In the corner of the kitchen Matilda’s old wind-up radio played Christmas carols while her favourite DJ interjected every so often to interview people about what their Christmas Day plans looked like. Esme smiled as a seven-year-old boy said he intended to spend the entire day with his new toy racetrack and he didn’t care about his mum’s turkey dinner because everyone said it was always dry anyway but they didn’t dare tell her. Esme could picture the mad backtracking of various family members trying to placate a disgruntled cook who’d been serving up their traditional roast every year to barefaced lies of smiling gratitude and traitorous sounds of enjoyment.

In the year she’d been back at Little Dove Morton there had been many changes. Most of them had been made to her grandma’s old house, which now boasted proper central heating and windows that didn’t rattle with every thunderstorm, paid for with what had been left of Esme’s wedding fund. She didn’t see that she’d need money to get married for a very long time to come, but that was just fine. The décor still needed a lot of updating, but in many ways Esme was in no rush to erase the last traces of her grandma from the old cottage. In fact, she’d decided, for now, to tell people it was extremely shabby-chic retro and they’d all be installing fringed lamps and pasting up faded flock wallpaper soon enough.

It had been a good year – a time of new beginnings, of rediscovering who she really was and what she was capable of. There had been peace and calm amongst the hills and valleys of her beloved Peak District and she’d savoured every moment. Of course, there had been times when she’d been lonely too, but as many times as she’d felt lost and isolated she’d also been content. It was impossible to be lonely for long when she had new and wonderful friends at the farm shop where she now worked and regular visits from Brian and Hortense, who’d told her at their last one that they’d just booked to go to Crete and get married. They’d invited her, of course, and, of course, she’d said yes. It was another wonderful thing to look forward to, and it reminded her that although she was often alone she had no need to be lonely.

Putting the finishing touches to a turkey that was so small it was really more of a sparrow, she put it into the oven and closed the door. Compared to the time her grandma would have begun cooking on a Christmas morning, it was late in the day. It didn’t matter because a couple of hours would have it all ready and Esme didn’t see the point in rushing. Potatoes were peeled and soaking, Christmas cake had been made weeks before, prepared following the meticulous notes in her grandma’s old handwritten recipe book, and there was a glass of good sherry sitting on the side, which Esme visited every now and again as she worked and hummed along to the radio. Life was good right now, and even when this Christmas morning brought back memories of Christmases past that hadn’t been so good, she was able to reflect with courage and know that things had moved on, and that she had the power to stop them from ever getting that bad again. She’d had it all along; she just hadn’t ever seen it before.

Sometimes she’d wonder what Warren was doing. Not because she longed to be with him, but just because she didn’t have it in her to hate him and she wanted him to be happy, despite the bad times they’d been through together. And perhaps it hadn’t all been completely bad. The last official report she’d heard he’d attempted another reconciliation with Shelly, and she’d told him where to go. There was no huge surprise there. Shelly and Esme still spoke from time to time, bonded now by the man who’d been a trial in both their lives, and Shelly had told Esme she’d heard rumours of a fling with a nursery teacher – a young, impressionable, sweet girl who gave him everything he wanted. It all sounded depressingly familiar and Esme would have loved nothing more than to find out where this girl lived and impart the benefit of her wisdom and experience. But, as Esme had, she would have to work it all out for herself. Esme hadn’t listened to anyone else’s advice in that regard, and there was no reason to suppose Warren’s new girlfriend would either, even if Esme could track her down and get to see her. It would all look like sour grapes anyway, despite Esme’s good intentions.

In the living room, her phone rang. Wiping her hands on a dishcloth, Esme dashed through to get it.

‘Mum! Merry Christmas! Are you and Dad having a nice time in Scotland?’

‘Oh yes! It’s freezing and your dad’s made a new friend. All they talk about is fishing. So, as you can imagine, I’m having the most wonderful time.’

Esme laughed. ‘I’m sure it’s not that bad. I bet the scenery is gorgeous and the hotel too.’

