Merry Christmas!

A competition, a sale, a short story and a card.

My family is about to descend en mass this evening which will signal the beginning of my Christmas break. Some writing may still happen but it’s going to be erratic. I’m very much looking forward to hanging out with family, I haven’t seen one of my brothers in the flesh since the Covid lockdowns, eating good food, beach walks and reading in the quiet times between.

The Competition

My fellow historical fiction writers and I have banded together to create a super Historical Fiction Book Lover's Dream Giveaway

If you prefer life sophisticated, cerebral, well thought-out, and a little mysterious, you’ll enjoy books that cast the world around in fresh light and authors that get details correct. We're about to hook you up with a whole prize pack with $300 worth of must-haves for anyone who loves historical novels.

The Prizes:

All the Light We Cannot See (Paperback) - Anthony Doerr
Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell (Paperback) - Susanna Clarke
A Gentleman in Moscow (Paperback) - Amor Towles
The Invisible Library (Paperback) - Genevieve Cogman
Pachinko (Paperback) - Min Jin Lee

But we didn't stop there. We're also throwing in a bushel of items that take your reading experience and ambience to new heights.

7KEYS Retro Typewriter Keyboard
Hortsun Bedside Pressed Flower Lamp
Paddywax Two Wick Scented Travel Tin Candle
Ultra Soft Boho Throw Blanket
Dosmix Retro Bluetooth Speaker

Click here to enter: https://kingsumo.com/g/yud2sz/historical-fiction-book-lovers-dream-giveaway

Good luck! I hope you're the fortunate winner.

The Sale

I’m excited to announce that my books, Loves of Lisbon, The Duke’s Heart, Sanctuary, Duchess in Flight, City of Night, What the Pauper Did and Scent of Love will be available at 50% off as part of a promotion on Smashwords through January 1 as part of their 2023 End of Year Sale! This is a chance to get my books, along with books from many other great authors, at a discount so you can get right to reading.

You will find the promo here starting on December 15, so save the link:
https://www.smashwords.com/shelves/promos/

Please share this promo with friends and family. You can even forward this email to the avid readers in your life! Thank you for your help and support!

Happy reading!

The Card

The Short Story

A Knock At The Door

This year my Lisbon Writing Group friends did a secret Santa with a difference. We each drew a story prompt written by one of us, out of a hat, and then had to write a story for each other based on the prompt. Mine was: You’re sitting down to Christmas dinner when there’s a knock at the door.
I hope you have as much fun reading it as I did writing it.

‘Wooow, look at that snow!’ Rio says, his face pasted to the windowpane. ‘Louisa, come look.’

‘Don’t want to.’ I’m curled up in an old-fashioned chair with a back that’s taller than me, as close to the fire as I can get without singeing my eyebrows, prodding the logs with a glowing iron poker. We don’t have a real fire at home, and I love the way the flames jump about.

‘Let me see, let me see!’ Ronaldo says, trying to push his way in. The window is small and the walls are very thick so it’s a struggle.

You’ve probably guessed by the twins’ names that there’s a football fan in the family. You might think I escaped that fate, but Luis Figo was a top star thirteen years ago and my mom’s idol. Yep, my mother. She and the twins adore football. Dad and I while away our spare time on computer games, often in front of the TV with one important game or other that mom and the twins are glued to.

But back to the snow. My little brothers may be thrilled. Mom is not.

Honestly, I don’t know how my parents even got together. Mom’s from a big family, old-fashioned big. She had seven brothers and sisters and I don’t even know how many cousins that adds up to. There’s nothing better than a big family get together for mom. The more the better, loud music, party games, and a table groaning with food is her ideal.

Dad was an only child who didn’t even get on with his parents. I think we’ve only met them three or four times. The last time was when the twins were born, and that was eight years ago, just so you know. Dad’s ideal outing is family only, and by that he means mom and us kids.

‘I told you this was a bad idea,’ mom mutters but she’s still setting the table for twelve, as some of the uncles and aunts haven’t called yet to cancel.

Considering the thick white layer on the peaks beyond and the snow piling up to our window sill I’d be amazed if anyone can reach us. I’ll bet dad thinks it’s perfect.

‘The weather forecast said nothing about snow. In fact, they predicted an unusually warm Christmas,’ Dad says, and he looks puzzled.

This house in the mountains was his idea. He wanted us kids to be able to get out of the city from time to time.

