Summer Hates Christmas, page 1
SUMMER HATES CHRISTMAS
RACHEL DOVE
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
More from Rachel Dove
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Rachel Dove
About Boldwood Books
Dedicated to the dear departed June Rosamunde Milne
Dreamer, poet, carer, and much-loved auntie.
All the lonely people
Where do they all come from? All the lonely people
Where do they all belong?
‘ELEANOR RIGBY’ BY LENNON & MCCARTNEY
1
Summer Hastings walked along the front of Bridlington beach, right alongside the harbour, flip flops dangling from her fingers, bright-pink toenails flashing in and out of the shallow sea water as she walked along. Her maxi dress ruffled up in one hand, her handbag slung across her shoulders. Oversized shades on her tanned nose, brows sculpted and bright, summery nails on her fingers, she was feeling great. It was mid September, and the weather was amazing. She loved living here year round, but these months were her absolute favourite. Work was busy, people constantly in and out, changing money, booking last-minute deals, coming to iron out last-minute niggles. It was perfect, and she wouldn't change a thing about it. Except perhaps, her ability to leave once in a while. So many times, her finger had hovered over her keyboard, just poised to grab a last-minute deal and see the world. She never pressed the button though. She couldn’t quite bring herself to do it, not with how things were at home. Instead, she just grinned and nodded when her customers came back to gush about their dream travels. She smiled and laughed along with them over their holiday snaps, all the while wishing it was her that had the tale to tell. Just once, why couldn't it be her? Still, she took solace in the present. Simple pleasures. The sun, the walk on the beach every morning. The sheer joy and pleasure to be gained from a nice summer's day.
That's how she remembered feeling that fateful morning. She would declare it later to be BC. Before Christmas. Eugh. Now that was something she did hate, even more than her wheels being grounded. The mere tinkle of a seasonal bell had her coming out in a cold sweat. When the first Christmas carols were played on the radio, she would hit the gin and start painting ‘The End Is Nigh’ sandwich boards. How could anyone like Christmas? It was expensive, noisy, freezing, and tacky. Everyone cramming their cupboards with food and drink, forced to spend time with their so-called loved ones? No, thank you. She would choose a hot beach and a cold cocktail any day of the week. Summer was salads and cold, crisp wine, BBQs and Pimms, Wimbledon, strawberries and cream. Bridlington lived for summer, and so did she. The fact that they were having an Indian summer, a late heat wave, was all the better. She didn't even want to think about Christmas, and she had no intention of starting now, when it still seemed so far away. When it did swing around again, she would deal with it then. In her usual way: totally avoiding it altogether. She smiled to herself through her dusty-pink lip gloss, enjoying once more the feel of the sand under her feet as she walked her usual coastal path to her travel agency, Summer Loving. She loved walking down past the shops, the cute cupcake bakery, the chocolate shop, the surf shack. Seeing the same customers, the same shop owners day in and day out, living their lives. Having their routines played out in front of her. Life was pretty good here at times. Times like this, when the air of opportunity and promise seemed so fresh and ripe, there for the taking. She loved the scent of delusion in the morning.
Then she turned the corner to where her travel agency stood and heard the slap of her flip flop soles hitting the pavement. She had dropped them as she stood there, glued to the spot with shock. What the hell? She blinked rapidly, as though the movement would dislodge the offensive vision from her sight.
There was a green tree, right outside her shop doorway. A large, green, fir tree, complete with red, gold, and silver decorations. It looked like Santa had thrown up on it, and against the backdrop of the palm tree decals in the shop window, it looked even worse. Summer walked across to her shop quickly, not taking her eyes off the tree. Was it a joke? Had someone realised that she hated Christmas and decided to mess with her? Whatever it was, her morning was ruined now. She got close enough to touch it when a hand seemingly appeared from nowhere, and the tree was yanked to the right, away from her grasp.
‘Hey!’ Summer shouted, lunging for the branches as it passed her. ‘What the holy hell are you doing?’
‘Eh?’ A gruff confused voice replied. From behind the tree came a man who did look decidedly confused. ‘What's the matter?’
‘What's the matter?’ Summer echoed, feeling her face get hotter and hotter. ‘Why the hell is there a Christmas tree outside my shop?’
The man smiled then, and straightening up he offered his hand. ‘Sorry, I was just moving it into my place. The truck had to leave, so I dumped out what I could. I'm Noel Pritchett, I just took the lease next door.’ He smiled again, a full one this time, showing off the whites of his perfect teeth and the dimples in his cheeks. He had shaggy, black, curly hair, like Aidan Turner off the telly. Summer scowled, looking at his outstretched hand. This inconsiderate arsehole had just ruined Poldark for her.
She folded her arms against her chest and his smile faded a little, lips twitching. He left his hand out there a beat longer, before tucking it under his opposite underarm.
