Snowflakes on Silver Cove: A festive, feel-good Christmas romance (White Cliff Bay Book 2) (17 page)

Being free tonight had given her the excuse to look at world cruises. Turquoise waters, golden sands, lofty skyscrapers, beautiful cathedrals, quaint cottages, great French villas, jagged mountains, emerald green rainforests and towering waterfalls had drifted out from the web pages, dazzling her senses. She had found one cruise that took in all the sights and sounds of the world in a hundred days. It was pricey, but affordable. It was discounted too as it was leaving in four weeks and they wanted to fill the last remaining cabins. For the last half hour, her fingers had hovered over the keys to book it. If she left, Seb would be free from any obligations to her or Marie. She would get the chance to see things that she had never experienced before in her lifetime, to do the things Marie had wanted to do but never got the chance. Judith could release herself from the tedium of life in White Cliff Bay, to read the books she wanted without judgement, to meet people, to make friends.

There was a knock at her door just as she pressed the ‘book it now’ button and a form had appeared asking her for all her details.

To her surprise it was Dave Wilson and his heavily pregnant wife Kat.

‘Hello?’ Judith said in confusion.

‘Hi,’ Kat said, looking flustered, ‘do you know where Amy is?’

Judith found herself bristling at the very mention of Amy’s name. ‘Well, I presume she’s in the pub. She works when it’s Seb’s day off.’

‘No, she had a car accident today, Dave’s just retrieved her car with his tractor.’ Kat indicated the tiny red Mini, battered and broken on the road behind her. ‘We brought it round and came to see if she’s OK, but she’s not answering and I’m worried about her. Do you have a spare key?’

Judith found herself going cold. As much as she despised Amy, she wouldn’t wish what Marie went through on anyone.

‘Is she OK?’

‘Well, Seb said she was,’ Dave said, looking concerned.

‘Why… why would Seb… Was he with her, is he OK?’

‘Seb was in the pub when she called from the car. I’ve never seen anyone look so scared before in my life, the colour literally drained from his face and then he was gone, shouting at me to man the bar and call an ambulance. He came back several hours later, said she was OK, just cuts, bruises and mild concussion, but…’ Dave gestured vainly at Amy’s door.

‘Oh no you’re mistaken,’ came Mary’s thin voice from next door; her neighbour was quite possibly one of the nosiest people Judith had ever met. ‘Seb and Amy came back from the hospital late this afternoon, about four o’clock. She looked very shaken and sore, the way she carried herself I imagine she was badly bruised all over. They went into the house for about ten minutes and then they both came back out, he was carrying a bag for her and they got in his car and drove off. She hasn’t been back since.’

Judith found her heart was beating, furiously. Not Seb and Amy. He would be worried about his staff, about any one of his friends who had been involved in a car accident, but to just leave his pub without a second thought was unheard of. And to go to the hospital with Amy and then where? Where was she now? In his bed, in the bed he had shared with Marie? Judith felt sick.

‘I bet he took her to stay with Libby or George,’ Kat said.

Yes, that was it, Amy would be staying with Libby, her best friend.

‘No I don’t think so.’ Mary grinned hugely. ‘My Peter saw Libby and George race into the pub and go up the stairs at about four thirty and then come downstairs again about ten minutes later. George looked very worried apparently, though Libby was beaming. My bet is Amy’s staying with your young Seb.’ Mary looked positively ecstatic to be imparting this news to Judith.

‘Makes sense I suppose,’ Kat said, turning to Dave. ‘You said Seb has had a thing for Amy for months now.’

Dave eyed Judith, his eyes bulging. ‘No I didn’t, I never said that.’

‘Yes you did,’ Kat said, angrily.

‘I bloody didn’t, pregnancy must have addled your brain, woman. Seb doesn’t like Amy.’

‘Oh yes he does.’ Mary was grinning from ear to ear. ‘Any idiot can see that, the two of them are besotted with each other. Rumour has it he’s been sleeping with her since she started work at the pub. About bloody time too, I say.’

Judith turned and slammed the door.

She stalked to her computer and turned it off. There was no way she was going on this world cruise now, she couldn’t possibly leave Seb in that slut’s clutches.

‘
C
ome on
, George, we’re going to be late,’ Libby said, racing down the hill past The Pilchard towards the village square. George ran by her side, his blue coat flapping in the wind behind him, making it look like a superhero’s cloak.

