No One Cancels Christmas: The most laugh out loud romantic comedy this Christmas!

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HarperColl‌insPublishers

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First published in Great Britain by HarperImpulse 2018

Copyright © Zara Stoneley 2018

Cover design by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2018

Cover images © Shutterstock.com

Zara Stoneley asserts the moral right

to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for 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.

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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,

downloaded, 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.

Source ISBN: 9780008301057

Ebook Edition © April 2018 ISBN: 9780008301040

Version: 2018-10-26

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Author Note

Part One – Tantrums and Tinsel

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Part Two – Desperately Seeking Santa

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Part Three – Coming Home

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Acknowledgements

Also by Zara Stoneley

About the Author

About HarperImpulse

About the Publisher

For my lovely sister Lynn,

who is every bit as generous and kind as her namesake in the story.

Thank you so much for picking up a copy of this book. I hope it makes you smile, laugh, maybe shed a tear, and ultimately feel that warm and fuzzy festive feeling.

Like Sarah, in the story, I love everything about Christmas, but the best part of all is being able to share the season with my family and friends. There’s always that slightly sad moment when I think about the people who are no longer here to share it with – but I know I’m very lucky to be surrounded by so many special people.

I hope you have a wonderful Christmas, wherever you are and whoever you share it with.

Zara x

Part 1

Chapter 1

Dear Ms Hall,

I am not normally the type to complain, but (anybody who says this usually is the type to complain, and the but confirms it) on this occasion I feel compelled.

Over the years we have booked many holidays through your travel agency, and your aunt has always made sure we have had the very best. We have even swapped Christmas cards!

‘And whilst I do not wish to place the blame at your door. . . Ouch! Bloody hell, talk about passive aggressive.’ The voice in my ear makes me jump.

‘Don’t read it out, Sam! It’s bad enough just reading it in my head. Anyway, I thought you were busy booking that cruise for the Nifty Fifty’s Gin Drinkers Association?’

‘I was, but you’ve just ripped that drink coaster into shreds, so I reckoned something was up.’

‘It’s that bloody Will Armstrong again, at the Shooting Star Mountain Resort – I want to strangle him!’ We don’t often get customer complaints, but this particular destination, and its grumpy owner, have been attracting a fair few lately. And this particular complaint hurts more than most because it suggests I’m the one at fault, and I’m not. ‘He’s not happy just sabotaging his own bloody business, he wants to drag us down with him.’

‘Oh, come on, it can’t be that bad. This guy can’t actually damage Making Memories, can he?’

I stab at the screen but can’t trust myself to speak.

‘. . . we find ourselves at a loss at to why you should recommend The Shooting Star Mountain Resort, as it is very clearly overpriced and understaffed. Lynn has always ensured we have value for money, and a fantastic holiday to boot.’

‘To boot?’ Sam interrupts her reading. ‘Who says to boot?’

‘Somebody who isn’t happy at all. Keep reading.’

She does. Out loud, in an ‘irate of the Home Counties’ kind of way.

‘You sound a bit like your mum.’

She ignores me.

‘Quite frankly, our room was disgusting. The sheets whilst clean were unironed.’ Sam pauses again, mid outrage. ‘Unironed? What’s the man talking about? I can’t see how that makes it disgusting, can you? I never iron the sheets; it’s like socks or knickers, who has time to iron things that nobody else ever sees? Do you iron sheets?’

‘Doesn’t Jake see your sheets? And the other bits as well?’

‘Well, yes, but I mean, the wrinkles stretch out, don’t they?’

‘I iron everything. I always find crisp, flat knickers with a seam down the centre hold a certain sexy appeal.’

She stares at me, her mouth open.

I burst out laughing. ‘God, Sam, do you honestly think I iron anything? I was kidding. Carry on.’

She gives me a funny look, then clears her throat. ‘You don’t really iron knickers, do you?’

‘No, I really don’t. Come on, before somebody comes in.’

‘The food was of variable quality and lukewarm. The final straw was speaking to the manager, who was abrupt and surly to the point of rudeness and suggested we vacate our cabin if we were not enjoying our stay. How could we possibly enjoy our stay when one of his vicious huskies had attacked our daughter, Ruby? I am sure she will suffer long-term consequences as a result, and now screams whenever a dog (including our own little Pippin, who wouldn’t hurt a fly) approaches her. Little Pippin bit my wife as a result of Ruby’s scream, and is now having to undergo veterinary visits as she is now nervous and snappy, and Ruby is booked in for counselling. My wife, meanwhile, has a bandaged hand which makes playing the piano extremely tortuous – and she is a music teacher!’

