£100 prize…

After breaking free, Lucy was happy on her own. But then came a tap on the door…

For your story, like reader Sue Burnside!

The arrivals hall was deserted at that time of night, Lucy noticed as she picked up the keys at the rental car kiosk. She found her vehicle in the near-empty car park and drove through the rain, away from the city to a village on the west coast of Ireland.

Eventually, Pebble Lane Cottage emerged in the wet night. A long, low whitewashed building, the porch light shining on a red door.

She was here. She had done it. She had finally run away from Paul, from his promises that it would never happen again, that he would make it up to her.

The key was under the mat as the owner had instructed. Lucy unlocked the cottage door and inside it was cosy and welcoming. In the lounge, there was a brown leather sofa, piled with colourful cushions. Scones, butter and jam lay under a crisp white tea towel on the wooden worktop in the kitchen. Alongside them was a note.

‘Welcome to Pebble Lane Cottage,’

Lucy read. ‘Have a Happy Christmas,

Liam Kavanagh.’

Lucy sighed. She had no hopes of a happy Christmas, not now, maybe not ever. She had left everything behind in her despairing flight; the tree bare, the presents unwrapped, the decorations still in their boxes stacked in the loft.

She hoped that the whole sad day would just pass her by. She would please herself, stay in her pyjamas, eat cheese on toast, watch whatever she wanted on the television, or simply read. But there would be no arguments, she realised. No anxiety when he disappeared to walk the dog or took hushed phone calls in his study.

That night, Lucy slept better than she had in months. She awoke to a crisp, cold day and it took her a moment to remember where she was and why. Slowly, then all at once, she realised it was Christmas Eve.

First, she must phone her mother to tell her not to fret, that she was fine and would be back. But she wouldn’t ring Paul.

‘Let him worry,’ Lucy thought.

If he did worry at all, of course. She suspected her actions were more of an inconvenience. How would he explain her absence to his demanding family?

Lucy dressed in jeans and a cosy jumper before she heard a knock on the front door. A tall man stood there, smiling at her.

‘Hi there. I’m Liam,’ he said.

‘Liam? You’re the owner?’

‘Yes, just checking how you’re doing. Everything okay with the cottage?’

‘Everything is perfect, just perfect. And the scones were gorgeous! Thank you – or should I thank your wife?’

He chuckled wryly.

‘I don’t have a wife. No, it’s all my own work; Mary Berry’s got nothing on me.

I run the pub in the village, Kavanagh’s. We do great food there, too, but we’re closed tomorrow, of course.’

‘No, it’s fine.’ Lucy smiled, ‘I’m planning a very quiet Christmas.’

Liam nodded goodbye and Lucy closed the door softly. The day was hers to enjoy.

Lucy explored the village, enchanted by its thatched cottages and winding lanes. She found a small shop and stocked up on Christmas provisions; some cheese and soda bread and a bottle of red wine.

For the first Christmas Eve she could remember, Lucy was relaxed and calm. She walked on the rocky beach, by the crashing Atlantic waves, the wind whipping at her hair, and breathed deeply.

Later that afternoon, she arrived back at the cottage and lit the fire in the lounge. Wrapping up in a thick blanket, she read peacefully as it began to get dark.

Just before midnight, Lucy walked to the church, quietly joining locals meandering on the path towards the village and slipped into a pew. There, the carols took her back to her childhood when she was brave and happy. Before she left, Lucy made a Christmas wish on the flickering candles.

But she knew that she would be okay, that she was strong enough to deal with whatever lay ahead when she returned.

Christmas Day dawned, cold but sunny. Lucy rang her mother to wish her a happy Christmas and to tell her that she loved her.

Then she switched off her phone. She didn’t want to speak to Paul, to listen to his apologies or his reproaches. She wanted to keep this sense of peace for ever.

In the afternoon, she realised she hadn’t eaten. Lucy prepared her Christmas lunch, cheese on toast, laughing to herself, before she heard a light tap on the front door. On the step stood Liam, smiling.

‘I know you’re here on your own, but it’s Christmas, so I’ve come with an invitation. Please join us for Christmas dinner at the pub. It’s just the family,’ he said.

Lucy opened her mouth to refuse, but then she looked into Liam’s kind blue eyes and down to his strong brown hand stretched out to her.

‘That would be lovely,’ she said, and as she put her hand in his and walked down the cottage path, flakes of snow began to fall.