Coming Home For Christmas: Warm, humorous and completely irresistible!

Jenny showed her client round the farmhouse briefly but could tell he wasn’t really interested. Maybe she’d got it wrong; maybe he wasn’t going to bite. She didn’t usually get it wrong.

But then, he said those magic words: ‘I think my boss will be very interested to hear about this property and land. I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.’

Result. That Christmas bonus was looking much more likely. Jenny thanked him and agreed to call him early the following week. As she walked through the icy winter rain to the car, Jenny was delighted to hear him on the phone, presumably to his boss, saying, ‘Felix? Luke Nicholas here, I think we’ve found our location.’

Christmas Day (#ulink_b71cabc4-a92f-5f32-b1c5-9fa138579d66)

‘Are we ever going to have lunch?’ Cat’s thirteen-year-old daughter, Paige, prised herself away from her brand new iPhone for five minutes and came wandering into the kitchen looking hungry, as if she hadn’t been fed in months.

‘Sorry, darling,’ said Cat, Santa hat slipping, boiling hot and uncharacteristically fraught in her gleaming stainless steel kitchen; normally her favourite place in the house. But today, as she fiddled with the knobs on the cooker, she felt like hitting something. Preferably the cooker. Brand new, when they’d moved in just over seven years ago, it hadn’t stood the test of time. ‘It’s this sodding oven. It’s playing up again.’

It was the one spanner in the works, in what had been so far a perfect Christmas morning. Having teenagers in the house meant that no one got up too early, apart from her beautiful one-year-old granddaughter Lou Lou. Luckily her eldest daughter, Mel, had done the decent thing and got up with the baby. Later, they’d sat around opening presents, enjoying watching Lou Lou surrounded by boxes, revelling in ripping wrapping paper to shreds and clapping her hands in delight. Having prepared the vegetables the day before, Cat had been quite relaxed about the turkey, until she’d realised the oven wasn’t working.

‘I knew we should have got a new one before Christmas,’ said Noel, laughing at her, as he came in the kitchen bringing her the glass of Prosecco he’d promised several hours earlier.

‘Shut up, know it all,’ said Cat, throwing a tea towel at him with an affectionate grin, ‘you said nothing of the sort. Anyway, Paige, despite the cooker having a tantrum, it is nearly ready. So can you tell your brother and sisters, and ask Mel to make sure Lou Lou is settled.’

Paige, whose hair seemed to have changed colour overnight for the second time in as many weeks, vanished like greased lightning now that food was in the offing, and she could be heard shouting, ‘Everyone, it’s nearly time to eat, at last!’ It wasn’t as if they hadn’t been eating chocolate all morning.

‘Right, ready to carve?’ she asked Noel, putting her oven gloves on and opening the oven door. The turkey dish was very heavy, and also extremely hot. Oven gloves were also on her must buy list, she realised ruefully; these were wearing through.

‘Can I do anything to help?’ Angela, her mother-in-law wandered in at that moment, with impeccable timing, always making sure she did something to put Cat’s teeth slightly on edge. She meant well, but it was hard sometimes not to feel like she was criticising Cat’s every move.

‘No, we’re fine, thanks, Angela,’ said Cat, just as she lifted the turkey dish out, and then dropped it slightly, realising there was a hole in her glove and she’d burnt her finger. ‘Oh sod!’ she added as the dish slipped out of her hands and fell on the open oven door and turkey fat accidentally spilt on the floor. Gingerly she picked up the turkey dish, and put it on top of the oven, shut the oven door, and went to fetch a cloth, only to find Angela delightedly rushing forward, at last finding an opportunity to be helpful.

‘Careful!’ shouted Cat, too late as her mother-in-law slipped on the turkey fat and slid gracefully across the grey flagstone floor, landing with a rather undignified thump on her backside. Cat stood transfixed in horror, not sure quite what to do, till Noel broke her stupor as he raced to his mum’s side.

‘Mum, are you ok?’ he asked.

‘I’m fine, don’t fuss so,’ said Angela, but she was clearly shaken and was breathing very hard and in a rather laboured way.

‘Slowly does it,’ said Cat, helping her mother-in-law sit up, and fetching her a glass of water. ‘Get your breath back, before you try and stand up.’

She shot Noel an anxious glance and he grimaced back at her. Angela was generally fit and healthy, but she’d gone down with a hell of a thump.

They waited about ten minutes, till Angela was breathing more comfortably, but try as they might, they couldn’t get her up.

‘It’s my hip,’ she kept saying, ‘it’s rather painful.’

She was looking very pale and shaking slightly. What if she’d broken it? Cat felt her anxiety levels rising,

‘Do you think we should ring an ambulance?’ Cat asked, looking at Noel worriedly.

‘You can’t, not on Christmas Day,’ said Angela, in a very determined manner. ‘I’ll be fine.’

‘Well you can’t stay down there,’ Cat pointed out.

In the event, after another ten minutes, Noel and Cat were able to help Angela up onto one of the kitchen chairs. By now the children had all come in, agog to know what was happening.

‘Granny’s had a bit of a fall, I think it’s probably best if we take her to hospital just to get things checked. It might take hours for an ambulance to come out today. Angela, do you think you could manage to get to the car? We’ll take you to casualty.’

‘I don’t want to ruin things,’ said Angela, but she looked faint and not very well, and was clearly very far from being fine. ‘What about Christmas lunch?’

