A Winter Kiss on Rochester Mews
A Winter Kiss on Rochester Mews
Annie Darling
A heartwarming and hilarious Christmas romance!Tis the season to be jolly!But on Rochester Mews, two unlikely lovebirds are struggling to find their festive cheer.Star baker Mattie has hated Christmas ever since she had her heart broken on Christmas Eve. The only thing she hates more is the insufferable Tom, who has rubbed her up the wrong way since she started running the tearoom next door to his bookshop. So when Mattie and Tom are left in charge in the frantic festive days before Christmas, it might be cold outside but things are sure to heat up.Can a bookshop full of romantic novels, a life-sized reindeer and a mistletoe kissing booth persuade two scrooges to fall in love with Christmas… and each other?
Copyright (#ue20d5103-6ad8-5c10-b985-9a1cea02e401)
Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street
London, SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2018
Copyright © Annie Darling 2018
Cover design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2018
Cover illustration © Carrie May
Annie Darling asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780008275679
Ebook Edition © November 2018 ISBN: 9780008275686
Version: 2018-10-24
Dedication (#ue20d5103-6ad8-5c10-b985-9a1cea02e401)
Dedicated to Mr Mackenzie,
the most splendid specimen of felinity in the world.
Contents
Cover (#u6f873dd8-0978-5b2a-83cb-142dde0f157a)
Title Page (#uca5016f6-2b7d-5d19-819b-c15aeeeaf852)
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1: 30 days until Christmas
Chapter 2: 29 days until Christmas
Chapter 3: 28 days until Christmas
Chapter 4: 27 days until Christmas
Chapter 5: 27 days until Christmas
Chapter 6: 26 days until Christmas
Chapter 7: 25 days until Christmas
Chapter 8: 25 days until Christmas
Chapter 9: 24 days until Christmas
Chapter 10: 23 days until Christmas
Chapter 11: 23 days until Christmas
Chapter 12: 20 days until Christmas
Chapter 13: 19 days until Christmas
Chapter 14: 19 days until Christmas
Chapter 15: 18 days until Christmas
Chapter 16: 18 days until Christmas
Chapter 17: 15 days until Christmas
Chapter 18: 14 days until Christmas
Chapter 19: 14 days until Christmas
Chapter 20: 14 days until Christmas
Chapter 21: 14 days until Christmas
Chapter 22: 13 days until Christmas
Chapter 23: 11 days until Christmas
Chapter 24: 10 days until Christmas
Chapter 25: 9 days until Christmas
Chapter 26: 8 days until Christmas
Chapter 27: 8 days until Christmas
Chapter 28: 7 days until Christmas
Chapter 29: 6 days until Christmas
Chapter 30: 5 days until Christmas
Chapter 31: 3 days until Christmas
Chapter 32: 3 days until Christmas
Chapter 33: 2 days until Christmas
Chapter 34: 1 day until Christmas
Chapter 35: Christmas Day
Acknowledgements
Keep Reading … (#ue7884dc2-550d-5b24-967f-e809d7840e33)
About the Author
Also by Annie Darling
About the Publisher
(#ue20d5103-6ad8-5c10-b985-9a1cea02e401)
‘Goodbye! Do come again!’ With a bright smile, Matilda Smith ushered her last customer of the day out of the door of the Happy Ever After tearooms and hurried to lock it behind them. Her mobile phone, in the pocket of her apron, had been buzzing like a furious bee with incoming text messages for the last five minutes.
Mattie pulled out her still vibrating and flashing phone to read her messages; all of them from one person.
EMERGENCY MEETING!!!!!
The urgent capital letters left Mattie unmoved. She’d been on her feet since seven that morning and her feet were about to go on strike, so this so-called emergency meeting could do without her.
‘I thought Beige Anorak would never go,’ Mattie remarked of their most frequent customer. ‘I’ve a good mind to tell him that he can only hog a table of four for a maximum of one hour.’
‘At least he shared the table this time,’ Cuthbert pointed out as he slowly and lovingly wiped down Jezebel the coffee machine. Her old barista, Paloma, had left to go travelling and Mattie had despaired that she’d ever find someone who could handle the very temperamental Jezebel, until she’d met seventy-two-year-old Cuthbert Lewis.
Mattie’s phone vibrated again. Another message from a person who really needed to stop using shouty capslock and, instead, get to the point.
THIS IS NOT A DRILL, THIS IS A GENUINE EMERGENCY!!!!!
‘I bet it’s not a genuine emergency,’ Mattie exclaimed out loud.
‘Trouble at t’mill?’ Cuthbert asked.
‘Just the usual flapping from next door.’
Cuthbert cocked his head in the direction of the set of glass-panelled double doors to the left of the counter. ‘They are rather prone to flapping, it’s true. Whereas you and I are of a calmer disposition.’
Now that Beige Anorak was finally gone, Mattie could get on with washing the floor. She plunged her mop into the bucket of soapy hot water that she’d filled earlier. ‘We are a flap-free zone. Not like them.’
Mattie and Cuthbert were their own little fiefdom within the wider territory of Happy Ever After, the bookshop that lay beyond the glass-panelled double doors. The tearooms had their own traditions, their own way of doing things, their own set of rules, but they co-existed quite peacefully alongside the bookshop. They made sure that no customers brought books they hadn’t already paid for into the tearooms to spill food and drink all over them. They checked daily that Strumpet, the portly, gluttonous cat who belonged to Verity, Happy Ever After’s manager, was safely locked in the flat above the shop. There had been several incidents when Strumpet had staged a prison break and headed straight for the tearooms and the lap of anyone who had cake.
EMERGENCY MEETING IN THE MIDNIGHT BELL NOW!!!!!! WHY ARE YOU IGNORING MY TEXTS? HAVE I MENTIONED THIS IS AN EMERGENCY?
‘Why she can’t just toddle fifty metres and tell me in person, I don’t know,’ Mattie murmured, as she paused mopping to read yet another panic-stricken text message.
‘A lady in her condition can’t be toddling here and there,’ Cuthbert noted as he gave Jezebel one last affectionate buffing.
Cuthbert was right. Cuthbert was usually right about all things.
Mattie swirled the mop in a hard-to-reach corner. ‘Yes, but … but … she’s managing to toddle all the way to The Midnight Bell for a so-called emergency meeting,’ she said. ‘Shall I make your apologies?’
‘If you will. My Cynthia will already have my dinner on,’ he said of the love of his life, his wife. ‘Now you get your beauty sleep, my darling,’ he ordered his sidechick, draping a special cover over Jezebel. ‘It’s another busy day tomorrow, so you need your rest.’
It was so tempting to ask Cuthbert if he and Jezebel would like some privacy. Mattie shook her head, patted Cuthbert on the shoulder as she squeezed past him (it was a tight fit behind the counter) to empty the bucket and finish tidying away. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow then, Cuthbert.’
‘Indeed you will,’ Cuthbert agreed, shrugging on his coat and donning a nifty trilby hat for the five-minute walk home to a flat in the beautiful, Art Deco 1920s Housing Association estate just around the corner.
Mattie’s phone trembled again.
DON’T IGNORE ME, MATTIE! WHY ARE YOU IGNORING ME?
It probably would be a good idea to reply to one of these so-called urgent text messages, Mattie decided.
I’m not ignoring you. I’m doing my next-day prep and I’ll see you in The Midnight Bell when I’m done. I hope you’ll have a large glass of white wine and a bowl of cheesy chips waiting for me. Mattie x
She didn’t even need to take one full step to enter the tiny kitchen shielded from public view by a curtain adorned with little teapots. So tiny was the kitchen that if Mattie stretched out her arms she could touch the walls.
But she didn’t stretch out her arms, instead she washed her hands, then set to work making the flaky pastry for tomorrow’s viennoiserie: croissants, pains au chocolat, pains aux raisins and several other buttery, melt-in-the-mouth delights. The dough needed to chill overnight, which was why Mattie wasn’t currently quaffing Chenin Blanc in the pub.
Before she took off her apron and retrieved her handbag from the one cupboard that she had room for in the kitchen, Mattie pulled out her compact to confirm what she already knew: her face – skin the colour of the lightest, most delicate caramel sauce with a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose – needed a generous dusting of matte powder to tone down the effects of slaving over a hot stove all day. Adding a slick of tawny-pink lipstick, a re-application of mascara and a quick check that the two flicks of liquid eyeliner from this morning were still in place, all she needed to do was make sure that there weren’t any flour or grease stains on her black trousers and jumper, and Mattie was good to go.
It helped that she had a look and she stuck to it rigidly. Mattie had seen the film Funny Face at an impressionable age and even though she was now a very grown-up twenty-eight, she still wished that she was Audrey Hepburn, the bookshop clerk who jetted off to Paris with Fred Astaire and modelled for a fashion magazine when she wasn’t dancing to freeform jazz in seedy bars.
Not only did Mattie now work next door to a bookshop, she’d also been to Paris. In fact, she’d lived in Paris for three whole years and had danced to freeform jazz in seedy bars on several occasions. But that was long in the past and Paris was now dead to her, yet she still dressed like Audrey Hepburn in Funny Face: long, dark-brown hair caught up in a ponytail with a blunt-cut thick fringe which was the perfect foil for her permanently arched eyebrows, above eyes which were the exact same shade as a mink coat her grandmother had once owned.
And like Audrey, Mattie always wore black. Before Paris and especially after Paris, she wore black. In summer, a black cotton shirt with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows and slim-fit black cropped cigarette pants, and the same pair of Birkenstocks she’d been wearing in summer for years. On winter days like today, she swapped the shirt for a jumper, the cropped trousers for a longer version and the Birks for a pair of black Chuck Taylors.
Wearing the same thing every day (Mattie had many black shirts, jumpers and trousers, both cropped and long – it wasn’t like she wore the same two pieces every day until they crawled to the wash basket of their own accord) was practical and quick. No agonising over a wardrobe full of different colours and styles. Which was just as well, because as Mattie stepped out onto the cobblestones of Rochester Mews and locked the front door behind her, she’d be unlocking it again at seven thirty the next morning. Such was the lot of someone who had a hell of a lot of breakfast pastries to bake before the tearooms opened at 9 a.m.
Mattie’s phone buzzed insistently.
WHERE ARE YOU? HOW LONG DOES IT TAKE TO CHUCK TOGETHER SOME FLAKY PASTRY?
But that was tomorrow. And Mattie wasn’t going to think about tomorrow, especially the part where she had to get up at six, while it was still dark. She was going to think about the large glass of wine that she hoped was waiting for her.
