Staying Away at Christmas by Katie Fforde Page A

said, ‘You know what? You go through a lot of Christmasses in your life – some are better than others. Get over it.’
    Now, Isa volunteered to light the wood burner while Miranda and Lulu chose bedrooms and got the cases upstairs. They were still doing this when Isa called urgently up the stairs.
    ‘Mum! There’s a car in the drive!’
    As the drive was only for their house, Miranda came downstairs. There would be a knock on the door, someone would be lost and she’d have to try and remember the way back to the main road.
    There was no knock. The door opened and a teenaged boy, a shock of dark hair that was at once modern and romantic, and made him look like he should be famous, came in.
    ‘Oh!’ he said. ‘What are you doing here?’
    Isa, who was wearing long woollen tights and a very short skirt, hooked one leg round the other in a gesture she’d had from childhood. ‘We’re, like, staying?’
    ‘What’s the problem, Dan,’ said a deep male voice from behind.
    ‘It’s like, occupied.’
    Miranda placed an arm around Isa’s shoulders, not so much to protect her daughter from a dangerous stranger but to support her in the presence of a boy when she hadn’t had at least three hours’ notice.
    ‘Hello!’ she said, knowing she was embarrassing her daughter but unable to stand there in silence. ‘Can I help?’ She looked beyond the beautiful boy to the man, who was tall, dark and clearly tired. He was obviously related to the boy but the beauty had been eroded by time and care.
    ‘We’ve rented this house for Christmas,’ he said, his jaw firmly set. ‘And you’re in it.’
    ‘We’ve rented this house too. I mean, you’ve probably got the wrong house.’
    ‘No!’ He glared at her. ‘I’ve got very clear directions. This is definitely the right house.’ That he had made a mistake was
not
a possibility.
    ‘Why don’t you come in and we can sort this out?’ said Miranda, fairly sure she and her daughters were in no danger from more than irritation.
    The man grunted. ‘Hang on, I’ve left my youngest in the car. She’s asleep. I’d better check she hasn’t woken up.’ He went back into the darkness.
    ‘Come in,’ said Miranda to the boy, unrepentantly hospitable. ‘I’ll put the kettle on.’
    The boy followed her into the kitchen. ‘It looks really Christmassy. I wasn’t expecting that.’ He scowled. ‘Dad bought a fake tree – we probably won’t need it.’
    ‘Dad’ appeared a few moments later with a girl of about seven.
    ‘Well, come in, do,’ said Miranda. ‘Then I’ll ring Sheila. She’ll know where you’re booked in. I know she has several houses she rents out.’
    She felt confident that all would be well and was pleased that the fire was going and that the house looked so welcoming. It wasn’t her house of course, but she had a strong sense of ownership. It was why she’d wanted to come here for Christmas. It was like home, having spent their summer holiday here, but without the depressing absence of her husband, which her real home still held, even after two years.
    She smiled and held out her hand. ‘I’m Miranda, this is my daughter Isa, and here’s Lulu.’
    The man frowned. He didn’t seem happy to be put in a social situation with strangers when he was expecting to move into his holiday home. ‘I’m Anthony Berkley, this is my son Dan. And this is Amy. But we won’t take up your time having tea. I think maybe you should be getting your things together. I assure you, this house is ours for the Christmas period.’
    Miranda didn’t react but carried on making tea. It would keep her going until the moment this man and his beautiful family had gone and she could open the wine. ‘I’ll ring Sheila –’ she said.
    ‘I’ll do it,’ said Anthony, pulling out his phone and clicking on a number.
    As Miranda would have taken a while to find the number she felt obliged to forgive him for his high-handedness.
    He moved out of earshot which Miranda