The Silver Bells Christmas Pantomime: The perfect feel-good Christmas romance!

This Christmas pantomime is about to be the talk of the town!

Luna Bay’s festive preparations are well under way and the much-anticipated annual pantomime is to be, once again, the highlight of the season. Too bad that the village’s very own actress and darling of Broadway, Alice Woods, isn’t feeling in the mood for Christmas.

Until the pantomime comes under threat and a grief-stricken Alice is forced to push her personal pain aside and step up to direct – after all, the show must go on…

So with (more than) a little help from her new-found friends, not to mention one very gorgeous Hollywood A-list celebrity, the play begins to come together, but will Alice finally believe that Christmas is a time for miracles after all?

Praise for LYNSEY JAMES

‘If you can’t wait for a little more warmth this summer, get reading Just the Way You Are, and you’ll have all the sunshine you need.’ – Lisa Dickenson, author of The Twelve Dates of Christmas, You Had Me at Merlot and Catch Me If You Cannes

‘The Broken Hearts Book Club is perfect for these colder, darker nights – it’s like a big warm comfort blanket in book form!’ – Rather Too Fond of Books

‘The Sunflower Cottage Breakfast Club is a lovely read, which would be perfect for some light holiday reading.’ – Portobello Book Blog

‘I adored this book. From the gorgeous setting of Luna Bay to the highly likable protagonist, The Broken Hearts Book Club was a total treat.’ – Blabbering About Books

‘I loved this book and finished it in two days, it is very much unputdownable!’ – Whispering Stories on The Sunflower Cottage Breakfast Club

‘…I loved that Lynsey made me so invested in the characters – not just Ava, all of them. They all have their quirks and their flaws; they made me laugh, they made me cry and they made me want to scream at my Kindle. That marks the sign of fantastically real characters.’ – Jenny in Neverland on Just the Way You Are

‘Dreamy and delightful!’ – Chicks That Read on Just the Way You Are

‘If you’re a fan of romance or a chick-lit addict…then I urge you to give this book a go. It’s warm, clever, sweet and an absolute delight.’ – Bookaholic Holly on Just the Way You Are

Books by Lynsey James

Just the Way You Are

The Luna Bay series:

The Broken Hearts Book Club

The Sunflower Cottage Breakfast Club

The Silver Bells Christmas Pantomime

The Silver Bells Christmas Pantomime

Lynsey James

LYNSEY JAMES

I was born in Fife in 1991 and have been telling people how to spell my name ever since. I’m an incurable bookworm who loves nothing more than getting lost in a good story with memorable characters. I started writing when I was really young and credit my lovely grandad – and possibly a bump on the head from a Mr Frosty machine – with my love of telling stories. I used to write my own episodes of Friends and act them out in front of my family (in fact I’m sure I put Ross and Rachel together first!).

A careers adviser at school once told me writing wasn’t a ‘good option’ and, for a few years, I believed her. I tried a little bit of everything, including make-up artistry, teaching and doing admin for a chocolate fountain company. The free chocolate was brilliant. When I left my job a couple of years ago, I started writing full-time while I looked for another one. As soon as I started working on my story, I fell in love and decided to finally pursue my dream. I haven’t looked back since.

When I’m not writing, eating cake or drinking tea, I’m daydreaming about the day Dylan O’Brien finally realises we’re meant to be together. It’ll happen one day…

Contents

Cover

Blurb

Praise

Book List

Title Page

Author Bio

Acknowledgement

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Epilogue

Excerpt

Copyright

Acknowledgements

Mum, you are completely amazing. Thank you for reading draft after draft of everything I’ve ever written (including the Friends scripts).

Dad, we may argue while watching quiz shows when we both think we’re right but I bloody love you.

Kyle, you make me laugh until I cry and provide enough comedy material for me to write a hundred books!

My three best friends – Hayley, Laura, Jen – you all mean the absolute world to me. And I WILL make you all into book characters one day.

Carina UK, thank you so much for giving me the opportunity to put all my mad ideas into books. My dreams have come true.

For Dad. You’ve always let me know how proud you are of me, so this book is all for you.

Chapter One

Being an out-of-work actress is never easy.

You don’t know where the next role is coming from, if you’ll ever get your “big break” that’ll catapult you to stardom or even if your agent will ever call you again.

It’s even harder though, when you have to take the job from hell to make ends meet.

For me, that came in the form of dressing in a gaudy green and red outfit, wearing huge pointed ears and saying ‘welcome to Santa’s grotto’ fifty times a day. As someone who hates Christmas and has committed to never celebrating it again, pretending to live and breathe the festive spirit was my idea of hell.

But an out-of-work actress had to do what an out-of-work actress had to do.

I leaned against the wobbly cardboard structure that passed for Santa’s grotto, wondering how it had all come to this. I’d gone from the bright lights of Broadway to wearing massive shoes with bells on in the town I grew up in.

