Not Just for Christmas: The perfect Christmas short romance. Alex Brown

it’s no big deal, no one’s ordered anything yet. Here, give me your coat and help yourself to a big mug of hot chocolate. There’s a batch already made in the jug over there. You look like you could do with it – your hand’s freezing.’

      ‘Oh, thanks, Kitty. You’re the absolute best!’ Bella grinned, looking relieved as she pressed her hands to her cheeks to try to warm them up.

      ‘Well, I’m not sure you’ll be saying that once you get started: there’s a mountain of bread waiting to be sliced and buttered over there.’ Kitty laughed, pointing to the end of the work counter where sixteen granary loaves were sitting, still warm in their paper bags, having been delivered from the bakers at the other end of the High Street only moments earlier.

      ‘I’m on it!’ Bella tipped the jug and poured the deliciously steamy hot chocolate into a mug, which she carried to the end of the counter before pulling open the fridge to locate the industrial-sized tub of easy-spread butter.

      ‘Ooh, here we go. You’d better drink that quickly and get buttering,’ Kitty added when the old-fashioned bell jangled above the door, signifying the arrival of more customers trooping in from the cold.

      Later, towards the end of the day, Kitty and Bella had just finished loading the dishwasher for the umpteenth time, when the phone on the wall rang.

      ‘Would you mind getting that for me, please, Bella?’ Kitty was bent over the open dishwasher door, her hands full with two super-sized cutlery baskets.

      ‘Sure.’ Bella quickly stacked the last teacup on the shelf and darted over to the phone. ‘The Spotted Pig Café and tea rooms, Bella speaking,’ she sang, making Kitty smile at her effervescent enthusiasm as she stood up and looked over to see who was calling. She hoped it wasn’t the village school – Teddie had been a bit snuffly last night and Kitty had been in two minds whether to send her today. ‘Yes, she’s right here. Can I ask who’s calling, please?’ Bella said, before listening attentively and then pressing the receiver to her chest.

      ‘He says he’s a friend,’ she mouthed.

      ‘Oh?’ Kitty was curious to know who it was as all her friends had her mobile number, so didn’t usually call on the landline when she was at work. ‘What’s his name?’ she asked casually, mentally crossing her fingers that it wasn’t one of the catering salesmen. They could be very ‘creative’ when it came to attempting to secure more business for their seeded burger buns, or whatever it was they were trying to sell, but she could hardly pretend not to be here, seeing that Bella had already said that she was.

      ‘Oh, um … I’ll just ask.’ Bella grinned as she asked the caller his name. ‘It’s Mack.’

      Kitty froze.

      And promptly dropped one of the cutlery baskets, sending knives and forks flying in all directions.

      Silence followed. They both stared at the tiled floor.

      Then, as if on autopilot, Kitty bent down to retrieve the cutlery, conscious of Bella still staring open-mouthed and motionless.

      Moments later, having let go of the receiver so it dangled on the length of cord leaving Mack hanging on, Bella darted over to help Kitty.

      ‘Here. I’ll tidy this lot up,’ she offered, touching Kitty’s arm as she grappled with an errant spoon that had spun away across the tiles as if deliberately teasing her. ‘You go and take the call,’ she added, sounding very grown-up all of a sudden.

      ‘Oh, um … I’m not sure I—’ Kitty stopped talking, swallowed, stood upright and smoothed down her pinny, willing her legs to walk without wobbling. Mack – real name Chris Mackintosh – was Ed’s best friend, best man at their wedding and the man who was with him when he died, the man who was very nearly also killed. And the last time Kitty had spoken to Mack had been at Ed’s funeral. He’d called a few times since then, nearly every week at the start, to see how she was doing and to ask about Teddie – Ed would have wanted that − but Kitty had found it too painful to keep in touch, so the calls had petered out after a while until eventually Mack had stopped calling altogether.

      And who could blame him? Kitty remembered those days, taking the phone off the hook so as to avoid him, pretending to be out when he’d called at the flat. It had been easier that way. Easier to ignore the nasty little voice inside her head and heart that used to wish it had been Mack and not Ed who’d been blown to smithereens on that day in the desert. Teddie would still have a daddy and they would all have lived happily ever after.

      After inhaling through her nostrils and letting out a long, calming breath, Kitty pushed the thoughts of that terrible time away and picked up the phone. It was different now. The rawness wasn’t there any more. She was OK. She could think about Ed with fondness, remember all the good times, not dwell on the sudden void that his death had created back then. She had worked hard to heal herself emotionally. She’d even been on a few dates over the last year or so and hadn’t felt weird about it at all. Not that any of the men had really been her cup of tea, but she’d had fun. Felt young and attractive, carefree, even. Yes, she was in a good place now. Happy. And talking to Mack wasn’t going to ruin that. It was a momentary shock, a blast from the past, that was all. And it is that time of year. He’s probably just trying to get back in touch, to honour Ed’s wishes and say Merry Christmas. Nothing sad. No bringing back memories of that awful day when the knock had come and she’d answered the door to see the two casualty-notifying officers standing before her with very sombre looks on their faces. And she had known. Known right away. And that was when the screaming had started. Right from her core. So feral and ferocious it had interrupted a wedding rehearsal in St Mary’s Church on the other side of the High Street, bringing the vicar running to see what on earth had happened.

      ‘Hello.’ Kitty’s voice cracked momentarily, but she was able to cover it up with a well-timed cough.

      ‘Is that you, Kitty?’ a deep Geordie-accented voice asked. She closed her eyes. Nodded. And then spoke again more calmly.

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘How are you, pet?’

      ‘Really good, thanks,’ she said, truthfully, to her surprise – there was only a small trickle of trepidation rising in her stomach. ‘How are you?’

      ‘Can’t complain. I’m still here, breathing in and out.’ He laughed cynically before falling silent for a few seconds. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean, er … shit, sorry.’ Kitty heard him letting out a very long breath. ‘Blimey, this is awkward.’

      ‘It’s fine. Honestly,’ she said, smiling, and it was. She knew it was just soldier talk, bravado. Ed had been the same, seemingly flippant about life and death. It came from witnessing atrocities every day − that constant crossing of the fragile, wafer-thin line between the two states of being. But Kitty felt pleasantly surprised on realising that she really did feel absolutely OK. She glanced across the café to the wall where the photo hung of Ed in his uniform, crouched down with his arm around his faithful army service dog – a black Labrador called Monty – and her smile widened.

      ‘Well, thank Christ for that.’ Mack laughed. ‘I’ll cut to the chase if that’s OK ’cos I know you’re busy in your café and all that.’

      ‘Sure, what is it?’ Kitty asked, intrigued.

      ‘Can I come and see you?’

      ‘Um …’ She waivered momentarily, but then remembered her resolve and added, ‘Of course – when were you thinking?’ in a much brighter voice, reckoning it might be nice to catch up, talk about Ed – the good times – and maybe Mack would be up for telling Teddie a bit about her daddy. Yes, Kitty figured that would be very nice indeed.

      ‘Today?’

      ‘Oh, that soon?’ Kitty fiddled with the telephone cord.

      ‘If possible. Sorry if it’s a hassle, but I’m at the base in Market Briar so not far away and it is kind of important. ’

      ‘Of course,’ Kitty quickly