Merrily Ever After (Catherine Walsh Christmas romcoms #3)

Chapter One

Christmas Eve

London

I should have bought more tinsel.

It’s the only thing I can think of as I balance on a stool in the dark living room, using the last of my tape to hang another string of fairy lights on the wall.

Not that you can ever have too many fairy lights, but tinsel?

Tinsel is supreme. There’s a reason it’s stuck around all these years.

But I only bought enough for the tree and the archway and now there’s nothing left to affix to the mantelpiece.

It’s affixless. All because genius here thought a bunch of paper snowmen would shake things up a bit.

Maybe the shops are still open.

There’s a loud bark from next door, and I glance outside as I step down, almost expecting to see Lara’s taxi pull up.

But the street is quiet. Not that I’m surprised.

It’s late, and besides me, the only other living souls awake appear to be the dog and a fox I saw scurrying around the bins at number twelve.

Everyone else must be snug in their beds while visions of sugarplums …

sing or something. I forget how the poem goes.

I don’t even know what a sugarplum is. A pudding?

I feel like they were obsessed with puddings in the nineteen hundreds.

Puddings and chimney sweeps. And child labor. Cholera.

Hmm. I take out my phone and type in what is a sugarplum as I rub my increasingly bleary eyes.

I haven’t had much rest over the last few days.

Honestly, I should probably be asleep right now.

Or, at the very least, in the pub. But instead, I’m here.

Breaking into my best friend’s house on Christmas Eve just to— Hang on.

I frown down at the screen. It’s not even a plum. They’re dreaming about singing nuts? I search again. Why is it called a sugar—

In taxi now. Never traveling on Christmas Eve again

My scowl disappears as Lara’s text comes through.

Do you know what a sugarplum is?

It’s a comfit, isn’t it?

Like the duck?

That’s confit

And now I’m hungry.

Are you at your parents’ yet?

No, I’m at your house waiting for you to come home.

Heading there tomorrow

I mean, it’s not a lie. But what am I going to do? Ruin the best surprise of all time? I scan the room again, looking for a spot I might have missed. But there’s nothing. The place looks perfect.

Bar the tinsel, that is.

I groan inwardly, wondering if I have enough time to go get some, come back and disappear again.

I don’t usually second-guess myself. I’ve always been an act-now-and-don’t-look-back kind of a person. And besides, this was one of the least stupid plans I’ve concocted. I’d go so far as to say it was simple. Thoughtful. A nice thing to do by me, a nice person and her best friend.

Lara loves Christmas. It’s one of the few common factors between us. I think it’s because she loves knickknacks. Little thingamabobs. Sparkly, glittering thingamabobs of which the season is full. Basically, she’s a magpie.

From December first to January fifth every year, her house looks like elves have thrown up over it – a twinkling two-up-two-down that can be spotted from miles away.

It’s usually the best decorated on the street.

But last month her mother got sick, and she flew to Berlin to be with her.

She said not to worry. That it would only be for a few days.

But a few days turned into a few weeks, and she didn’t come home.

Beyond the odd check-in, I tried not to bother her, but I knew she was having a hard time even though she’d never admit it.

So I thought I would do what I could to cheer her up.

That I’d dress up her house for her. Nothing too big at first. Some lights.

Some shiny things for the tree. I even roped in some people to help.

An old acquaintance of mine who makes posh people’s flour hooked me up with a guy who sells artisanal gingerbread houses.

My mate Zac sorted me out with the champagne in the fridge.

When my cousin Andrew arrived unexpectedly with a pretty blonde called Molly, I made them both assist in putting up each and every decoration.

And yes, okay, maybe a bit more than that, and yes, I might have gone overboard once things got going, but a job worth doing is worth doing well.

I can’t help that I’m passionate and accidentally bought too many glue sticks.

Besides, who doesn’t want several meters worth of garlands strung around the place? The Grinch?

I tuck my phone back into the pocket, restless. I should be gone by now. That was the original plan. Santa Claus doesn’t hang around to watch you open the presents, and I need to get some sleep if I’m going to survive Christmas Day with my parents and seventeen members of our extended family.

But despite all of that, I linger, fidgety and unsure as I glance around.

Knowing I wouldn’t have long, I chose to focus my attention on the living room and the kitchen. But now I’m thinking I should have done her bedroom as well. Or left something on her pillow. A present, perhaps. There’s only a 50 percent chance that could be construed as creepy.

Maybe 60.

But I definitely should have hung up more tinsel.

Somewhere has to still be open.

I open my phone again because surely the whole point of living in this city is for twenty-four-hour conveniences, and it’s at that moment a car pulls into the neighbor’s yard, its headlights sweeping into the room.

On reflection, the child-sized elf in the corner was a poor choice of decoration, and as its painted eerie smile catches the light at just the wrong angle, it resembles more of a festive demon arrived to suck out my soul than a ten-quid statue I found in the discount bin at Poundland.

It’s horrifying enough that it’s like a punch straight to my heart, and I mutter a curse as I jump back and then full-on yell as I stumble over one of the extension cords and go sideways into the Christmas tree.

I drop my phone as I manage to right myself. But I’m not quick enough to save the real star of the show.

The tree. The painstakingly decorated, beautifully arranged, surprisingly heavy tree slowly tilts before crashing to the ground with a dramatic symphony of rustling foliage and chiming bells and one comedically timed bauble that rolls to a gentle stop by my feet.

For a moment all I do is stare at it. I actually think I might be in genuine shock because at first I’m not even aware of the dog once again barking his head off.

I definitely hear the bang of the car door though, and I duck down, crouching among the scattered decorations as the porch light turns on next door.

The barking stops, but the crunch of gravel is unmistakable as a figure approaches the dividing walls between gardens and peers in. I freeze for so long my leg goes numb, but I don’t move until finally, after what feels like an hour, the lights turn off and they go inside.

I turn my attention to the destruction. Forget the tinsel, it will be a miracle if I can clean up this mess in time.

I heave the tree back into place, glad no one is around to see me poke myself in the eye with a pinecone, and haul as many decorations as I can into my arms, putting them on the branches with what I like to think of as chaotic artistry.

At least that’s what I tell myself as I start to fumble with the more delicate ones.

The clock is ticking now, and I’m starting to get stressed, which only stresses me out more because I don’t usually get stressed.

I’m the calm presence in the room. But now I’m running out of time and the dog is barking again and some of the felt stars I stuck to the wall have fallen off, which makes me worry about the tape I used.

I’ve just put the last candy cane on when headlights appear outside again, only this time they linger at the end of the driveway.

Lara.

I stash the remaining ornaments behind the tree, and step into the hallway as the engine turns off. I get a fresh bout of nerves as I wait, listening to the approaching footsteps pause outside the front door.

She’s probably looking for her house keys. In fact, that’s definitely what she’s doing. She’s always forgetting the small things. At least when it comes to herself. The woman will rattle off a whole medical textbook and then forget to put milk in her tea. Forget to look after herself.

But that’s okay.

That’s what I’m here to do.

I look back at the living room, feeling a little calmer. It’s not perfect, but she’ll love it. I know she will.

I smile, and with a deep breath, open the door with my arms spread wide.

I expected a gasp. Maybe a moment of surprise followed quickly by unrestrained joy.

Mostly, I expected my best friend. What I didn’t expect was to come face to face with a tall, burly police officer standing on her welcome mat.

One who looks like he’s never gasped in his life and who definitely does not look happy to see me.