Tinsel and Terriers

Harper

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First published in Great Britain by Harper 2015

Copyright © HarperCollinsPublishers 2015

Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2015

Cover images © Shutterstock.com

Cressida McLaughlin asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Ebook Edition © October 2015 ISBN: 9780008135232

Version 2015-09-24

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Christmas Day on Primrose Terrace

Keep Reading

About the Author

Also by Cressida McLaughlin

About the Publisher

Chapter 1

Cat Palmer was cold, and confused, and had some explaining to do. As she walked back to Primrose Terrace from Fairview Cove, her coat pulled tightly around her, she wished she still had Chalky, Elsie’s wise old miniature Schnauzer, to reassure her.

The day had gone so well. The month-long protest she had organized to try and stop dogs being banned at the cove, Fairview’s quieter beach, had culminated in an event where dog-lovers, sea-lovers and other residents of Fairview had turned up and signed her petition, putting themselves firmly behind her cause. The council official had agreed to take the signatures to the committee, and it looked like the swell of support would be enough. They would be able to show Mr Jasper, Fairview’s resident dog hater, that he was in a minority.

Then she’d allowed herself to relax. She’d tried surfing with her new boyfriend Mark, housemates Polly and Joe, her neighbours Juliette and Will. She’d let her worries drift away, and so of course one had come back to plant itself firmly in front of her.

The trees lining the road shook in the wind and Cat shrunk further inside her coat. Her hair was still damp from the sea, and the cold made her head sting. Autumn was well and truly underway. She loved this time of year. She loved the excitement of Halloween and fireworks, and then the influx of lights and colours as people blotted out the winter greyness with sparkling festivity.

It would be her first Christmas living on Primrose Terrace, and although she’d be in Brighton with her parents on the day, she’d been looking forward to getting into the festive spirit, planning decorations and parties with Mark, Polly and Joe. She wanted to celebrate a year that had seen so much change for them all. Cat had started her own dog-walking business, Pooch Promenade, which was going from strength to strength; Polly had worked hard to qualify as a veterinary nurse, and was just embarking on her dream career at Fairview vet’s; Mark’s new film – despite a few hiccups, was on its way to being made, and illustrator Joe had been asked to trial a cartoon strip for the local newspaper.

As Cat turned into Primrose Terrace, she shuddered at the thought of Joe, standing so close to her, his blue eyes, bright from the exhilaration of surfing, latched firmly onto hers. She had been so upset when she discovered his cartoon, Curiosity Kitten, was based on her. She had been trying to ignore the feelings that had been bubbling inside her, that told her she was upset because she wanted Joe to care about her – really care about her.

And then Joe had said just that. He had confessed about the cartoon, and told her that she was his inspiration. He had stroked her cheek, and his expression had filled in all the blanks.

But Cat was with Mark now. She had finally taken the next step with the scriptwriter who lived a few doors away. He was charming and handsome, occasionally still mysterious, as if he was hovering just out of reach, but she was learning to accept that was part of who he was. But he had found her and Joe in the tiny changing room in the back of the surfer van, Cat in only a towel, Joe’s wetsuit pulled down to the waist. It was innocent, they were talking, but Cat knew how it looked. She had escaped as quickly as she could, taking Chalky to the far end of the cove. She had done more thinking in the last couple of hours than she could bear, and she still wasn’t sure about her decision.

It had taken a long time to get to where she was with Mark. Could she really throw it away on one hurried conversation, one tender look? She tried to forget about the stolen hugs, the moments she’d shared with Joe over the last few months, and the way her heart rate increased when she pictured the warm smile that crinkled his blue eyes.

She was relieved and terrified when she saw Mark’s Audi was parked outside his house. He’d driven to the cove to take banners and food for the barbecue, so she knew for certain that he’d returned home.

Swallowing down the lump in her throat, she climbed the steps up to number four and rang the bell. She heard it echo inside, and then fast feet running down the corridor. She bit her lip and waited for the door to open.

