Christmas at the Lucky Parrot Garden Centre: A cosy, feel-good romcom with festive sparkle Read online

  ‘Night, then,’ she said, waving to the younger woman before carrying on down the chilly lane. ‘See you tomorrow.’

  Only another half a mile’s walk, she thought wearily, and she would be home too. She was looking forward to getting her PJs on and forgetting about her day in front of the telly, or perhaps by continuing with the book she’d been reading.

  Suddenly, a huge spotlight illuminated the hedges like some alien spaceship, and then she heard the slow thunder of a large engine. She couldn’t suppress a grin. It seemed her curmudgeonly landlord was out on his tractor again. Mr Smirthwaite spent as much time as he could outdoors, rumbling back and forth over his own land. Rumour had it that he was terrified of his nagging wife, so avoided being alone with her too much. Hannah didn’t believe it herself. She’d met Mrs Smirthwaite and got on very well with her.

  Still, Hannah wasn’t married to the woman, so what did she know?

  Moving onto the verge, Hannah raised a hand in greeting as Mr Smirthwaite came to a stop beside her. He put the tractor engine into neutral, reducing its roar to a soft growl.

  ‘Now then, Hannah,’ he said, greeting her with a curt nod. ‘It’s about time you were tucked up at home, lass. It’s getting late. There’s things about at night that you want no part of.’ His gnarly face scowled down at her, his tone disapproving. ‘Go on wi’ ye.’

  ‘Not far now, Mr Smirthwaite. And I’ll not be going out again tonight.’

  The farmer put the tractor back in gear. ‘Sleep tight then, lass.’

  Then he trundled on down the lane again, his bent figure bouncing up and down on the huge wheels, bright headlights dazzling cows on the other side of the hedge.

  Home for Hannah was a one-bedroom mid-terrace cottage set between two empty ones that were in the process of being renovated. Old farm labourers’ cottages, all three were owned by Mr Smirthwaite. The other two had been undergoing renovation for years, and everyone had secretly given up on ever seeing them finished.

  Hannah’s was habitable though. Affordable too, because of the inconvenience whenever Smirthwaite knocked the odd cupboard or window frame out of the houses on either side, and also cosy. Yes, it was true that the heating was temperamental, and the tiny kitchen needed a serious make-over. But it was her very own space.

  Well, hers and Pepper’s.

  On walking into the small cottage, the first thing she noticed was the Christmas tree. No longer taking up the corner opposite the television, it was now toppled over on the floor, pine-scented branches spreading everywhere. The angel was lying under the window, her hair looking exactly as if a cat had spent a happy twenty minutes mauling it.

  ‘Pepper! You’ve been at the tree again, you pest.’

  Pepper raised his head from where he was curled up in Hannah’s favourite armchair, yawned, and then gave Hannah a sleepy, disinterested look.

  ‘Bad cat. Look at the mess you’ve made. And I told you, you’ve got to leave the angel alone. Or you won’t get any Christmas presents.’

  Hannah straightened the tree as best as she could, but the branches had a distinctly lopsided look by the time she had it balanced upright again. As for the unfortunate angel, it had several more bald patches than the day before. Hannah fixed the traumatised doll back onto the top of the tree, and then turned her attention to other chores.

  The cottage was freezing.

  She crouched down to sweep out the grate, putting yesterday’s cold ashes in the metal bucket. Then she lit a new fire while Pepper wound his way around Hannah’s ankles, mewing his encouragement.

  As the house was beginning to warm up, Hannah fed Pepper, despite his bad behaviour. ‘No treats for you, Mister, for a whole week,’ she told the cat firmly. ‘You hear me?’

  But it seemed he did not, in fact, hear her. Pepper tucked into his food with a look of total unconcern. Hannah sighed and stroked his head, then turned on some music and poured herself a glass of Chablis.

  Presently, she was sitting curled in her favourite armchair, much to the cat’s disgust, and eating a bowl of very tasty chicken and leek risotto. Her worried mind would not switch off though, constantly reliving the promotion she had been offered.

