Home for Christmas

by Florence McNicoll

Genres: General Fiction

Synopsis

2020's most perfect pick-me-up! Home For Christmas is essential reading for animal lovers and readers who love uplifting, heartwarming and hopeful stories about second chances.

Kathy Brentwood is good at keeping it together - or so it seems to the people around her. But really, struggling with grief after the death of her husband, Kathy's life has become small. Her days are organised, her house is neat, but she's desperately lonely - and with her son starting to build a life of his own, she isn't sure where she fits anymore.

On Christmas Day, a chance encounter with a man called Ben and a rescue dog leads Kathy to the door of Battersea Dogs and Cats Home. She meets Milly, the shy greyhound in need of a loving home; Baxter, the friendly Staffie who brings everyone together and Archie the Jack Russell Terrier who is a true original and has a heart of gold.

Through a year of ups and downs, new friends - both two and four-legged - and even the possibility of romance, a new life beckons for Kathy, if only she is brave enough. Because at Battersea Dogs And Cats Home, it is never too late for a second chance - especially at Christmas.

Release date: November 26, 2020

Publisher: Orion Publishing Group

Print pages: 288

Sample

Christmas Day, and Kathy Brentwood’s stomach was tight with nerves. Excitement, she told herself firmly. She surveyed the living room: perfect. A sparkling Christmas tree, adorned in smart, matching red and white decorations, a mound of presents underneath. She knew that her son, Alex, was a grown-up now, very much so, but she couldn’t help buying endless presents for him. It had been harder to think of the perfect gifts for Alex’s girlfriend, Jacqui, and her fourteen-year-old daughter, Becs.

Jacqui was one of those women who never seemed to need anything, thought Kathy, and her taste was impeccable. She always looked perfectly put together, lipstick in place, some little accessory brightening up a plain jumper or blouse. Kathy had been unsure what to buy her – Jacqui was a lot more fashionable than she was, let’s face it. And for Becs, well, Kathy didn’t have a clue about what teenagers liked these days. She’d been a primary school head teacher before her retirement, where little ones were delighted with pretty much anything.

She found herself hoping that they liked their gifts, that this might be the day where she finally got along with Jacqui. A little Christmas magic, a little Christmas drink, and surely they’d be laughing together over the washing-up. She swallowed her nerves. Think positively, she told herself.

Kathy plumped the cushions one more time and straightened one of the Christmas cards on the mantelpiece. They were perfectly spaced out. Once upon a time, the mantelpiece had been full of precious family photographs. Holding her breath, she went to the cupboard under the stairs and pulled out a box. Here were those framed photographs, carefully stored, gathering dust.

Her fingers brushed a photo frame. She picked it up out of the box and traced her fingers over the photo within, exhaling softly.

‘Happy Christmas, darling,’ she whispered. ‘I miss you.’

The photograph was of her husband, John. He’d passed away five years ago from cancer. This photo was of them both before he’d got ill. His blue eyes were still bright and full of mischief, and there beside him, smiling too, was their beloved old Labrador, Buddy, grey and grizzled around the mouth by then. And her, look at her – full of confidence, beaming beside him, wearing a bright beaded necklace that one of her favourite pupils had given her. She’d known her place in the world, then. John’s wife, Alex’s mum, Buddy’s sometime favourite, dependent on how many treats she gave him, and firm-but-fair head teacher of Woodlands Primary. She should wear that necklace more often. John had always loved it.

She wiped the dust away from the photo and put it away carefully. The memories were too difficult, reminding her of what she’d lost. She went upstairs and found the colourful beaded necklace, putting it on, hoping to feel a little boost from it. But it felt like a relic from another time. What was she supposed to do with herself? she wondered. She was only sixty. She still had energy, felt like she had things to offer. But it was so hard now, to feel like she had a place in the world, to know exactly what to do with herself. Kathy sighed and felt the sadness creeping up.

Stop it, Kathy told herself firmly.