Mark’s border collie Chips ran straight into her, nudging her nose into her legs. She stroked the dog’s silky ears, but she couldn’t take her eyes off Mark. He was wearing the jeans and jumper he’d had on at the beach, his dark hair drying untidily around his face, but his expression was darker than she’d ever seen it. His lips were pressed together, and his brown eyes looked at her with a cold detachment that made her insides shrivel. She’d done nothing wrong, she told herself. She just had to make Mark believe it.

‘Can I come in?’ she asked, resting her hand on Chips’s soft head.

Mark was silent for a moment, then gestured for her to come inside.

Cat perched on the edge of his leather sofa, wrapping her arms around her. Mark stood in the doorway.

‘Are you cold?’ There was an edge to his voice, but Cat could also hear disappointment in it. She’d managed to disappoint so many people recently, in one way or another, but she hadn’t imagined it could happen with Mark.

‘No, I’m fine, thanks. Come and sit down.’ She patted the sofa next to her.

Mark hesitated, as if there was a delay between the words leaving her mouth and reaching him, but then he joined her. Cat was conscious of the gap between them: hands, knees not touching.

‘I wanted to explain what happened, in the van.’

Mark nodded. ‘Go on. I’m all ears.’

‘Right.’ She swallowed. Chips was lying on the floor under the window, and she wished she could bury her head in the collie’s warm fur. ‘What you saw – nothing happened. Nothing was happening, nothing was going to happen. Joe wanted to talk to me because…I’m not there any more. At number nine. I’m always here.’

‘So he has to pick the moment you’re naked to come and find you?’ Mark asked sharply.

‘No, of course not. That was a mistake. He just wanted to talk to me about something.’

‘What?’ Mark clasped his hands in front of him, his elbows on his knees. Cat was struck all over again by how handsome he was, with his dark, messy hair, his strong jawline. But without his usual charm, without the light of amusement in his eyes, he was a different person. An image of Joe, looking at her with real compassion, flashed in Cat’s mind and she pushed it aside.

This was the hard part. Cat didn’t want to lie and she knew she’d done nothing wrong, but the truth about Joe’s cartoon wasn’t going to reassure him.

She ran her finger along her jeans. ‘He’s had a job offer, a new project, for the local paper. It’s a cartoon strip, and he – he wanted to use an idea that sort of relates to me.’

‘Relates to you? What does that mean?’

Cat looked at the floor. ‘His idea is a character called Curiosity Kitten. It’s this kitten who gets into all kinds of scrapes because she’s curious.’ She thought back to the sketches she’d seen. ‘Like opening a box with something dangerous inside, trying to see into a window and falling off her makeshift ladder, that kind of thing.’

‘And that’s you because…?’

‘Because I’m curious, Mark. I do stupid things like that. Sometimes they work, like with Frankie and her attic room, and sometimes, like seeing what would happen if I took a puppy into a nursery, they backfire spectacularly.’

‘So what you’re saying,’ Mark said, shifting round to face her more directly, his knee brushing hers, ‘Is that Joe’s drawing a cartoon that takes the piss out of you? And he didn’t think you’d have a problem with that?’ He laughed. ‘Is he for real?’

Cat shrugged, sensing that he was on the verge of thawing. Of course that was what she wanted, but she had never intended to make Joe out to be the bad guy. ‘He wanted to make sure I was OK with it,’ she said. ‘I was put out to begin with, but is it really so bad being the subject of someone’s work? Don’t you put people you know in your films?’

Mark shook his head, dismissing her change of subject. ‘That’s what he wanted to talk to you about? In the back of the van, both of you half naked?’ He caught her eye and Cat felt her cheeks colour, but annoyance flashed through her – why was he making this so difficult?

‘That was unintentional. I was getting changed, and he was – he’d just finished surfing.’

‘Oh yes,’ Mark said bitterly, ‘the star surfer.’

