Chapter Thirty-Five
Imogen woke up on Christmas morning to the gentle patter of snow landing on her bedroom skylight, and the warm, delicious press of Dexter’s body against hers.
‘Morning,’ he mumbled, when she opened her eyes.
‘Hey.’ She smiled at him. ‘I didn’t realize you were awake.’
‘Who said we should have a sleepover here, while Birdie, Lucy and Artichoke had one downstairs?’ he asked into her neck.
Imogen bit her lip. ‘That was your daughter. Which bits of you ache?’
‘All of me. The next sleepover should be at my place.’
‘I agree. But we are going to get a double bed in here.’
‘Can I watch the delivery people try and get it up Birdie’s staircase?’
‘Very funny.’ She poked him in the chest. ‘Hey, it’s Christmas Day. We’re together. It’s snowing.’
Dexter’s sleepiness evaporated, his grin sending a happy shiver through her. ‘I know. It still feels like Christmas magic, and I don’t mind having magic sprinkled over me, but …’
‘But?’
‘It’s hard to get my head around it.’
Imogen swallowed. ‘I obviously have no idea what the future holds, because I’m not psychic, and I don’t even think being psychic is an actual thing, but I do know that – despite the way I turned up here, and everything that’s happened over the last few days …
’ She frowned, and Dexter smoothed out the wrinkle with his thumb, ‘I can tell you, with complete certainty, that I’m not going anywhere, apart from back to London, very briefly, to collect some of my things.
I love Mistingham, and I love you, and I want to be with you; you, Lucy and Artichoke. ’
‘That’s good enough for me,’ Dexter whispered, and Imogen didn’t miss the sheen in his eyes as he kissed her, the determination in his touch, as if he was proving to himself that she – this – was real.
Imogen kissed him back enthusiastically, idly wondering whether Lucy would be up, except – of course she would be, because it was Christmas Day – when the door creaked open and they broke apart, turning towards the sound.
‘A ghost?’ Imogen asked.
‘You believe in ghosts, but not psychics?’
‘There isn’t anyone there.’
‘There is,’ Dexter said. ‘You just can’t see her.’
There was a sweet, confirmatory yip, and Imogen leaned up on her elbows to see Artichoke standing in the doorway, all fuzzy caramel fur and a tiny elf hat at a jaunty angle.
‘I think we’re going to have to get up,’ Dexter said.
‘I think you’re probably right.’
They sat around the kitchen table with cups of hot chocolate, and watched Lucy open her stocking.
Imogen wondered if her heart would survive the day.
It was still early, but she was so content, so happy watching this little girl revel in the chocolate coins and Brazil nuts, the glittery Kindle case and the football-shaped purse, the cuddly Brussels sprout, the tangerine nestling at the bottom.
‘This is fruit.’ She held it up for everyone to see.
‘Fruit is good for you,’ Dexter said.
‘It’s a Christmas tradition,’ Birdie added, and Imogen thought that, despite the rant she’d had in front of Lucy and Dexter, which still made her cringe whenever she thought about it, some Christmas traditions were actually OK.
Lucy squealed. ‘Glitter hairspray! Can I be glittery for Christmas, Dad?’
‘I’m sure that was Santa’s idea,’ he said, and glanced at Imogen. She was taken back to the village hall, not long after she’d arrived, Dexter gently lifting her hair and examining the rose-gold ends, the air fizzing between them, even then.
‘Do you want to be glittery too, Imogen?’ Lucy asked. ‘As often as possible,’ she confirmed. ‘We can do each other’s before we leave.’
‘Yes! And what are we having for breakfast?’ Lucy wiped cream off her top lip.
‘That’s up to Sophie and Harry,’ Dexter said, ‘but last year it was pancakes.’
‘I love pancakes.’ Imogen’s stomach rumbled, despite all the sugar she’d just ingested.
‘We’d better get ready.’ Birdie loaded her veg bundles into a large tote bag. ‘Are you wearing that, Imogen?’
She was wearing her purple dress again, the one she’d bought for Sophie and Harry’s wedding. Everyone would see her in it for the second time in a month, and that made her feel liberated ‘I was going to.’
‘You’ll need a jumper and woolly socks,’ Lucy said knowingly. ‘It’s far too cold for that sort of thing.’
Dexter was suppressing a grin, and Imogen tried to hide hers too, but she couldn’t quite manage it. She had a long road ahead of her where Lucy was concerned. ‘I’ll be all right inside the manor though, won’t I?’
‘What about that nice new cardie you bought?’ Birdie said. ‘I’d pop that over the top if I were you.’
When they were finally ready, with all their foody offerings and bags of presents, Lucy and Imogen’s hair sparkling with slightly sticky rainbow glitter, they bundled out onto the doorstep.
The snow was falling in gentle flakes, their boots crunching satisfyingly in the fresh powder as they stepped carefully onto the pavement.
