The Zara Stoneley Romantic Comedy Collection

I love Auntie Lynn. Totally. If it hadn’t been for her my life would have worked out totally differently. I would be an insecure, unloved mess and I would also be totally boring and bored. Auntie Lynn has brought me up with cuddles and creativity, and she has taught me that being the only guardian at parents’ evening with striped hair and questions about what I thought rather than what the teacher thought is something to be celebrated, not be ashamed of.

‘But I’m not going for actual Christmas.’ No way do I want to spend Christmas there ever again. Even if the place had still been perfect (which it certainly isn’t), I don’t think I could face that. ‘I’ll go just before, or after. Actually, now might be a good time.’ No time like the present. ‘I could try and get some of it sorted before he has chance to ruin Christmas for another load of people. One more bad Christmas could finish the place off for good. I am not going to let him screw up like this: no one cancels Christmas!’

‘But you can’t just up and leave me!’

‘I’m not leaving you on your own. I’ll have to clear it with Aunt Lynn, but she did say a while ago that she thought maybe we should start to visit places again. She’s thinking of taking a temp on to cover here, so that we can get out more. You’d get to go to places too.’ I give her a sideways glance. ‘She knows you want to travel.’

Sam goes bright red. She thinks she’s hidden the way she feels, but she is one of those people who just can’t hide their feelings – they’re written all over her face. She’s changed in a good way, lately, especially after she got over her tosspot two-timing ex, and met her dishy boyfriend Jake. It’s been obvious that she’s come out stronger. She’s still the funny girl I love, but she’s now much more determined to live the life she wants. And she wants more than just sitting in a goldfish bowl in the high street.

‘Lynn doesn’t want to lose you, Sam. I don’t either.’ I can’t imagine life without Sam. We’re totally different, but we just get on. She’s giving me a look, like she might hug me, and I can’t cope with hugs right now. ‘Hang on, this will timeout if I don’t complete the booking.’

‘Leave it.’ She tugs at my chair again so that I can’t reach the keyboard. ‘Come on, they aren’t exactly going to get booked up if you leave it a few minutes, are they? And don’t you need to check dates first?’

‘I can provisionally book.’ Not that there is much need – there is availability on every date I look at. ‘Then I can call Aunt Lynn.’ Sam doesn’t like the impulsive side of my character, it makes her uncomfortable. She likes to know where she stands, whereas I – with my wobbly past – tend to view each day as a new challenge. And right now, locking horns with Mr Armstrong in the Canadian Rockies sounds like a good diversion.

‘Why don’t you call her now?’

‘Okay, okay, I’ll talk to her first if it makes you happy.’ Sam does have a point, but it’s a quiet time and I’m sure my aunt will be more than happy to cover for me for a few days; she likes to ‘keep her finger on the pulse’, as she puts it.

‘It does make me happy.’

So I dial out on the office phone and put it on speakerphone so that Sam will be in no doubt at all to Lynn’s response – even though I know she will like this idea. She says travel broadens the mind and shrinks the butt. She will definitely like this idea.

‘Aunt Lynn?’

‘Oh, I’m glad you rang, dear.’ She says this as though we never talk, whereas we talk at least once a day. ‘I wanted a little chat.’

Sam raises an eyebrow, and I half wish I hadn’t put Lynn on speakerphone.

‘I’m a bit tied up at the moment,’ she does sound distracted, ‘but come for a spot of coffee and cake.’ I stare at the phone, then glance at Sam, who is doing an ‘I haven’t a clue’ gesture.

‘Er, fine. It’s just I wanted to—’

‘Will it keep until Wednesday, dear?’

She sounds as if she’s not really listening anyway, so I nod, even though she can’t see me. ‘Sure.’ What difference will a couple of days make? ‘Or tomorrow?’

‘Oh no dear, I’ve got Hedgehog Rescue tomorrow, had you forgotten?’

There’s the tiniest note of reproach in her voice. How could I forget Hedgehog Rescue? Not to mention Purrfect Cat Rescue, Sanitary Towels for the Homeless, and Baby in a Box. That last one did worry me a bit, until I researched and found out it was a care pack for newborns. The image in my head hasn’t changed, though: the perfect next day delivery service for the childless.

Aunt Lynn believes in paying it forward, and because she is so nice people shower her with little acts of kindness. There is, therefore, a lot of paying forward to be done.

