Christmas at Butterfly Cove: A delightfully feel-good festive romance!
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Luke shook his head. ‘Yeah, if you’re five maybe.’ He hadn’t meant to sound like a miserable git, but damn it, he’d had it all laid out in his head how the weekend would proceed, and she’d put the kibosh on it by buggering off to her dad’s. So much for not sulking.
His friend gave him an appraising look. ‘What’s crawled up your arse?’
Sighing, he shook his head. ‘Nothing worth worrying about. Come on, let’s party!’
And they did, Butterfly Cove-style. It wasn’t just the buffet that was nostalgic; Mia and Kiki had lined up a host of old favourite games. A very competitive pass-the-parcel saw Richard expelled from the circle for holding on to the gift-wrapped box for too long. Musical chairs proved little short of carnage – Luke wouldn’t be the only one to bear a few bruises come the morning. And the current game of statues looked to be going the same way. Insults and outrageous comments flew from those already disqualified as they tried to sabotage the handful of people remaining.
‘Been skipping those gym sessions again, Spud?’ Aaron cat-called him. Git.
Luke gritted his teeth against the urge to suck in his stomach and held still. Apparently not satisfied with his failure to distract him, Aaron crouched down to the puppy at his feet and gave him a little push in Luke’s direction. From the corner of his eye, he watched Tigger scamper over to sniff at his shoe. Don’t you dare… The puppy shuffled his rear end, and Luke’s nerve broke. Scooping Tigger up before he could even think about cocking a leg, he carried the little dog out of the teashop and plonked him down on the ground. Aaron’s laughter followed him out of the door and he span around, checked the kids weren’t looking, then flipped his big brother a rude gesture before pulling the door closed behind him.
A cold wind whistled through his long-sleeved T-shirt. Shivering, he stepped out of the shade and into a patch of sunlight, enjoying the autumn warmth while the puppy scampered and sniffed from place to place. The door creaked behind him and he glanced round to see Madeline slipping out to join him. Even with her cheeks flushed from the games, her hair hung in an immaculate curtain against her cheeks. Hooking an arm through his, she smiled. ‘They’ve broken out the Twister mat so I thought I’d hide out here with you.’
‘I’m not hiding.’ His automatic retort earned a small sniff of disbelief. ‘Well, not much,’ he conceded.
Mads tugged on his arm. ‘If we go for a stroll, we’ll both look less like we’re hiding.’
Keeping to the sunny patches, they took a turn around the garden. Luke kept a weather eye on the puppy as he gambolled from bush to bush, tail wagging like he was in seventh heaven.
‘So, have you spoken to her?’ The foul mood which had settled over him blew away on the freshness of the breeze, and might have stayed away had Madeline only kept quiet.
Luke sighed. He could act the fool, pretend he didn’t know who she was talking about, but what would be the point? It would only postpone the inevitable. ‘I planned to, this weekend.’
‘Ah.’ Madeline loosened her hold on his arm to adjust the length of twine holding some flopping stems to a stake. ‘We should have cut these back last weekend, but they’re too pretty.’ Tightening the string did no good, and the wilting flowers continued to droop. Crouching down, she gathered a handful of them. ‘There’s a pair of secateurs in the shed. Get them for me, will you?’
Irritation itched beneath his skin. ‘That’s all you’ve got to say to me about the situation? One bloody syllable and now we’re on to Gardener’s World?’
Sitting back on her heels, Madeline raised a hand to shield her eyes from the sun as she stared up at him. ‘There’s a roll of green sacks in there too. Fetch them as well, there’s a good boy.’
Luke stomped across the lawn towards the shed and yanked the door open with more force than was strictly necessary. Damn it, he needed to stop being so damn touchy over everything. He should be grateful if Madeline had nothing else to say on the matter of him and Nee. She’d stuck her nose in enough with his brother’s relationship, and Daniel’s before that. Luke didn’t need her help, didn’t need anyone else’s help. He just needed to talk to Nee, clear the air and everything would be fine. He’d decided to forgive her, so there was nothing else to be said about it.
With a deep breath, he swallowed his temper and returned to Madeline’s side with the tools, and a pair of flowery gardening gloves he’d found on the shelf. ‘Thank you, darling. Hold these, will you?’ She nodded towards the limp stems.
