Wish Upon A Christmas Cake

The most wonderful time of the year?

Katie Warham has just one wish this year…to have the best Christmas ever! If only she could lock herself away in a cloud of flour and sugar at her cosy little tearoom, Crumbtious Cakes, instead of spending the festive season trapped with her judgemental mother, crazy Aunt Gina and loved-up celebrity brother Carl…

But Katie never expected her ex-boyfriend, widower Sam – and his two adorable children – to turn up on her doorstep. She didn’t think that any man could tempt her under the mistletoe this year, but Sam might just prove the exception! And as the snow begins to fall and Katie puts the final touches to her famous Christmas cake, she begins to wonder, could her Christmas wish actually come true?

This holiday season, snuggle up by a roaring fire with a mulled wine and enjoy Darcie Boleyn’s festive winter warmer!

Wish Upon a Christmas Cake

Darcie Boleyn

Copyright

HQ

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2015

Copyright © Darcie Boleyn 2015

Darcie Boleyn asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for 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 e-book 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.

E-book Edition © June 2015 ISBN: 9781474045872

Version date: 2018-07-23

DARCIE BOLEYN

has a huge heart and is a real softy. She never fails to cry at books and movies, whether the ending is happy or not. Darcie is in possession of an overactive imagination that often keeps her awake at night. Her childhood dream was to become a Jedi but she hasn’t yet found suitable transport to take her to a galaxy far, far away. She also has reservations about how she’d look in a gold bikini, as she rather enjoys red wine, cheese and loves anything with ginger or cherries in it – especially chocolate. Darcie fell in love in New York, got married in the snow, rescues uncoordinated greyhounds and can usually be found reading or typing away on her laptop.

Contents

Cover

Blurb

Title Page

Copyright

Author Bio

Acknowledgement

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

Epilogue

Endpages

About the Publisher

Special thanks to my husband, you support me and inspire me. You see me as no one else does and that enables me to see the world in vivid colour. You have encouraged me throughout this journey and I love you deeply. The day we married was the day I finally became me.

My daughter, you are the sweetest girl in the world. I love how you light up when a new book is placed in your hands. Your enthusiasm and kindness are infectious and you make the world a better place.

My son, your questions keep me on my toes. I love it when we bake together. You make me more adventurous and help me to overcome my fears with your own bravery. I learn from you every day.

Jimbo, Jim and Granny. Always. XXX

Nan and Bamp, you made me feel like a part of your family from the very beginning. Nan, your love of Christmas and family was in my heart when I wrote this story. I miss you.

Thanks to my editors for your support and encouragement - Lucy Gilmour, Victoria Oundjian and Charlotte Mursell.

A huge thank you to the HQ Digital author group, where I have found friendship, support and advice. No question is too random or too awkward to ask you guys. From word races to comfort to giggles, you cover all the bases.

Finally, thank you to

Deb, Emma, Kelly, Sarah, Clare, Donna and Yvonne.

Merry Christmas!

XXX

To my nine, you are my inspiration and my world.

Chapter 1

‘No. I’m not going. I just can’t face it.’ I shook my head as I used a damp cloth to wipe the crumbs from the stainless-steel worktop into my cupped hand.

‘What do you mean you’re not going, Katie? Of course you’re going.’ My best friend Ann adjusted her blue hairnet and frowned at me across the kitchen of Crumbtious, our West Hampstead cake shop. Her pretty grey eyes twinkled behind her square framed glasses. ‘Your presence is required at the Warham family Christmas.’

I sighed and dropped the crumbs into the bin. Ann was right. How could I fail to attend? The Christmas family get-together had been planned for months – a way to give my parents a proper send-off before they moved abroad – and my brother Karl would never forgive me if I didn’t go. Besides, a few days in the beautiful Garden of England at the glorious Hawthorne Manor might be just the thing I needed. It had been a good year for our business, but I couldn’t deny that it had been hectic and, of course, losing my Granny had hit me hard. I really was exhausted and needed to recharge before heading into the New Year.