Everyone had told her how well she’d coped after John’s death. How she’d kept busy, kept fit, taken up new hobbies, like Zumba. Everyone kept saying it’s what he would have wanted. She deserved this time to herself, after his illness, people said. He’d been ill for three years and they’d seen the prognosis gradually slide from a very positive one, to the kind where doctors no longer talked in numbers or percentages, but shook their heads and struggled to find the right words. Kathy had taken early retirement when things began to slide that way. She’d nursed John herself when things started to get bad. She’d kept up their normal routine as much as possible, helping him in and out of the car to get to the countryside, pushing his wheelchair around Battersea Park or Clapham Common, insisting on dinners out when they could. But, oh – the pain, the long nights watching him suffer. The endless hospital visits. The sickness. No one in their right mind could claim that was normal. What she wouldn’t give for one more cup of tea with John. One more glass of wine, together in the garden, not saying very much at all. One more Christmas morning.

She was off again – dwelling. She pushed it all down and took a deep breath. It was Christmas Day! A time to be happy. Alex would be here before she knew it.

Spending Christmas morning waiting on your own was a little strange, Kathy reflected, a half-hour later in the kitchen, over yet another cup of tea. She was an early riser and it was now only 10.30. All being well, Alex would arrive at 1 p.m. Preparation was well under way with the food. Kathy would have to be careful not to get so far ahead of herself that she’d be serving up a roast turkey at 11.30 a.m. She had done another whizz round with the hoover. The kitchen was forensically clean. Carols were playing on the radio.

‘The hopes and fears of all the years, are met in thee tonight,’ a choir sang out, and Kathy shut her eyes. That had been John’s favourite carol. Hopes and fears. She knew all about those. She reached out a hand and snapped the station over to a commercial one, blaring out Christmas pop tunes. Better.

As she peered out of the window in the back garden, she could see the colourful Christmas trees of her neighbours. She imagined their noisy, bustling Christmases and felt a jolt of envy. The Christmases she’d spent with John when Alex was young had been some of the best days of her life. Days of laughter – when they’d bought Alex a remote-control car, and she’d literally had to wrest the control out of John’s hand and tell him to give Alex a go, she and her son both giggling at John pretending he was ‘checking the battery’, when he clearly just wanted to keep buzzing the little car around the patio. And then the next year, when she’d bought him a car of his own, sharing the secret with Alex, so the two of them were bursting with impatience for John to open his ‘big present’ and see the look on his face.

They must have had Buddy by then. Yes, she remembered the gorgeous black Labrador joining in the fun, really just a puppy then, unsure whether the car was for him to play with as well. Kathy hadn’t forgotten him – she and Alex had made Buddy a special stocking, crammed with Christmas toys and treats. Oh, Buddy. He’d been their adored dog for twelve years, seeing Alex through from when he was a boy to university, and keeping Kathy and John heading out for their daily walks together. She’d loved those walks. It was so easy, so intimate, such a good part of life together. Walking on your own was different; it just was.

Only another half an hour had passed and Kathy was twiddling her thumbs. She glanced up and saw an old waxed coat hanging on the hook by the back door. Her newer one was upstairs, a fancy thing made of Gore-Tex. This one was John’s. She couldn’t get rid of it. She decided she’d head out for a brisk walk around Battersea Park – it would be nice to see a few people on Christmas morning – and then she’d have worked up an appetite for lunch. She paused and then shrugged on John’s old coat, comforted by the familiar smell of the waxed cotton.

‘Happy Christmas!’

‘Happy Christmas!’

Kathy smiled as she returned the greeting from a passing family bundled up against the winter chill in their colourful scarves and hats. It had been a good idea to come out. She watched children run around, working off the excess energy from chocolate coins, no doubt, and parents watching them proudly. She loved Christmas, she really did.

She kept walking on, towards an area of the park that was a little less busy, enjoying the feeling of the crisp air on her face, a hint of winter sunshine struggling through the clouds occasionally. She shoved her hands in her pockets to keep them warm and her fingers alighted on something. She pulled it out and had to laugh. A squeaky ball! Who knew how long this had been in there? John had had an endless store of treats and toys in his coat pocket; it had been a joke between them. He’d usually included a piece of chocolate or mint cake for her as well, teasing her and saying ‘Sit!’ before giving it to her. He was the only person who’d got away with teasing Kathy like that, the only person she’d been silly with.