‘Summer. Hastings. What exactly are you selling next door?’
Noel pointed to the tree, as though he was holding a big elephant, not a tatty looking travesty. ‘Er, Christmas?’ he said, ‘my shop is called Forever Festive.’
Summer's eyes bulged, and she felt her left eyelid twitch. It always did that when she was stressed, or overtired, or over caffeinated. She could feel it twitching rapidly, but she couldn't move. This was her worst nightmare! How the hell could she get rid of him? This was a disaster, all wrapped up in a ridiculously good-looking tinsel tat bow. She had a flashback to the old days, when her dad would come home, his van laden with the latest craze. Crazy frog toys, the latest band T-shirt. Tat and crap that people lapped up. 'Gullible punters', he called them.
‘Hello? You there?’ Christmas Poldark was waving his hand in front of her face now, getting only a glazed expression in return. She looked like a hot mannequin challenge. ‘Hello? Summer?’
She came to at the sound of her name being called. Her eyes slowly focused again and narrowed when they spotted him.
‘You okay? Where did you go?’ He looked genuinely concerned now, shepherding her towards his shop, his corded forearm resting under her wrist. ‘Come and get a drink; I've unpacked the kettle thankfully.’
Summer was nearly through the door when she came to her senses. She pulled her arm away from his, backing away from him. It felt like the ghost of her father was walking with them, and she could feel it happening again. The panicky feelings of loss and anger, all balled up in the pit of her stomach. It always made her feet tingle. She looked down at them, and back across at her unwanted new companion. Noel looked like he half expected her to cross her fingers to ward him off. He made no attempt to follow her; he just crossed his arms and leant on the door frame of his shop. The tree stood between them, a big, spiky, green bystander to their first meeting.
‘I don't need help, thank you. What I need is for you to keep your bullshit tat the hell away from my shop.’
Noel raised his brows. ‘Wow, you really don't like decorations, do you?’ She growled in response, and he raised his palms in surrender. ‘Listen, I'm almost moved in. I will get it done as quick as possible, and keep things out of your way, okay? I'm sorry. Would you let me buy you dinner, apologise properly?’ He gave her a big grin, and she ignored the jolt of unexpected electricity that passed through her. Not on my watch, her mother's voice said in her head. Men like him never end well, my girl. Keep walking.
‘No, I don't think so,’ she said flatly. ‘I'm not interested.’ He folded his arms tighter, and she saw the muscles in his arm twitch. The mother in her head tutted loudly, snapping her out of her body lust stupor. She stood to attention, banging her left foot on the floor to get herself moving again. ‘This isn't Cornwall, you know! We don't have need for your kind round here! I just want you to keep your festive fuckery away from me!’ She turned on her heel, giving the tree a swift kick with all the venom she could muster. The tree keeled over onto its side with the tinkle of broken glass, but she heard no movement from Noel. She didn't wait to see his reaction either. She fumbled for her shop key, and didn't draw breath till she was locked in and sat on the floor of the back store room, trembling amongst the brochures.
Noel looked at the tree, crumpled on its side, the ornaments on it askew, with some smashed to bits. A solitary bauble with Santa's smiling face splashed across it rolled to the edge of the pavement, smashing as it fell into the road.
‘What the heck has Cornwall got to do with anything?’ he asked aloud. ‘I'm from Leeds.’
‘Jean, that's hardly the point, is it? It hasn't been closed that long, anyway.’
Jean took a stack of brochures down from a sh
‘Fair enough, the empty shop might have been a little annoying, but having a bloody tat shop won't be any better, will it? I'm trying to entice people away for Christmas, make them yearn for palm trees and pina coladas, and before they even get to the doors, bloody Bing Crosby is there, banging his bloomin' ‘White Christmas’ drum! We'll have to report him to the tourist committee and the council. The landlord has to be told to kick him out.’
Jean placed the brochures back in the rack neatly, brushing a feather duster over the already dust-free shelf. ‘You can't do that! You know Reg needs the rent, come on, Summer! Not all men are horrible idiots, you know; some are actually rather normal. Nice, even.’
‘Reg can rent it to someone else! Bridlington is a tourist hotspot, he’ll soon fill it up, and if it's so easy to find nice men, why doesn't every woman have one? I get enough people in here shopping for lone trips to realise that not everyone needs company, or to alter for some bloke.’
Jean stood up slowly, rubbing her knee.
‘Jean, are you okay? Do you need to go home?’
The look Jean shot her had her hunching her neck into her shoulders like a startled turtle.
‘Okay, I'm only asking.’ Stubborn as ever.
‘No woman is an island, Summer. Everyone needs someone at some point in their lives. And for the record, I'm getting old, not dying. My knee twinges. Your ankle clicks; does that mean you're knocking on the door of death?’