Mattie wasn’t disappointed. As soon as she hefted open the heavy door of the pub around the corner from Happy Ever After, swapping the waft of fish and chips from There’s No Plaice Like Home opposite for the fug of beer, someone waved frantically at her.
‘Mattie! Over here!’ yelled Posy, the owner of Happy Ever After and sender of multiple, needlessly dramatic text messages, as if they hadn’t bagged their usual corner table and banquettes and Mattie might not know where they were. ‘Your wine is perfectly chilled.’
Mattie dropped gratefully onto an empty stool and picked up the glass of Chenin Blanc. ‘Thank you,’ she said fervently. ‘And cheers.’
As they all clinked glasses, Mattie checked for panic in the eyes of her co-workers. Posy, who was fairly heavy with child and drinking elderflower cordial and soda, the glass resting on the top of her bump, looked serene. Verity, the manager of the bookshop, was nursing a gin and tonic and a faintly harried expression, but then Verity always looked faintly harried. And then there was Tom, and Mattie didn’t really care what Tom’s mental state was because Tom was on her list.
Mattie’s list, as Tom well knew, was not a good list to be on, so she ignored him.
‘How are you?’ she asked Posy and Verity. ‘How was the world of bookselling today?’
‘Very, very busy,’ Posy noted with a quiet satisfaction. She rubbed her bump and then very gently and delicately burped. ‘Thank God for that. Have I mentioned that I have the worst indigestion?’
She had. Several times a day, ever since her three-month mark had passed and she was able to tell people that she was pregnant. Now she was almost at seven months and couldn’t even look at a tomato any more, much less eat one.
‘I read somewhere that if you have indigestion when you’re pregnant, you’ll give birth to a baby with a freakishly full head of hair,’ Verity said, which did little to cheer Posy up.
‘Sebastian has very thick hair, so it’s obviously all his fault,’ she said mournfully. ‘I wish I’d fallen in love with a bald man instead.’
Fascinating though this was, it didn’t really explain why Mattie had been summoned so urgently. ‘What was with all the emergency text messages?’ Mattie asked. ‘Is Rochester Mews earmarked for demolition or something?’
‘What? No! It’s much more serious than that.’ Posy gasped. She turned a suddenly anxious face to Mattie. ‘Have you any idea what the date is?’
Was it some kind of trick question or was it pregnancy brain? Mattie glanced over at Verity, who shook her head as if to say that she’d already had a similar enquiry from Posy. And then Mattie managed to catch Tom’s eye. She couldn’t help but recoil and Tom’s upper lip curled, which meant that he was about to make some dull observation, but before he could, Posy clapped her hands.
‘It’s the twenty-fifth of November,’ she cried. ‘The twenty-fifth? Do you know what that means, Mattie?’
‘Is it one of those random national days that have been invented by advertisers or PRs? National Pie Day? No, I’d know about it if it were. National Hug A Puppy Day?’
‘I think it must be National Humour Pregnant Ladies Day,’ Tom murmured with the little smirk that someone needed to tell him was very unattractive.
‘No! More like National Annoy Pregnant Ladies Day,’ Posy snapped, digging Tom in the ribs with her elbow, which wiped the smirk off his face pretty sharpish. ‘It’s a month until Christmas! Worse! There are only thirty days in November so actually, it’s thirty days until Christmas. Thirty days!’
Her panicked statement was met with blank looks.
‘How is this news to you?’ Tom ventured, adjusting his horn-rimmed glasses so he could peer sternly at Posy’s flushed face. ‘You can’t turn on a TV without falling over some cloying, sentimental Christmas ad featuring woodland animals. The supermarkets have been flogging mince pies and stuffing balls since August.’
Tom had a point. ‘Surely you noticed the streets of London are adorned with Christmas lights and decorations?’ Mattie asked.
Posy placed a hand on either side of her bump. ‘Forgive me for being a little preoccupied,’ she said huffily.
‘I have mentioned Christmas promotions and extended opening hours several times,’ Verity said in a more conciliatory tone. ‘We had a whole conversation about getting new Christmas lights for the trees in the mews.’
‘No. Nope, I have no memory of that,’ Posy insisted, her voice starting to tremble, which meant that soon she would be crying. When she wasn’t trying to burp, Posy was trying not to cry – pregnancy really didn’t agree with her. ‘And now I’ve had an email from the Rochester Street Traders’ Association demanding that I pay my share for our joint Christmas decorations, and all the other shops are doing extended opening …’
‘Yes, I did already mention this,’ Verity murmured as Mattie shot her a sympathetic look. ‘Quite a few times, as it goes.’
‘You should have mentioned it more forcefully,’ Posy said, shifting on the banquette to find a more comfortable position. ‘There’s so much to do. We haven’t put up any tinsel or even done a display of books that would make wonderful Christmas presents.’ She wrung her hands. ‘Mattie! Why haven’t you started selling mince pies? You’re normally much more organised than this.’
Mattie prided herself on her organisational skills but she refused to rise to the bait. She was not going to flap. ‘I already have my Christmas bakes planned, which will come into effect on December first and not a day before. Not everyone wants Christmas rammed down their throats as soon as the clocks go back.’
‘Pret A Manger have been selling their Christmas sandwiches for weeks, M&S too,’ Tom said, and he should know, because he never bought his lunch from the tearooms. If he had, he’d have found it particularly delicious and filling and he wouldn’t have to hog the cheesy chips like he was currently doing.
Mattie firmed her lips. She wasn’t going to flap. Nope. Even though Tom always made her want to flap and hiss like an angry cat.
‘Well, Waterstones have had their Christmas promotions in place for weeks,’ she countered. Tom lifted his glass of wine as if to say ‘Touché’ but it had a detrimental effect on Posy who moaned as if she was in pain and clutched her bump as if an alien were about to burst out of it.
‘We need to have a Christmas brainstorm. NOW,’ she proclaimed in a shrill voice.
‘I thought this was a Christmas brainstorm?’ Mattie said, because Posy loved a brainstorm almost as much as she loved Sebastian, tote bags with book quotes on them and romantic novels.
‘It’s more of a pre-Christmas-brainstorm brainstorm,’ Tom explained helpfully as he refused to relinquish his grip on the bowl of cheesy chips, moving it out of Mattie’s reach when she tried to make a grab for it. ‘Oi, get your own.’
‘December first is plenty of time to launch all our Christmas plans,’ Verity said firmly, prying the bowl from Tom’s hand and moving it back towards Mattie. ‘And I hate to play the vicar’s-daughter card, but technically you shouldn’t put up Christmas decorations until Christmas Eve, and also technically, we shouldn’t really have a Christmas brainstorm without Nina. Nina loves Christmas.’
‘Oh, I miss Nina!’ Posy exclaimed and the first tear began its slow descent down her right cheek.
‘Everyone misses Nina,’ Mattie said softly, because when Posy was having a maudlin moment it was best not to make any loud noises. ‘But she’ll be back soon, right? She was only meant to have been gone six months, and she left in May, and it’s almost the end of November.’
Nina was a dearly beloved but absent member of the Happy Ever After family because she was currently road-tripping across the United States with her boyfriend, Noah, while working on the shop’s marketing remotely. She was the perfect, exuberant foil for quiet Verity, panicky Posy and Tom. Dour, sarcastic, up-himself Tom.
‘Well, I hope she comes back before I give birth,’ Posy lamented. ‘I would like to go on maternity leave before I actually start my contractions. Ugh! Contractions! Honestly, this pregnancy lark is one catastrophe after another. Have I mentioned my swollen ankles? Anyway, what are we going to do about Christmas? There’s so much to sort out and no time at all! We’re screwed. So very screwed.’
‘Not screwed. Christmas bakes are locked down and ready to go,’ Mattie said a little desperately. She wasn’t a big fan of Christmas and all these histrionics about the run-up to December twenty-fifth were giving her a leaden feeling in the pit of her stomach. ‘Anyway, how long does it take to pin up a bit of tinsel?’
‘We’re going to have to do a bit more than pin up tinsel,’ Posy said, the tears now a steady stream. Tom inched down the banquette to distance himself from a sobbing woman, a look of pure dread on his normally quite lofty-looking face.
‘Help!’ he mouthed at Mattie and Verity. Mattie shrugged and Verity sighed, then leaned forward.
‘I was going to wait … But, well, no time like the present, and there doesn’t seem any point in delaying the news, does there, not if we’re about to start opening late every night, and it’s not a big deal, really just a medium-sized deal.’ Verity’s ramble had stemmed Posy’s tears and she was now looking quite stricken. Even Tom seemed to realise that this warranted putting down the bowl of cheesy chips.
‘Oh my God, are you resigning?’ he asked, which was what Posy had suspected too, if the devastated expression on her face was anything to go by.
‘No! Don’t be silly. Why would I resign?’ Verity asked in bewilderment. ‘What a weird conclusion to come to. Although … I suppose in a way I am resigning.’
‘Please, Very, my blood pressure can’t take many shocks,’ Posy moaned.
‘Christ, spit it out, Very, or kill me now,’ Tom snapped and for once, Mattie found herself in agreement. Verity looked up to the heavens. ‘I’m resigning …’ She paused and there was a collective intake of breath which made Mattie suspect that Verity was enjoying this a little bit too much, ‘… from my tenancy of the flat above the shop. Though I do feel rather validated that you were all terrified I was leaving Happy Ever After. It’s nice to know I’m wanted.’
‘For one awful second I thought I’d have to do the VAT returns on my own and my whole life flashed before my eyes,’ Mattie said and Posy reached across the table, with some difficulty, to clink her glass in solidarity.
‘You and me both,’ she said, then turned her woeful face to Verity. ‘When are you moving out? The new year?’
‘Well, a bit sooner than that. If we start extended opening hours, which will mean opening on a Sunday, then I guess it will have to be … well, the day after tomorrow, if that’s OK,’ Verity said apologetically. ‘I could leave it until the new year, but Johnny has had one of those boiling-water taps installed so I can have instant tea, and he’s had a new window seat put in my favourite reading nook, it’s very comfy, and I spend all my time round his anyway … Oh! Yeah, I would be moving in with Johnny,’ she added, as though there had been any question.
Johnny was Verity’s beloved. A posh architect, who, much like Darcy in Verity’s favourite book Pride and Prejudice,with his ‘very fine grounds at Pemberley’, had a five-bedroom house in Canonbury and no one to share it with. Until now.
‘Oh! Very! Why didn’t you say something earlier?’ Posy exclaimed, grabbing Verity’s hand. ‘Let’s look at the ring! Oh … no ring.’
‘Because we’re not actually engaged. Just living together.’
‘Living in sin,’ Tom intoned, his hands in the prayer position, now that he’d eaten every single last cheesy chip without any thought for anyone else. ‘And you a vicar’s daughter, too.’
