Scarlet Wilson - A New Year Bride

What if…?

The idea came out of nowhere. At least, that was how it seemed. He was flying back to Scotland on Boxing Day to see his family. Chances were, this would be the last time he would see Grace between now and then.

There were a dozen little flashes in his brain. Grace on the roof. Touching the tear that had rolled down her cheek. Drinking hot chocolate with her. The gleam in her eyes when she was cheeky to him. The expression on her face when she’d tried on the pink coat. The wash of emotions when he’d spotted the little girl and bought the rocking horse for her Christmas. Grace’s ruffled hair and pushed-up shirt as she’d wound in hundreds of purple bulbs. The way she’d clapped her hands together when he’d first seen the tree.

And the feel of her lips on his. Her warm curves against his. The soft satin of her dress under the palm of his hand.

He’d felt more alive in the last week than he had in the last five years.

And that was all because of Grace.

He reached out to touch her arm. ‘It’s been nice to meet you. Enjoy Christmas Day.’

The words were nowhere near adequate. They didn’t even begin to cover what he wanted to say or what was circulating in his brain.

Grace’s dark brown eyes met his. For a second he thought she was going to say the same thing. Then, her bottom lip started to tremble and tears welled in her eyes. ‘I’ll be working as normal.’

He blinked. What?

Why would the girl who loved Christmas not be spending it with her family and friends?

‘What do you mean—you’re working? Don’t you have plans with those you love?’

As soon as the words were out he realised he’d said exactly the wrong thing. The tears that had pooled in her eyes flooded over and rolled down her cheeks.

He reached out his arms to her. ‘What on earth’s wrong? Grace? Tell me?’

She was shaking and when the words came out it was the last thing he expected.

‘There’s no family. My gran…she died…she died a few months ago. And now, there’s just no one. I can’t face anything.’ She looked at him, her gaze almost pleading. ‘I thought I could do this. I thought I could. I thought if I kept busy and kept working everything would just fall into place. I wouldn’t have time to miss her so much.’ She kept shaking her head. ‘But it’s harder than I could ever imagine. Everywhere I go, everywhere I look, I see people—families together, celebrating Christmas the way I used to. Even Mrs Archer—I love her—but I’m finding it so hard to be around her. She reminds me so much of my gran. The way she speaks, her mannerisms, her expressions.’ She looked down as she kept shaking her head. ‘I just want this to be over.’ Now, she looked outside again into the dark night. In the distance they could see the Christmas red and white lights outlining Battersea Power Station. ‘I just want Christmas to be over,’ she breathed.

Every hair on his arms stood on end. He got it. He got all of it.

The loneliness. The happy people around about, reminding you of what you’d lost. The overwhelming emotions that took your breath away when you least expected it.

He put his hands on her shoulders. ‘Grace, you don’t need to be here. You don’t need to work at Christmas. It’s fine. We can cover your shifts. Take some time off. Get away from this. The last thing you want to do is watch other families eating Christmas dinner together. Stay home. Curl up in bed. Eat chocolate.’

It seemed like the right thing to say. Comfort. Away from people under her nose.

But Grace’s eyes widened and she pulled back. ‘What? No. You think I want to be alone? You think I want to spend the whole of Christmas without talking to anyone, without seeing another living soul? Do you think anything looks worse on a plate than Christmas dinner for one?’

As she spoke he cringed. What he’d thought might take her away from one type of agony would only lead her to another. He hated this. He hated seeing the pain in her eyes. The hurt. The loneliness. He recognised them all too well. He’d worn the T-shirt himself for five years.

He squeezed her shoulders. ‘Then what is it you want for Christmas, Grace? What is it you want to do? What would be your perfect Christmas?’

His agitation was rising. She’d got herself so worked up that her whole body was shaking. He hated that. He hated she was so upset. Why hadn’t he realised she was alone? Why hadn’t he realised she was suffering a bereavement just as he was?

Grace had always been so upbeat around him, so full of life that he’d missed the signs. He knew better than most that you only revealed the side of you that you wanted people to see.

He’d been struck by Grace’s apparent openness. But she’d built the same guard around her heart as he had. It didn’t matter that it was different circumstances. This year, she felt just as alone as he had over the last five.

He didn’t want that for her. He didn’t want that for Grace.

What if…?

The thought came out of nowhere. He didn’t know quite what to do with it.

Her eyes flitted between him and the outside view. ‘Tell me, Grace. Tell me what your ideal Christmas would be. What do you want for Christmas?’ His voice was firm as he repeated his question. The waver in her voice and tears had been too much for him. Grace was a kind and good person. She didn’t deserve to be lonely this Christmas. He had enough money to buy just about anything and he was willing to spend it to wipe that look off her face.

Her mouth opened but the words seemed to stall.

‘What?’ he prompted gently.

‘I want a proper Christmas,’ she breathed. ‘One with real snow, and a log fire, and a huge Christmas turkey that’s almost too big to get in the oven.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I want to be able to smell a real Christmas tree again and I want to spend all day—or all night—decorating it the way I used to with my gran. I want to go into the kitchen and bake Christmas muffins and let the smell drift all around.’ She squeezed her eyes closed for a second. ‘And I don’t want to be alone.’

Finlay was dumbstruck. She hadn’t mentioned gifts or ‘things’. Grace didn’t want perfume or jewels. She hadn’t any yearning for materialistic items.

She wanted time. She wanted company. She wanted the Christmas experience.

He glanced out of the window again. He was a little confused. Snow dusted the top of every rooftop in London—just as it had for the last week.

‘What do you mean by snow?’ he said carefully.

She opened her eyes again as he released his hands from her shoulders. She held out her hands. ‘You know—real snow. Snow that’s so thick you can hardly walk in it. Snow you can lie down on and do snow angels without feeling the pavement beneath your shoulder blades. Snow that there’s actually enough of to build a snowman and make snowballs with. Snow that, when you look out, all you can see is white with little bumps and you wonder what they actually are.’ He could hear the wonder in her voice, the excitement. She’d stopped being so sad and was actually imagining what she wished Christmas could be like.

‘And then you go inside the house and all you can smell is the Christmas tree, and the muffins, and then listen to the crackle of the real fire as you try and dry off from being outside.’ She was smiling now. It seemed that Grace Ellis could tell him exactly what she wanted from this Christmas.

And he knew exactly where she could get it. The snow scene in her head—he’d seen that view a hundred times. The crackling fire—he had that too.

This was Grace. The person who’d shot a little fire into his blood in the last few days. The person who’d made him laugh and smile at times. The girl with the warm heart who had let him realise the future might not be quite as bleak as he’d once imagined.