Christmas on Rosemary Lane

Lucy even allowed herself to believe that Ivan had settled fully into village life, and that he wasn’t missing his old workplace – or life in Manchester – at all. However, it soon became apparent that other plans were afoot, which he hadn’t shared with her.

Late one warm September night, they were setting the communal breakfast table for the next morning when he sighed and fiddled with fistfuls of cutlery before finally blurting out, ‘I have something to tell you, Luce. A job’s come up. A really good one.’

She stared at him and frowned. ‘What d’you mean?’

‘It’s with Si Morley. Remember him?’

‘From Brookes, yes, I think so. Didn’t you used to go for a drink sometimes?’

Ivan took off his glasses and nodded. ‘He has his own agency now – it’s small but they’re doing incredibly well. A few of the guys from Brookes have already moved over to work with him.’

She nodded, wondering what this was leading to. ‘Have you applied for a job with him?’ she asked hesitantly.

‘God, no, I haven’t applied,’ Ivan said quickly. ‘I wouldn’t do that without saying anything to you, would I? No, Si approached me.’ He repositioned the cups and saucers unnecessarily.

‘But why?’ Lucy asked. ‘Doesn’t he know we’re living here now, and that you’ve gone freelance?’

‘Yes, of course he does.’ Ivan started to polish the glassware with a tea towel even though it was sparkling already. ‘He just thought of me when it came up,’ he added. ‘Apparently I was kinda the obvious choice.’ He pushed back his wavy hair that he wore longer now, since he had left his job. He was more stubbly, too, and his more weathered, outdoorsy look suited him.

‘Right,’ Lucy said. ‘Well, you know how valued you were at Brookes.’

He nodded absently, as if the thought hadn’t occurred to him. Lucy crossed the room to one of the two squashy powder blue sofas. As she plumped up the cushions, she tried to ignore the ball of anxiety that seemed to be forming in her gut. Surely he wasn’t tempted by this so-called ‘approach’? Ivan had agreed that he, too, needed a fresh start, especially after they had lost the baby. He wanted to spend more time with the kids and less on jumping to attention when his clients demanded it. His parents, who lived in the outer reaches of North London, had implied that Lucy had ‘forced’ him to give up his job – but it hadn’t been that way at all.

‘What is the job anyway?’ she asked lightly.

‘Oh, it’s a brand manager role. New client. A major repositioning so it’d be all hands on deck for a few months …’ He repositioned the ketchups, the HP sauce and mustards on the table, as if engaged in a simplified game of chess, with condiments.

When he wandered through to the kitchen, Lucy followed him. ‘So, who’s the client?’

‘A pretty dire hotel chain – you wouldn’t know them. They’ve been hit with a torrent of bad reviews and some of them are pretty disgusting. There’s been food poisoning scandals, outbreaks of bedbugs—’

‘Nice,’ she exclaimed with a shudder. ‘Shall I book us in for a treat?’

Ivan smiled. ‘Sure. Anyway, they’ve been bought out with a ton of new investment, and the actual properties are sound, so they’re looking to completely refurbish and re-launch as a collection of boutique urban bolt-holes.’

‘“Boutique urban bolt-holes.”’ Lucy gave him a bemused look.

‘Ha. Yeah, I know,’ Ivan chuckled, his dark eyes glinting. ‘Quite a challenge.’

Lucy unloaded the tumble dryer and started to fold Sam’s T-shirts. They were emblazoned with planets and robots; outer space and mechanics were his main interests right now. She picked up his polar bear sweatshirt, which he had recently shunned, considering it too babyish at the age of six (although he was still fiercely attached to his panda pillow and refused to sleep on anything else).

‘So, are you interested?’ Lucy ventured hesitantly, willing Ivan to say no, of course not, but it was flattering to be asked.

He shrugged. ‘I might just pop in for a chat. Nothing to lose, is there?’

She stared at him. ‘What d’you mean, there’s nothing to lose?’

‘I just think it might be a bit short-sighted to turn it down flat,’ he said quickly.

Lucy stood still, astounded. ‘I thought our life was here now? You agreed, Ivan. You said you’d had it with that kind of full-on work. It was doing your head in, you said—’

‘Lucy, I’m just saying—’

‘So how d’you think it’d work,’ she cut in, ‘if they did offer it to you? I mean, surely you wouldn’t go back to commuting? It was hard enough, those few weeks you did it.’

