A Winter in Wonderland Read online

  Isla Gordon lives on the Jurassic Coast of England with her T. rex-sized Bernese Mountain Dog. Isla has worked as a dance teacher, a manager, and an editorial assistant but has been writing professionally since 2013 (and unprofessionally since she can remember). She also has five romantic comedies published under the name Lisa Dickenson.

  Isla can’t go a day without finding dog hair in her mouth.

  Also by Isla Gordon

  A Season in the Snow

  The Wedding Pact

  As Lisa Dickenson

  The Twelve Dates of Christmas

  You Had Me at Merlot

  Mistletoe on 34th Street

  Catch Me if You Cannes

  My Sisters and Me

  Copyright

  Published by Sphere

  ISBN: 978-0-7515-8510-0

  All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © Lisa Dickenson 2021

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher.

  The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.

  Sphere

  Little, Brown Book Group

  Carmelite House

  50 Victoria Embankment

  London EC4Y 0DZ

  www.littlebrown.co.uk

  www.hachette.co.uk

  Contents

  About the Author

  Also by Isla Gordon

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Acknowledgements

  To my family at Christmastime

  Prologue

  Summer

  ~ Then ~

  Perhaps it was the hot weather, the sizzling heat and bright sunshine that made my hay fever a billion times worse and the far-off thunderstorms creep closer. Perhaps it was because I felt a little on edge, a little guilty, for walking out of yet another job in the middle of the day. That’s the whole reason I was even in the card shop, to buy a ‘sorry’ card for my agent at the temp office.

  It’s not like it was unusual to see small hints of Christmas appear in shops when it was still summertime, but this time, this year, the tall display of red and green and snow-white cards really bothered me. I hadn’t been expecting this today, this feeling of foreboding, not while I was still wearing shorts; not while I was sipping on the last Frappuccino I would be able to afford for a while, so had got extra pumps of raspberry sauce and whipped cream. Not while it was still August.

  It made me want to do something very bad, very badly.

  My fingers twitched as I imagined pulling down the cards from the display and throwing them in the air; in my mind I watched them flutter to the ground, raining down around me like cherry blossom. Like a slow-motion scene in a movie, sales assistants would be racing over, other customers protecting themselves from the downpour while I just stand there with my arms wide in blissful rejoice. It would be beautiful.

  Hold on. Stop. Let me just clarify something.

  I’m not a horrible person. I don’t hate Christmastime. I don’t self-righteously mock people that celebrate Christmas. It’s just that, for me, all the worst things that have happened in my life have occurred at this time of year, so I like to avoid it – at all costs.

  The other reason I like to keep away from all the festivities as much as I can is to protect my friends and family, because I am, I know, a buzz-kill. Christmas just brings up bad memories for me, so I have simply closed the door on it. No, thank you; not today, Santa.

  A breeze – polleny and warm, like the gust of a hairdryer – wafted in from the open door of the card shop and tickled the dark waves of my hair and made me sneeze.

  Get a grip, Myla. I really mustn’t pull down the display; that would be a very unlike-me move. I should just leave.

  Jingle! Jingle! Jingle! Jingle! Jingle!

  Over the shop radio came a jingle-themed jingle, like the sounds of ten tiny reindeer prancing over my dead corpse.

  ‘Here in Big Bag of Cards, it’s never too early to start thinking about Christmas,’ came a chirpy, pre-recorded voice. ‘Check out our fantastic stock of Christmas cards today, for all your loved ones, or even the Scrooges in your life! Stock up now, and make this year your best Christmas ever, and a Christmas to remember. CHRISTMAS!’

  I fanned myself from the heat prickling my body. The weather was turning, some blobby, dark clouds rolling in to release a hot, summer rain shower. But it didn’t seem like it was just the outside temperature causing me to feel like this. My mouth was dry, the Frappuccino shaking in my damp hand. My breathing turned shallow. I had to get out of there.

  People may call me Scrooge, or Grinch, or even the ‘least festive girl in England’ according to a mug my sister gave me a few years ago, which she’d wrapped in birthday paper lest I burn my fingers on candy cane printed foil wrap. But each year I know what I need to do. And what I need to do is to avoid Christmas until it’s over, because that way, I can survive it.

  To the tune of jingle jingle jingle! I ran from the shop. I ran all the way home. And in silent protest, I ran right into my garden to sunbathe in the hot, smattering August rain.

  Chapter 1

  Autumn

  ~ Now ~

  Clickity clackety, clickity clackety. Here I was, super high-powered office exec, typing out reports and living the metropolitan life again. I liked this office, it was one of the swishest I’d worked in this year, with its big, tall windows and faux-leather spinning chairs. There were free drinks and snacks in the kitchen, a chill-out lounge for when work became too stressful, and everybody called me ‘Mylo’ instead of Myla for some reason, but I didn’t mind because it felt like I had a secret, corporate identity.

