Sue Moorcroft - The Little Village Christmas

Finally, she’d made him think about the decree nisi not as a symbol of failure but of liberty. A strange topsy-turvy instinct had seemed to pop the invitation to Woodward Cottage out of his mouth and he’d probably looked just as surprised as she had.

Maybe it was just basic need, but now a startling question was revolving in his mind. Could he still pull? It had been eight years since he’d made love to anyone but Imogen. Then for two years he’d gone without sex in a daze of pain and grief. Strange that the urge should flood back today but it was swamping him, compelling him to ease the need.

This woman beside him, with her smile and fitted T-shirt, was paying attention to him. It wasn’t that she was the only woman who’d done that since Imogen and Lloyd had ripped his guts out … just the only one he’d responded to.

He was man enough to admit to himself that her being commitment-averse and aiming to get out of the village at no distant date was attractive, too.

He cleared his throat. ‘So tell me more about your career plans.’ He might be rusty but he was pretty sure asking a girl about herself was a safe conversational gambit.

Alexia gave a little skip as if the subject put springs in her heels. ‘I’m an interior decorator.’

‘Painting and wallpapering?’ He could envisage her up a ladder wielding a paint roller. She’d seemed completely at home getting her hands dirty at the wrecking party.

‘No, that’s a painter and decorator. I do some of the same hands-on things but also project manage, come up with ideas and overviews, and produce some one-off and bespoke decorative items. In DIY, a householder decides on the look they want, sources the materials and carries out the decorating. I’m kind of the alternative option, working with clients to give them ideas and help them decide what they want. Then I create it, either via sub-contractors or by doing the work myself. Sometimes it’s a redecoration of a single room; sometimes it’s a much bigger project, particularly refurbishments. I’ve made it my business to build up a fantastic network of tradesmen who like working with me because I listen to them and properly utilise their skills. Do you know how vastly tradesmen are underrated? Especially by certain architects and designers.’

Taking the right-hand fork in the path, she climbed the stile that marked the beginning of Carlysle land, dropping down lightly on the other side. ‘My friend, Elton, started training at the same time I did. He stayed the course and became an interior designer, making him vastly superior to me – he thinks.’

He swung himself over the stile in her wake. ‘But didn’t you just say you are an interior designer?’

‘No.’ She came to a halt as if she couldn’t make him understand while she was in motion. ‘I’m an interior decorator . An interior designer has a professional qualification, a degree. As Elton never ceases to remind me, I dropped out of uni.’ She sent Ben a conspiratorial grin. ‘But I put up with his superiority because he’s working for an investment property developer. He wants to concentrate on acquiring the properties and he’s looking for someone else to oversee projects – which could be me! So I’m working hard on getting my portfolio and website “looking great and up-to-date”. Elton won’t present me to the investor until he’s completely happy.’

They started off again, Ben following Alexia along the narrow path, and soon approached the point where the path curved round the small lake. Ben realised he was training the beam from his phone onto Alexia’s behind, and angled it down to her feet. ‘But it’s all dependent on one money man?’

Glancing over her shoulder, she sent him a look of slight reproof. ‘Money woman . She’s made a lot in industry, apparently, and now she’s making more by investing her money via Elton and telling him to spin it into gold.’

‘I can see why you’d want to be part of that. Will your parents mind you leaving the village?’

‘Mum lives in Bettsbrough and Dad moved to Bolton with his new wife.’ She stopped short as the path swerved to the left. ‘Wow!’

They stepped further into the clearing where the silent cottage waited in the moonlight. Ben had permission to make a garden in the clearing if he wanted but he liked the woodland floor as it was, the great horse chestnut trees rising up from a leaf-mould carpet.

Alexia gazed at the tiny building. ‘I can’t believe this is Woodward Cottage! When I used to come here you could see more ivy than walls. There were no windows or doors, the stone was crumbling and in the end the roof fell in. What a great renovation! It looks as if it came from a fairy tale.’ She took her time, studying the stonework, admiring the dormers in the roof. Then, wandering on past the log store, she paused where a framework leant against the back of the cottage, a roll of netting on the ground alongside. ‘What are you building?’

‘Barney’s aviary. He’ll be ready to move in to it in a few weeks.’

‘But it’s enormous.’

‘Not compared to the entire wood, which is what he should have been flying around.’

‘True. Loss of mobility means loss of freedom.’

His throat was suddenly dry. ‘That’s right.’

She turned to give him a smile. ‘Gabe must think a lot of you to trust you with one of his animals.’

He nodded. ‘My uncle can usually find room for a creature in need.’ When Ben had been unable to stay on in Didbury, where everything he’d thought was his was his no longer, Gabe had provided a refuge. When Ben had been a kid in the shadow of his golden big brother, Gabe had given him time. If anyone had stopped Ben turning his second-child grievances into teenage troublemaking, it had been Gabe.

‘Come and meet Barney,’ he suggested, turning on his heel and almost mowing Alexia down in his haste to get away from his personal darkness and into the light.

Alexia had to hurry to keep up with Ben as he led her to his front door and directly into a sitting room.

She blinked as he hit the light switch. Revolving in the middle of the room, she admired the beams, the staircase rising up from one corner, the black woodstove on the hearth. Two chairs that didn’t match stood either side of the fire on a rug of silver grey and willow green. ‘The inside doesn’t disappoint.’

‘Make yourself at home. Coffee?’ Ben went on into the next room.

‘Tea, please.’ Alexia heard a tap run then the unmistakeable sound of a kettle beginning to heat up.

‘Can we light the stove in here?’ she called. ‘I know September’s a bit early but I love firelight.’

‘Go for it. Matches on the mantel. One thing I’m not short of is firewood.’

The stove door screeched when Alexia opened it. Crouching, she swiftly made a bed of screwed-up newspaper to criss-cross with kindling from the basket in the hearth. There was something satisfying about striking a match and watching the blackening newspaper shrink as the flames grew brighter and bigger.

Ben arrived with two mugs, a whisky bottle and two glasses. ‘Nightcap?’

‘Definitely.’ Alexia settled on the rug with her back against an armchair so she could feed the dancing fire as Ben poured the whisky.

He settled himself against the opposite chair. ‘So you’re completely done, you and Sebastian?’

She was suddenly conscious that his legs had come to rest close to hers. She took a sip of the neat whisky, feeling its fiery kiss in her throat. ‘Completely. Jodie always said I’d settled for him because he was nice and kind. Maybe she was right.’

Ben snorted. ‘I’m pretty sure most men would hate that description. Might as well say “dull and boring”.’ His eyes glittered at her over the rim of his glass, the reflection of the fire flickering like flames in the whisky.