“Each bean has to be swallowed before you can lift the next to your mouth.”

Zack wondered, not for the first time, how the hell Jake had got them into this show. His cousin was sitting behind a long table in Scott’s bar, surrounded by a good fifty or more of the town’s residents, most of whom were dressed for the mud race, a traditional Boxing Day activity which this year would be more like a snow race.

“I can’t believe he’s doing this,” Scott said, dressed for the mud race too. “I can’t believe he’s managed to get two people out from Guinness so he could break a bloody world record. Only Jake.”

“Only Jake,” Zack echoed. Sorrell was sat with Rayah and Keren, watching what was happening at the table as Jake prepared to eat more than seventy-two beans in one minute using just a pair of chopsticks. He then would try to eat more than six donuts in three minutes without licking his lips, something that Zack knew for sure he could achieve, and then it was how many grapes he could fit in his mouth.

Three completely ridiculous world records. If Sorrell had any sense she would look at the state of what he was related to and get the hell out of his bedroom, because given what was in his genes, she should be worried for any future children they had.

And that thought made him stand upright. He wasn’t sure whether he was just a bit more than a fuck buddy for her while he was thinking about whether their kids would end up like Jake.

Maybe he should be sterilised.

The adjudicator listed out a load of rules, all of which Jake nodded at and smiled, totally unflappable. Then there was a countdown, the sound of a timer and Jake shifting chopsticks at the speed of light. The crowd counted, including the three women who were cheering Jake on loudly.

A huge round of applause broke out before the timer went off to signal the end of the minute. Jake jumped to his feet and punched the air, riling up the crowd some more.

“What went wrong with him?” Scott said. “He’s just not like the rest of us.”

“He’s like Dad,” Zack said. “Exactly like Dad. It’s the donuts next.”

“Then he’ll be sick. Or if he’s not sick after doing that, it’ll be after the mud race,” Scott said. “I wish he had a steady girlfriend. At least it wouldn’t be our job to clean him up then.”

They watched Jake delicately sip water as seven donuts were placed in front of him. This Zack knew would be no problem. The problem would be in about half an hour when Jake started the mud race that he was intent on doing.

A small hand touched his waist and he swept the owner of it into his arms. “Are you enjoying the Maynard show?” he said to Sorrell. “If this isn’t enough to put you off having anything to do with our family then I don’t know what is.”

She laughed, the most perfect sound, or so he thought. “He’s good fun. And he’s doing really well. Will he manage this?”

“Did he manage half a trifle last night?” Zack said.

“Fair point,” she said. “I’m not even going to think about how he’ll feel afterwards.”

“It’s Jake. He doesn’t feel. He just does.” Zack watched as the adjudicator went through the same procedure as before with the rules. The crowd was noisier this time; clearly, eating donuts was more interesting than the eighty-five beans he’d managed with chopsticks.

The blonde head of Rayah came over to them, what looked like a virgin bloody Mary in her hand, although Zack was pretty sure it could’ve contained a shot of vodka. She’d had a few too many last night and had been suffering this morning. “I’m just so proud that my brother’s about to eat seven donuts in three minutes,” she said.

“Without licking his lips,” Sorrell added. “Don’t forget the important stuff.”

The timer started and Jake began, having no issue polishing off the first donut within twenty seconds and then moving onto the next, maintaining a reasonable pace.

“I don’t think I can watch.” Rayah looked pale. “I’m going to go outside and get some fresh air.”

“You do that,” Zack said. “Leave us to endure the rest without you.”

“You’re welcome,” she said and slipped away.

Scott had already taken leave, possibly because Keren had arrived, kitted out in running shorts and a Santa hat. She looked over to the bar and then towards the back, clearly trying to work out where his brother was, before finding somewhere to watch Jake as he moved onto donut number four. The boy was smashing it.

“Has Keren ever said why her and Scott don’t get on?” Zack said to Sorrell. There was just over a minute and twenty seconds left for Jake to break the world record.

Sorrell shook her head. “Not even a hint. They can’t even bear to be in the same room as each other at the moment. I think he’s going to do it.”

The cheers from the crowd in the bar were deafening, Jake’s name being chanted. He was on donut number seven with twenty-three seconds left, his face coated with sugar. Zack supposed that he should’ve felt proud that his cousin and best friend was about to break a second world record, but instead he was thinking about the vomit Jake was sure to come up with at some point during the five kilometre snow run.

