A Christmas Kiss Read online

  A CHRISTMAS KISS

  (BOOK 4 IN THE LIFE ON THE MOORS SERIES)

  Eliza J Scott

  Copyright © 2019 by Eliza J Scott

  All rights reserved.

  Eliza J Scott has asserted her moral right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission in writing of the author.

  This book is entirely a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This book has been edited in British English (BrE) and therefore uses British spellings.

  To the wonderful book community with all my love x

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  2. Livvie

  3. Zander

  4. Livvie

  5. Zander

  6. Livvie

  7. Livvie

  8. Zander

  9. Livvie

  10. Zander

  11. Livvie

  12. Zander

  13. Livvie

  14. Zander

  15. Livvie

  16. Zander

  17. Livvie

  18. Livvie

  19. Zander

  20. Livvie

  21. Zander

  22. Livvie

  23. Zander

  24. Livvie

  25. Livvie

  26. Zander

  27. Livvie

  28. Zander

  29. Zander

  30. Livvie

  31. Zander

  32. Livvie

  33. Zander

  34. Livvie

  35. Livvie

  36. Zander

  37. Livvie

  38. Zander

  39. Livvie

  40. Zander

  41. Livvie

  42. Zander

  43. Livvie

  44. Zander

  45. Six Months Later

  Afterword

  Also by Eliza J Scott

  Yorkshire Glossary

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  1

  THE FRIDAY BEFORE CHRISTMAS

  Zander

  Zander threw the phone down, rested his elbows on his desk and pressed his fingertips against his forehead. ‘How the bloody hell did I ever get into this mess?’ He was reeling from a call from Melissa, his girlfriend of three years. Make that his needy, self-absorbed girlfriend of three years. His emotions were veering from anger to feeling utterly fed-up. How could she do this, today of all days?

  He glanced at the clock on the wall; it had just gone five-thirty – just gone five thirty on the evening their Christmas plans were supposed to spring into action. The evening Zander had been looking forward to for months and, up until two minutes ago, he thought Mel had been, too. But, thanks to the verbal hand-grenade she’d just lobbed smack, bang in the middle of them, everything had gone tits-up. ‘Bloody woman!’ He’d spent the day at Runswick Way Practice where he worked as a GP, making sure he was caught up on everything; he’d sent off referrals, drafted letters and signed prescriptions, leaving him free to go on holiday content in the knowledge that no work-related niggles would suddenly ping into his mind and trigger a cold sweat in the middle of the night.

  ‘Right, let’s get this over and done with.’ He snatched up the phone and started scrolling through his contacts list, looking for his parents’ number. Just then, there was a tap at the door and Noah peered around it, his hair a vivid ginger in the artificial light.

  ‘Bad time?’ Noah grimaced.

  ‘No, come in.’ Zander put the phone down and dragged his hand down his face. ‘It’s just … just the usual crap.’

  ‘Ah, by that I assume you mean Mel?’ Noah flopped into one of the patients’ chairs beside the desk.

  ‘Got it in one: Mel.’ He sighed, nodding slowly. Noah and Zander went back a long way – to university in Newcastle in fact. And Zander had always had the feeling that his friend wasn’t exactly enamoured with Mel.

  Noah looked at his watch. ‘Listen, we’ll be closed up here in half an hour. Fancy going for a beer after?’

  ‘Sounds like a plan. I should be organised by then – with work, that is.’ And there’s not exactly any need for me to rush back now, he thought. ‘Though, I’m driving, so it’ll just be a shandy for me.’

  ‘Yep, same here; I’ll give you a shout when I’m ready. In the meantime, the dreaded Mrs. Wilkinson awaits …’

  ‘Not the Mrs. Wilkinson?’

  ‘The very same. I, it would appear, have drawn the short straw and she’s been added to my list today.’

  Zander couldn’t help but smile. ‘Unlucky, mate. What complaint will it be this week, I wonder?’

  ‘Hah! It’s anybody’s guess, but her notes make interesting reading. She must be going through some great tome of medical complaints, convincing herself she’s got everything listed in it and is doomed to be dead within three years.’

  ‘One of life’s classic time wasters.’ Zander shook his head. ‘She doesn’t realise how much better off she’d be by just getting on with her life, instead of worrying she’s got every complaint under the sun; she’ll outlive all of us that one.’

  ‘And would you like to tell her that?’ Noah smirked.

  ‘Hmmph. Not particularly.’ His words came out sharper then intended. ‘Sorry, just ignore me; I’m still smarting after Mel’s phone call.’

  ‘No worries, mate.’ Noah got to his feet. ‘Right, well, the sooner I see Mrs. Wingebag Wilkinson, the sooner we can consider it the weekend and go for that shandy.’

  Once the door clicked shut, as if on cue, Mel’s words leapt back into Zander’s mind.

