Christmas at the Farmhouse - Rebecca Boxall Page 0,1

Silverhurst from Hastings,’ he explained. ‘Much easier for school and it was my wife who was keen on living right by the sea.’

‘I hope she’ll find Silverhurst pleasing enough,’ I replied.

‘Sadly, she’ll never find out. I’m afraid she passed away six months ago.’

I wanted the ground to swallow me up. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ I said, mortified, but Mr Jenners put his hand on mine in a reassuring manner.

‘Think nothing of it,’ he said. ‘We’re settling in well. Our house is just around the corner. I’ll be sure to come here every morning for my loaf of bread. And the odd iced bun of course.’ He turned and, after a brief wave, he left – the bell over the door clanging with his departure.

As I watched him disappear on to the icy December high street I wasn’t sure if his promise made me feel pleased or wary. All I knew was that I felt a sense of relief after he’d left, but a reluctant return to apathy too. I rummaged under the counter and found the iced bun, stuffing it down guiltily before Mr Downley returned from his deliveries and could accuse me of stealing from the shop.

I didn’t know it then, but that was the first day of the rest of my life.

Chapter Two

Thursday 5th December 2019

Jo – The Christmas Chat

Growing up as an only child of kind but conservative parents, with Christmas always a quiet and fairly basic affair, I made three resolutions at the age of thirteen – that I’d have a large family, live in a cosy farmhouse, and make a great big fuss about Christmas every single year.

I did it, too – nailed all three of those teenage dreams. Magnus and I have four children, with the elder three all now married and busy producing grandchildren for us, so that’s the big family sorted. A decade ago, we moved into a true Jersey farmhouse. Not the Kentish sort of my childhood, but having lived in Jersey for many years, we were finally able to buy a property – and very lovely it is too. And I’ve always made a huge fuss about Christmas. Enormous. Not that the results have necessarily paid off. In fact, just this morning Magnus came to find me in the kitchen to have our annual “Christmas Chat.”

‘Come and sit down for a moment, love,’ he said, bringing a mug of tea for us both over to the large pine table and installing himself in a chair at one end.

I turned to face him, dusting flour off my Cath Kidston pinny. He waved an arm towards another chair and I joined him slightly reluctantly. I’m not much of a one for sitting down; I like to keep busy as a rule.

‘Good,’ he said, rubbing his beard. Though we’re both approaching our half-centuries, Magnus’s hair is still completely fair, with only his beard starting to turn silver. He’s a lucky man; he has the sort of cheekbones that make him look more and more attractive the older he gets. I’m not doing too badly myself but I lost the battle against silver hair a long time ago; I just haven’t got the time or the inclination to waste hours at the hairdresser’s trying to keep the auburn hair of my youth, despite the nagging from my daughters.

‘Now,’ said Magnus. ‘We’ve still got three weeks to go till Christmas and I can see how busy you are already, so we need to talk about pacing – otherwise you’re going to burn yourself out.’

Magnus was thinking about last year. I’m still ashamed of myself. I absolutely exploded, shouting at everyone during Christmas lunch. I was so upset I couldn’t even watch the Queen’s Speech. The daft thing about it is that every other year the ruination of Christmas has been someone else’s fault and then – ping! – it was me of all people! But that was a year ago, as I like to tell myself, and this one will be different. I am nothing if not optimistic. And, of course, I have a surprise up my sleeve.

‘I’m fine,’ I told him. ‘Honestly! I enjoy it, you know I do.’

‘But there’s a fine line between busy enjoyment and overdoing it,’ Magnus said, his bushy eyebrows meeting as he frowned. Magnus likes to be straightforward – he was brought up by a Danish father and an English mother and they were always very open and frank and generally very healthy and wholesome. They live in Tunbridge