If Every Day Was Christmas: A gorgeous and heart-warming Christmas romance Read online

  ‘Meg. It’s Dad…’ Meg waited. ‘We got your Christmas card and note – you always were efficient. Your mum’s not happy. In fact, she’s been behaving really oddly since she read it. Things have been difficult…’

  Things were always difficult. Meg steeled her heart.

  ‘You know we love having the family together for Christmas – it’s the one day of the year when we manage to get on.’ The honest message was at odds with the usual jollity and jokes her dad used to deflect and hide his real emotions. ‘But you’re right. The time has come for us to move on. Now you’re older, I’ve got something to tell you, something we’ve kept from you and your sister for too long. It might help to explain things between me and your mother… it might help you to understand why we’re always at odds.’ His voice was gruff. ‘Meg, I—’ He stopped, and there was a short silence and then a long sigh. ‘On second thoughts, it might be better if I didn’t leave this in a message. You may have things you want to ask… I’ll try to call again soon.’ He paused. ‘And I might just check with your mother first.’

  The message ended abruptly. Meg tried to call back, but no one answered. She was left staring at the mobile, wondering what her dad had been about to say. Perhaps telling her this secret was just his attempt to make her break her Christmas Promise this year.

  Two

  Tom Riley-Clark bumped up over a small snowdrift and limped his four-by-four to the edge of the road, before switching the engine off. Then he hopped out so he could check the tyre, pulling the collar of his flimsy jacket up to meet the curls of dark hair that teased his neck in a useless attempt to ward off the cold.

  ‘Dammit.’ He kicked the tyre a couple of times for good measure, because yeah, that always worked. In the back of the car his dappled basset hound, Cooper, whined and licked condensation off the window so he could peer out. ‘We’re not going anywhere, boy. Looks like we’ll need Davey to rescue us – he ought to be used to that by now.’ He pulled his mobile from his back pocket and cursed when he found he had no signal. ‘Perfect,’ he grumbled, popping the boot open so he could pull out the spare. It had been years since he’d helped his grandfather change the tyre in his Audi, but he still had arms, didn’t he? He wasn’t completely useless. At least, that’s what he’d been trying to prove to himself.

  He hauled the tyre out of the back and dropped it onto the ground with a grunt, pulling a face when he realised it was flat. Even after three years of being out of the music business, away from the entourage who used to efficiently organise his life, he still hadn’t mastered the art of planning ahead. He cursed and lugged the tyre back into the boot. When he got to Lockton he’d find a garage and deal with it.

  Tom took a moment to scan his surroundings. He was on a wide road blanketed in a deep layer of snow. To his right stood a range of jagged mountains which he’d been told offered stunning views, although today they looked bitterly cold and a little ominous. To his left, white fields led to a lower mountain range. Behind him, the road was already a puffy white as snowflakes layered themselves over the tyre tracks he’d left minutes earlier. Tom already knew he’d find nothing but snow and empty fields for at least another five or six miles – with little prospect of running into anything with two legs. Unless the legends his friend Davey had warned him about included a yeti. A gust of frigid wind blew across his shoulders, dumping slivers of icy snow onto the back of his neck. He shivered and opened the car door again so he could climb inside. He contemplated walking to Lockton for a nanosecond, before checking his mobile again for a signal.

  ‘Looks like we’re stuck until someone passes,’ he muttered to Cooper, opening the glove compartment and pulling out a snack for his dog, sighing because he’d eaten all his emergency chocolate four days ago. They sat in silence, staring at the empty road as Tom tried to figure out his next move. He was about five miles from Lockton, five miles of deep snow and inhospitable road. He was stuck, empty and alone, and the whole thing felt like a mirror of his life. ‘Five miles…’ He began to hum under his breath, subconsciously crafting a song, until Cooper barked and Tom realised with a start that not only had he been singing, but someone had just pulled up behind them.

  Tom hopped out, ignoring the snow seeping into his comfortable but not-so-sensible hi-tops. He stood for a moment, taking in the parked van, wondering if his life had just taken another bizarre turn. Or if someone was playing a trick on him?