‘Mark, come on—’

‘Come on?’ he shot back. ‘I open that door to find you and your housemate Joe, who, by the way, is clearly besotted with you, standing inches apart, skin on show, and you expect me to believe it was a chat? Why did he need to talk to you right then? Was it just inspiration he wanted from you, or more? Or maybe you’d agreed to meet him there so you could debrief each other.’

‘Of course not,’ Cat said, her voice rising. ‘Joe wanted to talk to me, and it was just the wrong time. It was so the wrong time.’ She risked reaching out and taking his hand. He didn’t flinch, but he didn’t slide his fingers between hers either. ‘Nothing has ever happened between me and Joe. I want to be with you. Hasn’t the last month proved that?’

Mark looked out of the window, his dark brows knitting together. ‘It was humiliating, Cat, finding you like that. I know you’ve always been close to him—’

‘He’s my housemate.’

‘And it caught me off guard. Surely you can see why it would upset me?’ He turned back to her, squeezing her hand.

Cat felt a momentary resistance before squeezing back. She was relieved the confrontation was over, but it wasn’t the thunderbolt she’d been hoping for, a jolt of contentment that told her she was making the right decision, that this was where she was meant to be. ‘Of course I can,’ she said, ‘and I’m sorry. It was a misunderstanding – of course I can see how it looked – but Joe and I are just friends. I love spending time with you and Chips. We’ve only just started getting to know each other, and I don’t want it to end now.’ She risked moving closer to him, and she could see a flicker of the old Mark in his eyes.

‘I don’t either.’ He pulled her towards him, wrapping her in his arms. ‘I don’t want to lose you, Cat. I’ve lost – I just…don’t want to lose you. Stay here tonight.’ Mark pushed her back to arm’s length and gave her his warmest smile. ‘Don’t go home.’ He ran his hand down the side of her face, cupped her chin and kissed her.

Cat responded to his touch, telling herself she’d made the right decision and she was lucky that Mark had understood. He was sexy, charming, fun to be with and forgiving.

But her conversation with Joe was unfinished and she couldn’t stop it playing on her mind. Ignoring everything else that had happened, they were good friends, and she couldn’t leave things as they were. She should be mad at him – he had cornered her in the van, forced her into a position where she had to make this apology to Mark – but all she could think was that she didn’t want to give up on their friendship. She needed to clear the air. She’d do it first thing tomorrow.

Cat unlocked the front door and stood at the foot of the stairs, listening. It was the day after the protest, the first of October, and Cat had no idea how late the beach barbecue had gone on the night before. She knew Polly was working today, and she hoped she’d have the chance to speak to Joe alone.

‘Hello?’ she called.

She was met by silence. Not even Shed, Joe’s large ginger cat, came slinking out of the living room.

She climbed the stairs and went into her room, throwing her coat onto the bed. Her gaze fell on her dressing table and the ‘Bitchin’ Walks’ cartoon Joe had drawn for her when she was trying to come up with names for Pooch Promenade all those months ago.

Walking over to it, she traced the cartoon dog with her finger, thought again of him so close to her, the way her anger had dissolved, replaced by feelings she didn’t want to admit to. How she had hung onto his next words.

She closed her eyes, trying to push the thoughts away, and was jolted back to reality by a loud bang outside her door, followed by footsteps. Peering out onto the landing, she saw a large black suitcase sitting at the bottom of the stairs that led to Joe’s attic bedroom. She lifted it. It was heavy.

She heard someone moving about downstairs, quiet swearing. She followed the sounds and stood in the living-room doorway, watching as Joe rifled through papers on the dining table, a red hoody flung over his shoulder, arms strong and tanned against his white T-shirt. She inhaled and Joe turned, his eyes widening as he saw her.

‘Cat.’ He cleared his throat.

‘Hi.’

‘I wasn’t expecting you back.’

‘I do still live here,’ she said softly.

‘I know,’ Joe said, ‘but I thought after yesterday you’d be staying with him. I’m sorry if I made things hard for you. I should have thought about how it might look.’

‘I did have a bit of explaining to do,’ Cat said. ‘It wasn’t my finest hour, or my happiest.’

