Warning: Episode may contain strong language, violence and sexual content. Reader discretion is advised.

PREVIOUSLY ON GLENDALE…

• After nearly 40 years as landlords and custodians of The Oak & Vine, Tony and Carol sold the pub to village newcomers, Johnny and Tess.
• Emma revealed to Queenie that she had found Queenie’s long-lost daughter, Gail.
• After months of estrangement, Nick texted Julia asking to talk.
• Charlotte discovered she was pregnant.
• Major cracks appeared in the marriage of Ed and Marion.
• Brian’s abuse toward Pamela continued.
• Samantha suspected her husband, Lewis, was having an affair with her half-sister, Jasmine.

AND NOW, THE STORY CONTINUES…

Forgiveness is the greatest gift you can give yourself.
Maya Angelou

23 December 2025

The Oak & Vine,
Glendale

The thud of the removalists’ boots against the stairs grew fainter as the final moving boxes were carried out and everything faded to silence.

Carol Kennedy stood in the middle of the living room, with her arms folded and eyes roaming the space that suddenly seemed far too big. The walls, once lined with photos, were now bare, and the shelves, once heaving with trinkets and books, were now stripped. She noticed the indents of furniture in the carpet and jumped when the pub door slammed shut with a bang downstairs.

“Well, that’s that.” Her husband, Tony, came in from the landing and looked around the empty room. His home for 39 years suddenly felt so foreign and uninviting. “End of an era.”

Carol nodded, and her gaze landed on the spot near the window where the sun had faded the wallpaper around the now-removed grandmother clock. “Feels strange, doesn’t it?” She looked back at him, managing a meek smile to mask her breaking heart. “You think you’re ready to go, then you see it empty like this…”

Tony walked to the window and looked out across the village green. To see Glendale dressed to the nines for Christmas was always a beautiful sight. It was one he would miss. “We’ve had a good run.”

Carol joined him, and together they stood side-by-side, silently taking in the view one last time. She couldn’t bring herself to look down at the garish SOLD! sticker plastered across the Correx For Sale sign.

“I’m going to miss this place,” she admitted with a heavy tone to match her heavy heart.

“Nothing lasts forever, love,” Tony said softly, trying to put back together her broken pieces. He turned his head slightly and gave her a warm, encouraging smile. He could see she was fighting back tears, and he wished things were different. “Come on, Puddin’. Let’s go before I change my mind.”

Carol took one last look around the bare flat, trying to ignore the memories that clung to every corner and the ghosts she could hear so clearly in her ears. “Yeah,” she said, letting out a deep exhale. “Let’s go.”

They walked to the door, and Carol turned off the lights. The room, once full of life, became clouded by shadows, and she swore she could hear the building groan a sorrowful goodbye. Then, they closed the door behind them and descended the stairs to the pub below, ready to open one last time.

Riverside & Co. Cafe,
London

Queenie Baxter sat at a small terrazzo-topped table, casting a disapproving eye around the very modern – and very loud – Riverside & Co. Café. One of those polished, modern glass-fronted places of metal, black and grey, it took pride of place on The Queen’s Walk and was situated perfectly between the London Eye and Westminster Bridge, while its tall windows showcased the Thames and the Houses of Parliament a short distance away.

Outside, the sky was London’s trademark grey, and a faint drizzle began to fall on the throng of tourists, locals and Christmas shoppers who filled the riverside promenade. It was crowded. It was busy. It was everything Queenie hated.

Big Ben chimed. Eleven o’clock.

She felt her anxiety rise and tried to calm herself by focusing on the sprig of holly that sat in a tiny vase between the salt and pepper shakers. She could barely hear Perry Como’s “Silver Bells” playing from a hidden speaker over the inane chatter and the hiss of the milk frother.

Silver bells, silver bells.
It’s Christmas time in the city.
Ring-a-ling, hear them ring.
Soon it will be Christmas Day.

“They said they’ll bring it over.” Having placed their coffee orders, Emma Blake slipped into the chair opposite her nonagenarian friend, placed the table number beside the vase of holly, and returned her purse to her handbag.

Queenie didn’t respond, and Emma watched her. It was clear she was grappling with some heavy emotions, and the tension at the table was palpable. Queenie checked her watch. 11:01. She was late.

“She’ll be here, Queenie,” Emma said gently, offering a friendly smile to try and quell some of her anxiety. “She wouldn’t have agreed to meet if she didn’t mean it.”

The elderly woman didn’t reply. Instead, she fussed with the cuff of her best woollen cardigan, fiddled with one of her “fancy” pearl earrings, and patted her hair to check her recently set perm was firmly in place. Finally, after more than seventy years, she was going to meet her little Gail. First impressions and all that.

“How are you feeling?”

Queenie’s mouth tightened, and she fired back a look that let Emma know in no uncertain terms that it was a ridiculous question given the momentous occasion.

“Seven’y-two years,” she murmured, and her eyes quickly moved to the door as someone entered. A man. Not Gail. “Seven’y. Two. Years. A lifetime. It don’t seem possible.” She swallowed, and her throat was tight. “I keep wonderin’ wot she looks like. Does she look like me? Sound like me? Does she look like ‘im? ‘as she ‘ad a good life? Was I wrong in wot I did? Wot if she ‘ates me? Wot if I’ll only ever be the woman who gave ‘er up? A stranger? A stranger she ‘ates?”

Emma reached out, and her hand rested atop Queenie’s, her thumb moving back and forth in a show of love, friendship, comfort and support. “You’re just playing a game of ‘what ifs’,” she said. “What if she’s perfect and this is the start of the rest of your lives together? We won’t know until we know, Queenie. But I promise you, whatever happens, I’ll always be by your side.”

That earned a faint smile from Queenie, thankful for Emma’s unwavering friendship, before looking out of the window and letting the sights of London transport her away to a place where fear and anxiety didn’t exist.

The sound of footsteps approaching the table alerted Queenie to the arrival of her cappuccino, and she turned without thinking.

Time stopped.

No one moved.

Beside the table stood a woman, no taller than 5’8” if she stretched, with medium-length, softly curled auburn hair that framed her face perfectly. Her eyes seemed to sparkle in the light, and she was dressed in jeans and a cream silk blouse beneath a heavy woollen navy coat. She smiled, real and genuine, and her eyes creased at the corners as they became glassy.

“Hello, Mum.”

The Lake House,
Glendale

Julia Harrington-Jones had been on her feet since dawn. She had baked enough lavender shortbread to feed a small army several times over; followed the cleaner around like a shadow, inspecting and then reinspecting every dusted surface, wiped bench and vacuumed corner; straightened every cushion twice; rearranged the winter posy in the vase on the kitchen table half a dozen times; and now caught herself smoothing the lace tablecloth with her fingertips… again… for the eighth time. She told herself she was just keeping busy, but that wasn’t true. She was trying not to think.

