Page 5 of Winter Wishes at Pennycress Inn

‘True. Umm, I’m not sure to be honest. I need to give it some thought.’ Scarlett filled her mouth, the taste of sweet cinnamon igniting her tastebuds. She couldn’t very well admit that the only immediate travel plans she’d had for the last few months had been leaving the wine bar’s car park to grab supplies before returning. She had a feeling Laura and Jackson would only worry about her if they discovered her home-on-wheels was literally that, her home. Not that they needed to; she hadn’t been lying when she’d told them it was cosy. It was. And it had everything she needed; she’d even begged Devon to help her rig up a little shower. Plus, it was secure. ‘How about you? When I rang Dad last, he said you two are planning a belated honeymoon sometime soon?’

‘We are.’ Laura glanced at Jackson and beamed. ‘In fact, we’ve already planned it. We’re off to Venice for Christmas.’

‘Venice? Wow.’ Scarlett whistled. ‘The City of Love.’

‘We’ll be back Christmas Eve, so we’ll have the best of both worlds, an Italian honeymoon as well as being able to enjoy Christmas at Pennycress.’ Jackson grinned back at Laura.

‘Oh, that will be lovely.’ Scarlett looked around the kitchen, taking in the pine tables and the doors leading out to the decking at the back of the inn. ‘I’d expected you to have the Christmas decs up already. Your family always put them up as early as possible, didn’t you?’

‘Ah, if we had our way, we’d have put them up last weekend, but we had a group of guests staying who were celebrating their parents’ fortieth wedding anniversary so until this morning the rooms were covered with ruby bunting and balloons to celebrate.’ Laura shovelled another forkful of French toast into her mouth before swallowing and then continuing. ‘We’ll make a start tomorrow though, if you want to come and help? Obviously don’t feel you have to, you’re here for a holiday and I don’t want to saddle you with a box of baubles to hang.’

‘I’d love to help.’ Growing up, Christmas had always been a little overlooked to put it mildly and although she’d tried her best to instil some Christmas traditions in the relationships she’d had since leaving home, she’d always seemed to get together with men who either insisted on going home to their parents for the festive season or just weren’t interested and didn’t get excited about it.

‘That’s decided then. I’ll pop up the loft first thing and then we’ll start decorating. We’ll pick up a tree too.’ Jackson took a sip of his coffee.

Turning excitedly towards Scarlett, Laura’s eyes shone. ‘We’re going to get a real tree from the Christmas tree farm just outside the village. Neither of us has ever had a real tree before. Sure, we could put the artificial one up, but I don’t know, now we’re married we kind of want to start some traditions of our own, and a real tree each year will be one of them.’

‘That’s a really cute idea.’ Scarlett loaded her fork with the last of her French toast. All the traditions she’d tried to start with Tyler had fallen flat and he’d always maintained Christmas had become just a commercialised holiday aimed to help the rich get richer and normal folks poorer. Huh. She imagined that was especially true when you were trying to keep two separate homes and two separate partners. Instead of decorating their flat or going for festive dates or anything, they’d celebrated the past three years with a cheap bottle of Prosecco and a roast whilst sitting in front of the TV after unwrapping one or two tacky gifts ‘to keep her happy’ as he’d put it. Of course this little ritual had always been carried out on Christmas Eve; on Christmas Day itself he’d had to visit his grandma in Wales, or so he’d maintained. The grandma who, conveniently, wasn’t allowed visitors who weren’t family to her care home. How could she have been so stupid to believe that? And for three straight years, too.

She shifted position on the bench. Had he told the same lie to Donna when he’d visited Scarlett?

4

‘Here you go, Thelma.’ Scarlett threaded the last of the dandelion leaves she’d picked from the grass verge at the side of the lay-by through the cage bars before clicking the lid shut on the Tupperware tub she’d collected them in. She smiled as the guinea pig emerged from the mound of bedding and gingerly sniffed at the fresh greens before nibbling on them. It was the first time Scarlett had seen her since she’d given her some yesterday evening and she’d begun to wonder if Thelma had somehow escaped again and been hiding somewhere in the camper.

‘All gone, Thelma, but don’t worry, I’ll pop into the village centre and get you some fresh veggies now. I’ll see if there’s a pet shop too. The sooner we can get you out of that prison and into something bigger, the better.’ She frowned. The poor little thing must be so confused by her journey here, the human interaction and now the strange fresh leaves being placed in her cage. The only human interaction she’d have had was to have some dried food chucked through the bars several times a week.

Well, not any more. Thelma was rid of Tyler, and so was she.

Placing the Tupperware tub on the small counter running along the edge of the van that made up her kitchen, she looked around. It was big enough, and in the four months since she’d moved out of her and Tyler’s flat, she’d got rid of an awful lot of stuff: clothes, trinkets, things she’d kept ‘just in case’. There was no room for any of it in here.

She pulled up the sofa cushion and reached into the cubbyhole beneath before taking out a wooden box, one of the very few things she’d kept. It was the size of a shoebox and covered in wonky pink and red hearts she’d painted as a child. Her dad had given her the box, told her to make it her own, and then allowed her to go around the house and pop in things that reminded her of her mum. Scarlett had only been seven at the time, but she’d grown up quickly over the years of her mum’s illness and she was glad she’d had the foresight to choose things that would still bring back memories almost thirty years later. Her mum’s half-used bottle of perfume, the purple woollen scarf she’d always worn from the day of the first frost, a pile of photographs and the necklace Scarlett had worn since the day she’d said goodbye and still wore today, the silver chain and silver casing holding a sapphire stone, her mum’s birthstone.