‘Yes, but—’

‘Or would it be a home-based job? I suppose that might be okay. You’ve managed in the study so far, haven’t you, with your freelance work? I know it’s a bit cramped in there. Could we convert the shed, or build an office in the garden—’ Lucy broke off, cursing herself now for not having realised that something was going on. But these days, she felt as if she barely came up for air. It was all she could do to keep on top of day-to-day life here.

‘It’s not a home-based role,’ Ivan murmured. ‘They’re actually offering a flat with the job.’

‘A flat? Where – in Manchester?’

He nodded. ‘Yes, love. It’s a company flat – just a tiny studio – and it comes with the job. Si’s just bought it. They reckon they need me to make this work, this rebranding the hotel chain thing. So they’ve put together this great, um, package.’

Lucy blinked at her husband. At forty-two, his handsome, finely boned face was virtually unlined, his hair showing no sign of thinning. It had amused her, the way some of the women in the village had fussed over him when they had moved in, clearly delighting in the new, eye-pleasing family man who was seen out and about at weekends with his equally attractive children. He had just taught Sam how to ride a bike. He and the children had built a kite in the shed, which had attracted praise from the locals when they’d flown it up on the hill. Whether or not he was prepared to admit it, Ivan really was part of things here, and country life suited him. His wine consumption had reduced dramatically and he looked far healthier and more relaxed.

Lucy turned to him now, trying to remain calm and not over-react when she didn’t fully understand what he was telling her. ‘So, what are you saying exactly?’ she asked. ‘I don’t quite see how …’

‘I don’t want to upset you, Luce,’ he said quickly. ‘Honestly, it’s the last thing I want.’

Lucy swallowed hard, understanding now what this meant. ‘But we don’t need a great package, do we? We’ve worked so hard to build this. What about school, the kids’ new friends, their lives here—’

‘No, you’d stay here with them.’

Her heart seemed to falter. ‘And … you’d move back to Manchester? You mean, on your own, without us?’

‘Um … yeah.’ He nodded, and his gaze held hers. So this was it, she realised; finally, he was admitting that she had dragged him here, away from the cut and thrust of whizzy city life. It had been her dream – not his – to run a B&B in a picturesque village. He had only gone along with it to please her.

‘Are you … leaving me?’ Her voice cracked.

Ivan looked aghast. ‘No! Oh, God, Lucy – no. Of course I’m not. Jesus. Come here, darling.’ He wound his arms around her and pulled her close. ‘It’s just … I’ve really tried, sweetheart. You can’t say I haven’t.’

‘We’ve only been here ten months, for God’s sake. Can’t you give it more time?’

‘They need someone now,’ he said gently. ‘I’m so sorry, darling. I promise it’s true that they approached me. I didn’t go looking.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said sharply, turning away.

‘Running a B&B just isn’t me, Luce. I’ve realised that already. I mean, I love the village, and what we’ve done to this place. But I need more than this.’

‘You need more than us?’ she exclaimed.

‘No, no – not you and the kids. I mean living here, being so cut off from the world, worrying about have we got enough sausages and do we need new pillows, and did we remember lime marmalade, one of the guests asked for it last week, and maybe it’s time we started offering evening meals—’

‘Sorry your life has become so limited,’ she snapped as her tears spilled over.

‘It’s not limited. It’s fantastic!’

‘So fantastic that you’re moving back to Manchester, away from us?’ She was shouting now; she couldn’t stop herself. Thank God their children slept soundly at night.

‘Listen.’ He grabbed at her hand. ‘I’ll only be away four nights out of seven. I’ll set off on Monday mornings and be back on Fridays, and it’ll make our weekends all the more special.’

So it was all decided then, she realised. This wasn’t a discussion about whether or not he should accept the job. His mind was made up and, whatever her feelings, it looked as if she would be running the B&B virtually alone.

‘We can get someone in to help here,’ he added, as if reading her thoughts.

‘We can’t afford that,’ Lucy said flatly. ‘We’re only just managing to stay afloat now.’

‘Yes, but we’ll have my salary again, won’t we? It’ll be less pressurised, love. Think what a relief it’ll be, having that security again – that regular money coming in. I know it’s looking good for the next few weeks, but what about winter? There’s hardly anyone booked in past October—’

‘I could go all out to get more floristry work,’ she said quickly, hating the desperation that had crept into her voice.

‘But there won’t be any flowers then, will there?’

