Sam was giving her an odd look – one she’d seen him sport a few times before. ‘The Christmas thing. It stems from my childhood.’ He looked tense as he scratched his ear and looked away. ‘This is in confidence, right?’
‘Of course.’
‘My father left when I was a baby and my mum struggled with drink and drugs.’ Blythe knew her shock at his statement showed on her face. Sam held up a palm. ‘Not the hard stuff, mainly weed and ecstasy but that’s where all her money went. I was the kid on free school meals, with a uniform that didn’t fit and plimsolls instead of school shoes whatever the weather.’ Blythe’s heart broke for the little boy Sam had been but didn’t feel she could interrupt his story.
‘We muddled along but at Christmas it was the worst. I wrote letters to Santa like all the other kids did. I never understood why he never wrote back.’ Sam let out a derisory snort. ‘At Christmas I’d still put up a pillowcase for him to fill but he never did. My mum told me it was because I was on the naughty list. One year I was desperate for a Tamagotchi – all my mates had one. I didn’t put a foot wrong for weeks because of the threat of not getting one for Christmas and still there was nothing on Christmas morning. For years I believed I was too bad to get a present. I was so ashamed. I’d pretend I was sick so I missed the first day back at school after the holidays. I couldn’t face my mates when they were telling me about all the stuff they’d been given because they were the kids on the “nice” list. I couldn’t tell them I was one of the others. I bet I was the only kid who cried happy tears the day I found out Santa wasn’t real.’
Blythe hadn’t realised she was crying until a sob escaped. ‘That’s awful,’ she said, pulling a tissue from her pocket. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘I didn’t mean to upset you.’ He swallowed hard. ‘It’s why I hate Christmas. I guess it’s kind of triggering and when I hear people lying to their kids about this wonderful guy who’s going to bring them presents because they’ve been good all year I want to scream at them. I just can’t cope with people who lie; it does so much damage.’
Blythe blew her nose. A little voice in her head unhelpfully reminded her that she’d lied to Sam all those months ago when she’d sold him a cottage that wasn’t for sale. But that wasn’t a big lie. Not a brutal one like the one his mum had told him as a child. ‘You shouldn’t lie to kids. Not like that.’
Sam shrugged. ‘It was better at secondary school.’
‘Because you knew it was a fairy tale?’
He gave a wan smile. ‘Because my mum got done for possession and I was taken into care. I was in and out of a children’s home. But it was okay. I was the kid who hated Christmas. The weirdo. Looks like I still am.’
Blythe felt terrible. ‘I’m so sorry I said those things. I had no idea.’
‘It’s okay, really. It’s my issue. I know that. A lot of expensive shrinks have told me that over the years. I can deal with it now. It’s why I try to keep away from Christmas but I’ve realised over these past few months that I can’t keep away from you.’
Blythe dried her eyes. ‘But I’m always going to remind you of Christmas.’
‘Maybe you’re the aversion therapy I need.’ He stepped closer and took her in his arms. For a moment she hesitated. Men always left her. How long before Sam did the same? But then sometimes didn’t you have to take a chance? Their lips touched and Blythe melted into his kiss, until Turpin jumped out of the wok, sending it flying in their direction and whacking Sam on the head. It brought their kissing to an abrupt end.
‘I should probably go,’ said Blythe, touching her lips. ‘But I’d like to see where this goes. If you can stand dating someone who loves Christmas.’
Sam rubbed his head. ‘I think I’m prepared to take that risk.’
33
18thDecember
The Christmas fayre was a big deal for Holly Cross. They closed off the roads around the green and filled them with stalls selling every conceivable thing you could want for Christmas along with an array of homemade crafts and gift ideas. As well as being a great money spinner for their chosen charity it was also a fun evening. People came from far and wide as it was also a good opportunity to see the village lights.
Various volunteers spent the morning getting the stalls in place so the vendors could set up from midday, but it was really after dark that it all got going. Blythe managed to slip out of work early so she could lend a hand. The fayre was entirely Leonora’s domain but as this year Vicky had a stall, Blythe was going to give her a hand. Vicky had been making pom-poms at every available opportunity for weeks and Blythe was hoping it would all be worth the effort.
It was a crisp December evening, and Blythe’s breath plumed out in front of her as she walked. As long as it wasn’t raining she liked it cold. Somehow it felt more Christmassy that way. She had no idea how she’d cope in a warmer climate at this time of year. She doubted it would feel the same to be on the beach in a bikini opening your pressies. She drew closer to the green, where Christmas music was mingling with chatter and laughter. The smells of gingerbread, chestnuts and mulled wine filled the air as she strolled past the first stalls. The two elderly sisters from Rock Cottage had excelled again with their knitting skills – their stall was filled with blankets, scarves and an array of interesting woolly hats. Lots of stalls vied for her attention – there was everything from handmade jewellery to penguin slippers, and the crowds were already pouring in.
Blythe found Vicky’s stall over near Sam’s cottage between a stall selling chocolate stirrers and another adorned with festive birdhouses. Blythe glanced across the road. The night of the kiss was etched in her mind. They had exchanged frequent texts but Sam had been away on business again, although he was due back soon. She was trying not to think too much about it and certainly not to read too much into it. It was just a kiss. Although it had been a fantastic one, she had no idea where things would lead. She knew she liked Sam but she also knew she didn’t want to get hurt.
‘Hiya, how’s it going?’ she asked, standing back to get a proper look at Vicky’s stall. There were big bold signs clipped to the table and the overhead canopy detailing prices and some interesting slogans including:One day onlyExclusive to Holly Cross Christmas FayreandYou’re the only person who hasn’t bought one!
Vicky pointed to the pile of pom-pom decorations on the table and then to the boxes underneath. ‘Slow. I’ll not rival Elon Musk yet. But thanks for coming.’
‘No worries. I figured we could take it in turns to man the stall and then go for a look around the others. I might get Greg some penguin slippers.’
‘Ooh, good idea,’ said Vicky.
‘Where’s Eden?’
‘The Rainbows, Brownies and Guides are doing Christmas songs on the green in an hour so Snowy Owl is filling them full of hot chocolate and going over the words of “Give Me Joy in My Heart” one more time. I can’t convince Eden that it’s not “sing lasagne to the king of kings”.’
Blythe came around to Vicky’s side of the stall and realised there were two piles of green pom-poms. She picked one up. It had a Santa hat on, wild eyebrows and a creepy smile. ‘This isn’t a sprout. Is it?’
‘It’s the Grinch.’ Vicky grinned at her. ‘After Sam was such a hit at the sexy Santa night, I had a flash of inspiration. People who come to see the lights will want a souvenir. What better than a lovingly handmade Grinch tree decoration?’ Vicky was nodding furiously. ‘I whipped them up at record speed.’ Vicky held up another sign that read:Get your Grinch souvenirs here!
