The Silver Bells Christmas Pantomime: The perfect feel-good Christmas romance!

I blushed as I realised I hadn’t been the most forthcoming of people to work with. I had my reasons, of course, but Frank wasn’t to know that.

‘I’m sorry,’ I said, ‘I tend to keep myself to myself these days. The last few years have been… Well they haven’t been easy. I’m not really sure what’s next for me. What about you?’

‘Back to doing what I was doing before, probably. Sitting in my flat with my best friends Jack and Daniels, passing the time away. What a life eh? Can’t you go back to what you were doing before?’

Lying in bed crying because I lost the man I love and life is shit without him? Yup, sounds good to me.

‘Not really,’ I admitted, ‘I don’t really want to go back to that.’

He put a hand on my shoulder and smiled. ‘You’ll find your way; people like you always do. It’s people like me who tend to slip through the cracks…’ He trailed off, as though he was lost in his own thoughts. ‘My own fault though. Anyway, you don’t want to be wasting your time talking to an old drunk like me. Go on, off you go.’

He waved a dismissive hand and picked up his empty whisky bottle again. Reluctantly, I took it as my cue to leave; I didn’t want Frank to be alone, but he’d made it clear he was happy with his own company.

‘Have a good Christmas,’ I said as I walked away. He raised his bottle in reply before pulling himself to his feet and stumbling off in the opposite direction.

I sighed as I watched him go; it seemed like the most wonderful time of the year was steadily growing worse.

Frank’s question stayed with me as I trudged off towards home: what’s next for you?

Knowing me, it’d be holing up in my little cottage and keeping the world at bay, like I always did. One thing was for certain: I’d be going nowhere near the Silver Bells Theatre or their bloody pantomime.

Absolutely not.

Chapter Four (#u122c48d9-9568-5368-aef1-8e8f6aee489e)

Never one to mind her own business, Mum was quick to come up with lots of ideas for my newly acquired free time. She came over to my cottage that night, armed with suggestions and bags of her trademark enthusiasm.

‘Now that you’re back out there, you can come to all my groups with me! There’s pottery on Mondays; bums, tums and thighs on Wednesdays; and bingo on Thursdays. You’d love the bingo, Alice; it’s great fun.’

‘By “back out there”, do you mean I’m not an emotional wreck who can’t stop crying any more?’ I smiled lightly, but the memories were all too real. It wasn’t so long ago that I’d been wrapped up in my duvet and surrounded by tissues, empty ice cream tubs and photos of Jamie.

Mum became flustered, thinking she’d offended me, and began to babble. ‘No, darling, I just—’

I put up a hand to stop her. She really did treat me like I was made of glass sometimes.

‘I’m just kidding, Mum! Count me out of the bingo though; that’s a bit too hardcore for me,’ I said with a wink.

‘Well, what about getting involved with the pantomime then? I overheard Christabel saying they’re short of performers and backstage crew. With you on board, they might be able to pull off a successful show!’

I rolled my eyes and groaned. ‘For the last time, no! When Jamie died, I swore I’d never go back on the stage again and that’s final. Let them screw up their own production; I’m sure they don’t need any help from me.’

Mum shot up from the chair and grabbed her handbag and cardigan. ‘You know, it was really hard for your dad and me to watch you crumble after Jamie died. When you came back from New York, we didn’t know if you were ever going to be the same again. I know you might think I’m interfering, but I’m your mum and I just want what’s best for you.’

‘Mum, I’m—’

‘But when you started going to the B&B’s Breakfast Club, I thought you might finally be ready to join the world again. Even more so when you took the job at Fox’s: I thought you might start to build up your network of friends again. But you’re still keeping everyone at arm’s length aren’t you? You can’t hide yourself away for ever, Alice; Jamie wouldn’t want you to do that.’

At the mention of his name, something inside me snapped. The day had been stressful enough without bringing Jamie into it.

‘Oh so I’m disappointing him as well as you, am I? Good, that’s great to know. I’m not “hiding myself away” either; I happen to like my own company! I might not be out gallivanting every weekend or doing six shows a week in the West End, but believe it or not I like my life. It might not be what I planned, but it’s how things have turned out, OK?’

Mum’s shoulders fell and the anger melted away from her face. ‘What happened to you? You used to have such big dreams; you’d never have settled for “how things have turned out”. Whenever life threw something unexpected at you, you’d find a way to overcome it or turn it to something positive. I’d really like to see that Alice again; that was my girl.’