‘Unhook from the internet,’ he’d said when he’d taken us to see what was then a ruin, without even a roof, nearly at the top of a mountain. ‘Spend a little quality time together.’

We’re certainly doing that this year. In fact, I’m not sure we’re going to escape for days after this.

‘When can we try our sleds?’ Rio asks.

‘Not now,’ mom says, ‘with that much snow, it’s far too dangerous.’

‘How about we build a snowman, then?’ Ronaldo says. ‘We’ll just be by the front door.’

‘Nobody is going outside,’ mom snaps.

Dad gets stressed when there are too many people, mom, when she’s alone.

‘Your mother’s right,’ dad says. ‘It’s snowing too heavily. You could be twenty meters from the front door and not be able to see it. Not to mention the risks of a pile of snow falling off the roof and crushing you.’

‘Oh God!’ mom says and covers her mouth.

‘I’m a bit worried about the roof actually,’ dad murmurs. ‘Once it stops snowing, I’m going to have to go up there and scrape some off, otherwise it might collapse.’

‘I don’t want to know,’ mom says, shaking her head. ‘But as we’re obviously going to be eating by ourselves, you kids can help me get all the food onto the table.’

This takes longer than you might think. Aside from a roast goose, mom has gone with all the Christmas trimmings. You can barely see the mistletoe and holly patterned tablecloth for all the dishes placed on top.

‘As always, enough to feed an army,’ dad says while he lights the festive candles. He looks proud, like mom’s done something amazing. ‘At least we know we won’t starve even if we get snowed in.’

‘And whose fault would that be?’ mom says as she settles at the head of the table.

‘Honestly, it wasn’t supposed to snow,’ dad says and gets down to the serious business of carving the goose.

‘I want the drumstick,’ Ronaldo says.

‘Are you sure you can eat a whole one?’ dad asks.

‘I’ll bet I can,’ Rio says.

‘Okay,’ dad says and gives each of the boys a leg the size of a small dinosaur’s while he winks at me.

We both know the boys won’t be able to finish the legs, but at least it will keep them occupied.

Dad’s giving me a portion of thigh when there’s a loud bang, bang, bang, that’s so hard it looks like the door bends with every blow.

‘It must be Carlos,’ mom says, her face lighting up.

‘I don’t think so,’ dad says.

‘He’s the only one who’s not let us know he can’t make it.’

I agree with dad’s dubious expression. Uncle Carlos is more likely to give up than push on.

Dad opens the door and a rush of wind and snowflakes blasts in like winter is launching a takeover of the interior, only partially blocked by the vast bulk of a man in a red suit trimmed with white fur. He ducks his head to peer inside and his twinkling blue eyes and bright red cheeks glow against the white of his bushy beard.

It’s not like mom and dad to plan this kind of surprise, and if they did, they wouldn’t be looking so astonished.

‘Ho, ho, ho!’ the big man laughs. I mean, seriously!‘ I’ll bet I know just what you’re thinking, and you wouldn’t be wrong.’

‘Santa!?’ Rio and Ronaldo gasp in unison, their eyes sparkling almost as much as the old man’s.

‘Come in,’ dad says but he’s looking wary.

‘That’s mighty kind of you,’ the man says and has to duck and twist his body to get inside. Then his eyes alight on the table and I swear his whole face starts to glow. ‘My, what a spread you’ve got there.’

‘Would you care to join us?’ mom asks.

‘Don’t mind if I do,’ he says and as he settles on the chair, it creaks.

If Santa exists, he would look like this. As if he’s read my mind, he turns and winks at me.

‘Um… I assume your car is stuck somewhere down the road?’ dad says as he puts a healthy serving of goose on the old man’s plate. I’ll go with Santa for now because it’s easier.

‘My sled,’ Santa says, twinkling at the twins.

‘Your sled got trapped in the snow?’ Ronaldo asks, looking both dubious and let down. ‘How could Santa’s sled get stuck?’

‘Not bogged down. Trapped!’

‘Trapped?’ Rio says, completely taken in.

‘Bogged down and trapped is the same thing, silly,’ I say.

‘Not exactly, young miss,’ Santa says as he helps himself to half the bowl of roasted potatoes, and almost all the brussel sprouts, which is less of an offence. ‘My sleigh was deliberately iced up and is now too heavy to fly. I was forced down.’

‘By ice?’ I’m not buying it, although I remember one of our holiday flights getting cancelled because ice on the wings. But this is Santa we’re talking about. ‘You can get around the world in a single night and deliver all your presents, but you can’t de-ice your sled?’