It had been nearly eight months since she’d last seen “her Nicky”. The silence between them had grown like ivy, and he had effectively cut her out of his life. Julia knew he was growing closer to Emma – his biological mother – and while she was happy that he was letting someone in, she was also hurt that she seemed to be the one he directed all his hatred and vitriol towards. Emma was seemingly forgiven, James was being ignored, Judith was dead, and Luke was all but forgotten. But Julia, she was clearly still very much Nick’s enemy number one. So, when his text had arrived asking to talk, her first reaction had been disbelief. Then hope. Then dread. Was something wrong? Was he ill? What if Natalie were pregnant? Or, worst of all, what if he wanted to talk to tell her that he was cutting her out of his life for good?

The house was ready, but Julia wasn’t sure she ever would be. With a deep exhale designed to calm her nerves but only seeming to amplify them, she moved into the sitting room and looked at the Christmas tree. The lights twinkled in the grey of the morning, and as her gaze fell to the two gifts she’d placed underneath for him, she couldn’t help but feel the embers of hope beginning to reignite.

Suddenly, the Ring doorbell chimed, and she jumped, her heart instantly hammering against her ribcage. She hadn’t heard his car pull up. Julia took a moment to calm herself and regain her composure before walking through the house to answer the door. Once there, she paused and wiped her hands on her plaid skirt, though there was nothing on them; took a deep, steadying breath; and straightened her shoulders. She grasped the doorknob, stood tall and opened the door.

“Hello, Nicky.”

Tweed Cottage,
Glendale

In the kitchen of Tweed Cottage, Samantha Carter wiped her hands on a tea towel, having put away the dishes and tried hard to ignore Lewis’s gym bag that sat slumped by the coat rack in the hallway. He’d been going to the gym a lot lately, or at least, that’s what he’d said. He was always working out. Always showering there. Always coming home smelling of a cologne she didn’t recognise. She told herself to stop. To trust him. But then again, she’d been telling herself that for weeks. Something in her gut was screaming at her that there was a problem in their marriage – she just couldn’t work out what.

With Gracie preoccupied in the lounge room, and before she could change her mind, Samantha moved into the hallway, picked up the khaki-coloured bag and carried it back into the kitchen. She dumped it down on the countertop and, without hesitation, unzipped it. That same smell of the unknown cologne greeted her. She found the bottle. Creed Avenuts. Different from his usual Dior Sauvage. She kept looking. Inside was nothing out of the ordinary: trainers, a towel, a water bottle, and the discarded wrapper of a protein bar. Then suddenly, her fingers brushed against something hard and smooth.

A box.

Samantha froze, and her heart began to hammer. Slowly, she drew it out and immediately recognised the iconic Tiffany blue box. Guilt crashed over her. Yet somehow, her pulse quickened. Curiosity won, and, pushing her guilt aside, she opened it.

A beautiful gold necklace shimmered in the light. A pendant, shaped like a teardrop with a pearl in the centre surrounded by diamonds, was attached to a fine gold chain. It was stunning. Simply stunning.

It took half a second to realise she’d found her Christmas present. Oh God, she thought. The expensive gift didn’t ease her fears or absolve her of her doubtful thoughts, but it did distract her for just a moment.

“Mum!” Gracie called from the living room. “Can I have a snack?”

“In a minute, sweetheart!” Samantha called back. She quickly closed the box before carefully placing it back into the gym bag and returning it to its usual position at the foot of the coat rack, exactly as she’d found it. She let out a deep exhale of breath, excited at the gift but unable to shake the niggling feeling of doubt.

Riverside & Co. Cafe,
London

“Hello, Mum.”

The words hung in the air like a delicate snowflake.

Queenie froze.

Gail stood at the little café table, her right hand nervously twisting the strap of her newly purchased tan PVC handbag. She’d bought it especially for the occasion from Matalan for £20, hoping she’d look a little fancier than she actually was. She tried to swallow to quell her nerves, but her mouth felt full of sand, and she could feel her knees trembling.

Behind her stood a smartly dressed, handsome man with dark hair and chiselled features. He seemed protective of her, and Emma quickly sensed he was Gail’s son.

For a moment, no one moved.

Queenie could barely breathe. Her heart shuddered, and a heavy lump felt thick in her throat as her eyes quickly brimmed with unshed tears. “Gail?” she whispered, as if the name might vanish if she spoke too loudly.

She nodded, a smile breaking across her face despite the tear that rolled down her cheek. “Yes. It’s me.”

“Oh, me darlin’ girl…”

Queenie struggled to her feet and then embraced her daughter for the first time. She held her tight, tighter than she’d ever held anyone before.

“I’ve waited seven’y-two years for this hug,” she said softly so only they could hear it. “I ain’t ever lettin’ go. Never!”

Gail was warm, and her hug was firm. She smelt of a sweet, floral perfume, while her hair was soft against Queenie’s cheek and her heart thumped against her mother’s chest. She was real. This was real. For more than seven decades, Queenie had dreamt of this impossible moment. Through all of life’s ups and downs, the good times and bad, through the weddings and funerals, the birthdays and lonely Christmases, she had carried the scar of giving up Gail across her heart. And now, there she was – her daughter, her lost baby – standing before her in a café that smelt of coffee and was far too warm and far too loud, two days before Christmas. It was her own miracle.

“Oh, me darlin’ girl.”

Tears fell from Queenie’s wrinkled cheeks and plopped onto the shoulder of Gail’s coat. Emma sat there, smiling and swallowing down her own emotions as she watched the two women refuse to let go after so many years.

“Yer look so beautiful!” Queenie cupped Gail’s face in her hands as they parted, and she looked deep into her daughter’s emerald eyes. “Oh, me darlin’ girl!”

Gail blubbered from behind her smile. “So do you, Mum.” The words felt so foreign yet so real, and for the first time, Gail felt whole. “So do you.”

Queenie couldn’t take her eyes off of her. Seventy-two years ago, she was a blonde-haired little cherub, ripped away crying and screaming, and now, there she was. Older and bigger, but no less beautiful and still, as always, her little girl.

“Sit,” Queenie said, sniffing and wiping the mascara-stained tears from her cheeks as she gestured towards the table. She hadn’t noticed the young man standing there with a smile and glassy, tear-filled eyes. “Please, sit.”

Gail smiled at Emma, recognising her from their online communications. “You must be Emma.” They exchanged a quick, friendly hug before Gail shrugged her coat from her shoulders and hung it over the back of her chair. “This is my son, William.”