‘I suppose it’ll do. I’m taking full advantage of the spa and cordon-bleu meals. How are you coping?’

‘I’m fine. Just getting dinner on.’

‘All by yourself?’

‘I am capable, you know,’ Esme said with a chuckle.

‘I know, I know. I just meant…’

‘I’m fine. I’m managing perfectly well and actually really enjoying a quiet hour – well, an hour with just me and the radio, anyway.’

‘I’m still not happy about leaving you today.’

‘Mum, I wouldn’t have said it was OK if it wasn’t. You have absolutely nothing to worry about – I’m happy as Larry here. I’ve got my turkey, a glass of sherry on the go, a nice bottle of white in the fridge – not that I’m drowning any sorrows, just in case you’re thinking that – a box of chocolates for the big film on telly later… Nothing to worry about.’

‘That all sounds quite nice, to be honest. I might just drive home and join you, leave your dad to his fishing.’

‘Don’t you dare! You and Dad have been talking about Hogmanay for years and you deserve a nice long break. You know how I feel about doing things you’ve always wanted to do before it’s too late. I learned all I need to learn about that last Christmas and my opinion hasn’t changed one bit. Let the staff at that swanky hotel pamper you and be sure to enjoy it, and don’t let me see you darken this door until after the New Year!’

‘I suppose it will be back to dishwashing and ironing and everything else after next week.’

‘Exactly. I’m a big girl now and you don’t need to worry.’

‘I know. But it’s Christmas.’

‘I noticed.’

‘There’s no need to be sarcastic.’

‘I’m not.’ Esme smiled. ‘I’m trying to tell you that there’s no need to beat yourself up on my account. I love you.’

‘I love you too. Does that mean you’re trying to get me off the phone?’

‘Sorry, but sort of.’

‘I thought so. In that case I can take a hint.’

Esme smiled. ‘But I’ll speak to you later. That’s if you’re not too busy.’

‘That’d be lovely. Phone after nine, darling – there’s a big Christmas show in the cabaret lounge and your dad wants to see it, so we won’t be able to hear you call.’

‘After nine – will do.’

‘Bye. Have a lovely day.’

‘You too. Bye, Mum.’

Esme took the phone through to the kitchen and placed it on the windowsill, out of the way of spraying pans but close by, just in case. The clock on the chimney breast said 11 a.m. and she’d planned lunch for 1.30 p.m. Pulling a bag of sprouts from the fridge she began the laborious task of peeling them. As a kid, peeling the sprouts had always been her job and while she was little she’d loved being a part of the preparations for Christmas lunch. It was only as she’d got older she’d realised that the job had been given to her because everyone else knew what a fiddly pain in the arse it was. She smiled to herself as she began to pull back their little green jackets, putting the ones she’d done into a pan of water. Matilda had had a special way of cooking sprouts, and Esme must have been the only child at primary school who’d actually looked forward to that mound of everyone else’s least popular vegetables on the side of her plate. She tried to recall now what method her grandma had once explained to her – back when she’d been a sulky teen who’d only half wanted to listen. How she’d often wished since that she’d listened more to everything her grandma had wanted to teach her. Now that Matilda was gone, Esme realised that with her had gone so much knowledge and wisdom – some that could have been Esme’s if she’d taken more notice. But somehow, she’d always imagined her grandma would be around forever and she’d never been able to countenance a day when that hole would appear in her life.

In a photo album in her drawer upstairs Esme had put her grandma’s wedding photo, along with her granddad’s tickets for Lapland and Esme’s own from her trip the previous year. Just to show Matilda that she’d done it, that she’d seen the Northern Lights for her. The trip had changed everything, and there was barely a day that went by when Esme didn’t wish she could tell her grandma, face-to-face over a cup of tea and a slice of home-made fruit cake, just how much. She’d had to be content with weekly trips to the graveyard with fresh flowers and a one-sided chat, but that was OK. Everybody suffered losses and everybody had sadness. Even so, life went on, as Matilda had often remarked herself, and nobody was ever gone, not truly, while their loved ones remained.