  She was still distracted, internally debating the pros and cons of Mr Turner’s offer, when something caught her attention. Or rather, the absence of something.

  If she turned her head, she could see the shadowy outline of the big old house right across the road from her cottage. Abbey Villa, as it was called, was a late Victorian Gothic monster of a house with a tower on one side, like something out of a horror movie. Some people called it beautiful. But Hannah thought it looked like a gargoyle, crouched in front of a tall, unruly stand of trees that were home to a large number of rooks.

  A parliament, Ivy had once corrected her, for her elderly neighbour was surprisingly proud of her feathered friends, despite the mess they made on her roof and driveway. Apparently, the collective noun for rooks was a parliament.

  Hannah often thought they would have been better named a ‘sinister’ of rooks, the birds looked so dark and forbidding in their high nests. On the other hand, perhaps a ‘parliament’ was a good choice given all the pointless ruckus they made, waking Hannah up early some mornings with hoarse cries that would put even Chadwick to shame.

  Tonight though, the big house stood dark and silent, which made her frown and stand up, putting aside her now-empty bowl of risotto.

  Something was wrong.

  This was the second night that Ivy had not put the lights on in her front windows, and Ivy always kept several lights on downstairs, even when she was not at home. The fairy lights covering the large ornamental cherry in the front garden were off too, which was perhaps stranger, given how much Ivy loved Christmas and its bright decorations.

  Hannah picked up the phone handset and dialled Ivy’s number. But Ivy’s phone rang and rang, and no-one picked up.

  Suddenly worried about the acerbic old lady, she tried her number again, but with the same result.

  It was a pity Ivy refused to have a mobile phone but Hannah had never been able to persuade her of their benefits. Ivy had listened patiently to her arguments, and then said, ‘Well, dear, it’s all very well but I have absolutely no interest in being reachable twenty-four hours a day. If I don’t answer the phone, it’s because I don’t feel like talking. And at my age, I think I’m entitled to be incognito on occasion.’

  Still concerned, Hannah rang her number again. This time, she left a message, asking Ivy to get in touch. If she didn’t ring by tomorrow night and the lights were still off, she would go over the road and have a look.

  She hesitated. Perhaps she should go over there now to check everything was okay.

  Then again, perhaps she should mind her own business.

  If Ivy was well, she would be pretty cross if Hannah went storming over there, just because the lights were out. Hannah liked Ivy but there was a small part of her that found the old lady scary. Tall and slender, with ramrod-straight posture, she looked frail enough. Yet she had a core of steel and a tongue like a blade. Hannah would rather chase hens all day and have Sam put the humiliating videos on YouTube, making her the laughing stock of the internet, than risk Ivy’s displeasure.

  She could just imagine the old lady’s caustic response. ‘Interfering again, are we? Your curiosity is a form of vanity and you’d do well to remember that. Curiosity never served anyone a good turn.’ Hannah could virtually hear Ivy’s starchy tones.

  Perhaps Ivy had simply gone to bed early.

  Sometimes Hannah had been known to go to bed early herself.

  When she was sick, for instance.

  Hannah stared across at the dark house, holding her breath as she ran through the various possibilities. What if Ivy really was sick? Or hurt, even? What if something bad had happened, and nobody knew about it?

  On second thoughts, she really ought to go over and check.

  The worst that could happen was that Ivy would yell at her. And she w
as used to being yelled at. By Chadwick, at least.

  Pulling on her coat and wrapping a thick, woollen scarf about her throat, Hannah opened her front door, which creaked loudly in the misty quiet. Those hinges need some oil, she thought testily, hesitating on the threshold.

  Across the road stood Abbey Villa, silent and desolate beneath tall, rook-infested trees. She studied it intently for a moment, her imagination already racing away from her. Just looking at the old place gave her the heebie-jeebies. Without Ivy’s jolly Christmas lights flashing in welcome, the front windows of the house seemed like deep-set eyes watching her from under a dark hood.

  ‘You know, Pepper,’ she said, reluctantly leaving the warmth of her cosy living room as she pulled the front door shut behind her, ‘it’s at times like these that I wish you were a very large dog.’

