Page 63 of The Secret Holiday Kiss

Chapter Twenty

On the train to London there was a man wearing a full Santa Claus outfit, beard included, next to a woman dressed as an elf. Daisy had got the 8.30 train, and at just after ten o’clock the couple opened a bottle of prosecco, pouring the bubbles into little plastic cups. After a moment of feeling scandalized, she realized that it was December, and that they were probably having a lot more fun than she was.

As the landscape whizzed past outside the windows, the winter sun low in the sky, the greys and browns and muted greens making way for villages and small towns, then the outskirts of London, she checked in with Mo and Pete and made sure they were still planning to meet her at the flat. They told her they were, and that they thought she would be pleasantly surprised by the progress they’d made. Daisy replied with too many exclamation marks. She was relieved that, even if her flat was close to being habitable again, she couldn’t come back yet because of the ball.

When she emerged from the train at Liverpool Street station, Santa and his elf were singing ‘Fairytale of New York’, and Daisy wished she could follow them, spend the day being Christmassy instead of dealing with grown-up things.

After Mistingham, London felt hectic. People were everywhere, often directly in her path, everybody rushing rather than strolling, desperate to get wherever they needed to be. She made a point of being slow and purposeful, smiling at a toddler sitting on a woman’s lap on the tube, a cuddly Christmas pudding clutched in her pudgy hands.

Her stop was a ten-minute walk from her flat, and the Christmas lights were already up in her local high street: large LED stars attached to lampposts providing some much-needed cheer, the windows of the shops and flats lit up with dazzling displays and elaborate trees. Daisy had loved decorating the manor with Sophie and Harry, but it wasn’t the same as turning her own home into a Christmas grotto; having full control, spending months picking the perfect ornaments. None of it was the same, but she was surprised by how quickly she had got used to it.

When she reached her block and took the lift up to her floor, the doors slid open onto a building site. Tarp covered the carpets, the scrape of an electric drill sounded from somewhere nearby, the air filled with dust and a chemical smell.

‘Hello?’ Her flat door was open, and she peered cautiously inside. The walls were stripped, her furniture clustered into the centre of the rooms, draped in more tarpaulin.

Mo appeared, wearing a hard hat, overalls and a wide grin. ‘Daisy! Glad to have you back.’

‘Only briefly,’ she reminded him, her eyes dropping to his toolbelt. It wasn’t the lovely, sandy suede of Avery’s toolbelt, and he wasn’t wearing it low on his hips. Were Mo’s boots as nice as Avery’s boots? God, what was wrong with her?

He handed Daisy her hat and showed her what they’d done.

‘I can’t take you to the flat above,’ he said, ‘because they’re still repairing the floor. But all the internal work is finished, the plumbing is top notch, but your building manager is insisting on getting another two inspections – this whole thing has properly shaken him up – and, although he’s got insurance, obviously the expense and the time cost is massive. Three other residents have been moved to temporary accommodation, and you can imagine how happy they are being forced out of their homes in the run-up to Christmas.’

‘It’s not fun,’ Daisy said automatically.

‘Yeah. So anyway, he can’t afford a repeat performance. But your place is looking good, right?’

‘It’s amazing,’ she said, because she knew how hard he and Pete had been working. Her flat had freshly plastered walls, was at the blank canvas stage she usually loved. Except she had already made her mark on this place once – recently – and the thought of redoing it all, of getting it back to how it had been, was exhausting. ‘You’ve done a wonderful job,’ she said. ‘I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it. Usually I’m on site once a week, so—’

‘On your own projects,’ Mo pointed out. ‘The jobs you’re being paid for. It’s a bit different when it’s your home.’

‘True.’ She ran a hand down her bedroom wall, noticed her quilt peeking out from under a tarpaulin. Her mum had made it for her in patches reflecting the shades of the sea: greens and blues, silvers and purples. It was one of her favourite things. She extracted it gently, making sure she didn’t dislodge the sheeting.

‘You should be back in in a few weeks,’ Mo said from the doorway, his arms folded. ‘Right after Christmas, isn’t that what you said?’

Daisy hugged the quilt to her. ‘That’s right. I have to stay because I’ve been roped into organizing this Christmas ball.’

‘Wow. Sounds pretty nice.’

‘It’s at my brother’s house,’ she told him. ‘It’s … got a lot of space. And yes, it’s fun.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘A lot more fun than I expected.’

Mo laughed. ‘You in danger of moving up to the seaside?’ He was being flippant, because they’d worked on enough jobs together that he knew that was the last thing she wanted: to leave behind the hustle and bustle of London, the project opportunities, the ease with which she could nip over to the continent.

London was where she’d found herself, created a life that she loved. But people changed. You can’t always predict the consequences. She pushed Avery’s words out of her mind.

‘It’s been good to have a break,’ she settled on. ‘Do you want to take me through the project plan, and we can see where we’re up to and if I can help in any way?’

‘Sure,’ Mo said. ‘Coffee shop next to the block?’

‘I bet they’re loving all the extra custom.’

‘Not gonna lie, the baristas, Jane and Emma, always look happy when I show up with a big-ass order for drinks and sausage rolls. Daniel does too, come to think of it.’

Daisy laughed. ‘First-name terms with them all? Glad to see nothing’s changed on that front.’

Mo rubbed his hands. ‘You had one of their cinnamon buns?’

‘No, not from there.’ She had never bought cakes from that coffee shop, but Mistingham bakery? She was a regular customer there now, and she blamed it on Avery and the cakes he’d brought to the manor, even though it had been at her request. A lot of things about Mistingham had surprised her, not least the ways she’d changed since being there.