The sedate sounds of the carol concert on the radio came to an end and a new announcer launched straight into Slade’s ‘Merry Xmas Everybody’. Esme had no issue with the Slade song – she liked it as well as anyone – but she crossed the kitchen to turn it off. Somehow, it didn’t fit with the serene, contemplative mood of the house right now. In silence, she worked to finish preparing the vegetables and by the time she looked up at the clock again it was 11.30 a.m. The sight of a bag of seed in the pantry as she searched in there for some flour to thicken the gravy reminded her that the bird feeder needed topping up. The birds her grandma had cared for had disappeared while Esme had been away in London and Lapland, but once she’d returned, so had they, and she made certain now to keep the feeder full so they’d stay. Then there was just time to water the Christmas tree, sweep up the needles it had shed overnight and change into something a little more presentable before the knock at the front door she’d been waiting for.

Esme raced down the stairs to open up, and there was that smile she’d grown to love, the smile that lifted her above the clouds and made her believe she could touch the sky. The smile that made her feel anything was possible. Most of all, it made her believe in love for the first time in her life.

Zach stepped over the threshold and pulled her into a passionate kiss. He had snow on his coat and his lips were cold, but they warmed as they pressed against hers.

‘Merry Christmas,’ he said, his voice husky as he gazed down at her. Her stomach did a flip. God, how she loved to hear him speak when he was all gravelly and seductive. She’d often joked that he could get her into bed reading the shopping list when he talked like that, and just to be certain, he’d start to reel off the contents of his fridge at home. Sure enough, they’d usually be in bed by the time he’d finished.

Esme pouted now, but it was only a half-hearted attempt at being annoyed. ‘I thought you’d never get here.’

‘I didn’t think I was all that late.’

‘No, you’re not that late. I’m that impatient.’

He kissed her again. ‘Something smells good.’

‘I just put the turkey in.’

‘Not the turkey – you. Come here…’

Esme giggled and gave his arm a playful slap. ‘There’s time for that nonsense later – although not at nine o’clock.’

‘What’s happening at nine?’ He took off his coat and hung it on the peg in the hallway, then followed Esme through to the kitchen.

‘I have to phone my mum.’

‘Why – what’s happening to your mum at nine o’clock?’

‘Nothing.’ Esme laughed. ‘At least nothing earth-shattering. They’ve got some show to see, that’s all. I did promise I’d ring her once it was done.’

‘Well, I suppose I can spare you for a few minutes.’

‘How very noble of you.’

He sat at the table with a grin.

Esme reached for another glass from the cupboard and poured an extra sherry. Zach raised his eyebrows as she placed it in front of him.

‘What am I, a geriatric?’

‘You have to have sherry on Christmas morning – it’s the rules.’

‘Not my rules.’

‘Have you ever even tried sherry?’

‘What do you think?’

‘I bet you like it more than you think you will. And after the first three or four it goes down nicely and you don’t even notice that it tastes like Victorian cough syrup.’

Zach’s grin spread as he reached for the glass. ‘I suppose it could be worse. I have a surprise for later, though I probably ought to save it until we’ve finished cooking because I don’t want any drunken accidents.’

‘What kind of surprise?’

‘Niko sent a bottle of lakka.’

Esme smiled. ‘How is he?’

‘Good, I think. Busy with his snowmobile tours – says he’s booked out this year. I think he’s happy. He says to say hello, by the way.’

‘Oh, OK…’ Esme leaned over to press her lips onto his. ‘Hello then…’

‘Steady.’ Zach grinned, kissing her again despite his warning. ‘I’m not sure that’s entirely the kind of greeting Niko had in mind when he said it.’

Esme giggled and took a seat across from him. ‘How was the drive up?’

‘There wasn’t much on the roads. I suppose most people have got more sense than to be on the motorway on Christmas morning.’

‘I suppose so. I wished you could have come up last night instead.’

