go away. He’ll know I’m just making excuses because I never go away, unless you count my annual Christmas guilt trip.

“Skinny latte,” I say firmly. “And absolutely no mince pies.”

I shuffle past the till and alongside the counter to collect my drink, trying to ignore the strains of “Last Christmas”,
and concentrating instead on the dismal day beyond the steamy window. The early afternoon sunshine has turned a sickly yellow and the sky is bruised with lemon-hued clouds. Pedestrians huddling under umbrellas scuttle past and cars swish through puddles, their sidelights scattering diamonds over the road. Across the street sodden tourists pour into the Henry Wellby Museum, my workplace, where they’ll be dripping all over the tiled floor, as excited to be out of the rain as they are about seeing the exhibits. Then they’ll be testing the security guards’ patience by touching the statues with moist fingers and fogging up the display cases. The Ancient World Gallery will be even more crowded than usual, a press of faces peering through the glass at the mummies as the tide of visitors sweeps through the dimly lit space, starfish hands leaving sticky kisses behind.

Settling onto a sofa, I decide I’m glad to be away from the Wellby Museum for a while on this soggy Saturday. I’m even gladder Aamon’s sarcophagus is currently hidden away from public view. There’ll be plenty of time for the hordes to see the boy pharaoh once I’ve finished my research, but until then Aamon and his secrets are my personal challenges. I love trying to decipher the hieroglyphics and symbolism and untangling stories that for millennia have lain buried under the desert sands; it’s the ultimate Sudoku.

Susie doesn’t get this at all. She thinks I should be socialising rather than spending every spare minute at work or reading up on the latest academic papers. Mum always understood, though. From the moment she first showed me her collection of artefacts I was hooked. Being named Cleopatra probably helped me too, as did the family holidays to places near my mother’s archaeological digs in Egypt and Sudan. Anyway, I pored over her books, was glued to the History Channel rather than CBBC and spent hours mummifying my unlucky Barbies. It was worth working my socks off and being the school boffin to see how proud Mum was of me.

I stir my drink violently, sloshing coffee onto the table. I’m not going to think about Mum right now. Not here in a café and in full view of everyone. And neither am I going to think about the empty space at the Christmas dinner table.

No. Way.

Where’s Susie when I need her to take my mind off things? I fish my iPhone out of my satchel. I’m going to call her.

“I’m so sorry!” Susie says breathlessly when she finally answers. “I’m on my way! I’m just running a bit late.”

“Where are you?”

“I’m in Neal Street. I’ve found the best shoe shop! They’ve got leopard-print thigh boots and everything!”

“Never mind the boots, Susie. How long until you get here?”

Susie pauses, torn between trying on the boots and meeting me sometime this week. “Err, maybe half an hour? Size four, please. Oh, yes, can I try the purple ones too?”