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It Won’t be Christmas Without You
Beth Reekles
From the author of the smash hit Netflix romcom The Kissing Booth! Eloise, a self-confessed Christmas obsessive, can’t wait for the big day. Devoted to her Michael Bublé playlist, she’s organising the school nativity play and even her gorgeous Grinch of a neighbour, James, can’t get her down. Her workaholic twin sister, Cara, on the other hand, plans to work over the holiday – and figure out what secrets her seemingly-perfect boyfriend George might be keeping from her. The sisters used to be close but since Cara moved to London, everything’s been different. Only, Eloise isn’t giving up just yet, and with a white Christmas on the cards, Cara can’t fail to be moved by the magic of the season … can she?
It Won’t Be Christmas Without You
BETH REEKLES
One More Chapter
an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2019
Copyright © Beth Reekles 2019
Cover images© Shutterstock.com (http://www.Shutterstock.com)
Cover design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2019
Beth Reekles asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780008354497
Ebook Edition © August 2019 ISBN: 9780008354480
Version: 2019-08-01
Table of Contents
Cover (#ue1562c85-88ae-57d3-a514-472e2bcb0816)
Title Page (#u66c2a8e4-cb61-56d4-9721-bdec61b45b70)
Copyright (#ub43e559a-33e4-59db-8698-4c168cae08ef)
Dedication (#ud51e6b96-90fb-5396-b111-dd5180501abe)
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
Acknowledgements
About the Author
About the Publisher
For my sister, my tree-decorating and singalong partner. Love ya, Kat.
Twenty-five days to Christmas
Chapter 1 (#u1196083a-b3dd-5518-be27-f373491419cc)
Eloise stared so hard into the camera that Cara tapped on her iPad screen, wondering if the connection had cut out. But then her twin blinked.
“What do you mean, you’re not coming home for Christmas?”
Cara’s face twisted. She knew Eloise would react like this. She’d braced herself for a screaming match, for tantrums, for tears and threats of never speaking to her again.
But she plastered on a big smile, noticing that her lipstick needed touching up. “I mean, technically, I will be. I’ll just be there a bit … later. It’s not the end of the world!”
She really didn’t see what the big deal was.
Eloise pursed her lips, eyes closing, head tilted down. It was a look of grave disappointment, punctuated by a slow shake of the head. She looks exactly like Mum when she does that, Cara thought.
“That’s not the point. Christmas is – well, it’s Christmas. It’s the whole holiday season. My tree’s been up for weeks. And you’re going to spend Christmas morning on a bus.”
“It’s not like there’s much public transport running on Christmas Day. And it’s the cheapest fare I could get,” Cara admitted, before she could second-guess telling her sister that part. It wasn’t as though she didn’t spend a bloody fortune already, living in London. She rented one room in a five-bedroom house. Three bedrooms, technically – but who needed a dining room, or a loft, when you could convert them to bedrooms and rent them out at extortionate rates to desperate graduates trying to kick-start their careers?
Predictably, Eloise let out a snide bark of laughter, her phone screen tilting back towards the sky before she realigned it with her face. “Oh, of course. I hope you remembered to get yourself on Santa’s Naughty List this year, Car, or you’ll have to go buy that lump of coal to warm the house yourself.”
Not for the first time in this conversation, Cara resisted the urge to roll her eyes. But her cheeks did colour, and her jaw worked furiously. So what if she was trying to save money? (And by save, she really meant ‘not be broke’.) And so what if she wanted to go all out proving herself in her job to try and get a promotion in the New Year? Dave Steers was leaving his editorial role in January and she knew for a fact they were going to recruit internally, and they were looking for someone with fresh, new ideas. Which could be her.
She’d worked so bloody hard over the past eighteen-odd months since graduating. Just four months into the job at the online lifestyle magazine and they’d run with one of her pitches to work with a handful of vloggers she’d suggested. Then, just a few months ago, they’d let her head up a campaign with a hugely popular mental health charity (an idea she’d pitched in the first place), with Dave Steers lending her a hand.
He knew she was gunning for his job. So did everyone else.
And if they wanted someone to fill his shoes while he was out of office for the week leading up to Christmas – well, she was more than happy to stuff on eight pairs of socks and fill those shoes.
Eloise was ranting at her while Cara tried to get a handle on her temper and not say something she regretted. Eloise was prattling on about her lack of Christmas spirit (Had she even worn her reindeer antlers yet this year? Her Santa hat, at least?), her workaholic attitude, the fact that they’d barely seen each other since that mini-break to Amsterdam in October their parents got them as a late birthday present, and what about their parents, and –
“And it’s not like I’ll be spending it with Josh this year,” Eloise added, her tone quiet and sorry for herself.