The man – in his late 30s, Emma thought – smiled a perfect smile and stepped forward, giving Queenie a warm, comforting hug. “Everyone just calls me Will,” he said, looking her in the eyes, unable to comprehend that he finally had a grandmother. “It’s so wonderful to meet you!”

Queenie looked at Emma in stunned astonishment. “Well, whattya know! I’m a granny!”

“Great granny.”

“Ya wot?” Queenie squawked at Will, her eyes bulging and almost feeling unsteady on her feet.

He chuckled as he removed his indigo blue sports jacket and hung it on the back of his chair before taking his wallet from his pocket and showing his grandmother a picture of a young girl with the bluest eyes and blondest hair – just like Queenie when she was little. “I have a six-year-old daughter, Jemima.”

Queenie felt the foundations of her world shudder. It wasn’t possible. “That wos me mum’s name, God rest ‘er soul,” she said, astonished at the weird connection they all unknowingly shared. The universe, it seemed, worked in mysterious ways, and maybe – just maybe – the ties that bind were there all along. She looked at Emma, mouth agape. “Can ya believe it?”

The Lake House,
Glendale

Nick stepped into the sitting room without removing his heavy grey woollen coat. Without glancing around. Without noticing the vintage Christmas village Julia had set up on the sideboard the way he used to love when he was little.

Julia followed behind, apprehensive at how quiet and unreadable he was being. She recognised the cold expression and the ice running through his veins – they were traits he’d learnt from her to hide his emotions in difficult situations.

“Would you like a cup of tea or something to eat?” She motioned a hand to the spread of sandwiches and homemade treats waiting on the table in the dining room, pleased with her culinary efforts. “I made all your favourites.”

“No. I won’t be stopping.”

“I see.” Julia’s heart dropped to her stomach like a stone in a pond. “Would you like to sit?”

“I’m fine,” Nick replied flatly.

Julia swallowed, nodding even though it felt like her throat was closing.

A tense, awkward silence began to harden between them, punctured only by the crackling of the fire.

Julia made the first move. “So, why are you here?”

Nick’s gaze flicked in her direction, and his jaw tightened. “Because Emma said I should talk to you.” His tone was clinical before he moved deeper into the room and sat on the sofa despite stating the contrary. He slumped back, legs spread and hands resting on his thighs.

Emma, Julia thought. Of course she was behind it. With her face tightening, she sat opposite her son in one of the chintz armchairs, her posture stiff and hands clasped to stop them trembling as she looked him over. Nick appeared well, she was happy to see, but his eyes looked lifeless, and his usual cheeky spark wasn’t there.

“What did Emma say we should talk about?”

Nick shrugged and looked around the room, doing anything he could to avoid Julia’s gaze. He noticed the vintage Christmas village on the sideboard over her shoulder, and he winced ever so slightly as a twinge of sadness pierced his heart.

Julia clocked it, and the corner of her mouth moved ever so slightly, pleased that her efforts hadn’t been in vain.

“I’m not here to reconcile or forgive,” Nick said bluntly, his eyes finally settling on hers. “I’m here to tell you that this is the last time we’ll speak.”

The words, stated as fact like a weather report or someone telling the time, landed with a force that knocked Julia off kilter.

He looked at her with a calm steeliness as if he’d rehearsed every word. And he probably had – with her. Natalie. The Harrington-Jones’s Meghan Markle. “I’m cutting ties with you… permanently. I can’t have you in my life anymore.”

She let out a quiet, wounded exhale and looked down at her hands, trying to think of something to say while reminding herself to keep breathing.

Nick didn’t stop. “I didn’t want to just ghost you or pretend like you don’t exist. I wanted to say it to your face. To make sure it registers. To make sure you get it.”

Julia slowly lifted her head and met his hate-filled glare head-on. She let out another long, wounded exhale and activated a lifetime’s worth of defences to mask the pain of her heart ripping in two.

“I get it,” she replied with a modulated tone and a fortified spine of steel. “I get that you’re hurting and that you’re angry. I—”

“I’m not angry!”

Julia flinched as his voice boomed around the room. He was clearly still angry. “Fine,” she conceded, smacking her lips and rubbing her palms against her skirt. “But you’re very clearly hurting.”

Nick didn’t answer. He simply leaned forward and sat hunched over with his elbows resting on his knees.

Julia seized her moment.

“I know I hurt you, and I know I destroyed everything. But I want to explain. I owe you that much at least.”

“You had twenty-five years to explain.” Nick’s dark eyes showed his pain as he glanced at her. “You had thousands of days when you could’ve sat me down and told me the truth. But you didn’t. Not because you were ‘protecting’ me, but because you were scared. Scared of the truth. Scared of what people would think. Scared of the fallout.”

“It wasn’t like that.”

“No? Then what was it like? Since you’re so willing to explain. Go ahead. Talk. Explain. Dazzle me with your wisdom.”

Julia let out a steadying breath. “When you were born, Emma and Michael were in a bad place. Drugs. Crime. Violence. Things a child shouldn’t be near.”

“So you stole me.”

“We never stole you!”

“That’s right,” Nick huffed, his lips curling with indignation. “You were saving me. Protecting me. You, Judith and James. My family.”

“Yes.” Julia felt her heart begin to pound and her body begin to prickle. “We were protecting you. When Mother suggested it, I didn’t hesitate, because I thought the best thing I could do was give you stability, safety, and love.”

“But you didn’t tell me!” Nick rose to his feet and dragged his hands through his hair, frustrated at being trapped on the hamster wheel. “I get why you did it. You’ve explained that until my fuckin’ ears bleed. But you’re not hearing me. You lied to me for twenty-five years. That’s the issue, Julia. That’s the problem.”

Julia stood and watched Nick pace around the room. “I thought if I told you—”

“That I’d want them instead? That I’d want to go and live with Uncle Mikie? Only it turns out he wasn’t my dad either, was he?” The way Nick spat his words at her cut Julia like a thousand knives. “So not James, not Michael, but some drug dealer who forced Emma to have sex with him in exchange for a bit of crack. That’s who my dad is. That’s the man that made me. That’s the man whose blood I have in my veins. That low-life fuckin’ piece of scum.”

Julia’s eyes quickly began to fill with tears. She could feel her Nicky slipping away – again. “I didn’t know about Luke.”

Nick scoffed. “You don’t know much, do ya?”

A silence descended.

Julia stepped forward. “Nicky—”

“It’s Nick,” he snapped, puncturing the air with a pointed finger for emphasis. “To you, it will only ever be Nick. Do you understand me?”

The room sizzled and fizzed for a moment as mother and son gathered their bearings – Nick pacing back and forth, Julia’s eyes following his every step as she anxiously wrung her hands together as if rubbing in some expensive hand cream.