Suddenly Suzanna from the chemist called across the street to Libby, stopping her in her tracks.

Suzanna ran across the road towards her, which made Libby smile. She must be in her nineties but that didn’t seem to slow her down. Libby had seen her running round town after her grandchildren on many occasions. Suzanna eyed George with some embarrassment.

‘Might I have a word in private?’ she said.

‘I’ll wait for you,’ George said, strolling off to the bottom of the hill.

Suzanna slipped out a copy of Libby’s latest book from her bag as if it was some illegal contraband. Although everyone in the town knew the real Libby, most people in the town knew she wrote under a pseudonym.

‘I was hoping to run into you, I’ve been carrying this around in my bag for the last few days just in case. I wonder if you would sign it for me,’ Suzanna whispered, looking around to see if anyone was watching. It made Libby laugh that some of the older generation were so coy about Libby’s books. They weren’t erotica, they were certainly a far cry from the whips and handcuffs of the
Fifty Shades
series. Her sex scenes did get a bit steamy sometimes but the books were definitely more romance based than sex based.

‘Of course,’ Libby said, taking the book and the pen and signing her name inside. She passed it back.

‘Thank you so much, dear.’ Suzanna slipped the book back in her bag. ‘I hear you and young George are dating now?’

How on earth did she hear that? But nothing stayed secret in White Cliff Bay. ‘Oh no, not really. He… We… He’s helping me with my next book, it’s research more than anything.’

‘Oh, of course, dear, but really, if you want to research dating, you need to go the full hog. Maybe you should see what he is like in bed too, I’m sure that will help you get inspiration.’

Suzanna smiled and walked off leaving Libby wondering how she would even begin to suggest to George the idea of platonic sex.

She ran down the hill towards George and as a man stepped out from one of the shops in front of her, she swerved to try to avoid him, slipped on the icy wet ground and ended up sitting at his feet.

‘Shit, are you OK?’ the man said, offering her his large hand to help her up. She took his hand and he pulled her to her feet. He was huge – easily the biggest man she had ever seen in her life – and good-looking too, with those gorgeous soft grey eyes and long lashes.

Libby suddenly realised her bum was soaking and probably bruised and her pride was in tatters; this really wasn’t the romantic start to her date with George that she had envisaged.

The man was joined by a blonde teenager who looked at her with amusement and George arrived on the scene a second later.

‘Are you OK?’ the man asked again.

Libby nodded. ‘Yes, thank you, sorry I nearly knocked you over.’

‘Come on, Lib, we’ll be late,’ George said, wrapping his arm round her shoulders possessively and flashing a glare at the man who had helped her.

They walked down the hill and Libby heard the girl laugh. ‘Jeez Dad, women are literally throwing themselves at your feet.’

‘Are you OK?’ George asked, softly.

‘Yes, I’m fine.’

‘I didn’t take you for the “swooning at a man” type.’

Libby laughed. ‘I didn’t take you for the “being jealous over me talking to another man” type either.’

George looked back at the man. ‘Looks like he fell out of a bloody Gap commercial.’

‘I don’t go for big men,’ Libby said. ‘I go for men with curly hair and a wicked sense of humour.’

‘Really?’

‘Oh yes,’ she teased and George smiled as they walked into the bakery.

Linda Forbes, who ran the bakery with her daughter Polly, had already started her talk and they snuck onto a table at the back hoping she wouldn’t notice their lateness.

‘What are we doing here?’ George hissed as Linda went over the ingredients on the table in front of them and told them all they would get the recipe on a sheet before they went home.

‘We’re making mince pies.’

‘I can make mince pies, jars of mincemeat, ready-made roll-out pastry, job done, or buy a box of six Mr Kiplings. Nobody can beat Mr Kipling.’

‘We’re making the mince pies from scratch,’ Libby whispered back just as they got shushed from a couple right in front of them.

George opened his mouth to speak and she clamped her hand over his mouth.

‘So you can use as much or as little of the ingredients in front of you as you like to make the mincemeat,’ Linda said. ‘There are suggestions on the laminated sheets on your tables but really these are your mince pies so just throw whatever you like into the saucepan and then heat it for about ten minutes or until the ingredients start to bind and become sticky.’

There were some murmurs about the various methods and ingredients the different tables were going to use and Libby released George’s mouth.

‘So off you go … and for our latecomers,’ Linda flashed her and George a smile, ‘perhaps you should go and wash your hands first.’