And then, the sound of barking!

She turned round to see a dog galloping towards her, tail wagging, clearly excited to be out and about, lead trailing behind. She looked around for an owner, but there was no one in sight.

Kathy acted by instinct. She pulled the ball out and raised it, giving it a squeak. The dog’s attention was caught. He came galloping over to Kathy, slowing down and looking up at her, pleading for the ball.

‘Sit,’ said Kathy firmly, hoping the dog knew the basic commands.

To her relief, the dog scrambled to sit down, tongue lolling, head cocked to one side. What a gorgeous fellow! He looked like a spaniel cross, judging by those ears. Kathy bent to pick up the lead before giving the dog the ball and a generous pat.

‘Who’s a good boy? Who’s a good boy?’ said Kathy as the dog pressed against her legs, keen for more attention.

He was wearing a blue collar, she noticed, with a matching blue lead. She tried to get a look at the tag, the dog wriggling and licking at her for attention.

‘Battersea …’ she murmured, seeing the name printed on his tag. ‘You must have come from the dogs’ home there, hey, boy?’

Kathy knew Battersea Dogs & Cats Home well. The centre was a twenty-minute walk or so from her house and when she walked around Battersea Park, as opposed to her more usual Clapham Common route, she often saw the Battersea dogs out and about. After Buddy had died, she and John had wondered about getting another dog. They’d even gone so far as to visit the home a few times, their hearts breaking, wanting to give each and every dog there a second chance. But then John had been diagnosed. And all thoughts of another dog had gone out the window.

‘Thank goodness you found him!’ A very red-faced man, his hair all over the place like a scarecrow, was jogging towards Kathy.

He arrived at her side and bent forwards, holding his knees, catching his breath. The dog yapped happily to see him, tail wagging. The man knelt next to him, fussing the dog, who put his paws up on his shoulders and licked his face, causing the man to chuckle.

He stood up. Kathy guessed he was in his late fifties, a little younger than her. His hair, which was now blowing in every direction, was rather more salt than pepper. He was tall, with long, gangly arms, each ended by a different-coloured glove. His coat was buttoned up the wrong way, a shoelace trailed behind him. She had the urge to sort him out – get him a pair of matching gloves and – oh, Lord! the socks were clashing, as well.

‘I can’t thank you enough,’ he said to Kathy, with just a trace of a northern accent.

She noticed his eyes; sea-green. Unusual colour. He smiled at her, a warm, crooked smile that made the lines around his eyes deeper, and she noticed one of his teeth was a little chipped.

She cleared her throat. ‘It was nothing, really.’

‘It wasn’t. This one is a bit of a Houdini. We call him Harry, actually.’

‘Is he yours?’

‘I wish. I work at Battersea, the dogs’ and cats’ home. This one’s currently enjoying a little stay there before he goes home.’

‘Goes home?’

He nodded. ‘It’s what we say when a dog leaves for that forever home they’ve been waiting for. That they’ve gone home. But they’re very well-looked-after until they do. And of course, the dogs still need a walk and some love on Christmas Day. So, I’m volunteering.’

‘That’s very good of you.’

He smiled again. ‘Well, to be honest, there’s no place I’d rather be. It’s practically a second home to me now. Let me find a treat for Harry, hang on.’

He reached into his pocket for some dog treats, and bits of receipts, sweets and a pencil fell out. Kathy stooped to help pick them up.

‘What a disaster zone I am!’

Kathy couldn’t help but agree. She couldn’t abide disorder. The dog clearly adored this man, though, looking up at him and wagging his tail.

‘How did he get away?’

‘My fault. I was tying my shoelace and must have only had hold of the lead loosely, when he saw something and whipped it out of my fingers, and he was off.’

Kathy felt irritated by his cavalier attitude.

‘You should be more careful,’ said Kathy. ‘There are roads near here. He could have run in to one of them.’

The man chuckled. ‘Yes, you’re right. But it didn’t happen. The roads are quiet today, anyhow. Thank you for catching him; he’d have been off the other side of London by now if you hadn’t, the way he runs. You got a dog of your own?’