“I didn’t tell you the truth because I was afraid,” she admitted with an unfamiliar sheepishness. “Afraid you’d look at me differently. That I wouldn’t be your mum anymore.”

He scoffed again. “So instead, you built my entire life on a lie.”

“I built your life on love.” A single tear broke and rolled down her cheek. “Being your mum has been the greatest joy of my life.”

Nick stopped in his tracks, turning his head ever so slightly to glance back at her from the corner of his eye.

“You were my world, Nicky… Nick,” Julia quickly corrected herself, hoping to show him she was listening as she brushed the tear from her cheek with her palm. “It has been the greatest honour of my life to have you call me ‘Mum’. You are everything to me. You are my world.” She paused to reflect and swallowed hard. “But I should have told you the truth. I should have trusted you.”

For a moment, Nick absorbed her words, analysing whether they were sincere. He wanted to believe her, but if there was one thing Julia was a master of, it was gaslighting and manipulation. He shook his head, choosing to believe this was a ploy.

“You always do this,” he said, turning to face her and waving a hand in a confused and hurt Julia’s direction. “Always manipulate. Always gaslight. Always control. There isn’t a sincere bone in your body. You probably don’t even know what the word means!”

Julia almost buckled over, so severe was the impact of Nick’s words. “Nick—”

“I don’t believe you! I don’t believe a single word that comes out of that filthy, lying mouth of yours! How can I? Do you really expect me to stand here and feel sorry for you while you weep and profess how much I mean to you? If I really meant that much to you, Julia, then you would’ve told me the truth all along.”

Julia’s chin quivered. “I did what I thought was best. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry’s not good enough. Not this time.” Nick’s expression turned icy as he prepared to deliver the final body blow that he knew would shatter their bond forever. “I hate you, Julia. I hate you more than I’ve ever hated anyone ever before.”

Julia’s breath hitched. “Nicky—”

“And do you know why?” His voice broke, and she noticed his shoulders jump with a sob. “Because I loved you more than I’ve ever loved anyone ever before. And you’re the one who hurt me the most.”

Julia covered her mouth with fingers as tears now slipped freely down her cheeks.

“You were the one person I thought I could trust,” Nick continued, the hurt she’d inflicted now clearly etched in his features. “You were my best friend. My everything. You were my mum.”

Were. Past tense. The words hurt more than Julia could express.

“And I am,” she sobbed. “I still am. I always will be.” She stepped towards him, hoping to reach him, but Nick stepped back. “I raised you. I fed you. I held you when you cried. I stayed up nights when you were sick. I loved you. That wasn’t a lie.”

“No,” Nick said quietly. “But everything you didn’t tell me was.”

Julia didn’t argue. She couldn’t.

Silence settled.

Julia accepted reality – Nick was too hurt to ever forgive. “I know I wasn’t a perfect mother,” she admitted, licking her lips and nodding her head. “I know I was… overbearing. Controlling sometimes. I know I tried too hard to shape your life so you wouldn’t have to face the pain of the truth. But I didn’t do it because I didn’t trust you, Nick. I did it because I loved you so much it scared me. Because you were the best thing I ever had, and I couldn’t risk losing you.”

Nick looked Julia squarely in the eyes. “But you lost me anyway.”

Julia’s heart was ripped from her chest.

“I know people say forgive and forget and all that, but I can’t forgive you, Julia, and I’ll never forget.”

There was a sadness to his tone that made Julia want to hug him and hold him tight, the way she would when he was upset as a little boy. But all she could do now was listen and let him rip her heart in two.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Nick added, voice softening just a fraction. “But having you in my life is hurting me. Every time you text or call, every time you plead for things to go back to normal… it just feels like you’re asking me to pretend the lie didn’t happen. And I can’t do that.” He swallowed hard. “I’m done. For real. For good.”

Julia shook her head. “Nicky, please. We can heal this. We can go to therapy. We can take time. Just don’t… end things between us.”

“It’s already ended,” Nick replied. “You just don’t want to see it.”

Without another word said, he walked past Julia and moved toward the doorway. It was then she spotted it – the last attempt she had to reach her broken son.

“Wait,” she said with a pleading urgency.

He paused.

Julia walked to the Christmas tree and retrieved the two gifts wrapped in gold paper and tied with perfectly perfect red ribbons. She remained calm, poised and hopeful as she carried them to Nick.

“I got you these. They’re not much.”

For a long moment, Nick stared at the gifts as though they might burn him.

“I know you don’t want anything from me. But please… take them.”

Very slowly, he accepted them. “Thank you.”

Julia nodded, pleased and hopeful that the first edition of The Enchanted Wood – his favourite childhood book – would somehow show him that despite everything, she still loved him and knew him better than anyone else.

Nick didn’t utter another word. Instead, he turned and headed for the front door.

Julia’s mouth twitched and contorted as she stood in silence, fighting back the tears that threatened to break at any second.

“Merry Christmas, Nicky.”

Nick didn’t stop. He didn’t look back. He didn’t hesitate. He simply opened the door, and as a gust of winter air swept in, he walked away from Julia for the very last time.

Riverside & Co. Café,
London

“I still can’t believe it,” Queenie said, unable to look away from her daughter, drinking in every detail. That made Gail smile, and in that moment, Queenie saw her – not the grown woman or the stranger – but the baby she’d once held for three heart-bursting minutes before they took her away. The same lips, the same twinkle in the eyes, the same dimple that deepened when she smiled. The two women sat facing one another, studying faces both foreign and familiar. “Ya look just like I imagined… except yer’ve got much better ‘air.”

Gail laughed quietly. “You look exactly like I hoped you would. Kind eyes. Warm smile.”

Studying every inch of her daughter, Queenie noticed the gold wedding band on her ring finger. “Who’s the lucky fella?”

Gail glanced down at her ring and twisted it with her thumb, while Emma sensed a shift in the breeze.

“Pete,” she replied, suddenly seeming lost in her thoughts as Will watched her closely. Her brow twitched with a frown – the kind you get with a shooting jab of pain – and she winced before it passed. “We lost him in twenty-twenty. Covid.”

Queenie was struck by an immediate and crushing feeling of guilt. “Oh, I’m so sorry.” She should’ve been there. She had missed out on so much. Gail had lived a life – a full life – without her, and that was a wound that would never heal.

Will pressed his lips together as he watched his mother swallow her emotions. Five years after his father’s passing, it was still as raw today as it was during those dark days of lockdowns and social distancing. They hadn’t got a chance to say goodbye. One day he was fine; the next he was feeling unwell. Three days later he was in hospital, then on a ventilator, and then he was gone. The funeral – if you could even call it that – was cold and undignified. It wasn’t the fitting goodbye his father deserved. He was a good man, a great man, and he didn’t deserve to go out the way he did.

