Daisy James - Christmas at the Dancing Duck

Don and Sue Harrison invariably came home with a carload of questionable antiques and ancient knick-knacks, which they proudly displayed around the walls and shelves of the pub and the Old Barn at the other side of the cobbled car park. Oil paintings, watercolours, pencil drawings, ceramics, horse brasses, Oriental vases, vintage drinking glasses, paperweights, not to mention the larger items such as wardrobes, chests of drawers, chairs, trestle tables, rugs, coat and umbrella stands, mirrors.

Every December a cornucopia of porcelain Santa Clauses, reindeers, antique fairies, and vintage glass baubles would appear as if by magic to clutter every spare nook and cranny alongside the largest fir tree Don could get his hands on, which would be draped in a proliferation of decorations, old and new. It had been her mother’s favourite time of the year, as well as her daughters’, until the tragedy two years ago when the world changed for ever.

Kirstie swallowed down hard as a surge of grief, always so close to the surface, threatened to overwhelm her in the deserted train station waiting room. She glanced out of the window and was relieved to see it had stopped snowing.

She made a decision – she had to allow Harry and Olivia to rush to George’s bedside without feeling guilty about leaving the pub at such a critical time. She would step into the breach with a beaming smile and a confident tilt of her chin just like she did every day when she faced the FMTV cameras. She would make the Dancing Duck’s last Christmas under the Harrison name the best one ever, and make her sister, and her parents as they looked down on her, the proudest they had been. It was her turn, after all.

‘No problem, Livie. Go to Ireland and tell George to get well soon from me. Don’t worry about the pub. Emma is the best barmaid ever, so together I’m sure we will manage to deliver the village of Cranbury the absolute ultimate in Christmas celebrations, one that everyone will remember for years to come. I won’t let you down.’

‘Thank you, Kirstie. I knew you would do it. Oh, and by the way, you’ll have the benefit of an extra pair of hands to help you.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I haven’t had chance to tell you yet, but I’ve taken on a new bar manager to help out when I’m busy with Ethan.’

‘You did? Well, that’s a great …’

‘It’s Josh. Josh Turner.’

‘Oh, no, Livie, I …

‘Sorry, Kirstie, got to go. The taxi’s arrived to take us to the airport. If you make your way to the station car park Josh will be waiting to give you a lift home.’

‘Livie …’

But her sister had disconnected. Kirstie stood there, her phone still clamped to her ear, as memories ricocheted around her brain before crystallizing into a clear image of Josh Turner. Heat rushed through her veins and her heart hammered against her ribcage to the tune of ‘Last Christmas’.

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