Libby blushed as everyone turned round to look at them, some of the people of the town shaking their heads with disapproval. They quickly moved off to the bathrooms to wash their hands and when they got back people were already throwing ingredients into their saucepans with gay abandon.

‘What shall we put in then, George?’ Libby asked, rolling up her sleeves.

George looked seriously at all the ingredients in little glass bowls that filled their table. ‘Well, currants, sultanas, they’re a must surely.’ He grabbed the two bowls and tipped them into the saucepan.

‘Brandy?’ Libby offered the small jug.

George took it from her and poured no more than a teaspoon into the saucepan. She laughed and, taking the jug back off him, poured the rest into the pan.

George laughed. ‘Should we just pour everything in then, see how it turns out?’

Libby nodded and they grabbed the chopped apples, the orange zest, the sugar, the apple juice, the cinnamon and the cloves and poured every last ingredient into the saucepan, giggling like school kids. They put the saucepan onto the little camping hob that sat in the middle of their table, turned the temperature up high and leaned over to stare at the ingredients – like the witches in
Macbeth
standing around their cauldron, Libby thought.

Linda, moving between the tables, arrived at theirs. ‘Oh, you’re on to the cooking part already. Which ingredients did you choose – did you go more apple based or more orange based?’

Libby looked at George guiltily; were they supposed to choose one or the other? Linda followed their eyes to the empty bowls on the table. ‘You used everything?’

George nodded reluctantly.

‘Even all the cloves? You’re only supposed to use half a teaspoonful,’ Linda said, in shock.

‘We like it strong,’ Libby said, trying not to laugh. Their pies were going to taste disgusting. Already the potent smell of cloves was drifting from their saucepan.

Linda laughed. ‘Well, remind me not to taste your mincemeat when it’s finished. Keep stirring it so it doesn’t stick to the pan and you could make a start on making the pastry. The recipe is on the tray with the ingredients.’

Linda walked away as the smell of cloves got stronger, making them cough.

‘Shall we try to be a bit more exact with the pastry?’ George suggested.

Libby shrugged. ‘I suppose so.’

They measured the dry ingredients carefully and then added the butter.

‘So we just shove our fingers in and rub the butter into the flour and sugar?’ George asked, looking at the butter with some distaste.

‘Yep, come on, it’s fun.’

Libby started massaging the butter between her fingers and George followed suit, the look of disgust very evident on his face.

She laughed at him. ‘It’s only your hands, you can wash them afterwards, it’s not like it’s your face.’

Libby quickly dragged her fingers down his face, leaving buttery smears across his cheeks. He stared at her in horror. With his fingers in the bowl, he flicked his hands up at her, coating her in a snowstorm of flour.

Other couples nearby looked at them with disapproval as Libby shrieked and laughed.

‘You’re such a child, George Donaldson. Wait till I tell your mum.’

George laughed, not ashamed of his behaviour for one second.

Libby put her hands back in the bowl with George, eyeing him warily just in case he tried anything else for revenge, her fingers brushing up against his for a second, causing his eyes to snap up to hers.

‘You know our pie is going to taste like shit,’ George said.

‘I know but at least it’ll be added to the many memories that we’ll never forget.’

George looked at her. ‘We make a good team, don’t we?’

She smiled, feeling her heart fill for him. ‘Yeah, we do.’

She watched him as he rubbed the pastry together, a huge lump forming in her throat. She didn’t recognise the pain in her chest but she was pretty sure she was falling for him.

T
he noise
of the pub below Amy had gone silent an hour or so before and after a while Seb had been up to see her, to make sure she didn’t need anything before he went to bed. She refrained from saying she needed him. But she was still awake now, looking out the skylight at the clear sky peppered with thousands of stars. Judging by the size of the single bed she saw earlier, she bet he was awake too. It was weird being in such close proximity to him and yet still being so far away. How could he kiss her and then still not do anything? She understood about Judith – she had picked up the pieces for him after Marie had died and then he had done the same for her when she fell apart. They were close, Amy got that, and she didn’t want to hurt Judith either. She understood the pain of his grief too. Her own dad had died ten years before and it had been utterly heartbreaking, but that’s why they should enjoy the time they had with each other while they could. To deny each other when they loved each other so much didn’t make sense. Real love didn’t come round very often, and when it did, and when you were lucky enough to have it reciprocated, you should grab it with both hands, not run in the other direction.