Let’s take a quick moment to admire this gorgeous festive romcom from Beth Good, light and frothy in some places, sparkly and joyous in others, and as ever, taking us deep into the quagmire of tangled human relationships. Because, as the Bard once said, ‘the path of true love ne’er did run smooth…’
So, if you fancy picking up a festive, easy-read romance, enjoy a sample below from The Oddest Little Cornish Christmas Shop…
Artist Marjorie comes back to the tiny Cornish fishing village where she was born to take over the running of her ailing grandmother’s Christmas shop, selling everything from Christmas trees to snowglobes to inflatable elves.
The last person she expects to see back in the village for Christmas is her old adversary Jack, whose high-powered career has taken him all over the world. But Jack’s sister is sick too, and he’s come home to be with her … right next door to the Christmas shop!
Marjorie and Jack clashed permanently back in the day, culminating in a kiss and a slapped face when they parted. Yet she’s never got over his crooked smile and ironic one-liners. Can she handle his prickling proximity for a few festive weeks until her gran’s better? Or is Marjorie in danger of making a fool of herself all over again?
‘I love Beth Good’s quirky style!’ – Sunday Times bestseller, Katie Fforde
EXCERPT FROM CHAPTER ONE…
‘I’m sorry,’ that deep, familiar male voice said, before the man who had bent over in front of her aeroplane seat to retrieve a lost pen straightened up and turned to her, blue eyes twinkling with humour and joie de vivre, ‘I didn’t mean to push my bottom in your face like that. There’s no room in these tiny planes, is there? Do forgive me, I was just picking up my…’
His voice tailed off and he stared down at her properly for the first time, the twinkle gone as his eyes widened and fixed on her face. ‘Oh God, it’s you.’
‘Merry Christmas, Jack,’ Marjorie said calmly, and looked down at her magazine again, flicking through a few pages without really seeing anything printed there. ‘Good to see you too.’ Her sarcasm was gently delivered, though only for the sake of those around them; she didn’t want their fellow passengers to think she was feral.
He slipped a hand through his perfectly cut fair hair, its spiky strands still damp from the rain outside as they’d boarded the plane, and had the grace to look embarrassed.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said again, forcing a smile that looked more like a grimace, ‘that didn’t come out right. I was surprised, that’s all.’
‘Surprised?’
‘By your … hair.’ He was staring at her head, she realised. ‘I didn’t recognise you at first. It used to be so … well, long. And now it’s …’
‘Short?’
‘Radically short, yes,’ he said, clearly bemused.
‘I cut it all off ages ago. The length was becoming a nuisance.’ She resisted the urge to put a hand to her light, feathery pixie cut. It suited her face shape. Besides, it was none of his business how she wore her hair.
‘It looks great,’ he said belatedly.
‘Thank you.’
She didn’t believe a word of it. He hated her pixie cut. It was there in his characteristically sharp, intelligent blue eyes. But of course he hated it. He had expected to see her with long dark hair down to her waist, as she had worn it in her teenage years. But university had opened her eyes to a very different world out there, beyond the narrow, old-fashioned ways of Cornish village life, and her luxurious Victorian-style locks had been the first casualty …
‘Do you mind?’ The large gentleman behind him, who had been waiting patiently to move down the narrow aisle of the plane, briefcase in hand, coughed meaningfully. ‘Could I get past?’
‘Sorry.’
Hurriedly, Jack threw himself into the aisle seat next to Marjorie’s own aisle seat, the space between them now barely an arm’s length.
The large gentleman bustled past, followed by other passengers, all of them shooting Jack disapproving looks. Jack himself seemed oblivious to any tension. Except for the tension between him and Marjorie, of course. The tension which had not let up since that Christmas disco so long ago, despite the intervening years.
Jack’s gaze flicked back to her face. ‘Going home for Christmas?’
Marjorie sighed. It was clear that he intended conversing with her, even though it was obvious she was reading a magazine. She could not have made it more obvious if she had lifted the magazine right up to her nose. ‘That’s right.’
‘Me too.’ There was a short silence. ‘Where are you based, now?’
‘London.’
‘That’s nice.’ Jack messed about with his seatback. ‘I’m in New York. Manhattan, in fact. Flew over yesterday, saw a few people in town, and now I’m heading to Port Jowan for the holidays.’ When she said nothing, still intent on her magazine, Jack added in a low voice, ‘I may be staying longer. It’s Angie … She’s not been well.’
‘Oh dear.’
Another of Angela’s epic head colds, no doubt, she thought, flicking blindly through another few pages. His younger sister had been notorious for her attention-seeking “illnesses” in school.
His smile was thin. ‘I haven’t been back home in years, of course. But when she asked if I could stay for Christmas and look after her, I didn’t see how I could refuse.’ His voice had dropped, and now he added slowly, ‘Family is important, isn’t it?’
Surprised, Marjorie looked at him properly for the first time. A tiny electric shock ran through her as their eyes met. ‘Yes,’ she agreed, huskily. ‘Family’s definitely the most important thing. My gran had a heart attack last week.’
Now it was his turn to say, ‘Oh dear.’
He did it rather better than she had, Marjorie decided, his fair head tilting towards her, his blue eyes full of Oscar-winning concern…
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