‘Me too but…’

Esme reached for his hand to tell him it was OK. She didn’t need him to explain that this would be the first Christmas Day he wouldn’t be visiting his wife’s grave, and she understood that it was probably what he’d been doing on Christmas Eve this year instead. He was here now, and she couldn’t have asked more of him.

‘You’ve got your toothbrush?’ she asked instead.

‘Yes, ma’am. But I forgot my pyjamas.’

‘That’s OK, I think I have an old nightie you can borrow.’

‘I was kind of hoping I wouldn’t need my pyjamas.’

‘I know. That’s why I’m going to find an old nightie for you.’

‘I was kind of hoping you wouldn’t need your nightie either.’

Esme looked serious for a moment, as if she was considering his statement. ‘It might get awful cold. We’d need hot-water bottles.’

Zach laughed, and then winced as he took a sip of his sherry. ‘Wow! That’s an acquired taste. And I thought lakka was hard work!’

‘Remember when we got slaughtered on that last Christmas in Lapland.’

‘And then I ended up in your bed. We were supposed to be in this chaste friendship and I couldn’t… well, you know… the wee fella down there wouldn’t behave. I was mortified.’

Esme’s eyes widened, but then she started to laugh. ‘You never said!’

‘I didn’t think I needed to say – I’m surprised you couldn’t tell! Why do you think I dashed out for food?’

‘I thought you were hungry!’

‘Well, I was,’ he said with a sheepish grin. ‘But it was also the closest I could get to a cold shower to calm down.’

Esme leaned over him and gave a flirty look. ‘So you did fancy me even though you weren’t supposed to?’

‘Of course I did.’

She lowered her voice into a teasing lilt. ‘And now that you have free rein to do whatever you want, is it still as exciting?’

‘You know it is,’ he said, kissing her gently. Then again, and again, until they were locked together.

She was giggling as she pushed him away. ‘That wee fella never behaves. Down boy – we have carrots to chop!’

‘Can’t the dinner wait? We can work up an appetite…’

‘No. It’s Christmas and we have to do it properly.’

‘Bloody conventions,’ Zach said, pretending to be annoyed.

Esme placed a paring knife and a bag of carrots in front of him. ‘Earn your keep. You can have your Christmas present later.’

He opened the bag. But then he stopped and his smile faded as he gazed up at her.

‘What?’ she asked, suddenly wrong-footed.

He got up. And then he sat down. He stood up again and went to the window, his back to her. Outside it was snowing. Not like the snow they’d seen in Lapland the previous year, which felt like a heavy blanket of frozen whiteness, but soft wet snow that melted almost as soon as it landed. Esme had spent the morning watching it stop and start as she got lunch ready.

‘Zach. Sit down, for God’s sake. You’re making me nervous.’

‘You’re nervous? God, Esme…’

‘If you have something to tell me, you know you can. I’m sure whatever it is we can work it out.’

He turned and came back to the table, his foot tapping a drumbeat on the old stone floor.

She sat next to him. ‘So, what is it?’

He shook his head. ‘It’s nothing.’

‘It’s not nothing. A minute ago you’re all frisky and now I have Mr Angst. We’ve been dating for a year now and I might not see you that often with two hundred miles between us but I can still tell by now when you’re agitated.’

‘I’m not agitated.’

‘Really? Then why is your foot currently displaying the characteristics of a pneumatic drill and trying to dig through my floor?’

He stopped tapping and reached for his sherry, taking a gulp.

‘That’s just it,’ he said. ‘We don’t see each other often.’

‘But we make the best of every opportunity, don’t we?’

‘Yes, I suppose we do. But I don’t like it.’

‘You don’t like seeing me?’

‘No – that’s not what I meant! Stop being silly!’

‘I’m not the one who’s making no sense.’

‘Sorry, I know.’

‘So are you going to tell me what this is really about?’

‘I don’t know…’

‘Please. Bad or good, I can take it.’

‘It’s about us.’

‘You have doubts? We’re moving to fast? It’s OK, you can say it.’

