Page 29 of A Cosy Christmas with the Village Vet

She eased off her wellies. ‘Oh, I can’t tell you how much better that feels,’ she said, wiggling her toes that had turned a vivid pink with the cold.

‘I can imagine.’ Nick set his overnight bag down on the floor and removed his wet boots. She was right, it did feel better.

The porch led to a cosy-looking kitchen with a gently undulating floor of quarry tiles that, though they looked centuries old, were polished to a rich amber. Warmth from the Aga wrapped itself around him and he sighed gratefully, though he couldn’t ignore the slightly surreal feeling of finding himself standing in the kitchen of her home. If Brogan felt the same, she wasn’t letting on.

‘Right then, here we are,’ she said, smiling up at him. ‘I’ll stick the kettle on, make us a nice, hot cuppa.’

‘Ah, I do like a girl who gets her priorities right,' said Nick. Their eyes met and they exchanged a smile. There was that frisson, shimmering between them again.

‘Of course; a cup of tea always comes first,’ she said. ‘When my grandparents were still here, the teapot was never empty.’

Nick noted her grandparents featured regularly in her conversation, but not so much her parents. In fact, he couldn’t recall her mentioning them at all, but, then again, they hadn’t had that many opportunities to chat, he figured. And he probably hadn’t mentioned his either; he’d had no reason to.

Weariness suddenly crept up on him. What a day it had been. Was it really only this morning Brogan had been making him tea and toast? Today had been so long, with so much being thrown at him, the tea and toast could easily have been forty-eight hours ago.

Nick glanced around the pin-neat room. Though the décor was dated and there were loads of knick-knacks dotted about, taking up every bit of available shelf-space – the dark oak dresser particularly so, which was cluttered with a mix of blue and white china, and little pottery animals – it was spotlessly clean and positively oozed homeliness. It wasn’t difficult to conjure up an image of noisy family dinners around the old pine table where a jug of holly, festooned with bright red berries, currently sat in the centre. The thought made him feel instantly brighter.

‘Please excuse the décor, it’s how my grandparents had it – not that I’m criticising their taste but it’s been pretty much the same as far back as I can remember. I’m sure it was the height of fashion in the eighties or nineties but I haven’t had the heart to decorate since they passed away last year. My grandma loved the wallpaper in here; she was big on blowsy flowers – inside as well as outside the cottage.’ She gave a small smile.

Nick noted a hint of sadness in her voice and his heart went out to her; he hoped nothing in his facial expression had made her feel embarrassed about her home or the need to apologise. ‘I’m so sorry to hear about your grandparents, Brogan, but if this room’s anything to go by, they created a lovely, cosy home.’ He smiled down at her, giving her arm a squeeze. ‘It actually reminds me of my own grandparents’ house; I spent many happy times there.’

‘Oh, really?’ She beamed up at him. ‘I used to spend all my holidays here as a kid, hated tearing myself away to go back home to Skeltwick. It’s why I came back when…’ Her smiled dropped. ‘…um, when I had the chance.’ She pushed her smile back up.

What had she been going to say? he wondered, studying her face, noting her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. ‘I can imagine it was hard to leave.’

‘Yeah, it was,’ she said, just a little too breezily, giving a shrug. ‘Right then… kettle… Hmm. Actually, it might be better if we got changed first. I can show you to your room, if you like?’

‘Sounds like a plan,’ said Nick. He couldn’t wait to get into something warm and dry. He looked round for Maudie to see she’d taken up residence on a large, cushiony dog bed that he assumed was Wilf’s. Poor old Wilf seemed perfectly content to sit on the tiled floor and just gaze happily at her while Maudie looked down at him wearing one of her superior expressions. ‘I feel a little embarrassed to say a certain someone’s made herself right at home.’ He nodded towards the two dogs.

Brogan followed his line of vision and burst out laughing. ‘Oh, dear, looks like he’s got it bad.’ She went over and ruffled Wilf’s ears. ‘You’re a great soppy lump, aren’t you, lad? But it’s good to see you’re a gentleman and letting Maudie have your bed. I’m very impressed.’ Wilf responded with a vigorous wag of his tail.

‘I don’t think the poor fella will’ve had much choice in the matter if I know Maudie.’

‘Ah, well, you know the saying, “treat ’em mean to keep ’em keen”; maybe Maudie’s using those tactics,’ said Brogan as she made her way to a door on the other side of the room.

‘Maybe she is,’ said Nick, the cogs of his mind whirring. Did Brogan employ these tactics too? If so, it could explain her sudden reluctance to talk about their “brief encounter”, explain why she appeared to be keeping him at arm’s length emotionally speaking.Hmm.The thought gave him a little glimmer of hope; maybe their encounter wouldn’t be so brief after all. There was an extra spring in his step as he followed behind her. He’d be careful not to push things, though. He didn’t want to scupper any potential chances of picking up where they’d left off that day at the wedding. But he knew one thing for certain, he definitely wanted to get to know Brogan better, find out what made her tick, hear stories of her days here when she was a child. From the little time they’d spent together, and as corny as it seemed, he already knew there was no one he’d rather be with.

Upstairs, Nick followed Brogan down a long, narrow landing covered with a Persian-style runner, the ancient elm floorboards creaking underfoot. ‘So, you should be okay in here. I’ll fill a couple of hot water bottles to air the bed.’ Brogan pushed open an old pine door with a brass handle and stepped in, Nick close behind.

He scanned the room which was small but full of character. Being in the eaves, it had a sloping, heavily beamed ceiling, a sweet dormer window and a floor-level stone mullion on the gable wall. Brogan went over and drew the floral curtains that matched the floral wallpaper – more evidence of her grandmother’s love of flowers, he thought. His eyes alighted on the cast iron bed with plump pillows and a patchwork quilt thrown over it. He dearly hoped it was as comfy as it looked. Beside it was a bedside table upon which sat a lamp with a floral shade and a small bowl. The furniture was mismatched antique pine, which only added to the quaintness of the room. It comprised of a single wardrobe, a chest of drawers and a dressing table. The carpet – another testament to Brogan’s grandmother’s love of all things floral – appeared to be a little worn in places, not that it mattered. But most importantly of all, the room looked so much more welcoming than his bedroom at Willow Cottage, and Nick was in no doubt he’d enjoy a good night’s sleep here.

‘I did warn you my grandma liked flowers,’ Brogan said, smiling apologetically up at him.

‘I think it looks very cosy.’

She went over to the radiator beneath the window and fiddled with the thermostat. ‘I’m not so sure cosy’s the word I’d use, but I’ve turned the radiator up to full; it won’t get red hot but you’ll be warmer here than the place at Arkleby, which I know isn’t saying much, I reckon a fridge would be warmer than that. And you won’t find yourself knee-deep in icy water – at least, I hope you won’t.’ She gave a small laugh. ‘Anyway, I’ll leave you to it. See you downstairs when you’re ready.’

‘Thanks, Brogan, I really appreciate you doing this.’

‘Hey, it’s no problem. You helped me out by giving me a lift.’

‘It’s hardly the same.’

‘’Tis in my book. A favour’s a favour,’ she said with a shrug and closed the door.

Is that all this was? A favour? He’d hoped because of their previous connection, offering him a place to stay might actually mean more to her than that. ‘Oh, well,’ he said under his breath. Whatever her motivation, however she viewed it, he was grateful of it.

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