  I’d been here for a little over two weeks now, and I’d just got off the phone to Sophia, my agent at the temping agency, where I’d told her I might just stick this one out.

  ‘Might?’ she asked me, and I could almost hear her eyes rolling. ‘Myla, it’s a three-month placement. You’re supposed to be there until January … ’

  ‘I will stick it out,’ I confirmed. ‘Of course, I will.’ Besides, this seemed the perfect place to have a job over Christmas. Everybody kept to themselves, it was very s
erious and joyless, and I could stay as little anonymous ‘Mylo’, under the radar for the whole thing.

  ‘Good,’ said Sophia. ‘Well, they seem to like you. I had a check-in with your manager earlier today and she was telling me they’ve got a big project they want your help on now you’ve settled in.’

  ‘Juicy,’ I commented, sipping on one of the four free kombuchas I’d lined up on my desk. ‘What is it?’

  ‘She didn’t say, only that it would probably take up quite a bit of your time and that it was the perfect job for a temp.’

  ‘Bet you ten quid it’s digitising old paperwork.’ I didn’t mind doing that, and it usually meant I got to be on my feet a bit more which I liked, more so than being in front of a computer. Even though the spinning chairs were super comfy.

  After we’d hung up the phone, I went back to writing my reports, and that’s when an email came through.

  ‘Hello, project,’ I whispered, spotting my manager’s name at the top. Most emails that I get at work are company-wide newsletters, or HR asking me again to complete the workstation assessment, or HR thanking me for suggesting they provide bean-bag chairs, which I made during said workstation assessment.

  They said they would need to come back to me at a later date about it.

  I opened the email, and I liked already that my manager, Evangeline, had jazzed up the request with a meme at the bottom, until I noticed what the picture was.

  My heart dropped.

  Will Ferrell’s face was beaming out at me from my computer. He was dressed as Buddy the Elf. I’d seen the movie; my friend Willow had me watch it three years ago after telling me it was a ‘heartbreaking drama about a man trying to win the attention of his estranged father’. Sneaky.

  I read the body of the email, my mind already mentally calculating how many of those free drinks and snacks I could fit into my shoulder bag when I left today.

  Hi Myla,

  Hope the reports are going well. I have a nice surprise for you. One of the things I’m really keen to have you work on, since you’ll be with us over the whole festive period, is our annual office Christmas party! In fact, I’d like you to organise the whole thing, from the venue to the music right down to the mince pies and mistletoe! I’ll need to approve anything before you book, of course, but otherwise I’d love to leave it all up to you. I’m sure it’ll be a fun job that you’ll have a lot of fun with.

  It’s a bit late in the day so let’s get you started ASAP.

  Could you begin by finding a date that the directors agree on, and go from there?

  Thanks, and Merry Christmas!!!

  Evangeline

  ‘How does that sound?’ came a voice behind me, and I turned to see Evangeline smiling down at my perspiring forehead, her hands on her hips.

  ‘Um,’ I croaked.

  ‘Fun, right? Not a bad job. God, I wish I could spend the next couple of months diving into all things Christmas. By the time the party comes around you’ll be the most festive woman in London.’

  ‘We can swap if you like?’ I asked. I’m sure I could do her job. What was her job again?

  Evangeline just chuckled, and plonked a folder on my desk, not so subtly pushing aside the stack of swiped Nakd bars I’d been stockpiling from the kitchen. ‘Here’s some info you might find useful from the last few years’ parties. You need somewhere that can hold a couple of hundred people, and the main requirement is that it’s just as magical as you can make it. We should have got onto the planning of this much sooner so it’s not going to be easy. Just do whatever you have to do to get it proper Christmassy. OK?’

  She walked back to her office before I could say another word, so I opened the folder, finding a glossy brochure with a post-it note stuck to the front that read ‘CONFIRMED – Xmas’. The brochure displayed a magical winter wonderland created inside a ballroom, where silver and white decorations, including – wait, were those real trees lining the walls? It was very Narnia. I flicked further into the folder and saw a masquerade ball, a Mariah and Wham! log cabin theme, a shooting stars set-up which seemed to be based around the aurora borealis.

  They weren’t messing around; these were proper Christmas parties. They would take work.

  A lot of work.

  All-consuming work.

  Work that I would just absolutely flop at. And someone else out there could, and would, shine at, and love it, and they deserved to be here being paid to do this, not me. Not me.

  I guessed I’d better call Sophia back.

  Chapter 2

  I stayed until the end of the week. Nearly. Until the report writing was done anyway, though when my peppy replacement arrived on Thursday morning already wearing a subtle pair of gold reindeer earrings, Evangeline let me go early.

