Read Online The Great Christmas Knit Off by Alexandra Brown - Free Book Online
Authors: Alexandra Brown
Ads: Link
wander. Crying earlier, what was that all about? I know I’m exhausted, so maybe that’s why I’m feeling so emotional and then, with Cher not being here, well, it’s another let down, and on top of everything else that’s happened, I’ve just had enough, I suppose. And I need to break out of this rut of sleepless nights – keeping going on practically no sleep doesn’t help, it makes me extra emotional. I have to find a way to stop the dark thoughts and pity parties for one. I want to sleep all night long and feel invigorated and excited about life, and do my knitting and needlecraft for fun, just like I always used to before May the flaming fourth.
Opening my eyes and pushing the chiffon away from the window, I stand up and look out towards the puffy sky and watch the snowflakes sprinkling down like tiny diamonds against an almost Tiffany blue backdrop. The same sky that everyone around the world can see, and it makes me think of all the happy couples doing happy things, and I really want to be happy too – what’s that old adage?
Love like you’ve never been hurt
. But it’s hard,
really
hard. I think of Kitty again, and her husband Ed, and how the whole thing with Luke just pales in comparison. And I make my decision. I’m going to call the number on the newspaper. Why not? What have I got to lose? Nobody will know, not even Lawrence if I don’t tell him, especially if it turns out to be a big joke.
And then when I’ve done that, I’m going to venture over to Hettie’s House of Haberdashery and see what treats she has in store. I’m going to buy loads of wool and some needles and knit something just for fun, like I always used to, and I might even get the material to start a new quilt. A lovely, cosy Christmassy one. Ha! I could even sell it online. Oh yes I could! I can still have my dream; I’ll just go about in a different way, tweak it a bit and see what happens. And I can worry about Jennifer Ford and Mr Banerjee on Monday morning, but until then I’m choosing happy!
I pick up the newspaper and wander over to the phone on the nightstand next to the bed, and take a deep breath. OK, I can do this. It’s just a phone call. The number is ringing. One, two, three, four
bbrrrrring-bbrrrrrrings
. And then I get cold feet and quickly end the call. I sit on the bed. Basil is staring at me with his head tilted to one side as if to say, ‘You big wimp, get a grip, Sybs!’ So I do, and lift the receiver back up. This time I’m going to speak – I’ll just say ‘Hi, it’s Sybs,’ in my best breezy voice, and the man with the kind-looking eyes will say, ‘Hi, I’m so pleased you called,’ and we’ll have a laugh about Basil trying to pinch his Costa cake, and it’ll be brilliant. Yep, of course it will.
The phone stops ringing.
There’s a pause.
And then: ‘Tindledale Books, how may I help you?’
It’s a woman’s voice, which completely throws me, so I promptly slam the phone down.
Basil is right. I am a big wimp – but at least I now know where to find the mystery man from the train.
I nvigorated by this key milestone in my as-predicted-by-a-monk year of heartache, I press an index finger down too hard on the brass bell, nearly causing it to shoot right off the reception counter. Luckily, I manage to grab it just in time and I’m carefully placing it back where it belongs, when Lawrence appears through an archway from behind a crimson velvet curtain.
‘OK, OK, where’s the fire?’ he asks, making big eyes and pulling a face. It makes me giggle.
‘Er, no fire, I just wanted to return this.’ I hand him a Clarice Cliff crocus pattern tea plate.
‘Oh, you didn’t need to bother with all that. You’re a guest, just leave it outside the door next time.’
‘Thank you, but I didn’t like to. It’s such a pretty plate. Art Deco. I wouldn’t want it to get damaged.’
‘Well, that’s very kind of you. I just came off the phone with Sonny – he rang to say that if you
Opening my eyes and pushing the chiffon away from the window, I stand up and look out towards the puffy sky and watch the snowflakes sprinkling down like tiny diamonds against an almost Tiffany blue backdrop. The same sky that everyone around the world can see, and it makes me think of all the happy couples doing happy things, and I really want to be happy too – what’s that old adage?
Love like you’ve never been hurt
. But it’s hard,
really
hard. I think of Kitty again, and her husband Ed, and how the whole thing with Luke just pales in comparison. And I make my decision. I’m going to call the number on the newspaper. Why not? What have I got to lose? Nobody will know, not even Lawrence if I don’t tell him, especially if it turns out to be a big joke.
And then when I’ve done that, I’m going to venture over to Hettie’s House of Haberdashery and see what treats she has in store. I’m going to buy loads of wool and some needles and knit something just for fun, like I always used to, and I might even get the material to start a new quilt. A lovely, cosy Christmassy one. Ha! I could even sell it online. Oh yes I could! I can still have my dream; I’ll just go about in a different way, tweak it a bit and see what happens. And I can worry about Jennifer Ford and Mr Banerjee on Monday morning, but until then I’m choosing happy!
I pick up the newspaper and wander over to the phone on the nightstand next to the bed, and take a deep breath. OK, I can do this. It’s just a phone call. The number is ringing. One, two, three, four
bbrrrrring-bbrrrrrrings
. And then I get cold feet and quickly end the call. I sit on the bed. Basil is staring at me with his head tilted to one side as if to say, ‘You big wimp, get a grip, Sybs!’ So I do, and lift the receiver back up. This time I’m going to speak – I’ll just say ‘Hi, it’s Sybs,’ in my best breezy voice, and the man with the kind-looking eyes will say, ‘Hi, I’m so pleased you called,’ and we’ll have a laugh about Basil trying to pinch his Costa cake, and it’ll be brilliant. Yep, of course it will.
The phone stops ringing.
There’s a pause.
And then: ‘Tindledale Books, how may I help you?’
It’s a woman’s voice, which completely throws me, so I promptly slam the phone down.
Basil is right. I am a big wimp – but at least I now know where to find the mystery man from the train.
I nvigorated by this key milestone in my as-predicted-by-a-monk year of heartache, I press an index finger down too hard on the brass bell, nearly causing it to shoot right off the reception counter. Luckily, I manage to grab it just in time and I’m carefully placing it back where it belongs, when Lawrence appears through an archway from behind a crimson velvet curtain.
‘OK, OK, where’s the fire?’ he asks, making big eyes and pulling a face. It makes me giggle.
‘Er, no fire, I just wanted to return this.’ I hand him a Clarice Cliff crocus pattern tea plate.
‘Oh, you didn’t need to bother with all that. You’re a guest, just leave it outside the door next time.’
‘Thank you, but I didn’t like to. It’s such a pretty plate. Art Deco. I wouldn’t want it to get damaged.’
‘Well, that’s very kind of you. I just came off the phone with Sonny – he rang to say that if you
Similar Books
