The 14 Days of Christmas

“I don’t know how to tell you this,” Barbara said. “But Mr. Taylor at the Black Swan also told me that Snowsville are having their own Christmas market this year.”

Everyone gasped and then fell silent. It was like they’d just learned Santa wasn’t real. I stepped closer to Celia, wanting to soothe her somehow. She looked so broken by the news and I had the urge to make it right. Though we’d known each other barely an hour, I’d already come to appreciate her slightly maniacal enthusiasm for Christmas. It was endearing, somehow, though the same seasonal joie de vivre in others made my teeth hurt.

“Nothing wrong with a little healthy competition,” I said, trying to take everyone’s blood pressure down a couple of points. “Snowsly has the reputation of being the place at Christmas. Everyone wants to come here. People won’t be so quick to forget. And we can do some things to counteract the lack of a website. We can set up another one and maybe—”

“Excuse me,” Celia said. She brushed past me and plonked herself down on the sofa behind us, her smile firmly in place.

I turned back to the group. “I’m sure everything will be okay. Business won’t collapse overnight because of this.”

“I’m such a fool,” Ivy said. “It probably came through my emails. I just can’t keep on top of them all. There’s so many.”

I knew that feeling. “This isn’t your fault,” I said. “And we can rectify it.”

“How?” Celia asked. “That website is the first to show up if you search Christmas holidays in the UK, or Christmas in the Cotswolds. For years, it’s brought in a lot of business. And now with Snowsville having a market . . . Where does that leave us?”

Celia’s eyes were heavy with pleading. It was the first time the happy-go-lucky woman’s mask had dropped and revealed a part of Celia I hadn’t seen before. She wore a desperation to make things right that didn’t make sense. I couldn’t help but wonder whether, as well as her smile, her enthusiasm for Christmas covered up something. I glanced around at Granny, Barbara, and Peter. They were all looking at me as if I was going to single-handedly save Christmas.

“I’ve solved ten bigger issues than this before lunch on a good day. I promise we’ll come up with something. For now, we need to keep focused on getting the Christmas stalls put up tomorrow and having a good night’s sleep, like Celia said.” I couldn’t believe I was trying to reassure everyone. It wasn’t like I cared whether Christmas went off without a hitch. But I did care about Granny. And the people of Snowsly, who’d showed me nothing but kindness as a child. I couldn’t ignore the raw need in Celia’s expression. Something told me that for some reason, she was desperate to get things right. Could Christmas be that important to anyone?

“Let me go unpack, make some calls, and see what I can do.”

I might not like Christmas, but I didn’t like to see anyone hopeless either. Not if there was anything I could do about it.

As I swept through reception on the way up to the Blue Room, I caught sight of the box of Snowsly Christmas baubles. There was no one around and without thinking, I scooped up the box and took the stairs two at a time.

Before I let myself into the room, I was on the phone to my head of IT.

“It’s been hacked,” Katherine said. “It’s not because anything didn’t get paid.”

“Hacked? Are you sure?” Why on earth would Snowsville be hacking Snowsly’s website? It seemed completely absurd. We were talking about Christmas shops and florists in the Cotswolds, not state secrets in MI6 headquarters.

“Absolutely certain. And it’s a good job.”

“Can we do anything about it?”

Katherine sucked in a breath, which I’d learnt was never good news. “I can’t. Not my area of expertise. But I have a friend, Tristan . . . They call him Merlin because he’s got magic powers. He can hack them right back.”

“Okay then. Problem solved.”

“Only thing is, he’s not cheap—”

“Whatever it takes.” I might not want to have cancelled my trip to Barbados and come back to Snowsly, but I was here. And I wasn’t about to let any village, no matter how pretty, hack Snowsly’s website.

“I’ll let you know when it’s done.” She hung up without another word. She’d come through. Katherine didn’t make promises she couldn’t keep.

I shrugged my jacket off and poured myself a glass of the red wine Mary had left me. Granny must have told her what I liked. I didn’t have such expensive tastes when I was last here.

I glanced at the box of baubles I’d put on the dressing table—years of Snowsly Christmases. There must be at least forty baubles in that box. I undid my cuffs and rolled up my sleeves. I wanted to see what I’d missed. I pulled open the flaps and lifted the tissue paper that covered the first layer of decorations, the most recent commemorative decorations—all the ones I’d spent in Barbados, ignoring Christmas despite invitations from Granny to spend the festive season with her. I lifted out the tray, unsure of what I was going to find among the older baubles.