Love and Lies at the Village Christmas Shop Read online

  My impeccably decorated Christmas tree aside, I am in no way prepared for Christmas this year. These days I go to Holly’s house to eat Christmas dinner with her, Lee, and the kids. Lee and I share the cooking on the big day, but in preparation for it, the food shopping is solely down to me. And not only do I need to shop for the ingredients to make the Christmas dinner still, but I need to finish my Christmas present shopping too.

  I also need to start my present wrapping – something I’ve usually done by now because I’m always so eager to do it. I absolutely love present wrapping, and I like to think I’m good at it. You can wrap presents badly, you can wrap presents well, or you can wrap presents like I do – super extra. Present wrapping is an art form. I’m not very competitive, but if competitive present wrapping were a thing, that would be my sport.

  It frustrates me to admit it, even to myself, but I’ve been so distracted by Seb and trying to save the shop that time seems to be passing me by so much quicker than it usually does, leaving me with less time to do more in. As if I don’t have enough on my plate getting myself and my family ready for Christmas, I have the charity commitments that Prue roped me into to fit into my schedule now. That stuff will take up at least a couple of days, which I absolutely do not have. Normally I am all over charity work – what with my life being otherwise empty – but there’s so much going on this year, and I’ve got my Winter Wonderland stall to open up soon. At least I’ll have Gaz, and hopefully Charlie, helping me out with that. Unless Charlie has calmed down and lost interest, that is.

  I think it is safe to say that, when Seb first turned up, my business was not booming. I also think it’s pretty fair to say that, if things had carried on the way they were, there probably wouldn’t have been a shop left to save in the not so distant future. When the shop became harder for tourists to find, I became complacent. Business quietened down but I did nothing to wake it up again. I was bored most days, I wasn’t making much money, but I just kept telling myself that it was my mum’s shop and letting go of it wasn’t an option. That feels more important now than ever, now that I can see it slipping through my fingers straight into Seb’s hands.

  At first, I was fighting to save the shop purely in memory of my mum, but things have changed now. Battling to save the shop lit a fire under me – I’m fighting for so much more. Now I feel like there really is something worth saving here. My wonderful, festive, cute, (and most importantly) busy family shop. I’ve been working so hard, trying to turn things around, to make the shop everything that it used to be when my mum was in charge – and more. I know that my mum would be so proud of what I’ve done with the place and, for that reason, I am even more determined to hang on to it for as long as I possibly can.

  I look over at Gaz, sitting on his stool in the corner. He’s in full Santa Claus mode right now, dressed in his red suit, with his surprisingly convincing fake beard carefully concealing his true identity. He’s reading a story to a group of children who are all sat cross-legged in front of him, completely captivated by his animated storytelling.

  Having Santa Story Time was actually one of Gaz’s ideas and it’s turned out to be a great one. Instead of simply having a grotto like most places do, where kids queue up for ages to tell Santa what they want for Christmas in their 30-second window, before it’s on to the next kid, Gaz thought if he read stories, kids would come back again and again – especially if he reads a different story every day. So kids are turning up, day after day, to clock face time with St Nick and to hear his story.

  So, now we have this edge. People are coming here to see Marram Bay’s best (and technically only) Santa Claus – and some people are coming every day.

  As I serve customers, I can feel my big, dumb smile pulling on the corners of my mouth. It’s not always easy to find things to smile about but here, now, today, it’s coming so naturally. I might not know how things are going to play out here but that’s no reason not to feel truly content with each of my little victories. Whether the shop closes down or not, I am so, so proud of myself for everything I’ve done to save it. Whether I’m winning or not, I’m fighting, and that’s the kind of daughter my mum raised.

  My smile finally lets up, faltering as I notice Seb walk through the door to burst my bubble. He’s never far away.

  As he approaches the counter, I wonder what pointless, stupid distraction he has in store for me today. After countless tests on the land, measuring the plot, and using my kitchen as an office, I’m not sure what else he needs to do now – not until after he pulls the trigger, anyway.

