No One Cancels Christmas. Zara Stoneley
Chapter 25
For my lovely sister Lynn,
who is every bit as generous and kind as her namesake in the story.
Thank you so much for picking up a copy of this book. I hope it makes you smile, laugh, maybe shed a tear, and ultimately feel that warm and fuzzy festive feeling.
Like Sarah, in the story, I love everything about Christmas, but the best part of all is being able to share the season with my family and friends. There’s always that slightly sad moment when I think about the people who are no longer here to share it with – but I know I’m very lucky to be surrounded by so many special people.
I hope you have a wonderful Christmas, wherever you are and whoever you share it with.
Zara x
Dear Ms Hall,
I am not normally the type to complain, but (anybody who says this usually is the type to complain, and the but confirms it) on this occasion I feel compelled.
Over the years we have booked many holidays through your travel agency, and your aunt has always made sure we have had the very best. We have even swapped Christmas cards!
‘And whilst I do not wish to place the blame at your door. . . Ouch! Bloody hell, talk about passive aggressive.’ The voice in my ear makes me jump.
‘Don’t read it out, Sam! It’s bad enough just reading it in my head. Anyway, I thought you were busy booking that cruise for the Nifty Fifty’s Gin Drinkers Association?’
‘I was, but you’ve just ripped that drink coaster into shreds, so I reckoned something was up.’
‘It’s that bloody Will Armstrong again, at the Shooting Star Mountain Resort – I want to strangle him!’ We don’t often get customer complaints, but this particular destination, and its grumpy owner, have been attracting a fair few lately. And this particular complaint hurts more than most because it suggests I’m the one at fault, and I’m not. ‘He’s not happy just sabotaging his own bloody business, he wants to drag us down with him.’
‘Oh, come on, it can’t be that bad. This guy can’t actually damage Making Memories, can he?’
I stab at the screen but can’t trust myself to speak.
‘. . . we find ourselves at a loss at to why you should recommend The Shooting Star Mountain Resort, as it is very clearly overpriced and understaffed. Lynn has always ensured we have value for money, and a fantastic holiday to boot.’
‘To boot?’ Sam interrupts her reading. ‘Who says to boot?’
‘Somebody who isn’t happy at all. Keep reading.’
She does. Out loud, in an ‘irate of the Home Counties’ kind of way.
‘You sound a bit like your mum.’
She ignores me.
‘Quite frankly, our room was disgusting. The sheets whilst clean were unironed.’ Sam pauses again, mid outrage. ‘Unironed? What’s the man talking about? I can’t see how that makes it disgusting, can you? I never iron the sheets; it’s like socks or knickers, who has time to iron things that nobody else ever sees? Do you iron sheets?’
‘Doesn’t Jake see your sheets? And the other bits as well?’
‘Well, yes, but I mean, the wrinkles stretch out, don’t they?’
‘I iron everything. I always find crisp, flat knickers with a seam down the centre hold a certain sexy appeal.’
She stares at me, her mouth open.
I burst out laughing. ‘God, Sam, do you honestly think I iron anything? I was kidding. Carry on.’
She gives me a funny look, then clears her throat. ‘You don’t really iron knickers, do you?’
‘No, I really don’t. Come on, before somebody comes in.’
‘The food was of variable quality and lukewarm. The final straw was speaking to the manager, who was abrupt and surly to the point of rudeness and suggested we vacate our cabin if we were not enjoying our stay. How could we possibly enjoy our stay when one of his vicious huskies had attacked our daughter, Ruby? I am sure she will suffer long-term consequences as a result, and now screams whenever a dog (including our own little Pippin, who wouldn’t hurt a fly) approaches her. Little Pippin bit my wife as a result of Ruby’s scream, and is now having to undergo veterinary visits as she is now nervous and snappy, and Ruby is booked in for counselling. My wife, meanwhile, has a bandaged hand which makes playing the piano extremely tortuous – and she is a music teacher!’
‘I have always trusted your recommendations, but am wondering if your lack of experience—’
I squeak as she reads out this sentence, I can’t help myself. Sam and I stare at each other. ‘Lack of experience! I don’t know who I hate more, him or Will Armstrong.’
‘. . . is becoming evident.’
‘As we were unable to book an early flight back, and the nearby