Page 8 of Confessions of a Christmasholic

Man, that was the understatement of the century. One moment she was standing there, the next minute she was ploughing through his decorations, twisting cables around her legs and face-planting. It all happened within a few seconds and although he started sprinting as soon as she started to topple, he was too far away to stop her from injuring herself.

If she hadn’t been as pissed as a frog, she might’ve done more damage.

He knew nothing more about her than he did last night. He found the folder she mentioned in her backpack and flicked through the thick wad of letters of recommendations – all extolling her virtues – and certified copies of her degree and qualifications, and her latest, very sad, bank statement. A rummage through her over-the-shoulder fanny pack turned up her passport, an old lip gloss and five pounds. He didn’t like going through her stuff, but he needed to know whom he was dealing with. He hadn’t found any red flags.

But he still didn’t know what she was doing on his lane, in his quiet village on a freezing night. He instructed his onboard computer to call his mother-in-law. Was she still his mother-in-law if Kate was dead? Did it matter? Not to him.

Moira answered and the twins squealed, hearing their beloved nan’s voice. Moira was a great granny and Gus was grateful for her support these past few years. Yeah, she still thought, as did the village, that his and Kate’s relationship was the love story of the century, but that was okay. He’d been blindsided by the events surrounding her death and still didn’t know the truth about her, or their marriage. The one thing he was sure of was that Kate loved Christmas, and his getting involved in the village’s Christmas festivities was his way to hang onto something he admired about Kate. It was his way to keep the anger, and resentment, from overwhelming him.

‘Can you talk, Moira?’

‘Absolutely, darling. I’m having a lovely lie-in. It’s the best thing about not having any guests.’

To keep Conningworth Hall standing, Moira – helped by Kate before her death – turned the manor house into a B&B and a venue for events. The hall hosted weddings and corporate team events, and his company frequently provided teambuilding challenges.

Moira’s statement indirectly answered his question. The blonde on his couch hadn’t been making her way up to the hall. But he thought he should make sure. ‘So you didn’t get a call to take in a stray guest last night?’

‘No.’

Right. So where the hell had Sutton been going? The lane led nowhere…

‘I really enjoyed the pictures of the Christmas lights on your house, Gus,’ Moira said, with laughter in her voice. ‘The twins did a fine job directing operations.’

‘Didn’t it look great, granny?’ Rosie said. ‘What was the big word you used, Daddy?’

Gus looked into the rearview mirror to see his daughter wrinkling her nose. ‘I said it looked flamboyant, baby,’ he murmured. Sutton was right when she said that it looked like someone vomited Christmas on it, but that’s what happened when you gave Rosie a free hand to decorate – or to tell him where to place the lights. Felix, being a boy, spent most of the time kicking around a soccer ball and playing with the animals.

Moira laughed. ‘I thought it looked wonderful,’ she lied.

Gus knew she’d prefer to see it lit and decorated the way Kate did it every year, according to the detailed list in her Christmas file. Kate was a great planner and list maker. He still ran Kate’s Christmas store according to her detailed checklists.

‘How are the preparations for the Christmas market coming along?’

Organising the Christmas market was something else he’d inherited from Kate, with the so-called help of a fairly useless village committee. The Christmas shop also had a stall at the market and at some point, he had to think about what he was going to sell, and who was going to run it. Or maybe he should just close the shop for the day. ‘Yeah, good.’

Because what else could he say?

How had Kate done it all – had she been superhuman? She’d juggled a million balls and managed to make it look effortless. The only ball she let drop was their marriage…and he’d only realised it the day she died.

‘You need to think about a Christmas tree for home,’ Moira said. ‘I saw a wonderful one on my walk yesterday that would be perfect for your hallway. I can ask Ben to cut it down for you.’

The twins erupted at the idea of a Christmas tree, as she knew they would. Gus narrowed his eyes at his phone and sighed. He’d got away with not having a Christmas tree at home last year – he’d told the twins that Moira needed them to share hers – but he wouldn’t be so lucky this year. Or he’d be nagged to death.

It was impossible to explain that Christmas existed outside of his house: everything, from the lights on his house to the Christmas market and everything else Christmas-related, was a part of his life outthere.Yes, he did it to keep a connection to Kate, to remind himself that his wife wasn’t just a…he hauled in a breath and pulled his anger back.

That she wasn’t all bad, that she was hardworking, energetic and charismatic, and he wanted to keep Kate’s love for this town, and Christmas, alive. But his house washis. It was where he cried and raged, and punched walls and questioned himself over and over again. Bringing Christmas inside was like letting her back in…God, it was hard enough keeping photographs of her up for the kids, having to look into her face, stabbing himself with the reminder of what she did.

But his kids deserved a Christmas tree, they deserved a fabulous Christmas. He just didn’t know if he could give it to them.

He saw the gates of the twins’ school and steered his SUV into the drop-off zone. He told Moira he’d talk to her later and left the car, walking around the bonnet. He saw a couple of mums, dressed in their workout gear – short leather jackets over tight leggings – and wished he had the time to go for a run. He felt their eyes on his arse as he leaned forward to unclip the twins’ harnesses. Yep, one word of encouragement and they’d be popping into Kate’s Christmas Shop on some pretext or another.

Gus didn’t have time to waste but, more importantly, he didn’t shit on his own doorstep. And he didn’t screw married woman. It was his line in the sand…he’d rather go without or date himself. Felix hopped down by himself and pulled his backpack onto his back. Gus knew that his stubborn son wanted to do it himself and would ask if he needed help. Rosie, on the other hand, tumbled into his arms and he held her for a moment, inhaling her little girl smell.

They all used the same shampoo and soap, the same toiletries but Rosie still smelled girly, sweeter somehow. He placed a kiss on her hair and placed her on her feet.

‘I’ll see you guys later,’ he said, placing his hand on Felix’s head.

Rosie placed one hand on her hip and her eyes met his. ‘Daddy, don’t fight with the lady with an owie, okay?’

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