Christmas at the Lucky Parrot Garden Centre

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHRISTMAS AT THE LUCKY PARROT GARDEN CENTRE

  Beth Good and Viki Meadows

  Copyright ©VikiMeadows, 2017 ©BethGood, 2017

  All rights reserved.

  Beth Good and Viki Meadows have asserted their rights under Section 77 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the authors of this work. No part of this book can be reproduced in part or in whole or transferred by any means without the express written permission of the authors.

  This is a work of fiction. Any names of places or characters are the products of the authors’ imagination. Any resemblance to actual events, places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Published by Thimblerig Books 2017

  Other charming romcoms by Kindle All Stars author Beth Good (UK links):

  The Cornish Colouring Book Club

  The Oddest Little Cornish Tea Shop

  The Oddest Little Book Shop

  The Oddest Little Gingerbread Shop

  The Oddest Little Chocolate Shop

  The Oddest Little Christmas Shop

  The Oddest Little Romance Shop

  The Oddest Little Beach Shop

  The Oddest Little Christmas Cake Shop

  The Oddest Little Shop Trio

  (a 3-story edition)

  CHAPTER ONE

  ‘Would Hannah please come to reception? Hannah to reception, please.’

  ‘What is it now?’ Hannah dumped another bag of compost onto the growing stack, trying not to grouse. She still had a hundred jobs to do before closing time at six. She’d be glad to get out of this biting cold for a few minutes though.

  Wiping her hands on her parrot-green dungarees that went with the sunshine yellow top to make up her uniform for the Lucky Parrot Garden Centre, she made her way back into the main building. The blast of heat that met her carried with it the sharp chemical smell of weed killer and fertiliser blended with the mulled spice candles on sale for Christmas. She knew which of those smells she preferred.

  ‘Hannah!’ Her colleague Katy rushed up as she stepped through the automatic doors. Her usually neat blonde hair looked dishevelled. ‘You’re just in time. The hens have escaped again.’

  ‘Don’t look at me for help, I’ve been summoned to reception.’

  Katy’s look went from anxious to panicked. ‘But you’re the best one at catching them. You know what happened the last time we tried to catch them without you.’

  Hannah had heard the story. Apparently, led by the ringleader Lightning Brow, the voracious hens had scratched and eaten their way through most of the young plants in the vegetable greenhouse before being noticed, and then moved on to see what they could find in the aquarium.

  As soon as Katy and Co. had tried to round them up, the hens had cunningly split up. Half had gone on to wreak havoc elsewhere in the garden centre, while their sisters had provided a decoy near the entrance doors.

  Once Hannah’s colleagues had found out that she had a knack for catching them they had given her the nickname, ‘Hen Whisperer’ and taken to releasing them if the Lucky Parrot was quiet. Just for the joy of watching her run around after them, Sam had said once.

  Unfortunately for Hannah, the hen chase had become something of an attraction for customers too.

  ‘Squaaawwwk!’

  One of the hens, separated from her sisters, probably due to her being distracted by some silver tinsel, went racing past, wings flapping as she tried unsuccessfully to take off. Sam was already chasing after her, arms out like some hyperactive zombie trying desperately to eat brains.

  Rather aptly, the background music changed from soporific Bing Crosby to Rocking around the Christmas Tree. Hannah took in the chaotic scene and sighed. If she didn’t help, they’d never close tonight.

  Another hen came zooming past, a piece of string in its beak, two of her sisters racing after her trying to snatch it.

  ‘Stupid birds!’ Reaching down, Hannah snagged one as it ran over her foot, neatly holding its wings close to its body. ‘Here.’ She passed the captive hen to Katy, who held it at arm’s length, her nose wrinkled up.

  Sam had finally caught his bird, and Hannah made short work of another two. She spotted another hen at the end of the garden hose aisle, making a bid for escape.

