The Snowbound Cotswolds Christmas Fair

Chapter One

It was only after Jen had sat down, having heaved her huge bag onto the rack at the end of the carriage and found a seat at a table, that she noticed the man sitting across the aisle. This was the last leg of a long journey, and she was glad to be nearing her destination.

He didn’t notice her at all, his attention entirely focused on the battered copy of Far From the Madding Crowd he was reading, his lower lip caught in his teeth.

His dark hair fell over his eyes a little and he blinked it out of the way, turning a page, oblivious to her surreptitious admiration of his so-sharp-you-could-cut-yourself cheekbones.

Far From the Madding Crowd was her favourite book. It wasn’t often you saw someone on the train reading an actual book these days, never mind a very well-loved version of your favourite. Never mind someone young and handsome, with the mysterious good looks of a film star.

Perhaps the universe was trying to tell her something.

This was like the beginning of every classic film she’d watched, every romance she’d read.

Jen was idly imagining the scene in black and white – he was looking sharp in a suit and hat, her hair was perfectly curled, her feet in elegant heels – when her phone picked up a signal and began buzzing frantically.

Her three friends had arrived at the Airbnb, and the group chat was running hot with photos of the cosy rooms, log burners, the twinkling Christmas tree and views of rolling fields.

The coffee table in the living room was overflowing with every type of snackish treat, and it looked like mulled wine was already heating on the Aga.

Not so bad.

Jen had been less pleased to find that the destination for the surprise weekend away her friends had organised to celebrate ten years since graduating teacher training college – where they’d met – and her birthday, was the sleepy Cotswolds village of Babblebrook.

It was near their old college, and her friends had all settled in the area.

Now they had partners and families, it made sense that they didn’t want to travel too far.

It was hardly a buzzing social metropolis.

Jen had been looking forward to reliving those fun times at college, and she was pretty sure there wasn’t going to be much of that kind of excitement on offer in the village.

Their get-togethers had become less raucous as the years had passed, but they usually made a special effort for her birthday, at least managing a drunken night in a bar.

She wasn’t sure how that would happen in a tiny village.

But worse than that, Babblebrook was where her snooty sister lived.

Perfect Julia with her perfect children and perfectly boring husband.

The Golden Girl of the family, who always did everything right, while Jen seemed to lurch from one disaster to another under the disapproving gaze of her increasingly disappointed family.

The last thing Jen needed was to bump into her – things had been decidedly frosty between them for some time, and she knew full well what Julia would think about her decision not to settle down with a career/partner/stable housing. That wasn’t Jen’s style; she liked to keep moving.

She hadn’t told Julia she was going to be in Babblebrook – in fact, she hadn’t spoken to her for several months, ignoring Julia’s continued messages and attempts to call.

With a bit of luck, she’d be too busy celebrating with her friends, and Julia would be too busy living her perfectly ordered life, for their paths to cross.

Hopefully the Airbnb was a little way out of the village – Jen was a bit hazy on the details, and her friends were meeting her off the train so she hadn’t looked too closely at the directions.

The train pulled into a small station, and she sneaked a glance at the man across the aisle; he showed no signs of preparing to leave, just kept his nose buried in the book. Perhaps she should find some excuse to introduce herself.

The train lurched into motion again, and Jen was soon distracted from her reverie by the thundering of small feet, and the arrival of a little girl, who stopped at Jen’s seat, holding on to the table to steady herself.

‘Is that a cat?’ she asked, pointing to the faux fur hat Jen had placed on the table.

Jen smiled and stroked the hat. ‘It is. But it’s a magic cat, disguised as a hat, and only very special people can see that it’s really a cat.’

‘I can see.’

‘Because you’re one of the special ones.’

A woman arrived, carrying a baby and looking rather hot and hassled. ‘Lottie, are you bothering the lady?’

‘No,’ the girl said. ‘I’m not bothering you, am I, lady?’

Jen laughed. ‘Not at all. Here, let me help you.’ She reached over and took the bag the woman was struggling with, standing to push it into the overhead rack.

As she leaned back to shove it in, the train jerked, knocking her off balance and, to her total humiliation, onto the lap of the man sitting across the aisle.

He grunted as she landed on his leg, and Jen gave a small shriek while the little girl, Lottie, laughed so hard that she was doubled over.

This was not the introduction to her handsome fellow passenger that Jen had been hoping for.

