A Christmas Gift: The #1 Christmas bestseller returns with the most feel good romance of 2018

A couple of the students grinned her way and Maddie, seeing Georgine in the mirror, implemented an impressively smooth about face to dance opposite Georgine. Forgetting all her pressures and worries, Georgine laughed aloud as the troupe moved forwards and she had to reverse. It was a bit like being Ginger Rogers to a bunch of Fred Astaires … apart from wearing jeans and trainers instead of a swirly dress and heels.

At the close of the segment Maddie called, ‘Three, two, one, cha-cha-cha, and sliiiiiide, jazz hands. Fantastic everybody! Quick break. Grab a drink if you want one.’

Back down to earth now the dancing was done, Georgine caught her breath and approached her colleague. ‘Maddie, I’d better introduce you to the new guy, Joe. Oggie was one of his teachers, apparently, and he has technical experience.’

Maddie sipped from a bottle of water and winked. ‘The cutie rocking the designer specs? What’s he like?’

‘Nice to look at,’ Georgine admitted, ‘but flippin’ hard work. Hardly speaks.’

Yet when she took Maddie over to Joe and made the introductions, Joe flashed a smile, showing no signs of shyness. ‘I’ve really enjoyed watching,’ he told Maddie, and went on for a whole minute about how great the dancers had looked and what a shame it was that there weren’t more male dance students.

Then he turned back to Georgine and returned to using only necessary words. ‘Oggie’s texted. I need to go to Fern’s office and apply for my DBS online.’

‘OK, I’ll show you there.’ Georgine turned back to the dancers. ‘You’re doing brilliantly! I’ll be back shortly.’ Then Georgine delivered Joe to the capable hands of Fern, with her bouffant silver hair and air of unflappable calm.

She skipped back to dance rehearsal trying not to mind that Joe had turned to Fern’s computer with such an obvious expression of relief.

Chapter Two

After filling in all the necessary boxes on-screen and watching Fern check his application before it went off, Joe thanked her and made for Oggie’s room. Pretending not to see the look of reproach in Fern’s eyes because he hadn’t cleared his destination with her, he shut the door.

He flopped into the same brown chair he’d occupied earlier, threw off his glasses and covered his eyes.

Oggie laughed at his theatrics. ‘What?’

Joe didn’t move. Mortification was easier to deal with from behind eyelids. ‘Georgine France. I was at school with her. Here, not in Surrey. I’m behaving like a teenage doofus around her.’

Oggie stopped laughing. ‘Oh! Will it be a problem?’

Joe pressed his palms harder against his face, the short, freshly cut ends of his hair and his close-shaved cheeks feeling weird to his touch. Since he’d gone clean-cut he felt a stranger to himself. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Did she recognise you?’

‘No sign of it. Everyone changes a lot between fourteen and thirty-four. When I knew her I was blond and scrawny and looked as if I lived in a skip.’

Oggie’s voice dropped sympathetically. ‘You’re not that person now. Did you know her well?’

Slowly, Joe slid his hands down from his eyes, blinking at the raw winter light streaming through the window. ‘Reasonably.’ Then, because he’d never wanted to bullshit Oggie, corrected himself. ‘We were friends from age eleven to fourteen.’ He sucked in a huge calming breath. ‘I had the most gigantic, painful crush on her. She was one of the popular girls. Her dad had money and she went on holidays abroad and had dancing and singing lessons after school. The princess to my pauper.’

‘A monied princess?’ Oggie looked slightly surprised.

‘Compared to me. She came to Bettsbrough Comp on the bus from Middledip or in a posh car. I lived on the crappiest estate in Bettsbrough with a couple of alcoholics masquerading as parents. The Shetland estate was known as “Shitland” back then and I was part of the infamous Shitland gang, but she was always nice to me.’ He swallowed. ‘I recognised her instantly. Not even Georgine’s sister had the same unusual colouring.’ Her hair was what she’d used to tell him was ‘cool strawberry blonde’, her skin golden and spangled with faint freckles like a blonde photographed through the palest sepia filter. Except for her eyes. Not green, nor grey or blue, but a mix of the three, like a winter sea.