  ‘Someone grab that bird before it gets away,’ Hannah yelled as she dived for another one currently racing towards the entrance. She hadn’t realised hens could move so fast until she came to work at the Lucky Parrot and seemed to spend hours chasing them down. ‘Who let them out this time? I’ll gut whoever it was and serve their entrails in soup in the café.’

  An elderly customer turned to stare at her, eyes wide in horror.

  ‘Only kidding,’ she muttered, and kept running.

  The hen she was pursuing, who struck Hannah as the hens’ ringleader, was affectionately named Lightning Brow, due to what looked like sandy little eyebrows above her eyes in the jagged shape of a lightning bolt. She was running with wild glee in her eyes, head stretched forward like a mini velociraptor. Hannah could have sworn she was laughing.

  They sped past a mother and toddler who had also stopped in surprise.

  ‘Excuse me, pardon,’ Hannah said breathlessly.

  Somewhere behind her Katy and Belle were clutching each other, smothering giggles, while Sam recorded the whole thing on his phone. By now she and Lightning Brow had become the main attraction of the day, and people were gathering to watch the show.

  ‘I’d better not see that on YouTube, Sam,’ she called out, her tone menacing.

  No doubt sensing that capture was imminent, Lightning Brow scuttled under the largest Christmas tree, a real one that filled the air with the glorious fresh scent of pine and had pride of place in one of the corners of the main hall.

  ‘Aha, you little beastie. I’ve got you now.’

  Dropping to all fours, her mousey-brown hair falling in her eyes, Hannah crawled underneath the tree, setting various bells and other decorations tinkling and jangling. Backed into the corner, Lightning Brow regarded her balefully with one eye, the other searching for possible escape routes.

  Thankfully, Katy had stopped giggling and had come to help. She closed off one exit and stood there, legs akimbo, hands on hips, stoutly guarding the way.

  Hannah grabbed Lightning Brow, who instantly made her displeasure known with loud squawking and cackling. She got one wing free and struggled madly, the Christmas tree rocking, branches waving madly. Hannah tried her best to contain the crazed bird, all the time aware that her bottom, clad in lurid green dungarees, was on show for the whole shop – and Sam’s camera.

  ‘Come here, you horrible hen, before I make you into Sunday dinner.’

  This threat hanging in the air, Hannah contained her feathery nemesis with one final deft manoeuvre, and tucked her under one arm, using the other to reverse crablike from under the tree.

  Applause and a loud cheer went up when she finally stumbled to her feet, hot and flushed from her little adventure.

  Sam said loudly, ‘Hen Whisperer one, Lightning Brow nil,’ and turned off his camera. With the fun over, the rest of her audience dispersed, except for
the toddler and his mum.

  ‘Me, me,’ the fair-haired little boy said, opening and closing his small hand.

  Lightning Brow seemed exhausted after her great escape, panting but motionless between her hands, so Hannah leaned down.

  ‘Go on,’ she said encouragingly, ‘you can touch her.’

  The boy beamed, reaching up to stroke the hen’s blue-grey feathers while his mother looked on with a harassed smile, clearly in a hurry to leave.

  Behind her, a grimly familiar voice said sharply, ‘Hannah, where have you been? Mr Turner has been waiting for you in the office so long, he sent me down to see where on earth you could be.’

  Hannah waved at the toddler as his mum dragged him away.

  She turned apologetically to Camilla, her line manager, noticing with a frown that all her colleagues had melted away.

  ‘Sorry about the delay, but the hens got out again.’ She held up the bird as prima facie evidence of this. ‘All sorted now, so I’ll be right there. Though I’d better put Lightning Brow back in the coop first.’

  ‘No, you won’t. You can’t keep Mr Turner waiting any longer, he’s got another appointment in fifteen minutes.’

  Camilla Turner was the owner’s daughter. She took her role as manager very seriously even referring to her father by his surname when she was at work. Perhaps even when she was at home too, Sam had suggested once, with his mischievous sense of humour. It seemed a bit strange to Hannah. But it wasn’t any of her business, after all.

