Christmas Wishes: From the Sunday Times bestselling and award-winning author of romance fiction comes a feel-good cosy Christmas read Read online

  CHRISTMAS WISHES

  Sue Moorcroft

  Copyright

  Published by AVON

  A Division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

  1 London Bridge Street

  London SE1 9GF

  www.harpercollins.co.uk

  First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2020

  Copyright © Sue Moorcroft 2020

  Cover design by Claire Ward © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2020

  Cover illustration © Carrie May/Meiklejohn

  Sue Moorcroft asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

  Source ISBN: 9780008392994

  Ebook Edition © October 2020 ISBN: 9780008393007

  Version: 2020-09-22

  Dedication

  To my brother

  Trevor Moorcroft

  for creating The Middledip Bibles

  and undertaking much of my research.

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Acknowledgements

  Keep Reading …

  About the Author

  By the Same Author

  About the Publisher

  Chapter One

  ‘How is Rob’s stupid sister?’ The voice was deep with the slightest Swedish accent.

  Hannah, who’d been gazing at towering boxes of new stock, swung around to see a tall, angular man standing in the middle of her shop, Hannah Anna Butik. His black coat was speckled white from the sleety afternoon that was Stockholm in wintry October, hood tossed back, dark blond hair messy and his eyes denim blue.

  She stared. ‘Nico?’ Then he smiled and doubt fled. ‘Nico Pettersson!’ Their teen years in Cambridgeshire might be nearly two decades ago but that lopsided smile and his amusement at her and Rob referring to each other affectionately as ‘bonkers brother’ and ‘stupid sister’ hadn’t changed. Unsure whether to offer him a handshake or a hug, she settled for a beaming smile. ‘Wow, this is a nice surprise. Fancy you walking in!’

  Safe from the steely chill outdoors, Nico unbuttoned his coat and pulled off his scarf. ‘You’re the only girl I’ve known called Hannah Anna. What’s the English term for those words?’

  ‘Palindrome.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Wacky Mum – and Dad indulging her. I was used as an example in English lessons but at least it’s cute and memorable. Hannah Anna Goodbody. Who can forget it?’

  He grinned. ‘I remember your family well. They were great to me.’

  ‘You were Rob’s best mate,’ she said. How exotic the boy from Sweden had been, hanging out with her older brother and the Middledip village kids. Educated at an international school, Nico’s English had been good even when he’d arrived at fourteen. His dad, Lars Pettersson, had come to coach the Peterborough Pirates ice hockey team and for four years Nico had been the shining light of the Peterborough Plunderers, the junior team of which Rob was already a member. Then an athletic scholarship at Minnesota State University had called Nico to America. Hannah, who skated well enough to help out with children’s lessons, had missed seeing him fly around the rink, skates shaving the ice into glistening plumes as he checked, whirled and turned with unconscious grace. Four years his junior, she’d been old enough to wonder whether she was developing a crush on him just when he’d vanished from her life. She’d known he’d later left the US a year early and returned to Sweden to complete his degree. Then he and Rob had lost touch.

  Now his gaze roved around the shelves and racks packed with colourful scarves, glossy belts and chic leather bags for the quality gift market. ‘Get you, rocking a luxury accessories shop in the Old Town. I’m impressed.’

  ‘Personal luxury goods go down well here so I’m doing OK,’ she answered. It was barely OK, but with Christmas trading around the corner she was optimistic. Her boyfriend Albin, a fund manager, was doing much more than OK so it was his name on the lease. It had saved messing around with guarantors, especially as she wasn’t a Swedish national, but lately she’d wondered if she should have found another way. Their relationship was so weird now. It was as if someone had switched the fun and affection off. Alarmed and confused, she kept trying to talk but Albin pleaded work hassles and put her off. Though she was thirty and he was only thirty-two he’d developed a habit of talking down to her about his job being ‘high octane’ and stressful. It made her reluctant to pursue the issue but the worry bee buzzed constantly in her bonnet.

  Nico’s blue eyes smiled. ‘Strange you should end up in my homeland. Så du talar svenska nu?’

  She laughed and answered his question as to whether she spoke Swedish, ‘Ja, jag klarar mig.’ Yes, I manage. ‘I came to work for IKEA originally but I’d had a shop in England and I soon went back to wanting my own name above the door.’ But though her words were light, she was absorbing an unpleasant fact.

  Nico was not the golden boy she remembered.

  He was so gaunt his cheekbones almost broke through his skin and stubble carpeted a fleshless jaw. His battered sweatshirt bore a stain like a map of a country and his jeans were grubby. The workman’s boots on his feet could have been dragged from a skip, his fingernails were black and his hair long grown out from any style.

  What had happened to the shining teen who’d drawn everyone to his exotic light? Boys had wanted to be him and females had followed his tall, lean athlete’s body as if attached by rope.