Leaning her back against the sofa, Scarlett flicked through the photographs. She’d be able to sketch each and every one of them from memory; she’d looked through them so often. As she turned to the only family photo she owned – of her, her mum and dad standing in front of the large Christmas tree in Trafalgar Square – she felt the familiar lump form in her throat. She’d lost her mum the day she’d passed away, but she’d lost her dad too. She’d never seen him smile as he had in that picture. Yes, he was happy now, but it was a happiness shrouded in sadness, the life he was supposed to have having been torn from him, and he’d never fully recovered. Finding Jennifer had helped. She’d met him and brought him back out of the hole he’d been hiding in, but it was a different kind of love. He was content with his life but Scarlett hadn’t seen him carefree and grinning as he had before her mum had passed. Closing the box again, she massaged her temples in the vain attempt to ward off the headache she could feel brewing.

Pushing the thoughts away, she carefully placed the box back in the cubbyhole before standing. ‘Right, I’m off now, Thelma, but I promise I’ll bring something nice back from the grocers for you.’

Thelma glanced in her direction before turning back to the small green feast in front of her.

Taking a last look at the little guinea pig, Scarlett shrugged into her coat before threading the strap of her green and purple patchwork bag over her shoulder and opening the door.

Stepping out of her camper, she grinned at the view in front of her, green fields stretching for acres. This was what she so loved about living in her camper: the views, the sense of freedom. Of course, this particular lay-by was also only a short walk into Meadowfield so it was inevitable a steady flow of traffic travelled just past the thin line of trees shielding the lay-by from the road behind her, but, even so, it was stunning.

Pausing by the door leading out of the grocery store, Scarlett rubbed at her shoulder. This was the second time she’d been into the village centre this morning, the first being consumed by a trip to the small pet shop where she’d found a large indoor cage for little Thelma. Carrying it back to the camper had been a challenge in itself due to its size, but it had been when she’d been shifting things around in the camper so she could fit it in that she’d ended up pulling a muscle or something in her shoulder.

Still, it was nice knowing Thelma was now exploring her new home whilst she’d popped back to get her some veggies. She’d been tempted to throw the old cage out but having decided it might be the safest place for Thelma whilst the camper was in motion, she’d scrubbed it clean and replaced the dirty bedding and sawdust with some fleece liners and some bedding the man at the pet shop had recommended.

After letting the door to the grocery store close quietly behind her, Scarlett paused as she looked towards the village green. In addition to the understated but beautiful small trees lit with warm white fairy lights attached to the frontages of the shops and cottages surrounding the green and throughout the village, a huge Christmas tree had been positioned in its centre. From top to toe, or roots to crown, she supposed, it was covered in coloured fairy lights, their twinkling light glistening off a hundred large baubles. Beneath, benches had been positioned circling the enormous red pot so people could presumably bask in the glow of the lights whilst resting their weary legs. A food van and coffee cart stood in front of the tree, their backs facing her as she crossed the road, and she could see a few sets of tables and chairs were set up in front for the brave few who were happy to sit taking in the view of the tree whilst cradling a cup of hot coffee to fight against the winter chill.

She pulled out the trusty sketchbook and pencil she carried everywhere with her from her bag. The scene in front of her would make the perfect image to go on one of her Christmas card designs. Especially for the upcoming local craft fairs and school Christmas fairs she’d signed up for before leaving for Meadowfield. People would love it as they would recognise the image on the front of the card.

Pausing in front of the huge tree, she shrugged her bag off her shoulder and placed it on the ground in front of her. She could make a quick sketch now and then work on the details from a photograph. Whilst holding the notebook in one hand, she began sketching. The run-up to Christmas in the craft community was so special to her, perhaps because she’d never really felt that festive feeling at home. But within the craft community, she met so many people, customers and vendors alike, at the craft fairs and places she attended, plus meeting up with her fellow craft fair sellers, some of whom she’d become firm friends with over the years. It was the one time of the year she felt as though she truly belonged.

Yes, she’d felt that at her old job at Devon’s Wine Bar too. To a certain extent, anyway. She’d never known a place with such a high turnover of staff, not that she could blame them. Most of the staff members used the job as a stopgap between college and university, sometimes returning during the holidays, sometimes forgetting about the place altogether.

This year, however, things would be very different. For the first time in years, she was truly alone; apart from Laura and Jackson, of course. She’d be building up her reputation at the local craft fairs from scratch, and she also needed to find a part-time gig to actually pay the bills. And fast. Although at least she was now living in her camper and didn’t have quite as many expenses coming out. That was one small mercy after being forced to leave the flat.

She used the tip of her pencil to hook her hair behind her ear before turning back to her sketch. Tilting her head, she scrunched her nose up. The top of the tree didn’t look right, the star was wonky, and she hadn’t got the angles right at all. Sighing, she took a step back, rubbed the tricky part out and began again.