Always, in December by Emily Stone

Chapter One

A grey-haired man in an anorak held the pub door open for Cassie and she smiled at him gratefully as she ducked under the low wooden beam and stepped into the warmth, her hands full, clutching a tray of mince pies. Logs cracked in the fireplace in the corner, and the smell of mulled wine, sherry, pine and cheese all rolled into one. She walked towards the rustic bar, nodding to a few people as she passed, the chatter of what must have been nearly the entire village washing over her. It made her smile – everyone out together on Christmas Eve.

She caught sight of Tom, leaning against a stone wall and laughing as he threw his head back. His blond hair flopped to one side, evidence of the fact he’d let it grow far too long recently. He didn’t notice her coming in, chatting away to someone who had their back to her, beer in hand. Someone with messy dark brown hair, a relaxed posture, wearing a black jacket that showed off those impressive shoulders. Her stomach gave a little lurch, and she nearly stumbled straight into the old oak bar, clutching the tray she was holding and throwing it out in front of her to save the mince pies.

‘Watch out, Cassie love – we don’t want to see all your hard work ending up on the floor!’ Linda, landlady of The Red House, appeared on the other side of the bar, having come through the double doors that led to the kitchen. She tucked a tea towel through the belt on her jeans and crossed to where Cassie was standing, reached out from across the bar to grab the mince pies, then set them down by the coffee machine behind the bar.

‘Sorry, Linda,’ Cassie said quickly, slipping out of her coat. ‘I know I’m a bit late, and I—’

Linda waved her apology away, her many rings glinting in the light from the candles Cassie had helped set up earlier today. ‘Don’t be silly. You’re a doll for making them. In fact, they look so good I might have to sneak one away before the rabble get their hands on them.’ She did just that, grabbing a coffee saucer and setting a mince pie down on it, using a teaspoon to take a mouthful. She closed her eyes and groaned in what Cassie thought was slightly overdone pleasure. A crumb of the pastry stuck to Linda’s red lip gloss, and Cassie wondered if she should tell her. ‘I swear, your baking gets better every time I try it. And what’s that I taste? Something orangey?’

‘Cointreau,’ Cassie agreed with a nod, feeling wonderfully mature. She’d started experimenting with different ingredients, and had spent a while trying out different liqueurs in the mincemeat, though it had taken a few attempts to get it right, being as how her experience with liqueurs, and what they all tasted like was, admittedly, somewhat limited.

The door to the pub opened again, letting in a blast of cool air that managed to reach even the bar. Cassie looked over to see Hazel, her best friend since the beginning of secondary school, coming in with her mum. Hazel spotted Cassie and her eyes – green, not hazel – sparked as she closed the distance between them in a few long, elegant strides. Cassie clocked the heels that Hazel was wearing and tried not to wrinkle her nose. They always looked ridiculous together when she did that because of the height difference – Hazel tall enough to be a professional model, and Cassie short enough to still occasionally fit into child’s clothing. Honestly, Cassie had told Hazel that they looked like some kind of double act and that they should be trying to reduce the difference in their heights rather than accentuate it, but Hazel didn’t care. She was confident in her height and, when some guys went so far as to call her ‘giantess’, she simply claimed that men weren’t worth it. She was sure her height was going to come in useful one day, if only so she didn’t have to get married just so she had someone around to reach the top shelf.

‘Happy Christmas Eve!’ Hazel gave Cassie a hug - bending down to do so - then stepped back and pursed her lips as she studied Cassie, who twirled a strand of her hair back into place behind her ear. Hazel nodded approvingly. ‘The dress works,’ she said decisively, and Cassie felt relief wash over her, as she tried very hard not to glance at the head of messy brown hair behind her. She’d bought the dress – black, tight-fitting, with silver snowflakes on it – especially for tonight.