‘It’s not that at all. It’s…’

Esme swallowed her impatience. She noticed the potatoes were boiling over on the stove and she rushed to turn them off. When she turned back, Zach was studying her. It was unnerving, because he didn’t look like himself. He looked like a version of Zach she hadn’t seen for a long time now – uncertain, vulnerable. She’d hoped never to see that Zach again.

‘Whatever it is,’ she said gently, ‘you know we can work it out. We’ve come this far. I’ve got all the time in the world – we can do things as slow or as quick as you like. I understand about… Well, you know I do.’

‘While I was driving here this morning, I realised I don’t want to keep doing this journey every month or few weeks or whenever we can get a precious few days. I don’t want to arrive back home to an empty house exhausted and bereft.’

Esme sat across from him again and frowned.

‘OK… What are you trying to say? Are you finishing with me?’ Her heart was thumping, but she would be strong. If this was what Zach needed then she’d be strong for him, because she knew he loved her and she’d always known there were many obstacles that would be in their way, no matter how much love they had.

‘No!’ Zach looked horrified. ‘God, no! Of course not!’ He paused and then downed the last of his sherry. ‘I’ve been thinking about something all the way here. A solution. And I think I have one. I was going to wait until after dinner to do this but…’

Esme stared as he dropped to one knee and pulled a velvet box from his pocket. The fabric was worn and faded around the edges. He opened it up to reveal a heavily engraved gold ring set with a stunning heart-shaped emerald and a halo of tiny diamonds.

‘Esme Greenwood… Marry me!’

‘What?’ Esme shook her head. Where had this come from? Where had he even got a ring on Christmas Day? But then, unwittingly, he provided the answer.

‘I know it’s perhaps not to your taste, and maybe it won’t quite fit,’ he said, holding the box higher for her to inspect. ‘But I had to make a last-minute dash to my mum’s to see if she still had my grandmother’s old engagement ring. It’s why I was late. She couldn’t find it for a while… And the dresser was locked and then Dad couldn’t find the key… Turns out it was in the cupboard under the stairs with the keys to a front door we don’t even have now. God knows what it was doing in there. They both say hi, by the way,’ he continued, and Esme realised that a babbling Zach was probably a nervous-as-hell Zach. It only made her love him more. He gave an awkward shrug. ‘In a way I thought it was quite fitting really too,’ he added, ‘since it’s my grandmother’s ring, and it’s thanks to your grandmother that we ever met at all.’

Esme took the box and stared at the ring. ‘It’s gorgeous. Perfect.’

She looked at him, staring up at her, waiting on her answer as if she could bring his whole world down upon him with one word. There was a whole mess of logistics to consider: would they live in Dorchester or Little Dove Morton? How would they cope with life together all the time? Could Esme live with the spectre of Libby’s tragic death as a constant of their relationship? Would he want kids and how soon? Did she even want kids? Where would the money come from for their wedding now that Esme’s previous fund was upstairs and currently pumping heat around her house…?

They’d have all that to think about and more, but right now, none of it mattered. She loved Zach and he loved her. There was no way she was going to give any other answer.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I’ll marry you.’

She didn’t even get time to put the ring on her finger. Zach jumped up and pulled her into his arms. She drew a breath, safe and warm in his embrace, and she knew then that she never wanted to be anywhere else.

‘I love you, Esme Greenwood,’ he said, kissing her. ‘I loved you from the moment I bought you a flat white in a coffee shop at the airport. I promise, if you’ll let me, I’ll make you the happiest woman in the world.’

She smiled through her tears. ‘You already have.’

Zach kissed her again, and in that moment there was hope. This old house had seen loss over the years, as many houses had, but mostly it had been filled with joy and love. Perhaps, finally, this was Esme’s chance to fill it with love once more. The old place certainly needed it. Perhaps this was her chance to build on the love planted by her grandma and granddad, the love that had seen her through the darkest days of her life. And when the old place was full to the brim, Esme and Zach would be ready to pass it on to the next generation, and Esme couldn’t think of a more perfect ending than that.