Gail took in a long, deep exhale of breath, shifted Pete from her thoughts and returned to the present. She looked at Queenie, and they shared a soft, sympathetic smile – both knowing exactly what the other was thinking, both regretting the time they’d lost.

“I bet yer’ve got questions,” Queenie said with a huff and a sniff, changing subject and hoping to fill in some of the blanks for her daughter.

Gail frowned. Questions? She had a million. Where do you start? Which one do you ask first? She cleared her throat and placed her hands on the table, interlocking her fingers. “Do I…” she hesitated, “do I look like him? My dad?”

Emma watched as Queenie shifted a little in her seat.

“Stanley,” Queenie said matter-of-factly, as she remembered the lad who had altered the course of her life. “Stanley Butler wos ‘is name. Yer’ve got ‘is eyes an’ ‘is dimples; of that there’s no doubt.”

“And was he nice?”

“Oh, yes.” Queenie’s eyes glazed over ever so slightly as she thought back to 1952. “He wos tall an’ dark an’ very ‘andsome.” Her gaze shifted in Will’s direction. “Ya look a lot like ‘im, actually. A lot like ‘im.”

Gail looked at Will, and they shared a smile, happy to finally be putting together the pieces of the broken puzzle that was Gail’s life.

“We’d been steppin’ out a bit. I thought it wos love, ‘e thought it wos just a good time. It ‘appened only once.” Queenie’s expression grew serious, and she looked at Gail. “I weren’t one of them good-time girls, just so’s ya know.”

Emma had heard that exact sentence before, and it seemed Queenie had been condemned to a lifetime of trying to prove her virtue and innocence. Prove she was different from the “good-time girls”.

“Yer dad, Stanley, ‘e rode a blue Triumph motorcycle. It wos gawjus. Anyway, ‘e took me out on it one night an’, well, that’s ‘ow ya came to be.” Queenie paused briefly to take a sip of her recently delivered cappuccino. She carefully returned the mug to its saucer, cautiously thinking out her next words. “I always wanted ya,” she said, looking Gail straight in the eyes with a tone that was warm and genuine. “Never once did I want to give ya up. But it wos a different time back then. Ya weren’t allowed to keep ya littluns. Not girls like me anyway.”

A hush descended over the table as all four thought about the painful history between them.

“I should’ve fought ‘arder for ya,” Queenie said, breaking the silence as her eyes became cloudy with tears. “I should’ve dun wot wos right. But…” Her voice faltered, and her expression became downcast. “It wos a different time.”

Gail reached across the table and took her mother’s hand. She squeezed it, knowing it would say more than words ever could.

Queenie smiled. “I wos eigh’een. Frightened. Foolish. Alone. They sent me to a convent—”

“Hope Mission,” Gail interrupted.

Queenie’s smile faded as they locked eyes. How did she know? “‘ope Mission,” she repeated, shuddering at the memory of the place no better than hell. “Cold walls. ‘ard beds. Shame for breakfast. I never forgot ya though.” She fingered the silver locket that hung around her neck. “Yer wos always ‘ere. Above me ‘eart.” She unclasped the chain and opened the locket, showing Gail, Will and Emma the golden lock of Gail’s baby hair contained within. “This wos from the day ya wos born. Sister Mildred cut it for me.” She looked at Gail. “I always wanted ya, an’ I never forgot about ya, Gail. Never.”

Gail smiled and reached across, squeezing her mother’s hand again as a tear rolled down her cheek. “I know, Mum,” she whispered. “I know.”

The Lake House,
Glendale

For a long time, Julia simply sat there. Silent, motionless in the armchair, hands folded in her lap, and red-rimmed eyes fixed on nothing as she stared off into space. She felt numb, broken by the reality that had ripped her heart in two barely an hour earlier – she had lost Nick for good.

Then the Ring doorbell chimed.

Ding, ding, ding.
Ding, ding, ding.

The sound brought her back into the land of the living, and Julia turned her head, looking through the doorway towards the front door. She didn’t want to see anyone. Then, there came a knock. She wondered for a moment if it could be Nick. Maybe he’d had a chance to think? Maybe he’d come to his senses?

Pushing herself to her feet, Julia checked her appearance in the mirror above the fireplace, sniffed back her emotions, wiped away the trail of tears, and patted her trademark chignon bun in place before walking down the hallway and opening the door.

“Charlotte?”

She was surprised to see her soon-to-be ex-sister-in-law standing on the doorstep, rugged up in a thick coat and scarf. Her breath puffed in small clouds, and her cheeks were pink from the cold.

“Hi, Julia,” Charlotte Harrington-Jones said warmly and smiled, shivering as a gust of icy wind blew across the lake. “I’m sorry to just turn up like this, but I just needed someone to talk to.”

Julia’s brow creased, and her eyes began searching Charlotte, trying to work out what was wrong. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Do you mind if I come in?”

Julia hesitated only a moment before stepping back and opening the door wider, forcing a smile of her own. “Of course,” she said, motioning with her hand for Charlotte to make her way to the living room. “I’ll make us some coffee. You look like you could do with warming up.”

Glendale Family Surgery,
Glendale

Marion Atkins sat at her desk, lost in her thoughts. The small consulting room was silent besides the ticking of the clock on the wall, and her neglected half-empty mug of tea had long gone cold. Her next patient wasn’t due for another five minutes, and while she knew she should’ve been finishing her notes, her fingers just rested against the keyboard, limp and unmoving.

Outside, the sky was growing ever greyer, although Ed’s prediction of snow had yet to come to pass. Marion caught her reflection in the window, almost not recognising the face that looked back at her. It was solemn. It was troubled. It was tired.

Sunday’s conversation with Samantha kept replaying in her mind. She had imparted her best wisdom and marital advice onto her stepdaughter, yet every word felt like a lie. She had said all the words you’re taught to say, all the words you’re supposed to say, and all the words you’re supposed to believe. But that’s all they were – words. She didn’t believe them. Not anymore.

Marion was keenly aware of her hypocrisy. She and Ed didn’t talk. In fact, they barely even breathed the same air. Their marriage of over thirty years was flaccid and flatlining, and she had let the fractures in her own marriage become gaping chasms she now didn’t think they could bridge.

She turned slightly in her chair, and her gaze fell to her hands. The gold wedding band on her ring caught her attention – how wrong it now felt. She twisted it with her thumb, aware of what a mess everything was and how the institution she once so revered now felt like a chain weighing her down.

Glenbrook Farm,
Glendale

The kettle clicked off with a pop, and steam curled toward the kitchen ceiling as Pamela Granger prepared two mugs of builder’s brew.

“So, what did Julia actually say?” Ben asked his mother as he sat at the kitchen table, trying not to yawn despite having been up since before dawn.