Ann and I met at college on a hospitality and catering course. We’d formed a close friendship over three years of studying together. She had helped me through some really tough times – the toughest being the devastating loss of my baby and subsequent break-up with Sam, my first love.

After graduating, Ann and I had both gained some experience working for other businesses across the country, then, armed with our combined knowledge of spreadsheets and net versus gross, we had taken the plunge into the mixing bowl and set up on our own two years ago. It had been working out for us – so well that we’d even been able to move to bigger premises in the summer. I was proud of our achievements, but I really could use a break and this might be my only chance for some time.

‘Okay, smarty pants, I’m going. But will you be okay here without me? I mean, we’ve been run off our feet and it’s Christmas and we’ll be really busy tomorrow and…’ I clutched at straws but they slipped through my fingers. It could prove to be a restful break but I also knew that my family would want my time and attention, as well as explanations about my latest relationship gone wrong, and I didn’t know if I had the emotional reserves to deal with it all. Perhaps I should have booked a few days away in Lapland or some other destination I could have headed to alone.

Ann held up a hand. ‘Don’t even try that one. It’s only four days until Christmas, Katie, so you can’t change your plans this late in the day. Besides, we’ve informed our customers that we’ll only be open until twelve on Christmas Eve, so you absolutely must go on the twenty-third after closing as planned. And, don’t forget, Mark finishes work tomorrow, so he’ll be here to help out. I’ll be fine. We’ll be fine.’ She smiled fondly and I knew that she was thinking about spending some quality time with her very-ambitious lover. ‘We’re closed then until the twenty-eighth, so it’s a good time for you to go.’

‘Well as long as you’re sure, but I’ll drive back Sunday evening so I can open up bright and early on Monday.’ December twenty-seventh suddenly sounded like a long time away.

‘No problem. Now go on through to the shop and close the blinds while I fix us a drink.’ She waved me away and I anticipated the luxury of resting my aching legs. When you’re on your feet all day, sitting down in the evening is absolute bliss.

I walked through to the shop and stood still for a moment, taking it all in. It still amazed me how far we’d come. I was living the dream; I had my own business at thirty-two and I was doing exactly what I loved every day while working alongside my best friend. How many people get that lucky? We had settled on West Hampstead as a prime location for our cake shop, keen to maximise business potential so that our venture would continue to thrive. With our combined savings and a business loan, it had been possible to afford the rent on the shop. Nerve-wracking – investing all that we had and taking on debt – but possible. West Hampstead was also far enough away from our hometown of Sevenoaks to provide me with reasons for not visiting my parents every week, yet not too far to return for the odd weekend or during the holidays.

The L-shaped tearoom housed a counter to the left of the door from the kitchen, which curved in a semi-circle. On the counter top was a large display case that housed an array of cakes and pastries during shop hours. To the right of the door was a large fridge full of soft drinks, chilled desserts, milk and cream. There were eight circular tables, currently covered with festive red and gold cloths, spread out across the restored oak floor boards, and in the large bay window sat a soft old leather couch next to an original cast-iron fireplace. The restrooms were situated through a door set in the back wall. It was just as I’d always imagined my own cake shop would be—pretty, cosy and welcoming. It was a place people could come to alone, or with company, somewhere to sit and enjoy a warm drink and a cake over a chat or while reading a good book. Recently, we’d even had an author visiting us on a daily basis. She was twenty-something with brown bobbed hair and a shy smile. She didn’t boast about being an author but Ann, being quite forward and a bit cheeky, asked her outright. It was thrilling knowing that she’s creating her stories as she consumes our mince pies and hot chocolate while she sits on the sofa with her feet curled up under her and the world passing by outside.

I’d fallen in love with the shop building as soon as I’d seen it, even though it had needed a full refurbishment having previously housed a tanning salon then a discount clothes store. The former owners clearly hadn’t appreciated the Victorian features and they’d covered up the beautiful original fireplace with chipboard and the wooden floor with cheap sticky tiles. It had taken me two weeks to get the tiles up and to sand and polish the boards, but every time I looked at them I was filled with the satisfaction of a job well done.

