32. EPILOGUE

32

CHRISTMAS DAY

I t’s my first real Christmas in ten years.

It’s not completely perfect.

I don’t have a Christmas tree here at the house, for one thing. There’s no food to eat, or crackers to pull, and I never did get around to that last-minute Christmas shopping I kept meaning to do either. So, as Christmases go, I don’t think this one would win any prizes.

But this morning I woke up with Elliot for the first time in a decade. The snow that started on Christmas Eve continued throughout the night, which meant we opened the blinds to what I think fully signed-up Christmas people would probably describe as ‘a winter wonderland’, and which even I have to admit is quite pretty, really.

If you like that kind of thing.

“Happy Christmas,” says Elliot, handing me a steaming mug of coffee as I lie in bed, looking out at the snow.

“Happy Christmas.”

We clink mugs in a toast, then he climbs back into bed and puts his arm around me as we lie there together, enjoying the tranquility of the scene in front of us. Later, we’ll walk over to Dad’s place on the other side of the village, where he’s announced that we’ll be abandoning our now traditional takeaway in favor of a small turkey, cooking instructions for which he claims to have looked up on ‘the Google’.

Fortunately, I’ve got the takeaway’s number on speed dial, just in case.

“This is cause for celebration,” he said when I called him first thing this morning to ask if I could bring Elliot with me when I called around for dinner later. “I’m making the turkey and opening the good champagne. First, though, I have to call Levi and let him know he owes me ￡10: he bet me you two would never get your act together.”

“I didn’t think we would either, to be fair,” I laughed. “But here we are. It’s a Christmas miracle.”

And it honestly feels like it is.

“Seeing as we’re bringing partners this year,” says Dad, sounding uncharacteristically shy. “I, er, don’t suppose you’d mind if I invited Elsie Poole, would you? Not that she’s my partner, you understand, I just … well, I thought she might be lonely, that’s all, because Maisie’s spending the day with her daughter and —”

“It’s fine, Dad,” I interrupt, not quite knowing whether to laugh or cry at this news. “Invite her. I’ll see you later, okay? Oh, and happy Christmas!”

I put down the phone and sit staring at Elliot with my mouth open.

“I think my dad might be ‘courting’ Elsie Poole,” I manage at last. “And we’re going to be having dinner with her.”

“Wow. That’s one I didn’t see coming,” says Elliot, his eyebrows raised. “But, I mean, good for him, I guess. At least Elsie will be able to help cushion the blow if we decide to base ourselves in the States.”

“Don’t.” I wince at the thought of Elsie Poole ‘cushioning’ anything. “This is going to take a bit of getting used to. Quick, say something to distract me. Anything.”

“We could split our time between here and Florida,” says Elliot, continuing a conversation that started last night, and has continued intermittently ever since. “I know the paperwork would probably be a bit of a pain, but it’s not like either of us has a boss to answer to. We’re writers. We can work from anywhere we like.”

“I think the commute between England and America might be a bit much, don’t you?” I reply, snuggling into him and still trying not to think about Dad and Elsie. “Not to mention the visas we’d need. Is it even legal for me to work in America? Or for you to work here?”

“No idea,” he says, cheerfully. “We’ll add it to the list.”

He reaches over and picks up a notebook from the nightstand. Because, like he said, we’re writers: of course there’s an actual list — one we started last night, when we realized we had too many questions to be able to keep track of them all. We’ve called the list ‘Things We Need to Figure Out’, and item number one is where we’re going to live after Elliot’s visa runs out and we have to decide what happens next.

(Item number two is what we should name the dog we’re planning to get as soon as we’ve decided: so far we’re thinking Bark Twain for a boy and Virginia Woof for a girl, but we’re open to suggestions…)

(Oh, and item # 3 is what the title of the Snow Globe sequel should be. We’re not going to be starting on that until I’ve finished writing the book I started as a ghostwriter, but will be finishing under my own name, though: my first real novel. And hopefully not the last.)

But there’s plenty of time for all of that.

For now, we have to get dressed and head out into the snow. We have Christmas dinner to eat, Dad’s ‘good’ champagne to drink, and a long conversation to be had with him about the fact that I’m probably not going to be working at the books store any more; although I somehow think that particular bit’s going to be a lot easier than it was the first time, considering that he was planning to call Paris as soon as he was done with Levi, to offer her my job.

It would be fair to say that a lot has changed since the last time Elliot and I were together.

It would also be fair to say that there are even more changes to come; some of them exciting, but some of them low key petrifying, as Paris would say.

“I never thought I’d say it,” I tell Elliot as we wrap ourselves up in coats and scarves, ready to brave the walk to Dad’s place. “But I think I would miss it here if I left for good. I know that’s all I’ve ever talked about since I was young, but, I don’t know. It’s like, I still want to see the world, but…”

“But this will always be home?” Elliot finishes for me. “That makes sense. It’s a pretty cool place. I loved it too, from the moment I got here. But I guess that’s the beauty of having a job that doesn’t tie you to a particular place. You can move around. Try out different places for size. And you can do it knowing you can always come home if you want to. It’ll always be here for you.”

