Page 33 of Christmas in Mistletoe
Damian wagged a finger at her. “You might be onto something there. And if Skinny Boy can make Cupboard Boy cry, imagine what he can do to Fast Forward.”
Fran grimaced. “Their song is so much better. They deserve it. But Christmas number ones are all about novelty, so Skinny Boy might win.”
“You’ve got me feeling sorry for Cupboard Boy now.”
Fran scoffed. “Don’t feel too bad for him. He left Boy Wonder with £25 million and the status of sex symbol, so things could be worse.”
Fran’s phone began to ring on her desk. She strained her neck to check the caller. Dad. She grabbed it.
“Hey, how are you? Did you miss me too much already? I’ve only been gone three days.”
There was a pause on the line. Too long a pause. “Listen it’s nothing to worry about, but Pop’s in hospital.”
Fran sat up straight, a shiver running down her spine. “What’s he doing there? What happened?”
Damian scrunched his forehead, before wheeling his chair back to his desk.
“He had a fight with some ice when he was riding his bike, and the ice won. It’s not serious, but he’s broken his leg and buggered his shoulder a bit, so they’re keeping him in as he needs surgery. I know you’re busy, so don’t worry. Just send him a text, I’m sure he’d appreciate it.”
Fran’s stomach dropped. What had she told him about being careful on country roads? However, now was not the time for lectures on road safety. The damage was done. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll see if I can juggle my work schedule.”
“Okay, honey. But your job’s important. We both know that. See what you can do.”
Maybe her job was a littletooimportant.
Fran hung up and turned to Damian. “If I pay for you to have a bet on Skinny Boy beating Cupboard Boy, can we chat about this week and juggling schedules so I can go home and work from there? My dad’s in hospital.”
Damian’s face fell. “Shit. Is he okay?”
Fran nodded. “Broken leg, but he’ll survive.” She paused. “What’s it going to cost me?”
Damian cocked his head. “£25 each way on Skinny Boy and I’m all ears.”
Chapter 14
Fran backedher dad’s car into her parents’ driveway, and shut off the engine. Surgery had gone well, and Pop had been kept in for observation overnight. He looked battered, too, his face a mass of red marks and cuts. She could tell Dad was just as shook up as Pop. It was often like that — the person left holding the fort was just as affected, sometimes more than the patient. She’d left Dad at a pub near the hospital, as he wanted to stay close by and had snagged an overnight room. Fran had promised to drive back and bring them home tomorrow. It had been a stark reality check for her, too. A flush of doing-the-right-thing energy travelled through her.
At times over the past few years, Fran hadn’t gone home as much as she should, and that was on her. However, now, her parents needed her. Could she work the next little while from their cottage? Maybe. Plus, her boss was being sympathetic and Damian was picking up the slack, so there was no need to hurry back at least until after the weekend. Four days away. Being here also meant she could hassle the garage about her car. Their answers so far had been vague and involved the words ‘part from Swindon, possibly Japan’ and ‘could run to after Christmas or the New Year’. She knew things worked on a different time frame in the country, but three or four weeks? Fran made a note in her phone to get on their case.
She got out of the car, admiring her parents’ frosted front garden again, with its holly bush and array of plants. She stopped beside the garden’s mature fir tree and breathed in the pines. Was there a better smell in the world? The fir tree had a fresh layer of snow on it again. Did it always snow like this in Mistletoe?
This time, however, Fran was prepared for the weather. When she’d got back to London, she’d gone shopping and bought a bright yellow winter coat that came past her knees, along with new gloves, thermal-lined boots and a hat. She’d also bought some more colourful clothing after Ruby’s comments. A baby-blue shirt. A mustard top. Dusty-pink trousers. Never let it be said Fran Bell was averse to change. She was far more flexible than most people gave her credit for.
She let herself into Hollybush Cottage, then shivered. It was freezing. She took off her gloves and touched a radiator. Stone cold. Fran prodded the heating control until she heard the boiler fire up. Then she grabbed her suitcase and pulled it up the stairs and into her new room. Immediately, she saw that view again, and she was at peace. What was it about this place?
As the train had unzipped the surrounding fields on the way over, Fran had simply sat and watched, transfixed. Fran didn’t do that. She was always on. If she was travelling somewhere, she neverjusttravelled. She was either answering email, listening to a new artist or reading a business book. But on the way to Mistletoe, she’d just sat, soaking in the surroundings.
Fran opened her suitcase and stashed a few items in her old chest of drawers. Not everything had made it in the move, as her parents had downsized. Fran had been sad to see her dressing table and mirror go, along with a bookcase from her old room. But really, she didn’t miss them. Her dads were here. Fields were here. Christmas was here. A warm, fuzzy feeling ran through her. She wasn’t in London, and already she could breathe better.
What the hell was that?
It felt dangerously close to contentment.
Fran flicked away her thoughts as she lifted her laptop and pressed the on button. She searched for her parents’ Wi-Fi, and then tried to connect.
No dice. Immediately, her muscles tightened.
She frowned at the screen.Come on.She had work to do tonight. It was the first week of December and she had a stack of emails to answer and meetings to virtually attend over the next few days.