‘I know, but I was thinking of doing Christmas arrangements and selling them locally – even over in Heathfield. There are plenty of shops that sell that kind of thing. Winter foliage, wreaths, there’s tons of scope for seasonal decorations with holly, fir cones, berries …’ Lucy stopped, her cheeks flushing. ‘I know it won’t make much money,’ she added, ‘but I have a feeling it could grow and become a bigger part of our lives.’

‘I’m sure it could,’ Ivan said distractedly. ‘I think you’re so talented, Luce. It’s amazing that you’re doing this too, on top of everything else you’ve got going on here. But it’s not about that. It’s more about …’ He paused. ‘My future, I guess. My working life.’

She rubbed at her eyes and put down the bunch of teaspoons she’d been holding tightly. ‘You really want this job, don’t you?’

Ivan nodded.

‘And it’s definitely yours, if you decide to accept it?’

‘It is, darling, yes, but please don’t worry. I’ll still be with you, in every way. You and me will always be a team.’

She inhaled slowly, letting his declaration settle in her mind, and looked around the country kitchen they had planned so carefully. In the past few weeks she had already scrambled hundreds of free-range eggs on that hob. She was immensely proud of what they had achieved, even at this early stage; the glowing online reviews, and a guestbook filling with positive comments. So she would not fall to pieces if Ivan had made up his mind to accept the job. She had wanted Rosemary Cottage far too much to let her dreams crumble now.

Lucy smoothed down her long dark hair, which fell in loose waves over her shoulders. ‘Okay, then,’ she said firmly. ‘Go ahead and accept the job, if it feels like the right thing to do.’

Ivan cleared his throat and looked at her. ‘I’m sorry, darling. I know I should have talked to you first, but … I already have.’

Chapter Five

Two weeks later, Ivan launched into his new routine of heading off to work at six every Monday morning and being gone until Friday evening. Lucy could hardly believe this had been thrown at her, with virtually no warning – but then, that was the way his business worked. It was full on, all-hands-on-deck and, admittedly, Ivan was being well rewarded by his employer. However, it required a big adjustment on Lucy’s side. Apart from the wrench of saying goodbye, there were practical aspects to consider; specifically, how could one person simultaneously serve up home-cured Yorkshire bacon to guests whilst chivvying two boisterous children into getting ready and ferrying them to school?

It was impossible, of course, and as Lucy felt uncomfortable relying on her still-new local friends, she decided to enlist some help. In stepped Rikke, the Danish woman in her late twenties who worked part-time at Della’s bookshop as well as giving swimming lessons in Heathfield, and harp recitals locally. She quickly proved herself to be quite the godsend.

Marnie and Sam adapted fairly easily to their dad being away during the week. It’s not that they didn’t miss him; more that children tend to exist in the here and now, and often possess a talent for simply getting on with things. Whereas they used to cause havoc whilst getting ready in the mornings, ‘losing’ their shoes and suddenly finding themselves splattered with hot chocolate, they would now be eerily helpful and ready in good time for Rikke to pick them up. They would probably have been ready at five a.m. – with shoes polished – if required, so keen were they to impress her.

Within a few weeks, Lucy had managed to adjust too. ‘It’s amazing what you can get used to,’ she told Della when she’d popped into the bookshop one bright and breezy late October afternoon. ‘If someone had told me Ivan would be away during the week, I’d have said it’d be a disaster for us. But in some ways …’ She paused.

‘It’s made things better?’ Della suggested.

Lucy winced. ‘I feel terrible for saying it, and of course I miss him. But I must admit, he was getting pretty grumpy with the day-to-day stuff.’

‘What kind of stuff?’ Della asked with a wry smile.

‘Oh, the change-overs, mostly. Cleaning rooms, scrubbing loos.’ She paused and smirked. ‘Ironing sheets …’

‘But guests can’t have wrinkled sheets,’ Della exclaimed in mock horror.

‘They absolutely can’t.’ Lucy grinned. ‘And as for the people aspect – well, you know Ivan’s sociable enough, when he’s in the mood. But with guests, you have to be more—’

‘More “on”?’ remarked Frank, Della’s husband, as he wandered into the shop.

‘Yes. That’s exactly what Ivan called it.’ Lucy laughed. ‘“I’m not like you,” he kept telling me. “I can’t be on all the time.”’

