Christmas at the Dancing Duck. Daisy James
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loves the Dancing Duck. However, for Livie and Harry it’s more than just a place to have a few drinks or enjoy a summer fayre or the Big Christmas Baking Bash. It’s Olivia and Harry’s home and they hoped to make it Ethan’s home too.’
‘But Livie and Harry aren’t planning on leaving the village. They’re buying Bramble Cottage. Ethan will have a garden to play in and …’
‘Livie’s just trying to emulate her younger sister, trying to move on and forget the past, but unlike you, she doesn’t really want to. Her heart is breaking to see the pub being sold. Did she tell you about the guy who’s buying it?’
‘Yes. Miles Morgan …’
‘Did she tell you what he has planned for the pub and the Old Barn?’
‘Yes, but …’
‘And you’re still happy to go ahead with the sale?’
‘It’s not a question of being happy,’ snapped Kirstie, her temper rising. Josh always knew which buttons to press to fire up her emotions. ‘It’s a question of having no other choice – which I’m sure Livie and Harry will have already explained to you.’
Josh did not respond but spent the next ten minutes concentrating on the winding roads that led to the village of Cranbury. Kirstie allowed her thoughts to drift. Josh was right. Deep down, even though it had come as a huge shock when their accountant had told her they would have to sell their childhood home and break the final tie to the business their parents had left them, she did think it was the best solution to the problem. Running a village pub meant working long, unsociable hours and now that Ethan was around it was a mammoth task for Olivia, even with Josh employed as bar manager to help out when Harry was at work.
However, she also knew from Olivia that there had been fierce opposition from the villagers. Every single one of them, even old Mrs Didcot who had never so much as set foot in the pub, had rallied round since they had announced the sale to try to bolster their flagging finances with a well-attended summer fayre – and Kirstie had seen the photographs on Facebook of a fabulous Hallowe’en disco and Bonfire Night party. But it had all been to no avail.
The least painful option was to sell quickly and move on. But it was tough knowing the strength of local feeling, especially delivered through the dulcet tones of Josh Turner.
They had arrived in Cranbury. Its familiarity sent a spasm of nostalgia and homesickness through Kirstie’s veins. Topped with a sprinkle of snow, it really would look like a scene from a traditional Christmas card. St John’s parish church, where she and Olivia had been christened and where Olivia and Harry had been married, and where their parents’ funeral had attracted the largest congregation for a decade, loomed to her left. She looked quickly away to her right to feast her eyes on the impressive façade of the Dancing Duck on the opposite side of the village green. The sight whipped the breath from her lungs and sent tears burgeoning along her lashes.
The sun had disappeared over the horizon, but the whitewashed frontage of her childhood home was charming, illuminated by the amber glow of the street lamps, its golden letters declaring boldly to the thirsty visitor that they had arrived at the door of The Dancing Duck. Out of habit, she reached for her phone to take a photograph to upload to Instagram, but she thought better of it. After the Facebook comments, did she really want her followers to know where she was hiding out for the next two weeks?
She experienced a sharp nip of loss that she would have to curtail her inclination to share her every move with the world. Then again, she thought with a sinking feeling, would anyone be interested? Cranbury was as far from the glitz and glamour of London’s West End as a disgraced TV presenter could get.
She stared up at the wrought-iron sign swinging from a post, depicting the silhouette of a duck suspended in mid-air. She could remember with absolute clarity the day her father had returned from the sign writer’s. It was the first time she had been allowed to taste champagne at the age of fifteen. She and Olivia had pretended to be drunk and had spent the afternoon dancing to Robbie Williams in the Old Barn with all the other teenagers of the village who had accompanied their own parents to join in the unveiling celebrations, Josh and Harry among them.
‘Well, the least you can do now you’re here is to throw yourself into the Christmas celebrations Livie has been planning for the last three months. It’s just a shame that I know for a fact you wouldn’t have been here if you hadn’t revealed to the whole world your pathological hatred of Christmas.’
Kirstie cringed as Josh strode though the arch of the oak front door. So much for hoping the villagers would have better things to do than be glued to their TV sets at eleven o’clock on a weekday morning when Kirstie’s Kitchen was broadcast. And for all those who weren’t, she was certain that Josh would have relished the opportunity to fill them in on the details of her humiliation.
‘Kirstie! Ah, I’m so pleased to see you!’ squeaked Emma, rushing out from behind the polished mahogany bar, wiping her hands on a tea towel.
Despite not having seen her since she’d been down to Cranbury to visit her sister after Ethan was born, Kirstie felt like she had only just left her best friend and fellow teenage conspirator the previous week.
‘Emma, you look amazing! I love what you’ve done to your hair, and is that one of your new necklace designs? I love it!’
Kirstie feasted her eyes on her friend, taking in the wavy, shoulder-length blonde hair, which now sported a pale pink streak through the fringe. She had always envied Emma’s courage in experimenting with her appearance, although she didn’t know what Brad would say if she turned up for filming one morning with pink highlights, never mind Lionel who thought pierced ears were deplorable.
A spasm of resentment shot through her chest as she thought of Flora, the person Lionel had replaced her with as a special guest presenter for the Christmas kitchen episodes.
Flora Swift was a fabulous chef and Kirstie knew she would do a great job, but that was also what she was worried about. What if Lionel decided to make her short, temporary stint, more permanent? She determined to spend the whole two weeks of her enforced exile researching the best new year recipes for a healthy and fat-free lifestyle. She already had a few ideas swirling around her head and just needed to spend some quiet time jotting them down and expanding them.
‘Well …’ Emma was holding out her delicate silver and jet necklace for Kirstie to inspect more closely, mischief playing around her eyes ‘… if you like it, and you’re on Santa’s “Nice” list, you might just find one in your Christmas stocking this year.’
‘It’s gorgeous, but then everything you design is gorgeous. You’re so talented, Em. How’s Bijoux Baubles going?’
‘Just secured an order to stock the hotel gift shop up at Craiglea Hall and I’ve been commissioned to design a couple of wedding tiaras and matching necklace, bracelet, and earring sets. But enough about me. What on earth possessed you to …’
When Emma noticed the expression on Kirstie’s face she clamped her mouth shut, pursing her lips theatrically. Both girls cast a look over to where Josh was busy pulling pints, completely at home behind the bar. A group of regulars laughed at something he said, then they all turned in unison to send quizzical looks in Kirstie’s direction. She groaned inwardly as a blast of heat rose into her cheeks. She suddenly felt exposed, as though she was standing in the bar of her childhood home stark naked.
‘Sorry, Em. I just need to …’
She grabbed her bag, which Josh had abandoned in the middle of the room, and dashed up the stairs to the flat where Olivia, Harry, and Ethan lived, Emma following in her wake. When she had ditched her luggage in the spare room, she returned to the tiny kitchen, which her sister had redecorated in pastel pinks, mints, and baby blues and grabbed the coffee Emma had made for her.
‘I’m sorry, Kirstie. I know how hard this must be for you. I know