Christmas in Fir Tree Cabin (Love in Porthglen #11)

Chapter One

The Cabin

18 th December

The taxi wound through frost-capped clifftops, and I held onto the bottom of my seat, worried the driver would hit a patch of black ice.

“There’s the sea, love.” The taxi driver said with a grunting sniff, gesturing his head to direct my gaze out of the left-side window.

There it was. Glittering blue water, cold and still in the December light.

It had been a few years since I’d last seen the sea. Perhaps now that Auntie Lou was moving here, I’d get the chance to see it more often.

“So, you said you’re in town for a wedding?” He added.

“That’s right,” I said. “My aunt.”

“Nice time of year for it,” he said amiably. “So long as the snow keeps away. These little country lanes are no joke in the snow.”

“Oh?” I asked.

Great, another thing to worry about.

“We got snowed in last year. The community pulled together with tractors and bags of grit. Taking soup to the elderly, that sort of thing.”

“Sounds lovely,” I said.

I couldn’t imagine my neighbours in London thinking of asking my Granny Jean if she needed soup. Luckily, she had me to check on her.

“Is it your first time in Porthglen?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Though hopefully not my last.”

“Well, hopefully you’ll like it here,” he laughed. “Stop by the pub – The Ancient Mariner – best steak and ale pie you’ve ever had.”

“Thank you,” I said. “Is that far from where I’m staying?”

He looked at the navigation dashboard on his taxi and shrugged.

“A three-mile walk or so.”

Three miles?! I couldn’t remember the last time I walked anywhere… It was a hop, skip and a jump to the tube station from my flat, and from there I could go anywhere in the city.

“Is my cabin really far out of town?” I asked, starting to get nervous.

Auntie Lou had booked us all accommodation for the wedding - little log cabins all on the same farm.

“You’re up at Tidebreak Farm,” he said. “It’s at the other end of the cove, so a few miles from town.”

Great, right in the sticks. Auntie Lou probably thought that would be peaceful, but to me that sounded like a nightmare.

The taxi driver seemed to notice my anxious silence and added, “It’s been there for a few centuries, nice family-run business. And a lovely view of the beach.”

“Oh,” I nodded. “How nice.”

He shook his head at me and decided to stay silent for the rest of the drive.

Ten more minutes of winding lanes and one brief stop as cows crossed the road later, we arrived at Tidebreak Farm.

It was larger than I’d expected. 30 acres of fields were set on a grassy plain, backed by the beach’s dunes, with a stone farmhouse at the entrance gate.

A couple in their 40s came out to greet us, a gaggle of kids, dogs and cats following them as they did.

“You must be Lou’s niece!” The woman greeted me with a hug. “I’m Orla. This is my husband Kurt, and that’s our three kids, Sophie, Emily and Jack. And of course, the dogs Poppy and Luna, and the cats Milo and Felix.”

“My goodness…” I said, looking at the group of them with an overwhelmed sigh.

“I’ll leave you in their capable hands,” the taxi driver said, handing over my suitcase.

“Thanks, Nevil,” Orla beamed at him. “I’ll see you in the pub later.”

“It’s toad in the hole night, so you most certainly will!” He grinned.

“Follow me this way,” Orla said, setting off with a wave of her hand. Her mud-crusted wellies made easy work of the boggy path down towards the cabins, whilst I just tried to ignore the wet feeling in the bottom of my designer loafers.

“Imogen!!” Auntie Lou appeared from the biggest of the ten cabins with a huge smile on her face. Her mousy blonde hair was whipped up into an effortless high bun, and unlike me she had dressed with much more sensible shoes. “I’m so glad my maid of honour is here!”

“I made it!” I said with a dry laugh, almost losing a shoe in the mud as she pulled me into a hug.

“Ross and I are in the luxury cabin,” she told me with a grin. “‘Tidebreak Suite’ – isn’t that posh?”

“It looks beautiful,” I said. “And well-deserved for your wedding to the greatest guy in the world.”

“Isn’t he?” She glowed.

She looked me up and down, noticed my shoes and grabbed my suitcase from me as we followed Orla past the other cabins to mine. She had opted for boots, much more appropriate for the farm setting.

“Welcome to our nicest one-person suite – Fir Tree Cabin,” Orla explained as she unlocked the front door. “With a log-burning fireplace, glass doors with a sea view and a jet bathtub.”

“Wow,” I said, looking at Lou with a raised eyebrow.

