village hall.
By the main entrance, I spot a sign declaring Bill Posters Will Be Fined.
Beside it, scrawled in large white letters against the red brick, are the words: Bill Posters is an Innocent Man.
Chuckling to myself, I pull my coat around me and half-walk, half-slide the few paces back along the high street to the village store I spotted. A blast of warmth greets me as I enter the shop, and I stamp my snowy shoes on the mat.
The girl behind the counter looks about my age, slim in jeans and jumper, her brown hair tied back in a ponytail. She smiles. ‘Jack Frost nipping at your nose? I can’t believe it’s actually snowing, can you?’
I nod. ‘It’s lovely,’ I say automatically. ‘Very romantic.’
The girl makes a doubtful face. ‘If you’re in the mood for hearts and flowers.’
I shoot her a glance. ‘Not me.’
‘Me, neither.’
We look at each other and smile.
‘Anita Tilsbury,’ she says, coming out from behind the counter.
‘Carrie Cartwright.’
‘Can I help you with anything?’
I grin. ‘Well, I definitely need cake…but nothing with hearts and flowers.’
‘Of course.’ She nods solemnly. ‘How about a plain old Battenburg? Can’t go far wrong there. And the only memories it tends to dredge up are childhood ones, I find.’
‘Sounds perfect. I’ll take one. And just some milk and bread for now.’
Visions of Adam tumble into my head - all the romantic scenarios I’d dreamed up in my deluded state of mind; walking in the snow with him, giggling at his daft jokes; cosying up together and drinking mulled wine by a roaring log fire; sharing our first kiss…
‘You must be the Carrie who’s staying at Snowdrop Cottage?’ she says, collecting my cake from the shelf.
‘Gosh, news spreads fast.’
She smiles. ‘Sorry. It’s not really like that here. Maddy was in the other day with her mum. They were getting the place ready for you, and she mentioned your name and asked me to make you feel welcome.’
I feel a surge of emotion. ‘Aww, that was so nice of her. And you.’
‘She said not to mention men. And I was only too happy to oblige.’
‘Not your favourite subject either, then?’ I enquire carefully, pointing at a delicious-looking crusty seeded loaf in the glass display case below the counter. ‘I’ll take one of those, please. Looks delicious.’
Pain pinches her face as she slides the loaf into a bag and twists the top. ‘First Christmas as a single parent coming up. That’ll be fun.’
‘Oh, I’m so sorry.’
She pastes on a smile. ‘That’s life. When you catch your husband snogging the face off a strange woman, what can you do?’
‘It must have been a terrible shock.’
‘It was,’ she murmurs. ‘I thought Jeff and I had the perfect marriage. We’ve known each other since school days. But after witnessing that less than appetising little scene, I had to give him the jolly old heave-ho, didn’t I?’
I sigh in sympathy. She’s putting on a cheerful front but the bleakness in her eyes tells a different story.
‘I thought I was in for the most romantic Christmas ever,’ I tell her. ‘But it turns out Adam’s crazy about my sister, not me.’
‘Oof. Not good.’ She shakes her head. ‘So you’re here to get over him?’
‘That’s the plan. No idea what I’m going to do, though. I’ve brought a stack of books.’
She looks thoughtful. ‘A month ago, I’d have said come along to my zumba class or join my team for quiz nights, but ever since the council closed the village hall, the life seems to have gone out of Silverbells.’
I recall the graffiti on the side of the old red-brick building. ‘That’s sad.’
‘It is. I don’t think we realised what we had until it was gone. And the high street is distinctly lacking in sparkle this year, what with council cuts. We’ve got a Christmas tree on the village green, as usual, but that’s all.’ She frowns. ‘There used to be a Christmas fair every year in the village hall, but that’s not happening. And nor is the Christmas Revue.’
‘Christmas Revue?’
‘We have it every year. At least we did. It was just lots of good old-fashioned entertainment and everyone loved it, including the villagers performing in it. It was a real social event, and people came from all over to see it. Half of all ticket sales would go to help local families in need.’ She shrugs. ‘No longer.’
‘That’s really sad.’
‘So will you be here for Christmas?’ she asks, scanning my goodies.
‘Maybe.’ Then I shake my head. ‘Actually, no. I told my