The Little Bakery of Hopes and Dreams

‘Please. Or there’s wine if you’d like?’ Josie took a seat at the kitchen table and straightened her tired legs into a deep stretch.

‘From Brendon?’ Margo’s cheeks pinked up as she pulled two mugs down from the cupboard to the right of the sink, then placed tea bags that were kept in a duck-egg-blue tin jar next to the kettle along with identical jars labelled ‘coffee’ and ‘sugar’. ‘He’s a good man. It’s a nice tradition.’

Good man? Josie suspected Margo thought Brendon was a little more than good, if the heightened colour in her cheeks and the way her gaze was focused on the mugs and refusing to meet Josie’s, was anything to go by.

‘He is nice. Asked me to bring you along to the pub next time I go.’

‘Did he now? I suppose it’s been a while since I popped in.’ Margo’s gaze didn’t waver as she poured steaming water into the mugs. ‘And save the wine for a special occasion. Like inviting Callan over as a thank-you for lighting the fire.’

Josie bit back a grin. She knew a diversion tactic when she saw one.

‘Good idea, Margo. I’ll keep it in mind. Maybe I should invite you and Brendon around at the same time?’

‘Oh, I’m sure he’s too busy.’ Margo placed the mug in front of her. ‘Sugar?’

‘No, thank you.’ Josie decided to drop the subject. It wasn’t her place to get involved. She pushed out the chair opposite and Margo sank into it with a contented sigh.

‘I do love this place. I’d forgotten how warm and cosy it gets on a wintry night. My husband and I spent hours snuggled up on that sofa talking about our hopes and dreams. It got a bit cramped once the kids joined us, but I wouldn’t trade in those moments for all the cricks in the neck in the world.’ She wrapped her fingers around the mug and lifted it to her lips.

Fingers that still wore her wedding rings, Josie noted.

‘You still miss him?’

‘I do. Every day. I don’t know that I ever won’t. He was a great, towering, bear of a man with the sweetest, softest heart. Even after the cancer that saw him leave us took hold, his spark never left him, his humour, his smile. It was all there to the end.’

Margo’s eyes had misted over. Putting aside her promise to keep her distance from others, Josie slid off her chair, made her way round to Margo and wrapped her in a hug. Their hearts pressed together in a moment of solidarity.

Two people who had experienced loss, who knew no words could change the past or the way it had transformed them.

Margo released her with a shuddering laugh. ‘Look at me welling up after all these years. You must think me a silly old duck.’

Josie slipped back into her chair. ‘Not silly. Not old either. Most certainly not a duck. It’s not easy being left behind.’ She sank her teeth into her cheek and silently reprimanded herself for saying too much. ‘At least I imagine it’s not easy being left behind.’ She managed a half-smile and hoped Margo wouldn’t ask questions. Wouldn’t push.

She glanced up from her tea to see a speculative look in Margo’s eyes. Not suspicious. Not enquiring. Almost worried. Definitely kind.

‘It wasn’t easy at the start.’ Margo pushed the chair back, stood, then picked up her mug and walked to the bench. ‘The furthest thing from easy, to be honest. Me and the kids, alone, without the humour John brought. The easygoingness that was so needed on the days when the kids were driving me up the wall with their teenage monosyllabic grunts and almost daily dramas.’ She tipped the remaining tea down the sink, then turned around and leaned against the bench, her arms folded over her chest. ‘But we muddled along. Found a new rhythm. Developed more patience, more understanding for and of each other. The sadness never left. But it abated. Now it feels more like a sense of peace in here.’ She tapped her heart. ‘I was lucky to be part of his life while I was. I think he felt he same way about me.’

And yet Margo wouldn’t allow herself to entertain her affection for another. Did peace not bring closure? Was Margo happy alone? Or was she not willing to risk that kind of pain a second time round with someone else? If it were the latter, Josie understood all too well.

Relationships, connections, were dangerous things. Why stand in the storm and risk being struck by lightning, when you could take cover and be out of harm’s way?

‘I’m sure John felt the same about you, Margo. Anyone would. I’ve known you all of five minutes and I already know I like you.’

So much for not getting close to anyone – but even Josie couldn’t deny that Margo made her feel cared for. Something she’d not felt in a long time, and it was hard to resist.

Hard? More like impossible.

‘Thank you, my dear.’ Margo blew her a kiss then walked into the lounge and looked around. ‘You know what this place needs?’

Josie came to stand beside her and tried to see what Margo was seeing. ‘No idea. It’s perfect as far as I’m concerned.’

‘It needs a Christmas tree. One with all the trimmings. Decorations. Lights. Presents underneath.’

Josie was glad Margo was standing beside her so she couldn’t see her cringe.

‘What? You hate the idea?’

A wave of embarrassment dashed over Josie’s face. Hot, tight and uncomfortable. ‘You could tell?’

‘I’ve two kids, remember? I don’t need to hear your feelings, I can sense them.’ Margo smiled kindly. ‘So what’s so wrong with a Christmas tree?’

Josie shrugged in an attempt to look casual. ‘I’m just not a Christmas person. I prefer every other day of the year, if I’m honest.’

Margo’s speculative look was back. ‘Fair enough. Although, I hate to tell you this, but you’ve moved to the Cotswolds’ most Christmassy village. Possibly England’s most Christmassy village.’

‘Fairy lights? Decorations? I’ve seen similar.’ Josie moved to the fireplace and threw another log on, not wanting the fire Callan had so carefully set and tended to burn out. ‘Nothing I can’t handle.’

She turned to face Margo as tinkling laughter filled the room, as bright as the fire was hot. ‘Oh, sweets, this is just the beginning. There’s an event on every week leading up to the big day. We do Christmas a little differently from other places, you’ll see.’

Margo didn’t elaborate as she laughed her way to the front door.

‘Sleep well, Josie. And welcome. I think Sunnycombe is going to enjoy having you here.’

With a wave Margo was gone, the room gloomier without her presence. Like it missed her.

Josie shook her head. She was being silly. A house could no more miss a person than a mother could miss the daughter she abandoned.

She went to her suitcase, unzipped it, and pulled out the one part of her childhood she couldn’t bear to part with, despite knowing better.

A flaxen-haired angel doll. Its arms stretched out in a welcoming manner, and once-glittery wings spread wide. The last Christmas gift she’d ever received from her mother.

She’d tossed the card it came with in a flash of anger years ago, but she’d never forgotten the words that accompanied the gift: To watch over you.

And so the angel had, while snuggled in her arms through tears, through rages, through emotional paralysis. The last remnant of a happy, contented childhood.

Josie stroked the angel’s now matted hair, sat it on the table next to the front door then made her way to the sofa. She slipped down its arm and let the buttery tan leather envelop her as she pulled down the pink faux-fur throw folded over the sofa’s back and tucked it over her legs.

So Sunnycombe was Christmas crazy?

She closed her eyes and shook her head. Only she could find herself living in a place that stood for everything she disliked, everything she didn’t want to think about, didn’t want to remember.

It was like the universe was plotting, forcing her to face that which she ran from.

If that were the case, the universe was about to be disappointed. She was only staying in Sunnycombe for as long as she had to. In her experience she had six months, tops. Nothing – and no one – could change that.

No matter how hard they tried.

Chapter 5 (#ulink_60ccc1d9-c6b1-5974-afc4-d99871800e4e)