A Christmas Tail: A heart-warming Christmas romance. Cressida McLaughlin

spring party. A Friday night. Smart dress code.

      ‘Really?’ Cat’s mind was racing, thinking of all the potential clients, the introductions Jessica could give her. Would Mark be there? What would she wear?

      ‘Of course. And bring friends – it’s Poppy, isn’t it?’

      ‘Polly. And…and I also live with her brother.’ Would a party be Joe’s kind of thing, or would he hate it? She wasn’t sure, but she didn’t want him sitting at home while she and Polly swanned off to drink and dance with celebrities.

      ‘Bring them both! The more the merrier. Now, I think my car’s outside, I heard it tooting. This way, poppets.’ Jessica made go on movements with her hands, and Cat knew she was being included with the Westies, but she didn’t mind being shooed outside. Jessica’s party would be an evening of endless possibilities. And if Jessica was with Mark, then surely she’d want to show him off. Cat knew that, in her position, she wouldn’t hide him away from the world for any longer than was strictly necessary.

      Fairview Park was bursting into life, but Cat could hardly see it against the grit and hair being blown into her eyes. The wind was picking up, the sun disguising how cold and blustery it still was, and after half an hour even Dior, Valentino and Coco were looking as if they’d had enough. There were only so many leaves you could chase.

      Cat headed towards the Pavilion café. It was a circular building with floor-to-ceiling windows so that, if you sat in the right seat, you could see most of the way round the park. It was perfect for people-watching. There was also alfresco seating under a wide awning that provided shelter from sun, rain and wind, and the Greek owner, George Ambrosia, left bowls of water outside for the dogs. Cat tied the leads to her table leg so the Westies could reach the water, and sat down, rubbing her hands.

      George was out in a moment, his white apron gleaming, his glasses on the edge of his nose. His beard and moustache gave the impression of great wisdom or wholehearted scruffiness. Cat hadn’t yet decided which.

      ‘Hi, George,’ she said. ‘Lovely day for a kite.’

      ‘Kites wouldn’t stand for this,’ George said. ‘All end up in the trees.’ His voice was low and gruff, the words getting lost in his beard. ‘What can I get you?’ He had his pen poised, his thumb pressed against the pages of his notebook to stop them from flying away.

      ‘A large tea, please.’

      ‘Milk, no sugar.’

      ‘Right.’ Cat grinned.

      ‘A nice cake? Muffin, or Bakewell? Slice of lemon sponge?’

      ‘No thanks.’

      George nodded and reread his notebook, as if Cat had ordered an eight-piece breakfast rather than a cup of tea, then disappeared inside. Cat checked on the dogs – who were taking turns at the water bowl, their white tails wagging, pink tongues lapping quickly – and scanned the park.

      It was busy, despite the bluster, and Cat could see why. It had just the right amount of open space and shelter, the tall trees providing a barrier against the outside world. She hadn’t yet been here during the summer, though she’d come walking with Polly occasionally when she’d visited her from Brighton. She knew that the park would be as popular as the beach for picnics, ball games and sunbathing.

      But now, on the edge of spring, people were hunched into their coats, hands deep in pockets. A young family raced with a small spaniel, the mother pushing a pram behind the elder children. Cat peered, thought she might recognize them from the nursery, but was distracted by a tall, striding figure walking ahead of a collie, tennis ball in hand.

      Cat inhaled, then jumped when she saw that George was standing silently next to her table, holding her mug of tea. He put it in front of her, followed her sight line and nodded slowly. ‘The man, the one with the dog. Saved you from the squirrel.’

      ‘Y-yes. Although you make it sound like I was being attacked, like the squirrel was enormous, with big teeth and claws.’ She started to laugh, but George was still looking at Mark.

      ‘You need to watch that one.’

      ‘Sorry? I need to watch who?’

      ‘The man.’ George nodded his head towards Mark.

      ‘Why?’ Cat’s mouth went dry, sure George was about to impart a piece of the jigsaw puzzle.

      ‘Watches people, writes it all down. Sits in here with coffee, black, no sugar, and a macaroon.’

      He said it as if that, in itself, was suspicious. Those treacherous macaroons. ‘And…?’ Cat prompted.

      ‘He watches people, writes it in his book. Big, leather, silver fountain pen. Spying maybe, taking notes, reporting back. Too quiet, brooding. Just like that programme Spookies. Maybe he is one, a Spooky?’ George turned to Cat, a bushy eyebrow raised.

      Cat bit back her laughter, wondered if she should point out that George was doing just what he was accusing Mark of: spying on people, reporting his observations to others. ‘I’ll make sure to be wary of him. Thanks, George.’

      ‘No more squirrels, young lady.’ He said it with sudden fervour. ‘The squirrels lead you to the man, and to all sorts of trouble.’

      ‘The squirrel wasn’t my decision.’

      ‘Take more care, avoid the squirrels.’ He wagged his finger at Cat, then each of the dogs in turn, before going back inside.

      ‘Wow,’ Cat murmured. ‘That was intense, wasn’t it?’ Dior looked up and gave a single, affirming bark. ‘What do we think? Do we think George has a point? What is Mark up to? Is he spooky, or just sexy?’ Cat bit her lip, refused to acknowledge that she’d said it out loud and then realized that, only an hour before, Mark had been walking Chips close to the cliffs. She knew collies were energetic, but did she really need another walk quite so soon? Had he been lying to her? Maybe George was right; maybe she needed to take a step back, leave Jessica and Mark to their own lives and concentrate on her own. After all, she had enough to think about with Pooch Promenade, skirting around Joe, and the upcoming party. Jessica’s party. Cat sighed, stroked Coco’s wonky ear and blew on her tea. Spooky Mark had disappeared amongst the trees.

      She found Polly sitting on the wall at the side of the Fairview vet’s surgery, eating a cheese sandwich and trying to keep her long hair out of her face.

      ‘Can’t you eat inside?’ Cat asked, making Polly jump.

      ‘They’re redecorating the kitchen, so it’s full of burly builders and smells of paint. I don’t mind being out here, apart from when small dogs try and eat my lunch.’ She snatched the other half of her sandwich away from Dior, and then gave him an affectionate stroke to make up for it. ‘So these are Jessica’s dogs? They’re very pristine.’

      ‘Just like she is.’

      ‘And well behaved?’

      ‘Mostly. Listen, she’s invited us to a party.’

      Polly stopped mid-chew. ‘Seriously?’ she mumbled. ‘Why?’

      ‘Because I walk her dogs, because we live on the same road? I don’t know, but it’s exciting, isn’t it? Her house is amazing. And think of all the potential clients that could be waiting for us. It’s a networking goldmine. You’ll come, won’t you?’

      ‘I don’t know…a party’s not really my thing.’

      ‘How can you say that all parties aren’t your thing?’

      ‘This one will be posh, and I don’t know Jessica.’

      ‘So come, and then you will. Joe’s invited too.’

      Polly gave her a sceptical look.

      ‘Oh, come on, I can’t go on my own! We can get glammed-up together – we’ve not done that since I moved in – and go and see how the rich and