Page 76 of The Secret Mistletoe Promise
‘Really?’ Lucy brightened, and Imogen cursed herself. She was supposed to beextricatingherself, not encouraging the girl.
‘Shame your dad couldn’t make it,’Valerie said from a couple of rows behind, sitting on a chair rather than a beanbag. ‘He would havelovedthis.’
‘Loved it,’ Frank echoed with a chortle.
‘He would have,’ Lucy said, unaware of the innuendo they were levelling in Imogen’s direction. ‘But he’s got to get everyone’s mince pies ready, so he can’t come.’
‘You two, no mischief.’ Jazz pointed a finger at the older contingent.‘You’ve caused enough trouble with the mistletoe.’
‘We didnothing.’ Valerie folded her arms. ‘Just voiced our opinions, is all. We didn’t take it down.’
‘Let’s see if we can have a fun, festive storytelling session, shall we?’ Imogen said perkily. She opened the book, hoping it would act as a prompt, and after some grumbling, everyone settled down. Jazz started them off, and with several copies circulating, the group made their way,haltingly but enthusiastically, through the story, the children getting help with their lines, most of the adults taking it very seriously.
Imogen wondered what it would be like to do this every week, through the cold nights of January and February, as the frosts weakened and the sun grew in confidence, snowdrops and then daffodils breaking through the soil.
Could she keep working at the community hub? If she proved herself volunteering there, could she find a paid role somewhere in Mistingham, or even further afield – Norwich, maybe – or would it have been better not to try anything at all, and see if her dad would take her back in the new year? She’d been straddling two lives, committing to neither one, and it was because she’d been reckless, listening to her heart instead of her head. She’d come here without any kind of plan, then got caught up in village life, the kindness of strangers, the temptation of Dexter.Thiswas what happened when you didn’t follow the rules.
‘Imogen.’ Jazz nudged her side. ‘It’s your turn. You’re on the wrong page!’ She flicked ahead for her, and pointed to where they’d got to. Imogen read her lines haltingly, until all eyes were off her and the story went rippling around the room again.
‘Sure you’re doing all right?’ Jazz murmured.
‘Of course.’ She couldn’t keep drifting, and she was much more organized when she was in London. She’d been so annoyed at other people’s plans for her, she hadn’t examined her own, and the last few weeks had set unrealistically high expectations for her life.
Dexter, the most perfect man she’d ever met, wasn’t a possibility. She’d jilted her fiancé less than two months ago,so it wasn’t time to start something new. She was volunteering at Story Time and in the hub, but neither of those things was a proper career.
She needed to lower her expectations, go back to London and face the music. Dexter had basically said as much – neither he nor Lucy expected her to stay.Thatwas the truth. She tuned back into the last few pages of the book, where the boy wakes up to discover the snowman is no longer there: he’s gone for ever, leaving only his hat and scarf behind.
Mistingham was her snowman, and it was time to stop living a fantasy. The book finished and everyone clapped and cheered, congratulating each other on a story well told. Avoiding Lucy’s gaze, Imogen went to get more mulled wine for herself and Jazz.
The next day, she bundled herself up in hat, scarf and gloves and the green coat, her head pounding with a mulled wine hangover, and took her tote bag through the village. She had agreed to deliver sprout trees, carrots and packets of herbs that Birdie had assembled and promised to some of the villagers. The cold hadn’t abated, but Mistingham looked beautiful even when it was grey.
She knocked on Mrs Waters’ front door, and didn’t have to wait long for it to open.
‘Imogen, love. Birdie said you’d be by. Are these my carrots?’
‘Yes, and a little gift.’ She handed her the package.
‘Some of her damson jam! How glorious.’ Mrs Winters’
wrinkles tightened as she smiled. ‘She must love having you here.’
‘I think so, but I—’
‘I’ll see you at the Snow Show.’ The old woman closed the door before Imogen had a chance to reply.
She walked back down the path, checking the next destination on the list she’d written on her phone, and bent when a shaggy dog she vaguely recognized came to greet her, its tail wagging.
‘So sorry!’ A plump woman bustled up, pulling the dog away on its lead.
‘No problem.’
‘Good luck with the performance. We’re all coming to the Snow Show to see it. Everyone says the chemistry between you and Dexter is electric.’
‘Thanks.’ Imogen swallowed.An amazing time, not a long time, she repeated in her head as she climbed the hotel steps. ‘Is that my Birdie special jam?’ Winnie was sitting behind the curved hotel reception desk. The Christmas tree glittered, filling the foyer with the scent of pine, and Imogen was already scanning the space, looking for jobs she could do, stray things that needed tidying.
‘With Birdie’s compliments.’ She reached into her tote bag.
‘Lovely. You know, you’re already a hit at the hub. I’ve had so many compliments, phone calls from villagers checking when you’ll be in next.’
