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

There was a ring on the doorbell. Pippa frowned. She wasn’t expecting anyone – the kids were at school, Richard was working in Birmingham at the marketing firm where he was financial director, and Dan was in the fields. She put her papers away and got up to answer the door. A smartly dressed young man in a pinstripe suit was standing on the doorstep – Jehovah’s Witness she thought immediately. He flashed a white toothed grin at her, held up a business card and said, ‘Laurence Fairburne, LK Holdings Ltd. We’re acquiring property in the area and wondered if you’d be interested in selling up?’

Chapter Three (#ulink_3f9c6df2-ea68-5cc4-ae74-74dbe1a6d259)

‘I hope you sent him away with a flea in his ear,’ said Dan, when he came to pick the children up at the weekend. He stood, framed in the doorway, so tall, strong and dependable. It was still hard to believe that things had changed so catastrophically.

It had taken a while for Pippa to pluck up the courage to tell him about her unwanted visitor. The truth was that, even with all of the ongoing counselling, Dan could still be somewhat unpredictable since his accident, and she never knew what was going to spark off a rage in him, which some idiot from a posh company wanting to buy them out was likely to. Dan’s black moods were the main – the only – reason they’d split up; Pippa had been prepared to live with them but Dan hadn’t.

‘It’s the look in your eyes, that does it,’ he’d said to her once, after the heartbreaking occasion when he’d frightened the boys so much, they’d run away from him. Pippa had tried not to show her horror at his behaviour, but it was nigh on impossible. So she’d tried to preserve passive neutrality ever since. But it wasn’t easy.

‘Of course I did, but I thought you should know,’ Pippa said, returning to the matter in hand. ‘It’s not just that either. Remember those people we saw at Blackstock Farm before Christmas? I’m wondering if they’ve got anything to do with this.’

Dan whistled.

‘You think LK Holdings is looking at buying up all the land round here?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Pippa, ‘but I wouldn’t be surprised. I don’t think that guy is going to take no for an answer.’

Her gut instinct at Christmas hadn’t reassured her, and it wasn’t reassuring her now. She had the uneasy feeling they were under siege, and she wasn’t sure she had the strength to withstand the onslaught alone.

‘They can’t do anything unless we sell,’ Dan pointed out, ‘which we’re not obliged to do.’

‘I don’t think it’s quite as straightforward as that,’ said Pippa. ‘We may not have a choice.’

‘Oh?’ Dan looked at her quizzically.

Pippa paused, her heart was racing and she felt slightly sick. It was now or never; time to face up to the inevitable. ‘The thing is, if we’re going to go through with the divorce, it’s time we started to talk about the future of the farm.’

‘I’ll buy you out,’ said Dan. ‘You keep the farmhouse, and I’ll buy the business.’

‘I’m not sure you can,’ said Pippa, the anxious gnawing feeling in her stomach returning. ‘I’ve been looking through the accounts, and to put it bluntly, the business is a mess. We hardly made any money last year, and …’

Her voice trailed off. She so longed for him to turn that dazzling smile of his on her, and say, ‘No worries, Mrs Micawber, something will turn up,’ as he would have done in the past. But that wasn’t going to happen now, or ever again. That was in the past, and the past was gone, however much she wished it hadn’t. This was their reality now.

‘And maybe selling up would be a good idea?’ Dan looked at her incredulously. ‘Pippa, I can’t believe you of all people would say that. This farm is a family farm, our family farm. What about the boys?’

What about the boys? she felt like saying, maybe they don’t need this millstone around their necks? But she kept quiet. Dan was right. This farm was where she’d grown up; it was her heritage and she loved it with every fibre of her being. Pippa had always regarded herself and Dan as stewards, tending the land to pass it onto the next generation. She’d never imagined doing anything else, and she knew how much the children loved it too. Particularly Nathan who was already talking about studying agriculture. How had it come to this? She shouldn’t even be contemplating taking his or George’s future away as a possibility.

‘What does Richard think?’ Dan said, taking her by surprise.

‘I haven’t talked to him about it,’ said Pippa. The thought hadn’t even occurred to her. ‘Not till I’d discussed it with you. It’s none of his business.’

‘Isn’t it?’ Dan’s voice sounded bitter, which was confusing. He’d seemed all for Richard and Pippa as a couple at Christmas. Pippa’s heart leapt a little as she allowed herself to entertain a ridiculous smidgeon of hope. Maybe Dan would finally break through his barriers and tell her he’d made a mistake. She looked at him expectantly, but suddenly he changed tack. ‘Look, Pippa, I don’t want to sell, and you don’t want to sell, do you?’

‘No, of course not.’