‘Not any more,’ Kathy said.

Something in her voice must have betrayed her sadness, because the man reached out and gently squeezed her arm.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, and he sounded like he genuinely meant it.

A lot of people had said they were sorry to Kathy over the last few years and she’d thought the words had lost their power. She was surprised to find herself a little choked up.

‘He was gorgeous,’ she said, clearing her throat. ‘Black Lab. Called Buddy.’

‘Oh, I love a Lab,’ said the man. ‘Here, I’m Ben. Just so we don’t do that classic thing of knowing the dogs’ names and not each other’s.’

Kathy had to smile at that. She introduced herself.

‘Well, happy Christmas, Kathy,’ said Ben. ‘What are your plans for the rest of the day?’

‘Oh, I’ve got family over,’ said Kathy, putting on her brightest face. ‘Actually, I should be getting back. I need to put the finishing touches to lunch.’

Ben shook his head admiringly. ‘That’s impressive. Finishing touches! I’d probably only think of starting Christmas lunch at about three and serving it at eight.’

Kathy tried not to shudder visibly.

‘Although, that does make it more of a dinner, doesn’t it?’ Ben was musing. ‘Continental. Which way are you walking? I’ll come with you for a bit. It won’t matter if this fellow is out for a bit longer; do him good to burn off some of the energy. Want to take his lead?’

Kathy found that she did. She took it back from Ben and set off in the direction of home, enjoying the feeling of the dog’s happy energy ahead of her. They passed a few more families and wished them happy Christmas, their voices sometimes chiming in unison. Kathy wondered briefly if anyone thought she and Ben were a couple. Oh, to be walking side by side with your partner, a dog surging ahead of you. Briefly, she felt almost dizzy with nostalgia.

‘Are you all right?’ Ben said. ‘You look a bit pale.’

‘Yes, fine, fine,’ Kathy said. ‘Just thinking of all the tasks ahead.’

‘Don’t worry,’ said Ben. ‘Honestly, glass of bubbles and a few mince pies, and they won’t notice what you serve up.’

She nodded, wishing she could feel a little more relaxed about the day ahead. But she wanted it all to be perfect, so planning was essential.

‘I was going to say,’ Ben continued, ‘they’re going to be looking for kennel support volunteers at Battersea in the new year. You should think about applying. You’ve clearly got a way with dogs.’

Kathy felt her interest stir. ‘What kind of things do they do?’

‘They’re a really important part of the work Battersea does. They help with the day-to-day care of the dogs – lots of cleaning and grooming and kennel socialisation time. After a few months, they also get trained in walking the dogs. I’m sure you’d do a better job of that than me,’ he added with a wink.

Kathy’s heart leapt. She’d love that! Being around dogs all day long. Then a wave of fear rose up. Could she manage it? It suddenly seemed like a lot of unknowns.

‘Oh … maybe …’ she said.

‘I think you’d like it down there. We’re like one big family. We’re all having a Christmas lunch together today, after we’ve finished with the dogs. It’s lovely.’

‘It sounds it,’ said Kathy. ‘Look, this is my turning. I’ll leave you to it.’ She handed Harry’s lead back to Ben, their gloved fingers brushing. ‘Have you got that held tightly?’

He grinned at her. ‘Yes, miss.’

Kathy resisted the urge to roll her eyes. The dog could have dashed off into the road if she hadn’t been there!

‘Well, have a happy Christmas,’ she said to Ben. ‘And you, too,’ she added, stooping to pet Harry. He was lovely, she thought, his eyes bright, his tail wagging.

‘Merry Christmas to you, too,’ said Ben. ‘I hope you have a great time with your family. And think about the volunteer role, eh?’

Kathy nodded as she turned away from them. This was actually a little earlier than she needed to part ways with Ben, but there was something about him that got under her skin. The truth was, she’d lost her confidence and Ben talking about the volunteer role brought it home. There was a time when she’d have put her hand up for anything, but that was a long time ago. A time when she couldn’t walk down the street without being stopped for a chat about such and such a committee, or to ask if she’d help with a fundraiser.