‘I guess running a B&B isn’t everyone’s cup of tea,’ Frank added. ‘Cutting the toast into perfect triangles—’

‘Oh, I’m a stickler for that,’ Lucy chuckled, ‘with my ruler and set square.’

‘You are a natural at it, though,’ Della added, handing Lucy a coffee from the percolator. ‘Frank, how many times have Lucy’s guests told us how much they’re loving their stay?’

‘Tons,’ he said. ‘You’re obviously doing something right.’

‘I’m glad to hear that,’ Lucy said, and she caught Della’s eye and grinned. She knew her friend was delighted to see her childhood home lavished with care and attention after decades of neglect.

Having chosen a vintage French cookbook, Lucy strolled through the village to pick up Marnie and Sam from school. It was true that she missed Ivan, and by Friday afternoons she was desperate to hear his car pulling up outside the cottage. But they were still a team, just as he’d said when he’d dropped the bombshell about the job last month. Ivan wasn’t a man to break a promise. Lucy had known that, instinctively, on the day they’d met, on that Euston-to-Manchester-Piccadilly train.

She wasn’t normally one for chatting to strangers on journeys. Usually, she preferred to read or simply enjoy watching the landscape sliding by. But that day she’d fallen into conversation with the cute stranger in glasses sitting opposite. When a sudden heavy snowfall caused a two-hour delay, she had been a tiny bit pleased.

Actually, extremely pleased. The weekend at an old college friend’s in London had been fun, but meeting Ivan on the journey home had been the icing on the cake. He had made her laugh, fetched them wine from the buffet carriage and they’d got tipsy together. They were at a standstill, not yet halfway home. While other passengers were moaning loudly to each other, and venting their frustrations to the train staff, Lucy had barely noticed time slipping by. We’re sorry about this continued delay, came yet another announcement. We’re hoping to get moving again very soon …

‘I hope we don’t,’ Ivan had said with a smile that caused her heart to flip. ‘I’m enjoying this journey.’

‘Me too,’ Lucy had said. His eyes were lovely, she’d noticed; dark as espresso with long black lashes. She could hardly tear her gaze away from them.

‘So, what d’you do for a living?’ he’d asked.

Bingo! ‘I work in lingerie,’ she’d replied.

‘Really?’ His eyebrows had shot up. ‘And I thought my workplace was relaxed.’

She’d smiled. ‘It’s a lingerie retailer, although sometimes I think it’d be better if we only sold knickers—’

‘Then you could say, “I work in pants”?’

‘Exactly.’ That – or perhaps the wine they’d been sharing – set them off sniggering, and by the time they’d arrived at their home city they had swapped numbers and vowed to meet.

That had been over thirteen years ago. Three years later, she and Ivan were married, and a couple of years after that she was pregnant with Marnie, then Sam followed. Pre-Ivan, Lucy had never lived with a boyfriend or even had anything particularly serious. She’d had wild crushes and the odd, fairly short-lived relationship, but there’d been no one she’d remotely imagined a future with. Thank God for freak snow, she’d often thought. And now, as the softly weathered village primary school came into view, Lucy decided Ivan had been right in that their weekends would now feel more special. While there were often guests to look after, they were usually out during the day – and Lucy and Ivan seemed to appreciate each other like never before.

They were so lucky, she reflected as she spotted her new friends clustered by the school gate. She and Ivan had lost a baby, but they had Marnie and Sam and, of course, each other. Now, with Ivan working flat out during the week, it seemed as if they were conscious of making the most of every day they had together.

A few weeks later, when Lucy recalled thinking this, it chilled her to the bones.

Chapter Six

By the time winter took hold, bookings had started to thin out. Lucy had expected this to happen; after all, only the brave-hearted were inclined to hike into the hills with ominous clouds overhead. As the end of term approached, it had rained for what felt like weeks, and she was looking forward to Ivan taking a break over Christmas. Life had been hectic, especially since he had been working in Manchester, and they needed some family time together.

Although Lucy’s mother had pushed for them to spend the festive season at theirs, Lucy had put her foot down this time. For years now, they had alternated between going to Ivan’s parents’, where it would be terribly restrained, with a foot-high tinsel tree sitting primly on a side table, and her own parents’ place, which would be decked out in full, extravagant finery.

‘But it’s our turn this year,’ her mother had argued.

‘Yes, but we’d love to spend it here for the first time,’ Lucy explained. ‘Why don’t you and Dad come to us?’