Wow. She’d actually done it. She’d gone for the blackmail card. Guilting her twin with her own broken heart.
(Although, judging by the myriad of catastrophic Tinder conversations Eloise was always forwarding her screenshots of, Cara was willing to bet Eloise’s heart was well on the mend.)
Cara arched an eyebrow at her sister. “Really? You want to play dirty? Fine. How about this: I can’t afford to come home. I’m a poor graduate –”
“Content editorial assistant,” Eloise interjected.
“– with a space heater to keep my shitty London loft room warm because the landlord won’t fix the heating, and bugger all savings –”
“I did tell you I don’t need a Christmas present this year. Especially one from Selfridges.”
“Don’t be stupid – you love that Bumble and bumble stuff. Anyway, that’s not the point. I have to work. I need this promotion. People twice my age would kill for it. I’m lucky they’re such a new company and they’re willing to give me a chance like this. I’d have to work twenty years somewhere else for this kind of opportunity. If it means missing out on Dad’s bacon sarnies and stockings on Christmas morning, well, that’s fine by me.”
Eloise gawped at her. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that.”
She was going to miss Christmas morning at home, she knew, but she wasn’t about to show Eloise any sign of weakness. The second her twin found a chink in her armour, she’d wear her down. And Eloise just didn’t get it. She never had. Everything was always so easy for her.
Cara sighed, tapped her screen again to check the time. “Look, love, I’ve got to go. I need to freshen up before I go out.”
“Is this another date with the dashing George?” Eloise’s face finally brightened up, the sullen look disappearing in an instant at the inkling of gossip. “This will be – what, your fifth date now? Where’s he taking you? Can it possibly top the couple’s cooking class he took you to? Or, no, I take that back. Date number two was my favourite. Ice skating.”
“Ice skating was a disaster. He sprained his wrist!”
“And you spent all night together in A&E laughing about it and getting to know each other. He said he only picked it because you said how much you like it. Although I’m still convinced he knew how bad he was going to be and only chose it as an excuse to hold your hand.”
Cara grinned. She’d thought exactly the same thing from the second George had wobbled out onto the ice, grasping at the side and looking at her pleadingly until she’d taken his arm.
“They’re playing White Christmas at some little cinema. We’re getting dinner – probably just a Pizza Express or something, I reckon; he’s not mentioned anything special – and then going to see the film.”
A little of the sullen look returned, Eloise’s brow furrowing. “Sure that’s not too holly jolly for you?”
“Right. Thank you. I’m going now.”
“Text me and let me know how the date goes!” Eloise shouted, leaning into the camera, as if she could force herself through it and be heard even if Cara hit the red hang-up button. Cara couldn’t help but laugh at the beyond unflattering angle, giving her a great view of three chins and right up her sister’s nostrils. “And use protection!”
“We’re not sleeping together!” Cara protested, shouting just as loud, and then blushing quickly, having forgotten her housemates for a moment. At least two of them were home: she’d heard their footsteps clattering around the house.
“Well, excuse me. I thought you had a five-date rule.”
Cara watched her ears turn red on the screen. “That’s a personal guideline. Not a guarantee. And it’s not like he’s one of those guys who pushes for it. It’s all totally PG right now. Which is just fine with me.”
Eloise ignored her squirming, instead singing, “You lurve him, you want to kiss him, you want to –”
“I’ll text you later.”
London was pretty at Christmas, in its own way. There were no rolling hills that might get a dusting of snow, no roads lined with thick rows of trees that would droop heavy with frost. And the Tube – God, the Tube was a nightmare at the worst of times. And Oxford Street, for that matter.
But there was something uplifting about the solidarity of the commuters and the tourists when Christmas tunes carried out of almost every pair of headphones and out of every shop front.
She’d been giddy with it last year. Eloise had come to visit for two days before they’d got the train back home together, and they’d spent an evening doing late-night Christmas shopping, taking dozens of photos and selfies for Instagram amidst all the lights and window displays on Oxford Street.
And it was still pretty, but this year it seemed to have lost a little of the magic.
Maybe it was because she wasn’t going home for Christmas. Maybe it was because she and her housemates had all been too busy to sort out decorating the house. Maybe it was because she’d not even watched Love Actually yet.
Or maybe Eloise was right. Maybe she was turning into Scrooge.
Although she was sure Scrooge wouldn’t have minded a free glass of prosecco on a Christmas voucher offer at Prezzo. She grinned at George as they clinked glasses over their pizzas.
(And damn if he didn’t have the cutest smile. Those dimples would make anybody swoon.)