Crouching beside her, Luke did his best to keep the shiny toes of his brogues from sinking into the wet soil of the flowerbed. He grasped the flowers where she indicated, holding them taut whilst Madeline snipped them short. She moved on to the next cluster, and he trailed at her heels, doing a damn good impression of Tigger. ‘I’ve decided to forgive her.’
‘That’s nice, dear.’ Madeline deadheaded a few more blooms, chucking the discards in the sack he held open for her. ‘What exactly are you forgiving her for?’
He frowned. What kind of game was she playing now? ‘For leaving me, of course.’
‘Of course.’ She moved to the other side of the bush, snipping as she went. ‘I thought you said you hadn’t spoken to her since the wedding.’
‘I haven’t.’ Luke huffed out a breath. ‘Look, Madeline, coy doesn’t suit you. Just spit it out, will you?’
Straightening up, she dropped another handful of beheaded flowers into the sack, then met his gaze. ‘If being coy doesn’t suit me, then being a fool suits you even less. It’s not much more than a month since you couldn’t bear to be in the same space as Nee. You’ve not spoken to her since, and yet you’re happy to forgive and forget?’
He ground his teeth. ‘I love her.’
‘And Richard loved me, but I still wanted to throttle him when he went behind my back and got a vasectomy. He did it for the best of reasons, and that just made it so much worse. I tried to swallow my resentment and anger with him, and it almost destroyed us.’
If a fly had chosen that moment to buzz over he’d probably have swallowed it, so low had his jaw dropped. There were few certainties he’d stake his life on: the sun rose in the East, Marmite was revolting, and Madeline and Richard had the happiest marriage in the world. To hear her speak of such things shook him to the core. ‘You always seemed so happy together.’
‘And we are, darling, but things might have been different if I’d carried on trying to ignore the elephant in the corner.’ Madeline rested a hand on his chest. ‘Richard hurt me, whether he meant to or not. With the noblest of intentions or not, he hurt me. If I hadn’t found someone to talk to about it, I don’t know where we’d be. Certainly not as content as we are now.’
Her hand pressed hard over his heart for a couple of beats. ‘Nee hurt you. Whatever her reasons. And if you don’t acknowledge that, it’ll fester away and eventually poison everything.’ She lifted her hand, returned it to brush a few spots of dirt left behind by her gardening gloves, then smiled at him. ‘You mean the world to me, and I want more than anything for you all to be happy.’
A scratchy feeling rose in his throat, and Luke had to swallow around it. ‘I know, Mads.’ He shut his eyes briefly against the feelings her words stirred up. ‘I’m scared. Scared I won’t be able to cope with the truth. When I saw her, I knew I’d do anything to get her back and it made me so angry – at myself, not her. It just kept going round and round in my head, so I decided to ignore it instead.’ He laughed. ‘I’m an idiot.’
Madeline patted his arm. ‘We’ve all been fools for love, sweet boy. I’m always here and ready to listen, or I can recommend a service I’ve used in the past. I know Kiki benefited from their assistance recently.’
Had he agreed to talk to somebody then? He ran back through their conversation in his mind, but couldn’t pin down when his position on it had shifted, only that it had. The lid was off the box now, and if he tried to shove it back on without facing his fears, he would be doing both himself and Nee a disservice. If he truly wanted to try and make things work with her, he needed to be on completely solid ground, and the only way to achieve that would be to do as Madeline suggested. He just wasn’t sure if he could talk to her about the jumble of emotions inside him; nor did he feel comfortable with the idea of pouring his heart out to a total stranger.’
Whether his expression gave his hesitancy away, or whether she was just a bloody mind reader, Madeline offered him a sympathetic smile. ‘Maybe you could find someone a bit closer to home. I’m only suggesting you think about it, that’s all.’ Stripping off one of her gloves, Madeline dug into the pocket of her neat slacks and produced a neatly folded tissue. ‘Dry your eyes and let’s go and eat a couple of obscenely large slices of that gateau.’
Luke blotted his cheeks, unaware he’d been crying until she mentioned it.
‘Everything all right, Spud?’ Luke spun round to see Aaron watching them from a few feet away, a frown of concern etched between his brows. He recognised that look, knew Aaron was in full big-brother mode, ready to step in and fix whatever the problem was. Tigger scampered out from beneath a bush to crouch at his master’s feet, tail wagging. Keeping his eyes fixed on Luke, Aaron bent down to stroke the puppy’s head.