Pamela tapped the teaspoon against the rim of her mug, and a flutter of nerves filled her chest. “Well… she said she thought I should stand for president of the W.I.”

Ben’s eyebrows shot up. “Mum! That’s brilliant!”

“Oh, don’t you start an’ all,” she muttered, carrying the mugs to the table and passing him one before slipping into the seat opposite and holding her tea near her mouth although she didn’t drink. “I told her it was a silly idea.”

“Why?”

Pamela paused. She didn’t have a simple answer. It was just years of habit. Of telling herself she wasn’t good enough. Of Brian telling her she wasn’t good enough. “I’ve never done anything like that. I don’t know if I’d be any good at it.”

“Julia wouldn’t suggest it if she didn’t think you could do it. I mean, it’s Julia! C’mon!”

Pamela pressed her lips together and let out a sigh. “She’s just good at getting people to do the stuff that she doesn’t want to. We all know she should be the president. As you said, it’s Julia! Besides, when would I have the time? What, between the twins and now with the farm shop—”

“Stop!” Ben interrupted, shaking his head. “You can do this. You’re the organised one. The sensible one. The one that keeps this whole thing running. You’re more amazing than you give yourself credit for, Mum. And I think you’d be a fuckin’ amazing president.”

Pamela suddenly felt something unfamiliar. Belief. Self-worth. Confidence. Hope. “Do you really think so?”

“I do.” Ben smiled his dimpled smile and took a sip of his scalding tea. “You should at least think about it. And don’t talk yourself out of it before you even try.”

Pamela tried to hide a bashful smile. “Maybe. I’ll see.”

The back door swung open, and Brian stomped in with his muddy boots and his usual scowl. He glanced from Pamela to Ben and back again.

“What’s this? A bloody little girl’s tea party?”

Ben snuffed at his father’s suggestion and fired a quick glance in his mother’s direction. They shared a knowing look – it was a familiar path they had both trod. “No, we’re just chatting.”

“Ah, so it’s all sharing feelings and more of this woke bullcrap then.” Brian’s glare moved from Pamela to Ben. “I thought you were a man, son? Not some little pansy that sits about chatting to his mother over a cup of bloody tea!”

Ben had heard enough. He stood and his chair scraped against the floor as he did. “I should get back out there before the snow hits. Feels like it could.”

As Ben escaped through the backdoor, Brian shrugged off his damp coat and tossed it over a chair. “Well?” he said. “What’s all this whispering about? And good to see you can make the boy and yourself a tea but not me!”

Pamela quickly jumped up and prepared Brian a brew. “I was just telling Ben about something Julia said to me the other day,” she replied, trying to keep her tone light and casual so as not to arouse her husband’s suspicion or tempter.

“Julia?” Brian huffed, his scowl deepening. “What’s that stuck-up cow want?”

Pamla popped two tea bags into Brian’s usual chipped mug, added four sugars and a dash of milk before stirring. She couldn’t bring herself to answer the question. She knew what he would say, and none of it was positive.

“Well?” Brian’s voice rose in tone, and the air in the kitchen began to crackle and fizz with tension. “What did she say?”

Pamela swallowed heavily, tapped the spoon gently against the rim and placed it in the sink. She noticed her hands trembling. “She suggested… maybe I should think about running for president of the W.I. chapter. That’s all.”

Brian stared at her for a beat, then barked out a sharp, ugly laugh.

“You?” He pointed a finger at her, shaking his head as she placed the mug of tea on the table in front of him. “Run for president?”

“It was only a suggestion.”

“You can’t even run a bath! You’d be useless as president, just like you are at everything else.”

The cruel words were like a slap, but they weren’t unfamiliar. This was every day in Pamela’s world since the age of 18, so it was normal and unsurprising. She returned to her seat and looked down at her mug, wishing she could drown in it. “I didn’t say I was doing it.”

“Good!” Brian’s tone meant there was no room for argument or discussion. “You’re not.” His glare darkened in the way that always made Pamela simper and shrink. “Your place is here, Pam. Here. On the farm. Away from those women that fill your head with such nonsense and make ya think you’re something you’re not.”

“I just thought—”

“That’s the problem,” Brian cut in. “You. Thinking. You ain’t got the brains for it. You start thinking, and next thing you’re making a fool of yourself. President? For God’s sake, Pamela. You’re too stupid to run something like the W.I. I don’t know what made you think you could.”

Pamela sat silently, letting his vitriol crash into her.

“I just don’t want to see you embarrass yourself,” Brian added with a false softness that made her stomach turn. “Or me. You understand?”

Pamela couldn’t bring herself to look at him. “Yes,” she whispered.

“What?” He cupped his ear.

“Yes. I understand,” she said, with a louder voice.

“Good.” Brian got up from his chair and grabbed his mug of tea. “That’s settled then.”

He didn’t utter another word. Instead, he stomped off into the living room and didn’t look back.

Alone, Pamela remained silent and wiped a tear from the corner of her eye before it had a chance to fall. She would’ve loved to be president.

The Lake House,
Glendale

“Here,” Julia said as she re-entered the sitting room and passed over a fresh latte in a double-walled glass. “Drink this before it goes cold.”

Sitting in the armchair beside the Christmas tree, Charlotte accepted the warm drink and managed a smile. “Thanks.”

Julia took the chair opposite and tucked one leg beneath her. Pulling her cardigan tighter, she watched with a keen eye as Charlotte took a sip. “So, what’s so important that it had you turning up on my doorstep uninvited like some sort of stray puppy?”

“Geez! Harsh!” Charlotte chuckled in reply, looking back at her with an arched eyebrow.

Julia failed to hide her amused smirk. “You know I’m just teasing. But seriously, you’re worrying me.”

There was a beat of silence.

“Is everything okay, Lottie?”

Charlotte hesitated, watching the steam as she held the latte with both hands. Once she said it, everything would be real, and she would likely set in motion a chain of events she’d no longer have any control over.

The hesitation caused Julia’s concerns to grow. “Is it work?”

“No,” Charlotte replied with a gentle shake of her head. “It’s not work. Works great.”

“Something to do with Mark?”

“No.”

Julia frowned. “Then what?”

The words were there, pressing against the back of her throat, pushing to be said. Just say it, Charlotte. Just get it out.

“It’s…” She took a long, slow breath, steadying herself while letting Julia’s worries increase. “I’m pregnant.”

Julia blinked, not quite registering what she’d heard. “Pregnant?”

Charlotte nodded.

“But… I didn’t even know you were seeing anyone.”

“I’m not,” Charlotte replied, before quickly adding, “not properly anyway.”

