Page 49 of The Secret Mistletoe Promise
‘Frank and Valerie weren’t thrilled about it,’ Jazz said. ‘They’ve mentioned it at every Story Time session.’
‘Frank and Valerie wouldn’t have the energy to pluck mistletoe from every door in the village,’ Fiona scoffed. ‘Andwhy?If this is some kind of protest against the harming of the natural world …’
‘Maybe it’s someone who doesn’t like me being in the village?’ Imogen said.
Dexter was beside her in an instant, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. He was wearing his navy jacket – definitely not waterproof – and smelt of sugar. ‘That’s not the case. Everyone’s happy you’re here. Please don’t think that for a second.’
‘I’m so sorry this has upset you.’ May was wearing a yellow mac, the hood pushed down, tendrils of her dark hair wisping around her face. ‘Whoever has done it is a total grinch.’
‘What are we going to do with it?’ Sophie asked.
‘You’renot going to do anything with it,’ Fiona said. ‘You’re going on honeymoon. I’ll get Ermin to bring his van around, and we can take it to the compost pile at the allotment.’
‘And at least it’s decorated the village for a few weeks,’ Harry said. ‘When I got the delivery, I thought I’d have to junk most of it straight away. Thanks for offering to clear it up, Fiona.’
‘I’ll help,’ Jazz said. ‘My shift at the hotel doesn’t start until later.’
‘I can, too,’ Imogen said.
‘And me,’ May added. ‘You two get your bags, get to Norwich Airport. Are you sure you don’t need a lift?’
‘Winnie’s going into Norwich today anyway,’ Sophie said. ‘She’s probably waiting for us.’
There were hugs and another round of congratulations, and then the newlyweds were gone, and the rest of them were left with the forlorn pile of mistletoe. Fiona went into general mode, and soon she and Ermin, Jazz, Jason from Two Scoops, Dexter and Imogen were piling it into Ermin’s van with the help of spades and gloves.
‘How long are you staying?’ May asked Imogen as they worked side by side. ‘Do you know yet?’
‘I haven’t decided. I’ll need to face the music eventually.’
‘Hopefully it will have faded to a gentle ditty, rather than a symphony with a full orchestra,’ Fiona said, and Imogen laughed.
‘You’ve not met my parents. But at least I’m being their disgraced daughter at a distance, which must be less embarrassing for them. They’re probably hoping everyone will be distracted by Christmas, and when I sneak back they’ll all have forgotten about it.’
‘Your parents are worried about youembarrassingthem?’ May sounded horrified.
‘Constantly.’ Imogen said it with a smile, because it was best to make light of it.
‘You’re staying for Christmas, then?’ Jazz asked. ‘More Story Time once we’ve finished Dickens?’
‘Absolutely.’ She loved the sessions with Jazz, and was enjoying getting to know the villagers who turned up, young and old.
‘Amazing.’ Jazz grinned. ‘You’re a hit with everyone, and the tag team is better for my voice.’
‘If you’re staying, you have to come up with a play forour Christmas event,’ Fiona said brusquely. ‘No excuses. And I bet Birdie will love having you for the festive period.’
‘I hope so. My family has been estranged from her for so long, but it shouldn’t have taken me needing an escape hatch to come and see her.’
‘You’re here now though,’ Jazz said, ‘and life is too short for regrets. You need to make the most of what you’ve got, surround yourself with people who are on your wavelength.’
Imogen couldn’t help glancing at Dexter, and found he was already looking at her. He was holding a shovel, had no gloves on, and his coat was drenched. She gave him a quick smile and looked away.
‘You don’t need to worry about the play, Fiona,’ he said. ‘Imogen and I are doing something together.’
‘Is that the case?’ Fiona narrowed her eyes. ‘I thought you were crying off, using mince pie duty as an excuse.’
Dexter looked at his boots, and Imogen bit her lip. She didn’t know he had already ducked out of performing, and tried not to read anything into his easy acceptance when she’d suggested they do a scene together.
‘I can do the mince pies any time, really,’ he said. ‘And I’m up for embarrassing myself. I don’t want to be accused of being a grinch.’