‘Are you sure, darling? It seems like an awful lot of work …’

Lucy smiled, knowing her mother was merely reluctant to relinquish control. ‘It’s a lot of work for you too, us lot all descending. And we’d love to do it. I don’t think Rosemary Cottage will feel properly like our home until we’ve had Christmas here.’

Reluctantly, Anna had agreed (Lucy’s father, Paddy, never had any say in such matters). Ivan’s parents had been invited too, but they tended to view visiting Yorkshire as akin to traversing the Arctic tundra, and had politely declined.

And so Lucy propelled herself into preparing for Christmas, scribbling lists and bringing in holly and dark, glossy foliage, plus crispy seedpods and branches with which to create festive arrangements throughout the house.

Although she had enjoyed her run of looking after their guests, it was a relief to block out some time in order to ready the cottage for her parents’ arrival on Christmas Eve. In amongst the foliage in the house, she dotted cream tapered candles, red velvet ribbons and silvery fairy lights. Although she had a vague memory that her childhood friend Hally’s dad had sold Christmas trees, she gathered from asking around that the nearest source these days was a farm several miles out of the village. So she drove out there with the children and selected a seven-foot Scots Pine, which was delivered later to great excitement. As soon as it was set up in place, scenting the cottage and shimmering beneath an explosion of multi-coloured baubles, it felt as if the festive season had properly begun.

By now, the entire village was strewn with twinkling decorations. A huge tree glinted with jewel-coloured lights, and shop windows were filled with glowing nativity scenes and fuzzed with fake snow. Only an appearance of the genuine stuff could have made Burley Bridge look more festive. Lucy threw herself into every event going, from Della’s festive drinks in the bookshop, to a heart-soaring carol concert in the village church. She had never felt such anticipation over Christmas Day itself since she had been a child.

Ivan, too, seemed to be full of festive spirit as the holidays grew closer. He had a buoyancy about him these days, Lucy was relieved to note, and he was certainly doing well in his new post at Si Morley’s agency. Thirteen hotels in the once-beleaguered chain had been blitzed of their trouser presses, cheap melamine desks and industrial shower gel dispensers. ‘Modern rustic with a hint of hippie’ summed up the new look, according to Ivan: ‘A little bit of Ibiza in Bradford,’ he laughed. They offered green juices, massage and complimentary morning yoga.

Meanwhile, as Rikke had gone home to Copenhagen for the holidays, Lucy’s mornings involved getting the children up and ready for school on time and cracking on with some last-minute orders for festive decorations. Happily, her floral displays around the village had led to several requests for handmade Christmas wreaths.

The annual Burley Bridge children’s party was also drawing near. Lucy had gathered that the fancy dress element was the highlight, and Marnie and Sam had been talking about it for weeks. Unhelpfully, they had changed their minds about their costumes numerous times, and still hadn’t decided when she’d dropped them off at school that morning.

‘Can’t you just throw something together?’ Ivan asked, when he and Lucy caught up on the phone that lunchtime.

‘Throw what together exactly?’

‘I don’t know,’ he said distractedly. ‘You’re the one who’s good at that stuff—’

‘But it’s tonight,’ she reminded him. ‘There isn’t enough time. I can’t believe we’ve left it so late.’

‘Could you just nip out and buy something?’

Lucy laughed dryly. ‘Where are you suggesting I nip out to?’

‘Surely there’s somewhere. What about that everything-shop on the high street?’ The general-store-cum-post-office, he meant.

‘Ivan,’ Lucy said, shaking her head, ‘how many times have you actually been in there?’

‘Loads,’ he protested, a trace of amusement in his voice.

Lucy smirked. ‘What’s her name, then? The lady who owns it, I mean?’

‘Er …’

‘You don’t know, do you? It’s Irene.’

‘Irene! Yes, of course.’

‘You should remember,’ she teased him. ‘She has a crush on you.’

‘Oh, stop it,’ he exclaimed.

‘How can you forget Irene? She was all overexcited watching you mowing the lawn.’ Lucy was laughing now. ‘D’you feel objectified, when that happens?’

‘You’re being ridiculous.’

‘Okay – so who has the hair salon across the road from her?’

‘What is this?’ he cut in, chuckling now. ‘A who’s who in Burley Bridge quiz?’

‘Yes, and you’re doing terribly!’

‘Anyway,’ he said, quickly changing the subject, ‘do they have to dress up? I mean, is it crucial?’