‘It’s the big weigh in, followed by a hog roast.’

‘That sounds vaguely inappropriate.’

She laughs, a hearty belly laugh. ‘Oh, get you! We can have a good catch up, and I’ll tell you all about my plans.’

‘Plans?’ That sounds ominous.

‘Shall we say three o’clock, then?’

She is obviously not going to enlighten me. Although with Aunt Lynn there is never a need to rush, and she is the least inquisitive person I know. If somebody says they’ve got something to tell me, I will mull it over, dissect the tone of their voice, list all the possible reasons, worry. Lynn will forget about it. ‘Sure, if you can’t—’

‘Rushed off my feet, darling! Oh dear, oh dear, I really have to go.’

‘Shall I bring cake?’

‘No, no.’

‘It’s no bother, I can grab some from the café across the road?’

‘Just bring yourself, dear. Take the afternoon off, I’m sure Sammy can cope. Now, I really am going to have to rush, Lionel is dangling from the chandelier, he’s so adventurous!’

Sam splutters biscuit crumbs in all directions, and I shout ‘bye’ and slam a finger hard on the end call button, as though it will disconnect it quicker.

‘Clean that dirty mind of yours.’ I stare at Sam disapprovingly. ‘Lionel is her neighbour’s cat.’

‘Ah.’ She’s grinning, and I can’t help it, I have to grin back. We know we’re both thinking the same thing (as she does know my Aunt Lynn quite well), and Lionel could quite easily have been a man she’d picked up. Qualifying for a bus pass hasn’t slowed her down at all.

We sit in silence for a moment, savouring the image that has sprung into our minds. It’s Sam who shakes the thought out of her head first. ‘Do you think it’s okay? The cat?’

‘Oh yeah, he’s done it before. He waits until she’s halfway up the stepladder then lets go and stalks off.’

‘Oh. That’s good.’ The look of relief turns to a little frown. ‘That was a bit weird, the cake and coffee thing. She never asks you round for cake and coffee.’

It is weird (even weirder than the Lionel thing) and worrying on many counts.

‘I know.’ Lynn doesn’t really do ‘coffee’, I might pop in for a chat, or she sometimes calls by my place and stops for a drink, or even a meal. But we don’t invite each other round for coffee. And definitely not for cake and coffee. The whole conversation is out of character. Something is off kilter. This feels like bad news and has made me feel all uneasy and icky inside.

What does she need to talk about that means I won’t be up to work afterwards? Is she selling up? Is she ill? My God, is she getting married?

I feel more than uneasy now. I feel sick.

I take a deep breath. It can’t be that urgent if it can wait until Wednesday and be lower priority than Hedgehog Rescue. Surely?

But even though Wednesdays are quiet, she knows that leaving Sam running the place single-handedly could be an issue.

Sam is ace at selling holidays to people who aren’t sure they want them, but she tends to get distracted. And press the wrong buttons on the computer (unlike me of course, ha ha). So why would Lynn suggest I take time off, unless she has something major to tell me, something that can’t be discussed on the phone?

And secondly, Auntie Lynn definitely doesn’t bake cakes. Her occasional spontaneous baking sessions in the past have resulted in deconstructed scones and melt-in-the-middle Madeira cake. Yes, she knows there is no such thing, but that is what usually happens. And you know those recipes that are impossible to mess up? Well, I’ve got news for you, Mr Super-chef.

When I was little I thought they were the most amazing creations ever – nobody else had smashed banana and crisp sandwiches with a side of pancake pieces in their lunch box. I was special.

The fact that we are meeting at her home and not in a café, where cake is provided and guaranteed to pass health and safety requirements, is even more worrying.

‘You don’t think it upset her, talking about booking to go to that place?’

I shake my head. ‘I didn’t even get that far, did I? It wasn’t my plans she was interested in, it was hers. She said she’d tell me all about her plans.’ This is the third, and most unsettling part of it all. What plans? Lynn doesn’t plan things, she does things. And she doesn’t save things up to tell me about later, we fill each other in as we go along.

Sam and I both frown together. ‘I’m sure it’s nothing. She just wants a chat with you, that’s all.’ Sam doesn’t sound convinced, and nor am I.

What hasn’t Lynn been telling me?