  It’s only as I’m forcing my game face that I notice the look on Seb’s. He looks absolutely fuming and it takes me aback. It suddenly occurs to me, as I look at the furious expression on his face, that I’ve never seen a hint of anger from Seb until today, and it gives me a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. His steely blue eyes are narrowed in my direction, and there’s an icy coldness behind them that I haven’t seen before, which chills me to my core. His jaw looks tense, his brow is furrowed, and his usual charming, easy-going demeanour is MIA. Something must be really wrong.

  ‘Hey, hey,’ I chirp brightly, probably in an awkward attempt to overcompensate, which I instantly regret, because the only sight rarer than Seb appearing angry, is me appearing pleased to see Seb. I don’t know why I thought acting uncharacte‌ristically friendly might defuse this situation, so I quickly tone it down. ‘Is everything OK?’

  ‘Hello,’ he replies coolly. ‘No, it isn’t. I need a word.’

  Now I really am worried. ‘Sure. Are we OK to talk here? Gaz – excuse me, Santa,’ I correct myself, lowering my voice, ‘is mid-story with the kids, so I can’t really leave my post.’

  ‘Fine,’ he says with a sigh. ‘I just received a call from Prue Honeywell and she was very upset. She said that some unsettling details of my life – from before I moved here – had come to light, and that she was reconsidering supporting me.’

  ‘Oh?’ I reply casually – well, as casually as I can force myself to sound.

  ‘Oh, indeed,’ he replies. ‘The town rumour mill has gone into overdrive, with unfounded – and frankly very offensive – allegations about my past.’

  I don’t say a word. I just listen attentively and try my absolute hardest not to do anything with my face that might indicate even a hint of guilt. I don’t want Seb thinking I played a part in this, or that I had any knowledge of these rumours because the truth is I think I might know exactly what the rumours are, and where they came from.

  ‘Rumour has it I’m a bigamist,’ he tells me, his eyes wide with horror. ‘But not simply your run-of-the-mill bigamist, no, no, I’m a bigamist who travels from town to town, starting up businesses, running up debts, before marrying an unsuspecting victim and disappearing with all their money. Then I start up my life again somewhere else, running the same scam again and again. And now, here I am, in Marram Bay, ready to start the process again.’

  Yep, I know exactly where these rumours have come from, and now I’m terrified he’s going to figure out who started them and find me guilty by association.

  ‘That’s absolutely awful,’ I tell him honestly – well, as honestly as I can afford to be right now.

  ‘It is,’ he replies. ‘Supposedly I’ve done this no less than six times now. Except I’ve never been married at all, let alone married anyone for money. It did get me wondering though, why would someone start such horrible rumours about me? Who on earth could possibly want to run me out of town…?’

  ‘Me?’ I squeak, sensing an accusation. ‘No, no, no. I would never do that – not to you, not to anyone.’

  ‘Well, who else would, hmm?’ he replies in disbelief.

  I glance over at Gaz – bloody Gaz – only to realise that he’s scarpered, leaving the kids in the capable hands of a 6-year-old, who has taken over reading the story to the rest of the kids. I listen to his chatter for a moment and I’m pretty sure that the words coming from his mouth are not being read from the pages
of The Polar Express, unless it’s just a huge coincidence that this kid’s Uncle Andy and his cat feature heavily in the story.

  ‘Seb, I promise you, I would never do something like this.’

  ‘Ivy, who else would?’

  ‘I…I don’t know,’ I lie.

  Gaz is my rock right now. He’s the only person truly in my corner, fighting to save the shop just as hard as I am. Not only that, but he’s my friend. There’s no way I’m throwing him under the bus.

  ‘Ivy, I want you to listen to me very carefully,’ Seb starts, sounding no less angry than he did when he walked through the door. ‘I want to make something perfectly clear, just in case I haven’t already. I am sorry for what is happening to you, and I am sorry for the part I am playing in it, but you just need to let it go, let it happen.