‘I have always trusted your recommendations, but am wondering if your lack of experience—’

I squeak as she reads out this sentence, I can’t help myself. Sam and I stare at each other. ‘Lack of experience! I don’t know who I hate more, him or Will Armstrong.’

‘. . . is becoming evident.’

‘As we were unable to book an early flight back, and the nearby hotels were all fully booked, we had to endure the rest of our holiday under a heavy cloud and an even heavier blanket as the heating was woefully inadequate.’

‘Well, at least he gave them blankets!’

Sam always picks up on the positives. I roll my eyes, and gesture at the screen.

‘I am sure that ABTA and Watchdog would be more than happy to investigate my complaints. However, in a spirit of goodwill, I would like to give you the opportunity to offer us a full refund and compensation for the stress this has caused. Please find, itemised below, additional expenses incurred.’

‘I look forward to hearing from you by return post. If I receive no response within 7 working days I will instruct my solicitor.’

‘Yours faithfully,’

‘Stephen Latterby’

‘Blah, blah, blah.’ Sam’s dropped the ‘outraged of Basildon’ voice. ‘Shit, look at that Sarah!’ I look and wish I hadn’t. ‘Is that how much a dog psychologist charges? Wow, I think I need to retrain.’

‘Sam! Just look at that total he’s asking for!’ I feel slightly sick, and faint. ‘We can’t pay that, we’ll be bankrupt. Lynn will kill me!’

‘But it isn’t your fault. I’m going to pop across to Costa and get us a drink and chocolate brownie, this calls for a caffeine and sugar boost. Don’t do anything until I get back.’ She raises an eyebrow at me. ‘I mean it. Promise.’

‘Anything?’

‘Well you can breathe and stuff, but please don’t reply to that email. You need to think about this carefully.’ She knows how impulsive I can be. ‘And talk to Lynn. I mean, what if this guy does actually sue us? I’ll never hear the last of this from Mum if we end up on Watchdog.’

We do the staring at each other thing again. She’s probably thinking about dog psychology. I’m thinking about how much damage you can inflict on somebody without being arrested.

‘I won’t reply.’ Which leaves things nicely open. It doesn’t stop me firing both barrels at Mr Will Armstrong.

This is getting way more serious than advising him to stick some holly up and light the fires (which I have done several times – and been ignored).

I roll up my sleeves. Whatever this guy’s game is, he is not going to drag us down with him. If there’s any suing to be done it will be us, not Mr Latterby, or any of our other disgruntled customers.

We need to be seen to be acting. I glance at the photograph of Aunt Lynn on the wall. She looks happy, she looks inspiring, she looks like we all want to feel after a good holiday. We need to show we care.

Dear Mr Armstrong,

Please find attached a letter we have received from a valued customer.

What do I do now? I google the Dangerous Dogs Act.

I would like to draw your attention to the paragraph concerning your dog. I would be grateful if you could forward your risk assessment regarding the use of these animals. My understanding is that any dangerous dog should be muzzled, and that any contact should be supervised. It would appear, in this case, that neither applied, and this is of great concern as we (as do you) have a duty of care to our clients, and we would not expect dangerous animals to be roaming loose and unattended.

Secondly, our client has expressed concerns about the state of their cabin, and the quality of food served. I would like to refer you to the description in your brochure (and accompanying photographs) which promises ‘cosy and comfortable accommodation, roaring fires and a restaurant offering food and drink that will round off the perfect day’.

Finally, I am concerned about the attitude of staff at the resort. They have, in the past, always been warm and welcoming, but our client complains of rudeness. Your service reflects on ours and I feel that our business relationship is now reaching the stage of being untenable.

This is an extremely serious situation, and I would be grateful if you could respond as soon as possible, before I am forced to take legal advice.

Kind regards,

Sarah Hall

Making Memories, Travel Agents

I hit ‘send’ and stare out of the window. Now what? Will Armstrong never replies to my emails, not even the jokey ‘let’s sort this together’ ones. So why should he respond to a complaint like this? Maybe Sam is right, maybe I need to call Aunt Lynn. But I don’t want to, not this time. I need to handle this.