  ‘Sorry, Zandie, but two weeks in the French countryside in the middle of winter with your family just doesn’t do it for me – especially that frosty sister of yours; I know she doesn’t like me – and before you try to deny it, we both know it’s true. It’s unfair of you to expect me to have to deal with it at any time of the year, but over Christmas, even you would have to agree it’s a bit much. On top of that, it’ll be as dull as ditch-water. I want to have fun while I’m still young, and I most certainly don’t want to behave like a boring middle-aged old fart. You’ll be getting a pipe and slippers next; sipping port in a woolly cardigan, having a mug of cocoa before bed. In fact, that’s sorted out the headache I had trying to think of a Christmas gift for you; a pipe and slippers would be perfect: “The Middle-Aged Man’s Survival Kit!” Haha!’ Mel cackled loudly at her own joke when she finally came up for air.

  Zander winced.

  ‘I’m only thirty-six, Mel – four years older than you – I hardly think that qualifies me for middle-age.’

  ‘Ha! But you’re old before your time, Zander Gillespie, always have been. In fact, I’m sure you were born aged forty-five.’ Though her tone was jokey, he could sense the thinly-veiled snipe.

  He picked up a pen and started doodling on his notepad. ‘What, because I don’t want to go clubbing every weekend, and would rather have a romantic meal at a nice restaurant, eating decent food with my girlfriend? I thought you liked that, spending quality time together?’

  ‘Not all the time, Zander, and don’t get me started on the walks in the country with that smelly old Labrador of yours … yawn, yawn, yawn. Sometimes, I actually think you care more about that mutt than you do about me.’

  Zander felt himself bristle; she was always having a pop at Alf, and she knew
he didn’t like it. He and the black Labrador went back a long way – seven years, in fact – and were there for each other when nobody else was. As far as he was concerned, Alf was the best buddy a man could have – and if he was completely honest, he did have the biggest chunk of Zander’s heart.

  He swallowed down his niggle; he wasn’t going to get drawn into an argument about Alf. Zander had been looking forward to their break, getting away from it all and relaxing. In fact, he couldn’t remember a time when he’d needed a holiday more. Not to mention the effort he’d put into getting a pet passport for Alf.

  ‘You could’ve said something before now, Mel. What am I going to do about your ticket?’

  Her impatient sigh lost none of its impact down the phone line. He could picture her pouting, rolling her expertly made-up blue eyes and flicking her long blonde hair over her shoulder, before focusing her attention on her latest expensive manicure. A manicure he’d paid for along with a pamper session as a pre-Christmas treat.

  ‘This is like a bolt out of the blue, why didn’t you tell me you didn’t like doing those things? Actually, come to think of it, I don’t remember forcing you to do any of them. And the holiday’s been planned for months, Mel, you’ve had plenty of time to tell me you didn’t want to go.’ In fact, she’d done a pretty convincing act of letting him believe she was keen to see his parents’ newly-purchased chateau. Her eyes had lit up when he told her it was in Carcassonne in the sunny south of France. And she’d practically salivated when he’d shown her the pictures of the luxurious six-bedroom, six-bathroom property. Something must have happened to change her mind. And, if he knew her like he thought he knew her, he suspected she’d had a better offer.

  ‘I’m sorry, Zandie; I didn’t realise I didn’t want to go until recently.’

  Why did he get the feeling she wasn’t telling him everything? ‘So what are you going to do with yourself while I’m in France, Mel? Surely you’re not going to just sit and stew at home?’

  ‘Zander, since when have I ever done that?’ she snapped. ‘I’m not a sitter, I’m a doer, always busy, busy, busy and, for your information, I’ve had an invitation from Anna to join her and Pete … and some, er … friends at her sister’s house in London.’

  Ah, he was right; and that pause was interesting. ‘And you just leapt at the chance without giving a thought to how I’d feel at being backheeled by my girlfriend while she trots off to spend Christmas with some people she’s only known for five minutes?’

  ‘Oh, don’t be so miserable.’ Her tone had developed a petulant edge. ‘It’s not like I’m leaving you all on your own; you’ve got your whole family to spend all of Christmas and New Year with. I can’t believe you’re being so selfish. What’s wrong with you spending the festive period in the way that you enjoy, while I spend it in the way that I enjoy? It’s hardly unreasonable. In fact, I think it’s more unreasonable if you expect me to give up this opportunity. Anna thinks so, too.’

  ‘I don’t care what Anna thinks, Mel. But if that’s what you want to do, then I’m not going to stop you. Will I see you before you go? Get a chance to give you your Christmas presents?’

  ‘Er, no … er, no need to worry about the presents, that’s all sorted and er … and we’re getting the train down to London tonight, it’s all booked, we’re going First Class.’

  ‘Right …’ His mind was scrambling over the subtext of her words; it might not be out of character for Mel to be selfish, but it was totally out of character for her not to be bothered about presents. At Christmas and birthdays, she was usually up at the crack of dawn, tearing the paper off her gifts like an over-excited child. Telling him not to worry about the presents just didn’t fit. Realisation dawned; if they’d got First Class rail tickets this close to Christmas, they must have been booked a while ago. Mel had clearly been planning this trip for some time. He was getting fed up of her selfish attitude and sly ways; they were exhausting. He exhaled noisily. ‘Okay, have a good time.’ With that he’d ended the call.