I was sure I could hear her voice wobble and see tears spill down her face, but she sharply jerked her head away so I couldn’t see. She mumbled a goodbye and ran out the door, sprinting down the hill as fast as her tiny little frame would carry her.

Hot salty tears pricked my eyes and ran down my cheeks before I could stop them. I hated the thought of disappointing my mum, especially after everything she’d done for me. The idea that Jamie would be disappointed in me too, however, stung more than I cared to admit. Although I knew my life wasn’t exactly fizzing with excitement and a new adventure round every corner, I’d still thought I was doing pretty well. I’d dragged myself from the depths of despair and could now call myself a mostly functioning adult of twenty-seven. I had my own cottage that I loved, occasionally ventured out to the Sunflower Cottage Breakfast Club, and had even dipped my toe back into the world of work.

It wasn’t enough though. As much as I hated to admit it, my mum was right. As long as I kept pushing people away, I’d never truly move on from Jamie’s death.

And this is supposed to be the most wonderful time of the year, I said to myself, merry bloody Christmas to me.

*

Now that I didn’t have to don my pointy ears and massive shoes at Fox’s, I had time to go to the Breakfast Club again. As I stepped into beautiful Sunflower Cottage on a rainy Friday morning – seven Fridays before Christmas, according to a chalkboard in the hall – I felt a sense of calm wash over me. I always did when I came to the B&B; it was one of those places you couldn’t help but love. A collection of glorious smells wafted out from the kitchen to meet me in the lobby, making my mouth water and stomach growl.

‘Hello?’ I called. It looked like I was the first one there, which was unusual. What if they’d changed the day and I hadn’t realised? Just then, the kitchen door swung open and out popped Emily, one of the B&B’s two main proprietors.

‘Hi, you, long time no see! How’ve you been?’ She came over and enveloped me in a friendly embrace. She smelled of cake batter and freshly baked bread.

I nodded and mumbled a reply, not wanting to say too much in case the whole drama with my job and Mum came spilling out. Nobody would want to hear about that, I guessed.

Emily ushered me through to the cosy dining room and let me pick a table. I selected one by the window, so I could watch the snow that had just started to fall outside. It was in its own private corner, away from everyone else. Just the way I liked it.

‘It’s great to have you back,’ she said. ‘What do you fancy? We’ve just had new menus printed; why don’t you take a look and I’ll come back later.’

I picked up the laminated menu with a picture of a sunflower on the front and studied it. They’d added some new dishes since I was last there: eggs Florentine, home-made muesli and freshly made bagels with salmon and cream cheese. There was so much to choose from that I didn’t know where to start. Should I stick to my favourite of chocolate pancakes or stick my neck out and try something new?

Decisions, decisions…

My musings were interrupted by the front door swinging open and a loud voice booming ‘SHOP!’ As soon as I realised who it was, my insides curdled. Standing in Sunflower Cottage’s foyer was none other than the inimitable director of the Silver Bells pantomime, Christabel Grant herself.

I heard the kitchen door swing open and Noah appeared, a bright smile lighting up his handsome face.

‘Morning, Christabel, are you here for the Breakfast Club?’ he asked.

‘Indeed I am!’ Her voice was so loud it made the whole room vibrate. ‘Please make sure my table by the window is free and I’ll have your delicious eggs Benedict, please.’

She strode into the dining room and I immediately felt a shiver of apprehension travel down my spine. It was easy to see why she was the Silver Bells Theatre’s fearless leader; she was a huge, intimidating sort of woman with an angular face and a crop of sleekly styled brown hair. Her outfit reminded me of a school headmistress’s: a starched white shirt, grey pencil skirt and black blazer. She didn’t look like the carefree, jovial kind of person who usually ran an amateur drama group, that was for sure.

Her keen blue eyes fell on me and she approached my table like a lion would approach an unsuspecting gazelle. She stared at me for what felt like hours and I felt a chill run down my spine. For a moment, it looked like she might come over, but instead she walked past me to the table she wanted to sit at.

I breathed a sigh of relief when Emily reappeared and broke the eerie silence in the dining room.

‘Have you decided what you fancy off the menu yet? We’ve got some fab new dishes for you to try.’

‘I’ll have the chocolate pancakes, please.’ Now that Christabel’s laser-like stare had been diverted elsewhere, I felt a little more at ease. ‘Better the devil you know and all that.’

‘Perfect, I’ll get Noah on the case!’