Hazel’s mum, Mel, joined them at the bar, nearly as tall as Hazel, and smiled at Cassie, showing perfectly straight teeth. ‘Bet you’re glad to be this side of the bar tonight.’ Cassie smiled and nodded – she’d offered to work but Linda had insisted she had it off, so that she could welcome in Christmas with the others.

Mel and Linda kissed each other on the cheek to say hello, then Mel glanced down at the tray Cassie had brought. ‘Are those mince pies?’

‘Cassie baked them,’ Linda said proudly, like she was showing off a picture a young child had drawn her, one she wanted to stick on the fridge. ‘Here,’ Linda shoved a mince pie under Mel’s nose, ‘try one.’ Mel dutifully did as she was told, then raised her perfectly plucked eyebrows.

‘Well, I have to say, that is delicious. Better than M&S!’ Hazel rolled her eyes behind her mum’s back at Cassie, who tried to hide her grin. ‘And what’s that I taste? Brandy?’

‘Cointreau,’ Linda and Cassie said together.

‘My, my,’ Mel said. ‘That’s rather posh, isn’t it? Well, it works, I tell you. You teach her that, Linda?’

Linda shook her head, her brunette bob swishing with the movement. ‘You’ve seen the menu here, we’re all ice cream and straight-down-the-line brownie, and we’re damn good at it. But Cassie’s far more talented than me, destined for greater things.’ Linda winked at Cassie, who felt herself flush a little. Linda might be her boss, but she was more than that too – someone who had her back, she knew, no matter what. She’d started out working in the kitchen at The Red House, washing dishes and helping make the coleslaw, before she was old enough to work behind the bar. Tom had done it before her, so had got her the job. Linda had been the one to get Cassie into baking, asking her to help out with the pub deserts, and though Cassie worked front of house now, she was still playing around with the baking in her own time, seeing what happened when you mixed different flavours or combined recipes – with mixed results, admittedly.

Mel saw someone she knew at that point, waved, then crossed the room to join them, leaving Hazel to pull Cassie aside. ‘Well,’ she demanded immediately. ‘Have you talked to him yet?’ Hazel could be quite intense when she stared down at you like that, so Cassie took a step back on her spindly stilettos – another purchase just for this evening – and huffed out a breath.

‘I only just got here! I came separately from Tom because I was bringing the mince pies and I wasn’t ready.’ Wasn’t ready, because she’d taken over an hour changing her hair and doing her makeup, trying to find just the right look, the one that said she was an adult now, not just Tom’s little sister.

‘Well come on,’ Hazel said, shaking back her dead straight black hair – hair that she dyed to make more black, even though Cassie honestly couldn’t tell the difference. ‘No point standing around here with longing stares when he’s right there.’ And before Cassie could tell her not to, Hazel marched straight over to Tom and Sam, leaving Cassie scurrying behind, trying to look both graceful on her heels, and keep up with Hazel’s long stride.

Tom grabbed Cassie as she reached him and gave her a one-armed hug, leaving his arm around her shoulders. ‘Here’s my girl, and her sidekick.’ Cassie smiled while Hazel stuck her tongue out.

‘I’m no one’s sidekick, Rivers.’ True, Cassie thought. She often felt like a sidekick to Hazel, rather than the other way around. Tom grinned, dropped his arm away from Cassie and gave Hazel a quick, hard hug. Cassie, meanwhile, tried hard not to look at Sam directly for too long, even though she could feel his gorgeous blue eyes on her, assessing, while he stood there with his thumbs looped through the belt loop of his jeans, casual as you like.

‘How’s the land of university treating you?’ Hazel asked.

Tom wrinkled his nose. ‘Annoyingly hard work this year.’ Tom was in his third year, and Cassie had been treated to many a phone call already, lamenting all the work he was having to do, rather than being able to keep exploring the night life of Manchester. ‘Well,’ he clarified, ‘for some of us anyway. Sam here seems immune.’ Sam shrugged, and Cassie shifted to face him, relieved to have an excuse to look at him. She smiled, and he nodded back.