‘Then, we won’t,’ said Dan. ‘Come on, we can work things out. Chin up. Anything is possible, if you put your mind to it.’

And there, for a moment, was the old Dan, her Dan. It was all Pippa could do not to weep.

They say you should never put your daughter on the stage … but the same could apply to getting your baby in front of a camera. As a way to earn money for childcare, it seemed like a no brainer to take my daughter to the Tot’s Modelling Agency and see if she could start paying her way. After all, every baby is photogenic, and cute and adorable, aren’t they? …

Wrong!

For starters do you know how hard it is to get a baby to smile when she doesn’t want to? Despite the best efforts of the photographer who was waving cuddly toys and pulling faces like they were going out of fashion, my bouncing baby just wouldn’t perform … even with me crouched behind her stuffing treats in her mouth in between takes. Turns out not every baby is loved by the camera after all …

Cat smiled as she read Mel’s latest piece for a mother and baby mag. Mel had captured perfectly the absurdity of trying to take photos of a small baby. She was proud of her daughter for managing to get a regular gig to earn her some money, while she carried on with her studies. They were going to need all the help they could get now she’d lost the TV show, particularly when Mel went to university next year. Cat and Noel both wanted to support their daughter, but Cat wanted her to take responsibility for Lou Lou too. It was a delicate balancing act.

‘That’s brilliant, Mel,’ she said. ‘You’re a natural. And it was a great idea to get Lou Lou some modelling work.’

Despite her wry take on it, the modelling day had actually gone well, and Lou Lou had already had several further sessions, which meant Mel could save something for her future.

Mel blushed. ‘It does help having a famous journalist mum,’ she said.

‘Not that famous,’ sighed Cat, ‘I feel like I’m being put out on the scrap heap.’

Cat had pitched a few more cooking ideas to Anna, including a cookbook for young urbanites, but had been met with a stone wall so far. Anna had been far more candid than Cat would have liked, ‘At the moment your face doesn’t fit, darling,’ she’d said, ‘but I’m sure we’ll find something for you before too long.’

She hadn’t sounded very sure, and Cat was beginning to think she needed a radical rethink of her entire career.

‘Don’t be daft, Mum,’ said Mel, giving her a hug. ‘I think you’re an inspiration.’

Cat blinked back unexpected tears. It never ceased to amaze her how surprising her children could be sometimes. While she missed them being little, she loved the fact that they were growing into their own people.

‘You have to say that, you’re my daughter,’ she laughed. ‘Anyway, I’m proud of you too. This is great. You never know, you may even get another book out of it.’

‘That would be great,’ said Mel. ‘There’s so much good material here. I haven’t even got started on the Pushy Mums yet.’

Cat had witnessed the Pushy Mums herself, when she’d taken Lou Lou to a photoshoot for Mel. They were usually done up to the nines, plastered in fake tan and tottering in high heels, determined that their little darlings were going to succeed in the modelling world, where clearly many of them had not.

‘Brilliant,’ said Cat. ‘So long as it doesn’t interfere with your exams, though. Earning money is important, but your studies come first.’

Mel pulled a face. ‘I know.’

Cat sighed. ‘I wish I could do more to help. The timing of this bloody TV thing couldn’t be worse. If that was still going ahead, we’d have a bit more leeway, and could take some pressure off you.’

‘Oh Mum,’ said Mel, looking a bit teary herself, ‘you do so much for me already. If you didn’t help out as much, I couldn’t even think about going to university. And when you look after Lou Lou it stops you from working.’

‘Well just because life’s thrown you an unexpected curveball, Dad and I don’t want you to not have the best future possible. Besides, you know I love looking after Lou Lou.’ It was true – Cat did. It reminded her of having her own babies again, and she hadn’t realised how much she missed them being small. ‘The important thing is that your education doesn’t suffer. I’m happy to sacrifice anything for that.’

‘I don’t believe it!’ Gabe came haring in in a blistering mood, while Marianne was standing by the cooker dishing out the twins’ tea.

The twins, both sitting eagerly at the cosy kitchen table waiting for their food, were startled by their dad’s unexpectedly belligerent tone, burst into tears and stopped Gabriel in his tracks.

‘Oh damn,’ he said, looking stricken. ‘Don’t fret, Harry, Daddy was just being grumpy.’

He picked his son up and started to tickle him, while Marianne did the same to Daisy, and they were soon giggling away as if nothing had happened. Would that grown-ups could cheer up so quickly, Marianne thought. By the time they’d finished tea, the twins had long forgotten Gabriel’s bad mood, and they were happily dispatched to the lounge to watch In the Night Garden before bed. Time to turn her attention to her husband.

Marianne put the kettle on and said, ‘So go on, what’s the problem?’