Page 5 of Christmas All the Way

Keeley nodded. ‘I thought you’d say that. Why don’t you go upstairs and freshen up, and I’ll get pouring?’

The guest bedroom at the top of the crooked wooden staircase was every bit as comforting as Grace remembered. Dark polished floorboards gave way to a thick woven rug just inside the door, and pristine whitewashed walls rose up to meet the uneven oak-beamed ceiling. Sage green curtains pooled around the lead-paned window, which had been left open to encourage a whisper of cool air to circulate. A walnut sleigh bed had pride of place, spread with a faded patchwork quilt that she knew had been made by Keeley’s grandmother, and was dotted with an assortment of mismatched scatter cushions. An antique tall boy nestled into the alcove beside the chimney breast, its many drawers inviting Grace to deposit her clothes, secrets and dreams within, and the opposite alcove held a bookshelf, lined with cloth-covered hardbacks and dog-eared paperbacks that included a full collection of second-hand Agatha Christie novels as well as the entire, special edition Bridgerton series by Julia Quinn, complete with gloriously floral sprayed edges. Grace allowed her fingers to trail along their pristine spines before turning back to the bed. Two fluffy white towels lay folded at its foot; she was half tempted to seize one and head straight to the bathroom at the end of the landing for a much-needed, restorative shower, but she was conscious her late arrival had kept Keeley waiting long enough and her own stomach was grumbling, reminding her it had been a long time since lunch. She would shower before bed, she decided, and slip into the blissfully soft cotton sheets weary but freshly scrubbed.

Leaving her bag at the foot of the bed, Grace settled for a splash of cold water on her overheated cheeks and smoothed her limp brown curls into a scrunchie before making her way back downstairs. She’d learned long ago not to try to compete with Keeley in the chicness stakes; even when tumbling out of bed five minutes before the start of a lecture, she had always been effortlessly cool. Back then, her hair had been platinum blonde and her lips scarlet, and Grace might have remained every bit as much in awe of her as the first time they met, if Keeley hadn’t also turned out to be lovely and funny and completely unaware of just how striking she was. They had bonded over a shared love of Jane Eyre and Persuasion, debating the merits of their preferred book boyfriends long into the night – Keeley had been Team Rochester, defiant in the face of Grace’s insistence that Captain Wentworth’s earnest dependability was infinitely sexier – and nursed each other’s broken hearts when real-life boyfriends spectacularly failed to measure up to their literary counterparts. Now, more than twenty years on, their friendship had outlasted their marriages and was stronger than ever, even if they were often too busy to do more than grab the occasional lunch.

‘So,’ Keeley said, handing her a brimming glass as she entered the kitchen. ‘How’s the flown chick? Have you heard from him?’

‘He’s okay, as far as I can tell,’ Grace replied. ‘He’s not the best at communicating but I did get a text to say he’d landed safely, and Kevin called to reassure me he’d met him at the airport.’

Keeley’s grey eyes were steady over the top of her wine glass, and Grace was uncomfortably aware her friend saw everything she was trying to hide. ‘Give him time. It’s a big adjustment, arriving in a new country. He’ll start missing you once the novelty wears off and then you’ll hear from him more.’

Grace sighed. ‘I know. It’s just hard. I don’t want him to miss me – I want him to have an amazing time and reconnect with his dad and get to know his new family. But…’

‘You want to still feel part of his life,’ Keeley finished gently, as Grace trailed off and tears prickled her eyelids. ‘That’s perfectly understandable. I’d be the same, in your shoes.’

Except that Keeley wouldn’t be caught dead in the scuffed and battered trainers Grace had worn to drive over, she thought a little wildly, and a small sniff of self-pity escaped her. She took a gulp of wine. ‘I need to get a grip. Find a job, something to take my mind off how quiet the house is.’

Turning away, Keeley reached for an oven glove. ‘Any idea what you want to do?’

‘Not a clue.’ Grace sighed again, watching as her friend withdrew a golden bubbling lasagne and lowered it onto a trivet. ‘I’m pathetic, aren’t I? A living, breathing midlife cliché.’