Lucky she hadn’t had that glass of Prosecco yet, Cat thought with a pang, but Christmas lunch was going to have to go on hold. ‘It can wait. Sorry, guys, you’ll have to have sandwiches for now,’ said Cat. ‘Mel, can you take charge till we’re back?’

‘Sure,’ said Mel, who was bouncing Lou Lou up and down in her arms.

Paige pulled a face. ‘Does she have to be in charge?’ she said, ‘Mel’s so bossy,’ but Cat silenced her with a look.

Then together with Noel and their son James, they walked slowly out of the kitchen, down the oak beamed hallway, and out of the house, awkwardly manoeuvring Angela along the snowy path and into the family car.

It was a twenty minute drive to the hospital, but fortunately, it being Christmas Day, they were seen very quickly, and the cheery doctor pronounced Angela to be suffering from bruises and shock. In light of her age, and there actually being room on the wards, he wanted to keep her in for observation overnight, so within a couple of hours, as Angela insisted they get back to continue Christmas with the children, Cat and Noel found themselves on their way home.

‘That didn’t go quite as expected did it?’ said Noel with a wry grin. He looked pale and shaken, as well he might. Noel hadn’t always got on with his mother, but Cat knew how deeply he loved her.

‘You can say that again,’ Cat agreed. ‘Honestly, why does it always happen to us? It was the perfect Christmas till then.’

‘You don’t think—?’ Noel started, looking sombre as he pulled into the drive.

‘What?’ Cat asked, but she had a feeling she knew what he was thinking.

‘That this – might be, you know, the start of something? I mean Mum is in her seventies now.’

Cat squeezed her husband’s arm. She knew how he felt. When her mum had started her long slow decline into Alzheimer’s, it had been little things that had gone awry at first. Cat knew at first hand how hard it was to see a much-loved parent going downhill. She hated the thought of Noel having to go through that too.

‘Don’t fret,’ she said, trying to remain positive. ‘You heard the doctor, Angela will be fine by tomorrow.’

‘And if she isn’t?’

‘We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,’ said Cat.

Pippa stood in her kitchen, sipping a glass of wine, staring into the garden, as the last embers of the setting sun leached away, setting the snow-filled hills alight with flaming reds and golds and casting a gold, warm light across her battered kitchen table and Welsh dresser. This was the bit of Christmas Day she’d always liked best when the children were younger: lunch eaten, presents unwrapped, everyone sprawling around the lounge either watching TV, or playing games, and most certainly gorging themselves on chocolates they really didn’t want. In the past she’d have relaxed with them all, letting Dan take over the clearing up, but not this year; this year everything was different. Everyone was being so polite and friendly, she’d wanted to scream. So as they all settled down to late afternoon boozing in front of the telly, Pippa had escaped out here, claiming tidying up duties, to avoid the feelings of suffocation which threatened to oppress her.

It had seemed like the best thing to do – the grown-up thing to do – a year on from her split with Dan to have a family Christmas as they’d done in the past. While she might have been able to cope with another Christmas without Dan, she couldn’t let the kids down, they’d been through too much already. They’d all begged her individually if Dad, Grandpa and Grandma could come like they used to.

‘It wasn’t the same last year,’ Nathan her oldest son had said a little mournfully.

‘I want things the way they were,’ added George, though at thirteen, he was old enough to know that couldn’t be the case.

Her lovely boys had coped so well and maturely with the events of the previous twelve months – Nathan in particular, who’d tried to become the man of the house, would have been enough to sway her. But as ever, it was her wheelchair bound twelve-year-old daughter Lucy, whose cerebral palsy gave her enough to deal with, who made the decision for her. Lucy had been stoical about her dad moving out, though she missed Dan keenly. So when one night she typed on the computer which allowed them to communicate, ‘Can Daddy be with us for Christmas, please,’ Pippa felt any resolve she may have had dissipate.

One of them, Pippa could have resisted, but all three? And so it had been agreed that Dan, his mother and father would come for Christmas Day.

And it probably would have been fine, if Richard’s plans for Christmas hadn’t gone catastrophically awry. Richard normally stayed with his mum and sister and visited his daughter, apparently, but his sister had suddenly announced she was going skiing with her new partner, which led his mum to declare that she was spending Christmas with an aunt whom Richard detested. This was all new to Pippa, last Christmas she’d only just met Richard, while organising a Christmas Ball to fundraise for Lucy’s respite care, and their relationship was still at a fairly tentative stage. She hadn’t factored in him coming for Christmas Day.

But what could she do? Without thinking about it, Pippa had said, ‘Well of course you must come here,’ ignoring the black looks from Lucy and the unasked what the—? questions from the boys. Richard was still new enough for her not to be sure about letting him into her home territory; still new enough for the children to be wary of him, especially Lucy. In an ideal world she would have never invited him, but in for a penny, in for a pound, she decided it would be make or break.

After all, in the last difficult year, when Pippa had finally had to accept that Dan was lost to her, Richard had been a bright ray of hope, giving her comfort that life could move on, and she could be happy once more. Never intrusive, but kind and supportive, Richard had been a rock of empathy to her during the most difficult period of her life. He made her laugh, and was thoughtful and sweet, as well as being very attractive. In the last few weeks, their relationship appeared to have gone onto a more permanent footing, and though Pippa was still not sure where they were headed, she’d decided she owed it to Richard to give things a go. Dan wasn’t coming back, that was clear, and Pippa decided for her sanity’s sake she couldn’t sit moping about forever. Second chances didn’t come every day. Maybe Christmas Day was the day to accept this one.