The Night The Mistletoe Died

A fun and festive Christmas delight.

When the famous footballer Luke Adams inherits a remote village, he arrives with his influencer girlfriend and a reality TV crew, ready to document the happy occasion. But all the villagers want is for him to restore their village to its former glory.

Luke and his girlfriend are shocked by the village’s rundown state. With a condition that he can’t sell the inheritance for a year, Luke resigns himself to waiting it out, counting down the days until he can return to his privileged life.

Then he meets Jessy Potter, a captivating local whose warmth and loyalty to the village make him question everything. She’s unlike anyone he’s met, and soon he’s drawn to her in a way he didn’t expect.

As Christmas approaches, Luke is cast opposite Jessy in the village play, and sparks fly between them, despite their efforts to resist. But with the village’s future hanging in the balance, and his current relationship complicating things, Luke faces a choice that will change everything.

Can he bring the village back to life—and find a way to bridge the gap between his world and Jessy’s, or will his famous relationship stand in the way and the scandal recorded for prime time viewing on Christmas Day?

For fans of all things Christmas, this heartwarming romance takes you on a festive journey, where life’s biggest decisions are made under the glow of holiday lights. A sweet, charming, opposites-attract love story with no cheating!

Perfect for the holiday season.

It’s so cold. Freezing, in fact, and I pull my padded coat around me as tightly as possible as I gingerly make my way across the frozen cobbles.

It wouldn’t be so bad if the place I’m heading to was warm, but heating is a luxury the village hall can’t afford and I resign myself to blue fingers and toes by the end of the next arduous hour.

As I push open the huge wooden oak door, my friend Angie offers me a similar frozen smile that is edged in despair and a yearning to be anywhere else but here.

As I take the seat beside her, she whispers, “Have you heard the news?”

I roll my eyes. “Yes, I’ve heard the news and, to be honest, that’s all we need.”

I smile at the spark of excitement in her eyes because Angie is a sucker for gossip and entertainment news, and I knew she would be beside herself at the headlines this morning.

Injured premier league footballer Luke Adams to convalesce at Grantley Manor.

Yes, that’s all we need when our village is facing the biggest crisis in its history because one woman died exactly one month ago.

Lady Christabel Townsend. The woman who owned Grantley Manor and everything in the vicinity, finally took her last breath and plunged the village into uncertainty.

She left behind a two thousand acre estate with an impressive Grade II Listed family home and the entire village, including all its properties, to her heir. 

In its entirety.

It’s the entirety that concerns the village because where Chrissie was a much loved landlady who was most definitely one of us, it’s uncertain if the new owner will be as easygoing.

I note the strained smiles of my neighbours as they whisper in small groups. 

The estate owns all of our homes, thirty-two of them, all on short-term rentals, as well as the local church, this village hall and the surrounding countryside, including several derelict barns and a working farm.

The manor house has ten bedrooms, which causes concern at the prospect of a hotel chain buying up the lot and bringing strangers to Granthaven.

It’s why Mr Spalding, the head of the resident’s committee, called this meeting and as my parents are on a mini break to Vienna, I am the unfortunate idiot here in their place.

The man himself clears his throat, and the steam from his breath warms the frozen air as he shivers against the cold.

“I called this meeting to order to discuss the sad passing of our valued friend and landlady, Lady Townsend.”

There are a few murmurs from the depleted gathering because it appears that most of the residents are Christmas shopping in nearby Dorchester, or tucked up in their decrepit cottages watching a Christmas movie while they shiver under their duvets.

For all her kindness, Lady Townsend was a terrible businesswoman, and the estate has fallen into a stare of disrepair that some would call poverty.

It’s only because we loved her so much that nobody made a fuss and just pulled together to help one another as the properties fell deeper into ruin.

The manor house was just another victim, and I’m terrified that the new owner will sell it off to big business, who will erase our way of life with their bulldozers and start everything anew.

As crisis committees go, this one has no power and I’m aware any rights we had died with Lady Townsend.

As expected, we spend the next sixty minutes going around in circles as we attempt to patch another hole in our sinking ship. At the end of it, the conclusion is to go ahead with the village pantomime and try to have a bloody good Christmas and see what the new year brings.

As we attempt to file out of the village hall, it’s painful to walk and Angie links her arm in mine and whispers, “Come to mine. The fire’s going and mum’s making mince pies.”

“Thanks.” 

I smile gratefully because my house is freezing, due to the fact my parents forgot to order the logs and there are only so many damp twigs the wood burner can cope with. There is no central heating – that packed up and left years ago and the hot water is limited to one bath a day, which is not enough to warm my legs, let alone sink into it and wallow in decadence.

Angie’s cottage is almost luxurious as we push through the door and her mum greets us with a cheery, “How did it go?”

Angie rolls her eyes because her parents never involve themselves in village meetings and have always sent their nosy daughter instead. 

“Usual.”  Angie grumbles, and I take a seat beside her, enjoying the warmth of the fire as it melts away my misery.

Margery hands me a steaming mug of tea and smiles sympathetically. “You can stay here if you want, Jess. Your house must be an igloo by now.”

“Thanks.” 

I smile gratefully as I take a sip of the hot, sweet drink and wish my parents were half as domesticated as Margery Barnes. She is the mother in the ads. Loving and sweet with an endless supply of freshly baked delights and unwavering gossip. She is fun too and staying here will be a relief because I spend most of my time here, anyway.

Sir Barkalot jumps onto my lap and I’m grateful for his warm furry body adding another layer of heat as I feed him the crumbs from a home made biscuit that Margery placed on the table beside me.

Angie sighs dreamily. “I can’t believe it. A proper star is coming to town this Christmas and I’m more excited than if Christ rose again and joined in the birthday celebrations.”

Margery shakes her head. “I wouldn’t be impressed by a footballer, love. Guys like that aren’t like us. They live in mansions and drive Ferraris and have model girlfriends. He will take one look at Grantley Manor and jump back into his sports car and head to the nearest tropical island for Christmas. Don’t get your hopes up.”

Angie shrugs as she wraps two hands around the warm mug.

“He arrives tomorrow, apparently.”

“How do you know?” I’m curious as to where Angie gets her information, and she winks slyly.

“Karen Sims. She was told to prepare the Manor House for ten people.”

“Ten!” 

I stare at her in shock. Karen is the ageing housekeeper that kept Lady Townsend company more than she did any work, and I’m guessing she’s grumbling about the fact she must actually do some work for a change.

Margery nods. “I heard that too. She’s asked for volunteers to help ready the house for the visitors.”

Angie’s eyes light up and she stares at me with excitement.

“We should so do that. It will be a chance to take a good look around and possibly even get a thank you from the man himself. What do you say? Are you up for it, Jess?”

The sad fact is, I have nothing better to do this weekend, so with a sigh, I squeeze Mr Barkalot and smile. “Sure. Why not?”