“He’s done it! Jake Maynard has set a new world record for the most donuts eaten in three minutes without licking his lips!” The adjudicator actually sounded excited.

“Want to wait outside while he stuffs grapes into his mouth?” Zack asked Sorrell, his hand on her waist.

She gave a slight nod. “Why don’t we walk up to the start line. What time does it begin?”

“Midday,” Zack said. “Gives people time to get over the worst of the Christmas Day stuffing and hangovers. Won’t be too muddy this year though.” It had been a tough call as to whether it was going to go ahead because of the weather. However, the Severton Striders had come up with a second course around one of the fields and one of the farmers had ploughed out a track. The dumpings of snow from the plough were going to be used later for a snowball battle, so everyone was happy, including his uncle who was out with the mulled wine van again. “Don’t fancy running it?”

Sorrell laughed. “Running really isn’t my thing. I enjoyed walking last week though,” she said. She was wearing his earrings and the new scarf he’d bought her, another of Gran’s creations. He’d picked up the perfume she liked and new gloves, as well as a recipe book by the last winner of the Great British Bake Off and she’d been delighted, delighted enough to spend some time with his cock in her mouth. But that wasn’t the point. He had eleven days to make her feel that this was more than temporary.

“I’ll watch you from here,” she said. “I’ll have a mulled wine waiting for you. Or maybe an energy drink.”

He grinned, hearing the sounds of a crowd behind them. Clearly the record breaking was over. Other runners were lining up, most in fancy dress, one man wearing what looked like an adult nappy with a sign saying Baby Jesus on the back. Zack simply shook his head and erased the image from his brain. Runners tended to be on the insane side of stable. Only Alex, out of all of them, was a serious runner. He and Scott had done a half marathon, more to prove a point rather than anything. Jake had, of course, done a marathon because it was Jake and that was what he did, but Alex ran fells, which was something you should be treated at an asylum for, in Zack’s opinion. He understood climbing, hell, he would spend most of his free time climbing if he could, or caving, but running the damn things seemed beside the point.

“Energy drink. Then lunch. Then snowball fight,” he said. “We’ll be on opposite teams.”

She frowned. “Why?”

“It’s men against women.”

“Is that safe? Husbands against wives? Scott against Keren?”

He laughed, starting to stretch. “Probably not, but it’s fun. I have something to ask you but you don’t have to agree.” It was a fairly big ask.

“I’m not planning to run off with Jake, promise.”

He laughed. “Trust me, no woman has ever ended things with me and moved on to him.”

“But it’s happened the other way round?”

Zack smirked. “Might’ve done. But that’s in the past. Seriously, say no if it’s too much. My mum’s coming to stay for a couple of nights. Do you want to meet her? She should’ve been there for Christmas, but couldn’t make it else I’d have introduced you then. I’ll be spending some time with her as it’s not often we get to see each other. I also realise it might not be on your agenda. I get this is early days.”

Sorrell gave him that soft smile, the one that was starting to play with something in his chest and make it expand, consuming him.

“I’d like to meet her. Include me in something you plan.”

He gave the slightest of nods, trying to hide his happiness at her response. Christmas with his dad and family was different: she saw them a lot in town or when she was bobbing into the farm shop to pick up a bit for her baking or the hotel. She’d met his dad several times and even if things didn’t work out between them, she’d still be part of the community. Meeting his mum was different. She wasn’t in Severton much so introducing Sorrell to her told his family that he was serious about her. “Happy to,” he said, giving her a quick kiss.

Familiar laughter poked him out of his cosiness with Sorrell and he couldn’t bring himself to suppress a groan.

“You are now looking at the holder of three world records!” Jake said, throwing his arms over their shoulders. “And you weren’t there to see it. How very rude!”

Sorrell laughed, turning to him. “You had enough of a fan club. How sick are you feeling?”

“I predict those donuts will re-see the world at around three kilometres,” he said. “And I honestly don’t want to see another again.”

“So if someone breaks your record you won’t be trying to take it back?” she said, egging him on.

Zack rolled his eyes, knowing full well that Jake wouldn’t resist the bone she was throwing.

“I have nothing left to prove,” he said. “My mastery is unquestionable.”

“Mastery at eating donuts?” Rayah said, looking as if she had a bit more colour in her than before. “That’s about the limit of your mastery, Jake Maynard. My money’s on Alex to win this.” She gestured to the start of the race.

“You’ve bet against your own brother?” Jake said. “That’s treason.”