‘Looking good, Cass.’ Cassie felt heat rise in her face, and she did a sort of shrug-nod thing in acceptance of the compliment.

Tom rolled his eyes. ‘She ought to, the amount of time she spent with that bloody hair rod.’ Cassie flushed more, and really hoped it wasn’t as obvious as it felt. She shot Tom a glare, which he ignored.

Hazel came to Cassie’s rescue, giving Tom a friendly punch on the arm. ‘It’s Christmas Eve, you idiot, we are supposed to dress up and look pretty.’

‘Well, you do,’ Sam said, looking at Cassie. God, it was just impossible to look away from those eyes. ‘Look pretty, that is.’ He glanced at Hazel, almost like an afterthought. ‘Both of you, that is.’

Hazel shot Cassie the briefest of glances that Cassie didn’t dare return, even though the back of her neck was sparking with heat. ‘Well Rivers,’ Hazel said, ‘I think it’s about time you bought me a welcome home drink, isn’t it?’ She cocked her head in that way that made all of their teachers go pale.

Tom raised his eyebrows. ‘Surely if it’s me who’s coming home, you need to buy the welcoming drink.’

Hazel pffed. ‘Details, details.’ She walked away on those long legs and Tom, with a slightly helpless glance back at Cassie, followed, leaving Cassie alone with Sam. She suddenly wished she’d thought to get a drink when she first came in, because then it would have given her something to do with her hands. As it was, she didn’t know what to do with them – they felt useless and awkward by her sides.

‘So, umm, how was the trip back from Manchester?’ she asked, shifting closer to the wall as a few people passed them in the crowed space. Tom and Sam had stayed up there a few weeks after term ended, getting up to God knows what, and had only got back a few days ago.

‘Ah boring, you know,’ Sam said with a shrug. He’d filled out even more since Cassie had last seen him over summer.

‘You staying with your mum?’ Sam nodded. ‘How is she?’ Cassie liked Sam’s mum – she was quiet, but there was something so warm about her.

‘She’s great,’ Sam said, and those blue eyes softened, just a little, in a way that made Cassie’s heart flip, even as she told herself to get a bloody grip.

‘And . . . your dad?’ Cassie asked hesitantly.

Sam narrowed his eyes, and the softness was instantly lost. ‘No idea,’ he said hardly. ‘Last I heard he was off in Sri Lanka surfing or something.’

Cassie twirled that same lock of hair that kept wanting to escape her carefully styled half-up half-down look. ‘You haven’t heard from him?’

‘No, and I don’t want to.’ He said it in a way that effectively closed the subject off and Cassie bit her lip, wishing she hadn’t brought the subject up in the first place. She knew how Sam felt about his dad, but had wondered, what with it being Christmas and all . . . She glanced at the bar, to where Hazel and Tom were still in a queue – too much for Linda to handle solo, as Cassie had predicted.

‘Anyway, how are you doing, Cass?’ Cassie glanced back at him to see that the tension was lost, chased away like it had never been there – back to his easy, casual self. She’d had a crush on him for as long as she could remember – it was the reason she hadn’t gone out with anyone at school even though George Haycock had asked her out and he was actually quite cute, if a little short, according to Hazel. But last summer, she, Tom and Sam had hung out a lot together, just the three of them because Hazel had been away, and something had changed, and that had decided it for her. He’d started flirting with her too, holding her hand when Tom wasn’t looking, and she’d been sure, then, that it wasn’t just a one-sided crush. He’d left for university in September, but now he was back and Cassie had decided – this was the night. She was going to be brave and kiss him. Or, at least, she was going to work up to flirting enough that he kissed her first. She hadn’t decided which one yet.

‘I’m good,’ she said, trying for an easy tone to match his. ‘Finished sending off all my university applications last week.’ She said it deliberately, reminding him that she wasn’t that much younger than him, only a few years.

‘Oh yeah?’

‘Yeah,’ she agreed. ‘Business studies.’