  ‘What are you doing these days?’ she asked. Then, realising that if he’d fallen on hard times he might not want to answer such a direct question, hastily interrupted herself. ‘Do you have plans? I’ll be putting out new stock this evening so I’m closing now to grab a burger first. Why don’t you join me so we can catch up?’ She bustled past to switch the sign on the door from ‘open’ to ‘closed’ – öppet to stängt. He smelled of soil and vegetation and she recoiled, not from him but from the horrible thought that he might be sleeping rough. That would be awful in this sleet. She shivered. This would be her third Swedish winter and in Albin’s apartment on the desirable thoroughfare of Nybrogatan she’d accumulated a closet full of coats, hats, scarves, walking boots, snow boots and a stack of thermal base layers.

  What were Nico’s winter resources?

  Feeling as if her smile was becoming forced, she strode back behind the counter. ‘I can tell you how Rob’s getting on and … stuff.’ She tailed off. If Nico was struggling to get by in Stockholm it might not be tactful to tell him how super-happily Rob was living in Cambridgeshire with gorgeous fiancée Leesa. Still, getting a meal inside him felt important and a fast-food eat-and-run between old friends would be more natural than taking him to the swanky apartment in Östermalm owned by Albin’s mother’s company as a tax efficiency.

  ‘I’m not exactly tidy,’ he pointed out, frowning down at denim that was ripped and not in a trendy way. He refastened his coat as if becoming freshly conscious of his appearance.

  Hannah hated to think of him vanishing hungry and hollow-faced into the glacial early evening darkness. ‘Aw, c’mon.’ She dimmed the lights to closed-for-business levels then tucked her arm through his. ‘I hate eating alone. All I do is check Instagram or answer emails. It’ll be lovely to chat.’

  After a moment when she thought he’d refuse, he muttered, ‘All right,’ and let her pull him out of the shop to hunch into his coat, hands jammed in pockets, while she locked up.

  The sleet stung Hannah’s face, though she knew the late October chill was not
hing compared to the snow and ice the coming winter would bring. She pulled up her hood as she set off along Köpmangatan before Nico could change his mind, chattering as they crossed Stortorget, the cobbled square where the Christmas market would soon set up. The tall, ornate buildings painted sage, apricot and ochre reminded her of the pictures on the old Quality Street tin her grandmother kept in her kitchen. Or maybe a row of pepperpots with their swooping, curling rooflines.

  She said, ‘I’m building up business at this shop. My assistant Julia’s off this weekend but she speaks German as well as Swedish and English so we have much of the tourist market covered. She was a find.’ Albin had told her that – probably because he’d been the one to find her. Julia, pronounced Yule-ee-ah with emphasis on the Yule, was a beautiful, serene Swede, more patient than Albin when it came to correcting errors in Hannah’s Swedish.

  They made their way downhill through cobbled streets between tall, narrow buildings, illuminated shop windows displaying glowing amber jewellery, burnished copper, souvenir elks or ‘tomte’, the pointy-hatted gnomes reputed to live beneath Swedish houses. Hannah talking and Nico listening, they passed gracious cafés and restaurants with blackboards offering ‘fika’ – afternoon tea – and tempting meals, all places Hannah dismissed in view of Nico’s expressed discomfort about his appearance.

  A frosty breeze snapped at them as they turned onto Gamla Stan’s main street, Västerlånggatan, still busy with shoppers and tourists bundled up in coats. When they reached Burger Town’s red frontage. Hannah undid her coat as they stepped into its brightly lit interior of chattering people enjoying a fast-food fix. ‘I’m having halloumi bites with fries, coffee and a brownie. What about you?’

  Nico shuffled awkwardly and glanced at the illuminated menu above the counter. ‘Just coffee.’

  He looked so uneasy that Hannah’s neck prickled. ‘No food?’ She added encouragingly, ‘It’s my treat.’

  He looked at her as if she were speaking Martian. ‘No food,’ he agreed. Then, tautly, ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Right, OK.’ She felt her cheeks heat. She was doing this all wrong. Nico obviously suspected that she was trying to do him a favour and his pride had kicked in. Damn. She wanted to help, not hurt. ‘Why don’t you grab a table while I queue?’

  He nodded, then headed for a booth, pulling off his coat.

  Hannah ordered far more food than she needed: a large meal, a side of Town Wings and two cinnamon buns. Gathering ketchup and mayo she joined Nico. Even scruffy and underfed he still garnered second glances, she noticed as she put down the tray of food. Two nearby women were obviously discussing him like schoolgirls.

  She sat down, hoping she wasn’t disappointing his admirers too much, dragged off her coat and started on the first wrapper. ‘They made a mistake and gave me a large meal instead of medium. And the buns are two for the price of one so I thought I might as well get one for you. If you don’t want it now you can take it with you.’ Aware of rushing the fibs out she dipped a fry in ketchup and popped it into her mouth. It was hot and burned the back of her tongue, making her voice hoarse as she pushed the pack invitingly across the table. ‘Want some? No point it going to waste.’

  Slowly, Nico took a fry and ate it. Then he removed the lid from his coffee and sipped.