I crossed to the windows and read the sign we’d had painted on the glass in a Victorian-style font – Crumbtious Cakes and Tearoom. My stomach flipped with the excitement that never seemed to die down whenever I thought about my baby; the business that is. I let the blinds down, then slumped onto the comfortable sofa that seemed to welcome me, its cushions puffing up around my legs like a big squishy hug.

It was perfect. Ann and I had been preparing for months to get our first Christmas in the new shop just right. We had decided to have a real Christmas tree to create a genuine festive atmosphere. I loved the fresh pine scent as well as the Victorian decorations Ann and I had created to adorn its prickly branches. My favourites had to be the spicy fragrant orange and apple slices which I’d cut thinly and baked until they were dry, then studded with cloves and tied up with red and green ribbon. Their scent was positively mouth-watering and reminiscent of Christmases gone by. We’d also made our own beaded Christmas tree ornaments by taking a pile of plain old red and gold baubles and gluing tiny colourful beads, crystals and tassels to them. We’d had a lot of fun combing the local market stalls and charity shops to find old decorations to use.

My heart gave a flip as my eyes landed on the one tree decoration that didn’t match the rest. A tiny pink teddy bear. I’d hung it high up on the tree, out of the reach of little fingers, but in a prime spot so that it was visible from the counter. Maybe it was overly sentimental that I’d kept it and maybe it was ridiculous that I still took it out of its soft gold tissue wrapping every year and hung it on the Christmas tree, but it was my way of letting her, my little baby, know that I hadn’t forgotten and that I never would. Whatever I achieved in life, wherever I went, she would always be in my heart.

Ann and I hadn’t put lights on the tree because of the dried fruit, but we had draped them around the windows and woven them into the lattice on the front of the counter. They flashed now in the semi-darkness, their myriad colours casting a warm rainbow glow across the shop floor.

Either side of the fireplace hung two large stockings. Throughout December, our regular customers had filled them with gifts for the patients of the children’s ward at the local hospital. The idea had come about after one of the school-mums had asked what Ann and I wanted as thanks for all the delicious cakes we’d baked, as well as for being so welcoming to their pre-school children. Apparently, not all businesses were so understanding about sticky fingerprints and constant noise before eleven in the mornings, although it didn’t seem to bother our resident author. We had arranged for the parents of one of the hospital’s long-term patients to collect and deliver the gifts on Christmas Eve.

Ann appeared in the doorway with two large mugs and I grinned, anticipating what delights she had created. When she handed me my mug, I wasn’t disappointed. The surface of the drink was frothy with whipped cream and when I sniffed it, the warming aromas of ginger and cinnamon made my mouth water. I couldn’t resist sticking my finger into the cream and scooping out one of our homemade gingerbread marshmallows. I placed it on my tongue and allowed it to slowly melt there, the sugary surface soon giving way to a soft and gooey centre.

‘Good?’ Ann asked as she sat next to me and grinned at me from beneath a whipped cream moustache.

‘Heavenly.’ I raised my mug to my lips and blew on the liquid, eager to cool it down and drink it. We sat like that, in the companionable silence of good friends, as we consumed our calorific hot chocolates and I could feel the strains of the day slipping away from me until I was almost comatose.

Ann turned in her seat to look at me. ‘So do you want to talk about it?’ Trust her to wait until I was too relaxed to put up a fight. I shrugged. How many times could we discuss the same old things?

‘Is it just Esther that’s worrying you?’

I bit my bottom lip. Was I worried about my mother being hard work over Christmas? Yes, but it was more than that. This year, there was so much more to think about and my vulnerability might mean that I couldn’t brush off Esther’s barbs in my usual practised way.

‘I’m pretty good at dealing with her after all these years, so it’s not really that. I just know that this Christmas is going to be so much harder…you know?’ I swallowed hard.

Ann covered my hand with her own and squeezed. ‘Because of your granny?’