He’d had to paint her portrait once in art class and the teacher had said, ‘Good effort!’ Some of his moron mates from the Shitland gang had jeered and so he’d painted the ends of her hair like worms, because clowning around was a good way to distract them from how he’d felt about Georgine. He was the fool, the kid who never had the right shoes or uniform or PE kit. The one whose stepdad was known throughout the town by just his surname, Garrit, and ridiculed, along with Joe’s mum, for being drunk on cheap lager almost every day.

Garrit hadn’t been funny to live with.

In fact, not much about Joe’s life had been funny. If he hadn’t developed strategies to make people laugh with him instead of at him he would have punched their stupid heads in for not using their stupid eyes to see how stupidly unfunny it was to be him.

He rose on what felt like hollow legs to get a drink from the small cooler in the corner. ‘She doesn’t know me as Joe Blackthorn, or by my full first names, John Joseph.’ He kept his back to his friend as he sipped from the flimsy disposable cup. ‘You probably remember me telling you I had my stepdad’s surname from the age of two or three. Then all the Shitland gang got nicknames and mine was “Rich” because I wasn’t. Everybody called me Rich Garrit.’

He dropped back into his chair and sent Oggie a rueful smile. ‘Sorry to be a diva. It was a shock to see Georgine and after the crap that’s happened with the band lately …’

Oggie nodded, not rushing in with platitudes or questions, but letting Joe work through things in his own time, just as he had all those years ago. His Uncle Shaun had rescued Joe from Cambridgeshire and put him in the school in Surrey with, for the first time, all the right uniform and all the right PE kit. Even the right haircut. If he hadn’t had the right accent to begin with, well, he’d soon changed that. He’d claimed the name on his birth certificate, but chosen to be Joe instead of Johnjoe, which his mother had called him, another way of disassociating himself from what he’d used to be.

He still remembered the pleasure and relief of blending in.

Freed of the expectation of clowning, he’d worked at the subjects he liked, such as music and art. Oggie had noticed him spending break times alone and got him painting scenery for school plays. He’d made friends.

It was to Oggie that he’d admitted his uncle was teaching him piano and drums. Oggie who talked to Shaun about weekend sessions at a local stage school; Oggie who’d arranged extra music lessons so Joe got the GCSE he needed for a place at music college. There he’d got together with Billy, Liam, Nathan and Raf and his life had changed again …

‘If you’re going to stay here, you’re going to encounter Georgine a lot,’ Oggie said, jerking Joe back to the present. ‘She’s at the heart of Acting Instrumental. We did talk about the possibility, even probability, of you meeting your past head-on if you came.’

‘Yeah.’ Joe drummed his fingertips on his leg. ‘I could have coped with anyone better than her.’

Oggie grunted. ‘Perhaps you should consider how you’ll feel if she remembers you. It might be easier if you remind her first. Get it over with.’

‘Yeah.’ He tried to envisage it. Those green eyes had gazed at him with zero recognition, as if Rich Garrit had never existed, which made him both glad and sorry. ‘It could be a tactical lack of memory on her part. We parted on bad terms.’

Because he’d acted like a moron on the last day of term before Christmas. Made her the object of ridicule because he knew that baring his young heart in front of the Shitland gang would have set her up for cruel teasing. But the hurt in her eyes had sent him home hating himself, vowing to apologise at the school Christmas party that evening.

But Georgine hadn’t shown up. He’d waited outside because he didn’t have the entrance money – or anything to wear or a gift for the Secret Santa.

Eventually, he’d trailed home to find waiting for him an uncle he hadn’t known he had, ready to transform his life.

Joe’s Christmas miracle, fairy godfather and Secret Santa rolled into one. He’d gone to live with Shaun in Surrey and rarely looked back.

When he did, it was to think about Georgine France.

Chapter Three

At lunchtime, Georgine knew she had to let life outside Acting Instrumental intrude, so held back from the rush to the cafeteria. Zipping herself into her jacket, which was an inadequate defence against the sharp wind unless you were running, she slipped outside. She rounded the jut of the big rehearsal room to huddle behind the main building. The garden there was frequented mostly in summer sunshine when the grassy area held more attraction.