“The best of both worlds,” I reply, thinking of the two snow globes, which are currently sitting side by side on the mantelpiece in my living room. “I like the sound of that.”

I take his hand, and we step out together into the snow.

"Oh, I forgot to mention," I tell him, breathing in the sharp, December air. "When I was talking to Dad earlier he said he'd been speaking to Martin's mum, and she told him Martin's leaving town after Christmas. It was a very sudden decision, apparently. She didn't know quite what to make of it."

"Um, I think I might know something about that," Elliot replies, his cheeks reddening slightly. "I, er, might have popped in to see him yesterday morning. Not long before you did, in fact."

"Really? What did you say to him?"

I glance up at him curiously, trying to imagine mild-mannered Elliot confronting Martin, and running him out of town. It doesn't seem possible. And yet…

"Well, let's just say I'm not surprised he decided to leave," says Elliot grimly. "I can be rather … persuasive … when I want to be."

"Right. Well, whatever you said, it obviously did the trick," I say, impressed by this new, commanding version of the man who was once too scared to tell his dad he didn't want to join the family business. "At least we won't have to worry about bumping into him around town now."

"Exactly."

Elliot squeezes my hand, and we make our way cautiously down the hill.

“We’re definitely getting a Christmas tree next year,” I say as the village square comes into view, the decorated tree rising up in the middle of it.

“Not a sad little raggedy one like last time, though?” replies Elliot, with a grin.

“Oh, definitely a sad little raggedy one. I’m going to get the most unloved tree on the farm. And then I’m going to decorate it to the nines, and cover it with lights, until it’s the happiest little Christmas tree in all the land.”

“That’s quite the turnaround,” laughs Elliot. “Maybe we’ll make a Christmas person of you yet.”

“Maybe we will,” I reply, grinning as I stand on my tiptoes to kiss him in front of the once-hated plastic snow globe that now deserves its very own brass plaque declaring it the spot of Holly and Elliot’s second first kiss. “I really think I’m starting to like it. I have to admit, it’s pretty romantic, really.”

“They certainly seem to think so,” says Elliot, nodding in the direction of a young couple who’ve just appeared from the direction of the bookstore. As we watch, the man reaches out to take his partner's hand, and …

“Oh my God.”

“Isn’t that …?”

Elliot and I watch in astonishment as Levi and Paris go strolling off together, pausing only so that Levi can aim a quick kick at the wheel of Martin's parked car as he walks past it.

“Okay, now that’s a Christmas miracle,” I say, once I’ve regained the power of speech. “And here was I thinking Dad and Elsie would be the biggest plot twist of the day. Or of my life , really.”

“It’s a real enemies-to-lovers arc,” agrees Elliot. “We should make a note of it for the book after the Snow Globe sequel.”

“I’ve been thinking about that, actually,” I tell him as we resume our walk towards the house Dad bought when he moved out of the flat and rented it to Paris. (And also Levi, it would now appear. No, I’m definitely going to need a lot more time to get used to this…) “The next book. I was thinking I’d like to write about Mum. I don’t know what, yet, but she was a bookworm, like me. She would have loved the idea of being part of a story.”

Elliot looks down at me, his eyes soft.

“I never got to meet your mom,” he says. “But I think she would be so proud of you, Holly. I really do. The bookstore, your writing … you . I mean, I’m proud of you, so I reckon she’d be about fit to burst if she could see you now.”

“Especially if she knew I’d worn this red sweater because it’s the closest thing I have to a Christmas jumper,” I reply, somehow managing not to start crying at this, even though I really want to. “She’d have loved that, for sure.”

“Next year we’ll buy you a real one,” Elliot says, wrapping his arm tightly around me. “One with, like, an elf on it. Or a snowman.”

“And we’ll put fairy lights around the house,” I add. “Wherever it ends up being.”

“We’ll drink eggnog.”

“And watch It’s a Wonderful Life .”

We smile up at each other. Next year, everything will be different. For now, though, we’ve reached the end of Dad’s street, which is quiet and sleepy, with just a handful of people outside — kids playing with the new toys they got for Christmas, and adults out for a walk. As we walk, I think about all of the people that came before them, and all of the other Christmases they’ve celebrated. Evie and Luke, crunching their way through the snow on their way to a dance at the town hall. Mum, laughing as she pulls me up the hill on a sledge, just so she can watch me slide right back down, before asking if I can do it again.

All of the ghosts of Christmas past.

But now it’s time to take them all with us into some yet to be written future. All the people we’ve lost: their laughter, their smiles, and all of the weird, wonderful, and totally random things they did. I hold all of their stories inside me; and when I write them down, they’ll no longer feel like ghosts.