“Nothing’s ever perfect. Better just to accept that and get on with life. It’s just a day. It will pass like all the others.”
We came to a stop on her front step. Celia’s white-blonde hair lit up her face. Her cheeks were flushed pink from the cold of the night and matched the tip of her nose.
“No more deflection,” she said. “Why do you hate it so much?”
I shrugged, a little thrown by her insistence. But there was something about that determined streak of hers that drew me in. “Too many ruined Christmases as a child, I suppose. My parents didn’t like each other. At all. And they weren’t afraid to show it. Even after they divorced, they insisted that the three of us spend the festivities together, which meant Christmas was unbearable for my entire childhood.” Every year I went into each festive season with the same hope and optimism that Celia seemed to have in abundance. And every year that same hope and optimism would be extinguished little by little, by the relentless arguing of my divorced parents. Even when they weren’t throwing insults and accusations at each other, the atmosphere could be cut with a Christmas cake slice. “Maybe it would have been different if I’d been allowed to come to Snowsly.”
“You wanted to come?” she asked.
I nodded. I’d begged my mother every year to be allowed to come to Granny’s. Partly because I always felt at home here—it was where I spent all my school holidays when I was growing up. “Of course. Christmas in Snowsly is the stuff of legends. I was desperate to experience it for myself.”
Every year, my pleas to my parents were met with incredulity. They couldn’t understand why on earth I didn’t want to spend the festive season with them. Perhaps they thought they were better at pretending to be friends than they were. But even as a child it was patently clear they couldn’t stand each other. And they didn’t love me enough to fake it. Not well, anyway.
“But as you grew up and were able to choose for yourself, why didn’t you come?”
It was an obvious question without an obvious answer. “I suppose I didn’t want to be . . . reminded of everything I’d missed. And I was just out of hope that this time of year could be anything other than awful.”
“Out of hope?” Celia reached for my lapel like she’d done earlier. Between her touch and the kindness in her expression, there was something reassuring about us being connected. Even if it was in a small way. “That’s so sad.”
“You don’t need to feel sorry for me. Five-star service in Barbados isn’t such torture.”
I expected her to make a joke in return, pull out one of her Christmas puns, but instead silence passed between us for one beat and then two.
“Well, you’re here this year.” She straightened her spine and looked right at me. “This is the year you finally see what a magical time it is. You’ll find your hope again.”
Celia believed what had been done could be undone. I knew better. History couldn’t be rewritten.
When I didn’t reply, Celia tugged on my lapel. “Let yourself believe in the magic.”
I covered her hand with mine, the tops of her fingers melting like ice cubes into the heat of my hand. She looked up at me, so earnest, so desperate to convince me, that I couldn’t crush her optimism and tell her I’d tried. For years, I’d done everything I could to convince myself that the next Christmas would be different. But at eighteen, I’d stopped trying, and it was the best thing I’d ever done. I’d escaped.
My disappointment faded away when I’d let go of hope.
“I’m not giving up on you,” she said. “It’s natural that some Christmases are better than others. But this Christmas will be perfect. Just you wait. I’m going to make sure of it.”
If anyone could make it happen, Celia could.
Six
Sebastian
A piercing scream wrenched me from sleep and I sat bolt upright in bed. Had I imagined that? Or had the Manor gone and got itself haunted since I was last here?
When the sounds of slammed doors and rumbled voices carried up the stairs, I knew something serious had happened. I pulled on some clothes and sped downstairs, hoping against hope that Granny hadn’t tried to put weight on that ankle and fallen.
I approached the huddle of people gathered at the reception desk. “What’s happened? Is Granny okay?”
“It’s the tree,” Peter said, turning and revealing Celia in the sea of worried faces. “It’s been pulled down. Probably by some Snowsville residents. I bet they’re fuming since we got the website back.”
“I can’t believe someone would do something so mean. On purpose,” Barbara said, shaking her head. “I’ve got people I considered friends in that village. Well, no more. And if they think I’m going to still visit the wool show in March, they’ve got another thing coming.”
Tempers were clearly frayed. Maybe it was the time of morning that had heightened everyone’s emotions, or maybe the villagers of Snowsville really had scuttled across the hill in the dead of night and dismantled the tree. It could be payback for me getting the website back, but I still found it hard to believe that Snowsville would want to succeed at Snowsly’s expense.
“We don’t know it was sabotage. It could have been the wind,” Celia said, her voice a little shaky. I had to fight an urge to reach for her—steady her, like she had me last night.
“Wind, my arse,” Peter continued, his hair sticking out on end. “Someone’s lifted the trunk of that tree out of the fixings—how is anyone’s guess. Who’s got access to the Manor CCTV? They might have caught the culprit.”
“I’ve already checked. The CCTV doesn’t cover it,” Barbara said.
“Shall we focus on trying to get the tree back up?” I suggested. Now I was up, I might as well get busy. Besides, it might help Celia’s mood if we tried to right things.
Celia had lost the positivity and determination I’d seen since I’d met her. She looked fragile. Almost broken. “We needed a crane to get it up and in place the first time,” she explained. “There’s no way we can get one at this short notice this time of the year. We’re going to have to do without the tree.”
“Where will we hang the annual Snowsly bauble?” Peter asked, as if the idea of going without a Christmas tree in the village was as ludicrous as wearing a dead fish on his head.
Celia’s mouth drew into a tight line. “I have no idea anymore.”
Discomfort lodged in my throat and I tried to swallow it down. I hadn’t known Celia long, but it was long enough to know the despair in her voice was out of character. There was bound to be a solution.
“Celia,” I said, pulling her round so she was facing me. I dipped down so she had to meet my eyes. “Now listen to me.” I checked my watch. It was just approaching six o’clock. Sweet baby Jesus, I’d forgotten how early this village liked to be up in the mornings. “We have an army of Snowsly residents to help and we are going to figure this out. You need to be sure of it. Then the rest of us can be sure of it. Everyone’s looking to you. You need to know that Snowsly is going to have the most successful, most joyous, most Christmassy Christmas of all time.”