She hunched her shoulders against the wind blowing from Siberia, took a deep breath and rang Aidan, knowing that the man who answered would be a lot different to the one she’d met a couple of years ago on a rare visit to a nightclub with Blair. She’d been attracted to his happy-go-lucky nature, maybe because she felt she always had to be so sensible and together. Unfortunately, the happy-go-luckyness later proved to be hugely dependent on the ‘happy’ part. When the going got tough Aidan had retreated into bad moods and deception. He’d even begun taking money from her purse with the excuse that ‘couples share’. When she discovered he’d been unable to pay his share of the household bills and had continually lied that he had savings to cover them, it was the last straw. It was months since she’d called time on their relationship and asked him to move out of her house, yet still she was suffering the repercussions of being involved with him.

He answered, ‘’Lo, Georgine.’ His voice was just as smooth and deep as it had been when it used to curl her toes, but he also sounded down and defeated.

He wasn’t the only one having a hard time. She dived in. ‘Please sort your debts out. I had collection agents knocking at the door while I was eating my porridge this morning.’

‘No money,’ he replied listlessly.

‘Well, tell them that! You’ve been gone for three months. Stop them coming to my house or give me an address I can pass on.’ She waited. ‘Aidan?’ She checked her phone screen and glared at it. Call ended.

She counted slowly to ten, annoyed with herself for venting. Since being made redundant from his job as a commercial executive for a huge car manufacturer Aidan didn’t really handle anger.

After three minutes of pacing and huddling into her jacket, Georgine rang back. ‘Look, Ade,’ she said, pouring syrup on her voice. ‘I understand you got in a muddle with money and didn’t feel you could tell me.’

‘Because you’re funny with money. I was protecting you,’ he put in morosely.

Georgine closed her eyes and tilted her face to the sky. ‘OK, because I’m scared of financial pressure.’

‘Yet you give Blair money. And your dad.’

Her nails dug into her palms. ‘You know I feel an obligation.’

‘Yeah, I know the whole sad story, even if I don’t understand it.’

Georgine refused to let herself be sidetracked into explaining yet again why she helped her dad and sister, but didn’t have a pot of gold handy for Aidan. ‘I understand that, in law, I’m as liable as you are for the unpaid utility bills, even if those were your agreed responsibility. I sold the jewellery you gave me to offset some, and the rest I’m paying off as I can manage it. But I can’t cover whatever other liabilities you took on unbeknownst to me while you lived at my place, even if I wanted to. So please contact the organisations concerned and tell them not to come knocking at the door of 27 Top Farm Road. Explain you no longer live there.’

Aidan sighed. ‘But you can tell them.’

Revulsion shivered through her. ‘I don’t want to speak to debt collectors! It’s your responsibility …’ She recognised the futility of talking to Aidan about responsibility and changed tack. ‘I’m only asking you to stop them turning up at my door.’

‘There are websites that tell you what to do when that happens,’ he said with irritating calm. ‘They say don’t panic. Don’t let them in; complain to their company if they intimidate you.’

‘I don’t want to talk to them to find out which company they’re from! And I can’t help panicking.’ If she clenched her eyes shut any harder she’d bring on a migraine. Her voice rose, despite her best efforts. ‘If I lose my house because of you—’

He sighed. ‘Did I ever ask to use the house as security? No. Then how can you lose it because of me?’

Sleepless nights worrying through all the worst possible outcomes had provided the answer to this one. ‘If I can’t meet my mortgage because I’m catching up on all the bills you left unpaid! Or I miss a catch-up payment and the utility company takes me to court.’

It was Georgine who ended the call this time. How could Aidan have changed so much? Until last year he’d held down a good job, worn an expensive suit and driven a late-model car. But when the job went as the company restructured, everything good about him had followed.

In the early days, she’d loved his joy in life, not realising until everything went wrong how heavily he’d depended not only on a fresh pile of money hitting his bank account each month but bonuses coming along twice a year to wipe clean his credit card excesses. It became obvious that saving up had never been in his psyche.

With a sigh that matched any of the pitiful ones Aidan had been heaving down the phone, she blinked open her eyes, unclenched her fists and used the fingers of her gloves to wipe stray tears from beneath her eyes, then looked up and saw Joe standing motionless on the outside staircase that rose up the side of the building. Watching her.

She jumped, then, hoping he’d been too far away to overhear her conversation, forced herself to smile and call up to him. ‘Hello. Are you lost? Those stairs lead to some kind of private apartment. The landlord keeps it separate and Oggie says it’s not in our lease.’