Joe sighed. ‘I’m so sorry. But he’s OK? Mark, I mean?’

Cat nodded, her lips pressed together. She saw that Joe was holding his passport. ‘You’re going abroad? I saw the suitcase.’

‘There’s this course, in Portland. Illustration, graphic design, the whole shebang. I’ve wanted to do it for ages, but it’s always oversubscribed. I’ve been on a waiting list.’

‘And a space has miraculously become available right now?’ She said it quietly but was shocked by the cynicism in her own voice.

‘I found out a couple of weeks ago.’ He left space for her to complete the sentence. And you weren’t here to tell.

‘Right, wow. Congratulations. How long’s the course?’

‘It’s three weeks, but I might take some time…I’ve always wanted to go to that part of America, so I’ll probably travel down the coast, visit San Francisco.’

‘So how long?’ Cat whispered.

Joe shrugged. ‘I’ll be back for Christmas. Your first at Primrose Terrace. I did – I was going to tell you yesterday.’

‘Ah.’

‘The paper are trialling my cartoon, running it up until Christmas. And then, if they’re happy, it’ll be a regular feature in the New Year. I wanted to get my skills fully up to date, and this course—’

‘You don’t have to explain to me.’

‘But I feel like I do.’ Joe put his hand on her arm, sending a spark through her. ‘After what I said yesterday, and then…this. It was planned, Cat, I have to go and do this. I’m not running away.’

‘I wouldn’t blame you if you were.’

‘Why? Because I made such a big fuck-up?’

‘No – that’s not what I meant,’ Cat said hurriedly. ‘I don’t want it to be awkward between us.’

Joe squeezed her arm. ‘I don’t either. Some space between us will be good.’

‘And it sounds like an amazing opportunity.’

‘It’ll put me at the top of my game.’

‘You’ve always been at the top of your game, Joe. You’re ridiculously good at what you do, your cartoons, your banner.’ She found she was grinning, and he returned the smile, the tension between them lifting. ‘And as well as all that, you’ve helped me so much this year, you’ve always been there. You’re just a really great person.’

‘You’re not so bad yourself,’ he said softly, his blue eyes locking onto hers. ‘And I’m sorry I won’t be here for the next few weeks. But I think now, maybe you don’t need – not that you ever needed someone, but…’ His words trailed off and they both looked away.

‘And the whole Curiosity Kitten thing?’ Cat rushed. ‘I don’t mind, really. I would never stop you realizing your dream, especially not for vanity’s sake, for some silly misunderstanding.’

‘Thank you, that means a lot. I hope you know, now, that I’m not making fun of you.’

Cat looked at the floor.

‘I mean it, Cat. You’ve made your mark on Primrose Terrace, you’ve helped so many people. Your curiosity, your tenacity – this place wouldn’t be the same without you.’

‘Everyone would be left in peace, you mean?’ She gave him a rueful smile.

‘Yeah, maybe. But without you, they wouldn’t have seen their potential. Frankie, the Barkers, Polly and Owen. You spread good vibes, positive thinking. Kind of like a real-life Santa.’ He laughed. ‘I bet you love Christmas, don’t you?’

Cat sighed. ‘I do love Christmas, but…’ She didn’t want to voice her sadness, the fact that this Christmas would see her parents leaving England to go to Canada, how much she would miss them. And here was Joe, doing the same thing. She’d almost got around to the idea of her parents being out of arm’s reach, but she tried to imagine the house without Joe’s presence, and found she had a mental block. How could she enjoy the run up to Christmas without him there?

Her phone rang and, giving Joe an apologetic glance, she answered it.

‘Hello?’

‘Miss Palmer? It’s Mr Cawston, from the council.’

‘Oh.’ Cat crossed her fingers. ‘Yes? H-how did it go?’

‘I’m afraid today’s council meeting has been cancelled. We’ve had some apologies, and there aren’t enough people to make it quorate – to pass decisions.’

‘Oh,’ she said again. ‘Oh, right. So what happens now?’ She made a face at Joe.

