Kiss Me Under the Mistletoe. Fiona Harper

and looking a little uncomfortable. He was tall for his age and he had his father’s good looks. Half the class at his previous school—the female half—had cried for a week when he’d told them he was moving away.

      Not that Jack cared. He had no idea that his golden blond, shaggy hair was anything but a nuisance to comb in the mornings. He might have Toby’s physical characteristics, but he lacked any of his father’s swagger. And long may it stay that way. Louise knew from first-hand experience just how devastating a weapon all that beauty mixed with a little too much ego could be.

      ‘All ready to go?’

      Jack nodded and clutched his book bag. Louise wanted to take his hand and hug him to her. He was being so brave. Starting a new school was difficult for any kid, but Jack was going to face an extra set of challenges. She’d had a meeting with the headmistress to discuss it and they’d both decided that, quietly, the word would go round that Jack was to be treated like every other child in the school.

      She laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Jack was a normal boy in that he wouldn’t allow more overt public displays of motherly affection.

      At this time in the morning there were regular ferries across the river and they walked to the edge of the high stone jetty and waited for the little wooden boat, painted white with a blue trim, to sputter up to a seaweedy flight of steps.

      The ferryman paid them absolutely no attention other than to take coins off them and Louise breathed a sigh of relief. Lower Hadwell was a small community and news of her arrival in the area had to have spread. Although she’d been here for a while, she’d kept herself to herself and this was her first proper trip to the little village across the river. She just hoped they were all like this guy. Completely uninterested. And with that blissful thought in her mind, she sat on the hard wooden bench that circled the stern of the boat and turned her face into the wind.

      By the time they reached the jetty on the other side of the river, she was sure her hair had picked up a bucket-load of salt that was blowing up the river from the sea. Never mind. She’d deliberately dressed down in a tracksuit and baseball cap, hoping she’d blend in a bit more with the other mums at the school gate.

      Jack declared the boat ride ‘sick’ and jumped out the ferry in one smooth motion. Louise followed, although her clamber on to dry land was nowhere near as graceful.

      The school had to be at the top of the longest and steepest hill in the whole of south Devon. It only took a minute before Louise’s legs burned and her breath came in gulps. Her calves begged for mercy as they trudged past a pub, cottages in hues of cream and earthy pink and a handful of shops. Jack stopped and turned round to face the river.

      She grabbed on to his coat and tried to inhale enough oxygen to talk. ‘Jack!’ The noise that came out of her mouth barely registered as a croak. ‘Come on!’

      Jack gave her his usual, I’m-eight-and-I-understand-the-universe-much-better-than-you look. ‘Try walking backwards. It doesn’t hurt so much.’

      Louise couldn’t work out if that was the most sensible idea she’d heard in years or the most stupid. She stared at her son as he started ascending again, this time with his backpack pointing up the hill. Stuff it. She’d do anything to stop the fire in her calf muscles. She did a one-eighty and followed suit. Her legs fairly sang with relief. This was much better!

      At least it was until she came unexpectedly in contact with something tall and warm. Something that said ‘oof’. Louise squeezed her eyes shut, yelled an apology and turned and ran up the hill after Jack, who had made much better progress.

      Coward, she thought, as she reached the level ground just outside the school gates. But it was only a minute before the bell was due to go and she didn’t need someone recognising her and delaying her by asking for an autograph or something.

      Jack stopped just short of the wrought iron fence on the quaint village school. Louise bent over and tried to suck in more air. She knew from the furnace in her cheeks that her face was probably pink and blotchy and sweat was making her back feel all sticky.

      She laid an arm on Jack’s shoulder—more to support herself than anything else. She got down the gym every now and then. So why had this finished her off?

      The jangle of an old-fashioned brass school bell rose above the screams and shouts of the playground. She stood up, put a hand on each of Jack’s shoulders and stared into his eyes. ‘You ready?’

      Jack pressed his lips together and nodded just once. She grinned at him and, as she spoke, she turned to walk through the gate.

      ‘Then it’s showti—’

      A bright flash seared her retina. At first she couldn’t work out what had happened, but the guy who jumped out from behind a parked car with a whacking great camera round his neck kind of gave it away. Instinctively, she pulled Jack to her and started to run. She really, really wanted to swear, but this was neither the time nor the place.

      As they reached the safety of the school building, all grey stone and arched windows, she started to chastise herself. She’d been stupid not to have been prepared for this! Of course the tabloids would want a picture of Jack starting his new school. They were desperate for any titbit about either her or Toby. And while Toby had gushed at length about the new love in his life, she’d steadily maintained her silence.

      Jack was in tears. And it took a lot to make her little man cry.

      Louise marched up to the school reception and fought back tears herself while she waited for the receptionist to stop fiddling with the photocopier. Maybe she should just have given an interview to Celebrity Life or something. Her refusal to play their game had just made incidents like this inevitable.

      Jack was hugging on to her, his face buried under her arm. She stroked the top of his hair.

      Now she was good and angry. She and Toby were fair game. They’d chosen this life. But Jack had no choice. When she’d got her son settled in, she was going back outside and she would find that photographer and she would shove his camera so far down his throat that he’d be coughing up bits of his memory card for weeks. That’s if they didn’t make it out the other end first.

      Ben was happily walking down the road, minding his own business. Well, almost. He’d just spotted a picture of the Wards’ cottage in the estate agent’s window and was actually paying more attention to that than the direction in which his feet were heading. He and Megan had dreamed about buying that place for years.

      With his current income and the maintenance payments to Megan, could he afford it? Maybe.

      But, before he could do the mental arithmetic, he was winded by some idiot charging up the hill backwards. He didn’t even have the chance to say hey! before the track-suited figure garbled out and apology and ran off. He was so busy staring up the hill at the pink-clad bottom with the word ‘Juicy’ emblazoned across it that he was almost knocked over a second time by a man in a large anorak and a wild look in his eyes. He had a huge camera in his hand.

      Ben shrugged. Bit late in the season for bird-watching, but what the hell did he know? Global warming was having a weird effect on the wildlife in this area. Last year some strange-looking bird only seen in the isles of Scotland had been blown down to the south coast of England by a freak storm. The local ‘twitchers’ had gone bananas. That man had had the same crazed look in his eye. Marauding ornithologists aside, nothing was going to stop him wandering down to the newsagent’s to get his morning paper before his meeting today.

      However, Mrs Green, owner of the shop for the last thirty-three years and purveyor of local gossip, was in a chatty mood. Ben valiantly attempted to tuck his paper under his arm and drop the money in her hand, but her arms stayed firmly folded across her ample chest and he was forced to hover, one hand reaching over the counter, as the inquisition began.

      ‘I heard that another celebrity has bought Whitehaven, Mr Oliver. What do you think of that?’ She narrowed her eyes and analysed his reaction. He was trying hard not to have one. Something might have given him away, because she added, ‘Of course, I