I nodded and blinked hard. ‘I’m going to miss her so much this year. I mean, I’ve missed her madly these past few months but it’s just harder somehow at Christmas. It seems so wrong that she won’t be there.’

Ann reached out and wiped a rogue tear from my cheek. I took a few deep breaths, determined not to crumble.

‘What would your granny want you to do, Katie?’

‘To spend Christmas with my family.’

‘And why?’

‘Because her family was everything to her.’

‘Well there you go.’

I met Ann’s eyes and tried to smile. She gave me a sympathetic one in return and patted my hand, then something seemed to occur to her. Ann stood up and headed to the kitchen.

‘Where are you going?’

‘Be right back,’ she called over her shoulder. ‘I have an idea…’

I lay my head back against the sofa and thought about Granny. She had been such a character. A tiny, intelligent and witty lady, she’d been an eternal optimist, capable of seeing the silver lining in every cloud. On top of that, she’d been a layer of protection, soaking up some of the damage my mother could do by unfalteringly defending me and making me giggle whenever Esther became a bit overbearing. But now Granny was gone.

I had tried so hard over the years to let my mother’s negative comments wash over me but sometimes, even though I was thirty-two, she still managed to hurt me. But then a mother is meant to be a woman’s ultimate role model, her port in the storm, her protector. With Esther, it had never really seemed that way because she was always so bloody critical. Granny had been all the good things for me; basically another mother. It was like being in an American TV show growing up, with the good cop and the bad cop.

‘Here we go,’ Ann sang as she sashayed back into the shop. She placed a plate with a piece of our famous Christmas cake on it and a fork in front of me.

‘What’s this for?’ I asked. I was already riding the sugar high from her delicious hot chocolate.

‘Wish upon a Christmas cake!’ Ann exclaimed.

‘Huh?’ I raised a quizzical eyebrow at her.

‘Well I won’t have a wishbone till Christmas Day and it’s too cloudy for shooting stars tonight so I say we wish upon a Christmas cake that this be the best Warham family Christmas ever.’ She smiled encouragingly, but I still eyed her dubiously. ‘Oh come on, what have you got to lose? It could work; Esther might be nice for Christmas and you could get a tall, dark and handsome hunk in your stocking!’ She winked at me.

My heart pounded so I inhaled slowly. It had been a good day and I really didn’t want to ruin it by becoming all melancholy. It was Christmas, Granny’s favourite time of year, and I was determined to make her proud by savouring every moment. I smiled at Ann, she was only trying to help. ‘Okay,’ I said, stabbing a piece of cake with the fork. I closed my eyes and popped the moist, brandy-soaked fruit sponge in my mouth, wishing for a happy family Christmas – even without Granny.

I knew that we would all miss Granny and that I wouldn’t be alone in that. I’d tried to avoid thinking about it by keeping busy and avoiding going back to my parents’ house but I knew that I couldn’t run for ever. My father had lost his mother, Esther had lost a mother-in-law she’d lived with for the past three years and known for much longer, and my brother Karl would miss the grandmother who’d doted on him. I realised, the more I thought about it, that I wanted to be with my family this year. Who knew when we’d manage another big old-fashioned family Christmas? If we ever would with Mum and Dad moving away. Things could change so quickly from one day to the next. So I would make every effort for Granny this Christmas; I would aim to make her proud.

I mean, she might actually be watching over me like she’d always promised she would do.

***

The next few days passed in a flurry of baking, serving customers, last-minute shopping and wrapping of gifts. Before I could doubt my decision again, it was December twenty-third and Ann and I had closed the shop for the day and were tidying up the kitchen.

‘Right, Katie Warham, go take a shower and wash the flour out of your hair then get on the road. The traffic will no doubt be bad and your mother will want you there in time for dinner.’

Ann was right; if I was late I’d never hear the end of it.