Julia’s frown deepened – as much as Botox would allow. “I don’t understand.” Things weren’t adding up. “What do you mean, ‘not properly’?”

Charlotte knew the answer would be unwelcome. She swallowed and then cleared her throat, buying herself some precious seconds. “He’s married.”

The air seemed to leave the room.

Julia sat back slowly and drew in a breath. “Lottie…” she exhaled deeply. “Please tell me you’re joking.” Her thoughts immediately turned to James and his numerous infidelities, then to the child he’d fathered with Neha Patel. The pain was still so raw.

“I know,” Charlotte replied, feeling judged and aware of her disappointment. “I hate myself.”

From Charlotte’s expression, Julia could tell she was being too harsh. “Sorry. I’m not meaning to judge. I just—”

“It’s okay. I understand.”

They shared the faintest of smiles – more a grimace if anything – and Julia unconsciously rubbed her thumb against the spot on her ring finger where her gold wedding band once sat. “Can I ask…?”

Charlotte took a sip of her coffee, preparing herself for the inevitable. “You can ask anything you like. Honestly. This is why I told you. I need someone to talk to about it all. I need someone in my corner.”

“I’ll always be in your corner, Lottie.”

Charlotte gave an appreciative smile.

Julia wondered what to ask first. “How long has it been going on?”

“About five months.”

Five months?!

“And does he know?”

“Not yet.”

“Does the wife know?”

“No.”

“Is it serious?”

“No. It’s just been a few casual hookups here and there. It’s not serious, and it never will be. He loves his wife, but there’s just no intimacy between them anymore.”

“So he says.”

Charlotte frowned and side-eyed her sister-in-law. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Julia cleared her throat. “He’s a married man who is cheating on his wife, Lottie. He’s not exactly going to tell you everything is sunshine and roses, is he? He needs an excuse to absolve his conscience of the guilt.”

Charlotte sat silently, contemplating what Julia had said as her gaze shifted to her cup of coffee.

Julia, in turn, fell silent, realising she had once again probably been too harsh. She sucked in her lips and ran her tongue over them, moistening them to buy herself some time as she carefully chose where to go from here. “So, what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know.” Charlotte appeared a little downcast as she looked back at Julia, her shoulders seeming to sag under the weight of reality. “All I’ve ever wanted is a baby. But… like this? What will everyone say?”

“It’s not your business what anyone thinks about you.” Julia shifted to the edge of her chair and hunched forward, resting her elbows against her knees as she steepled her hands and looked seriously into Charlotte’s eyes. “Becoming… entangled with a married man isn’t easy, and people are going to get hurt. Believe me, I know. But you need to be honest, Lottie. With him. With his wife. But most importantly, with yourself.”

Charlotte looked back at Julia, and she recognised the twinkle of emerging tears.

“You need to do what’s best for you.”

“I don’t want to blow up his life before I even know what I’m doing.”

“Lottie, his life was already blown up the moment he decided to have an affair. You’re not the one who did that – he is.”

Charlotte blinked hard, trying to hold back the tears. “It wasn’t supposed to happen. I didn’t mean for it to—”

“No one ever means for it to,” Julia interrupted as gently as she could. “But it did. And now you have to think about what comes next.”

There was a brief silence, filled only by the crackle of the fire.

Charlotte chewed on her bottom lip, contemplating what to do. “I thought you’d hate me.”

Julia let out a slow breath and sank back in her chair once again before crossing her legs. “I’ll never hate you, Lottie. You’ve made a mess, yes. But you’re still family, at least for now, and I’m not going to abandon you.”

Charlotte smiled, tears spilling freely. “I don’t deserve you.”

“No,” Julia said softly as a faint, rueful smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “And neither did your brother. But from that mess, I gained a sister, and that’s what you’ll always be to me, Lottie. My sister. My family.”

Charlotte’s heart felt like it could burst. She didn’t deserve Julia’s love and support, not after what she’d done, but she was grateful to have it, no matter how fleeting it may be.

“Thank you,” she said, apprehensive about what was to come. “I think you’re right. I think I need to be honest and tell him. He has a right to know.”

Julia gave a smile of encouragement. “Whatever happens, I’ll always be here. Always.”

The Queen’s Walk,
London

Under a pewter sky, Queenie and Gail strolled arm in arm along the banks of the Thames, lost in their own little world of what-ifs and could-have-beens, while the dull water moved sluggishly as it reflected the greyness from above. Gail’s gloved hand rested lightly over her mother’s, while Queenie – who had never dared to imagine such a moment would happen – held on as though she might vanish if she let go.

“Looks nothing like the start of EastEnders,” Gail said sarcastically with a smirk as her gaze swept across the river. “It’s not blue at all!”

Queenie chuckled. “Don’t tell the Tories or the Daily Mail! They’ll say it’s another reason why the BBC should be scrapped!”

They stopped at the railing, just west of the Golden Jubilee Bridges, and the cold December wind grew sharper. Across the river, The Royal Horseguards Hotel stuck its head above the Victoria Embankment Gardens, while Gail looked back towards the Houses of Parliament.

“Ya know, I still can’t believe this is real,” Queenie said, unable to take her eyes off her daughter while she gripped the riverside railing. “Every night I prayed for ya. Every night.”

Gail looked back at Queenie and squeezed her arm as she smiled.

“Yer’ll think me daft, but every Chris’mas, I bought ya a tiny present, wrapped it, an’ kept it in a box under me bed. Seven’y-two little things, waitin’ for the day I could give them to ya.”

Gail’s face crumpled, and she looked at her mother. “I would love to have seen them. I wish I’d had just one of those Christmases with you.”

Suddenly, Queenie’s face brightened with the beginnings of a wonderful idea.

“Why can’t we start now?” She replied with a toothy grin that showed off her dentures. “Ya should all come t’ Glendale! It’s beau’iful at Chris’mas. All lit up. There’s a carols concert on tomorrow night in the church if ya fancy it. I mean, seein’ as ya down here an’ all. I’m sure lil’ Jemima will love it an’ there’s a B an’ B if ya don’t wanna drive back to Stafford!”

Queenie’s smile faded as she suddenly doubted her most brilliant idea. “Only if ya want to, of course.”

“Of course I’d like to,” Gail replied, already trying to work out the logistics in her head. “Are you sure?”

“Lovie, it’s December twen’y-third an’ me littl’ girl is ‘ere with me. That’s a Chris’mas miracle, if ever there wos one, so it’s only fittin’ we celebrate it in the house of the lord. I insit ya all come an’ ‘ave Chris’mas in Glendale. We’ve lost too much time already!”

“Okay,” Gail said, a sudden rush of excitement bubbling within. “I’ll chat with Will and see what we can organise.”