Chapter 4

Auntie Lynn’s house is warm and welcoming, and smells of fresh baking. I lived with her until I was twenty, at which point we both agreed that it might be better if I moved out. Lynn is more free-love than I am, and it was getting awkward and, to be honest, a bit embarrassing to bump into her lovers wandering about in the nude. Especially as some of them seemed a damned sight sexier than the men I brought back. And more interesting. And even, on one memorable occasion, younger.

‘Now dear.’ She pushes the plate of tarts in front of me; they’re a bit of a strange colour, with weird stripes that look like petrified goldfish immobilised in a sea of strangely translucent custard. ‘Lemon curd and marmalade – I ran out of lemon, but oranges and lemons go together perfectly, don’t they?’

I take a tentative bite. A sour sweetness explodes in my mouth, along with a chewy bit that could be orange rind, and my tongue goes kind of numb. I think my eyes are wide and watering, and I seem to have developed lockjaw.

‘I’ve got a bit of news.’ She is smiling, but watching my face closely, slightly nervous – as if she’s expecting me to keel over any second. ‘It’s all been a bit last minute, but I wanted to have a chat about it and explain.’ This obviously isn’t about her cooking. This is about ‘her plans’. The reason I’m here.

There is a long pause. I don’t like pauses, they come before bad news. I’m also not keen on the word ‘explain’. I put the rest of the tart down.

‘I’m going away for Christmas.’

My locked jaw is suddenly slack and I understand her nervousness now. This isn’t about her culinary skills. ‘But we never go away for Christmas, we always have it here.’ We have the biggest tree we can find, too much glitter, and pretend cotton-wool snow if the real stuff doesn’t appear. We make mulled wine and weird-shaped mince pies, we go to midnight mass in our wellies and swap a special present just before we go to bed. We help feed the homeless and then walk the dogs in the shelter, and then we watch the Queen’s speech and play Monopoly.

‘I know, love. But this year,’ she sighs, ‘I’m afraid I have to go and see Ralph.’ She stresses the ‘I’, which I realise I’d missed before. I as in her, not us. Not me. There’s a hollow pang of emptiness inside me, and my heart is racing away as though it knows I need to run and hide. It’s that feeling I remember from school, when I knew I wasn’t going to get picked by anybody to be on their team.

‘You’re spending Christmas without me?’

She leans forward and squeezes my hand, and I realise I sound like a five-year-old child, not the independent woman I insist to the rest of the world that I am. Except Aunt Lynn isn’t the rest of the world. ‘You’re leaving me on my own?’

‘Only for a few days.’

‘And who’s Ralph?’ Is Ralph a dog? Why have I never heard of Ralph before?

‘He’s in Australia.’

‘Australia?’ I do realise I’m just repeating everything, but she’s saying all the wrong things.

‘I need to do this on my own, darling.’ Lynn sits back, and I watch mesmerised, as she stirs her mug of tea and the words swirl round inside me. ‘He’s an old friend,’ the way she says ‘friend’ makes me look up, into her eyes, ‘and he’s dying. This will be his last Christmas, and I’d really like to spend it with him. You knew I was in Australia just before you came to live with me?’

I nod. I have some vague recollection of being told, but I was little more than a toddler back then, and all I remember is the strangeness. Aunt Lynn was strangely brown and wore odd, flamboyant clothes, all bright and swirly. Big skirts that swished as she walked, big beads that jingled together, that I played with as I sat on her knee.

Her house smelled different to my old one, all scented and smoky. She smelled different, all warm and inviting. She’d hug me to her chest and sing to me, and even her hugs were different to all the ones I’d had before. Only Aunt Lynn hugged me that way, as though she’d never let me go.

A silly lump is lodged in my throat, and I sit and blink like an owl at her.

Christmas has always been about the two of us being together. How does Christmas work without her?

Oh God, I can’t spend Christmas all alone, I haven’t even got a cat for company!

I know, I’ll take Callum up on his offer. He texted this morning asking if I wanted to spend the day at his parents’ house with him, and I’d been horrified. I’d nearly rushed round there and then to say no, to explain I had to be with Aunt Lynn. That’s we always spend the day together. But something had stopped me. I blink some more. I don’t want to be with Callum. If I say yes now, it will be for all the wrong reasons. I’ll be using him.

‘I came back for you, Sarah, and I left Ralph behind. But now it’s time to go and see him. One last time.’ She squeezes my hand again and her voice is gentle as she studies my face with eyes that used to be piercing blue but are now softened with age, and the sadness of life. ‘I am so sorry, love. I know what Christmas together means to you, it’s important to me as well. But you can come with me if you like? Ralph won’t mind at all. I just didn’t think you’d want to share Christmas in a strange place with a man you don’t know who’s dying, and I know it won’t be the same as Christmas here, but . . .’

