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Authors: Emily Harvale

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BOOK: Carole Singer's Christmas
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‘Oh! Well I didn’t tell you about Sebastian because the last time I mentioned him you nearly bit my head off, and you told me in no uncertain terms never to mention his name again. I only found out about it myself a couple of days ago, and as I saw him talking to your gran, I was pretty sure she’d call you and tell you anyway.’

‘Talking to Gran! What do you mean, he was talking to Gran?’

‘Precisely that. They were standing outside the post office stores, talking. Although neither of them looked particularly pleased to see the other, if you get my meaning. I kept out of the way so I have no idea what was said. Didn’t she tell you that?’

‘No. But she did say he’s getting a divorce so I suppose she must have heard that from him, or possibly from someone else in the village.’

‘Yeah. Everyone’s talking about it ... Oh! Sorry. I don’t suppose that’s what you wanted to hear, was it?’

Carole tutted. ‘Not really. But I suppose it’s inevitable. Have you spoken to him?’

‘No way! Besides, he only arrived at the weekend and I think he’s trying to keep a low profile. Not that he’s succeeding. He’s back at his dad’s estate agency. Rumour has it that his dad is thinking of retiring and handing over the business to Seb. That means he’s here to stay, Carole.’

‘Damn! That’s all I need. Not that he means anything to me now of course. I’m with Dom and we’re practically engaged.’

‘You’ve been saying that for the past three months. Haven’t you got him to propose yet? You’re slipping, my girl.’

‘Thanks Josie! So what else can you tell me about Sebastian?’

‘Nothing. He’s still gorgeous ... but I don’t suppose you needed to hear that either, did you?’

‘No. Oh, bloody hell! Let’s change the subject. What can you tell me about this Nick?’

‘Ah, Nick.’ Josie let out a long, meaningful sigh.

‘You sound like a gravy advert. Don’t tell me you’ve got the hots for him too. Gran seems to think he’s like some sort of romantic fiction hero.’

Josie sniggered. ‘He is rather yummy. In a slightly scary, bad boy kind of way. Not that I think he is a bad boy. Although he may be a bad boy in bed. There’s definitely something about him. And his eyes. They’re–’

‘As black as coal. I know. Gran’s already told me. What is it about this guy? Both of you go all swoony just talking about him!’

‘What can I tell you? Some men have just got it – and Nick’s got it in spades ... and then some.’

‘So he’s good-looking,’ Carole said. ‘I think we’ve established that. But what is he like as a person and why is he spending so much time with Gran? Is he after her money or – God forbid – her?’ She shivered involuntarily at the thought of it.

‘Oh God, Carole! He’s definitely not after her. Well at least I don’t think he is. To be honest, he’s rather secretive so I have no idea what’s going through his gorgeous, sexy head. He seems to be quite a decent, friendly sort of guy but he doesn’t divulge much about himself. And oddly enough, everyone in the village has just accepted him. It’s rather strange now that I come to think about it. You know what we’re all like. Eager to find out every little secret about everyone and if we can’t find out any secrets, we make them up, but not with Nick.’

‘Well that’s weird. So there’s no gossip about him? No juicy little snippets?’

‘Nope. The only things I know about him are that he’s single, mid-thirties and he bought the old plant nursery and turned it into a thriving garden centre in less than six months. He’s always polite whenever I see him – which is actually rather a lot. I’ve developed quite an interest in plants and stuff, you know.’

‘Plants! You? Now that’s the most shocking news I’ve heard today. You can kill a floral display just by looking at it!’

Josie laughed. ‘That’s true. Which is why I need to spend so much time at the garden centre, getting ... advice.’

‘Oh my God! Now I’m really worried. It was bad enough thinking he’s got some strange power over Gran but if you’re developing an interest in plants, it’s more serious than I thought. It’s just as well I’m coming down this weekend. I’ll have to go to this new garden centre of his and meet him to find out exactly what’s going on. It almost sounds as if he’s got some magical powers or something!’

‘Perhaps he’s a white witch ... or warlock, or whatever it is male witches are called.’

‘He sounds more like the devil incarnate especially as he seems to have both you and Gran drooling over him!’ Carole wasn’t completely certain that she was joking about that possibility.

‘If he’s the devil, Carole, I’ll take Hell any day of the week. Please let me come with you when you go to see him. I need another excuse because I’ve got so many plants now my garden looks more like a jungle than it did when there were just weeds.’

