Four Christmases and a Secret

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Acknowledgements

Also by Zara Stoneley

About the Author

About the Publisher

For everybody who has felt at some time in their lives ‘not good enough’.

Believe me, you are!

PROLOGUE – MISTLETOE KISSES (#u701c904c-f9a1-5c27-9623-99acb933782f)

24 December 2004

‘I flung open the curtains and shouted look at my hedgehogs!’

Oh my God, I knew it. My mother is going to totally embarrass me. Here, at Uncle Terence’s Christmas Eve party, in front of everybody.

Want to be able to embarrass your kids as they get older? Get your own back for every little slip up? Well, bring them up in a village where everybody will know them, and nobody will forget anything they have ever done. And never ever move house.

I am eighteen years old, for heaven’s sake. I need to stop coming to family and friends’ parties so that I can avoid total embarrassment.

Nine months, that’s all. I just have to stick it out for nine more months and then I’ll be free.

I love my parents to bits, I sometimes even like them, but I cannot wait to go to university. My own place, nobody watching my every move and I will be able to snog who I like, when I like, where I like. I will be able to leave crumbs in my bed, read until 4 a.m., spend the weekend in my pyjamas.

I straighten my antlers self-consciously, set my jumper to ‘flashing’ mode as a distraction and glance at Dad, who just shrugs apologetically, because we both know that mother in full flow is unstoppable.

‘Wendy, darling?’ He does try, but like I say, she’s unstoppable.

‘And Stuart switched the patio light on and there they were!’

‘Hedgehogs?’ I hear somebody say, hopefully.

I edge back, try to sidle behind a bookcase before anybody notices me. One more step and I’m heading towards the ‘Narnia’ display. Another step and I’ll be safely hidden behind a giant White Witch.

‘Oh no, no! Our Daisy and a boy. Horizontal on the lawn, searching for slugs they said! I didn’t even know Joshua the postman’s son was interested in hedgehogs. I never even realised that Daisy knew the boy, she’d definitely not introduced him, had you dear? Daisy?’

I lean back against the bookcase and close my eyes. I am mortified. I mean, wouldn’t you think that when your parents are holding a dinner party, you’d be safe having a quick snog in the back garden?

If Josh had had his way, we would have been naked and have more in common with rabbits than hedgehogs, but the full moon, dew sodden grass and nip in the air had dampened my ardour (as well as my best jeans) a bit. I mean he’s okay, he’s quite a lot of fun actually but I’m not about to marry him. And I’m not a hedgehog. Or a rabbit.

He’s a bloody quick thinker though, he probably would have said we were doing some kind of druid-dance to summon up snails (I bet Mum would have fallen for that, not sure about Dad). While I just stared wide-eyed like a rabbit in the headlights then scampered for the safety of the summerhouse.

Anyway, having your parents and four of their friends (who you’ve known practically from birth) all staring out at you with glasses of wine in their hands totally chills off the warm feeling between your thighs and deflates your nipples. It does, believe me, so don’t do it.

Josh went home, and I went in for a discussion about why slugs come out at night, and what kind of beer you should put out for them, before I managed to escape to bed and my ‘A’ level revision. Thank God for revision, it will get you out of practically any social occasion where your parents are involved.

I quite wish I could do that now.

Except I do actually love Uncle Terence. Once I’ve put my Christmas jumper on and we’ve set off for his rather posh bookshop (which actually looks more like a wine bar when he’s got it fancied up and makes it a brilliant venue for a party), then Christmas has officially started. And I love his bookshop with or without its festive vibe. It’s a bit of an Aladdin’s cave if you’re a bookaholic like I am. I’ve been going in there since I was in a pushchair and I’m still discovering new books and book-related knick-knacks and pictures.

Uncle T is not actually my uncle, but I’ve always called him that. And he lives in Stockton Hall, which is definitely not a hall. So, it could be confusing. But he is however hilariously funny and has a very impressive collection of waistcoats. He makes a mean cocktail and changes his girlfriends and wives more often than I have my hair cut. I was going to say change my knickers, but that’s not quite true. Close but not true.

‘Psst.’

I jump, stumble, and nearly topple into a life-size Harry Potter cut-out, adorned with tinsel. I’d rather collide with the White Witch to be honest.

Uncle Terence has popped through an opening between the book shelves, like a genie out of a bottle. He’s looking very dapper, as normal. But that is less important than the glass he is holding out to me. ‘It’s the Bee’s knees!’

I stare at him.

‘The cocktail, my dear! I thought it would suit the occasion, a nice drop of gin, something tart and a hint of something sweet.’ He winks. ‘And not a hedgehog in sight!’

He puts his arm round my shoulders and gives me a hug. ‘I will miss you when you fly the nest, my darling girl. You have become part of the fixtures and fittings in my little shop. Now, take a break and put your feet up for a second. I’ve got a wonderful stock of new and slightly racy books in your favourite corner.’ He puts a finger to his lips. ‘Our secret though, or else your mother and Vera will be here in a shot! I’m expecting an invasion by the playgroup mothers when the news gets out. Over there, between original editions and Spiritual Healing.’

He gives me a gentle shove, but I don’t need the encouragement. What could be better than a cocktail and a book?

‘Thank God, you’re still here!’ Ollie Cartwright flops down onto the small leather sofa nearly taking my eye out with his sharp elbow. Then stretches his long legs out, squashing me into the corner and nearly sends my book flying. ‘Thought you’d managed to come up with some excuse to escape and I was the only person here under forty! God, I hate these things!’

‘Why would I want to escape?’ I raise an eyebrow at him, cross that he’s come to annoy me, but also vaguely pleased. ‘I love Uncle Terence!’ And his book shop I could add. I really love his bookshop. And the books. I give this one a quick once over to check it’s not been damaged by Ollie’s arrival. Okay, I admit it. I’m a bit anal about books – unlike Mum who bends the corners over instead of finding a bookmark and bends the spine.

‘So, what are you doing hiding in a corner with a book?’

‘Well it is a book shop!’

‘It is a party!’ He grins.

We stare at each other. Impasse.