Rayah smiled sweetly.

“Alex is the bookie’s favourite.” Jonny hovered behind, child-free for a change. “Although the bald-headed guy from Underwood Runners is running him close.”

Someone started yelling through a loud speaker, clearly calling for all runners to head to the start, although it wasn’t clear what they were saying at all.

“Have a good run,” Rayah said. “We’ll be here at the end with mulled wine.”

“Take it you’re feeling better?” Zack heard Sorrell asked Rayah. He wondered what else they’d talk about, but pushed that thought out of his mind as they approached the start line. Five kilometres wasn’t Alex’s best distance. He fully intended to give his younger brother a kicking.

The idea behind the mud race, so Sorrell assumed, was a fun way of getting rid of your Christmas hangover and raising money through the entrance fee for this year’s charity. The weather had prevented the mud from the title actually being a feature, but she had seen a lot of fun. There were three people who were attempting a four-legged race it seemed, a couple running it backwards, several Santa Clauses participating and a couple of men dressed as fairies. There was also the baby Jesus, a man in his thirties wearing just an adult sized nappy but she was trying not to look at him or think about how cold he was.

What didn’t seem to be fun were the Maynard men. Jake had puked his guts up as predicted on the second lap of the field, bringing a whole new phrase of ‘don’t eat yellow and raspberry snow’. Scott was purposely running just behind Keren, which led Rayah to predict he was going to overtake her at the end and piss her off. Alex and Zack were currently hammering it out for second place as the bloke from Underwood had stolen away with the lead.

“Welcome to the madness that is the Maynards,” Rayah said.

It was later on that evening when the madness of the race and the snowball war had settled down, and they’d eaten pizza at Scott’s bar to avoid having leftovers from the day before when Sorrell felt the need to take five minutes away from the intensity of the interactions.

She liked all the Maynards and Keren and Jonny, and the other members of Severton Search and Rescue who had joined them over the course of the day. But she was from a quieter family, and Christmases tended to be more of a reserved affair. Not that she would swap today for anything; the Maynards were easy to be with, their friends, too.

It felt as if it had dropped a couple more degrees outside. The night sky was tinged with grey clouds that promised more snow, snow that was already starting to fall. Sorrell hadn’t given an excuse, just slipped away after she’d been to the bathroom, the pull of the fresh, icy air tempting her outside.

She crossed the square, seeing the woman she knew to be Lena’s aunt, wanting to ask after Lena, who had gone to her aunt’s for Christmas dinner.

“Happy Christmas,” she said. “How’s Lena? I hope she’d taken it easy—she works so hard.”

The woman smiled; she seemed nice enough. “Being useful as always although I haven’t seen her since this morning. She went to visit her parents.”

Sorrell nodded, trying to hide her surprise. “I thought she was avoiding someone from the church they’re involved in?”

The aunt gave a brief nod. “She is, but he won’t bother her while she’s at her parents. I don’t think he’s much to do with the organisation. He just had a bit of a bee in his bonnet about her leaving and was a bit intense about her going back. I’ll tell her you asked after her.”

“Thank you. Have a good evening.”

“You too.”

Sorrell headed further into the square, hearing the sound of the ever present Severton choir. The area was almost deserted, most people in their houses or the pubs, getting warm after the mammoth snowball war that had been won by the women, who were far better strategists than the men. Or the men had been happier to be taken prisoner.

One voice began to sing after a slight lull, a simple but strong voice, almost childlike. Sorrell noticed the singer was perhaps sixteen, a slight girl with geeky glasses and thick bangs. She sang the first verse of Good King Wenceslas completely on her own, a fitting song as Boxing Day was the feast of Saint Stephen, traditionally the day when the servants from the manor houses and rich homes would be given the day off to see their families after working Christmas. And the day the alms boxes in the churches would be opened and distributed to the poor.

Sorrell stayed back from the small group that surrounded the singers, the rest of the choir joining in on the second verse. The snow drifted down slowly, covering the rooftops and putting a fresh coating over the pavements that had been walked on. It was the sort of scene you’d find on a Christmas card, only this one had the sweet sound of the girl’s voice leading the choir.

“Why are you crying?” Zack’s voice brought her back into reality, away from the picture before her.

“I didn’t know I was. It’s just so Christmassy,” she said. “Her voice…”

“Welcome to Severton,” he said simply.

She wrapped herself into him, suddenly not feeling the cold anymore.