‘Hmm. No wonder his business is thriving. Okay, I’ll be down on Friday. I’ll go to Gran’s first and I’ll pick you up after work.’

‘Great. I finish at four. I’ll be waiting at the school gates. I think you’re in for a bit of a surprise,’ Josie said.

‘I think this
Nick
will be the one getting the surprise, Josie. Oh, there’s another call trying to get through. I’d better take it, it may be work. See you Friday.’ She ended the call to Josie and, not recognising the number, adopted her business voice. ‘
Carole’s Illustrious Images
, how may I help you?’

‘Well you can start by explaining why you’re not coming down until Friday.’

Carole sat bolt upright in the bath, almost dropping the phone into the rapidly cooling water. For one dreadful moment she’d thought it was Sebastian but she realised this man’s voice was nothing like his soft melodic tones. This was granite, edged with ice.

‘Who is this?’

‘Nick. I’m a friend of Mitsy’s and I’d really like to know what is so important that you can’t drive sixty miles to look after your own grandmother when she has a broken leg and can’t possibly look after herself?’

‘W … what? What are you talking about? Are you telling me Gran has had an accident? When? Where is she? Is she all right?’

The ice cracked a centimetre or two. ‘Are you saying you didn’t know? Didn’t Mitsy call you this evening?’

Carole felt her backbone stiffen. ‘Yes. Gran called me but she didn’t say anything about a ... broken leg. Are you telling me that this happened before she called?’

‘Spot on, Sherlock. It happened yesterday.’

Carole didn’t like his tone. ‘I don’t think sarcasm is called for, Mr ... whatever your name is.’

‘Nick. Just call me Nick.’

She could think of several other things she’d like to call him but she refrained from doing so. She needed to know about her gran.

‘Well
Nick
, Gran didn’t even mention it so how am I supposed to know? I’m not a mind- reader. It happened yesterday, you say. I take it Dr Edwards has been to see her and–’

‘I took her to the hospital. They reset it and kept her in overnight but she insisted on coming home today. She told them that her granddaughter would come down and stay with her and I only agreed to bring her home on that basis. I can’t be here twenty-four hours a day and–’

‘You agreed to ...? Well! I think perhaps you’re taking a bit too much responsibility for
my
family, Mr ...
Nick
and I am
so
sorry to have inconvenienced you! As for you not being with her for twenty-four hours a day, I should certainly hope not and–’

‘Now who’s being sarcastic? It’s not an inconvenience. I’d happily look after Mitsy but I have a garden centre to run. I’m short-staffed at the moment and I can’t physically be in two places at once. I also have a dog and you may not be aware of this, but Arten doesn’t like dogs.’

Carole’s mouth fell open. Of all the!  Now this man was telling her the likes and dislikes of her grandmother’s four-year-old cat, as if she were the stranger in this scenario.

‘Of course I know that Arten hates dogs! And his name’s Arkenarten. Arten is just his ‘pet’ name.’

‘Pet as is ‘cat’ you mean?’ Nick said, suddenly chuckling. ‘I thought you’d named him after that dancer on
Strictly Come Dancing
until Mitsy told me about your fascination with ancient Egypt and that Arkenarten was your favourite of the Pharaohs.’

Carole was surprised not only by the fact that he had a very appealing laugh and that he knew of her love for the ancient Egyptian culture but that he had almost got the name right for one of the dancers on
Strictly
. This conversation was getting more bizarre by the minute.

‘I think the dancer’s name is Artem, actually. May I speak to Gran please and I’ll sort something out with her.’

‘She’s asleep at the moment. That’s why I’m taking the opportunity to call you now. She told me that you were coming down on Friday and that she’d be fine until then. But she won’t, not on her own.’

‘Look, there’s no need for us to discuss this any further.  I’m in the bath at the moment but I’ll get dressed and come down right now.’

She glanced at her waterproof watch. It was eight-thirty p.m.  She closed her eyes tightly and tried to think. She hated asking for favours at the best of times and to ask a favour from this man was going to take a lot but she knew she had no choice.