‘It’s all right. Honest.’ I’d rather have Christmas anywhere if it meant being with her, than being at home without her, but I can see that this is something that really can’t be shared. Ralph needs her. And I’ve got a feeling she needs him.

‘He’s only got a few weeks left; he might not be here to see the new year in, so it’s all been a bit rushed, you see. It was the earliest flight I could get – the silly idiot had put off telling me until now.’ There’s real anguish, mixed with tears in her strangled voice. ‘I just hope I’m not too late.’

I’ve never thought of her as old, or sad before, but now the mist of my own selfishness is breaking up and I realise she’s more than just my Auntie Lynn. She’s a woman with a past of her own.

Aunt Lynn has never said much about her other life. Her pre-me life. Before my parents disappeared. But as I grew up, and studied the photographs, the discarded rucksack shoved to the back of her wardrobe, and the small mementoes of different places and people that adorned every shelf, nook and cranny in her house, I pieced together her real life as best as I could. And I saw a carefree, happy, hippy lifestyle that she’d willingly abandoned, and that she made sure I never felt guilty about.

How can I not be happy for her if she has a chance now to go back to that life? I am all grown up, and she can be free again. I swallow down my desire to shout ‘don’t leave me’, ashamed that I’m struggling. ‘Tell me about Ralph.’

So she does. And all the time she speaks about him she has a wistful smile on her face, her voice soft and sing-song, her mind miles away from the life she and I have been sharing.

‘You shouldn’t have left him.’

‘I had you, love, and besides, the time was right. Are those a bit tart? I was worried the orange rind would go chewy, but I only had the thick-cut marmalade. Would you like a bit of flapjack? It’s a bit crunchy – I didn’t know whether to smash it up and call it granola.’

I can’t think about granola now. I’m thinking about Aunt Lynn being sad and putting a brave face on things. And spending Christmas on my own.

Lynn smiles, a bit uncertainly.

‘Actually, I’ve got plans myself.’ What am I saying? ‘I’m going away.’ I’m what? How could I say that?

‘You are?’

‘I am.’ I nod. Confidently. And feel slightly sick, but now I’ve started this, I can’t stop, can I? ‘I’m going to Canada!’ That’s it! That will show her! I’m all grown up now, I can do Christmas on my own. Spending Christmas with Callum would definitely be wrong. In my heart I’ve known for a long time that things aren’t quite perfect between us, that we’ve been running out of time. Oh no, I’m not going to spend Christmas with him. I’m going to see this as an opportunity and fix Will Armstrong once and for all.

‘Canada?’ She’s got a puzzled frown on her face, which isn’t surprising. Inside I’m a bit confused too.

‘I’m going to sort out the mess at the Shooting Star Mountain Resort. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, I’ve already made a provisional booking; all I need to do is confirm.’

‘The Shooting Star resort? The one where . . .’

I nod, less confidently now, feeling even more queasy.

‘Well, that is a surprise. Good for you, darling. Going back and—’

‘I’m only going back because of all the crap reviews, and the fact the jerk that’s running it seems to be determined to totally wreck the place and get us sued in the process.’

‘Sued?’

I think I might have got carried away and said things I shouldn’t. I’m not sure flapping my arms in the air in what I thought was a nonchalant gesture is removing the frown from her face, but it’s worth a try. ‘Oh, it’s nothing to worry about, just empty threats.’ She doesn’t look convinced. ‘But that’s why I’m going.’

‘The Shooting Star resort?’

I nod.

‘And you’ll be all right on your own?’ She’s looking even more worried now, and I don’t think it’s anything to do with being sued.

‘Definitely. I’m a big girl, now.’ But feel like a tiny, abandoned toddler inside. Man up, Sarah, you can do this.

‘I’d come with you, but I need to do this for Ralph – and for me, if I’m honest. He needs me, Sarah.’ That is Aunt Lynn all over: she is there if people need her, like she’s always been there for me. ‘Why not wait until the new year and we can go together?’

‘Honestly, I’ll be fine.’ And why spend Christmas on my own, when I can be with Mr ruin-it-all Armstrong? ‘It needs sorting now.’ I think I might be trying to reassure myself here, convince myself I’ve made the right decision.