  Curious to know what was going on, Pepper had followed her out, tail in the air, but now abandoned her to go off and hunt for mice under the bushes.

  ‘Thanks for your support,’ Hannah called after him drily.

  The gravel at the front of the house made comforting, everyday crunching noises as Hannah approached the dark house.

  She lifted the heavy door knocker and banged on the door once, then twice. It was loud enough to raise the dead, Hannah thought superstitiously, wishing she’d grabbed her gloves on the way out. Not only was it damn chilly, but the metal knocker was freezing her fingers. She listened for several minutes, but Ivy did not come to the door and the house remained dark, no lights on anywhere.

  Bending down, she peered through the letter box. As soon as she lifted the flap, a piece of paper dropped to the mat in front of her.

  Hannah frowned. It looked to be a note of some kind. Using her phone screen for light, she picked it up and read: No milk until further notice.

  Well, that was her mystery solved. Ivy had gone away. Simple as that.

  Except that she usually came across to tell Hannah when she was going to be away for any length of time. She was very careful about security, and sometimes left a spare key with Hannah in case of emergency. But perhaps she had left in a hurry.

  There was nothing more she could do other than go home. Hands tucked deep into her pockets, chin into her scarf, she quickened her step as it started to rain, a driving sleety rain that a sudden gust of wind turned to icy needles.

  She got home just in time. As she locked the door behind her, she heard the rain intensify and realised a wintry storm was on its way.

  Pepper shot through the cat flap, all his fur on end. Seconds later, a flash of lightning ripped the sky apart, followed closely by a slow, menacing roll of thunder.

  ‘Nearly got you, did it?’ she said to the cat, grinning, then turned to draw the curtains against the storm. Gripping the curtains in both hands, she hesitated as a glow of light down the lane caught her attention.

  She glanced at the mantel clock. It was rather late for visitors to the Smirthwaites’ farm, and the lane didn’t go anywhere else.

  Pressing her face close to the glass, Hannah wondered if it could be Ivy on her way back. The headlights came nearer, intrusive, dazzling her.

  She shrank back, pulling the curtains partially across, then squinted nosily through the gap. How very odd. Those headlights were too low for Mr Smirthwaite’s tractor, and Ivy didn’t own a car. She booked the same local taxi every time she wanted to go out, and over the rain Hannah could hear the sexy growl of an engine that was definitely not John’s taxi!

  As she watched, the sleek black outline of a car materialised out of the rain. It drove slowly past her cottage and turned in through the gateposts of Abbey Villa. Hannah could not see who was inside, for there was not even the spooky glow of a satnav or dashboard light before the car swept up the drive.

  The car stopped close to Ivy’s front door, and then the driver’s door was flung open. A tall, dark shadow climbed out, and straightened, looking up at the house.

  ‘Hullo,’ she said to herself rather than the cat, who was already back in his basket, licking his fur in an aggrieved fashion. ‘Who’s this, then?’

  For a moment, the shadow stood there motionless. Then lightning ripped the sky apart, and in that bright flash Hannah got a sense of angular, forbidding lines and a swirling black cloak before darkness fell again, thunder rolling heavily in the background.

  Shadow Man moved around to the boot, and dragged out a large suitcase. Carrying it effortlessly to the front door, he let himself into Ivy’s house.

  With a key!

  Hannah snapped her curtains shut and stood still, heart pounding, eyes wide, utterly betwattled by what she had just witnessed.

  What on earth was going on?

  CHAPTER TWO

  ‘Ouf!’

  Hannah hefted another gnome onto the low shelf of the entrance display area, and then stretched the kinks out of her back before heading back to the outside pallet for the last time.

  Moving one gnome wasn’t a problem because they didn’t weigh much. But moving twenty of the little blighters was like an extreme workout in a gym. The good thing about physical work was that a.) she didn’t need to pay for a gym subscription, and b.) it kept her warm when she was working in the greenhouses or the outdoor sections of the garden centre.

  She eyed the last gnome, the one which she had already decided was going to prove most problematic. It stared back at her out of limpid blue eyes that would have been friendly, if not for his little half smile which was full of malicious mischief.