He glanced down at the staircase beneath his feet. ‘Right. Thanks. That would explain why up here wasn’t included in your tour.’ He ran lightly down to ground level. ‘Oggie said to talk to you about the Christmas show. He thinks you might like lighting and sound taken off your hands.’ Joe looked much more self-possessed than he had this morning, even if he talked slowly, quietly, as if he were testing every word before letting it loose.

‘Would I ever. I’ll take you through what you need to know,’ she said promptly. She didn’t bother reminding him he wasn’t supposed to be wandering around unaccompanied, because she hadn’t given any thought to his whereabouts after he’d gone off to the admin office during dance rehearsal and probably she should have. Georgine gave a last sniff and pushed Aidan and his troubles into a mental ‘worry about this when I’m not at work’ box. ‘I’m going for lunch. Shall we walk over together?’

‘That would be great.’ Joe flashed a smile. It was so unexpectedly warm that she grinned back as if she’d known him for much longer than a few hours.

Lunch break was half over and tables were freeing up when they reached the cafeteria, though the noise level was only a couple of decibels below deafening. Georgine was convinced that some students sat two tables away from their friends just so they could shout conversations like, ‘Have you done any of your Christmas shopping yet? No, me neither. Got to get some money first.’

Three lads were picking at guitars, apparently trying to master a tricky bit of fingerwork. It wasn’t unusual to see students turning any spare spot in the college into a rehearsal room.

She went ahead of Joe in the queue in case he wasn’t sure of the system – not that it was hard. You chose your food and drink and paid by scanning your pass, having already credited the cafeteria account linked to it. Accounts could be topped up online, pleasing parents who suspected their kids would use meal money to buy cigarettes or sweets if the actual cash was put in their hands.

Even at staff rates it was an economy to eat a hot meal in the cafeteria at lunchtime. Georgine would content herself with a sandwich or a bowl of soup at home in the evening.

‘Oh,’ said Joe, ruefully, when they got to the head of the queue and he saw Georgine hold out her pass card to be scanned by Celine, who was on the till today. ‘I was supposed to collect my pass from Fern before lunch and I forgot.’ He turned to Celine who, in her blue smock, was waiting patiently. ‘Can I pay in cash today?’

Regretfully, Celine shook her head, complete with hat and hairnet. ‘I’m sorry, darlin’, it’s not a cash till. We don’t have actual money.’

‘Oh.’ Joe dropped his gaze to the contents of his tray: pasta and the biggest latte on offer, garlic bread he’d already taken a bite from and a cereal bar. His face reddened. ‘Erm, I can’t really put this back.’

Celine turned to Georgine. ‘Shall I put it on your card? Then he can give you the cash.’

‘Would you mind?’ Joe switched his gaze to Georgine too, expression hopeful and relieved.

From the scalding in her cheeks Georgine was pretty sure she’d turned every bit as red as him. She didn’t have much choice but to say, ‘Not a bit,’ and proffer her card again, but her heart began a slow descent to her chilly toes.

Celine passed the card beneath the scanner. It beeped angrily. She flashed Georgine a look of surprise, then returned the pass with a shake of her head. ‘I bet it won’t go through twice in a row as some safety precaution.’ She tapped at the till’s screen then said to Joe, ‘I’ve voided your bill for now. Get your card and account sorted and you can pay us tomorrow. You look the honest sort.’ She scribbled down £6.38 on a torn-off receipt, gave it to him with a big smile and moved on to the next in the queue.

Hurrying off towards a half-empty table, Georgine felt as if she’d just missed being hit by a speeding car. She knew very well that the card hadn’t scanned because there wasn’t enough in her cafeteria account after paying for her own lunch. The balance of about four pounds was barely enough for a meal tomorrow, Wednesday, without coffee. The account would top up on payday, Thursday.

For a horrible moment she’d feared Celine would shame her by saying, ‘Not enough money on your card, darlin’.’ But the woman’s eyes had held an apology. She’d realised she’d dropped Georgine in it. Georgine had swung from dread to gratitude in a heartbeat at the way Celine had covered up.