‘You know, Tom, that’s Nina’s line, you can’t really pull it off,’ Verity said. ‘And also, hello, welcome to the twenty-first century.’
Mattie was delighted for Verity, she really was. Even if living with a man was her idea of hell. She tried to smile happily and sincerely while she wondered what would be an acceptable period of time to pass before she could ask, plead, even beg Posy to be allowed to …
‘Well, if Very’s moving out, then I’ll take her room,’ Tom said calmly, as if his living rent-free in the flat above the shop was a done deal. ‘That’s fair, isn’t it?’
‘Wait, no, it’s not at all fair!’ Mattie exclaimed. ‘I was about to ask if I could take the room.’
‘Well, you should have been quicker,’ Tom said in that patronising way of his that made Mattie want to bash him over the head with the nearest heavy object to hand. In this case, a fire extinguisher. ‘Anyway, the flat is for bookshop staff.’
‘The tearooms are very much a part of the bookshop,’ Mattie said icily, never mind that she usually insisted that though they were very grateful for the footfall of the romantic-novel-buying public, she was running an autonomous business. ‘Though thank you very much for making me feel part of the Happy Ever After family.’
‘In case you’d forgotten, I’ve worked at Happy Ever After much longer than you’ve been at the tearooms,’ Tom pointed out superciliously.
‘You were part-time for ages,’ Mattie said calmly, although on the inside she was raging. ‘I bet if you add up all the hours I’ve spent in the tearooms, then it would be more hours than you’ve clocked up on the shop floor. I’m in at seven thirty every morning, I don’t leave much before eight most nights, and now you want to deprive me of the two hours of sleep I could snatch back.’
‘You’re completely overreacting,’ said Tom sourly, even though he’d worked among women for the last four years and knew only too well that to tell a woman that she was overreacting when she was reacting just enough was practically a hate crime. ‘Posy. It’s your decision.’
Posy burped. ‘My heartburn’s back. You two have given me heartburn and I’ve a good mind not to let either of you have the flat.’ She burped again. ‘I’m not meant to be getting stressed out, so you can sort out who gets the flat between you. Tomorrow,’ she added. ‘Now one of you go and get me another elderflower and soda, because I need to burp like no woman has ever needed to burp before.’
‘You’ve been burping on and off for the last hour,’ Verity ventured because she was a much braver woman than Mattie was.
Posy sighed. Then burped again. ‘Believe me, this is just the warm-up,’ she said sadly. ‘I’ve got an absolute ripper lodged somewhere in my midsection, which is yet to make its presence heard.’
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The next morning, after the usual rush of customers desperate for one of Mattie’s breakfast specials and the bespoke blend of coffee that she had sent over from Paris, she, Posy and Tom inspected the upstairs flat.
Mattie didn’t want to get her hopes up, though she had an impassioned speech all ready as to why she should move into Verity’s soon-to-be-vacated room. Her heart was racing as she walked through the several anterooms of the bookshop, past the counter in the main room, through a door and up a flight of stairs. If she lived here, she’d be home by now instead of having an hour-long commute to and from Hackney – longer, if the traffic was terrible.
‘I’ve been meaning to say it for ages, Pose, but pregnancy really agrees with you,’ Tom said earnestly as Posy unlocked the door.
He really was the lowest of the low: his attempts to curry favour with Posy were laughably transparent and there was no way that Posy was going to fall for them.
‘That’s so sweet,’ Posy said with a watery smile and Mattie’s racing heart raced a little faster. ‘Nice try, Tom, but I’m a neutral observer in all this and also, I’m writing you up in the sexual harassment book.’
‘You know as well as I do that the sexual harassment book doesn’t even exist,’ Tom muttered, standing aside to let Mattie into the flat first because he did have a modicum of good manners, she’d give him that. ‘And if it did really exist, then I think you’d find that the only person who’s sexually harassed in this workplace is me. By post-menopausal women who are alarmingly handsy, and then instead of getting support from my colleagues, I’m further abused.’
Mattie couldn’t understand what the post-menopausal women saw in Tom. Objectively, he was all right looking, she’d have to admit if she was under oath. He was tall, made taller by his wheat-coloured hair, which was swept up in a quiff at the front and a short back and sides everywhere else. Mattie had never gazed into his eyes deeply enough to know what colour they were, but they were hidden behind old-fashioned horn-rimmed glasses that looked like they’d been given out free on the NHS in the 1950s, which somehow worked for him. He also had an OK build, though Mattie didn’t spend much time speculating at what Tom looked like under his clothes. God forbid!
Tom’s physical attributes might be passable but his clothes were another issue entirely. A major issue. He wore trousers that looked like they’d started life as part of a suit belonging to a country curate or some other dull sort of man that had lived eighty years ago and had a fondness for sombre tweed. His shirts, always white, weren’t too objectionable but the ties he wore, sometimes a jaunty polka-dot bow-tie and sometimes a knitted tie, and the cardigan with its leather patches on the elbows, all offended Mattie’s eyes.
Then there was his personality. Mattie knew that he was bookish: he had spent the last four years working part-time in the shop while he also studied for a PhD in philosophy or late medieval literature or some other dusty, dry subject. He refused to go into the details so Mattie had always assumed that it was something very dull and boring, or else, why all the secrecy? Still, Tom never let anyone forget that he was big with the book smarts. He was always superior, always ready with a smart remark full of big-syllable words. It was a wonder he worked in a romantic fiction bookshop when his top lip curled at any mention of romantic fiction.
Mattie couldn’t imagine why Posy had kept him around for as long as she could, even letting him become full-time when he finally completed his PhD. Or why Tom hadn’t wanted to pursue an academic career. Probably because in academia, there were loads of tweedy, supercilious men and at least at Happy Ever After, he had novelty value.
Still, there was no way, no way in hell, Tom was taking this room out from under her, Mattie thought as she peered into the large living room with its original fireplace with beautiful tiled surround and, inevitably, fully stacked bookshelves on either side. There was also a quite hideous floral three-piece suite. ‘It’s much comfier than it looks,’ Posy promised. ‘And across the hall, this is the bathroom. We’ve just had a new shower installed.’
‘Perfect, love what you’ve done with it,’ Mattie murmured.
‘So much better than perfect,’ Tom insisted. ‘It’s very rare that I find a bath long enough that I can stretch out in it.’
‘Not getting involved,’ Posy said in a sing-song voice. She was in a much better mood this morning than she had been the evening before. Apparently she’d drunk a bottle of Gaviscon with her breakfast and her indigestion was temporarily abated. ‘Then this room is Nina’s. It is the bigger bedroom, but that’s neither here nor there, as Nina will be back imminently, I hope.’
‘She hasn’t said then?’ Mattie asked, as they all stared at the closed door of Nina’s room.
Posy shook her head. ‘No, she’s been very diligent with the remote marketing malarkey, but every time I ask her when she’s coming back, she ignores me. It’s very annoying, especially when I’m very pregnant.’
‘You’re only seven months pregnant. I think you’ve still got a few weeks to go before you’re very pregnant,’ Tom said, moving away from the door so he couldn’t see the daggers that Posy was shooting at him.
‘How would you know?’ she demanded. ‘When was the last time you were very pregnant?’
This was going much better than Mattie had imagined. Tom was going to talk himself out of the room without any help from her. Still, a little nudge couldn’t hurt.
‘Men don’t have periods either. Or the menopause. Or have to maintain ridiculous standards of grooming to conform to a patriarchal society’s ideal of what a woman should be,’ Mattie said with a sad sigh.
‘Good points, Mattie, but I’m still neutral,’ Posy said with a disapproving look. ‘Do you want to see the kitchen before we get to the room? And take your hand away from the door, Tom. I’m not having you go in there and try to bags it and claim that bagsying it is legally binding, like you did that time when The Midnight Bell only had one bowl of cheesy chips left.’
‘That was one time!’ But he stepped away from the door of Verity’s room and continued down the hall towards the kitchen, pausing in front of a strange bell-and-lever contraption fixed to the wall so he could give it a fond pat. ‘God bless you, Lady Agatha.’
The first owner of the bookshop had been one Lady Agatha Drysdale, who’d been gifted the business by her parents to distract her from her suffragette activities, with only limited success: Lady Ag was as passionate about women’s suffrage as she was about books.
‘It’s a butler’s bell that Lady Agatha installed so she could summon her employees up from the shop,’ Posy explained, giving it a fond pat herself. ‘Apparently, the wiring disintegrated some time in the seventies, which was a real shame. It would have been great to be able to do some summoning when Sam and I lived here.’
Posy and her younger brother Sam had lived above the shop almost all their lives. Lavinia, Lady Agatha’s daughter who’d by then inherited the shop and sounded as though she had been the most splendid woman, had employed Posy’s father to manage the bookshop and her mother to run the tearooms, but they’d died in a car accident some ten years before. Lavinia had continued to let Posy and Sam live above the shop, and when she died, she’d left both shop and flat to Posy. It also seemed as if she’d left Sebastian, her wildly dashing yet incredibly obnoxious grandson, to Posy too, for they were now married and expecting, and living in Lavinia’s house on the other side of Bloomsbury.
‘Though of course, you could have just summoned by text message,’ Mattie said, then she wished that she hadn’t because it sounded as if she was pouring cold water on Lady Agatha, when she wasn’t, she was just being practical. She also didn’t feel as if it were her place to give the butler’s bell a fond pat, so instead she dipped her head as she passed on her way to the kitchen.
‘It’s awfully small,’ Tom said, as they took in the old-fashioned kitchen cabinets painted a sunny primrose yellow with blue trim and grey Formica worktop. The kitchen wasn’t as small as the kitchen in the tearooms – there was even room for a small table, two chairs and a fridge-freezer – and Mattie wasn’t going to let Tom undermine her.
‘It’s a beautiful kitchen and anyway, size has absolutely nothing to do with it. I once made a triple-layer cake on a camping stove.’ So there, she wanted to add and stick her tongue out at Tom, but she resisted, though it took every ounce of strength that she had.
‘So, the room,’ Posy prompted, hands settling where her stomach used to be so she could rub soothing circles on her bump, which she did whenever she was agitated. ‘It used to be my room. It’s a nice size and the windows look out onto the mews.’
She squeezed past Mattie and Tom back the way she came, so she could open the door on a room. The room. The most perfect room. It was comfy and cosy but large enough for a double bed, a wardrobe, a chest of drawers and, of course, several bookcases. There were two picture windows and on this bright but chilly day, the weak winter sun streamed in.
‘It’s lovely,’ Mattie said in all sincerity.