  Hannah bared her teeth at him. ‘You’re going into that display whether you like it or not, Gnomie.’

  She hated gnomes.

  Unfortunately, they were quite popular and, especially since the garden centre had started stocking unusual ones, they had been flying off the shelves as Christmas gifts. So here she was, restocking the gnome shelves late on a Friday afternoon. Twilight had set in outside. Soon it would be dark and time to go home.

  She blew on her chilly fingers, surprised they weren’t turning blue. So far, she’d shelved Christmas gnomes, biker gnomes, mooning gnomes, even zombie gnomes. In fact, the only kind of gnome missing from her display was a vampire one, which was strange considering they were within spitting distance of Whitby, a town renowned the world over for its pasty-faced neck-biters.

  That was something she could commission for her own business – when she finally had enough loot to launch it.

  Vampire gnomes …

  Hannah’s thoughts spun from pointy-toothed gnomes to the man who had driven out of the storm a few nights ago. There was still no sign of Ivy at the house, and nobody seemed to know she was even missing, let alone where she had gone.

  Hannah hadn’t seen anything of the stranger either, despite scrutinising Abbey Villa closely whenever she got home from work. The front door and downstairs curtains remained mysteriously closed, and the only indication that she had not imagined his dramatic arrival was the large black car with tinted windows that was still parked on the drive.

  Hannah remembered that brief snapshot she’d got of the stranger as lightning flashed overhead. The swirling black cloak, the white blur of his face, his extraordinary height …

  She shuddered.

  There had been something surreal about the whole thing, and even more bizarre was that she hadn’t seen anyone come in or out the house since that night.

  Ah well, mooning over a strange man wasn’t going to levitate the gnome from the pallet over to the display. This one wasn’t hollow either, like most of the others. This gnome was one of the original sculptures brought in from time to time by local crafts people, and was made of solid sandstone.

  Grabbing the offending gnome by the neck, she lifted it, waddling with it towards all its other not cute relatives.

  Headlights swept into the almost empty car park, dazzling Hannah and distracting her from the gnome. Not ungratefully, she plunked it down and watched as a large black car drew up in a space about twenty yards from where she was working.

 
; Her heart lurched, and she straightened, staring.

  It was the mysterious black car from Ivy’s driveway, she was almost sure of it. But was Shadow Man himself driving it? That would clinch it.

  Suddenly, making her jump visibly, there was a burst of evil cackling from the lower half of her dungarees. It was her phone alarm, going off in the voluminous front pocket, which was set to sound like maniacal laughter. Katy had chosen that setting for her a few weeks back as a joke, and she had forgotten to change it.

  Swearing under her breath, she fumbled for the phone and cut the alarm reminder.

  Fifteen minutes to closing time.

  Had he heard that?

  Keeping one eye surreptitiously on the dark-tinted windows of the black car, from which nobody had yet emerged, she lugged the gnome another few yards. It was ridiculously heavy. She felt like a competitor in the Strongest Man in the World Competition, only without the potential rewards.

  Hannah was bent over the gnome, red-faced and panting, when a pair of black boots materialised in her vision.

  ‘Hello,’ a male voice said.

  Slowly, she straightened up, her gaze travelling past a strong pair of thighs clad in black jeans, a black T-shirt showing off flat, muscular abs, and a long black coat that flared outwards like a cloak, framing a pale face with a pair of startlingly green eyes.

  Good grief.

  She had been about to reply with a cheery, ‘Hello,’ but now her breath had caught, lodged like a wishbone somewhere in her throat, and all she could do was stare.

  To say this man was handsome would be to call the sea blue. It couldn’t possibly cover the sheer depth of his beauty which, to Hannah, standing outside in the gloom and cold of the wintry evening, seemed almost supernatural. Her first impressions of him had been eerily close to the truth. He was indeed tall, his hair black but without the dark-blue sheen that some black hair could carry. His complexion was pale without the rosy bite that cold, Yorkshire weather could bring to cheeks up north, and there was no lightening of his expression as he regarded her sombrely in turn.