  It was Hannah’s turn to feel uncomfortable. When Nico had turned up at Hannah Anna Butik he’d appeared, apart from the skin-and-bones look, happy to see her. Now he was frowning and giving the food dirty looks, discouraging her from nudging him again to eat. She thought about asking after his family, particularly Lars, who she’d known quite well. But people in trouble often isolated themselves from loved ones.

  Then, interrupting her thoughts, Nico slapped down his coffee, propped his folded arms on the table and leaned close, his voice low and rapid. ‘I’m sure you mean well, Hannah, but trying to force-feed someone doesn’t work. Rob’s obviously told you my situation. I’m surprised and disappointed that he’d betray a confidence but I suppose he’s got his head full of wedding plans.’

  Hannah had to chew and swallow before she could answer. ‘Your situation?’ she asked evasively, before adding truthfully, ‘I didn’t know you’d been in touch with Rob.’

  He sighed in the exaggerated manner of those who know they’re dealing with prevarication and leaned closer still. The outdoorsy smell of him wasn’t unpleasant. ‘If you need it spelling out, yes, my marriage ending did trigger my eating disorder. But I’m fine. I’m a normal weight and functioning perfectly well.’

  It was so far from what she’d expected that Hannah gaped, her voice squeaking. ‘Eating disorder? I thought you might be homeless.’ Then realising that she’d blurted her thoughts, stuttered, ‘Well, m-maybe not homeless but—’

  ‘Homeless?’ He looked thunderstruck, his blue eyes ablaze. ‘Why on earth would you think that?’

  Hannah fidgeted with a halloumi bite. What should she say? You look a half-starved mess?

  He shook the tension from his shoulders with an obvious effort. ‘I’m not homeless. I’m a key account director for the London branch of a Swedish company, SLS. We’re in sports memorabilia and promotions. Winter sports is our core business but we’re gradually expanding our reach. I live in Islington in London with my daughter Josie, work in Holborn and travel to Sweden once or twice a month.’

  Then he glanced down at himself and his expression lightened. He even laughed. ‘Ah, the clothes! It’s an SLS community initiative. We facilitate kids’ activity days and because I had to be here for meetings on Friday and Monday I stayed the weekend and participated. Today we took a busload of children to Skytteholmsparken. I was with the eight- to ten-year-olds at the outdoor gym and woodland trails. I’ve been crawling under trees pretending to be a lion.’ The angry grooves around his eyes relaxed into laughter lines.

  ‘I see,’ Hannah breathed, overdoing the sigh of relief. Though it was fantastic to know he wasn’t sleeping in dumpsters, no way in the world was he a normal weight for a man of his height. She’d say at least twenty-five pounds under. Maybe thirty. Hannah didn’t know much about eating disorders but she doubted she should jump in and tell him he looked gaunt. Instead, she tried to make sense of the rest of his speech. ‘You’ve been speaking to Rob?’

  He picked up his coffee and leaned back in the booth, lifting his voice over the chatter of the burger bar. ‘I signed up for our old school’s Facebook group and there he was. We’ve had a couple of long phone conversations too.’

  ‘Oh. I haven’t been on the Bettsbrough Comp group for months, with devoting so much energy to Hannah Anna Butik.’ And wondering what on earth was happening with Albin. ‘He didn’t tell me.’

  He let his gaze drop, picking at a white paper napkin. ‘He thought it would be fun for me to surprise you. When I said I’d be in Stockholm, he said why not call in?’

  Hannah’s attention shifted. ‘Call in? Skytteholmsparken’s outside the city. It must be a half-hour drive from the shop.’ She’d been a few times on summer Sundays with Albin and seen children swarming over the climbing frames and outdoor gym or splashing in the pool.

  He shrugged. ‘I guess Rob thought I wouldn’t be too far away. He probably doesn’t know Stockholm well.’

  ‘He was once surprised to learn Stockholm’s a cluster of islands,’ she acknowledged slowly. ‘Though he agreed there were a lot of bridges and water.’ She eyed Nico who was flexing the plastic lid from his coffee and not meeting her gaze. ‘So you didn’t just call in because you saw a shop called Hannah Anna’s and thought it must be something to do with me. Rob sent you.’ She frowned. ‘You might as well tell me why because I’ll only call him to ask if you don’t.’

  Nico sighed, abandoning the lid and wiping his hands. He gave her a half-smile. ‘He miiight have expressed a small worry that you’re coming to his wedding on your own and wanted to know if you were OK.’

  ‘So he sent you to check up on me?’ Hannah’s appetite for her fast-cooling meal vanished. ‘I’m an independent woman and I’m fine on my own. They just want their top table balanced by me bringing a plus-one!’ She used indignation to mask her reluctance to talk to Nico about Albin. Who would want to admit that the boyfriend she’d been living with for almost two years had snubbed the invitation, saying English weddings were unbearably twee and Middledip was the arse-end of nowhere? She’d snapped back that in that case she didn’t want him there, looking down his nose at her friendly lot. Albin’s comfortably off family had shipped him off to Sigtuna boarding school when he was a kid and considered ‘close’ interchangeable with ‘overfamiliar’.