Then I remembered exactly what had happened for me to come home again. The salty tang of tears stung the backs of my eyes and I took a deep breath, pushing the burgeoning memories to the back of my mind. Now wasn’t the time for a trip into the past. As long as I didn’t think, everything would be OK.

A hand on my shoulder startled me. I turned round to see Frank, the scruffy, pot-bellied store Santa Claus standing next to me. His fluffy white beard had slipped slightly and the acrid odour of stale sweat and beer wafted my way.

‘Do me a favour and stick the costume on for a bit, will you? I’m not feeling too clever.’

My eyes widened in alarm. ‘Me?! No, no, no, I’m an elf! I-I can’t play Santa, for God’s sake!’

Frank lurched forward, bringing his questionable odour further into my personal space. I noticed his skin had turned an odd shade of grey and his eyes were bloodshot. This, I guessed, wasn’t a man to be messed with.

‘Listen, unless you want me to turn this place into a disaster area, stick the beard and red coat on and listen to what the little brats want for Christmas. It’s not rocket science.’

‘But I—’

Frank didn’t give me the chance to argue further. He slipped off his costume, thrust it into my hands and stalked off in the direction of the staff area.

Oh shit.

I looked down at the grubby red velvet coat and greying beard I was holding and realised I didn’t have any choice: I was going to have to play the man himself. I craned my neck to see Frank’s retreating figure sloping away from the shop floor and his responsibilities. There was nothing else for it, I decided. I sneaked into the grotto, pulled the beard over my head and slipped the coat on. It smelled like roadkill, but if the store manager came and found the grotto unmanned, there’d be trouble.

I took a seat on the large comfy armchair and took a sharp breath inwards, instantly regretting my decision as eau de Frank stung my nostrils. All I had to do was listen to some kids telling me what they wanted for Christmas.

Easy right?

Wrong.

I had very specific reasons for hating the festive season; spending my days dressed up as an elf was bad enough, but playing the big man himself and pretending to grant dozens of children’s Christmas wishes was quite another.

It’s OK, I said to myself, the store’s pretty quiet; you can do this. You can let the world in, even for the briefest moment.

Switching from my fairly anonymous role of elf, where all I had to do was welcome children to the grotto to actually engaging with people was going to be quite a challenge. I kept people at arm’s length and rarely struck up conversations with anyone besides my family. My world was small and insular, just the way I liked it. Pretending to be happy and jolly and gregarious would be a stretch, even for an actress such as myself.

I didn’t have much time to dwell on my thoughts. A little boy of around six was dragging his mum towards the grotto, pulling her hand with all his might. With no elf outside to welcome him, he let go and ran right in, skidding to a halt at my feet.

I cleared my throat and let out my best ‘Ho ho ho, merry Christmas’, making him giggle. His mum caught up with him, flashed me a quick smile and lifted him onto my lap.

‘Go on, Harry.’ She was a little bit breathless from trying to keep up with her son and flicked some dark blonde hair out of her face. ‘Tell Santa what you’d like for Christmas.’

The little boy looked up at me with huge blue eyes filled with hopes and dreams. It was as though all his festive wishes hinged on me and me alone.

Yikes, don’t mess this up, Alice!

‘What can I get you for Christmas this year, Harry?’ I said in my deepest, jolliest voice.

He thought for a moment, his face twisting into different expressions of deep thought. Once he’d finally reached a decision, he clapped his hands.

‘I want a new bike, a pair of roller-skates and…’ He trailed off, hiding his face behind his chubby little hands.

His mum crouched down and put an arm round his shoulders. ‘It’s all right, darling, you can tell Santa Claus.’

‘Is it an extra-special present?’ I asked. ‘I promise, no matter what it is, I’ll add it to my list. In fact, I’ll put it right to the top!’

His mum gently prised the little boy’s hands away from his face and kissed his head. This seemed to convince him to open up again; he turned his attentions back to me with a flicker of a smile.

‘I…I want my daddy to come home.’

All at once, the mood in the grotto turned very sombre. Harry’s mum took in a sharp breath and pursed her lips, letting out a small hollow chuckle.

‘That’s a big ask for Santa, Harry. A-are you sure you wouldn’t like to choose something else?’

He shook his head, sending his blond hair flying in all directions. ‘No, Mummy, that’s what I want for Christmas. A bike, a pair of roller-skates and Daddy to come home.’

She nodded and her mouth twitched into something like a smile. ‘Well I’m sure Santa will do his best, but remember Daddy lives in Florida with Maureen now. You remember Maureen – she used to help out in your class.’

‘I like Maureen,’ he said, ‘she made up funny songs and smelled nice. Daddy said he’d take me to meet Nemo and Dory. Can he come home after that?’