‘Such a clever girl,’ Santa says and starts wolfing down his dinner like it’s going to get up off the plate and run away. ‘But I was sabotaged.’

‘How?’ I ask, crossing my arms.

This Santa is clearly a conman, and he’s getting my mom’s magnificent Christmas dinner for free.

‘Have you ever heard of Jack Frost?’ Santa lowers his voice to a conspiratorial whisper and his eyes dart about the room, checking for who knows what.

‘Of course we have,’ Rio says. ‘What’s he got to do with anything?’

‘Who do you think brought down all this snow?’ Santa waves his hand towards the windows where we can hardly see out because the blizzard has intensified. In fact, it’s looking really dark.

‘I knew it was supposed to be a mild Christmas,’ dad says, snapping his fingers.

I shake my head at him. How could he have been taken in so easily?

‘And he iced my sled so that it became so heavy it could no longer fly. I’ve left the elves to chip it free, but that damned Jack Frost is icing it faster than they can chisel. The reindeer are also exhausted.’

‘Poor things,’ mom murmurs.

‘Not you too, Mom!’ Mom is the most sceptical person I know. ‘How can you believe all this twaddle?’

Santa pops a goose wing into his mouth and pulls out just bones. All the meat is gone. I guess if you’re eating cookies and drinking milk as you go around the world; you get really efficient.

‘We’ll soon know who’s telling the truth,’ Santa says as he leaps to his feet and creeps toward the door.

An ominous groan fills the room and we all look up.

‘The roof!’ dad says. ‘The snow is going to bring the roof down.’

‘That will be Jack Frost again,’ Santa is no longer smiling. In fact, it looks like he’s listening for something.

‘Maybe you should go upstairs and check on things,’ mom says.

‘And leave you alone with him?’ dad whispers and tilts his head towards Santa.

I realise mom and dad have just been playing along to keep the big man happy. I’m kind of glad to know it, but more afraid too.

In a blur that’s so fast I hardly see him move, Santa whizzes past the fireplace and stops to one side of the door with the still glowing poker in his hand.

There’s the loudest creaking groan and a thump. The lights go down and the whole house rattles and shakes as the roof caves in.

‘Dear God!’ mom cries and grabs the twins as dad throws himself across the room, wraps me in his arms in a rugby tackle and the two of roll across the carpet.

‘Nobody move!’ Santa roars and the front door flies off the hinges and straight across the room, and thwacks into the wall opposite, bringing down the massive painting of the mountains as they both crash to the floor.

Snow and wind roar in, the remaining candles blow out, and the fire is swirling around in the fireplace, scattering glowing cinders.

‘Well, well, well,’ says a tall, thin, man dressed in glittering blue as he strolls in through the mayhem. ‘What have we here?’

‘Jack Frost!’ Santa bellows and brings the poker down on the man’s head.

He disappears in a flash of tinkling icicles that click clack together again as an icicle shoots from his fingertips, growing before our eyes and turns into a club. Thwack, it goes as it collides into the poker.

‘You’ll never beat me,’ Santa shouts as he swings the poker, and it shatters Jack Frost again.

‘ENOUGH!’ Mom roars and everyone freezes.

There’s just the sound of the crackling fire, the occasional plop and clunk as things collapse upstairs and the howling wind blowing past our now doorless entrance.

Mom’s in her most terrifying, what have you done? mode. Even dad takes cover when she gets this furious.

‘Madam,’ Santa says, ‘if you will allow me to—’

‘Not — Another — Word!’ mom says through gritted teeth.

Dad taps my shoulder and the two of us slowly get to our feet, trying not to be noticed and then we inch towards mom and the twins. They look stunned, trapped between Santa and Jack Frost, and mom’s fiery gaze.

‘He started it,’ Jack Frost says.

He sounds like a whiney Ronaldo who’s been caught getting up to no good.

‘Do I look like I care?’ mom roars.

All us kids know that at this point you should just hang your head and apologise. But Jack Frost doesn’t know mom as well as we do.

‘Madam, I can expl—’

‘Will you explanation fix my house?’ mom snaps.

‘Well—’ Jack Frost starts and the boys and I shake our head as we glare meaningfully at him. Which just confuses him.

Mom is not asking a question. Now is the point where you just keep apologising and pray she calms down to the point where dad can step in and offer a compromise.

‘Will your explanation fix my ruined Christmas dinner?’