‘You’re neither of those things,’ Keeley replied sternly. ‘You’re at a crossroads, that’s all. Now, if you can grab the basket of garlic bread, we’re ready to eat. Shall we sit down?’

Grace did as she asked and carried it over to the small table in the corner. ‘Sorry,’ she said, sinking into a wooden chair. ‘I know every parent goes through something like this when their kids grow up.’

Immediately, Keeley’s hand was on hers. ‘Hey, don’t apologise. I understand. You’ve spent years putting Jack first, and pouring everything else into your work. Now both of those responsibilities have gone, it’s only natural you’re feeling a bit lost.’ She dug into the lasagne, releasing a cloud of rich, tomato-scented steam. ‘You could always volunteer at Juniper Cottage for a month or two, while you figure out what comes next.’

It wasn’t a bad suggestion, Grace thought, picturing the sunflower yellow walls and dark thatched roof of Eliza Norton’s home, nestled on one side of Freezy Tye’s village green. It wasn’t as though she needed to worry about money, not with the cushion of her redundancy payment tucked away in her bank account, and it would be no hardship to spend a few hours each week chatting to fellow book lovers. ‘Do you need another volunteer?’

‘Always,’ Keeley replied, without hesitation. ‘Things tend to quieten down in the run-up to Christmas but there’s still plenty to do. Although you’re ridiculously overqualified and far too level-headed to fit in with the rest of the team. You should have seen the way they reacted to the arrival of our new creative director this afternoon.’

‘Oh!’ Grace’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘With all the travel drama, I completely forgot you were meeting him today. How did it go?’

Her friend piled green salad onto her plate. ‘The meeting itself wasn’t anything to write home about. He came, he saw, he didn’t have anything useful to say and then he left. But Elspeth and Jenny pretty much lost their heads, giggling and whispering like they’d met some kind of rock star. You’d think they were teenagers, not fully grown women with partners and families.’

Grace frowned. ‘Is he good-looking then?’

‘He’s an Aussie,’ Keeley said, and shrugged. ‘All blond hair and twinkling blue eyes, a bit like that actor who was in all those superhero films a few years ago.’

‘Oh,’ Grace replied, widening her gaze. ‘In that case, I’m inclined to cut Elspeth and Jenny some slack.’

Keeley stabbed at a lettuce leaf. ‘I don’t care what he looks like. What bothers me is how much he’s going to interfere. He’s making me visit a museum on Tuesday morning, so I can see all the things I’m doing wrong at Juniper Cottage.’

Grace felt her mouth drop open. ‘He said that?’

‘Not exactly,’ Keeley admitted. ‘But that was the implication. He dressed it up by suggesting it was something I’d enjoy.’

Grace took a mouthful of lasagne, taking a moment to savour the richness of the béchamel sauce mingling with the bolognaise as she considered her friend’s words. It wasn’t like Keeley to react so defensively to change, especially when it was designed to help increase public awareness of Eliza’s writing. Whatever his intentions, it seemed the newcomer had only succeeded in ruffling feathers. ‘What’s the museum?’

‘Delores Semple’s house, in Spitalfields,’ Keeley said. ‘It’s quite a small place, I think. Have you heard of it?’

Grace nodded enthusiastically. ‘I have. And I think Mr Rock Star is right – you’re going to love it. In fact, I’m surprised you’ve never been.’

Again, Keeley shrugged. ‘He made me promise not to look it up, which made sense at the time but seems ridiculous now.’

‘No, I think I understand where he’s coming from,’ Grace replied, chewing thoughtfully. ‘It’s the kind of place you need to experience to really appreciate it. Reading up on what to expect might take away from that.’ She paused to throw her friend an apologetic look. ‘He sounds like he knows his stuff.’

‘We’ll see,’ Keeley answered tersely, then appeared to make a conscious effort to soften her features. ‘But enough about Xander Jones, he’s a problem for next week. What would you like to do tomorrow? I need to work the till in the gift shop all morning but the afternoon is clear.’