His mum decided Harry had had enough face time with Santa and lifted him down from my lap. It was all I could do to stifle a chuckle; I hadn’t expected such an intriguing story to unravel.

‘Sorry,’ she said with an embarrassed smile, ‘Daddy ran off to America with Harry’s teaching assistant last year and he’s been missing him ever since!’

‘Oh don’t worry about it.’ I kept up my deep voice as much as I could. ‘Harry’s still top of Santa’s nice list!’

She grabbed his hand and started towards the grotto’s entrance, flashing a grateful smile over her shoulder. ‘Come on, you, we’d better get going.’

Harry stopped in his tracks for a moment and turned to face me. ‘What do you want for Christmas, Santa?’

His mum’s mouth dropped open. ‘Harry! You can’t ask Santa that; it’s top secret!’

I opened my mouth to answer, but found the words stuck in my throat. What I really wanted, you see, couldn’t be found in any department store. The one thing I wanted to find under the tree was the one thing in the world I couldn’t have.

‘Some milk and biscuits will do just fine for me,’ I replied. ‘Plus some carrots for my reindeer.’

*

The rest of the day went relatively smoothly, although being stuck in a thick red suit for hours on end was no picnic. By the time I was finished, I was glad to peel it off; it was like a blast furnace in there. The constant swarm of people had been quite overwhelming too; as someone who purposefully stays under the radar, it wasn’t easy having the spotlight on me all day. I never went anywhere or spoke to anyone; I lived a simple, solitary existence, just the way I liked it.

As I made my way through the vast expanses of Fox’s department store, I couldn’t help but feel the urge to have a nose around. Although I was dead set against celebrating Christmas for a variety of reasons, it was difficult not to notice the festive magic buzzing around the place. There was a special section of the shop just for Christmas gifts; it had everything from delicate crystal ornaments shaped like any animal you could think of, to sumptuous boxes of Belgian chocolates for the chocoholic in the family. Pairs of huge glass bottles containing olive oil and sea salt lined the back wall, along with hobby craft kits, luxury food hampers and fancy bath sets. There was something for everyone in the store’s little festive nook.

I averted my gaze and hurried towards the door. What I wanted wouldn’t be nestled on any of the deep cavernous shelves. I bundled my coat around me in preparation for the wintry early November chill outside, put my head down and quickened my pace. I was no more than a few feet from the exit when a little object to my right caught my eye, stopping me in my tracks. I bent down to pick it up and a sad smile formed on my lips.

Maybe there was something I wanted in Fox’s department store after all.

*

My little cottage in Luna Bay was perhaps the village’s only designated Christmas-free zone. It had been mine for about two years; I’d been able to buy it outright from the sale of my New York apartment. I hadn’t bought it right away though; I’d lived with my mum for a year after what had happened in New York. I loved my cottage; up until recently, I’d been able to run it on my savings from my Broadway days and it provided the perfect escape from the festive season.

There was no Christmas tree twinkling merrily in the living room window, no decorations to festoon the rest of the house with and certainly no gaudy ornaments on the front lawn. My cottage stuck out like a sore thumb; even though it was seven weeks until Christmas, a lot of my neighbours had already got into the festive spirit. I breathed a sigh of relief as I caught sight of it when I stepped off the bus; it was my own little corner of the world where I could shut everyone out and keep myself to myself.

‘Home sweet home,’ I murmured to myself. I couldn’t wait to get inside, pour myself a mug of hot chocolate and settle down with a good book.

Just then, a clamour of music and raised voices caught my attention. It was coming from the Silver Bells Theatre, Luna Bay’s one-stop shop for stage entertainment. The opening bars of a jaunty show tune blasted out onto the quiet street, only to be cut abruptly short and followed by: ‘NO, NO, NO! HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU, IT’S STEP TWO THREE FOUR, NOT TURN TWO THREE FOUR!’

I walked up the gravel path to the open door, lingering outside for a moment as I suppressed a smile. Given the time of year, the local theatre club was probably rehearsing for its annual pantomime. It was something of a laughing stock in the village because nothing ever went according to plan. The sets wobbled, actors fluffed their lines and the time they’d used live animals for Snow White and the Seven Dwarves had gone down in Luna Bay history. A spark of curiosity ignited within me as I wondered which classic pantomime would be messed up this time. Mother Goose perhaps, or maybe Aladdin? I shuddered to think how they’d pull off the genie and the flying carpet.

More raised voices from inside the theatre made me turn back towards home. Knowing my luck, if I hung around any longer, the theatre club’s slightly terrifying director, Christabel Grant, would try to conscript me into joining her ranks. Her voice suddenly erupted, piercing the velvet darkness.

‘Sandra, I won’t tell you again! Love is All Around comes in the second act, not the first. Keep this up and you’ll be the back end of a horse!’

