Two Runaways and a Christmas Star

Prologue

SIX MONTHS EARLIER

Both the weather app on my phone and the man on the radio had lied.

Not once did they suggest there’d be a thunderstorm that day.

If they had, I’d have brought a jacket and an umbrella with me to Settledown.

I certainly wouldn’t be sat in the car park waiting for the downpour to stop, wearing only a cotton shirt, linen trousers and sandals.

I filled my cheeks with air and exhaling, stared at the huge globules of rain that splattered against the window.

I wrinkled my nose, tempted to drive the rest of the way to Mum’s house.

But the bottom of her lane was renowned for flooding and having previously chanced my luck, the hefty garage bill was enough to make me see sense.

A rumble of thunder sounded after a short few steps and as the heavens opened again, I didn’t see the point in turning back.

I held my bag over my head, trying to at least keep my hair dry, but as I picked up pace, by the time I reached the main street it was clear I needed shelter.

I scanned the various shops for signs of life and spotted a light on at The Knitting Nook.

Puddle dodging as best I could, I headed straight for it.

A bell rang as I let myself in and a young woman who I put in her early thirties jumped up from her seat.

I’d heard from Mum that the previous owner had died and that the business had been passed down to her granddaughter.

I assumed this was her. She ran through to the back and returned with a towel. ‘Here you are,’ she said with a smile.

Appreciating the gesture, I accepted the offering and glanced down at my saturated clothes. ‘Look at the state of me.’ I looked from her to the older woman who’d remained seated. ‘I knew I shouldn’t have listened to this morning’s weather man.’

The older woman scoffed. ‘Don’t talk to me about men.’

Irritation flashed across the shop owner’s face, but as quickly as it arrived, it was gone. She gestured me forward. ‘Glad you could make it.’

‘Make what?’ I asked, wondering what I’d walked into.

She indicated the workbench behind her. ‘Our session.’

I eyed the hooks and balls of wool that were laid out and chuckled. ‘Do I look like I crochet?’

‘I don’t know,’ the shop owner replied. ‘What does a crocheter look like?’

I took in her delicate granny-square cardigan then turned my attention to the floral blouse and skirt combo that covered the older woman’s ample figure. ‘Like you two, I suppose. Comfortable.’

‘Excuse me,’ the older woman said. ‘I’ve never hooked a stitch in my life. I’m only here to save my sanity, because that husband of mine is driving me mad.’

A picture of Callum popped into my head and glad I wasn’t alone in my male-orientated frustration, I immediately liked her.

‘Talk about under my feet. Every. God damned. Second.’ She sighed, wistful. ‘I was so looking forward to his retirement. All I can say is, be careful what you wish for.’

‘If there’s anyone who can feel your pain,’ I said, ‘it’s me.’ I joined her at the bench. ‘There’s this guy at my office.’ I scowled at the mere thought of the man. ‘Callum. He’s always hovering as well. If you ask me, he’s after my job.’

‘What is it you do?’ the older woman asked.

‘Real estate. And unlike Callum who couldn’t sell water in a desert, I’m good at it.’ I glanced around. ‘Speaking of deserts, is it me or is it hot in here?’

I took in my surroundings. I’d been in the shop before when Mum had asked me to pick up some wool, but at that time it had been dark and dingy.

Since then, every inch of the space appeared to have been decorated and modernised.

There was a seating area where customers could browse patterns at leisure and the most gorgeous pieces of handmade knitwear were dotted around.

There was a rail of fabrics to go with an extended range of haberdashery products.

Everything a sewer or knitter could wish for.

‘If someone had told me this morning I’d be stumbling into a crochet club I wouldn’t have believed them.

’ I turned to the two women. ‘I only popped in to get out of the rain.’

The shop owner handed us each a crochet needle and ball of wool.

‘I was on my way to visit my mum,’ I said. ‘You might know her. Maeve Gordon. She lives at the top of the hill.’

Beaming, the older woman threw herself back in her seat. ‘Of course, I know Maeve. Lovely woman.’

The shopkeeper coughed as if to get our attention.

‘Don’t tell me you’re little Erin?’ the older woman continued.

I let out a laugh. ‘It’s a long time since anyone’s called me that.’

‘I thought you’d gone off to London.’

‘Goodness,’ I said. ‘That was a lifetime ago. I’m over in Leeds now. Have been for years.’

The older woman came over all serious. ‘I was sorry to hear about your dad.’

‘Ladies, please!’ the shopkeeper said, shocking us both into silence.

As much as I didn’t appreciate being snapped at, I understood the need.

Getting colleagues to focus at Foredale and Frogmore where I worked often felt like herding cats.

I shifted in my seat. ‘I suppose I could give this crochet thing a go while I’m here.

’ My face lit up and I clapped my hands.

‘I know. Why don’t we start with a team-building exercise?

’ I picked up my yarn. ‘Pretend this is a ball and whoever I throw it to has to tell us about themselves.’

While the older woman appeared happy with my suggestion, the shopkeeper looked less than keen. ‘Maybe we should learn about each other as we go?’ she said, taking the wool from me.

Hearing her frustration, it seemed the older woman and I weren’t the only ones having a bad day. ‘You sound like you need a drink,’ I said.

‘I know.’ The older woman jiggled in her seat. ‘Why don’t we head over to the pub instead?’

‘Great idea. And look.’ I pointed to the shop window. ‘It’s even stopped raining.’ Wrinkling my nose, I turned to the younger woman. ‘You have to admit, that sounds a lot more fun than crocheting.’