‘No, I don’t suppose—’

‘Will your explanation clear away all this damned snow and ice and put our front door back on its hinges Not to mention mend our roof!?’

‘Oh!’ Santa says and raises his finger like he’s had an idea.

‘You are no better than him,’ mom says, turning her gimlet glare on Santa. ‘You knew he was coming, didn’t you? But instead of warning us, you polished off half the food and made jokes.’

‘Ah,’ Santa says, turning red faced and bashful. ‘Sorry about that.’

‘Sorry? Do you know what I have to say to that?’

‘Probably the same as what you said to Jack about his explanation?’ Santa says as he traces a squiggle in the frost with his toe.

At least he’s quicker to learn than Jack Frost, who looks like he’s never been told off in his life.

‘Ask them why they’re fighting, mom,’ I whisper from behind her.

‘Hmm?’

‘If their fight made all this snow, maybe if they make up, it will go away.’

Mom is still furious, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned in my thirteen years, it’s that if you can distract mom, her anger evaporates and right now I’m feeling more sorry for Santa and Jack Frost than they deserve.

‘Alright,’ mom says, much calmer. ‘What is this all about?’

‘Jack Frost has been letting me down, year after year,’ Santa says. ‘It’s much easier to get my sleigh to glide around the world if it gets a sprinkling of snow and ice under the sleds. But this miscreant isn’t willing to even try.’

‘I keep telling you that global warming is messing with my powers. I can’t even prevent the glaciers from melting. How do you expect me to sprinkle a snow path for you to follow? It’s hard enough in the northern hemisphere, but the south is tougher still. Snow and ice in summer. Come on!’

‘You managed before,’ Santa says with a humph as he folds his arms and turns his back on Jack.

‘And you show no sympathy. How could you get the elves to make artificial ice for you? Modern technology isn’t a solution to everything you know.’

‘What choice do I have if I’m going to get the presents to the children in time?’ Santa roars, speaking to the ceiling rather than to Jack. ‘Do you have any idea how stressful delivery is, even with optimal conditions?’

‘Yeah, yeah, yeah, you have 24 hours of work and then you can go back home, but it’s always winter somewhere on earth. I’m always working.’

‘Less so now,’ Santa grumbles.

‘This is getting us nowhere,’ mom says and pulls her coat more tightly about herself because it’s getting freezing. ‘Santa, you say you have to work really hard to get all the presents delivered, so what are you doing here now? Who’s delivering the presents?’

‘My sleigh’s still stuck,’ Santa mumbles.

‘And Jack, you say you can’t provide sufficient snow and ice, but what have you done to our mountains? I’ve never seen this much snow here in my life.’

‘It’s just in a small area, ma’am,’ Jack says, hanging his head.

I guess his idea of small is very different to mine.

‘But what about the children?’ I ask. ‘Aren’t you sorry that they won’t be getting any presents this year?’

‘Well… yes, but it’s very tiring to make Santa’s snow path and he never even says thank you.’

‘Is this true, Santa?’ mom asks and now she’s got her: I’m disappointed in you, expression. This is almost worse than her really angry face.

‘Ah… yes, you see…’ Santa mutters and mom raises an eyebrow. ‘I suppose I could have been more thoughtful.’

‘Right, so what are we going to do about this?’

Mom never actually means we. She means you have to come up with a solution.

‘I’ll defrost the sled?’ Jack Frost says watching mom to make sure he’s saying the right thing.

‘And I’ll thank Jack for his work,’ Santa says, a twinkle returning to his eyes. ‘I’ll even throw in a gift just for him.’

‘Fine,’ mom says, ‘now be off with you. You both have work to do. I don’t want to see either of your faces until Christmas is well and truly over and all the children have their presents.’

‘Yes, ma’am!’ Santa and Jack say and actually salute.

With a snap of Santa’s fingers, the two of them vanish. We only have a moment to stare at each other, still trying to digest what just happened when the air is filled with sparkles, the door rises from the floor and drifts back to where it belongs settling with a click on its hinges, a creaky long rumble sounds from above and the lights come back on.

‘Wow!’ the twins say and run up the stairs.

Dad follows behind shouting, ‘Be careful!’

Two seconds later they poke their heads back down. ‘Everything’s fixed, the house is fine.’

It’s as if nothing happened, except there’s a sparkling holly branch dripping with berries beside the empty plate Santa ate from, and outside it’s finally stopped snowing.