The Christmas festival is always held around the first week of Advent and is when our Christmas festivities really begin. We set fires all along the beach to light the darkness (and of course to let Father Christmas know where we are) and we toast in the season with mulled cider and wine. The ghosts of Christmas past, present, and future usually make an appearance; Pam keeps them in the cellars beneath the pub. Did you know Charles Dickens lived nearby here? There is caroling and dancing, and last year Raye and Aiden organized a folk band to play in the moonlight, which was wonderful!

Whoever you are, I implore you to throw yourself into the festivities. It’s a celebration of the long nights and the deep cold that allows the land to rest ready for spring. I suppose it’s a concoction of Christian and pagan traditions, but we have always embraced the knowledge that as a village we are a melting pot and proud, and our traditions reflect our unique identity.

Annie laid Mari’s book beside her and pulled the duvet up closer. She texted John.

You didn’t tell me about the Christmas festival.

You didn’t ask.

That’s because I didn’t know about it!

Well, how was I to know you didn’t know?

Fair point. When is it?

December 8 this year. Will you do it?

Will I have a choice?

Sure, there’s no pressure at all, just so long as you’re aware that if you don’t do it, you’ll be trashing a two-hundred-year-old tradition and everyone will judge you.

Ah, is that all?

You wanted to open a café . . .

I’ve got one more question.

Fire away.

You’re trapped on a desert island, which one book would you want with you?

Raft Building for Beginners.

Hahahahahahaha Nite nite xx

Sleep tight xx

—

On Friday afternoon another text came through from John.

Fancy joining me for dinner at the Captain’s Bounty tonight? My treat. It’s Mexican night.

“Is it a date?” Gemma was practically hopping on the spot, grinning wildly. The Boden-walking mummies on the middle table pricked up their collective ears.

“I don’t think so. I think we both know that would just complicate things.”

“What are you going to wear?”

Annie bit her lip. “Not sure yet,” she replied as nonchalantly as she could muster. Should she dress up or be casual? Maybe she’d try a casual dress-up.

“Exciting, though,” Gemma squeaked.

“I’m looking forward to dinner. Aiden’s a good cook, and I haven’t had Mexican food for ages.”

“Not the food! The company . . . the date.”

“It’s not a date.”

Gemma looked around at the walking mummies and mouthed, It is a date! and received several conspiratorial winks in return. Annie sighed loudly and started grinding coffee for the next order, but she couldn’t suppress her smile.

—