Imogen’s nose tingled pleasantly, and Dexter picked up Artichoke because, he told Lucy, they might lose her otherwise.
‘A white Christmas,’ Imogen said. ‘Who would have thought something so amazing would happen?’
‘Me,’ Dexter murmured, so only she could hear. He hefted Birdie’s bag of vegetables onto his shoulder, held Artichoke in one arm, and with his free hand, took Imogen’s. They exchanged a look, and there went her heart again.
Christmas songs were playing from the speakers at the ice rink, and a couple of families were already whizzing around, getting in some fresh air and exercise before a day of presents, too much food and contented naps.
Mary waved from where she was manning the boot collection, and shouted, ‘Merry Christmas!’
‘Merry Christmas,’ Imogen called, waving back enthusiastically, and wondered how this could be her life.
The fairy lights twinkled, leading the way down Mistingham Manor’s long driveway, where mistletoe still hung from all the trees.
Imogen dragged Dexter over to a large bunch, pushed him gently against the trunk and placed a chaste kiss on his lips.
‘I can’t believe you replaced all my mistletoe.
I was only a little bit upset that it got taken down. ’
‘I know, but it upset me,’ he said. ‘You’d done this great thing for the village – you hadn’t been here long but you were already helping out, then someone destroyed it all.
Besides, with our promise—’
‘Mistletoe was symbolic,’ Imogen finished. ‘I’m so sorry I didn’t let you rescue me from Edmund. I needed to make things right between us, after what I’d done.’
‘I know,’ Dexter said softly. ‘I always understood that.’
‘Have they worked out who took down all the mistletoe?’
Birdie asked, once Imogen and Dexter had left their tree trunk behind. ‘It was such a pointless thing to do.’
‘I bet it was bored teenagers.’ Dexter shook his head. ‘God, I sound like an old person.’
Imogen laughed and threaded her fingers through his. ‘It was Valerie and Frank,’ Lucy said, matter-of-factly.
Nobody replied immediately, and the only sound in the snowdrift-thickened world was the gentle patter of water droplets hitting leaves.
‘It was not,’ Imogen said eventually. ‘Was it really?’
‘There’s no way,’ Dexter added. ‘Those two, tearing around the village and removing all the mistletoe? Frank’s got a dodgy hip.’
‘Frank has a new hip,’ Lucy said. ‘And I heard them, at the Snow Show. Valerie was moaning that there was a whole load more mistletoe. She said it was bad for dogs and it shouldn’t have been cut down in the first place, and that everyone was stupid but she was too busy to take it all down again.
And then Frank said she couldn’t anyway, that most of it was in the manor, and she’d never get away with it because Harry could be really scary when he wanted to be, and his dogs were called Darkness and Terror, which was obviously a threat. ’
Birdie chortled. ‘She has a lot of fire, that Valerie.’
‘Nobody tell her about Just Stop Oil, or she’ll go and chuck soup at priceless paintings.
’ Dexter shook his head. ‘Well, I’m not going to let them stop me,’ Imogen said.
‘Once Christmas is done, we should come up with some winter wreath designs for January and February, go on another foraging trip. And spring flowers will be lovely in March and April. Lots of people have wreaths all year round, and Mistingham is surrounded by so much beautiful countryside, there are endless resources.’
‘You’ll find enough in my garden,’ Birdie said. ‘You know, I couldn’t be prouder to have you as my granddaughter.’
‘She’ll be showing you her spell book next,’ Dexter said. ‘Lucy’s already an enthusiastic apprentice.’
Birdie rubbed her hands together. ‘The coven is finally getting stronger.’
‘Save us all,’ Dexter murmured, and Imogen grinned up at him.
Sophie and Harry greeted them at the front door, enveloping them in hugs and leading them into the large kitchen where May was already waiting.
The room was bright, with the large windows showing off the wintry view, and the smells of frying bacon and roasting turkey mingled in the air, Christmas carols playing low in the background.
Fiona and Ermin were peeling potatoes, and Jazz was stirring a large saucepan of mulled wine. Birdie put her vegetables on the counter, and while Sophie went back to her pancake batter, Imogen and Dexter helped prepare the Brussels sprouts.
‘Where’s Felix?’ Lucy asked, as Artichoke joined Darkness, Terror, Poppet and Clifton on the rug.
‘He’s in his pen,’ Harry said. ‘He gets limited time in the house because of his tendency to destroy everything. We’ve already had to move the mistletoe higher up, because he stood on his hind legs and tried to nibble it.’
‘Sorry about that,’ Dexter said with a grin.
Harry shook his head, his eyes bright. ‘If we could predict all the ways Felix would find to be mischievous, we’d be world goat experts.’
‘Tell them what you told us about the mistletoe theft, Lucy,’ Birdie said.