  Camilla’s blue eyes narrowed on her face, perhaps guessing at her thoughts. ‘Hurry along now, and take the hen with you.’

  Hannah shrugged, leaving Camilla without further comment. The summons sounded quite ominous, she thought. In the background, the music changed to some sort of dirge-like Christmas song, as though to match her mood.

  ‘That’s not helping,’ she muttered under her breath, glancing up at one of the wall-mounted speakers.

  But she made her way obediently enough behind the tills, heading for the main office, and tried hard not to consider why Mr Turner should suddenly wish to see her.

  Nestled between her hands, Lightning Brow gave a quiet cluck of sympathy, as if even she could sense Hannah’s mounting anxiety.

  ‘I know, scary, huh? But it’s okay, I’m sure it won’t be anything … important,’ Hannah told her softly, then felt ludicrous, confiding in a hen. She clutched the bird more firmly. ‘Don’t you misbehave in there, you hear me? No accidents on the boss’s carpet!’

  But by the time Hannah stood in front of Mr Turner, her heart was beating in double time, almost keeping pace with Lightning Brow’s. Under her palm she could feel the hen’s own heart going tic, tic, tic, tic in rapid succession. She faced Mr Turner across his desk, horribly aware of being dirty and no doubt smelly after a long hard day shovelling sand, shifting bags of compost and paving stones, feeding fish – and now chasing hens.

  ‘Ah, Hannah,’ Mr Turner began, shooting her an odd look over the top of his glasses. He always looked as though he wasn’t quite sure what to make of her.

  The feeling was mutual, she thought defiantly.

  A large man in his mid-fifties, Mr Turner’s ruddy face was crowned with a ruff of wild white hair. All that was missing was a hat (to hide his bald spot, she thought mischievously) and a beard, and he would look for all the world like Santa Claus – until you looked into his eyes, that was. There was no kindly twinkle in those blue eyes, which were sharp and keen, and made it obvious how he had managed to diversify his farm so successfully, now owning several large garden centres across Yorkshire.

  Mr Turner opened his mouth to continue speaking, and emitted a screech which turned into a train whistle.

  The loud noise set Lightning Brow off, and she started to struggle, folded wings rising.

  ‘Oh, behave!’ Hannah told her frantically, to no avail. The hen had lulled Hannah into a false sense of security by being so well behaved, and Hannah had relaxed her grip rather too much. The hen now took advantage of this, giving Hannah a few difficult moments. ‘You naughty hen!’

  By the time she’d managed to calm the bird down, she’d caught sight of Chadwick, the centre’s not so lucky parrot. That was who’d screeched. Not Mr Turner, who looked thoroughly flustered, adjusting his tie as he waited for things to calm down.

  Rumour claimed that Mr Turner had rescued the parrot from an owner worse than death. All Hannah knew for sure was that they had matching bald spots.

  Chadwick cocked his proud head and eyed her belligerently. She stared him down. He nudged his mirror, looked at her coyly and said softly, ‘Tart.’

  Hannah couldn’t help grinning.

  Wait till it’s my turn to look after you, she thought wryly, then we’ll see who’s a tart.

  ‘Ahem!’

  Hannah turned her attention to Mr Turner who was regarding her with one raised brow. Oh no, she hadn’t said that out loud, had she?

  ‘The thing is, Hannah,’ he continued, ‘we’ve had our eye on you over the last six months.’

  Oh god, she thought, staring at him, aghast! This is it. I’m going to be sacked.

  Images of having to live off her meagre savings while she looked for a new job filled her head. She couldn’t afford to lose her job; she needed every penny of her savings if she was ever going to start her own landscaping business. Her mind whirled in despair, and only came back to reality when Lightning Brow made a little protesting sound where Hannah had been squashing her against her chest.

  She caught his last few words with a sudden realisation that she’d missed most of what her boss had been saying. ‘And I’ve been impressed with your work here, and your dedication.’