“No expense spared,” she giggled. “Ross may be my third husband, but this is going to be my last wedding. I want it to be the best.”

She loved telling people that he was going to be her third husband. She enjoyed the shock on their faces and the slightly judgemental looks that they tried to hide.

Her first husband had been before I was born – Ricky. By all accounts, he was an occasionally witty, drunken loud-mouth and completely wrong for Lou. They’d met in college aged 19 and despite Granny Jean’s protests, they’d married the following year. By 23, they were divorced.

Then, when I was in my last year of secondary school, she met Feather. Yes, Feather . That wasn’t his birth name. His birth name was Gary. He’d thought he was very enlightened for choosing a new name, one to match his ‘spiritual journey’.

Aunty Lou had met him at a yoga retreat in Italy whilst she was Eat, Pray, Love -ing her way around the world. He was Australian, and admittedly very attractive and sweet, but ultimately unfaithful. After finding him in their bed with another woman, she divorced him too.

She stayed single for a decade or so before she met Ross whilst on holiday in the Cornish seaside town of Porthglen. He was a widower with all the wit of her first husband, all the sweetness of her second, and none of their flaws. By all accounts, he was a genuine and good-hearted man who was deeply in love with my aunt.

“This wedding is going to be the best of the three,” I reassured her. “And not just because your wedding to Feather had to be made legal in the basement of the registry office in Luton when you got back from Italy.”

“Well how was I to know the one on the steps of the Italian castle wouldn’t be legally binding? The yoga instructor was so sure it would be,” she huffed.

I grinned and she returned the smile.

“It’s really good to see you,” I said.

“You too,” she said.

We reached the cabin and Orla unlocked the door.

“Here we go!” She said, swinging it open. Luna and Poppy ran in ahead of me, wagging their tails excitedly as they guided me into the space.

The cabin was made of sturdy logs, with a small kitchenette and living room with a log-burning stove, a bedroom with a knitted bedspread and tartan patterned blanket box, and a small bathroom off to one side.

The entire space was decorated for Christmas, with boughs of real holly and fir tree hung from the beams and twinkling lights along the walls.

“Let me know if you need anything,” Orla said. “I’ll let you get settled in.”

“Thank you,” I told her as she made her way back up the muddy path towards the farmhouse.

Lou hauled my case inside and shut the door.

“Let me see if they gave you… yes! They did!” She shouted triumphantly as she moved around the kitchen in a twirl. “Complimentary hot chocolate!”

She waggled a small mason jar of brown powder at me.

“Sounds delicious,” I said. “How do I get the stove to work?”

“Use the fire brick to get it started then add some wood from the basket,” she explained. “We can heat the milk on the top.”

She fished out two mugs and a saucepan for the milk, which Orla had provided in the fridge. The bottle was glass and labelled ‘Tidebreak Farm’.

“Their own milk?” I asked. “This is very River Cottage .”

“I remember that programme,” Lou laughed. “I suppose it is a bit.”

“So, will you become some trad-wife in an apron making hot cocoa and fluffy pillows once you and Ross move here?” I teased.

She scowled, setting the pan of milk on top of the log burner.

“Of course not,” she said. “Not that there is anything wrong with that. It’s just not very me.”

“I know,” I said. “I was just teasing. And I think Ross knows that too. After all, he’s building you an art studio in the new garage, isn’t he?”

“Yes,” Lou said with a dreamy smirk. “The new house won’t be ready for a few more weeks yet. Typical that we’re renovating a house and getting married all in the same month.”

“That sounds very stressful,” I said, sinking into one of the two armchairs in the living room as Lou stirred the hot chocolate.

“It has been,” she agreed. “But all worth it in the end. I can’t believe I’m finally moving out of London.”

“I envy you,” I said. “I wish I had a reason to move down here too.”

“You don’t need a reason,” she scoffed. “You’ll be visiting me a few times a year and you’ll just want to stay forever!”

“I’ve got Granny Jean to look after,” I reminded her.

“Ah yes, my dear mother,” she said with a chuckle. “She just won’t sell that house.”

Granny Jean had been born in her house, which her parents had bought back in the 1930s while my great-grandfather was working on the railway. She had lived there all her life, raising Aunty Lou and my mum there. Despite the impracticalities of the house in her older age, she refused to sell it, and we were all understanding of that despite our concerns for her.

“I like being near her,” I said. “I think she likes it too.”

“She adores you,” Lou insisted. “Me, not so much.”

“She loves you,” I said.