  ‘It’s great that you’re fighting to save the place, but you’ve taken things too far now. I was happy to just leave you to it, but now you’re badmouthing me around town… You just need to let it go, and let it happen.’

  Now I feel angry. ‘You could build your stupid holiday homes anywhere, why do you have to do it here?’ I ask. ‘Not just here in Marram Bay, but right here, in this exact spot, where my entire life is.’

  ‘Because this is the best place to do it,’ he replies firmly. ‘If I don’t buy it and you stay here, I’d bet every penny I have that you’ll be done by next Christmas anyway.’

  Ouch. ‘If I were going to start a rumour about you, I’d find one more believable,’ I start. I’m hurt and I’m angry, which means that the next thing that comes out of my mouth probably isn’t going to be pretty or helpful. ‘As if people would buy into a story where someone like you successfully dupes six women into marrying him.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘Meaning there’s a reason you don’t have family around you,’ I tell him. ‘You might think I’m bad at business – and, you know what, maybe I am – but you’re bad at people. And you don’t even realise you’re bad at people, you think everyone loves you, but your charm offensive is only ever going to get you so far. Sustainable relationships aren’t built on charm and business transactions, they’re built on sincerity, and you have none of that. And, no, you can’t buy any of that unfortunately, no matter how much bloody money you have.’

  Seb raises his eyebrows. For a few seconds, he just glares at me, staring so hard it almost feels like he’s looking straight through me, like he’s lost in thought. Eventually, he says something.

  ‘I came here today to see if you knew anything about where these rumours could have come from, because I really couldn’t think of anyone else with motive, but deep down, I really didn’t think you were personally capable of something so vindictive. And then Poison Ivy rears her ugly head…’ Seb quickly pauses and changes the direction his words were going in. ‘From day one, I have been trying to do what is right by everyone, but if you want to play games, fine, just know that I am a much better player than you.’

  ‘Are you finished?’ I ask.

  ‘No, you are,’ he replies.

  ‘Great, now get out of my shop,’ I say angrily, while I still can.

  As Seb storms off I remember where I am. I glance around the shop to make sure that our little tête-à-tête didn’t attract too much attention from the customers. Thankfully, everyone seems to be completely captivated by the young storyteller, who is still commanding his audience, despite not actually having the book in his hand anymore.

  As I’m glancing around the room, I double-take at the Christmas tree. I can’t help but notice the bright red leg poking out from behind it. I march straight over, where I find my cowardly Santa Claus trying to hide.

  ‘Oi,’ I say, but Gaz just continues to stare at the wall in that guilty way dogs do after they tear up a cushion, hoping that if they can’t see you, then you can’t see them. It’s unfortunate for Gaz that he is wearing bright red because he sticks out like a sore thumb.

  ‘I need a word with you,’ I say in hushed tones.

  ‘Ho, ho, ho,’ he replies merrily, loud enough for the room to hear him. Suddenly all eyes are on him again. ‘Mrs Santa is on the phone, from the North Pole. I just need to go and have a quick chat, make sure you’re all on the nice list. Keep reading, young man, you’re doing a great job. Extra presents for you.’

  Sometimes I think Gaz is a few baubles short of a Christmas tree, but other times, like now, when he’s making a scene because he knows I can’t yell at him or assault him with a giant inflatable candy cane with the children watching (he is Santa Claus, after all) I’m reminded that he does have his moments of intelligence.

  I usher my babbling Santa Claus – who is absolutely on my naughty list now – into the kitchen. I hover in the doorway, just in case any customers need me while I’m telling him off.

  ‘Gaz, what the hell did you do?’

  ‘Huh?’ he replies in an infuriating, faux innocent way, that isn’t going to fool anyone.

  ‘Don’t “huh” me,’ I tell him. ‘You know what’s going on – why did you hide, if you’ve nothing to worry about?’

  ‘I was checking the star on the Christmas tree, like you asked me to? You said it looked a bit…’ Gaz’s expression changes all at once, when he finally stops lying. ‘OK, I only said a few things to a few people. I’m surprised it got back to him so quickly.’