‘I’ll take it,’ Tom said in a peremptory fashion, as if he dared Mattie to disagree, in which case he was doomed to disappointment. ‘I have worked in the shop longer than even Verity and Nina, yet they were still given first dibs on the rooms, which was very unfair, even though I never brought it up at the time.’ He tapped his chest. ‘That wounded me, Posy.’
‘Oh dear.’ Posy pulled a face. ‘It’s just that Verity is the manager and I just assumed that it would be less awkward to have Verity and Nina take the flat, on account of them being, like, ladies. Two ladies.’
‘When you assume, you make an ass out of you and me,’ Tom said gravely.
Mattie saw her chance and seized it with both hands. ‘Don’t call Posy an ass,’ she gasped in shocked tones. ‘And her pregnant, too! You know, it would be awkward, wouldn’t it, for Tom to share with Nina, Nina being a lady, but I’m a lady too, so that would be absolutely not awkward.’
‘Nina is my dear, dear friend,’ Tom said, his eyes flashing behind his glasses though his dear, dear friend Nina had once confided to Mattie that she suspected that Tom didn’t even need glasses and just wore them to make himself look even more like a tweedy nerd than he already did. ‘Also, it’s the twenty-first century, and if you won’t let me share a flat with a woman, then, I don’t want to, but I would have a very good case to take to a sexual discrimination trial.’
‘Yeah, nice try,’ Mattie blustered, because she could feel the flat slipping through her fingers.
Tom nodded. ‘Maybe even the European Court of Human Rights. It’s your decision, Posy.’
‘It’s not my decision,’ Posy said, backing out of the room. ‘I’m not making any decisions that are likely to cause my blood pressure to rise. I’m stressed out enough about all this Christmas stuff. You’ll have to decide between yourselves, like the sensible, grown-up, adult people that I know you both can be.’
Mattie hated to beg, but just because she hated something wasn’t a good enough reason not to.
‘No Posy, please, please, let me have the room. I have to be here by seven thirty, eight at the very latest. I get up at six every morning. Six o’clock! Then I have evening prep, which means I’m not home much before nine, so I have no social life and I’m living with my mother, and please, Tom. Come on, don’t be a dick about this.’
‘I’m not being a dick,’ Tom said, though he was totally being a dick as far as Mattie was concerned. ‘And my current living conditions are also far from ideal,’ he added stiffly, then pressed his lips together as Mattie and Posy waited expectantly.
‘Far from ideal, you say?’ Posy prodded, stepping back into the room, her eyes gleaming at the prospect of finally learning something, anything, about Tom’s private life.
‘Yes,’ Tom said evenly. ‘That’s what I said. You don’t need to know my personal business.’
‘Oh,’ Mattie said, making her eyes especially wide. ‘Oh. How odd!’
‘What’s odd?’ Posy asked, lowering herself onto Verity’s rather lovely blue velvet reading chair with some difficulty.
‘Well, it’s just that Tom doesn’t want everyone knowing his personal business and yet he wants to move into the flat above the shop.’ Mattie tried her best to look sorrowful, as if she’d just been told that her favourite French cooking chocolate was no longer available in the UK. ‘I’m sorry, Tom, but I don’t see how you’re going to maintain that work-life balance that’s so important to you if you take the room.’
‘I will, because unlike the rest of you, I’m perfectly capable of compartmentalising and also fixing a padlock to my bedroom door,’ Tom said in stern tones.
Posy snorted. ‘Yeah, right. I’ve asked you to perform several minor acts of household repair in the past, and you couldn’t do any of them.’
‘Couldn’t or wouldn’t,’ Tom said, and Posy looked furious, but then she remembered that she was being neutral and sank back in the chair.
‘You have to sort it out between you,’ she repeated, and it was clear that Tom wasn’t going to give an inch, and Mattie didn’t see why she should, so there was only one thing for it.
‘We’ll toss a coin,’ she said. ‘I don’t see any other way, do you?’
‘I don’t,’ Tom agreed, already pulling out a handful of loose change. ‘Heads or tails?’
‘Heads,’ Mattie said, her fingers crossed as Tom handed Posy a pound coin.
‘You’d better do the honours,’ he said with a Cheshire cat grin as if the flat was already his. ‘Being a neutral third party.’
Posy flipped the coin, failed to catch it so it fell to the floor and bounced off the skirting board, and Mattie and Tom were a whisker close to bumping heads as they rushed to see what side up it had landed.
‘Oh, tails,’ Tom said, not even bothering to hide his glee. ‘Bad luck, Mattie.’
‘Yes, sorry,’ Posy said with a weak flutter of her hands. Then she fluttered weakly again. ‘Sorry, can you give me a hand getting out of this chair? Or hire a hoist.’
Tom and Mattie took an arm each and tugged Posy out of the blue velvet depths. There was nothing for it now but to head back to the tearooms and maybe if Mattie worked like a dog all day, then she might be able to leave a whole fifteen minutes earlier than she normally did.
‘Are you all right, Mattie?’ Posy asked as they stepped back into the hall. ‘If past history is correct, Tom will soon be hooking up with someone and want to move in with them. Who would have thought that in the space of a year, Nina, Verity and I would all be in committed long-term relationships? I think Lavinia must have cast a spell on the shop before she died. Mattie! Mattie, I know you’re upset but can you start moving? Work to be done and all that.’
Mattie was rooted to the spot and staring at a closed door behind which there could be … ‘Is that a broom cupboard?’ she asked, because if it was a large broom cupboard, then maybe …
‘Oh, you don’t want to see in there. It’s nothing,’ Posy said quickly, a hand on Mattie’s back to push her along. ‘Absolutely nothing.’
‘I really don’t want to be the one to say this, but didn’t that used to be Sam’s room?’ Tom queried in a long-suffering voice.
‘Room! Hardly a room,’ Posy said, wriggling past Mattie so she could form a human, pregnant shield in front of the door. ‘Anyway, there’s stuff in there. So much stuff.’
‘Again, I really don’t want to say this either, but when you say “stuff”, do you actually mean a copious amount of books that you (a) haven’t got round to moving to your gigantic house in Bloomsbury, or (b) can’t move because you told Sebastian quite categorically that was the very last of your books when you managed to fill two van-loads? Or is it (c) you actually killed Nina some months ago and that’s where her decomposing body is wrapped in bin bags? I thought I could smell something funny.’
Posy gave Tom a feeble slap on the arm. ‘Of course I haven’t killed Nina. I think the smell is just Verity’s newest meditation candle.’
‘Which just leaves (a) and (b),’ Mattie said, folding her arms and planting herself squarely so that Posy was hemmed in. ‘Which is it?’
‘OK, it’s (a),’ Posy admitted. ‘Also, (b). It used to be Sam’s room and now it’s my overspill books room.’ She pouted winsomely in a way that would have had Sebastian Thorndyke agreeing to build an extension to their already very big house just so that Posy could have more books. ‘I’ve filled every last shelf and bookcase that we own and Sebastian made me promise on my first edition of I Capture the Castle that for every new book I brought into the house, a book had to leave. It was very unreasonable of him.’
Mattie would never understand what the deal was with the Happy Ever After staff and all their many, many, many books. ‘Really, Posy, couldn’t you just go digital? Have you any idea how many books you could put on an e-reader?’
Posy made a furious huffing noise.
‘Best not to go there,’ Tom advised as he reached over his huffing boss to open the door to her unofficial library. ‘Anyway, look, there’s no room to swing a cat. Not even a very small cat.’
Mattie peered around the door and for one moment she thought that, annoyingly, Tom was right. There were piles of books, books and yet more books, and it was a wonder that the floor joists hadn’t given way. But when she tried to visualise the room without any books, it was … not spacious, but definitely bigger than a broom cupboard.
‘You could get a single bed in there,’ she decided, which was fortunate because she hadn’t shared a bed with anyone since … Anyway, she had no plans to share her bed with anyone. Ever. ‘And a clothes rail. Maybe even a shelf on the wall.’
‘I suppose … I could mention to Sebastian that I’d overlooked some books?’ Posy said, rubbing her bump. ‘And I am carrying his child, which is a very useful thing to bring up when I want to win an argument. Besides, Sam managed perfectly well in this room for years.’
Mattie smiled aggressively at Tom, who looked quite taken aback and blinked uncertainly. ‘Well, I guess we’re both moving in, then.’
‘I guess we are,’ Tom said.
Mattie gestured at the room. ‘And I’m sure you’ll be comfortable in here. If it was good enough for Sam, then I’m sure it will be fine for you.’
‘Why should I get stuck with this glorified cupboard?’ Tom asked incredulously.
‘Because you’re a man,’ Mattie said with a dismissive wave of her hand, as if Tom’s so-called manliness was in question.
‘That’s reverse sexism,’ Tom said.
‘It’s not. It means that I’m a woman, so obviously I have more things than you,’ Mattie pointed out with a slight gritting of her teeth. ‘Clothes and things.’
Tom swept his eyes over Mattie, then it was his turn to employ a dismissive wave of his hand. ‘You can’t have that many clothes. You wear the same thing every single day.’
‘Not the exact same thing! I have multiple pieces. I’m not some dirty Gertie with poor personal hygiene.’ Mattie had rarely been so offended, and also so paranoid that she wished she could give each of her armpits a surreptitious sniff.
‘Still, I already won the coin toss for Very’s old room so you’ll have to make do with this one.’ Tom was now smiling as if his superior intellectual prowess had once again triumphed.
‘Not fair. We’ll toss again,’ Mattie demanded and she wanted to stamp her foot so much that her toes curled up in her Converse.
But in the end she lost the toss – though she wouldn’t have put it past Tom to have a special double-tails pound coin solely so he could win coin tosses – and had no option but to smile thinly and say, ‘Fine, I hope you’ll be happy in your needlessly large room.’
‘Thanks, I’m sure I will,’ Tom said with another mocking smile, and it wasn’t until she was finally back on her home turf that Mattie could give way to her true feelings.
‘I hate him!’ she exclaimed, to the surprise of Cuthbert and several customers.
‘“Hate” is a very strong word,’ Cuthbert admonished, putting his hands over a couple of Jezebel’s levers as if he didn’t want the coffee machine to hear any harsh words.
‘It’s not strong enough,’ Mattie said as she stomped into the kitchen, which sadly had no door that she could slam.
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Annie Darling
A heartwarming and hilarious Christmas romance!Tis the season to be jolly!But on Rochester Mews, two unlikely lovebirds are struggling to find their festive cheer.Star baker Mattie has hated Christmas ever since she had her heart broken on Christmas Eve. The only thing she hates more is the insufferable Tom, who has rubbed her up the wrong way since she started running the tearoom next door to his bookshop. So when Mattie and Tom are left in charge in the frantic festive days before Christmas, it might be cold outside but things are sure to heat up.Can a bookshop full of romantic novels, a life-sized reindeer and a mistletoe kissing booth persuade two scrooges to fall in love with Christmas… and each other?