  The van was bright red with reindeer painted in vivid colours on the bonnet. Illustrated reins stretched across the front door and led towards the back, where a sleigh weighed down with a chubby, maniacally grinning Santa and dozens of Christmas presents decorated the side. The driver’s door opened and an elf got out. She – at least, Tom thought it was female – wore a snowsuit with green legs and a bright red tunic top with gold buttons and a green collar that led upwards to a mass of long, blonde hair and a pointy hat. Tom stepped closer and his breath caught as the elf raised her blue eyes to meet his. She was stunning – movie-star stunning. He’d met his fair share of gorgeous women – had dated a few and had even been married to one for a while. Being a musician climbing the ladder of fame had made him attractive – and in those dark days his ego had demanded he surround himself with the rich and beautiful. But he’d never felt like this – as if his heart were about to fly out of his chest and lay itself at someone’s feet, like a trout gulping for its final breath. The feeling was unsettling.

  ‘Need some help?’ the elf asked, in an accent Tom recognised as from somewhere down south, similar to his own. Not from around here then, his addled brain concluded as he tried to pull himself together. The elf grinned when he didn’t answer, making his heart thump uncomfortably hard. He waited for a flicker of recognition, and was relieved when her expression didn’t alter. ‘If you tell me what you need, I’ll see if Santa can deliver it.’ Her full pink lips rose in a confused smile when he continued to gape. ‘Are you okay? Did you bang your head? Do you need to lie down?’ She sounded concerned and Tom cleared his throat at last.

  ‘Flat tyre, sorry. You confused me for a moment.’

  ‘Not used to seeing elves out in the daytime?’ she asked with a sunny smile. ‘I get that a lot. Santa gave me the day off, we’ve almost finished wrapping the presents. Well, it is the first of December.’ She laughed when he struggled for a response. ‘And that was a joke. I’m not a nutter. Meg Scott.’ She stepped forwards and held out a green-gloved hand which Tom took and swiftly shook. ‘I don’t really work for Santa, but I do run a Christmas shop. It’s why I’m out in this weather, delivering Christmas supplies to a client in Morridon,’ she added. So that explained the wheels and outfit.

  ‘Tom Riley-Clark,’ he said, annoyed when his voice came out all husky. He’d barely looked at a woman since his wife had left him and his life had imploded on Christmas Day three years before, and had no desire to feel this attracted to anyone. Least of all a Christmas-obsessed elf. ‘My tyre.’ He drifted off when she walked up to his car and grinned at Cooper.

  ‘I’m guessing you have no spare?’ she asked in that sing-song voice, opening the door so his dog could jump out. Did she ever stop smiling? Tom watched Meg kneel down to scratch Cooper behind the ears as he tapped his paws on the snow, looking shocked by the cold and a little put out.

  ‘It’s flat,’ he said, feeling surprisingly stupid.

  ‘Then make sure you add “new tyre” to the top of your Christmas list,’ she joked.

  ‘I don’t believe in Father Christmas, I don’t like Christmas and I’m not a fan of this time of year,’ Tom ground out, regretting the words almost the instant they left his mouth – but he was grouchy, unsettled and decidedly off-balance. And she was leading his dog to that ridiculous red vehicle with Santa painted on the side, and opening the door. Worse, Cooper was climbing onto the back seat. Traitor. Meg stopped smiling and shrugged as something swept across her face. Disappointment? He didn’t know her well enough to read it.

  ‘Figures,’ she sai
d under her breath. ‘Then believe in fate, and thank your lucky stars I came by. This road can be mighty quiet in the winter and the sun’s getting ready to set.’ She swept her eyes up to his face and this time they didn’t sparkle. ‘I can drop you in Lockton if you like. There’s a hotel and a pub. You could warm up, find a place to stay and call a garage. You’re unlikely to find anyone who can fix your tyre tonight.’ She left the passenger door wide open as she tramped over to the driver’s side.

  ‘I’m heading to Apple Cross Inn.’ Tom noticed her eyes flash with interest. He grabbed his bag out of his car and locked it before climbing in beside her. ‘I’m friends with the landlord.’