‘Um ... I can be there in a couple of hours,’ she continued. ‘Is ... is it too much to ask for you ... to find someone to stay with Gran until I get there, please? You can ask Mrs Taylor. She lives at–’

‘I know where Matilda lives, and I don’t need to ask anyone. I’ll stay with Mitsy until you get here. You haven’t been drinking have you? Because if you have, I can stay here tonight and you can–’

‘How dare you! You’re making it sound like I’m an alcoholic or something! Who the hell do you think you are to lecture ... Sorry. That was rude of me and you are doing Gran and me a great favour. No, I haven’t had a drink this evening. Well, I had one mouthful of wine but I didn’t fancy it so I threw the rest away and had tea so ... I don’t know why I’m telling you this. I’m fine to drive. I’ll see you around eleven-ish. I just need to pack a bag and sort out a couple of things and then I’ll be on my way. Is that okay with you?’

‘That’s fine. I’ll be here.’

‘Thank you.’

‘There’s no need to thank me, Carole. Drive safely. I’ll have some hot chocolate ready and waiting.’

Despite the fact that he had disconnected the call, Carole kept the phone to her ear. His voice had changed completely during those last few moments and his words had been both strangely soothing and oddly troubling at the same time. This man seemed to know an awful lot about her, including her preference for hot chocolate in the evening, and she didn’t like that one bit.

There was no time to think about that now though. She leapt out of the bath, wrapped a towel around her and dashed downstairs to tell Dom that she had to go and stay with her gran not just for this coming weekend but for the foreseeable future, and that she’d be leaving straight away.

Astonishingly, Dom actually listened to her, probably because it was half time in the football match.

‘So ... you’re leaving tonight? And I might not see you for ... weeks?’

‘Well, you can come and stay at the weekends. Not this weekend obviously because you’re going to Manchester but next weekend and all the others – and for Christmas of course.’

‘But your gran doesn’t let us share a room! That means we won’t be having sex for ... ages.’

Carole was tempted to say that they didn’t have that much sex now but she didn’t.

‘We’ll sort something out, Dom. I’ll speak to Gran. I’m sure she’ll let us share a room when she realises we’ll be apart for so long. Don’t worry. I’ve got to go though. There’s no one else to look after her.’

‘What about your mum? Surely Sarah could come down from Scotland and spend some time with her own mother?’

Carole thought that would probably be a recipe for disaster but she smiled encouragingly.

‘Yes, I’ll call her tomorrow once I see how Gran is. We’ll organise something, Dom. Perhaps Mum and I can take it in turns to spend a week or so with Gran. We’ll see.’

Dom smiled and grabbed the ends of the towel, tugging Carole towards him.

‘Well we’d better have some sex now then, just in case.’

‘Dom! I don’t have time. I’ve got to ...’ She didn’t get any further.

Dom gave the towel one final tug and Carole landed on the sofa beside him, stark naked.

‘You smell really sexy, babe,’ he said, unzipping his trousers. ‘I think your mum’s onto a winner with this bath stuff. It’s making me really horny.’

Carole wasn’t sure whether she should take that as a compliment or an insult. Did she now need to use scented bath products to arouse her boyfriend?

A few minutes later, Dom’s cry of ‘Yes’,
was
directed at her.

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER THREE

 

 

The village clock in Jutsdown was striking midnight as Carole pulled up in front of her gran’s weatherboard cottage and parked next to a Land Rover, which she assumed must belong to Nick.

She got out of her car and stood for a few seconds on the gravel driveway, which was wet from the earlier heavy rain shower and bathed in the warm glow of light streaming out from every window. She had spent many years of her life here after her father’s untimely death as she and her mother had moved in with her gran a few weeks later, both unable to stay in their family home that held so many wonderful but heartbreaking memories.

She assumed they would move back there one day but her mother sold the house just a year later and they spent the next few years moving from place to place, neither of them able to settle. Her gran’s house had been her one haven of comfort in what had become an increasingly lonely world for a teenage girl with a mother who was growing more depressed by the day, but unwilling to admit she had a problem.

Carole pulled her shoulders back and tried to dispel such thoughts from her mind. She had no intention of taking a trip down that particular memory lane.

She grabbed her holdall and marched towards the white-painted diminutive front door, smiling now as happier memories welcomed her. She spotted the ball of black fur she’d named Arkenarten, curled up and balanced rather precariously on one of the many cushions piled on the window seat of the bijou study. That was the room where she had first begun to take her drawing abilities seriously, and she felt a tiny pull on her heartstrings, for Arkenarten, for the dreams of her youth and for the considerable debt of love she owed her gran.

BOOK: Carole Singer's Christmas
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