With Ben gone, she thought she’d be relieved to be alone again, but was suddenly horribly aware of the space beside her and the absence of a dog tugging against her hand. She shivered and pulled the coat more tightly round her.

It was 1 p.m. and Kathy was worried. Where were they? She had the turkey in the oven, all the trimmings ready, and the plan had been for Alex, Jacqui and Becs to arrive at 12.15 for a Christmas toast. The fizz was still chilling in the fridge. Kathy had lit a fire, and the living room was sparkly and cosy, ready to be shared with other people. Had something happened? An accident? It didn’t bear thinking about.

Her phone rang and she jumped to answer it.

‘Hello?’ she said.

‘Mum?’

‘Alex? Yes?’

‘Mum, I’m so sorry. We’re not going to make it.’

Her heart fell. She could hear noises in the background, the chatter of voices, cutlery clinking, orders being shouted. Alex must be calling from the kitchens. He and Jacqui ran a pub together, where Alex was the chef and Jacqui the manager. It was how they’d met, when Alex had taken over the ailing business about eighteen months ago and had decided to bring in an experienced business manager.

They made a formidable team. Alex was a whizz in the kitchen, recruiting a crack team to help him whip up delicious pub classics and a few lighter, more modern dishes. Jacqui had redecorated the pub and set about giving it a new lease of life, planning a roster of events from quiz nights to wine tastings. Business had boomed, with people even travelling in from elsewhere.

‘Why?’ she said. ‘What’s happened? Are you all all right?’

‘Too many staff have called in sick and we’re rushed off our feet. I’m sorry we didn’t call you before now. I didn’t even notice the time; we’ve been so busy.’

Kathy’s heart sank even further. She knew they’d planned to open for Christmas lunch, but Alex had assured her that they had enough staff to cover it and would set off for Christmas at his mum’s as soon as they’d checked that everything was running smoothly.

‘But …’ she began. ‘I’ve got the turkey in the oven. It’s practically done. And all your beds are ready and presents and …’ She shoved her hand against her mouth. She felt like crying.

‘I’m so sorry, Mum,’ said Alex, breaking away from the phone to yell, ‘Table four!’ at someone.

‘Is there really no one who could come in?’ said Kathy. ‘What about Sasha?’

‘She’s with her family in Poland,’ Alex said. ‘And Kev has flu, properly, and those two are our safe hands. It wouldn’t be fair to the rest of the team to get them to carry on without them.’

‘Well, could you come later?’ said Kathy. ‘For the evening?’

‘Alex, come on. We need you,’ came a woman’s voice down the phone.

Jacqui.

Kathy felt her hackles raise.

Alex cupped the phone to speak to her, but Kathy could still hear the conversation.

‘It’s Mum. I’m explaining why we can’t go.’

Jacqui sighed. ‘Well, tell her we’re very sorry. But these are circumstances beyond our control.’

She didn’t sound very sorry, Kathy thought.

‘She’s saying could we go later?’

‘Alex, we’re not going to be finished here before six and we’ll be exhausted. Even Becs is washing up. The last thing I want to do is drag her on some car journey.’

‘Or Alex could just come,’ Kathy said to herself quietly as they muttered between themselves. That would be her preferred option. To have her son all to herself.

‘OK, OK, I get it,’ said Alex and turned back to the phone. ‘Mum?’

‘I’m here, darling,’ said Kathy brightly.

Jacqui cut in again. ‘Happy Christmas, Mrs Brentwood!’

Kathy thought Jacqui’s voice was high and false. She’d heard the terse tones Jacqui had used before. And what was with the Mrs Brentwood? She’d told her to call her Kathy the few times they’d met.

‘Oh, happy Christmas, Jacqui, to you and Becs,’ Kathy said in her most sugary voice.

Then it was just Alex again.

‘Mum, we’ll come up tomorrow, OK, for Boxing Day. Pretend it’s Christmas Day. I really am sorry. We’ll be there. I have to go, I’m sorry. You will be all right, won’t you? You’re OK?’

She heard the e. . .