Christmas at the Log Fire Cabin: A heart-warming and feel-good read

‘Mr Hastings, I would just like to thank you for believing in me. And I’d like you to know that I’d be absolutely delighted and very honoured to—’

A familiar figure walks into the room, stopping me in my tracks.

What’s she doing here? It’s the fish-eye-hating customer from earlier. Don’t say she’s actually bringing her complaints to Mr Hastings?

She glances at me in surprise. ‘So sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt. I’m Mimi Blenkinsop, the new restaurant manager.’

I glance wide-eyed at Mr Hastings, who’s standing there, frozen to the spot, looking extremely uncomfortable. He nods at me in a resigned way. ‘Mimi, this is Poppy, our senior waitress.’

Mimi Blenkinsop says brightly, ‘Ah, yes. You were saying something, Poppy, just as I came in and interrupted you?’

I shake my head, feigning bemusement. ‘Was I? I really don’t remember.’

‘Don’t you?’ She cocks her head to the side and quotes me word for word: ‘I’d be absolutely delighted and very honoured to – ?’

My face is the colour of a humiliated tomato. She’s not going to let up until I say something.

‘Ah, yes, of course. I remember now,’ I say, stalling for time. ‘I’d be absolutely delighted and very honoured to – ’ The aroma of cake drifts up from my lap and tickles my nose. ‘I’d be very honoured to – um – offer you both a muffin to celebrate!’

I open the plastic container and plonk two cakes on the desk, leaving a trail of crumbs over a pile of papers in my clumsiness. Hurriedly attempting to brush them off, I manage to dislodge the top sheet, which drifts to the floor. Bending down to retrieve it, my own name leaps out at me. The sheet contains a list of possible candidates, and loopy handwriting alongside my name says: Obliging girl but far too timid. We need someone with spunk!

I try to get the lid back on the cake box, but my fingers are trembling so much, it takes ages, and all the time, I can feel Mimi Blenkinsop’s eyes boring holes in me. Much like the mackerel eyes terrorised her. At last, the lid on, I force a desperate smile and flee from the room, clutching the rest of the muffins to my chest.

*

An hour after my humiliation in Mr Hastings’ office, I’m slumped in the corner of the window seat in the living room at home, staring bleakly out at the darkening sky. To say I feel sunk in gloom would be an understatement.

Obliging girl but far too timid.

The words keep running through my head, taunting me. So much for being nice, obliging and conscientious because, clearly, it doesn’t get you anywhere! My insides clench with despair. Martin was right. I’m never going to shine.

I’ve given the hotel fourteen years of loyal service, yet Mrs Nutter still decided to hire that horrible woman instead of me. The worst thing of all is, she’ll be my boss! I have a horrible feeling that Mimi Blenkinsop is going to go out of her way to make my life hell.

I should never have believed the people at work when they said my promotion was in the bag. What hurts most of all is that Mrs Nutter didn’t think I was up to the job. After all those years of working the entire festive season without a single complaint, I’m passed over for Mimi Bloody Blenkinsop!

After I left Mr Hastings’ office, Mimi caught up with me as I was hurrying through the reception area. ‘Poppy! I look forward to having you on my team!’ I was pretty sure she emphasised ‘my team’. She smirked and said something about testing out the staff in restaurants she visits, to see how helpful they are. ‘You did very well, up until the sarcasm about the blindfold.’

‘Gee, thanks.’ By then, I was so pissed off, I really didn’t care that I was being rude to my future boss. I just wanted to go home.

Now, slouched down in the window seat, I eat two of my sad, white-chocolate-and-raspberry muffins without really tasting them, the self-pitying thoughts coming thick and fast. I’m totally useless. What an idiot, imagining I was actually going to be promoted! And I can’t really blame the Nutters for not giving me the job because it’s probably obvious to anyone with half a brain that I just don’t have the leadership qualities required. I’m much too timid. Not like Mimi Blenkinsop, who’ll barge her way through any opposition to get to where she wants to be in life.

I don’t like Mimi. But I could probably learn a hell of a lot from her.

I could get some spunk, for a start!

This makes me smile wearily. I get up slowly and walk through to the kitchen. There’s nothing wrong with being just an ordinary waitress. Who needs promotion anyway? Harrison won’t be in the slightest bit bothered that I didn’t get the manager job – except perhaps to feel a bit indignant on my behalf.

The thought of Harrison warms my heart. He loves me unconditionally and I feel so safe and secure with him. I decide to get my recipe books out and cook something delicious for when he comes in later. Thankfully, it’s my night off, so I don’t have to go back to the restaurant tonight and cope with everyone’s sympathy. I couldn’t bear that. Not right now.

As always, thumbing through my books and planning a menu chills me out and the memory of Mimi Blenkinsop’s smirk begins to fade.

When the doorbell rings, I walk through to the hallway, still drooling over a full-colour photo of tagliatelle with pesto and courgettes.

When I open the door, Erin is standing there with a big grin, holding up a bottle of prosecco. ‘Surprise!’

‘Oh. What’s this for?’

‘Your promotion?’ From her expression – a half-frown – I can tell she’s already realising she’s got a bit ahead of herself. ‘Yes? No?’

I shake my head. ‘No. But who cares?’ I force a smile. ‘I’m cooking tagliatelle tonight!’

‘Yum. Can I come in?’

I grin at her. ‘Yes, as long as you bring that.’ I point to the bottle.

It’s open in a trice and we make short work of it, with Erin lounging at the table while I cook the pasta dish, make garlic bread, and bring her up to date on my horrendous day. Later, after we’ve eaten and I’ve kept some to heat up for Harrison later, I fetch another bottle from the fridge, sloshing more prosecco into our glasses as Erin spins the open Italian cookbook round to face her.

‘You know what? That witch, Mimi, has done you a big favour.’

‘Has she? How on earth do you make that out? She stolemyjob!’ I’m sounding loud, even to myself, and stabbing the air with my finger, having drunk far more than I’m used to. But I’m feeling a hundred times better!

‘Yes, but I bet she can’t cook like you can. I bet she can’t make the most amazing Italian food like we’ve just eaten. I bet she’d be sick as a chip if you did a dinner party for Mrs Morelli and it was so great everyone in the surrounding area wanted to hire you!’

‘Ha! Sick as a chip! You’re right! I’ll show her. Mimi Bloody Fish Eye Blenkinsop!’

‘You will?’

‘Why not?’ I fling my arms into a dramatic shrug and knock the prosecco bottle over, which makes me giggle uncontrollably. I’m all fired up. Ready to prove Martin and Mimi wrong. I have talent! I can cook amazing food! And I should stop being timid about it!

Chapter 6 (#ulink_f81e47d8-b1cb-515c-85c1-fec08eb0a6eb)

‘Shall I tell her you’ll do it?’ asks Erin, when she eventually stumbles out into the cold night air around eight.

‘Sure.’ I beam at her. ‘I’m going to be a cook!’

‘You are, love. I’m going to phone Mrs Morelli now.’

My eyes open wide in alarm. ‘Now?’

‘Let’s strike while the iron’s hot,’ says Erin firmly. ‘You’re on the brink of a new adventure. And it’s long overdue, if you don’t mind me saying.’

The words ‘long overdue’ trigger a vague memory in my hazy, alcohol-soaked brain. I stab the air. ‘Need to phone that man. Tell him he got the wrong number.’

‘What man?’

‘Jedward.’ I giggle.

‘Who?’