Christmas at Hope Cottage: A Magical Feel-Good Romance Novel(22)

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Evie found her sobbing an hour later in the living room, an abandoned notebook and pen in her hand. Evie picked up the notebook and saw the uneven scrawl across the page. It looked like a child had written it, one who had recently learned the alphabet and was having some trouble, the letters shaky, some almost back to front.

She swallowed, took Emma in her arms. ‘It’ll get better.’

‘When?’ she sobbed. ‘That took me two hours. The worst is it’s all here,’ she said, tapping her head with a finger of the hand in the cast, tears making steady streams down her face. ‘I know what I want to say, I just can’t get it out.’

Evie stroked her back, wiped her thumbs under Emma’s eyes. ‘If that’s the case it’s a problem we can deal with, love. You don’t have to write it yourself, do you? You just need someone to transcribe what you say.’

Emma took in a shuddering breath, felt a surge of hope fill her chest.

‘You’re right.’ She looked at Evie, eyes widening in realisation. ‘You’d do that – for me?’ she asked.

Evie scoffed, ‘Of course I would, silly.’



* * *



It took almost two days to write her first column, something that usually only took her a few hours at best. Partly it was trying to remember past facts and references with a brain that was easily tired, and getting Evie to use her mobile to look these up for her as they didn’t have Wi-Fi – something Emma was prepared to remedy in secret if she had to as Evie was a committed Luddite.

It was also hard to focus on what she was trying to say when so much seemed to call for Evie’s attention. As soon as she would begin transcribing Emma’s dictation, there would be a knock on the door.

The people who visited came with their troubles and looked for a sympathetic ear, and it was never easy for Evie to get away. Besides, the recipes required her full focus, as many were complex and needed ingredients that had to be foraged on long rambling walks and then took hours of preparation.

By the time she was able to give her full attention, Emma was often fast asleep or had lost her train of thought. Evie’s knowledge of food, her own observations and ruminations, could also be a distraction and she couldn’t help peppering Emma’s dictations with them; they would come through after she read back what she’d written.

‘I don’t remember saying that!’ said Emma, referring to her latest column, a look at food in Shakespeare’s time, to which Evie had added in a snippet of her own about balancing the humours with the seasons.

‘Oh? Well, I added it in.’

‘Evie, I appreciate that – but this is about fact, not myth.’

‘It’s not myth!’

‘Yes, it is!’

This happened at least three times. Afterwards there were tense silences, followed by a lot of cajoling and forced apologies, till finally they’d start again. It was like running around in circles, getting nowhere fast. It was frustrating all round, but at last the first column was done.

‘I think it would be easier if you had someone else. Someone less… busy,’ said Evie tactfully.

Emma looked at her, bit her lip. ‘I agree, I appreciate everything you’ve done though, but it’s—’

‘It’s not really working,’ agreed Evie. ‘Anyway, the person that I have in mind would be perfect, free in the early mornings so you’d have some quality, focused time, which I think would really make a difference.’

Emma nodded. That would make a difference; she felt at her best in the mornings, which was when Evie was often busiest, so they’d been forced to do it closer to the middle of the day when Emma’s tired brain always needed a rest.

‘Brilliant. Have you contacted an agency of some kind? I’m not sure I could afford that – but I could make it work, somehow, it would be worth it.’

‘That’s the best part – they’ll do it for free!’

‘Really?’ she said, eyes widening in surprise. ‘That’s amazing, who is it – Dot or Aggie? I didn’t think they had the time.’

Evie beamed at her. ‘Not Dot or Aggie, no, but just as good.’

Emma frowned. She was beginning to suspect something. Next second, Evie confirmed it.

‘Sandro!’ she said in delight.

Emma felt her stomach drop. ‘Oh God.’

Evie ignored all her protestations. ‘It’ll be great – don’t worry.’

‘But – but what about his English? I mean…’ She bit her lip. ‘I wouldn’t be able to correct it on the screen…’

‘Oh, don’t be such a snob, his English is great, and if need be, I’ll go over it.’

‘Is there no one else?’

‘Nope,’ said Evie, who looked a little bit too pleased.





Chapter Eight





‘You’ll be all right on your own for a bit?’ asked Evie for the second time that morning, as she made her way out the door. ‘I can go later, or…’ she said, her blue eyes hesitant.

Earlier, she’d watched as Evie took down the familiar set of dark green and white cake tins from atop the blue Welsh dresser, the tins that were filled every year with their traditional Good Cheer Christmas Cake, which took weeks of preparation and was one of their most involved recipes and – to the sisters’ minds – their most important. Emma had had to stop herself from snorting, and it had been on the tip of her tongue to say, ‘Oh God, you honestly still believe a silly slice of Christmas cake for everyone in the village keeps this place together?’ But she had stopped herself, just in time, biting her tongue. She didn’t want the argument; nor did she want to hurt Evie.