Sam frowned. ‘Really? That doesn’t seem—’ But he broke off as a group of four vacated the sofa table through the archway, then grabbed her hand, linking his fingers through hers, and sped towards it, tugging her along behind. She laughed at the urgency as he pulled her down next to him on the sofa, her hand still in his. She was still smiling as he shook his head. ‘Can’t let a spot like this go to waste, Cass.’

It was one of the best tables, she’d give him that. Right by the crackling fire, the Christmas tree that Cassie had decorated herself in the corner, a lone candle on the low wooden table, surrounded by empty glasses from the group before. There was another group of young people – a year or so above Cassie, she thought – sitting on stools on one of the high tables next to them, and one of the girls was eyeing Cassie and Sam with disgust, clearly having hoped to bag the table herself.

Cassie laughed again as she looked back at Sam. He was sitting very close to her, she noticed, their legs pressed against one another’s, hands still linked together. He reached out, tucked that errant strand of hair behind her ear, where it stayed, listening to his touch where it had not listened to hers. She held her breath, her heart fluttering.

‘You really do look beautiful, you know,’ Sam murmured, his eyes not leaving hers, and Cassie felt her skin spark.

‘Excellent, you nabbed us a spot.’ Cassie jumped at the sound of Tom’s voice, and Sam dropped her hand. She let her breath out on a whoosh as Tom and Hazel sat down on the sofa opposite. Hazel handed Cassie a vodka and lemonade with a little smirk, like she’d seen the whole thing.

‘So, what were you guys talking about?’ Hazel asked, the picture of innocence. Cassie narrowed her eyes at her, though the effect might not be as severe as she’d hoped, given she still felt flushed from the ‘beautiful’ comment.

Sam shrugged. ‘Cassie was just saying she’d been applying to uni.’

Tom made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat. ‘Yeah. Business.’ Sam raised his eyebrows at Tom’s tone of voice and he shook his head. ‘She’ll hate that.’

‘Hey!’ Cassie exclaimed. ‘Right here, remember?’

Tom turned to her. ‘Well, you will. Don’t know why you don’t do cooking or something.’

Cassie snorted. ‘Cooking? At university?’

Tom waved an impatient hand in the air. ’Baking. Food tech. Whatever. Something you love.’

Cassie sighed. ‘It’s a hobby, Tom.’ She angled her head at Sam. ‘You really want to tell me you’re doing law because it’s your true passion?’ She couldn’t say the same thing to Tom – he really did love geology, though he managed to get away with it and not slip into nerd territory because he was also sporty, good looking, and charming.

‘Nah, but I’m going to be rich, Cass, and then I’ll be able to do whatever I like.’ Sam grinned, first at her, then at Tom, who grinned back in solidarity whilst Cassie and Hazel rolled their eyes.

Once they’d finished their drinks, Cassie and Hazel went to the loo together, ignoring Sam’s comment about synchronised weeing. Cassie checked her face in the bright fluorescent light of the bathroom, reapplying mascara and lip gloss. She glanced at Hazel who was doing the same in the mirror next to her. ‘Well?’ she asked. ‘What do you think?’

Hazel gave a firm nod. ‘He is definitely flirting with you.’

‘He is, isn’t he?’

Halfway between the bathroom and their sofa table, Hazel got pulled over by her mum. Mel pouted, her eyes a little glassy in a way that suggested she was definitely well on her way to being hammered. Not that Cassie minded – it was easier to get drunk if the parents were wasted. ‘You haven’t talked to me all night,’ Mel said to Hazel. ‘Come on, give me five minutes, it’s Christmas!’ Hazel rolled her eyes at Cassie, then sighed, as if to say that she might as well get it over with now. ‘Where’s Claire, Cassie?’ Mel asked.