The tightness in Luke’s chest eased. He had his family and friends around him, and they would do everything within their power to help him and Nee. All he had to do was reach out to them, and make sure he did everything he could to help himself. Tucking the tissue away, he hooked his arm around Madeline’s shoulders and pulled her into his side. ‘Everything’s fine, Bumble, thanks to a certain meddling old bag.’
A sharp elbow dug him in the ribs. ‘That’s Fairy Godmother to you, cheeky bugger.’
‘Oof!’ Luke staggered away clutching his side as though she’d delivered a much harder blow, almost bumping into his brother in the process.
Aaron hooked an arm around his neck, tugging him into a half-hug, half-headlock. ‘You would tell me if there was something wrong, wouldn’t you?’
‘Yes, of course…’ He cut off the instinctive response, and swallowed. ‘Actually, I could do with a chat later, if you have time?’
Shifting his hold, Aaron brushed a quick kiss on his cheek. ‘Always got time for you, Spud. You know that.’
Yes. He did.
Chapter Five
When the end came, it was surprisingly quick. Nee had finally settled into a routine with her father only to be thrown into the bureaucratic nightmare brought on by Vivian’s death. Even for someone with little in the way of personal assets, the world seemed determined to thwart them at every turn. George battled valiantly with solicitors, banks and all the other institutions who demanded a ridiculous amount of detail before they would accede to close accounts and update their records. Nee said a silent prayer of thanks for his meticulous record-keeping as she did her best to relieve him of as much of it as she could. An air of eerie acceptance had settled over her dad. True, he’d never been the most demonstrative of men, but his preternatural calm worried her more than if he’d broken down in tears.
Arrangements for the funeral had been made with a sympathetic undertaker, and the others would be heading up from Butterfly Cove in the morning for the service at the local crematorium the day after. Much as Nee wanted to be the one to shoulder the responsibility, in her heart it relieved her to know Mia would soon be there with her. Her doughty, capable sister would pick up whatever balls Nee dropped.
She sighed as the tinny, cheery music in her ear flipped back to the original track. She bet Mia wouldn’t have spent so long on hold. ‘Come on, come on,’ she muttered into the phone.
‘Thank you for calling Middleworth’s. My name is Sonia, how may I assist you this morning?’
Stunned that for once her impatience had been rewarded, it took Nee a moment to shake off her wool-gathering. ‘Hello. I was talking to one of your colleagues about cancelling an account?’
Keys clicked, the familiar sound of fingers skittering over a keyboard. ‘I’m sorry to hear you are thinking of leaving us. Can you give me the account number in question?’
Nee ground her teeth. ‘I’ve been through all this once already. Can you transfer me back to…?’ She glanced down at the notepad in front of her. She’d been given the bloody runaround so often over the last few days, she’d taken to writing every single detail down. ‘…Colin.’
‘I’m sorry, he’s on another call. Can you give me the account number in question, please?’
Fighting the urge to scream, she took a deep breath and reeled off the number, again. More clicking, then, ‘Thank you, Mrs Thorpe, I have your details on the screen. Can you please confirm the first line of your address, and the postcode, please?’
Nee stared at the automated clock on the phone. Ten bloody minutes she’d been on the phone and they were back to this again. She clung to the final shreds of her temper and tried to keep her tone even. ‘As I told your colleague, I’m not Mrs Thorpe, I’m her daughter—’
The rep cut across her. ‘I’m sorry, I’m only authorised to speak to the account holder. Data protection, and all that.’
Her fake-sympathy snapped something inside Nee. ‘Well, unless you’re a fucking clairvoyant, you’re out of luck because we’re cremating her tomorrow.’ She regretted the words the moment she’d said them. It wasn’t this poor girl’s fault, it was the same damn ‘computer says no’ system every so-called customer services department seemed tied to. ‘Sorry, I’m sorry, that was completely unnecessary of me. My mother died recently, and I’ve already been through all of this once with your colleague. I just want to close her account.’
‘There are no notes on the system regarding your request. I can only go by the information in front of me.’ The defensive tone from the operator made her feel lower than a snake’s belly. ‘Do you have probate on your mother’s estate?’ the woman continued.
