Maxine Morrey - The Best Little Christmas Shop

My room was separate from the rest of the house – a self-contained studio flat above the garage that my parents had created for me in my early teenage years, providing an escape from my three brothers. Not that we didn’t get on – I was lucky in that respect. But a girl still needs her own space and, more importantly, her own bathroom. The fact that Mum often used to come and sit with me clued me in to the idea that I wasn’t the only one using it as respite from all that testosterone.

Mum and Dad had always wanted a girl. They never planned to have four kids and I was definitely a last-ditch attempt so there was some relief when I popped out. From the time I was born, I’d been dressed in, and surrounded by, more pink than was really acceptable, even for a very girly girl. And therein lay the problem. I was, very definitely, not the girliest of girls. I could have the prettiest dresses and the cutest little bunches but I was still coming home covered in mud, with scrapes on my knees and a big grin on my face.

To their eternal credit, Mum and Dad were never disappointed and had never tried to force me into doing something I didn’t want to, or stop me doing the things I did. Trailing along after my brothers – Matt, Dan, and Joe – up to their elbows in car parts and wood and oil and mud, I was at my happiest. It was hardly a surprise then that my choice of career wasn’t traditionally feminine either, and after years of working my way up, I had been well on my way to becoming Chief Engineer for the number one driver in our team. But “had been” was definitely the operative term.

My eyes drifted to the corner of the sofa where my old, much-repaired teddy bear lounged comfortably. I reached out and pulled him to my chest, folding my arms across him as my mind drifted back over the past year. I’d spent the best part of it trying to find another place that fit me so well as the Formula One world had, but after going from place to place, had come up with nothing that felt quite the same.

I was therefore, at present, effectively unemployed. I’d been lucky enough to have never been in the position before and it was a distinctly odd feeling and definitely not one I was comfortable with.

I let my gaze drift down to where weak, cloud-shrouded moonlight was now highlighting the bare branches of the huge honeysuckle bush that sat beneath the window. In the summer, its heady, intoxicating scent would drift up and fill the space. Now it just looked spiky, bare, and barren. There was a knock at the door and I rolled my head to see my eldest brother, Matt, enter carrying my case and another smaller bag.

‘Where d’you want these?’

I shrugged. ‘There’s fine. Thanks, Matt.’

He gave me a glance, ignored my instructions, and carried the luggage across the room, laying them next to the off-white French-style wardrobe and chest of drawers.

‘Any chance of a cuppa?’

I let out another sigh and dragged myself off the sofa and over to the tiny kitchenette. It had rarely been used for anything more than a sandwich and endless cups of tea and hot chocolate because, although I might have wanted a little independence all those years ago, I also knew that my mum was pretty much the best cook in the world.

Big family dinners were our thing. It didn’t have to be a special occasion. The everyday was special in our house. It was fun, sometimes noisy – OK, always noisy – with plenty of discussion and a lot of laughter. I think that’s why I’d enjoyed the team atmosphere of work. We’d got on well and, being away from my family so much, it had provided me with a surrogate one.

I boiled the kettle and pulled a couple of mugs out of the cupboard whilst Matt grabbed a pint of milk from the mini fridge that Mum had clearly stocked up earlier in the day.

‘I’d ask if you’re glad to be home but it’s pretty clear from your face that you’re not,’ Matt said as he plopped milk into our tea.

‘What?’ I looked up at him, genuinely horrified. ‘Of course I am!’

‘OK.’ He took a slurp, watching me over the rim of the mug. ‘But you are aware you’ve got a face like a slapped bum?’

I rolled my eyes at him, picked up my mug, and took it back to the sofa, pulling the handmade quilt draped across the back of it over my legs as I sat down. Matt sat next to me, his mere presence calming me as it always had. He and I had always had a special bond. As the eldest, he’d seen it as his job to take care of all his siblings but especially me as the youngest, and being a girl. It didn’t matter how many times I tried to tell him not to treat me differently, I always got that little bit of extra attention from him. And secretly I loved it. Whatever happened, I always knew Matt would have something wise and comforting to say.

‘So, guess you’re really stuffed on your career then if you’re home?’

All right. Maybe not always.

I gave him a stony look. ‘Thanks for that.’

He shrugged and took a sip of tea. ‘I’m sure you’ve got a plan. You always do, no matter what life throws at you.’

I lowered my eyes and watched a traitorous tear splosh into my drink.

‘Lex?’

‘Hmm?’ I kept my gaze lowered.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Matt put his mug down to the side of the sofa and reach out to take mine. I made a half-hearted attempt to hang on to it for a moment but gave up. I was tired. It had been a long day of travelling and really, I was just tired of all of it, of putting on a brave face for everyone, pretending that everything was under control when the truth was quite the opposite. Matt tilted and dipped his head, forcing me to look at him.

‘What is it?’

I just shook my head. ‘I don’t have a plan, Matt. I’ve tried everything. No one wants to take me on. As far as they’re concerned, I bailed on the team and broke my contract and all the previous years of utter and absolute commitment mean absolutely nothing. I’ve tried everyone I can think of. I thought normal stuff would be OK but just doing MOTs and basic repairs nearly sent me insane within a couple of weeks. I literally don’t have a clue what to do now. I’m effectively homeless, jobless, and I’ve apparently totally burned my bridges in the racing world. You’re right. I’m stuffed.’

Matt took a deep breath, reached over one brawny arm, and scooped me up against him, wrapping the other one around me as I flopped dejectedly onto his chest.

‘You’re not stuffed. Something will work out. It might not be what you originally had in mind but it doesn’t necessarily mean it won’t be just as good. And you’re neither homeless nor jobless. You’ve got a home here – and you always will have. You’re not jobless either. The shop opens at nine tomorrow morning and there’s a tonne of Christmas wreaths that need to be made up. Since we got featured in that fancy magazine, the orders have shot up. We’re all chasing our tails trying to keep up with the demand and get everything out in time. I know you’re not thrilled to be home, but we’re thrilled you’re here.’

‘Only because you’re short-staffed,’ I grumped.

Matt gave me a squeeze. ‘Don’t be a grouchy arse. You know that’s not the only reason. It’s nice to have you here. We all miss you.’

My eyes started filling again. ‘I missed you all too.’ I shoved myself up and turned back to face him. ‘And please don’t think I’m not happy to be home. I am. You know I am. I guess it’s just in different circumstances than I thought it might be. I feel a bit like … I’m not sure who I am right now.’

Matt gave a half laugh. ‘Lexi. You are you. You’re not, and never will be, defined by what job you do. You’re fun, intelligent, and apparently some blokes think you’re sort of pretty so –’