Cassie shrugged. ‘Probably in bed by now. She’s not really into Christmas.’ Not really into socialising in general. Mel gave a disapproving ‘hmmm’ in response, then leaned into Hazel to give her a big hug, whispered something in her ear. Hazel grimaced over Mel’s shoulder at Cassie, and though Cassie laughed, she couldn’t help feeling a little pang as she waved and walked back to Tom and Sam. At least Hazel had a mum to come here with. Mostly, she thought she had a handle on it, the fact that she was, technically, an orphan, but there were times when the loss of it flared up, and Christmas was one of those. There was always such an emphasis on family, and Claire, though Cassie thought she did her best, was hardly one for the festive holiday spirit.

Cassie smiled at Linda, who was holding up an empty tray where her mince pies had been, then turned the corner to the sofa table. She stumbled to a stop, her stomach clenching painfully. Tom was there, leaning against the back of the sofa and scrolling absentmindedly through his phone. But he was alone. Because Sam, it seemed, had found other company, and instead of sitting with his best mate, he was up by the high table. Up by the table, and pressing the girl who had given them the dirty look against the wall. His hands all over her, their faces locked together.

Cassie felt sick, physically sick, and she felt her eyes start to sting, even as she told herself, repeatedly, to calm down. The alcohol certainly wasn’t helping, but then, what the hell was he playing at? He didn’t even know that girl. And he’d told Cassie she was beautiful, not this stranger.

Tom looked up, saw her, and gestured her over. She went to him, a little numbly, because what could she do? She could hardly run out in floods of tears in front of everyone. Talk about overdramatic.

‘Hey,’ Tom said as she sat down. ‘What’s up?’ He knew, of course he knew. She’d never been able to hide her emotions from Tom.

‘Oh, nothing,’ she said, trying as hard as she could to keep the break out of her voice – and trying very hard not to look over at Sam, even though he was right in her eye line. Had she been stupid, thinking he might kiss her tonight? Had she been reading into things? No, she thought firmly. She wasn’t an idiot, she knew when someone was flirting with her.

Tom prodded her in the ribs, and she batted his hand away automatically. ‘What’s wrong?’ he pressed.

‘Just . . . ’ She hesitated. No way could she tell him the truth. ‘Just emotional, you know. It’s the last Christmas properly at home, before I go to university.’ Tom pursed his lips but nodded, seeming to accept that as an answer. She knew Tom only came back home for Christmas – for all the holidays – because she was still there. He and Claire got on in an amicable sort of way, but they weren’t close. And so, when Cassie went away too, would they both stop coming back home, without someone to draw them back? Cassie didn’t like to think about it, the thought that she might not have a base to spend time with her brother.

Sam had broken away from the girl, though he was running one hand up and down her arm. Cassie gritted her teeth. She was such an idiot! What must he have thought, leading her on? Had he been playing with her over summer? Was that why he’d done it out of sight of Tom, so that there was no proof, nothing Tom could get mad about?

‘Hey, I know what will cheer you up,’ Tom said, bringing her attention back to him.

Cassie sighed. ‘Do you now?’

Tom nodded, a wicked grin spreading across his face. ‘I’ve got a cracker of a treasure hunt planned for you this year.’

Despite herself, Cassie laughed, as Tom must have known she would. It was something he’d done every year for her since before she could remember, something that had made Christmas feel extra special as a child – a series of clues that she had to solve, following a trail that led to her present. ‘What’s at the other end?’

Tom shook his head in mock horror. ‘I can’t tell you that, it would spoil it!’

Cassie was still smiling when Sam looked back over at them, like he was checking they were still there, still waiting – like he wanted the option to do whatever the hell he liked. So, even though the smile wanted to drop off her face, even though she wanted to scream or cry or storm out of there, Cassie made sure that the smile stayed in place as she gave him a sarcastic nod, then turned to Tom to talk about the first thing she could think about, being damn sure to laugh – loudly – at every break in the conversation. And she vowed, then and there, that she would not let Sam Malone know how much he’d got to her. She was done with him, she decided. Done with him for good.