The Christmas Spirit
Read The Christmas Spirit Online
Authors: Susan Buchanan
Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Women's Fiction, #Domestic Life, #Romance, #Contemporary, #Genre Fiction, #Family Life, #Holidays
THE CHRISTMAS SPIRIT
by
SUSAN BUCHANAN
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First published in 2013 by Susan Buchanan
Copyright © 2013 Susan Buchanan
Susan Buchanan has asserted her right to be identified as the
author of this Work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act
1988.
This novel is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the
product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons,
living or dead, is entirely coincidental
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced,
stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means,
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permission of the copyright owner.
Table of Contents
Dedication
For baby Antonia
On your first Christmas
Lots of love, Mummy
Acknowledgements
Thanks go to Brad Covey for cover design
Yvonne Betancourt for eBook formatting
Julia Gibbs for proofreading
http://www.facebook.com/proofreaderjulia
Terry, Tracie, Sam, the Chicklit Goddesses, Judee, Laura, Tony for
putting up with my seriously unsociable hours and mood swings, and last but not
least my Twitter and Facebook followers and all the book bloggers who help
spread the word.
Chapter One
1st December - NATALIE
D-Day!
Well, my D-Day anyway
, thought
Natalie.
Every year on this day, December 1st, her
raison d’être
and her job, as such, began. It only lasted a
month, but her personal deadline was always twenty-four days. The other week
was just to ensure there was no unfinished business.
Natalie hoped this Christmas would be a good one for
everyone. If she had anything to do with it, as in the past, those she chose
would have a Christmas to remember.
This year she would be working in the small town of
Winstanton about twenty miles north of Glasgow; more of a village really, with
its carefully tended lawns, idyllic cottages and splendid views over Loch
Lomond.
Each year Natalie had to choose a different country. This
was her first visit to Scotland. She hoped she would get used to the Scottish
accent and that her own would go unnoticed. Speaking several languages came in
handy, but it was even better to blend in like a local.
Although Natalie’s job actively only lasted one month per
year, her preparation lasted ten months. Well, she did get some holidays. Ten
months in which to research, narrow down and shortlist her candidates. It was
no easy task, as although a small town, Winstanton still had fifteen thousand
residents and Natalie could only choose four. Now, she couldn’t possibly check
them all out, could she? No. Natalie had a gift which helped her. She could feel
other people’s happiness. The downside was, she could also feel their
unhappiness. Marvellous, eh?
Natalie readjusted her handbag on her shoulder and grabbed
hold of the handle of her carry-on case, dragging it along the deserted
platform of Winstanton train station. She had picked up the keys to her new
one-bedroom cottage earlier that day in Glasgow. Now all she had to do was make
her way there. There wasn’t a taxi in sight; not surprising, since she was the
only person who had got off at the station. Fortunately there was a phone box,
an old style red one - how quaint. Even luckier, it hadn’t been vandalised and
it had a Yellow Pages in it, which hadn’t been ripped to shreds. Natalie had
never got around to getting a mobile phone. There was no reception where she
lived most of the year, so there seemed little point. Taking out a piece of
paper from her purse, she dialled the first taxi number she’d come across in
her research of the area; she was nothing if not prepared. In her job she had
to be. She was looking forward to her new role. Her job was always a job
within a job; a little difficult to explain, but it was kind of like a
secondment.
The taxi arrived soon after. Natalie could imagine there
wasn’t much doing for a taxi driver on a Sunday night. A cheery old man,
probably in his sixties, greeted her. ‘Miss Hope?’
‘The very same.’
‘Let me help you with your case.’
‘Thanks,’ said Natalie, when he swung it with some effort
into the boot.
‘What have you got in there, bricks?’
Natalie laughed and said, ‘Wouldn’t you like to know!’
He looked as if he would indeed like to know, but was too
polite to push it further.
They arrived at Rose Cottage within ten minutes.
‘Five pounds eighty, hen.’
‘Worth every penny,’ Natalie pronounced. She handed him
seven pounds and told him to keep the change.
‘Do you want me to wait until you see if anyone’s home?’
asked the driver, eyeing the darkened cottage.
‘No, it’s OK, thanks, although that’s kind of you to be so
thoughtful. I have a key.’
‘No problem. Have a nice night.’
‘You too. Hope it’s a busy one for you.’
The driver’s expression conveyed that was unlikely to be the
case.
She noticed he didn’t leave until she was safely inside the
cottage and she’d switched on the hall light. Nice soul, obviously a happy
man. He wouldn’t be needing her help.