Copyright (#ue20d5103-6ad8-5c10-b985-9a1cea02e401)
Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street
London, SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2018
Copyright © Annie Darling 2018
Cover design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2018
Cover illustration © Carrie May
Annie Darling asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780008275679
Ebook Edition © November 2018 ISBN: 9780008275686
Version: 2018-10-24
Dedication (#ue20d5103-6ad8-5c10-b985-9a1cea02e401)
Dedicated to Mr Mackenzie,
the most splendid specimen of felinity in the world.
Contents
Cover (#u6f873dd8-0978-5b2a-83cb-142dde0f157a)
Title Page (#uca5016f6-2b7d-5d19-819b-c15aeeeaf852)
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1: 30 days until Christmas
Chapter 2: 29 days until Christmas
Chapter 3: 28 days until Christmas
Chapter 4: 27 days until Christmas
Chapter 5: 27 days until Christmas
Chapter 6: 26 days until Christmas
Chapter 7: 25 days until Christmas
Chapter 8: 25 days until Christmas
Chapter 9: 24 days until Christmas
Chapter 10: 23 days until Christmas
Chapter 11: 23 days until Christmas
Chapter 12: 20 days until Christmas
Chapter 13: 19 days until Christmas
Chapter 14: 19 days until Christmas
Chapter 15: 18 days until Christmas
Chapter 16: 18 days until Christmas
Chapter 17: 15 days until Christmas
Chapter 18: 14 days until Christmas
Chapter 19: 14 days until Christmas
Chapter 20: 14 days until Christmas
Chapter 21: 14 days until Christmas
Chapter 22: 13 days until Christmas
Chapter 23: 11 days until Christmas
Chapter 24: 10 days until Christmas
Chapter 25: 9 days until Christmas
Chapter 26: 8 days until Christmas
Chapter 27: 8 days until Christmas
Chapter 28: 7 days until Christmas
Chapter 29: 6 days until Christmas
Chapter 30: 5 days until Christmas
Chapter 31: 3 days until Christmas
Chapter 32: 3 days until Christmas
Chapter 33: 2 days until Christmas
Chapter 34: 1 day until Christmas
Chapter 35: Christmas Day
Acknowledgements
Keep Reading … (#ue7884dc2-550d-5b24-967f-e809d7840e33)
About the Author
Also by Annie Darling
About the Publisher
(#ue20d5103-6ad8-5c10-b985-9a1cea02e401)
‘Goodbye! Do come again!’ With a bright smile, Matilda Smith ushered her last customer of the day out of the door of the Happy Ever After tearooms and hurried to lock it behind them. Her mobile phone, in the pocket of her apron, had been buzzing like a furious bee with incoming text messages for the last five minutes.
Mattie pulled out her still vibrating and flashing phone to read her messages; all of them from one person.
EMERGENCY MEETING!!!!!
The urgent capital letters left Mattie unmoved. She’d been on her feet since seven that morning and her feet were about to go on strike, so this so-called emergency meeting could do without her.
‘I thought Beige Anorak would never go,’ Mattie remarked of their most frequent customer. ‘I’ve a good mind to tell him that he can only hog a table of four for a maximum of one hour.’
‘At least he shared the table this time,’ Cuthbert pointed out as he slowly and lovingly wiped down Jezebel the coffee machine. Her old barista, Paloma, had left to go travelling and Mattie had despaired that she’d ever find someone who could handle the very temperamental Jezebel, until she’d met seventy-two-year-old Cuthbert Lewis.
Mattie’s phone vibrated again. Another message from a person who really needed to stop using shouty capslock and, instead, get to the point.
THIS IS NOT A DRILL, THIS IS A GENUINE EMERGENCY!!!!!
‘I bet it’s not a genuine emergency,’ Mattie exclaimed out loud.
‘Trouble at t’mill?’ Cuthbert asked.
‘Just the usual flapping from next door.’
Cuthbert cocked his head in the direction of the set of glass-panelled double doors to the left of the counter. ‘They are rather prone to flapping, it’s true. Whereas you and I are of a calmer disposition.’
Now that Beige Anorak was finally gone, Mattie could get on with washing the floor. She plunged her mop into the bucket of soapy hot water that she’d filled earlier. ‘We are a flap-free zone. Not like them.’
Mattie and Cuthbert were their own little fiefdom within the wider territory of Happy Ever After, the bookshop that lay beyond the glass-panelled double doors. The tearooms had their own traditions, their own way of doing things, their own set of rules, but they co-existed quite peacefully alongside the bookshop. They made sure that no customers brought books they hadn’t already paid for into the tearooms to spill food and drink all over them. They checked daily that Strumpet, the portly, gluttonous cat who belonged to Verity, Happy Ever After’s manager, was safely locked in the flat above the shop. There had been several incidents when Strumpet had staged a prison break and headed straight for the tearooms and the lap of anyone who had cake.
EMERGENCY MEETING IN THE MIDNIGHT BELL NOW!!!!!! WHY ARE YOU IGNORING MY TEXTS? HAVE I MENTIONED THIS IS AN EMERGENCY?
‘Why she can’t just toddle fifty metres and tell me in person, I don’t know,’ Mattie murmured, as she paused mopping to read yet another panic-stricken text message.
‘A lady in her condition can’t be toddling here and there,’ Cuthbert noted as he gave Jezebel one last affectionate buffing.
Cuthbert was right. Cuthbert was usually right about all things.
Mattie swirled the mop in a hard-to-reach corner. ‘Yes, but … but … she’s managing to toddle all the way to The Midnight Bell for a so-called emergency meeting,’ she said. ‘Shall I make your apologies?’
‘If you will. My Cynthia will already have my dinner on,’ he said of the love of his life, his wife. ‘Now you get your beauty sleep, my darling,’ he ordered his sidechick, draping a special cover over Jezebel. ‘It’s another busy day tomorrow, so you need your rest.’
It was so tempting to ask Cuthbert if he and Jezebel would like some privacy. Mattie shook her head, patted Cuthbert on the shoulder as she squeezed past him (it was a tight fit behind the counter) to empty the bucket and finish tidying away. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow then, Cuthbert.’
‘Indeed you will,’ Cuthbert agreed, shrugging on his coat and donning a nifty trilby hat for the five-minute walk home to a flat in the beautiful, Art Deco 1920s Housing Association estate just around the corner.
Mattie’s phone trembled again.
DON’T IGNORE ME, MATTIE! WHY ARE YOU IGNORING ME?
It probably would be a good idea to reply to one of these so-called urgent text messages, Mattie decided.
I’m not ignoring you. I’m doing my next-day prep and I’ll see you in The Midnight Bell when I’m done. I hope you’ll have a large glass of white wine and a bowl of cheesy chips waiting for me. Mattie x
She didn’t even need to take one full step to enter the tiny kitchen shielded from public view by a curtain adorned with little teapots. So tiny was the kitchen that if Mattie stretched out her arms she could touch the walls.
But she didn’t stretch out her arms, instead she washed her hands, then set to work making the flaky pastry for tomorrow’s viennoiserie: croissants, pains au chocolat, pains aux raisins and several other buttery, melt-in-the-mouth delights. The dough needed to chill overnight, which was why Mattie wasn’t currently quaffing Chenin Blanc in the pub.
Before she took off her apron and retrieved her handbag from the one cupboard that she had room for in the kitchen, Mattie pulled out her compact to confirm what she already knew: her face – skin the colour of the lightest, most delicate caramel sauce with a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose – needed a generous dusting of matte powder to tone down the effects of slaving over a hot stove all day. Adding a slick of tawny-pink lipstick, a re-application of mascara and a quick check that the two flicks of liquid eyeliner from this morning were still in place, all she needed to do was make sure that there weren’t any flour or grease stains on her black trousers and jumper, and Mattie was good to go.
It helped that she had a look and she stuck to it rigidly. Mattie had seen the film Funny Face at an impressionable age and even though she was now a very grown-up twenty-eight, she still wished that she was Audrey Hepburn, the bookshop clerk who jetted off to Paris with Fred Astaire and modelled for a fashion magazine when she wasn’t dancing to freeform jazz in seedy bars.
Not only did Mattie now work next door to a bookshop, she’d also been to Paris. In fact, she’d lived in Paris for three whole years and had danced to freeform jazz in seedy bars on several occasions. But that was long in the past and Paris was now dead to her, yet she still dressed like Audrey Hepburn in Funny Face: long, dark-brown hair caught up in a ponytail with a blunt-cut thick fringe which was the perfect foil for her permanently arched eyebrows, above eyes which were the exact same shade as a mink coat her grandmother had once owned.
And like Audrey, Mattie always wore black. Before Paris and especially after Paris, she wore black. In summer, a black cotton shirt with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows and slim-fit black cropped cigarette pants, and the same pair of Birkenstocks she’d been wearing in summer for years. On winter days like today, she swapped the shirt for a jumper, the cropped trousers for a longer version and the Birks for a pair of black Chuck Taylors.
Wearing the same thing every day (Mattie had many black shirts, jumpers and trousers, both cropped and long – it wasn’t like she wore the same two pieces every day until they crawled to the wash basket of their own accord) was practical and quick. No agonising over a wardrobe full of different colours and styles. Which was just as well, because as Mattie stepped out onto the cobblestones of Rochester Mews and locked the front door behind her, she’d be unlocking it again at seven thirty the next morning. Such was the lot of someone who had a hell of a lot of breakfast pastries to bake before the tearooms opened at 9 a.m.
Mattie’s phone buzzed insistently.
WHERE ARE YOU? HOW LONG DOES IT TAKE TO CHUCK TOGETHER SOME FLAKY PASTRY?
But that was tomorrow. And Mattie wasn’t going to think about tomorrow, especially the part where she had to get up at six, while it was still dark. She was going to think about the large glass of wine that she hoped was waiting for her.
Mattie wasn’t disappointed. As soon as she hefted open the heavy door of the pub around the corner from Happy Ever After, swapping the waft of fish and chips from There’s No Plaice Like Home opposite for the fug of beer, someone waved frantically at her.
‘Mattie! Over here!’ yelled Posy, the owner of Happy Ever After and sender of multiple, needlessly dramatic text messages, as if they hadn’t bagged their usual corner table and banquettes and Mattie might not know where they were. ‘Your wine is perfectly chilled.’