I untied the strings of my apron and hung it on a peg by the door, then lingered in the doorway. It was a small yet perfectly organised space designed to accommodate our business needs. From the island in the centre to the large ovens and the oversized fridge, it had everything we needed. A variety of delicious freshly baked cakes and pastries were cooling on surfaces, their festive aromas both mouth-watering and comforting. All the smells of my childhood were right there in my adult world. Cinnamon and ginger, brandy and mixed fruits mingled enticingly with vanilla and citrus. Mince pies shone with their rich butter coating, waiting for a fine dusting of sweet white icing sugar, and fat brown Christmas puddings glistened, recently released from their individual moulds, their plump fruits inviting and sherry soaked. Yes, Ann and I had everything to be proud of this year. It might have been nice to have someone to share it with, someone to appreciate what I’d achieved, but I didn’t need a man to make me feel whole. As a single thirty-something woman, I was doing a damned good job.

‘Hey, dreamy, get a move on while I pack a box of Crumbtious goodies for you to take as a peace offering for Esther. Not that she eats anything with sugar in…anything at all for that matter judging by how tiny she is.’ Ann shook her head, then opened up one of our gold Christmas cake boxes and began filling it for me.

***

Showered and dressed warmly in my stretchy jeans, baggy grey jumper and battered old cowboy boots, I threw my handbag onto the passenger seat of my VW Beetle. The boot was loaded with specially made delights from the shop and my modest hold all. I’d packed a minimum of outfits because I knew that whatever I took, my mother would find something to criticise. So what was the point in going overboard?

‘Hey, come on!’ Ann wrapped an arm around my shoulders. ‘It’s Christmas, honey, and you’re going to have a great time with that hunky brother of yours. I know you’ve missed him.’

I smiled as the thought of seeing Karl warmed me up inside like spiced mulled wine. It would be great to spend some time with him and his new boyfriend. I was looking forward to getting to know Angelo Fiore – the gorgeous Italian model who had stolen my older brother’s heart. Karl had posted photographs of his lover on his private Facebook page and Angelo was hot in that very groomed and toned way. I preferred my men a bit rough around the edges, more Sons of Anarchy than Hugh Grant, which was why Ann had been surprised when I’d fallen into a relationship – if you could call it that – with Harrison Monroe.

I shook my head. I wasn’t giving that cheating creep any space in my head, especially not over Christmas. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, getting involved with him. He was good-looking, ambitious, great in bed and he made me laugh – for a while at least. But after the initial excitement wore off, I soon realised that what we had wasn’t at all substantial. There was no way it could have lasted the distance. I blamed myself for hanging on to the relationship and not letting him know that it wouldn’t work out as soon as it became clear to me. It would have been so much easier for both of us. But I’d been so busy with the shop, and, admittedly, afraid to let go because it meant that I was accepting that he didn’t measure up to Sam. No one would ever measure up to Sam and that knowledge terrified me.

‘And you’re not to wallow in thoughts about what might have been…you know…with what’s-his- name.’ Ann planted a kiss on my cheek. The woman could read my thoughts, I was sure of it. ‘The cake mixes you’ve ruined because of that one.’ She laughed and wagged a finger at me but I knew that she understood. She made out that Harrison Monroe had been more to me than he was because she knew how I really felt. She’d been there for me when Sam and I split and she’d seen me sink to rock bottom before helping me to learn to live with my decision; the most difficult one of my life.

I’d had a few dates and short-lived flings but always kept something back, so the men who entered my life soon got tired of trying to break through my icy veneer and gave up. Harrison had come along at a point when I’d decided to try to make a commitment or give up completely on dating. However, it hadn’t worked out, and Ann had talked me through the way I’d reacted when my somewhat tenuous attempt at an adult relationship with Harrison had failed. We’d even discussed how he might have wiped the fragments of our relationship from his designer fawn suede boots, keen to get rid of any traces of Katie Warham – that image had emerged after several large glasses of wine one Saturday evening. But try as we might to ignore it, we both knew that Sam had been, and always would be, the only man I’d ever really loved.

So although it wasn’t heartbreak that was hanging around like a bad smell four months after my breakup with Harrison, it had dented my confidence and left me wondering exactly what I did want from a man. If I even wanted one in my life at all. Harrison had been something of a final attempt at love but I hadn’t committed enough for the relationship to progress. He had reacted by cheating. In fact, I had to admit that I had been deliberately absent from the relationship because I just didn’t want to move in with him. Something had held me back. And that something was called my past, AKA Sam.