Behind them, a few paces back, Emma and Will followed at an easy distance. Will’s hands were buried in his coat pockets, and his hair was damp from the drizzle that had started again, while Emma walked beside him, fiddling to open her umbrella.

“I wanted to thank you, by the way,” Will said as his breath misted.

Emma looked at him with a curious frown as she finally managed to open the umbrella and held it between them to provide them both with shelter. “What for?”

“For helping them find each other.” He glanced back at her briefly and smiled before looking back at his mother and grandmother. “If you hadn’t have put that post on that forum, then we might never have made it here.”

“It was nothing really.”

“It set things in motion.”

They came to a stop, holding back as Queenie and Gail stood against the railing in the drizzle, looking up and down the river while chatting.

“She’s been through a lot over the last couple of years,” Will added with the hint of a sigh. “But this… well, this is something else. Something magical.”

“A Christmas miracle,” Emma joked with a cackle.

Will snuffed and smiled that broad smile Queenie had noticed he’d inherited from Stan. “Something like that.” He shook his head at the absurdity and looked back at Queenie. “I can’t wait to introduce her to Jemima. They’re going to be thick as thieves.”

“She looked adorable in that photo.”

“She is.” Will smiled, proud as punch of his little girl. “Although she can be a bit of a diva at times. Takes after her father.” He glanced in Emma’s direction with a side-eye. “Her other one. Not me.”

Emma frowned, not really connecting the dots.

“Evan. My husband.” Will paused briefly, looking out across the Thames and taking in a breath. “Well, ex-husband,” he clarified, slightly enjoying the look of confusion plastered across Emma’s face. “Another one who left us.”

Emma’s face fell. “Oh, Will, I’m so sorry.”

“Oh, no, he’s not dead.” He looked at Emma with a bright smile, shaking his head and chuckling. He could laugh about it all now. “He shagged some twink from Grindr, and they ran off to Marbella together. It cost me a fortune in lawyers, and I lost a shitload in the divorce, but I got full custody of Jemima, he got stuck with some head-fucked daddy-issue nympho, and, as far as I’m concerned, we’re all better off rid!”

Emma laughed and slipped her hand through the crook of Will’s arm. There was something about him that was so instantly likeable.

“Will!” Gail was waving back at her son, flapping her hand in an attempt to beckon him over. “What do you think about spending Christmas Day in Glendale?”

The Oak & Vine,
Glendale

Tony stood behind the bar of The Oak & Vine, running his hand over the worn wood. For thirty-nine years he had been landlord and custodian of “the old girl”. He looked around the bar, taking in the scene one final time. The dartboard with its punctured bullseye. The portrait of the late Queen Elizabeth II above the fireplace. The brass clock above the door that had stopped working sometime last summer, but he hadn’t got around to fixing. The framed photograph of the village cricket team from 1989, with the winning trophy proudly held aloft. He knew every join in the wallpaper, which floorboards creaked and which didn’t, and the exact spot you had to smack the TV remote against the bar if the channels didn’t change. He could hear the voices of those who had long left them behind – his wife Diane, Tom Spencer, William Granger, Fat Frank, Big Balls Bill and Microwave Maude – and smiled at the overheard stories he’d never forget. Every inch of the place was in his DNA, but the times they were a-changin’.

“She’s held up well, hasn’t she?” he said quietly.

Beside him, Carol folded up the GOODBYE & GOOD LUCK! banner that Kate and the kids had made and smiled, although her eyes were already glassy. “Better than we have, sweets.”

Tony gave a chuckle.

They hadn’t wanted to sell. However, when his wayward son, Luke, had returned from prison, things had spiralled. Luke and Carol’s relationship had deteriorated and teetered on the brink of becoming violent; he had fallen back into drug addiction, dealing to fund his habit; had tried to con Audrey out of her life savings; and then vanished into the night. No one had seen him since June, but the stress of it all had taken its toll. Tony had suffered a heart attack in July, and Carol’s already fragile mental health was now seriously suffering. The thought that Luke could return terrified her, so they had made the painful decision to sell the pub they so dearly loved. A buyer had been found quickly, and a new life of retirement and adventure beckoned, but leaving The Oak & Vine behind still broke their hearts more than they cared to admit.

The sound of the door opening made them both turn.

Johnny and Tess Montgomery entered, collars popped and shoulders hunched against the drizzle that had settled in across the village.

“Hiya!” Tess said with a bright smile as she curled a lock of her damp, golden hair behind her ear. “Sorry we’re late!”

“Traffic was a nightmare,” Johnny added in his East Midlands accent.

“You’re right, sweets.” Carol nodded toward them. “Well, I suppose this is it.”

Johnny smiled, sensing the sadness in the air. “We can come back a little later if you need more time?”

“No time like the present,” she replied, her voice cracking slightly as she tried hard not to crumble into sobs. She felt Tony rub her back in support and was pleased to have him by her side. She drew her shoulders back, stood tall and reached into her pocket. Pulling out the set of keys, she weighed them in her hand for a moment – ready to let go, but not ready to say goodbye. “You’ll have to promise you’ll look after the old girl. She’s got her moods, mind you. She leaks a bit in winter and creaks like she’s complaining when it’s quiet. But she’s got a big heart. Bigger than most people I know.”

Tess nodded, warmed by the obvious affection for the grand ol’ dame of Glendale. “We promise,” she said. “We’ll take good care of her.”

Without further hesitation, Tony and Carol walked out from behind the bar and, in an instant, transitioned from landlords to customers. Carol handed Tess the keys and bit down on her lip, trying to quell the wobble that was stirring. Tony’s eyes became glassy with tears. It was the end of an era, and he wasn’t ready.

“She’s been good to us,” Carol said. “But it’s time she had a fresh start. You’ll all love it here. I promise.”

Johnny looked around the pub. The Oak & Vine felt cosy and homely. It was quintessentially British, and he knew in his bones that this was the right decision for them all. “You’ve made it something special.” His eyes settled back on Carol, and he gave her a smile. “We’ll do our best to look after her.”

“That’s all I ask.”

For a moment, no one spoke. Then, Carol patted her pockets as if feeling for her keys, smacked her lips and let out a deep exhale of breath. “Right,” she said. “Time to get going.”

Tony looked around the pub – his home – one last time. He could hear the laughter, the songs, and the ghosts say their goodbyes. His heart ripped in two.

“Right then.” He took in a deep inhale, held it, quickly wiped a tear that threatened in the corner of his eye and straightened his shoulders before looking at his wife with a smile she knew was masking his pain. “Let’s do this, missus.”

Without further ado, Tony and Carol walked across the pub, pushed open the door, and together stepped out of The Oak & Vine and into their future.

NEXT TIME…

• There are secrets and shocks on a dramatic Christmas Eve in the village.