What am I thinking? It’s not only Mr Scrooge himself that I’ll be tackling. I’ll be back there. The place where it all went wrong, when I found out just how little I meant to the two people who’d meant everything to me. My world.

Aunt Lynn is right. I won’t be all right on my own. I want her there, holding my hand. I don’t want to pull warm mittens on all alone, to look at the spot where we built the biggest snowman ever without her at my side.

I don’t want to curl up on a rug, looking at the flickering flames, and see my parents wave goodbye in my mind.

I can’t go back alone to the place that broke my heart. In fact, I swore I’d never go back. I’d closed that door forever.

I can feel the hurt bubbling up in my throat. Threatening to break out in a babble of words, saying I can’t do it, that it won’t work, that I’ll never ever be able to go back there again.

But it doesn’t.

I can’t expect Aunt Lynn to be there, watching my back, forever. This is my battle now, not hers.

And anyway, this isn’t about the past, about me. I’m going because of the business, and I’m going because I need to prove to Lynn and myself that I’m all grown up now.

I blink hard, shut out the image of a husky dog licking my fingers, tickling my face with its fur until I giggle, until Mum laughs and swings me up in the air.

‘I want to go.’ Swallowing hard clears my throat and digging my nails into the palms of my hands helps the lie. ‘If I don’t go now, it’ll be too late.’

‘Okay.’ It’s long and drawn out. ‘Well, if that’s the case, I’m going to shut the agency over the holiday period, so that you don’t have to worry and can have some fun.’ She stands up abruptly, as though she’s made a sudden decision, and walks over to the dresser. ‘And I’ve got a little surprise for you too. Consider it an early Christmas present!’

Chapter 5

Aunt Lynn and I have one thing in common with the royal family. I’m pretty sure it will only be the one thing, but who knows? Anyway, we decided many years ago to go for inexpensive gifts that will make us laugh. We have a strict spending limit and it’s all about trying to get something that will make the other person chuckle, but something that they’ll love and cherish because it’s so ‘them’.

Aunt Lynn has always collected knick-knacks from her travels, but says that each item, however seemingly worthless, has a memory attached and means something to her. And that, she says, is the important thing. What’s the point in spending lots of money on something that is emotionally worthless?

It took me quite a while to get my head round this (and she did bend the rules rather a lot when I was little), but as I got older, the gifts she gave me started to mean more, which meant I treasured them. I don’t keep much; I’m not a ‘stuff’ type of person, but each gift she has given me has captured a memory, a place or a feeling, and I’ve kept them all. My emotional me is spelled out on my dressing table, if anybody ever takes the time to study the weird assortment of items and work it out.

These days we laugh as we rip the wrapping paper off, but behind the laughter there is a shared ‘knowing’. An anticipation. Our flippant gifts prove how much we know about each other, how closely our lives are meshed.

Today, though, this feels wrong, and is making my heart twinge with dread. It is not Christmas morning, and the envelope she has just fished out of the drawer does not look funny, or cheap. It looks ominous. It feels like something terrible is about to happen, that the one tradition we’ve stuck to, the one certainty in my life, is about to explode and shatter into little pieces.

‘I’ll keep it until—’ I’m not usually a wimp, or melodramatic, but I don’t like this at all. The reality that we’re not spending Christmas Day together is still sinking in. I don’t want any more shocks. Changes.

‘Open it now, love.’ She doesn’t let go of her end, as though she knows I’ll stuff it in my bag if she does. There’s a little tussle between us, until my gaze meets hers dead on and she knows I’ll do what she’s asked. ‘It’s not a proper present really, more like a promise.’

‘A promise?’ The envelope is burning the tips of my fingers.

I don’t want to open it now, but I know she isn’t going to give me a choice. For all the hippy-chick free love-living and happiness vibe she gives out, on the inside Lynn is tough. And determined. Appearances can be deceptive.

The envelope isn’t even sealed, the flap is just tucked in, but it seems to take an age for my clumsy fingers to find a way inside it.

To drag out the slip of paper.

‘Oh.’ It isn’t at all what I expect. Not that I know what I’d expected. You can’t cram Christmas with all the festive trimmings into an envelope, can you?

‘But . . .’ It doesn’t make any sense at all. This isn’t like our normal presents, this isn’t about making new memories. This is terrible.