Natalie closed the door behind her and surveyed her new
living quarters. The darkness had made it difficult to notice much about the
garden outside and the driving rain had made her keen to get inside as quickly
as possible. She found herself in a small hallway, with a deep pile carpet,
mocha in colour. She couldn’t wait to slip off her boots and luxuriate in the
feel of the pile between her toes. Her feet ached from the journey; it was
rather a long way.
An antique mirror, was it real? she wondered, hung from a
hook in the hallway, which was dimly lit by a fake gas lamp. Off the hall were
five doors. The first turned out to be a cupboard, also home to the boiler. The
second led her into a country kitchen, complete with French dresser and pine
table and chairs, with an Aga taking centre stage; well-equipped and quite
spacious, considering it was a one bedroom cottage. Natalie exited the kitchen
and tried the next door - her bedroom for the next month. A double bed, a large
wardrobe and two bedside cabinets made up the room, nothing special, but
comfortable enough. On the other side of the hall, the first door she tried led
into the bathroom.
Oh, what a treat! A tiled wet room.
For a cottage, it was modern; a rare mix of old meets new.
The last door led her into a large living room with a bay
window overlooking the front garden. She hadn’t been aware of how far up the
hill the driver had come, but now she could see, even in the dark, the splendid
views over Loch Lomond. Lights twinkled in the distance; she assumed they were
from moored boats, or a boathouse perhaps.
The living room welcomed her with a coal fire. Lovely. It
required extra effort, but was definitely worth it. Natalie planned on cosy
nights in after work, although she did expect to be working long hours,
relaxing in front of the fire with a good book, or cooking on the Aga. Bliss.
The corner sofa wasn’t to her taste, but was new and clearly from the period
when corner sofas were back in fashion recently. Heavy curtains hung over the
bay window, keeping out the cold.
Yes, this’ll do nicely.
She returned to the kitchen and opened the fridge. Aw, the
lady who had leased her the house and the bakery had put a few goodies in for
her first night. How sweet, and much appreciated. Natalie realised she was worn
out from the journey, and checked out the cupboards to see about pots and pans.
Two bottles of red wine greeted her when she opened the first door and she made
a mental note to thank the landlady; just what she needed to go with her first
meal and help her unpack. Tomorrow would be a long day and a new start.
Chapter Two
2nd December - STANLEY
Midday. Not that time meant anything much to him anymore.
Midday was much the same as one o’clock, which was similar to three o’clock or
five o’clock, for that matter. Stanley didn’t have big events in his day - the
most he had were his three meals, and even those weren’t exciting. He simply
didn’t have the stomach for them anymore. In fact, he had little interest in
anything anymore; not since his Edith passed away back in July.
They’d been married sixty-five years; childhood sweethearts.
She’d waited for him during the war. Many hadn’t. He knew lots of fellows who
had returned from the war to discover their sweetheart had taken up with some
other man in their absence. Some got fed up waiting, others were misinformed
that their beloved had perished. There had been such confusion during the war,
both for the troops and the civilians. It had been difficult to keep abreast of
such matters. But not his Edith; his Edie. After the end of the war, as soon as
it was decent, they had married. He had always known he wanted to marry Edie,
from the moment they were introduced at a friend’s party.
Stanley poured himself a cup of tea, Typhoo, Edie’s
favourite brand, and then poured a cup for Edie. He knew she wasn’t sitting
opposite him in body, but she was there in spirit and in his memories. Some
would call him a daft old codger, but he found it comforting. He didn’t go as
far as to make her meals, though. That would just be plain crazy, but a cup of
tea was one of the traditions they had enjoyed most together. Everything could
be fixed with a cup of tea. Well, almost anything. The cancer had taken his
beautiful Edie, on the twenty-eighth of July, a Sunday. She had battled it for
five years on and off, thought she’d beaten it, but in the end it had still
claimed her. A tear came to his eye, as he remembered just how brave she had
been in the face of the disease that had wracked her small body. Far braver
than him. Here was he, alone and unable to cope with the little things he
needed to do on a day-to-day basis. Edie had done so much for him. He had
always appreciated her, but never more than once she had gone. His angel. Today
was 2nd December and he was glad to see the last month of the year arrive; he
couldn’t wait for this year to be over, for all it signified. But he was dreading
Christmas. Edie had loved Christmas. How could he have one without her? How
could he bear it? It didn’t even warrant thinking about. He felt too desolate
to have Christmas. As far as he was concerned, Christmas was cancelled. Edie
would be cross with him, he knew, but some things couldn’t be surmounted. He
couldn’t act full of the joys of spring, or in this case, Christmas, if he
didn’t feel it. And he needed his Edie to feel it. With a sigh, he picked up
his newspaper and made a futile attempt at reading. Everything was such an
effort these days.