“Yes,” Lou nodded. “But I’m the daughter that went travelling and then moved away, not the good daughter who stayed to look after her. That was your lovely mum, may she rest in peace. At least she has you, ey?”

As much as I loved my aunt, she had left the care responsibilities to me and mum before me. It was complicated, but I know that my mum had resented her freedom.

Perhaps now I was following in my mum’s footsteps.

“It’s ready,” Lou said. She brought the warm milk off the stove and poured it into each mug. “Whipped cream? Candy cane?”

“Whatever you do to your cup, do the same to mine,” I said with an amused grin.

With childlike glee, she took the can of whipped cream from the fridge and squirted it with a satisfying ‘fssss’ noise into swirls on top of the steaming hot chocolate. She finished the sugary creation with a fistful of marshmallows on each and a candy cane sticking out of the side.

“Here,” she said, handing it to me with a naughty grin. I gingerly sipped at it, immediately giving myself a cream moustache. She sank into the armchair next to me and sipped at hers. With a contented sigh she took my free hand and said, “Happy Christmas, Imogen. Thank you for being here.”

“Happy Christmas. There’s nowhere I’d rather be.”

“You might not want to say that quite yet,” she chuckled into her mug. “There’s a lot of planning to do.”

“Oh?” I asked. As her Maid of Honour, I was ready for it, but as her niece, I was dreading it. I couldn’t help but worry that we would fall out as so many people did over weddings.

“The venue, cake, catering and all the admin stuff has been sorted,” she reassured me. “But we’ve got a final dress fitting, decorations and all sorts of tiny details to arrange. There seems to be a million and one things.” She groaned at the thought of it all. “Maybe we should have eloped.”

“I think everyone says that,” I said. “I know that’s not what you or Ross would actually want.”

“Yes, you’re right, I suppose,” she giggled into her hot chocolate. “For all my alternative hippy-dippy ways, I am finally getting used to the idea that I want the big white wedding. After all, I’ve not actually had that yet.”

“Not even the first wedding?”

“No, I wore a horrid yellow skirt suit that my first mother-in-law got on the sale in Debenhams for me. I couldn’t afford a proper dress. No flowers, no cake. In hindsight, your Granny Jean was right to disapprove…”

“She’s right about most things,” I agreed.

“Frustratingly, yes,” Lou said. She paused and looked at me sincerely. “She’s been hard to read on the phone. Is she… do you think she’s happy that I’m marrying Ross? I’d hate to fall out with about another husband and she’s only met him a handful of times.”

“She was excited about the wedding when I saw her yesterday,” I said. “As excited as Granny Jean gets, I mean. She hasn’t said anything bad about Ross.”

“That’s no true indication,” Lou said. “She might just be stubbornly holding her tongue.”

“Maybe. But I don’t think so. I think she’s happy for you.”

“I hope so,” she sighed and chewed on the end of her candy cane absent-mindedly.

“Where is Ross, anyway?” I asked, realising Lou had leapt to spend the afternoon in my cabin rather than with her fiancé.

“He’s in the nearby town – Foweybridge. He had to get new cufflinks. His best man is with him, so they’ll probably stop for a pint at the pub on their way back here.”

“His best man? You mean his nephew, Archie?” I knew all too well who Ross’ best man was, and I tried to hide my disdain for him as I asked the question.

“Yes,” Lou said with a raised eyebrow at me. “You too children have to play nicely, okay?”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

She sucked down a marshmallow and chomped it until it dissolved.

“You know exactly what I mean,” she retorted through a cheek full of marshmallow. “You and Archie aren’t exactly best friends.”

“He’s a lout,” I said with bite.

“He’s Ross’ favourite nephew, just as you are my favourite niece.”

“I’m your only niece,” I pointed out.

“Even if you weren’t, you’d be my favourite. And Ross has practically been a father to Archie since his dad left when he was little. Ross’ sister was so pleased that he asked Archie to be best man. It means a lot to the whole family that he’s involved. And it would mean a lot to me if the two of you would try to get along.”

“I hope you’re giving him this little speech as well,” I huffed. “He’s most of the problem.”

“Oh, I will, don’t you worry,” Lou said. “But for now, promise me you’ll try to work with him. For my sake.”

I pursed my lips. Archie was the worst sort of laddish, rude, lairy, lazy idiot that I couldn’t stand. We’d had a couple of run-ins over the years, normally when Archie had tried to irritate me after a few drinks.

“I promise,” I said, trying to make my smile look sincere. “Anything for you, Lou.”