Mattie dropped gratefully onto an empty stool and picked up the glass of Chenin Blanc. ‘Thank you,’ she said fervently. ‘And cheers.’
As they all clinked glasses, Mattie checked for panic in the eyes of her co-workers. Posy, who was fairly heavy with child and drinking elderflower cordial and soda, the glass resting on the top of her bump, looked serene. Verity, the manager of the bookshop, was nursing a gin and tonic and a faintly harried expression, but then Verity always looked faintly harried. And then there was Tom, and Mattie didn’t really care what Tom’s mental state was because Tom was on her list.
Mattie’s list, as Tom well knew, was not a good list to be on, so she ignored him.
‘How are you?’ she asked Posy and Verity. ‘How was the world of bookselling today?’
‘Very, very busy,’ Posy noted with a quiet satisfaction. She rubbed her bump and then very gently and delicately burped. ‘Thank God for that. Have I mentioned that I have the worst indigestion?’
She had. Several times a day, ever since her three-month mark had passed and she was able to tell people that she was pregnant. Now she was almost at seven months and couldn’t even look at a tomato any more, much less eat one.
‘I read somewhere that if you have indigestion when you’re pregnant, you’ll give birth to a baby with a freakishly full head of hair,’ Verity said, which did little to cheer Posy up.
‘Sebastian has very thick hair, so it’s obviously all his fault,’ she said mournfully. ‘I wish I’d fallen in love with a bald man instead.’
Fascinating though this was, it didn’t really explain why Mattie had been summoned so urgently. ‘What was with all the emergency text messages?’ Mattie asked. ‘Is Rochester Mews earmarked for demolition or something?’
‘What? No! It’s much more serious than that.’ Posy gasped. She turned a suddenly anxious face to Mattie. ‘Have you any idea what the date is?’
Was it some kind of trick question or was it pregnancy brain? Mattie glanced over at Verity, who shook her head as if to say that she’d already had a similar enquiry from Posy. And then Mattie managed to catch Tom’s eye. She couldn’t help but recoil and Tom’s upper lip curled, which meant that he was about to make some dull observation, but before he could, Posy clapped her hands.
‘It’s the twenty-fifth of November,’ she cried. ‘The twenty-fifth? Do you know what that means, Mattie?’
‘Is it one of those random national days that have been invented by advertisers or PRs? National Pie Day? No, I’d know about it if it were. National Hug A Puppy Day?’
‘I think it must be National Humour Pregnant Ladies Day,’ Tom murmured with the little smirk that someone needed to tell him was very unattractive.
‘No! More like National Annoy Pregnant Ladies Day,’ Posy snapped, digging Tom in the ribs with her elbow, which wiped the smirk off his face pretty sharpish. ‘It’s a month until Christmas! Worse! There are only thirty days in November so actually, it’s thirty days until Christmas. Thirty days!’
Her panicked statement was met with blank looks.
‘How is this news to you?’ Tom ventured, adjusting his horn-rimmed glasses so he could peer sternly at Posy’s flushed face. ‘You can’t turn on a TV without falling over some cloying, sentimental Christmas ad featuring woodland animals. The supermarkets have been flogging mince pies and stuffing balls since August.’
Tom had a point. ‘Surely you noticed the streets of London are adorned with Christmas lights and decorations?’ Mattie asked.
Posy placed a hand on either side of her bump. ‘Forgive me for being a little preoccupied,’ she said huffily.
‘I have mentioned Christmas promotions and extended opening hours several times,’ Verity said in a more conciliatory tone. ‘We had a whole conversation about getting new Christmas lights for the trees in the mews.’
‘No. Nope, I have no memory of that,’ Posy insisted, her voice starting to tremble, which meant that soon she would be crying. When she wasn’t trying to burp, Posy was trying not to cry – pregnancy really didn’t agree with her. ‘And now I’ve had an email from the Rochester Street Traders’ Association demanding that I pay my share for our joint Christmas decorations, and all the other shops are doing extended opening …’
‘Yes, I did already mention this,’ Verity murmured as Mattie shot her a sympathetic look. ‘Quite a few times, as it goes.’
‘You should have mentioned it more forcefully,’ Posy said, shifting on the banquette to find a more comfortable position. ‘There’s so much to do. We haven’t put up any tinsel or even done a display of books that would make wonderful Christmas presents.’ She wrung her hands. ‘Mattie! Why haven’t you started selling mince pies? You’re normally much more organised than this.’
Mattie prided herself on her organisational skills but she refused to rise to the bait. She was not going to flap. ‘I already have my Christmas bakes planned, which will come into effect on December first and not a day before. Not everyone wants Christmas rammed down their throats as soon as the clocks go back.’
‘Pret A Manger have been selling their Christmas sandwiches for weeks, M&S too,’ Tom said, and he should know, because he never bought his lunch from the tearooms. If he had, he’d have found it particularly delicious and filling and he wouldn’t have to hog the cheesy chips like he was currently doing.
Mattie firmed her lips. She wasn’t going to flap. Nope. Even though Tom always made her want to flap and hiss like an angry cat.
‘Well, Waterstones have had their Christmas promotions in place for weeks,’ she countered. Tom lifted his glass of wine as if to say ‘Touché’ but it had a detrimental effect on Posy who moaned as if she was in pain and clutched her bump as if an alien were about to burst out of it.
‘We need to have a Christmas brainstorm. NOW,’ she proclaimed in a shrill voice.
‘I thought this was a Christmas brainstorm?’ Mattie said, because Posy loved a brainstorm almost as much as she loved Sebastian, tote bags with book quotes on them and romantic novels.
‘It’s more of a pre-Christmas-brainstorm brainstorm,’ Tom explained helpfully as he refused to relinquish his grip on the bowl of cheesy chips, moving it out of Mattie’s reach when she tried to make a grab for it. ‘Oi, get your own.’
‘December first is plenty of time to launch all our Christmas plans,’ Verity said firmly, prying the bowl from Tom’s hand and moving it back towards Mattie. ‘And I hate to play the vicar’s-daughter card, but technically you shouldn’t put up Christmas decorations until Christmas Eve, and also technically, we shouldn’t really have a Christmas brainstorm without Nina. Nina loves Christmas.’
‘Oh, I miss Nina!’ Posy exclaimed and the first tear began its slow descent down her right cheek.
‘Everyone misses Nina,’ Mattie said softly, because when Posy was having a maudlin moment it was best not to make any loud noises. ‘But she’ll be back soon, right? She was only meant to have been gone six months, and she left in May, and it’s almost the end of November.’
Nina was a dearly beloved but absent member of the Happy Ever After family because she was currently road-tripping across the United States with her boyfriend, Noah, while working on the shop’s marketing remotely. She was the perfect, exuberant foil for quiet Verity, panicky Posy and Tom. Dour, sarcastic, up-himself Tom.
‘Well, I hope she comes back before I give birth,’ Posy lamented. ‘I would like to go on maternity leave before I actually start my contractions. Ugh! Contractions! Honestly, this pregnancy lark is one catastrophe after another. Have I mentioned my swollen ankles? Anyway, what are we going to do about Christmas? There’s so much to sort out and no time at all! We’re screwed. So very screwed.’
‘Not screwed. Christmas bakes are locked down and ready to go,’ Mattie said a little desperately. She wasn’t a big fan of Christmas and all these histrionics about the run-up to December twenty-fifth were giving her a leaden feeling in the pit of her stomach. ‘Anyway, how long does it take to pin up a bit of tinsel?’
‘We’re going to have to do a bit more than pin up tinsel,’ Posy said, the tears now a steady stream. Tom inched down the banquette to distance himself from a sobbing woman, a look of pure dread on his normally quite lofty-looking face.
‘Help!’ he mouthed at Mattie and Verity. Mattie shrugged and Verity sighed, then leaned forward.
‘I was going to wait … But, well, no time like the present, and there doesn’t seem any point in delaying the news, does there, not if we’re about to start opening late every night, and it’s not a big deal, really just a medium-sized deal.’ Verity’s ramble had stemmed Posy’s tears and she was now looking quite stricken. Even Tom seemed to realise that this warranted putting down the bowl of cheesy chips.
‘Oh my God, are you resigning?’ he asked, which was what Posy had suspected too, if the devastated expression on her face was anything to go by.
‘No! Don’t be silly. Why would I resign?’ Verity asked in bewilderment. ‘What a weird conclusion to come to. Although … I suppose in a way I am resigning.’
‘Please, Very, my blood pressure can’t take many shocks,’ Posy moaned.
‘Christ, spit it out, Very, or kill me now,’ Tom snapped and for once, Mattie found herself in agreement. Verity looked up to the heavens. ‘I’m resigning …’ She paused and there was a collective intake of breath which made Mattie suspect that Verity was enjoying this a little bit too much, ‘… from my tenancy of the flat above the shop. Though I do feel rather validated that you were all terrified I was leaving Happy Ever After. It’s nice to know I’m wanted.’
‘For one awful second I thought I’d have to do the VAT returns on my own and my whole life flashed before my eyes,’ Mattie said and Posy reached across the table, with some difficulty, to clink her glass in solidarity.
‘You and me both,’ she said, then turned her woeful face to Verity. ‘When are you moving out? The new year?’
‘Well, a bit sooner than that. If we start extended opening hours, which will mean opening on a Sunday, then I guess it will have to be … well, the day after tomorrow, if that’s OK,’ Verity said apologetically. ‘I could leave it until the new year, but Johnny has had one of those boiling-water taps installed so I can have instant tea, and he’s had a new window seat put in my favourite reading nook, it’s very comfy, and I spend all my time round his anyway … Oh! Yeah, I would be moving in with Johnny,’ she added, as though there had been any question.
Johnny was Verity’s beloved. A posh architect, who, much like Darcy in Verity’s favourite book Pride and Prejudice,with his ‘very fine grounds at Pemberley’, had a five-bedroom house in Canonbury and no one to share it with. Until now.
‘Oh! Very! Why didn’t you say something earlier?’ Posy exclaimed, grabbing Verity’s hand. ‘Let’s look at the ring! Oh … no ring.’
‘Because we’re not actually engaged. Just living together.’
‘Living in sin,’ Tom intoned, his hands in the prayer position, now that he’d eaten every single last cheesy chip without any thought for anyone else. ‘And you a vicar’s daughter, too.’
‘You know, Tom, that’s Nina’s line, you can’t really pull it off,’ Verity said. ‘And also, hello, welcome to the twenty-first century.’
Mattie was delighted for Verity, she really was. Even if living with a man was her idea of hell. She tried to smile happily and sincerely while she wondered what would be an acceptable period of time to pass before she could ask, plead, even beg Posy to be allowed to …
‘Well, if Very’s moving out, then I’ll take her room,’ Tom said calmly, as if his living rent-free in the flat above the shop was a done deal. ‘That’s fair, isn’t it?’