  ‘Gaz, the local MP called him to voice her concerns. This could cause big problems for him.’

  ‘Well, that’s great, right?’

  ‘No, it isn’t, and I specifically asked you not to do this.’

  ‘Yeah, I know, but only because you didn’t want to get in trouble. I took the hint.’

  ‘There was no hint, you idiot,’ I reply. ‘I said no, I meant no. You really need to learn to take a “no” – in all areas of life.’

  ‘But it sounds like your problem is solved?’

  ‘But it isn’t,’ I reply. ‘Because he can easily refute these six wives he supposedly has, because it’s all lies. It’s just going to make us look pathetic, bitter, and like we’re losing. And now, Seb is firing on all cylinders, he’s so angry.’

  ‘Six wives?’ he replies. ‘I didn’t say anything about him having six, I just said he was a biga-whatsit.’

  It is both fascinating and terrifying, how information is shared in small towns like Marram Bay. Rumours really do travel like wildfire here, equal in speed and sometimes equal in destruction too.

  ‘Well, he’s gunning for me now.’

  ‘So, we try harder,’ Gaz insists.

  I massage my temples. ‘Promise me you won’t go rogue again, Gaz. It’s only making things worse.’

  ‘OK, fine,’ he replies, and this time I think he means it. ‘But tell me you didn’t enjoy seeing him brought down a peg or too.’

  If I’m being completely honest, I didn’t enjoy it at all. Not even a little bit. It was awful, I just felt so guilty, and so sorry for him. I remember what it was like when my dad died, especially with it being such a tragic accident. Even though I was a kid, I couldn’t help but notice that people were talking about us, nudging each other in the street, saying, oh look, there’s that poor family who lost someone in that bad accident just before Christmas.

  And later on, when my mum died – my mum was like a local celebrity, known for being the bright and bubbly lady who ran this shop; everyone used to call her Mrs Christmas – the Marram Bay Facebook group filled up with locals saying ‘RIP Mrs Christmas’ and sharing stories from times when they had visited the shop… I should have been happy, comforted even, to see that she had touched so many lives while she was with us, but all it did was upset me. She was just some fun lady in a shop to everyone else, but she was my mum. She was the most important person in my life, and I still miss her, every single day.

  The point is, I know what it’s like to be the talk of the town, and in a small town like ours, the voices only seem louder. So I know exactly what Seb will be going through right now.

  And even thoug
h he upset me, I feel guilty for hitting back. Perhaps he only said what he did because he was upset…or maybe there was some truth in his words. Maybe that’s why I hit back twice as hard.

  I know that he wants this place, and I know that he thinks my crappy little shop is going under – and maybe it is – but I won’t stop trying to save it. I’ll never stop. The only thing is, I feel like doing that is about to get a whole lot harder.

  Chapter 16

  ‘It’s Ivy, isn’t it?’ I hear a voice call over to me. ‘Chloe and Harry’s aunt?’

  I turn around to see Mrs Snowball, the head teacher at Acorn School, towering over me. Mrs Snowball, who must be in her fifties now, is a tall, broad woman, who I want to say would terrify me if I were a kid here, but even as a 5’3” adult, she towers over me, and I can’t help but find her intimidating.

  Her short, sharp, dark bob – teamed with the grey shirt she is wearing – instantly puts me in mind of Cate Blanchett’s Irina Spalko character from Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull. I imagine Mrs Snowball’s character to be not all that dissimilar either.

  ‘Yes, hello,’ I reply. ‘Is everything OK?’

  Today I told Holly I would pick up Chloe and Harry from school. I was in the process of quickly ushering them towards the car when Mrs Snowball caught up with me. I wouldn’t usually be in such a hurry, but I’m still a little worried about Gaz and his guerrilla tactics.

  ‘I was hoping to speak to your sister really,’ she says.

  ‘Oh, sorry, just me today,’ I reply, waiting to see if that’s good enough. ‘Can you talk to the monkey, instead of the organ grinder?’