‘Your item’s been moved to the next agenda.’

‘When’s that?’

‘The end of the month. I assure you I will let you know the outcome.’

‘OK,’ Cat said warily. ‘There’s been nothing else, has there? Since yesterday afternoon?’ She thought of how Mr Jasper would have reacted to their protest, and knew that, given the opportunity, he wouldn’t leave it alone. ‘No more evidence from the opposition?’

‘I can’t say at this point,’ Mr Cawston said. ‘I will let you know what happens, of course.’

‘But you have to give us a chance to—’ Cat dropped her head, frustrated, as the line went dead.

‘What’s happened?’ Joe asked.

‘No decision on dogs at the cove until the end of the month.’

‘Shit, I’m sorry. But it doesn’t make a win any less likely?’

‘I don’t know,’ Cat admitted. ‘He wouldn’t say if they’d heard any more from Mr Jasper. Crap. What if he’s heard about our protest and gone back to the council? He’s now got another month to strengthen his argument. What if he’s done enough?’

‘He won’t have. Not after what you achieved yesterday.’

‘I’m not so sure.’

‘It’ll be fine,’ Joe said. ‘An early Christmas present.’

‘I’ll want to celebrate – or commiserate – with everyone. You and Polly and Jessica and Elsie.’ She didn’t think bringing Mark’s name into the conversation would be helpful. ‘But you might not be here.’

‘I’m coming back. And we’ll have a great Christmas.’

‘You don’t strike me as the Christmas type,’ Cat said, smiling.

Joe gave her a look of mock horror. ‘How can you say that? You have no idea!’

‘So, what do you love most about Christmas, then?’

‘Eating and drinking too much, silly hats and pointless presents, Christmas films. Not having to do anything except hole up in the warm with the people I care about.’ He held her gaze, and Cat’s stomach did a small, unhelpful somersault. It sounded perfect.

‘What time’s your flight?’ she asked.

‘First thing in the morning. I’m travelling down to Heathrow tonight.’

‘Right.’ Cat nodded. ‘Well, I have to—’ She pointed behind her.

‘Of course. Go, walk dogs, have fun. I’ll see you soon.’

‘Sure,’ Cat said, a lump forming in her throat. ‘You too, Joe. I hope it’s wonderful.’

They stood facing each other, unsure what to do next, and then Cat heard Joe whisper ‘fuck it’ and he closed the gap between them, pulling her into his arms. Cat closed her eyes, wrapped her arms round his waist and listened to his heart beating, letting herself indulge, for a few moments, in how good it felt to be so close to him. She was so relieved that she’d come home, that she hadn’t turned up the following day to discover he’d already gone, that they’d been able to have this goodbye.

It was only temporary, Cat told herself as they broke apart, the lump still firmly in her throat. He’d be back in a few weeks, resuming his place on the sofa, ready to have a lazy, indulgent Christmas with them all.

So why did it feel like the bottom had fallen out of her world?

‘I want to do something for Christmas,’ Cat said later as she and Mark sat on the sofa in front of an old horror film.

‘Like what?’ He turned to her, pushed her hair back from her forehead. ‘I thought we could get a turkey and hibernate – take Chips for a long walk, have a quiet day just the three of us.’

Cat shook her head. ‘My parents are going to Canada straight after Christmas, so I have to spend it with them. But I didn’t mean the actual day, I meant the build-up. Something that all of Primrose Terrace can get involved in.’

Mark leaned back and folded his arms. ‘What do you mean? Not another protest?’

‘No, no no. Well, unless we get bad news from the committee. I mean something fun, something Christmassy.’

‘Why?’

‘Why not? Don’t you think this is the best place you’ve ever lived? Everyone here, Jessica, Frankie and her kids, the Barkers, Boris and Charles, they’re all so friendly. Why can’t we do something, you and me, Polly and…and Elsie. I’ll have a think.’ She took a sip of wine and stroked Chips’s soft fur with her bare foot.

‘Christmas is hectic enough without having something else to organize on top of presents and food and family.’