We'll Have a Wonderful Cornish Christmas

1. An Unexpected Visitor

1

An Unexpected Visitor

Lucy Drake spun the biro across the top of her fingers with the deftness and confidence of a mastered skill. None of the customers browsing the stands of Sunny Day Travel had noticed yet, but they would, sooner or later. She lifted her hand, preparing to repeat the process, when the front door swung open and a man came bundling in, a baby in his arms, with a woman behind him struggling to get a baby stroller through the closing door. As one wheel got stuck on the corner of carpet that was always coming loose, Lucy immediately started to stand. It was an automatic reaction to a common situation, but as she moved for the gap between her desk and Paul’s, she glanced once more at the man.

A face accurately described as bland was made no better by a cheap Christmas scarf, two pixilated knitted Father Christmases swinging back and forth across his neck. He frowned at the baby as a chubby hand reached for one line of tassels, making a confident cooing sound as he looked back at the woman. He gave a smug chuckle then muttered, ‘Come on, Percival, wait your turn.’

Lucy froze.

Oh no. Not now, please.

‘Lucy?’

Melanie, the manager and owner, was staring at her. Already engaging with a client, it left only Lucy or the new guy Paul to deal with this fresh drama before it unfolded.

But Paul was on a break. Lucy glanced at the clock, and her heart sank. Impossible that she could leave the family struggling in the doorway for the four minutes it would take for Paul to return.

Her best chance to avoid the man was to engage with the woman. She hurried around the desk, her head lowered, putting her back to the man as she reached for the door.

‘Here, let me help you with that. It’s always getting stuck.’

A blast of wind through the open door ruffled her neatly clipped hair. If only Paul was back, she could use it as an excuse to hide—

‘Don’t worry, I’ve got it,’ the man said, one arm poking into Lucy’s line of vision to hold the door. ‘Multi-tasking and all that. Not just a skill for women, is it?’

She didn’t need to look up to know it was him. She closed her eyes, keeping her head lowered, afraid Dennis Faber would recognise her after all this time. She had changed a little—dyed her hair and put on a stone—but life had been relatively sedate over the last twelve years. No great dramas or stresses beyond the everyday ones, leaving her no more than an early-thirties version of the girl he had humiliated at their Sixth Form ball.

‘There you are,’ Lucy said, still not looking up as the stroller’s wheel finally came loose. The woman pulled it into the shop and the door mercifully swung shut.

‘Thank you very much,’ the woman said. ‘It’s such a struggle getting this thing around sometimes.’

Lucy, keeping her back to Dennis, smiled at her. ‘If you’re just looking to browse, you’ll find all our Christmas deals on the rack here—’

‘Oh no, we’re ready to reserve,’ Dennis said, cutting her off. ‘Lapland all the way. Show the little one what Christmas is all about.’

As the smugness in his voice began to grate, Lucy felt an urge to mention her own solo trip to Lapland five years ago, when a power cut had reduced the inclusive Christmas dinner to cold cuts, it had snowed so heavily she had seen nothing out of the roof of her fabled glass-igloo capsule room, and the Northern Lights hadn’t shown up. An expensive waste of money, but if that was what they wanted and it would get them out of the shop as quickly as possible—

‘Frankie? Frankie, is that you? Oh my God, talk about blast from the past.’

The pain was starting to kick in. Lucy squeezed her eyes closed, steeled herself for the impending horror of a confrontation, then forced a smile and opened them again. She turned to face the first of many boyfriends to dump her.

‘Dennis Faber? I’m sorry, I didn’t recognise you.’

Dennis gave her a wide, punchable grin and spread his arms. One held the baby like a wrapped sandwich as chubby arms waved in the air.

‘Come on, Frankie … or are you going by Frances now? I haven’t changed much. Perhaps matured with age, like a fine wine—’

Lucy risked a glance at Melanie’s desk, but her older boss’s head was down as she talked with a client. With a bit of luck she hadn’t overheard.

‘Dennis? Is this an old friend?’

The woman wore a frown as she c****d her head in that politely suspicious way Lucy had used herself on occasion when confronted with an ex’s former partner.

‘School friend,’ Lucy said, using the nicest word she could, even though they had never been friends. Confidence-booster might have worked better from her side, pity-shag from his, even though she had never let him get that far. ‘And I go by Lucy now.’

‘Oh, your middle name? I suppose that makes sense.’ Dennis leaned forward. He glanced at his yet-to-be-introduced wife and gave a conspiratorial wink. ‘This is the girl I was telling you about,’ he said, and Lucy realised she had never felt more like punching someone than now. ‘The one who could empty a room in five seconds.’ He looked at Lucy. ‘Do you still do it? Or have you had it fixed?’

Lucy glowered at him. She suddenly felt sick, and thought it quite possible she would vomit all over his gaudy scarf, Ralph Lauren sweater, and baby Percival too, if she didn’t get out of there right away.

A door opened behind her. She glanced back, saw the face of her saviour, eighteen-year-old trainee travel agent Paul, hair greased to his head in one of those post-adolescent hairstyles he still thought was cool.

‘Paul will help you,’ she gasped, clutching her stomach. ‘I’m afraid nature calls.’ She glanced at Dennis’s wife. ‘That time of the month,’ she added, giving half a shrug.

‘We’re back on those too, aren’t we?’ Dennis said with an embarrassing chuckle. ‘After nine months of bliss.’

Lucy wished she had time to slap him as his wife turned to give him a sharp reprimand, but she really had to get out of there before something went wrong. She ran for the STAFF ONLY door and burst through into a little office and kitchen as the muffled sound of Dennis laughing off his wife’s anger came from behind her.

Then she was diving through the door into the cubicle toilet and locking it, wishing she could lock out all the stresses of the world at the same time. The situation was so absurd that she wanted to laugh, but she had promised herself on that long ago day when her humiliation had reached its Everest summit, that she would never, ever, ever, laugh again.