Nee sighed. She’d banged her head against the probate brick wall several times already. ‘No, we don’t have it yet. It’s only a store card, for goodness’ sake. You must be able to see from your records that it hasn’t been used in months. I’m just trying to spare my father the upset of receiving any more blank statements like the one that arrived in the post this morning.’
‘I’m sorry, but our procedures require a copy of the probate certificate before we can terminate this account. We cannot act on a phone request, as we have no proof of your identity. I’m sure you understand.’
Because people randomly phoned and cancelled store cards belonging to strangers all the time, no doubt. All at once the fight left her, leaving her bone-tired. ‘Can you at least mark the account so no more statements are sent out?’
The line went quiet for a moment. ‘I’m sorry. Mrs Thorpe didn’t authorise anyone to act on her behalf, but I have requested a copy of the account closure form to be sent out to the address listed. It details the steps to follow.’
It was the best she could hope for, apparently. ‘Okay, thanks. Sorry again for being rude.’
‘It’s fine. Thank you for calling Middleworth’s.’ Nee stared at the phone, not quite knowing whether to laugh or cry, then placed it very gently back into its cradle. It was that, or smash the wretched thing against the wall.
The sharp ring of the front doorbell jarred her and she rose from her perch on the bottom step of the stairs. ‘I’ll get it,’ she called towards the half-open door of her father’s study. Let it not be another bloody casserole.
Vivian’s death had drawn the most unlikely of people out of the woodwork, some driven by a true sense of duty and concern, most jumping at the chance for a bit of rubbernecking into the sideshow of grief playing out behind the neatly trimmed hedges of number thirty-two. Neighbours her father had never met beyond the nod of a head took turns ringing the bell, offering a few words of bland comfort and a plate of something. No doubt the presence of one of the long-missing daughters of the house had set tongues wagging behind the twitching net curtains. Not that Nee could have cared less what they had to say for themselves.
She paused before the door to squint at the blurred outline of a figure through the privacy glass set in the wood, but the frosted ridges made it impossible to discern much. Taking a deep, composing breath, Nee fixed the politest smile she could muster and turned the latch. Bold as brass, and twice as bloody gorgeous, the last person she’d expected to see gave her a lopsided grin. ‘Hello, Mrs Spenser.’
Luke? He looked well; still carrying the summer tan he must have picked up at Butterfly Cove. The sun looked to have added a few paler highlights to his wayward blond curls, but the melting heat in his dark-brown eyes was as familiar as ever. Never one to consider herself the fainting type, Nee had to grip the edge of the doorframe until her knuckles turned white to stop herself from sliding to the floor. ‘You… you’re here?’
‘I heard about your mum,’ he said, as though that explained anything at all.
His breath condensed in the air and she became aware of the November chill leeching in through the open door. Acting on autopilot, she stepped to the side. ‘You’d better come in.’
Catching a hint of the clean, sharp scent of his aftershave as he passed her, she closed her eyes against a sudden rush of memories. Luke, nuzzling the spot just beneath her ear as he whispered some private jest to her. The untidy sprawl of his limbs taking up more than his share of the bed. The wink he’d given her when they broke for air after sharing their first kiss in an alley next to The George, less than an hour after setting eyes on each other.
The ground shifted beneath her, the way it always did when he was near, and the brittle shell she’d wrapped herself in over the past few weeks spider-webbed with cracks. A painful knot formed at the top of her breastbone and she tried to swallow it down, knowing if she let it out she’d start crying. And maybe never stop.
A gentle brush against her cheek forced her to open her eyes as Luke cupped her cheek. ‘I’m only here to help, nothing else, okay?’ He sounded so sincere, so forthright and honest, so Luke, she wanted nothing more than to tumble headlong into the comfort he offered.
‘I need you.’ Her lips could barely form the words, but it was enough. He reached past her to quietly close the door and then he was there – all reassuring warmth and that big, solid frame that seemed shaped to perfectly enfold her own. A hint of the crisp, winter air clung to the soft wool of his coat beneath her cheek and she breathed deeply. The scent of disinfected death that had infused every breath for what felt like weeks vanished in that first fresh inhalation.
She’d tried so hard to hold it all together, to tell herself she owed Vivian no tears, no regrets. God, she’d become so good at lying to herself about everything. The spiderweb of cracks shattered and the first wave of grief burst through, would have taken her to the floor had he not been there to hold her up. But he was there. How, why, she didn’t know, didn’t care. Her world narrowed down to one square foot of pale-green carpet beneath her feet and the feel of him against her.