I let out a little giggle as I reached the top of the hill. Christabel ruled the theatre club with an iron fist and everybody was too terrified to stand up to her. It made me breathe a sigh of relief that I’d so far managed to thwart all her attempts to sign me up to one of her productions.

There was no way I was ever going to set foot on a stage again; not after what happened in New York.

The sight of my little cottage looming before me made my grin stretch even further. Once I stepped over the threshold, I could kick my shoes off and keep the rest of the world at arm’s length.

Bliss.

Chapter Two

Of all the books on grief I’d read in the last three years, none of them advocated buying Christmas presents for your lost loved one.

Yet, earlier, at Fox’s department store, that was exactly what I had done.

As soon as I stepped inside my cosy little cottage, shrugging off the wintry nip from outside, I made a beeline for my bedroom. Underneath my bed was a small box, no bigger than a shoebox. It was battered and worn from being moved around and shoved into corners so many times, but for me it held a collection of special memories far too precious to throw away. I pulled it out and sat down on my bed with it, taking off the scuffed lid as carefully as I could.

My breath caught in my throat as I looked at the box’s contents for the first time in what felt like for ever. Nestled inside the battered old shoebox was three years’ worth of Christmas presents, birthday gifts and odd little souvenirs. A bottle of aftershave, a programme from his favourite theatre production signed by the cast, his favourite red T-shirt, which still held the faintest traces of his smell.

It was all for him.

I retrieved the little Rubik’s cube I’d bought earlier from my pocket and added it to the collection, allowing myself a smile. Jamie had always loved puzzles and prided himself on his ability to complete the New York Times crossword in twenty minutes flat. Every morning, he’d sit on the terrace of the apartment we shared, a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice by his side, and do battle with the cryptic clues. I closed my eyes and pictured his brow furrowing, the pen sticking out the corner of his mouth as he concentrated and the look of euphoria when the answer finally became clear.

For the briefest of moments, I could almost hear the noise and drama of New York City. There was the bustle of people walking the famous sidewalks, each heading in their own direction, taxi cabs beeping their horns at drivers that got in their way and the inimitable buzz that could only be found in the city that never slept. Being part of such a vibrant place had been a dream come true; the city had been a living, breathing entity itself, where anything seemed possible. Until one rainy morning when everything changed…

I shook myself back to the present; thinking of New York was not a good idea. Instead, I closed the box and shoved it back in its hiding place, satisfied I’d done my bit to include Jamie in this year’s Christmas celebrations.

If only he was around to take part in them himself.

*

The next day thankfully didn’t involve dressing up in an elf costume, but it did involve lunch with my mother. Which, in some ways, was a lot more stressful.

‘Has your agent phoned you with any new roles yet?’ she asked as we sat over tea and cakes in the Moonlight Café, Luna Bay’s best eatery. ‘It’s been a while since you’ve heard from her, hasn’t it? Oh, and are you eating properly? You’ve barely touched your cake.’

I groaned and shook my head. My mum meant well, but was permanently worried about me. It was as though I was made out of glass and she thought I’d shatter any minute.

‘No, Mum, Anna hasn’t phoned me for a while because I’m still on a break from acting. Don’t know if I’ll ever go back to it, to be honest. And yes, I’m still eating properly; nothing’s changed since you asked me the other day!’ I smiled and broke off a piece of red velvet cake with my fork, before popping it into my mouth.

Mum tutted and placed her hand on top of mine. ‘Alice, it’s been three years since the accident…’ At the mention of the word “accident”, I flinched and she drew her hand away. ‘Don’t you think it’s time you went back to acting? I’m not saying you have to get on a plane back to New York and star in a Broadway show, or even do something on the West End. You could get involved with the panto at the Silver Bells Theatre; I’m sure they could use someone like you to help out. It’s usually a complete shambles, isn’t it? It could even be part of “moving-on action plan” or whatever it was that the grief counsellor gave you. You’ve done pretty well with it so far; you got that job at Fox’s didn’t you?’

I sighed. ‘That was more because my savings are running out and I wouldn’t be able to afford Christmas presents without a job! The grief counsellor meant well, Mum, but she made moving on sound…I don’t know…easy. You can’t break down forgetting the man you’re in love with into twelve steps, can you?’

‘Nobody’s saying it has to take twelve steps, or fifteen, or seventy-five,’ said Mum. ‘But I think you should start by giving the panto a try. You’d probably have a lot of fun.’

I paused, fork raised, to try and think of a sensible excuse why I couldn’t do the pantomime. Somehow I didn’t think ‘I never plan on going near a stage again as long as I live’ would cut it.

‘Look, Mum, I appreciate your ideas but I don’t think I’d be any good in the pantomime. I haven’t acted for ages and, like you said, the panto’s always a total disaster. Didn’t the sets fall down last time or something? Nah, I think I’ll stay well away from the Silver Bells Theatre and their panto!’