  2

  Livvie

  Livvie Weatherill pulled on her raspberry-red overcoat and wrapped a moss-green scarf around her neck before slinging her handbag over her shoulder and gathering up her cluster of shopping bags. ‘Now I know what a packhorse feels like,’ she said to herself, distributing them evenly between both hands. ‘I’m off, Bry. Hope you have a good weekend,’ she called.

  ‘Ooh, you too, petal. Hope it all goes well.’ Bryony rushed out from the depths of the kitchen at the back of the shop, pulled Livvie into a tight hug and planted a kiss on her cheek, rubbing it in for good measure.

  ‘Thanks.’ Livvie smiled at her best friend. They’d met at Blushing Brides wedding gown shop in the small town of Rickelthorpe just over four years ago and had hit it off straight away, sharing the same sense of humour as well as love of Prosecco and all things chocolate, and a loathing of the tyrannical owner Mrs Harris.

  ‘Haven’t you brought a hat?’ Bryony’s eyes flicked over Livvie’s thick auburn hair that was gathered in a messy “up do” on top of her head.

  ‘No, I’ll be fine, I don’t have far to walk.’

  ‘Rather you than me; I can’t bear having cold ears. Ooh, and don’t forget this.’ Bryony swiped up Livvie’s mobile phone from the counter and popped it into the top pocket of her friend’s coat.

  ‘Oh, thanks, Bry; I’m such a scatter-brain.’

  ‘No worries; and you’re not. Anyway, I hope Donny appreciates all the effort you’re going to.’

  ‘I hope so, too.’ Livvie ignored the little niggle at the back of her mind that hearing her boyfriend’s name had triggered.

  ‘Hey, what’s not to love about tornado rossini followed by stiffy tockee pudding?’ Bry chuckled at the name they’d given to sticky toffee pudding after Livvie had ordered it at a restaurant – a Prosecco or two too many jumbling her words, making the waiter laugh. The name had stuck ever since.

  Her friend’s joke temporarily chased Livvie’s doubts away, and a smile lifted the corners of her mouth. ‘Yep, when you put it like that, what’s not to love? I just hope he gets his work finished early. Debbie –the woman from the flat next door – is being a bit of a pain with all the plumbing problems she needs fixing; they’re always urgent, too. She’s only been there for six weeks, but she’s definitely made her presence felt.’

  ‘Uhh, she sounds very demanding.'

  Just then the brass doorbell above the door jangled and two women stepped in on an icy blast of cold air. ‘Will you be able to manage?’ Livvie always felt guilty about taking time off work, even if she was only leaving a couple of hours early.

  ‘Two women doesn’t make a stampede, Liv. Looking at the weather, I doubt we’ll get many more in. Go on, get yourself home.’ Bryony made her way over to the door, holding it open for her friend. ‘And hurry up about it, we’re letting all the warm air out.’ She smiled.

  ‘Okay, see you Monday night.’

  ‘Yep, if you pop round for six thirty, that should be perfect.’

  ‘Looking forward to it. And are you sure I don’t need to bring anything?’

  ‘Nope, just bring your gorgeous self, Liv; and Donny, of course.’

  Bryony and her boyfriend Josh were hosting a party at their flat. Ordinarily, Livvie would be looking forward to it, but a nagging doubt at the back of her mind told her that Donny would be reluctant to go; he never liked to do anything with her friends and always seemed to engineer an argument so he didn’t have to go.

  She mustered up a smile. ‘Okay, will do; have a great time tonight.’ She leaned in to Bry, lowering her voice. ‘And enjoy the thought that we don’t have to be here and put up with Mrs Harris for a whole two weeks.’

  ‘Bliss.’ Bry grinned. ‘Now go.’ With a laugh, she pushed Livvie through the door.

  ‘Alright, I’m going.’

  Every year, the shop closed for the festive period from the Friday before Christmas until the Saturday after New Year’s Day, while Mrs Harris
and her husband took off to join their daughter and son-in-law in the Canary Islands. She claimed there was a lull in wedding dress shopping at this time of year and it was a waste of time the shop being open, but, meanly, insisted that Livvie and Bryony take two weeks from their annual leave to accommodate it, leaving them short of days to use over the summer.

  Once outside, Livvie noted that the sky had taken on an unusual shade of gun-metal grey tinged with a bruise-like purple. That, in Livvie’s experience, usually meant snow was on its way. She hurried along the pavement, dodging other shoppers and a group of merrymakers who’d obviously started their Christmas celebrations early. ‘Oy, sweetheart, how about a kiss under the mistletoe?’ A man, looking rather worse-for-wear loomed over her, waving a pathetic-looking piece of berryless foliage. Livvie took a step back, holding her breath; he was radiating boozy fumes so strong, she feared they might melt her eyeballs.

  ‘Leave her alone, Dave,’ called one of his friends, dragging him away. ‘Take no notice of him, love.’

  Livvie breathed a sigh of relief and hurried off, regretting losing her gloves as the heavy carrier bags dug into her frozen fingers. Soon, she was at her little silver banger of a car, grateful that she’d managed to get a parking place so close to work that morning. After a quick rummage for her keys, she dumped her shopping in the boot and squashed what wouldn’t fit in the footwell behind the front seats.