There is a ping, incoming email. My God, it’s from Shooting Star! Hell, if he’s replied that means this really is serious, that he agrees we need to take action. Oh bugger, we’re going to be ruined. Aunt Lynn will never forgive me.

Dear Ms Hall,

I do feel you are overreacting slightly. The Latterby family have no grounds for taking you to court or demanding a full refund for themselves or their dog (who quite frankly probably does need psychological support if this is what he has to put up with on a daily basis). At the risk of sounding unprofessional, I would classify Mr Latterby as a habitual complainer with over-inflated expectations.

Our husky, Rosie, was in her run at the time of the incident you mention. The Latterby’s child had insisted on going down and feeding the dogs table scraps (of the variable-quality, lukewarm variety) despite clear signage forbidding this, and further signage requesting that no visitors enter the area where the dogs are kennelled without a member of staff.

Rosie, who has recently had puppies, reacted to the intrusion by jumping at the fence and the Latterby child slipped, falling on her well-padded posterior and screaming the place down. No blood was spilled, although I was very tempted to rectify that, as the welfare of our animals is important to me.

As far as rudeness goes, it is hard to remain civil when in the company of clients whose expectations stretch to spa facilities and fine-dining when our brochures and website illustrate very clearly that this is not what is on offer. Further, if they come to Canada in the winter, are icy conditions not to be expected? Much as I would like to play God, I am unfortunately not in a position to alter the weather conditions.

I suggest you use your tact, diplomacy and people skills to suggest they head ‘Down Under’ next year. I am not prepared to offer any compensation or discount but can give you the name of a good solicitor if you so require.

Is that serious enough for you?

Regards,

Will Armstrong

‘Oh my God, what is he like?’

I hadn’t heard Sam sneak back in.

I’m not quite sure how to answer, as I really can’t decide what he’s like. ‘He doesn’t seem to get it at all.’

‘Well, he does seem to care about the dogs.’

‘I know.’ This bit makes me unhappy, not because he cares (who doesn’t like a man who loves and protects his pets?), but because he doesn’t seem to have a clue about where he’s going wrong. ‘But he’s not got the first idea about customer service, has he? I mean, I know clients can be a pain in the arse—’

‘You’re telling me.’ Sam rolls her eyes.

‘But he’s working in the service industry. Even if this complaint is a load of tosh,’ which I suspect it might be, ‘and this guy is pushing his luck, he still does have at least some grounds for complaints doesn’t he? I mean look at the reviews . . .’

‘It’s not me you have to convince, Sare.’

‘I know.’ I groan. ‘Maybe I should just send some of them his way, but I think he’ll bin them before he even reads them, let alone do anything constructive.’ Will is doing my head in, in a way he shouldn’t. He obviously does care about some things, and he does have a point. ‘Maybe he does get pissed off when people arrive expecting spa pampering treatments and ten different variety of gin, but why can’t he see it’s the little things that can make a difference? And,’ I wipe a hand over my eyes, suddenly feeling weary, ‘he doesn’t see what he’s doing to us. Does he? He could wipe our business out! And,’ I stare at the email, ‘he could at least be civil.’

‘Well, he does sound pissed off, but it’s not exactly rude, is it? More frustrated? Or just assertive. Maybe he’s not used to getting it wrong.’ Sam squeezes my shoulder, and hands me a coffee and a massive blueberry muffin. ‘I wouldn’t want to mess with him, would you?’

‘I’ve got a horrible feeling I’ve got no choice.’ Maybe, when you’ve got a pissed-off man, who thinks he’s always in the right, then the only way to tackle him is head on and show him the error of his ways.

Chapter 2

Dear Mr Armstrong,

It is with regret that I am emailing to inform you that you really are the proverbial pain in the arse. Burying your head in the sand isn’t big and it isn’t clever. If you really are the Anti-Christmas then go ahead and ruin your own Christmas, but grow a pair and think about other people for once. Ditch the attitude, mate. You’re happy to take our clients’ money, so forget your ‘bah humbug’ – deck your flaming halls with jolly holly and answer my frigging emails!

Love and festive kisses, Sarah xxx

Making Memories, Travel Agents

I hit the final ‘x’ with a flourish and sit back. My hand makes contact with something soft and squishy that shouldn’t be there, and there’s a yelp.

‘Ouch!’ Sam has her hand over her nose, and a pained expression on her face.

‘What on earth are you doing, peering over my shoulder?’

She ignores the question and starts to rub her nose, which makes her words come out all funny. ‘You can’t send that, Sarah!’

