Darcie Boleyn - Wish Upon A Christmas Cake

Dedication To my nine, you are my inspiration and my world.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Epilogue

Endpages

About the Publisher

Special thanks to my husband, you support me and inspire me. You see me as no one else does and that enables me to see the world in vivid colour. You have encouraged me throughout this journey and I love you deeply. The day we married was the day I finally became me.

My daughter, you are the sweetest girl in the world. I love how you light up when a new book is placed in your hands. Your enthusiasm and kindness are infectious and you make the world a better place.

My son, your questions keep me on my toes. I love it when we bake together. You make me more adventurous and help me to overcome my fears with your own bravery. I learn from you every day.

Jimbo, Jim and Granny. Always. XXX

Nan and Bamp, you made me feel like a part of your family from the very beginning. Nan, your love of Christmas and family was in my heart when I wrote this story. I miss you.

Thanks to my editors for your support and encouragement - Lucy Gilmour, Victoria Oundjian and Charlotte Mursell.

A huge thank you to the HQ Digital author group, where I have found friendship, support and advice. No question is too random or too awkward to ask you guys. From word races to comfort to giggles, you cover all the bases.

Finally, thank you to

Deb, Emma, Kelly, Sarah, Clare, Donna and Yvonne.

Merry Christmas!

XXX

To my nine, you are my inspiration and my world.

Chapter 1

‘No. I’m not going. I just can’t face it.’ I shook my head as I used a damp cloth to wipe the crumbs from the stainless-steel worktop into my cupped hand.

‘What do you mean you’re not going, Katie? Of course you’re going.’ My best friend Ann adjusted her blue hairnet and frowned at me across the kitchen of Crumbtious, our West Hampstead cake shop. Her pretty grey eyes twinkled behind her square framed glasses. ‘Your presence is required at the Warham family Christmas.’

I sighed and dropped the crumbs into the bin. Ann was right. How could I fail to attend? The Christmas family get-together had been planned for months – a way to give my parents a proper send-off before they moved abroad – and my brother Karl would never forgive me if I didn’t go. Besides, a few days in the beautiful Garden of England at the glorious Hawthorne Manor might be just the thing I needed. It had been a good year for our business, but I couldn’t deny that it had been hectic and, of course, losing my Granny had hit me hard. I really was exhausted and needed to recharge before heading into the New Year.

Ann and I met at college on a hospitality and catering course. We’d formed a close friendship over three years of studying together. She had helped me through some really tough times – the toughest being the devastating loss of my baby and subsequent break-up with Sam, my first love.

After graduating, Ann and I had both gained some experience working for other businesses across the country, then, armed with our combined knowledge of spreadsheets and net versus gross, we had taken the plunge into the mixing bowl and set up on our own two years ago. It had been working out for us – so well that we’d even been able to move to bigger premises in the summer. I was proud of our achievements, but I really could use a break and this might be my only chance for some time.

‘Okay, smarty pants, I’m going. But will you be okay here without me? I mean, we’ve been run off our feet and it’s Christmas and we’ll be really busy tomorrow and…’ I clutched at straws but they slipped through my fingers. It could prove to be a restful break but I also knew that my family would want my time and attention, as well as explanations about my latest relationship gone wrong, and I didn’t know if I had the emotional reserves to deal with it all. Perhaps I should have booked a few days away in Lapland or some other destination I could have headed to alone.

Ann held up a hand. ‘Don’t even try that one. It’s only four days until Christmas, Katie, so you can’t change your plans this late in the day. Besides, we’ve informed our customers that we’ll only be open until twelve on Christmas Eve, so you absolutely must go on the twenty-third after closing as planned. And, don’t forget, Mark finishes work tomorrow, so he’ll be here to help out. I’ll be fine. We’ll be fine.’ She smiled fondly and I knew that she was thinking about spending some quality time with her very-ambitious lover. ‘We’re closed then until the twenty-eighth, so it’s a good time for you to go.’

‘Well as long as you’re sure, but I’ll drive back Sunday evening so I can open up bright and early on Monday.’ December twenty-seventh suddenly sounded like a long time away.

‘No problem. Now go on through to the shop and close the blinds while I fix us a drink.’ She waved me away and I anticipated the luxury of resting my aching legs. When you’re on your feet all day, sitting down in the evening is absolute bliss.

I walked through to the shop and stood still for a moment, taking it all in. It still amazed me how far we’d come. I was living the dream; I had my own business at thirty-two and I was doing exactly what I loved every day while working alongside my best friend. How many people get that lucky? We had settled on West Hampstead as a prime location for our cake shop, keen to maximise business potential so that our venture would continue to thrive. With our combined savings and a business loan, it had been possible to afford the rent on the shop. Nerve-wracking – investing all that we had and taking on debt – but possible. West Hampstead was also far enough away from our hometown of Sevenoaks to provide me with reasons for not visiting my parents every week, yet not too far to return for the odd weekend or during the holidays.

The L-shaped tearoom housed a counter to the left of the door from the kitchen, which curved in a semi-circle. On the counter top was a large display case that housed an array of cakes and pastries during shop hours. To the right of the door was a large fridge full of soft drinks, chilled desserts, milk and cream. There were eight circular tables, currently covered with festive red and gold cloths, spread out across the restored oak floor boards, and in the large bay window sat a soft old leather couch next to an original cast-iron fireplace. The restrooms were situated through a door set in the back wall. It was just as I’d always imagined my own cake shop would be—pretty, cosy and welcoming. It was a place people could come to alone, or with company, somewhere to sit and enjoy a warm drink and a cake over a chat or while reading a good book. Recently, we’d even had an author visiting us on a daily basis. She was twenty-something with brown bobbed hair and a shy smile. She didn’t boast about being an author but Ann, being quite forward and a bit cheeky, asked her outright. It was thrilling knowing that she’s creating her stories as she consumes our mince pies and hot chocolate while she sits on the sofa with her feet curled up under her and the world passing by outside.

I’d fallen in love with the shop building as soon as I’d seen it, even though it had needed a full refurbishment having previously housed a tanning salon then a discount clothes store. The former owners clearly hadn’t appreciated the Victorian features and they’d covered up the beautiful original fireplace with chipboard and the wooden floor with cheap sticky tiles. It had taken me two weeks to get the tiles up and to sand and polish the boards, but every time I looked at them I was filled with the satisfaction of a job well done.