Christmas at the Log Fire Cabin: A heart-warming and feel-good read. Catherine Ferguson

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СКАЧАТЬ I thought we wouldn’t be compatible. It was just that I’d lived at Mum’s until I was twenty-seven and I knew only too well how claustrophobic it could be, putting up with someone else’s clutter and having barely any space to call your own.

      I eventually got over my guilt at the prospect of leaving Mum, and moved into a little flat of my own, just along the road from her. I loved that flat. It was small but wonderfully airy and uncluttered. Minimalist, I suppose you’d call it. I felt I could finally breathe. And I did, that first evening when the removal men had gone. Long, restorative breaths, looking out over the village green at dusk and revelling in the nerve-tingling feeling of freedom and endless possibility. It felt quite surreal to be able to walk from one room to another without the elaborate ducking and twisting for fear of knocking anything over.

      When, a year later, Harrison asked me to move in with him, I was a bit nervous at first. I loved having my own space at last. Did I really want to give it up? But I felt better after Harrison assured me that he also hated clutter and ornaments everywhere. (I was grateful for his diplomacy. ‘Clutter’ was a huge understatement in describing the state of Mum’s bungalow.) And while his reasons for wanting to cohabit with me weren’t the most romantic in the world, I could see that his idea of pooling our resources and sharing the bills made a great deal of practical sense. (Erin chortled a bit when I told her about his clever spreadsheet detailing hot-water usage, but even she had to agree that I’d be better off financially.)

      Harrison emerges from the bathroom with a towel around his waist and I beckon him over to the bed with a saucy smile. He pulls on his boxers and jeans then sits down on the bed without fastening them and looks down at me, his eyes crinkling in a smile.

      Sitting up, I hold the duvet around me and run my hand admiringly over the smooth skin of his back. ‘So, you really think I should take the bull by the horns and just do it?’

      ‘Give up the restaurant? Yes, of course. They don’t appreciate you anyway.’ He smiles and leans down to kiss me. ‘Not like I do.’

      My heart expands with love. ‘I’m so glad you think that. I mean, obviously I’d start small. And I won’t be earning a great deal at the beginning but I’ve got savings, so—’

      He shakes his head. ‘Don’t worry about that. We’ll easily manage.’

      I sink back onto the pillows happily. I can’t believe he’s being so supportive! But I should have realised he would be. I don’t know why I doubted it. We’re a team now and that’s what partners do – they root for each other.

      ‘When I get my promotion, it will mean a big step up in salary,’ he says. ‘So, the fact is, we’ll more than manage. In fact, you won’t need to work at all.’ He beams at me as if this will be music to my ears. ‘You can just stay at home. Look after the house.’ He winks, getting to his feet. ‘And me.’

      He zips up his jeans, picks his shirt up off the floor and walks out, just as the music downstairs announces the early-evening news.

      My mouth opens but nothing comes out.

      A minute later, I scramble into my dressing gown and follow him downstairs. This is far more important than the news.

      Blood is rushing through my veins, urging me on. I’m normally so mild-mannered, any sort of confrontation makes me feel physically sick, even if I’m only an observer. But having my hopes and wishes discarded so easily by Harrison – with no attempt by him to understand what they actually mean to me – has really touched a nerve.

      I don’t yet know if I have the courage to branch out in a new direction, but it suddenly seems massively important that I let Harrison know where I stand on the subject. I’m not quite sure where meek and mild Poppy has disappeared to, but something deep inside is urging me on and it’s not the steak pie I had for dinner!

      ‘Harrison? Question: what about my career?’ I stand squarely between him and the TV. I might sound calm but my whole body is shaking.

      He looks taken aback by my directness and I almost feel guilty. But irritation is expanding inside me. Why is it okay for Harrison to be focused on his brilliant future career at the accountancy firm, but not me?

      ‘You can still do your cookery thing,’ he says magnanimously, trying to peer around me at the TV. ‘If you really want to.’

      Suddenly, I’m doing a petulant little dance, moving from side to side, so he can’t see the newscaster. Eventually, he gives up and sits back, looking mildly puzzled.

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