‘Wait, no, it’s not at all fair!’ Mattie exclaimed. ‘I was about to ask if I could take the room.’
‘Well, you should have been quicker,’ Tom said in that patronising way of his that made Mattie want to bash him over the head with the nearest heavy object to hand. In this case, a fire extinguisher. ‘Anyway, the flat is for bookshop staff.’
‘The tearooms are very much a part of the bookshop,’ Mattie said icily, never mind that she usually insisted that though they were very grateful for the footfall of the romantic-novel-buying public, she was running an autonomous business. ‘Though thank you very much for making me feel part of the Happy Ever After family.’
‘In case you’d forgotten, I’ve worked at Happy Ever After much longer than you’ve been at the tearooms,’ Tom pointed out superciliously.
‘You were part-time for ages,’ Mattie said calmly, although on the inside she was raging. ‘I bet if you add up all the hours I’ve spent in the tearooms, then it would be more hours than you’ve clocked up on the shop floor. I’m in at seven thirty every morning, I don’t leave much before eight most nights, and now you want to deprive me of the two hours of sleep I could snatch back.’
‘You’re completely overreacting,’ said Tom sourly, even though he’d worked among women for the last four years and knew only too well that to tell a woman that she was overreacting when she was reacting just enough was practically a hate crime. ‘Posy. It’s your decision.’
Posy burped. ‘My heartburn’s back. You two have given me heartburn and I’ve a good mind not to let either of you have the flat.’ She burped again. ‘I’m not meant to be getting stressed out, so you can sort out who gets the flat between you. Tomorrow,’ she added. ‘Now one of you go and get me another elderflower and soda, because I need to burp like no woman has ever needed to burp before.’
‘You’ve been burping on and off for the last hour,’ Verity ventured because she was a much braver woman than Mattie was.
Posy sighed. Then burped again. ‘Believe me, this is just the warm-up,’ she said sadly. ‘I’ve got an absolute ripper lodged somewhere in my midsection, which is yet to make its presence heard.’
(#ue20d5103-6ad8-5c10-b985-9a1cea02e401)
The next morning, after the usual rush of customers desperate for one of Mattie’s breakfast specials and the bespoke blend of coffee that she had sent over from Paris, she, Posy and Tom inspected the upstairs flat.
Mattie didn’t want to get her hopes up, though she had an impassioned speech all ready as to why she should move into Verity’s soon-to-be-vacated room. Her heart was racing as she walked through the several anterooms of the bookshop, past the counter in the main room, through a door and up a flight of stairs. If she lived here, she’d be home by now instead of having an hour-long commute to and from Hackney – longer, if the traffic was terrible.
‘I’ve been meaning to say it for ages, Pose, but pregnancy really agrees with you,’ Tom said earnestly as Posy unlocked the door.
He really was the lowest of the low: his attempts to curry favour with Posy were laughably transparent and there was no way that Posy was going to fall for them.
‘That’s so sweet,’ Posy said with a watery smile and Mattie’s racing heart raced a little faster. ‘Nice try, Tom, but I’m a neutral observer in all this and also, I’m writing you up in the sexual harassment book.’
‘You know as well as I do that the sexual harassment book doesn’t even exist,’ Tom muttered, standing aside to let Mattie into the flat first because he did have a modicum of good manners, she’d give him that. ‘And if it did really exist, then I think you’d find that the only person who’s sexually harassed in this workplace is me. By post-menopausal women who are alarmingly handsy, and then instead of getting support from my colleagues, I’m further abused.’
Mattie couldn’t understand what the post-menopausal women saw in Tom. Objectively, he was all right looking, she’d have to admit if she was under oath. He was tall, made taller by his wheat-coloured hair, which was swept up in a quiff at the front and a short back and sides everywhere else. Mattie had never gazed into his eyes deeply enough to know what colour they were, but they were hidden behind old-fashioned horn-rimmed glasses that looked like they’d been given out free on the NHS in the 1950s, which somehow worked for him. He also had an OK build, though Mattie didn’t spend much time speculating at what Tom looked like under his clothes. God forbid!
Tom’s physical attributes might be passable but his clothes were another issue entirely. A major issue. He wore trousers that looked like they’d started life as part of a suit belonging to a country curate or some other dull sort of man that had lived eighty years ago and had a fondness for sombre tweed. His shirts, always white, weren’t too objectionable but the ties he wore, sometimes a jaunty polka-dot bow-tie and sometimes a knitted tie, and the cardigan with its leather patches on the elbows, all offended Mattie’s eyes.
Then there was his personality. Mattie knew that he was bookish: he had spent the last four years working part-time in the shop while he also studied for a PhD in philosophy or late medieval literature or some other dusty, dry subject. He refused to go into the details so Mattie had always assumed that it was something very dull and boring, or else, why all the secrecy? Still, Tom never let anyone forget that he was big with the book smarts. He was always superior, always ready with a smart remark full of big-syllable words. It was a wonder he worked in a romantic fiction bookshop when his top lip curled at any mention of romantic fiction.
Mattie couldn’t imagine why Posy had kept him around for as long as she could, even letting him become full-time when he finally completed his PhD. Or why Tom hadn’t wanted to pursue an academic career. Probably because in academia, there were loads of tweedy, supercilious men and at least at Happy Ever After, he had novelty value.
Still, there was no way, no way in hell, Tom was taking this room out from under her, Mattie thought as she peered into the large living room with its original fireplace with beautiful tiled surround and, inevitably, fully stacked bookshelves on either side. There was also a quite hideous floral three-piece suite. ‘It’s much comfier than it looks,’ Posy promised. ‘And across the hall, this is the bathroom. We’ve just had a new shower installed.’
‘Perfect, love what you’ve done with it,’ Mattie murmured.
‘So much better than perfect,’ Tom insisted. ‘It’s very rare that I find a bath long enough that I can stretch out in it.’
‘Not getting involved,’ Posy said in a sing-song voice. She was in a much better mood this morning than she had been the evening before. Apparently she’d drunk a bottle of Gaviscon with her breakfast and her indigestion was temporarily abated. ‘Then this room is Nina’s. It is the bigger bedroom, but that’s neither here nor there, as Nina will be back imminently, I hope.’
‘She hasn’t said then?’ Mattie asked, as they all stared at the closed door of Nina’s room.
Posy shook her head. ‘No, she’s been very diligent with the remote marketing malarkey, but every time I ask her when she’s coming back, she ignores me. It’s very annoying, especially when I’m very pregnant.’
‘You’re only seven months pregnant. I think you’ve still got a few weeks to go before you’re very pregnant,’ Tom said, moving away from the door so he couldn’t see the daggers that Posy was shooting at him.
‘How would you know?’ she demanded. ‘When was the last time you were very pregnant?’
This was going much better than Mattie had imagined. Tom was going to talk himself out of the room without any help from her. Still, a little nudge couldn’t hurt.
‘Men don’t have periods either. Or the menopause. Or have to maintain ridiculous standards of grooming to conform to a patriarchal society’s ideal of what a woman should be,’ Mattie said with a sad sigh.
‘Good points, Mattie, but I’m still neutral,’ Posy said with a disapproving look. ‘Do you want to see the kitchen before we get to the room? And take your hand away from the door, Tom. I’m not having you go in there and try to bags it and claim that bagsying it is legally binding, like you did that time when The Midnight Bell only had one bowl of cheesy chips left.’
‘That was one time!’ But he stepped away from the door of Verity’s room and continued down the hall towards the kitchen, pausing in front of a strange bell-and-lever contraption fixed to the wall so he could give it a fond pat. ‘God bless you, Lady Agatha.’
The first owner of the bookshop had been one Lady Agatha Drysdale, who’d been gifted the business by her parents to distract her from her suffragette activities, with only limited success: Lady Ag was as passionate about women’s suffrage as she was about books.
‘It’s a butler’s bell that Lady Agatha installed so she could summon her employees up from the shop,’ Posy explained, giving it a fond pat herself. ‘Apparently, the wiring disintegrated some time in the seventies, which was a real shame. It would have been great to be able to do some summoning when Sam and I lived here.’
Posy and her younger brother Sam had lived above the shop almost all their lives. Lavinia, Lady Agatha’s daughter who’d by then inherited the shop and sounded as though she had been the most splendid woman, had employed Posy’s father to manage the bookshop and her mother to run the tearooms, but they’d died in a car accident some ten years before. Lavinia had continued to let Posy and Sam live above the shop, and when she died, she’d left both shop and flat to Posy. It also seemed as if she’d left Sebastian, her wildly dashing yet incredibly obnoxious grandson, to Posy too, for they were now married and expecting, and living in Lavinia’s house on the other side of Bloomsbury.
‘Though of course, you could have just summoned by text message,’ Mattie said, then she wished that she hadn’t because it sounded as if she was pouring cold water on Lady Agatha, when she wasn’t, she was just being practical. She also didn’t feel as if it were her place to give the butler’s bell a fond pat, so instead she dipped her head as she passed on her way to the kitchen.
‘It’s awfully small,’ Tom said, as they took in the old-fashioned kitchen cabinets painted a sunny primrose yellow with blue trim and grey Formica worktop. The kitchen wasn’t as small as the kitchen in the tearooms – there was even room for a small table, two chairs and a fridge-freezer – and Mattie wasn’t going to let Tom undermine her.
‘It’s a beautiful kitchen and anyway, size has absolutely nothing to do with it. I once made a triple-layer cake on a camping stove.’ So there, she wanted to add and stick her tongue out at Tom, but she resisted, though it took every ounce of strength that she had.
‘So, the room,’ Posy prompted, hands settling where her stomach used to be so she could rub soothing circles on her bump, which she did whenever she was agitated. ‘It used to be my room. It’s a nice size and the windows look out onto the mews.’
She squeezed past Mattie and Tom back the way she came, so she could open the door on a room. The room. The most perfect room. It was comfy and cosy but large enough for a double bed, a wardrobe, a chest of drawers and, of course, several bookcases. There were two picture windows and on this bright but chilly day, the weak winter sun streamed in.
‘It’s lovely,’ Mattie said in all sincerity.
‘I’ll take it,’ Tom said in a peremptory fashion, as if he dared Mattie to disagree, in which case he was doomed to disappointment. ‘I have worked in the shop longer than even Verity and Nina, yet they were still given first dibs on the rooms, which was very unfair, even though I never brought it up at the time.’ He tapped his chest. ‘That wounded me, Posy.’
