I Wish It Could Be Christmas Every Day - Milly Johnson Page 0,115

He hadn’t noticed the holes in the plaster before, the general unkempt dullness of the place. He was sure the tables had shone with polish when they arrived. Relief at finding the place must have added the sparkle, he thought.

‘How long will it take you to get back home, Robin?’ asked Bridge.

‘Too long. We were going to take the scenic route, but Charlie’s a bit tired so it’s the motorway for us. Safer anyway, I’m sure.’

After a few moments, finishing up his second coffee, Luke put his mug down on the table. ‘I think I’m going to head off. I want to get back to Carmen and I’ve got a bit of a stretch to my car, unless anyone is going to offer me a lift to it.’

He was inundated with offers, but accepted Jack’s. He had plans to make with him.

As Jack nipped upstairs to get his bag, the others stood to say their goodbyes. Luke embraced Robin, then Charlie – a little harder and tighter as if he was trying to press some strength into his bones. He didn’t want to say the ‘goodbye’ word to him, he left him as if it was adieu. Then he kissed Mary on the cheek and gave her a rocking hug full of affection.

‘Come and walk me out,’ he said to Bridge.

Outside the thaw was continuing at speed: the colours of the grass and parked cars looked too bright, as if they had been painted.

‘I’ll courier Sabrina’s ashes to you,’ said Bridge. ‘Put them somewhere nice in your garden.’

‘I’ve changed my mind on that. There was a wood I used to take her to, she liked to jump into the water there. Her favourite place.’

Bridge smiled. ‘That sounds perfect.’

‘I wish you and Ben all the luck in the world,’ said Luke, ‘I really do.’

She nearly told him, pulled it back at the last second.

‘I’m not sure he’s my Mr Right, if I’m honest.’

‘There isn’t just one Mr Right in the world, Bridge. Or Mrs Right. If he isn’t for you, kick him to the kerb. Don’t settle for second best, ever.’

‘Carmen sounds like she’s definitely Mrs Right.’

‘So were you,’ said Luke. ‘I just met you at the wrong time.’

Their arms opened together, wrapped around each other tightly.

‘Be happy, Bridge. Find someone who makes your heart want to keep beating forever.’ Luke pulled away, smiled. She saw again the young teenage boy still hovering in that smile. ‘Goodbye Mrs Palfreyman.’

‘Goodbye Mr Palfreyman.’

* * *

‘Well, thank you for a mad few days,’ said Jack. He shook Robin’s hand, was pulled into an embrace before Robin passed him over to Charlie.

‘Keep reading that book I made you, Jack,’ said Charlie, trying his best to look stern.

‘I promise I will.’

Jack didn’t want to make a big thing about his goodbye to Charlie, but he gave him a second hug that said everything he needed to.

‘Good luck, Mary,’ said Jack. ‘There will always be a job for you at Butterly’s if you change your mind.’

This is your very last chance to stop her leaving you, screamed a voice inside him.

‘Thank you, Jack. Good luck.’ She stood rigid, missiling vibes that their business was done. Jack could even hear it in her voice, that she didn’t want him to stop her.

He turned, picked up his bag, opened the door. Left.

* * *

Bridge and Mary washed up the breakfast dishes, leaving the kitchen as spick and span as they found it, minus a lot of food. Robin and Charlie waited for them so they could walk out to their cars together. Mary was silent as she dried and Bridge let her be. You couldn’t make an omelette without breaking eggs, she’d tell her later, and Mary was a zillion-dollar lobster frittata in the making.

‘I hope the place will be all right,’ said Bridge, picking up her own luggage in one hand and a suitcase full of Robin and Charlie’s boots in the other. ‘My breaking-in skills don’t extend to repairing locks.’

‘I’m sure the landlord will be back today,’ said Robin. ‘Nothing we can do about it if he isn’t. We had our own emergency to contend with.’

Charlie turned to look fondly at the inn, issued a silent thank you to it, for the homely Yorkshire welcome, for Radio Brian, for the Figgy Hollow Six.

Robin turned to the inn, issued a silent thank you to it for giving Charlie the perfect Christmas. A priceless gift.

‘Goodbye, Figgy Hollow,’ said Bridge, when they reached their cars. It was odd but she