  ‘Then you’d better dig deep for some festive spirit,’ Meg said as she closed her door. ‘Because Davey’s already put the tinsel out.’

  Tom watched as she pulled off the elf gloves to expose small, slim hands and fingernails painted with tiny snowman faces. His stomach rumbled, suddenly giving away the fact that he hadn’t eaten for hours. She dug into the pocket of her elf suit and pulled out a chocolate bar, handing it to him without a word.

  ‘Thanks,’ Tom said, surprised. He opened it as she fired up the engine and took a bite before pulling on his seatbelt, ignoring the Christmas tree-shaped air freshener dangling from the rear-view mirror. He was surprised by the traction of the van’s wheels on the snow as they headed past his Land Rover, towards Lockton. After a few minutes of silence, Meg switched the CD player on and Mariah Carey’s ‘All I Want For Christmas Is You’ filled the van. Tom saw her lips quirk as she concentrated on the road, and he wondered if she was deliberately provoking him. The snow was coming down in huge clumps now and the wind had picked up. The windscreen wipers were up to maximum and he could hear the motor whirring. In the back, Cooper moaned.

  ‘He’s a fair-weather dog,’ Tom said by way of explanation. ‘A rescue. By the way he reacts to snow, I’m guessing he hails from the Bahamas.’

  ‘Then what are you doing in Scotland?’ Meg asked. ‘We’re having one of our coldest winters for twenty years. You might have to think about getting him a coat. I sell dog jumpers in my shop, but they’re Christmas-themed.’ Cooper let out a happy bark. ‘I’m thinking he doesn’t share your feelings on the festive season,’ she said dryly.

  ‘He’s new.’ Tom stared out of the window. ‘And he probably thought you were talking about food. In answer to your question, I’m here to help Davey. He needs an extra pair of hands in the pub during December. One of his bar people, Norm something…’

  ‘Stout,’ Meg filled in.

  Tom nodded. ‘He’s had an operation on his knee and he’s staying with his sister for a month.’

  Meg gave him a half-smile. ‘So you’re the temporary barman. Davey said something about you visiting a few weeks ago. Good luck with avoiding Christmas… you couldn’t have come in a worse month.’ They reached the outskirts of what was probably Lockton and Tom stared out as they passed an enormous tree decorated with tinsel and glass baubles, before they pulled up outside Apple Cross Inn.

  After Meg had zoomed off down the high street in her ridiculous van, Tom stood just inside the door of the pub and took in the low ceilings, green walls and small bar which was busy with customers. In the corner of the cosy room a fire roared. Beside that, a Christmas tree twinkled with red and green lights and clusters of shiny baubles. Tom swallowed and took another step forwards as the song that had been filling the room changed.

  He recognised the tune immediately, the soulful mix of bass guitar, drums and keyboards – the words he’d written that first Christmas morning he’d woken with his new wife, Marnie. He’d been living in a bubble, a fame-fuelled, money-soaked, artificial world. Where nothing mattered but his next hit, the newest way to stroke his already-inflated ego. A couple of years before he’d left his band as the whole house of cards had come tumbling down – and he’d realised the sorry truth about himself and his life.

  Something twisted in his gut but he couldn’t put a name to it. Sometimes it was hard to articulate what he felt. Which, for a man who’d made his name transcribing every tear, laugh and minute emotion so he could add a soundtrack to it and share it with the world, was irony at its best. Tom stood for the whole three minutes and thirty-eight seconds that the song played, unable to move his feet. Cooper stayed beside him – man’s best friend, and aside from Davey and his grandfather, the only real one he had in the world.

  ‘Tom.’ Davey spotted him almost the instant the song ended and strode across the pub, beaming. They hadn’t seen each other for almost three years, when Davey had been both witness and saviour as Tom’s life had collapsed. Davey was one of the few people who’d wanted to continue to know Tom after he’d walked away from his career – and had helped him pick up the pieces in those first few weeks. His friend looked good, younger somehow. His tall, wiry frame had filled out since they’d last seen each other, and his blue eyes were still sharp but he looked more relaxed. ‘Meg just called from her van to tell me you had car trouble and to see if I could help. I spoke to a friend at the bar who has the same make and he’ll lend you a tyre until we can get yours fixed. I’ll help you get it sorted tomorrow.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Tom said, taken aback, not used to simple acts of kindness that demanded nothing in return. ‘The pub looks good – you too.’