  Dedication? Impressed?

  It took a few more seconds for the words to make any kind of sense. So she wasn’t being sacked?

  ‘God Save The Queen!’ Chadwick, hiding behind Mr Turner, began humming the opening bars of the National Anthem.

  Mr Turner raised his voice a fraction to be heard over Chadwick’s musical rendition. ‘In fact, we’d like to offer you a promotion to Junior Manager. Of course, the post will mean some extra training, sometimes attending courses away, but it will also entail a pay rise.’ He cleared his throat. ‘In return, we’ll expect a three-year commitment from you.’

  Three years?

  Hannah’s original goal was to have started her own business before she hit thirty. She’d be uncomfortably close to that age by the time she finished if she took on this promotion. But on the other hand, a pay rise sounded miraculous. She could certainly do with the extra funds, especially to add to her savings towards a business start-up.

  ‘Um, thank you. I’m…I don’t know what to say.’

  Mr Turner smiled, and now his blue eyes were twinkling and kind. An unusual sight in itself. ‘I can see you weren’t expecting this. There’s no need to give us your answer now, Hannah. Perhaps think about it for a week and then let us know?’

  ‘Thank you, I will certainly give it my full consideration.’ Hannah was opening the office door, hen in hand, when Mr Turner said, ‘By the way, I do like the seasonal arrangement in your hair. It’s very…modern.’

  What seasonal arrangement?

  Cradling the hen to her side, Hannah groped the top of her head and was mortified to find a strand of tinsel looped over the top and hanging down over her right ear. She ripped it off, feeling ridiculous, and found herself looking round wildly for somewhere to put it. There was nowhere. In the end, she shoved it into her pocket.

  ‘Well, you’d better get on,’ Mr Turner said impatiently.

  ‘Feck off, feck off,’ Chadwick shouted cheerfully and then screeched again, doing his favourite ‘train coming out of a tunnel’ impersonation.

  With a rushed goodbye, wincing and now red with embarrassment, Hannah practically burst out of the office.

  It was a relief to get back onto the shop floor. She marched straight to the hens’ enclosure, and thrust Lightning Brow back into her pen wit
h a few rude words about her behaviour.

  ‘Are you ready to go?’ Katy called after her cheerily. ‘It’s gone half past five.’

  Hannah nodded, following her friend to the staff cloakroom as the last few customers were bundled through the tills at top speed, and lights began to be turned off around the garden centre. She couldn’t wait to leave today. And not just because she was exhausted. She needed time to think over Mr Turner’s offer and find some inner calm.

  Night had already closed in by the time the two girls had changed out of their garish Lucky Parrot uniforms and were walking home together along the frosty lane. Katy had her head bent over the lit-up screen of her smart phone, so at least Hannah didn’t have to provide any conversation. Just as well, she thought grimly, staring ahead into the darkness. Her brain was completely frazzled by the unexpected job offer, and she couldn’t seem to focus on anything.

  The countryside was eerily quiet now except for the odd rustlings in the hedgerows and the sudden cry of a fox. Both of them quickened their steps by mutual assent. Their breath made smoky trails in the freezing air and Katy’s low heels clacked loudly over the frosty ground. A single star popped out overhead, winking down at them as though with sinister intent.

  ‘You can see why someone came up with the story of Dracula, can’t you?’ Katy said cheerily. ‘I mean, this is just the right sort of night for it. You can imagine the vampire lord, all tall and dark and bloodthirsty, lying in wait for some innocent Yorkshire maiden.’

  Hannah shuddered. ‘I’m not very keen on vampires, thank you.’

  ‘Oh come on, think about how it would feel being crushed against a hard, manly chest, while your life blood was being sucked from your veins …’

  Hannah stuck her fingers in her ears, grimacing. Thankfully Katy’s overly romantic view of being murdered by a blood-sucking monster ended a moment later when they reached her home, one of several old cottages set back from the road.