‘Katie?’

‘I promise I won’t think about him at all!’

‘I wish I knew which him you were referring to, Katie, but just to be on the safe side, try not to think about either of them.’

I saluted my friend, then she enveloped me in an apple blossom and coconut-scented hug. I’d miss Ann over Christmas. Last year we’d spent the festive season together with Harrison and Mark. It had been fun, most of it anyhow. We’d eaten too much and drunk too much but that’s what Christmas is all about, right? I’d been happy. Or at least I’d thought I was happy. Even when I opened Harrison’s surprise gift and found one of those celebrity diet and fitness videos complete with a stretchy rubber band to use to tone and strengthen my thighs. His gift had made me wonder exactly what he thought about my curves and if he was trying to tell me something – another good reason for getting out of the relationship. Or just another excuse…

Harrison had claimed that he was doing me a favour, helping me to get my planned New Year’s resolutions off to a promising start with the latest dance-aerobic fitness craze. It was probably partly my fault that he’d decided I’d appreciate it. After all, I did tend to moan on occasion about how I wanted to lose weight, but don’t most people? In retrospect, it was highly likely that I’d actually planted the idea in his head. Had I deliberately manufactured the situation in order to compare Harrison unfavourably to Sam because Sam had always told me how much he loved my curves?

However, this year, I was putting the past behind me and heading off to be with the glorious Warhams, while Ann would have a romantic Christmas for two in our shared flat.

‘And fingers crossed that Santa brings you what you want, Ann.’

‘What I want?’ Ann placed her hands on her hips and waggled her eyebrows.

I winked at her. ‘I know what you really want.’

‘I don’t even know if I know what I want.’

‘You do, Ann. Deep down. I know what you’re hoping for.’

‘Well, we’ll see won’t we?’ Ann chewed her bottom lip and hugged herself.

‘He’s going to do it I’m sure.’

Ann rubbed her empty ring finger.

I hoped that Mark would come through for her. She was madly in love with her city banker and it was clear that all she wanted for Christmas was a proposal. She didn’t want a big wedding, which was a good thing seeing as how all her money was tied up in the shop, but she wanted to be his wife, to know that he was as committed to her as she was to him. That was another reason why I needed to make myself scarce. I didn’t want to be the third wheel. The spare part. The gate-crasher to their romantic festive celebrations. Ann was adorable inside and out and Mark would be lucky to have her as his wife. I just hoped that his gain wouldn’t be my loss. I would hate to have to deal with not having Ann around. She was an integral part of my life, had supported me through so much, and our business was so young. I was sure that it still had a long way to go – especially if my plans for online domination got off the ground. But Mark was quite a traditional guy and he’d spoken in the past about believing that once women had children, they should be supported by their husbands. That had been an interesting discussion over a takeaway with me obstinately blazing the trail for career women. I couldn’t help but worry that he might want Ann to quit work, and I would lose my business partner because she’d move away to a quaint rural village where she’d end up wearing tweed ensembles and baking for the local school fetes. I shuddered.

‘Okay, Ann, I’m going.’ I gave her one last hug, then climbed into my cherry-red car. I was so proud of my new car, evidence of our business success. I’d always wanted a Beetle, ever since I was a kid when I’d watched Disney’s Herbie movies. There’s nothing like the thrill of accomplishing a childhood dream. It had been my only extravagance. I liked clothes and shoes but there wasn’t much call for Manolo Blahniks when you were on your feet all day baking and as for the clothes…well I just kept promising myself that I’d go on a shopping spree once I’d dropped a few pounds. Then I’d go back to that little boutique in central London and tell that twelve year old who worked there – okay well she looked about twelve but was probably more like eighteen – that I was in fact a curvaceous medium and not a large as she had suggested. Oh how I would enjoy that one! I might even stick out my tongue, you know, just for good measure.