Noises came from her throat, ugly and raw, as she cried. And, God, she cried. For the little girl who’d never known a mother’s proper love; for the loss of her art, snuffed out by the bitter realities of life; for all the promises the man holding her embodied that she’d discarded. Luke said nothing – just wrapped her in his arms and absorbed it all, standing sure.
A quiet cough, the familiar noise of her father clearing his throat, sounded nearby, and she would have raised her head had Luke not stroked his hand over her hair and urged her closer against him. ‘Hello, Mr Thorpe,’ he said, his deep voice vibrating under her ear. ‘I was very sorry to hear about your wife’s passing. I thought you both might need some help over the coming days.’
‘That’s very kind of you, Luke. I must say it’s good to see you, again. Nee’s been doing a wonderful job of sorting things out, but another pair of hands certainly won’t go amiss. It… it wasn’t entirely unexpected, but it’s still difficult.’ There wasn’t even a ripple of surprise in her father’s voice, like her estranged husband turning up out of the blue was the most natural thing in the world. That familiar cough of his came again. ‘Right, well, I think I’ll put the kettle on. Will you have something, Luke?’
‘Cup of coffee would be brilliant, thanks, Mr Thorpe.’
‘I think we’re past time for you to call me George. Coffee’s only instant, I’m afraid, we’ve run out of pods for the machine. Lots of visitors, you see. Everyone’s been very kind. Come on through to the kitchen when you’re both ready.’
Laughter sputtered through her tears at their exchange of mundane pleasantries, as if she wasn’t falling to noisy pieces in front of them. She grabbed for the laugh, tried to hold on to it and bring herself back under control, but now acknowledged the grief wouldn’t be denied. Luke pressed a kiss to the top of her head. ‘Take all the time you need.’ She nodded, all she could manage before the tears swamped her again.
When she finally felt able to lift her face from the now-sodden front of his coat, she’d lost track of time. Limp, exhausted, like she’d cried for a week. Luke tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, an infinitely tender gesture, but she couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes. Silence hung between them as he waited her out, broken only by the faint strains of her father whistling along to some classical tune on the radio. China rattled against wood, followed by the metallic clink of cutlery. If her dad was laying the table still, they couldn’t have been standing there as long as she’d thought.
Inertia held her in its claws. She should move, step back and at least give Luke a chance to take his coat off. But if she broke the moment, she’d have to deal with all the bitter truths she’d just wept out on his shoulder. That was the trouble with life. It didn’t wait for you to catch your breath, didn’t care if you were ready or not, it just kept coming at you. Move. Drop your arms. Take a step back. Her fingers clung stubbornly to the back of his coat, her feet glued to the spot.
A loud grumble rolled from his midriff, and Luke chuckled as he continued to smooth his hands up and down her back. ‘My stomach smells whatever your dad’s toasting.’
‘Probably crumpets.’ She’d made a trip to the supermarket that morning, anything to get out of the house for a little while. They hadn’t needed much—mostly refills for the coffee machine, which was the one thing she’d forgotten, of course—so she’d wandered aimlessly up and down the aisles grabbing random things that wouldn’t take much thought and even less effort to prepare. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had crumpets, but they’d appealed to her enough to end up in the trolley.
He gave an exaggerated groan. ‘Have pity on a man. Next you’ll be telling me there’s strawberry jam to put on them.’
‘You always had such a sweet tooth.’ She saw him in her mind’s eye, covers pooled at his waist, Sunday papers strewn across the bed as he munched his way through a mountain of jammy toast and endless cups of coffee. His breath whispered against her cheek, and it would be so easy to turn her head, to seek out his lips and pretend the past year had been an aberration. But this wasn’t one of those time-slip stories. She couldn’t wish herself back to another point in time and tread a different path.
Tasting the bitterness of that truth on the back of her tongue, she stepped back. His arms lingered, a brief resistance to her attempt to retreat before he let her go. And so he should. Luke might be here with the best of intentions, but she didn’t deserve the easy comfort of his presence. People didn’t just forgive and forget, and even if he believed he was different in that, she wasn’t the hopeful girl he’d fallen in love with. ‘Let me take your coat, and we’ll see what Dad’s rustled together for tea.’