‘Oh dear.’ Posy pulled a face. ‘It’s just that Verity is the manager and I just assumed that it would be less awkward to have Verity and Nina take the flat, on account of them being, like, ladies. Two ladies.’
‘When you assume, you make an ass out of you and me,’ Tom said gravely.
Mattie saw her chance and seized it with both hands. ‘Don’t call Posy an ass,’ she gasped in shocked tones. ‘And her pregnant, too! You know, it would be awkward, wouldn’t it, for Tom to share with Nina, Nina being a lady, but I’m a lady too, so that would be absolutely not awkward.’
‘Nina is my dear, dear friend,’ Tom said, his eyes flashing behind his glasses though his dear, dear friend Nina had once confided to Mattie that she suspected that Tom didn’t even need glasses and just wore them to make himself look even more like a tweedy nerd than he already did. ‘Also, it’s the twenty-first century, and if you won’t let me share a flat with a woman, then, I don’t want to, but I would have a very good case to take to a sexual discrimination trial.’
‘Yeah, nice try,’ Mattie blustered, because she could feel the flat slipping through her fingers.
Tom nodded. ‘Maybe even the European Court of Human Rights. It’s your decision, Posy.’
‘It’s not my decision,’ Posy said, backing out of the room. ‘I’m not making any decisions that are likely to cause my blood pressure to rise. I’m stressed out enough about all this Christmas stuff. You’ll have to decide between yourselves, like the sensible, grown-up, adult people that I know you both can be.’
Mattie hated to beg, but just because she hated something wasn’t a good enough reason not to.
‘No Posy, please, please, let me have the room. I have to be here by seven thirty, eight at the very latest. I get up at six every morning. Six o’clock! Then I have evening prep, which means I’m not home much before nine, so I have no social life and I’m living with my mother, and please, Tom. Come on, don’t be a dick about this.’
‘I’m not being a dick,’ Tom said, though he was totally being a dick as far as Mattie was concerned. ‘And my current living conditions are also far from ideal,’ he added stiffly, then pressed his lips together as Mattie and Posy waited expectantly.
‘Far from ideal, you say?’ Posy prodded, stepping back into the room, her eyes gleaming at the prospect of finally learning something, anything, about Tom’s private life.
‘Yes,’ Tom said evenly. ‘That’s what I said. You don’t need to know my personal business.’
‘Oh,’ Mattie said, making her eyes especially wide. ‘Oh. How odd!’
‘What’s odd?’ Posy asked, lowering herself onto Verity’s rather lovely blue velvet reading chair with some difficulty.
‘Well, it’s just that Tom doesn’t want everyone knowing his personal business and yet he wants to move into the flat above the shop.’ Mattie tried her best to look sorrowful, as if she’d just been told that her favourite French cooking chocolate was no longer available in the UK. ‘I’m sorry, Tom, but I don’t see how you’re going to maintain that work-life balance that’s so important to you if you take the room.’
‘I will, because unlike the rest of you, I’m perfectly capable of compartmentalising and also fixing a padlock to my bedroom door,’ Tom said in stern tones.
Posy snorted. ‘Yeah, right. I’ve asked you to perform several minor acts of household repair in the past, and you couldn’t do any of them.’
‘Couldn’t or wouldn’t,’ Tom said, and Posy looked furious, but then she remembered that she was being neutral and sank back in the chair.
‘You have to sort it out between you,’ she repeated, and it was clear that Tom wasn’t going to give an inch, and Mattie didn’t see why she should, so there was only one thing for it.
‘We’ll toss a coin,’ she said. ‘I don’t see any other way, do you?’
‘I don’t,’ Tom agreed, already pulling out a handful of loose change. ‘Heads or tails?’
‘Heads,’ Mattie said, her fingers crossed as Tom handed Posy a pound coin.
‘You’d better do the honours,’ he said with a Cheshire cat grin as if the flat was already his. ‘Being a neutral third party.’
Posy flipped the coin, failed to catch it so it fell to the floor and bounced off the skirting board, and Mattie and Tom were a whisker close to bumping heads as they rushed to see what side up it had landed.
‘Oh, tails,’ Tom said, not even bothering to hide his glee. ‘Bad luck, Mattie.’
‘Yes, sorry,’ Posy said with a weak flutter of her hands. Then she fluttered weakly again. ‘Sorry, can you give me a hand getting out of this chair? Or hire a hoist.’
Tom and Mattie took an arm each and tugged Posy out of the blue velvet depths. There was nothing for it now but to head back to the tearooms and maybe if Mattie worked like a dog all day, then she might be able to leave a whole fifteen minutes earlier than she normally did.
‘Are you all right, Mattie?’ Posy asked as they stepped back into the hall. ‘If past history is correct, Tom will soon be hooking up with someone and want to move in with them. Who would have thought that in the space of a year, Nina, Verity and I would all be in committed long-term relationships? I think Lavinia must have cast a spell on the shop before she died. Mattie! Mattie, I know you’re upset but can you start moving? Work to be done and all that.’
Mattie was rooted to the spot and staring at a closed door behind which there could be … ‘Is that a broom cupboard?’ she asked, because if it was a large broom cupboard, then maybe …
‘Oh, you don’t want to see in there. It’s nothing,’ Posy said quickly, a hand on Mattie’s back to push her along. ‘Absolutely nothing.’
‘I really don’t want to be the one to say this, but didn’t that used to be Sam’s room?’ Tom queried in a long-suffering voice.
‘Room! Hardly a room,’ Posy said, wriggling past Mattie so she could form a human, pregnant shield in front of the door. ‘Anyway, there’s stuff in there. So much stuff.’
‘Again, I really don’t want to say this either, but when you say “stuff”, do you actually mean a copious amount of books that you (a) haven’t got round to moving to your gigantic house in Bloomsbury, or (b) can’t move because you told Sebastian quite categorically that was the very last of your books when you managed to fill two van-loads? Or is it (c) you actually killed Nina some months ago and that’s where her decomposing body is wrapped in bin bags? I thought I could smell something funny.’
Posy gave Tom a feeble slap on the arm. ‘Of course I haven’t killed Nina. I think the smell is just Verity’s newest meditation candle.’
‘Which just leaves (a) and (b),’ Mattie said, folding her arms and planting herself squarely so that Posy was hemmed in. ‘Which is it?’
‘OK, it’s (a),’ Posy admitted. ‘Also, (b). It used to be Sam’s room and now it’s my overspill books room.’ She pouted winsomely in a way that would have had Sebastian Thorndyke agreeing to build an extension to their already very big house just so that Posy could have more books. ‘I’ve filled every last shelf and bookcase that we own and Sebastian made me promise on my first edition of I Capture the Castle that for every new book I brought into the house, a book had to leave. It was very unreasonable of him.’
Mattie would never understand what the deal was with the Happy Ever After staff and all their many, many, many books. ‘Really, Posy, couldn’t you just go digital? Have you any idea how many books you could put on an e-reader?’
Posy made a furious huffing noise.
‘Best not to go there,’ Tom advised as he reached over his huffing boss to open the door to her unofficial library. ‘Anyway, look, there’s no room to swing a cat. Not even a very small cat.’
Mattie peered around the door and for one moment she thought that, annoyingly, Tom was right. There were piles of books, books and yet more books, and it was a wonder that the floor joists hadn’t given way. But when she tried to visualise the room without any books, it was … not spacious, but definitely bigger than a broom cupboard.
‘You could get a single bed in there,’ she decided, which was fortunate because she hadn’t shared a bed with anyone since … Anyway, she had no plans to share her bed with anyone. Ever. ‘And a clothes rail. Maybe even a shelf on the wall.’
‘I suppose … I could mention to Sebastian that I’d overlooked some books?’ Posy said, rubbing her bump. ‘And I am carrying his child, which is a very useful thing to bring up when I want to win an argument. Besides, Sam managed perfectly well in this room for years.’
Mattie smiled aggressively at Tom, who looked quite taken aback and blinked uncertainly. ‘Well, I guess we’re both moving in, then.’
‘I guess we are,’ Tom said.
Mattie gestured at the room. ‘And I’m sure you’ll be comfortable in here. If it was good enough for Sam, then I’m sure it will be fine for you.’
‘Why should I get stuck with this glorified cupboard?’ Tom asked incredulously.
‘Because you’re a man,’ Mattie said with a dismissive wave of her hand, as if Tom’s so-called manliness was in question.
‘That’s reverse sexism,’ Tom said.
‘It’s not. It means that I’m a woman, so obviously I have more things than you,’ Mattie pointed out with a slight gritting of her teeth. ‘Clothes and things.’
Tom swept his eyes over Mattie, then it was his turn to employ a dismissive wave of his hand. ‘You can’t have that many clothes. You wear the same thing every single day.’
‘Not the exact same thing! I have multiple pieces. I’m not some dirty Gertie with poor personal hygiene.’ Mattie had rarely been so offended, and also so paranoid that she wished she could give each of her armpits a surreptitious sniff.
‘Still, I already won the coin toss for Very’s old room so you’ll have to make do with this one.’ Tom was now smiling as if his superior intellectual prowess had once again triumphed.
‘Not fair. We’ll toss again,’ Mattie demanded and she wanted to stamp her foot so much that her toes curled up in her Converse.
But in the end she lost the toss – though she wouldn’t have put it past Tom to have a special double-tails pound coin solely so he could win coin tosses – and had no option but to smile thinly and say, ‘Fine, I hope you’ll be happy in your needlessly large room.’
‘Thanks, I’m sure I will,’ Tom said with another mocking smile, and it wasn’t until she was finally back on her home turf that Mattie could give way to her true feelings.
‘I hate him!’ she exclaimed, to the surprise of Cuthbert and several customers.
‘“Hate” is a very strong word,’ Cuthbert admonished, putting his hands over a couple of Jezebel’s levers as if he didn’t want the coffee machine to hear any harsh words.
‘It’s not strong enough,’ Mattie said as she stomped into the kitchen, which sadly had no door that she could slam.
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Annie Darling
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 25.04.2024
Отзывы: Пока нет Добавить отзыв
О книге: A heartwarming and hilarious Christmas romance!Tis the season to be jolly!But on Rochester Mews, two unlikely lovebirds are struggling to find their festive cheer.Star baker Mattie has hated Christmas ever since she had her heart broken on Christmas Eve. The only thing she hates more is the insufferable Tom, who has rubbed her up the wrong way since she started running the tearoom next door to his bookshop. So when Mattie and Tom are left in charge in the frantic festive days before Christmas, it might be cold outside but things are sure to heat up.Can a bookshop full of romantic novels, a life-sized reindeer and a mistletoe kissing booth persuade two scrooges to fall in love with Christmas… and each other?