‘Why not? I’m starting to hate the man.’ Following hot on the heels of the threat of legal action yesterday, I have arrived at work to a second disaster. Will Armstrong might not have been prepared to take me seriously yesterday, but I want to make sure he will today. Even if my approach is not quite as professional as it should be.

‘But you still can’t—’

‘You think I should have put ass instead of arse? Is arse too British? I was a bit worried about that bit.’

‘Bloody hell, Sarah. You can’t say arse or ass. What would Lynn say? Delete it! All of it! Now!’ She’s gone a bit squeaky.

‘Stop pulling my wheelie chair.’ I hang on to the edge of the desk by my fingertips. If I let go now I might whizz across the office and end up in the potted plant. It’s happened before. ‘Do you think it’s too much?’

‘Far too much.’ She’s given up on trying to move me away from my desk and is nodding her head vigorously and rubbing her nose at the same time.

‘Are you okay?’

‘Sure.’ It comes out as ‘dure’. ‘I was fine until you threw your arms out in a finale and hit me in the face with your elbow.’

‘Did I?’

‘You always fling your arms about when you’re pleased with yourself.’

‘Do I?’ I’m pretty sure I don’t, but as I’ve just squashed my best mate’s nose it doesn’t seem the right time to argue about it. ‘But you were snooping. You get more like your mum every day!’ I love Sam’s mum, and she knows I do. But we both know that Ruth is a total expert when it comes to creeping up like a ninja, so she can listen in on private stuff.

‘No, I do not! She listens to stuff that’s none of her business. This is my business. This is work, and you can’t send that. What the hell has happened now?’

She’s right. This is work. She’s also probably got a good point as far as the email goes.

‘You’re right. And there are too many kisses, I hardly know the man.’ I delete one and am careful not to throw my arms in the air. ‘Not through want of trying, mind you. We’d have a flourishing relationship by now if he replied to my calls; instead I can’t even get past first base. Idiot.’

Sam giggles and backs off to her own desk so there’s a safe arm’s-length distance between us. ‘Very funny, but you know I didn’t mean that!’

Even though she’s known me a few years now, Sam, my best friend and lovely workmate, takes me far too seriously. She’s gullible. Or wise. It could be that she’s actually very, very wise and knows that my twitchy fingertips are actually dying to hit ‘send’ on this email, even though it might look like I’m just messing around.

What she doesn’t know is why he’s upset me so much. I’m trying to be cool about this, to laugh it off, but inside it hurts. Inside it feels like a little bit of me is being destroyed, and last night in bed I decided I wasn’t going to let him, a complete stranger, do this to me. To us.

Sam pushes a packet of Hobnobs in my direction. ‘He’s probably scared of you.’

I realise I’m clenching my teeth. It’s what I do when I’m upset. My shrink said it’s important not to do that when I talk, or it will make me sound angry. She also said it’s better to express how I feel. So how does that work? I feel angry, I’m expressing it through clenched teeth. I’m beginning to think most of what she said was bollocks.

I take a deep breath and unclench everything, then take my frustration out on a crunchy biscuit. ‘I am not scary. Real men appreciate the direct approach.’ I try and blow the crumbs out of the keyboard. The letter ‘T’ is already a bit dodgy; if this ruins W and A I’ll have lost one of my favourite words.

‘He might actually be quite nice. I’m going to look on their website. What’s he called again?’ Sam pokes me in the ribs when I don’t immediately answer.

‘Armstrong.’

‘Armstrong, what?’

‘William.’ I sigh, I can’t help myself.

Sam swings round on her chair so she’s facing her own computer again and does some rapid key-tapping.

It stops, and I’m pretty sure I know what’s coming next.

‘Oh wow. He’s . . .’ She pauses, her head tilted as she stares at the screen. Then rests her chin on her hand. There’s a long silence.

‘I can tell you’re struggling.’

‘No, I’m not.’ She flashes me her best headmistressy stare. ‘Have you seen him? I mean look! If I didn’t already have Jake I would be straight over there myself, to hell with crap reviews about his place. Look!’

‘I’ve seen.’ I try and act bored, but the truth is I’ve looked at William Armstrong’s photograph more than once. The man confuses me, because when I first rang him (after seeing that photo on the resort website) I thought he’d be nice, charming. But he wasn’t. He was curt, rude, and muttered something that sounded like ‘I’m going to string him up by his baubles for this’ before putting the phone down on me.