Page 26 of New Beginnings at Christmas Tree Cottage

‘Well, you can’t say he’s not mature,’ Lucie pointed out equably.

‘Mature?’ Honor said, taking a long drink of her cider, feeling it go to her head. ‘Have a heart, he’s eighty-three!’

They stumbled out of the pub an hour later, the cold hitting them and making the alcohol in their blood rush to their heads.

‘This was so not a good idea on a school night,’ Honor complained. She stumbled a little on the cobbles in the harbour road.

‘You all right, Honor?’ Chris came to her and held her by the elbow.

‘Ooh, you go ahead,’ Tamara called out. ‘I need the loo. I’ll catch you up.’

They got as far as the open space in front of the yacht club where Jamie and Lucie peeled off to their flat, calling their goodbyes.

‘Better wait here until Tamara catches us up,’ Chris said. ‘You don’t mind, do you, Honor? I know it’s cold.’ He blew out a breath and they watched it mist upward. ‘Never known it so cold here.’ Icy foam crashed over the low wall separating them from the sea to hammer home the point.

‘No, I don’t mind. Don’t want to desert her.’ She peered into the darkness at the postbox at the beginning of the prom. ‘What’s that?’

‘Where?’

‘Over there. There’s something on top of the pillar box.’ She began to make her way over to it but stumbled again.

Chris rescued her, putting his arm around her waist. ‘Wish Tamara would hurry up. The sooner we get you home the better.’

‘I know. I don’t normally drink cider. I can’t take it,’ Honor moaned. ‘And I’ve got another nativity rehearsal first thing tomorrow morning. What was I thinking? A hundred kids to wrangle and with a hangover.’

‘Want to swap?’ Chris offered. ‘I’m in a meeting at County Hall all morning.’

‘We really shouldn’t have such responsible jobs. Me a deputy head and you the top money bod at the council.’ She shook her head gingerly. ‘I just hope I’ve got some paracetamol at home.’

They’d reached the pillar box. ‘What is this? Oh!’ Honor clapped her hands together in delight as she realised. ‘They’re knitted snowmen. Three knitted snowmen on top of the postbox.’ She walked around it, giggling. ‘How magical,’ she said to Chris, her face shining in the reflection from the white sparkly Christmas lights looped along the prom. ‘They’re fixed on, look.’

They stood admiring it, slightly disbelievingly. Honor let her head rest on his shoulder, feeling sleepy. She slipped downwards and felt Chris’s arm tighten around her waist. ‘I like their scarves.’

Each snowman was about twenty centimetres high, fat and padded and stitched onto a white covering which was tied around the top of the postbox. They wore jaunty knitted hats and scarves in sparkly red and green. There were even tiny white lights woven around them to complete the seasonal look.

‘It’s lovely,’ she sighed, her whisper disappearing into the frigid night. ‘Bit silly. Very random. But lovely. So Christmassy. What are they called?’

‘Snowmen?’

‘No silly, the people who do this sort of thing. They do it in secret and sneak out in the middle of the night to put them on.’

‘Postbox Toppers? Yarn Bombers?’

‘Ninja Knitters!’ Honor did a little dance of glee. ‘They must be Ninja Knitters to knit that well. You’ve got to love any group called Ninja Knitters!’ They were laughing so hard Honor had to clutch onto Chris to stop herself falling down.

Jago, returning from his late-night dog walk around the harbour, heard the noise and glanced over. His lipped thinned as he took in the sight of Honor and a man he didn’t know, laughing with their arms around one another. It was ridiculous, he knew, but he’d assumed not only was Honor single but they’d made some kind of connection. A connection he wanted to take further. His heart sinking, he turned on his heel and strode off. Pushing his way through the Christmas revellers spilling out of the pub, he’d never felt lonelier.

CHAPTER14

‘LITTLE DONKEY’ – TRAD.

Friday 17th December

Honor never thought it would be ready. They’d snatched time from the curriculum and rehearsed solidly through lunch playtimes, with the choir rehearsing after school. And now, it was the last day of term, and they had a school hall full of excited parents and grandparents waiting expectantly to see their little darlings perform the nativity play. It was never straightforward putting on a play with very small children and she knew any mistakes would be considered charming, but she still wanted it to go as well as possible to reflect the hard work the school had put into it. After this afternoon, term would wrap up in a flurry of tinselly decorations, Christmas cards dripping with glitter and snowflakes cut out from white paper all clutched in chubby hands to be taken home. Honor adored Christmas in a primary school but she was running on empty now and it would be good to have some time to herself. Making sure the two Year Six pupils who were welcoming guests had enough programmes, she did a swift tour of the classrooms to check the children were ready and then, taking a deep breath, went to stand on the stage to get things started.

Lexie Walker, the music teacher, stopped playing ‘O Little Town of Bethlehem’ and hush descended over the audience.

‘Welcome toThe Angel Who Was Late, our nativity play for this year,’ Honor announced. ‘The children and teachers have all been working incredibly hard to make this as wonderful as it can be, so I know you’ll all enjoy it.’ She went on to run through the usual health and safety announcements, trying to not to focus on Avril and Jago who she’d spotted sitting at the end of the second row. ‘So, now it’s over to the boys and girls andThe Angel Who Was Late!’

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