Summer rolled her eyes. ‘Okay, okay. Fair point.’
‘You can't expect Reg to have to find a tenant this close to Christmas. Not with the season winding down. He needs the cash, and with his heart, he doesn't need the stress. I think you're being a little bit selfish, and a little unfair to the poor lad next door. He's running a business all on his own. Sound familiar?’
Summer's jaw dropped wide open. ‘Me! Selfish? No, I'm only thinking of the community, my business. Hell, everyone's business. That thing,’ Summer jabbed at the wall dividing them, as though the gates of hell had literally opened up next door, ‘that thing is gross. It's not in keeping with Bridlington at all; it's about Christmas, not the beach!’
Jean frowned, moving to the next shelf. ‘Blackpool illuminations has thousands of people flocking for the weekend, for Christmas trips, getaways, Christmas parties. So do we. People buy things here, souvenirs, why wouldn't they pick up something for their tree at home? Besides, we're locals, we shop here too. People need Christmas things, hon. And I imagine he’ll be on his way in January anyway.’
‘Why?’ Summer demanded. ‘What have you heard? Have you spoken to him?’ He was leaving! That was good, right? The mother voice in her head stayed silent. Great, now she shuts up.
‘No, I only saw the shop this morning, same as you, but how many shops selling seasonal goods stay open all year? I bet it's one of those pop-up shop thingies. Surely you can just get along with him for four or five months, let Reg enjoy his recuperation in peace?’
Summer sat back in her seat, crossing her arms but saying nothing. Reginald Andrews used to have the shop next door, selling old fashioned sweets, newspapers, souvenirs. He had been open for years, a stalwart of the local community, but the recession and a bad ticker had taken its toll, and he had reluctantly retired. The shop was his, lock, stock and barrel, but with the property market being in the toilet, Reg had decided to rent it out for a while. Jean thought he wasn't ready to let go completely. Summer knew where he was coming from. She loved her business. It was her baby, which was why she felt like a mama bear ready to rip her new neighbour apart with her bare claws. She couldn't cause Reg any hassle, though; he had always been amazing to her, like the grandfather she never had, so adding to his stress now was not an option. She would just ignore Noel, freeze him out. Soon, like Jean said, she would be on a beach, and Christmas Nightmare and his little shop of horrors would be a distant, shuddering nightmare. If she could pull the beach thing off, of course. She had a business to run, and a long, devastatingly depressing winter to prepare for. She would just ignore him. That was it. She would just ignore him completely, and hopefully he would stay out of her way. After all, he had just moved in. Perhaps it was just bad timing this morning. She fired up her computer and, opening up her email, she got to work. Holidays wouldn't book themselves, and she had plenty of regular clients emailing her to book their annual holidays, with the best deals she could get. Before too long, she was immersed in her work.
An hour or two had passed and Summer had not stopped. Dealing with drop-ins, regulars, online queries and emails, she was positively buzzing at how busy she was. This really was a brilliant month, even with the unwelcome interruption this morning. The phone rang, and she picked it up.
‘Good morning, Summer Loving, Summer speaking?’
‘Where did you get to this morning?’ the voice asked. ‘I wanted to make you breakfast, but your room was empty.’
Summer puffed the air out into her cheeks. ‘Sorry Mum, I wanted to get an early start and have a walk on the beach.’
‘You could have told me; I had planned to make breakfast. I really wish you would be more considerate.’
Summer sighed, sitting back in her chair. ‘Mum, I’ve told you so many times, I'm a grown woman. You don't have to make me breakfast any more; I can do it myself. I often do. It's only on your good days that I even see you at all!’
There was a small silence. ‘Oh, and I suppose you can do your own laundry, too?’
Summer opened up a new email and began to reply, putting the headset plug into her phone and gently replacing the receiver. ‘Well, yes Mum, I do my own washing when you don't.’ She resisted the urge to add, when you aren't in a dark mood. ‘I really can't talk about this now, I need to work.’
Her mother huffed down the line, and Summer looked out of the window at the people passing. Something caught her eye, just off to one side. A young girl, standing across the road, looking right into the shop. She was wearing a pale-pink hoodie, large, black-rimmed glasses filling much of her face. Summer waved at her, being friendly, but the girl turned and ran off. Weird. Must be a tourist. Her mother was still talking away, telling her about how she sometimes did her laundry because she was always at work, and never there to do her chores. Summer was used to it by now, and she let her mother get it out of her system. Chores were a joke, given the state of the house most weeks.
Summer could see her other line ringing, the light buzzing at her and the phone line beeping in her ear. ‘Mum,’ she tried, looking at yet another blinking light. She knew she should hire some seasonal staff, but money was tight, with the shop, the bills and looking after Mum. She had to be careful with the holiday summer season coming to an end.