She made a mental note to add her to the ‘gets chocolate brownies at Christmas’ list. She baked a lot of Christmas presents rather than buying them.

Joe cleared his throat as they took seats at a table. ‘Thanks for trying to save my blushes. I feel as if I’m wearing a big sign saying “can’t pay for his own lunch”.’

Seeing that he was genuinely upset, and completely empathising because she hadn’t been able to raise the small sum to pay it for him, Georgine tried to shrug it off. ‘It makes you feel conspicuous, but it’s only an admin issue. Induction days are usually better organised than yours seems to have been.’

Georgine had chosen a vegetable frittata with salad. It was one of her favourite lunches, but today the subject of money was under glaring spotlights in her mind.

Two more paydays till Christmas. She was only able to claim mileage and other show-related expenses retrospectively so she hoped she could afford the extra trips back and forth to Bettsbrough. She was having Dad, Blair and Blair’s boyfriend, Warren, for Christmas dinner. Luckily Mum and her husband, Terrence, would spend Christmas in their French holiday home, so she wouldn’t have to drive to their posh house on the Northumberland coast for a festive visit, but buying Christmas gifts for them was a trial. Terrence was careful with his fortune. He released money for Christmas gifts, but he expected something worthwhile in return. Last year Georgine had bought their presents from charity shops then parcelled them up in dark red tissue paper and stencilled on ‘The Vintage Shop’ in gold, because calling stuff ‘vintage’ increased its value to the power of ten. They’d actually been impressed and Terrence had displayed his wooden letter rack behind glass in their vast sitting room. Luckily, Georgine’s mum, Barbara, never now set foot in Middledip, Bettsbrough or even Peterborough, so couldn’t demand to be taken to the non-existent ‘Vintage Shop’.

Mum and Terrence had bought Georgine cashmere jumpers. She’d run her fingertips over them admiringly, but she’d rather have had winter boots with fleece inside, or a couple of pairs of jeans. She didn’t live a cashmere kind of life.

Joe’s voice jolted her out of her reverie. ‘Do you live in Middledip?’

She blinked, realised her frittata was getting cold and hastily dug into it, nodding while she chewed and swallowed. ‘I did a year at the University of Manchester, but I’ve always lived here otherwise. I rented for a while, but then managed to buy a starter home in the new bit of the Bankside estate.’ And it represented security, at least for so long as she could afford the mortgage.

‘What did you do at uni?’ Joe picked up his mug of latte.

‘A foundation year in performing arts. I would’ve specialised in dance with some singing if I’d stayed, so I could do musical theatre.’ She paused. ‘My parents split up and it was hard for Dad to keep me at uni so I opted to become independent. It’s difficult enough to make a living in the performing arts with a degree so, without one, I didn’t even try. Far too perilous financially! I did lots of teaching assistant stuff, and am dram and open mic in my free time, and then I got this job. I love it so much that I’m just happy I got here, whatever my route. For a long time I regretted not getting the chance to finish uni, but I’m lucky that the qualifications for this role are more about enthusiasm and ability than a degree.’

Joe looked as if he were paying close attention, his brown-eyed gaze steady through his glasses, a perplexed frown puckering the skin at the bridge of his nose.

‘What about you?’ she asked politely, keen to change the subject from the various messes she’d made of her life.

He dropped his eyes to his lunch. ‘I lived in Surrey and London for a lot of the time.’

‘Which part of London?’

‘Various. Camden for the last few years.’ He put a forkful of pasta in his mouth.

She watched him eat it, noticing the firm line of his jaw. ‘Isn’t London crucifyingly expensive?’

He shrugged. ‘If you can shoehorn enough people into one house the rent becomes manageable between you.’ He loaded his fork again. ‘Tell me about the theatre where you’ll put on the Christmas show.’

Georgine was happy to talk about Acting Instrumental and everything attached to it. ‘The Raised Curtain? It’s part of the Sir John Browne Academy, but it’s put to a lot of community use outside school hours. We’re lucky that they let us hire it the week before Christmas. It’s unusual for a student run to last for six shows but we’re ambitious here.’ She went on, Joe asking an occasional question. He was so relaxed and normal now, Georgine felt as if she must have been towing a cardboard cut out of him around this morning. Who would have thought that in a few short hours they’d be well on the way to establishing a rapport?

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