Sue Moorcroft - The Little Village Christmas

She lifted her gaze to the beautiful plaster ceiling roses where big glass lights had dangled until Shane took them down to protect them. ‘I’m amazed nobody bought the place just to get the period features and sell them to a reclamation yard. The moulded brickwork on the front elevation alone must be worth a fortune. Maybe the grounds were so overgrown that everyone forgot The Angel was here.’

‘Until Uncle Gabe decided his tree surgeon nephew would love to take out all the overgrowth.’

‘It does seem as if you’ve been handy,’ she agreed, glad to see the faint smile return. His default expression seemed so grim. ‘Luckily, Gabe not only knew The Angel was here but was willing to invest in the building to give the village its coffee shop if additional funds could be raised to see it restored. Otherwise, The Angel would probably have fallen down from neglect.’

‘Generous of the village to contribute.’

‘What swung it was that the village hall had to close because the roof timbers are rotting. They’ll cost a massive amount to replace, much more than to fix up The Angel. The village hall committee’s obliged to slog through applying for grants and asking the county for money. We were able to just spring into action.’

He quirked a brow. ‘Bad luck for the village hall.’

‘I do feel disloyal. I’ve been to the hall to so many parties and stuff. But accommodating all the groups that used to meet at the village hall meant Jodie and Gabe could call it a community café and start fundraising.’ Alexia led him through a doorway. ‘This was the poor-relation bar. It says “Public” in the glass in the door – when the door’s hanging where it’s meant to be.’ She flicked a switch as she stepped into the room and the strip light flickered into life. A couple of stray slivers of 1970’s woodchip wallpaper lingered up near the ceiling, suggesting the Public hadn’t been deemed worthy of the red flock of the Bar Parlour. ‘It’s where pub customers used to play skittles and darts. It’s not as grand as the Bar Parlour but will work brilliantly for groups.’

Ben gazed around the big empty room with its scarred floorboards. ‘I’m surprised that whoever orchestrates things at the village hall didn’t say the funds you raised ought to go to them.’

‘I’m afraid that’s exactly what’s happened,’ Alexia acknowledged ruefully. ‘The village hall committee’s headed up by the formidable Carola, the one who demanded fish at the barbecue. She’s vehemently opposed to the community café and says the villagers should never have been asked to raise money for a building and a business that belongs to an individual. But nobody had their arm twisted. The village hall and The Angel Café have no relationship to each other, and Gabe, Jodie, me and your boss, Christopher Carlysle, who accepted responsibility for The Community Café fund, aren’t about to hand over the dosh to Carola.’

A suspicion of a twinkle lit Ben’s eye. ‘If I hadn’t come from a small town myself I’d be astonished at the politics.’ Then his phone beeped and he pulled it out to silence it. ‘Interesting as this is, I’m going to have to get home. That’s the alert to remind me that Barney needs his dinner.’

‘You must feed him.’ Alexia felt a tiny prickle of disappointment at losing his company, not to mention an opportunity for her to spout about her pet project, but told herself not to be so idiotic. ‘I’ll hang on here for a bit longer before I lock up.’

He hesitated. ‘On your own?’

She rolled her eyes. ‘Don’t you start! I could run around Middledip at night with my hands full of cash and nothing bad would happen. Honestly, I’ll wander home when I’m ready.’

‘Giving your friends time to quiet down?’ He half-smiled, his eyes bright in the overhead light.

She felt her cheeks heat up again. ‘That would be the plan.’

‘Can’t you just tell them to be more considerate? It’s your house.’

‘I could. But if I can move my career in the direction I want to then Jodie’s hoping Shane will move in when I move out. Two lots of rent will smooth my way considerably.’

Grey eyes thoughtful, he considered her. Almost offhandedly he said, ‘I can’t leave Barney hungry. He’s so young he needs feeding three times a day. You could come and meet him, if you want? It would fill an hour before you go home.’

Alexia debated quickly. It wasn’t that she couldn’t find something to keep her occupied for an hour or two at The Angel but, truthfully, she was intrigued by the idea of a late evening stroll through the woods with this man. He termed himself an oddball like his Uncle Gabe, but Gabe just happened to be one of the nicest men she’d ever known. Going over her plans for The Angel could wait. ‘I’d love to meet Barney and see how Woodward Cottage has turned out.’

They ferried the cooling grills into the kitchen in case of rain, then Ben waited as Alexia locked the big front door before they stepped together into the quiet night-time village.

Ben paused. ‘We could walk down Little Lane and hook back on ourselves up the track to the cottage, but it’s about three miles. It’s quicker to take the footpaths, if you’re not scared of the dark. I have a torch on my phone.’

Alexia laughed at the idea she might be scared. ‘I grew up here. I know my way around the bridleways and my phone has a torch, too.’ A feeling was fluttering about inside her. But it wasn’t fear.

Angling right and crossing Port Road, Ben lit up his phone ready to leave the pavement and take the bridleway. Beside him, Alexia followed suit. The bright white lights illuminated the path and the vegetation that soon replaced the fences on either side. Insects flitted through the beams as if anxious about what the humans were up to.

What was he up to?

He glanced at Alexia. ‘Certain you don’t want to go around by the road?’

In the backwash of the light he saw her brows lift. ‘What, walk three miles instead of one? The bridleways are safe.’ She reminded him of the cartoon character Betty Boop with her dark curls and mischievous smile. And her curves.

She also possessed the easy confidence and self-sufficiency that made him see why, by trying to look after her, her old boyfriend had been doing exactly what was most likely to aggravate her.

‘OK, if you’re sure.’ He set off again, deciding to accept it all as part of this strange ending to an odd day.

It had begun badly.

Opening his mail, he’d discovered he’d been granted his decree nisi.

Just plain white paper with typing on, he hadn’t even realised what it was at first. He’d stood on the old flags of Woodward Cottage reading the words that symbolised his failure and loss. Grief had risen up and made him want to break things, which was the only reason he’d given in to Gabe’s urging to attend the wrecking party.

He’d hurled stuff into the skips as if each bent curtain rod or cracked mirror had caused the end of his marriage. He’d only meant to hang about for one drink to wash the dust from his throat but then Alexia had arrived in front of him with big eyes and a wide smile and launched friendliness at him like a missile. When he’d tried discouraging her with boorishness he’d found himself apologising the instant hurt and dismay had filtered across her features.

When her infectious smile forgave him it had been as if she’d released one of his inner knots of tension.

Fun seemed to radiate from Alexia at a time when he’d all but forgotten what fun was. It had made him feel the first inclination to reclaim that distant, half-forgotten Ben, the one who’d liked a good time.

As the evening had progressed he’d found himself enjoying her company, wanting to know more about her, being interested in what she had to say.