Blushing, she tried to find her balance, but it was impossible as the train juddered along.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she spluttered as he placed an arm around her waist and gently helped her up. The realisation that he was surprisingly strong for a bookish type did nothing to soothe Jen’s discomfort.

‘No problem at all,’ he said, smoothing out the pages of his now-crushed book and placing it on the table in front of him. He smiled up at her, and she saw that his eyes were a deep, intense blue. ‘Let me sort that.’

He stood up, taking the bag she’d dropped and placing it up on the luggage rack with no problem whatsoever. Jen quickly averted her eyes as his top rode up to reveal a taut stomach.

‘Thank you,’ Lottie’s mum said, blowing her fringe out of her eyes as she took a seat and bounced the baby on her knee.

‘No worries.’ He smiled and sat back down.

‘I hope you don’t mind us descending on you,’ the woman said, as Jen straightened her jeans and slid back into her seat with as much dignity as she could muster – although she suspected that ship had well and truly sailed.

Lottie had settled herself into the seat next to her.

‘It won’t be for long, at least, we’re getting off at the next stop.

I’m Michelle, by the way, and this is Max.

And Lottie’s introduced herself already, I think. ’

‘I don’t mind at all, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Jen.’ She spoke loudly enough for the man across the aisle to hear, but he didn’t respond. He was back to reading his book.

‘And what’s your cat called?’ Lottie asked. Michelle looked confused.

‘I haven’t decided. What do you think would be a good name?’

Lottie frowned, her expression serious as she reached out and gently stroked the hat. ‘I can’t tell yet. I might need to cuddle it.’ Her eyes took on a hopeful expression as she gazed at Jen.

‘Lottie, I don’t think—’ Michelle said, reaching across the table to her daughter, just as the baby burped and dribbled milky vomit down them both. Michelle sighed and started hunting in her bag for a muslin.

‘It’s OK,’ Jen said, smiling reassuringly at Michelle then turning to Lottie.

‘Here.’ She handed the hat to the little girl, who took it with as much care as if it was made of delicate glass, and hugged it to herself, resting her cheek against the fur, and Jen knew immediately that her hat had found a new home, one where it would be wholly loved.

‘Aww,’ Lottie said. ‘Aww. Cute little kitty.’

Michelle glanced from her daughter to Jen, looking perplexed.

‘Her’s called Mildred.’

‘Mildred?’ Jen couldn’t keep the astonishment out of her voice. She was expecting something more along the lines of Socks or Tigger. Her own childhood cat, a sweet little black thing, had been called Jet. An entirely appropriate name.

Michelle just smiled and shrugged, and Jen was pretty sure she caught sight of the guy across the aisle shaking in silent laughter from the corner of her eye. When she turned to look at him, he was studiously focused on reading.

‘I want a cat,’ Lottie said. ‘I’ve asked Mummy and asked and asked but her never lets me have one.’ Her mouth drooped and her eyes shone with tears, a picture of tragedy.

Michelle looked exasperated, and shook her head. ‘She’s literally never asked.’

Jen smiled.

‘Lottie, we’re getting off soon,’ Michelle said. ‘Give the nice lady her hat back, please.’

The little girl glowered at her mum, clutching the hat tighter to her. ‘But I love Mildred.’

Michelle glanced at Jen, flushing a little. ‘Darling,’ she said softly. ‘I know you love her, but she belongs to the nice lady. We’re nearly home, why don’t we . . . ?’

Jen watched as Lottie’s eyes filled with tears, her face turned red and scrunched up, and her lips wobbled.

Her words were undecipherable because they were broken by sobs and gasps as tears poured down her face, but Jen caught enough to know that it was something about how Mildred was the best and cutest kitty in the world and how she would be lonely without Lottie.

Jen was perfectly happy for the little girl to take ownership of the hat – it wasn’t her favourite, and she liked the idea of it bringing so much joy to a child in the form of an imaginary cat. But she didn’t want to undermine Michelle by saying so. She felt for both mum and daughter.

‘Lottie,’ Michelle said. ‘I know that—’

At this point Lottie’s wails increased in volume, Max’s grizzling became full-on bawling, and Michelle began to look like she might join them as she tried to soothe both children. Book Guy slid further down his seat, hunching over the pages.

‘Oh,’ Jen said, raising her voice slightly over the cacophony. ‘What’s that?’ She pointed out of the window, where skeletal trees reached into clear blue skies.