  I sat in the Try To Find A Better Temp waiting area, watching Sophia’s closed door. Why did she want me to come in? Did I need to do another typing test, or maybe she had some ideas for my résumé? Normally by now she just calls with a new job opportunity, gives me a stern but kind pep talk, and then emails me the information.

  Perhaps I could ask her this time to just put me forward for positions where I work on my own. Like … a lorry driver. Or a work from home role, telemarketing, selling something summery, like paddling pools.

  I’m telling you, it’s this time of year. It doesn’t agree with me one bit. If I could, I would hibernate throughout it, but I live in London and rent is steep and so I have to work, which I understand sounds rich right now coming from someone who just walked out of her fifteenth temp position this year. Sixteenth? Who’s counting.

  Actually, now that I think about it, it was my twenty-first job this year. Yeesh.

  ‘Myla.’ Sophia appeared at her door and rode my name atop of a sigh. ‘Come on in.’

  ‘Hellooooo,’ I said, bashfully, moving through the sleek waiting area filled with other temps, picking my way over neat shoes and past complicated-looking water coolers and into Sophia’s office. I took a seat and avoided her eyes by nudging aside a snow globe and fiddling with the dangly leaves of a spider plant on her otherwise-minimalist desk.

  ‘It happened again, didn’t it?’ she said, sitting opposite me. I felt like I was in the principal’s office. Only trendier.

  ‘It did, yes, but next time I was thinking—’

  ‘I’m going to stop you there,’ Sophia said, prising the delicate leaves from my clutches and moving the plant out of reach. ‘Myla, I don’t think I can help you any more.’

  ‘Well, actually, I was wondering—’

  But she was shaking her head. ‘It’s not really working, though, is it?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean, we – as an agency – have to maintain a relationship with the companies that use our services. So we need staff to commit to the placements we put them on, and not keep walking out. We have talked about this before. Remember when you walked out of the retail job I put you in during the spring?’

  ‘In my defence, I don’t think you were quite clear on that one. You said it was a decoration shop. I thought you were sending me to Oliver Bonas, not a year-round Christmas store.’ Which I took one look at and walked straight back to your office, I added internally.

  ‘And before that? The fashion assistant role was an absolute diamond of a job and yet, you quit.’

  ‘Ah, yeah.’ I smiled for a moment, remembering. ‘That was good. Fast-paced. A whole new ball game, as they say.’

  ‘Right?’ Sophia said, the twitch of her fingers giving the game away that she wanted to reach across her desk and slash at my cheek like an angry cat. ‘It was exactly what you asked for.’

  ‘But don’t you remember? The designer then screamed at me in front of the whole office just because I didn’t know what “Nordic Fair Isle” was.’

  ‘Yes, yes, I remember. It’s the knitted Christmas jumper-type pattern, isn’t it? I do think in situations like that you could just ask rather than heading out of the studio for the whole day to collect samples
and coming back with … what was it?’

  ‘One cream cushion I’d bought at a Norwegian furniture shop in West London. It was a nice cushion. It just, apparently, wasn’t going to help with inspo for the next autumn-winter collection.’

  See? Christmas causing trouble again, even in February.

  ‘I got better though,’ I argued. ‘I stayed at lots of things over the summer.’

  ‘That’s because I was mainly putting you in short-term jobs, a few days here, a week there. What about the PR firm I sent you to in Chelsea? You barely lasted two days.’

  ‘I stayed three days!’ I shot back with triumph. ‘But anyway, I didn’t gel with the boss, so that wasn’t really my fault.’

  It totally was my fault, and both of us knew it.

  Sophia raised her HD brows at me. ‘What was so wrong with the boss?’

  ‘Don’t you remember him? Big white beard? Booming laugh? Personality just a bit much?’

  ‘I do remember him. Nick’s my father-in-law, actually.’

  A sinkhole opened under her desk and in I slipped, never to be seen again. Gulp. ‘He’s a lovely guy. Maybe that was more to do with me than him.’ His name was Nick Klaus, and it just gave me a bad feeling.

  ‘I thought you wanted to make an effort and that’s why I agreed to try you again with longer placements.’

  ‘I did, I do,’ I protested. ‘But I just couldn’t bring myself to do this project, that’s all.’

  ‘There’s always an excuse though, Myla. Either it’s not close enough to your dream job, or it’s too far to travel, or it doesn’t excite you, or it’s too exciting, or they want you to plan the Christmas party, God forbid.’

  I chewed on the peely bits of my bottom lip, my heart thumping. ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘I’m saying we need to stop representing you.’ She squinched up her face like she was dreading my reaction, but I’m pretty sure all I did was continue to stare at her. I was getting fired from my temp agency? ‘It feels a bit like a break-up, doesn’t it, although in this case it really isn’t me, it’s you.’ Sophia laughed, then coughed. ‘Sorry, that was a bad joke, a bit inappropriate really.’