  Davey slapped him gently on the back. ‘Give it a couple of weeks and Lockton will work its magic on you. Do you want me to take you to the cottage?’

  ‘The bar looks busy,’ Tom observed. ‘Don’t you need some help?’ There were more people waiting at the counter now, and a lone woman with curly red hair tied in bunches that trailed down her back was serving them.

  ‘Matilda will be fine, and I didn’t expect you to start working the moment you arrived. Remember my twin, Johnny?’

  ‘No, sorry.’ He’d forgotten a lot of good people he’d met in the old days; for some reason he’d always seemed to hang on to the wrong ones. None of those had lasted the course. When he’d walked away from his career, he’d been less appealing for most.

  ‘He lives here too and makes all the food for the pub, so he’ll help if it’s needed. He put some meals together for you so your fridge is full, and there are tins for the dog just in case you run out.’ Davey paused for long enough to scratch Cooper’s head. ‘I’ll take you to where you’ll be staying so you can settle in, and we can catch up properly tomorrow.’

  The cottage was only a five-minute drive away in Davey’s truck, which attacked the snow like a pro. The double-fronted building was situated in the middle of nowhere and there were no close neighbours that Tom could see. Davey parked in front and they all hopped out. The building was separated from the surrounding fields by a hip-level brick wall which framed a small garden that would probably be overflowing with wildflowers in the summer, but at the moment was swimming in snow. Davey opened a wrought-iron gate which squeaked and headed for the front door, creating a dotted pathway with his footsteps.

  As they approached, Tom read the small sign above the door. ‘Christmas Cottage?’ he asked, shaking his head, wondering if this whole day was some kind of cosmic joke.

  ‘Came with the house,’ Davey said. ‘I figure it’ll go down well with the tourists.’

  The heating in the cottage must have been turned on earlier, because the air was warm when they walked inside. Cooper instantly trotted through the hall into a sitting room, homing in on the grate of an open fireplace in the corner, and sniffing at the unlit pieces of wood. ‘I’m thinking of offering the place as a rental,’ Davey explained, switching on three large lamps which threw a cosy light across the surfaces, picking out the white painted walls. There were a couple of brown leather sofas facing the fireplace and a huge, fluffy red rug which the dog slumped onto with a weary groan. ‘There are two bedrooms, both made up so choose whichever you want, a bathroom, kitchen-diner and boot room where you can store all of your stuff. It’s small but perfectly formed.’ He flashed an easy smile which lit his hand
some face. ‘I didn’t have time to get you any Christmas decorations, but Meg has a shop in town if you want to pick something up – I’ll pay for them. I’m guessing they’ll come in handy when I rent the place.’

  ‘I’m good.’ Tom grimaced as his mind lingered on the blonde, blue-eyed elf. ‘I’d rather keep the place bauble-free.’ A fitting metaphor for his life.

  Davey looked like he was going to say something but in the end he shrugged. ‘Suit yourself. All the materials for the new kitchen are in the shed in the garden. I didn’t think you’d want them getting under your feet. But please don’t feel like you have to do DIY while you’re staying. You’re doing me enough of a favour helping out at the pub.’

  ‘I want to.’ Tom had offered to put in new kitchen units for Davey – both as a thank you for having him and because he preferred to keep busy. To offset the feelings of emptiness he couldn’t seem to shake.

  ‘You’ve no close neighbours,’ Davey continued. ‘So if you want to play your music loud, feel free.’ He pointed to a beautiful Gibson guitar set on a stand in the corner of the room. ‘I got it out of storage. One of the bands I worked with gifted it to me when I moved up here, but as you know I’m not blessed with musical genes.’

  ‘I don’t play anymore,’ Tom said, ignoring the tingle in his fingers as they conjured the feel of the taut strings. Muscle memory, intent on torturing him.