Carolyn for Christmas

By Lucy Carey

Christmas. It’s supposed to be a time for peace, love, and goodwill to all men. But not for two women when it comes to nabbing the solo spot in the big Christmas concert. To get that spot, they’ll do whatever it takes...

Carolyn Roche and Saoirse Barrett have known—and hated—each other for a long time. Their lives have been dedicated to one-upping each other. Carolyn has worked hard to shake off her poor roots, landing a top job at a major accountancy firm. Saoirse has worked just as hard to set up her own business in the vain hopes of impressing her tough father.

They’re equally matched in life—and in vocal talent. But neither is willing to let the other woman win.

That is, until they find themselves trapped in their old school, with just a bottle of vodka and their memories for company. There, they discover that the hatred they feel for each other might not be hatred after all...

• Language: English
• Publisher: NineStar Press
• Release date: Aug 7, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370370054

Lucy Carey

Lucy Carey is thirty-something-year-old woman who was born and raised in a small town in Ireland. She writes sweet romances that focus on lesbian and bisexual women. In her spare time, she drinks too much tea, tries to hold onto her youth by listening to too-old rock, metal, and alternative music, or binges on films of every genre.

Book preview

Carolyn for Christmas

Copyright 2015 Lucy Carey

Cover Art by Aria Tan ©Copyright 2015

Published in 2015 by NineStar Press, New Mexico, USA.

Distributed by Smashwords

This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

Carolyn for Christmas

About the Author

Connect with Lucy Carey

Dedication

To L.C., K.W., and C.U: The trifecta of support and general awesomeness.

Author’s Note

One of the two main characters’ names in this story is Saoirse—just like actress Saoirse Ronan. For those of you not familiar with the name, it’s an Irish (Gaelic) name meaning Freedom. It’s a wonderful name, in my opinion, but I know it’s not the easiest to pronounce if you’re not familiar with it. With that in mind, here’s a rough pronunciation guide: SEAR-sha. Easy!

With that cleared up, hope you enjoy Saoirse and Carolyn’s story.

—Lucy

Chapter One

Every year, the council of a little Irish town pulled out a box of street decorations, dusted them off, and set to work checking that every bulb in the chain of lights was working. Annually, like clockwork, a man called Davey Byrne climbed a ladder in a little back room of the council offices on the second Friday of November to take down the lights. He’d take a week to make sure that none had any faults and to untangle any knots that had knotted themselves into the cable. It didn’t matter how carefully he packed the lights away—when it was time to take them out again, there the knots were.

He didn’t mind, really. He found the task of loosening the giant tangles relaxing at this point. It had become his favourite ritual; he’d been responsible for the Christmas lights for eighteen years now.

Of course, as she walked arm in arm with her friend, Mags, Carolyn Roche didn’t know any of that. She didn’t know about Davey Byrne or how carefully he tended to his decorating duties. All she knew was that the twinkle of green and red lights overhead was a sure sign Christmas was coming.

Jesus, Carolyn, will you hurry up? I’m feckin’ freezing!

It was hard to make out Mags’s expression from under the shroud of the giant, purple, wool scarf wrapped tightly around her neck, but it was teasing, gentle.

They were on their way to Kelly’s pub—their first night out in too long a time. They’d met in college and become firm friends. But then, life got in the way, Carolyn reflected. It had been easier straight out of college to keep their social life going until they both got grown-up jobs. Then Mags had a baby. Pretty soon, it had started to require an MI5-level of planning and coordination just to meet up. That was why this night out was pretty special to Carolyn; Mags had travelled all the way down to have a night out and sleep over. Carolyn was going to make the best of the opportunity to catch up with a good friend.

She stopped staring up at the Christmas lights and picked up her pace a little. Before Mags had hurried her, Carolyn hadn’t even noticed how slowly she’d been walking. This time of year always cast a kind of spell on her. Surrounded by the buzz of the season, she often found herself lost in her thoughts, a blend of nostalgia and hope for the future slowing her step and clouding her senses.

Over the clack of her high heels on the concrete footpath, Carolyn heard giggling. Across the street, by the gates of the town’s grey-stone church, a child was laughing while another was howling. A little boy—maybe five or six, with glowing red cheeks and ash-brown hair—was in fits of giggles. His mother ushered him toward a car, dragging him by his coat sleeve. Obviously whatever sermon he’d heard in Saturday night mass, where Carolyn guessed they were coming from, had had no effect on him.

Santa won’t come to you if you don’t start being nice to your sister, his mother hissed.

His little sister, a girl of about four or five in a wine-coloured velvet coat, jutted out her lip to emphasise her mother’s point. Inside their car—a big van of a thing with enough seating for a soccer team—a man of about thirty sat with the light on, studiously avoiding the argument. The sound of a Christmas song danced out through a cracked window as he looked in the opposite direction to where his family stood.

Carolyn laughed to herself. Sometimes it wasn’t so bad still being single. She clutched Mags’s arm tighter.

Come on then, Margaret Hannon. Before you turn into an ice cube on me.

Kelly’s was always hopping on a Saturday night, but this evening Carolyn and Mags had to push hard through the frosted glass and dark-wood front door just to get in. A few patrons had been leaning on the door, and they turned impatiently, indignant at being moved from their standing spots. Carolyn shot them an apologetic smile as she passed.

The walk to the bar was slow and weaving, the crowd moving as if one big mass of clothes and skin, as the two friends picked their way around flailing arms and gesturing hands.

The bar was barely visible from where they stood but for the strings of tinsel and decorations hanging over it.

Carolyn scanned the crowd. She spotted a few of the pub’s regulars dotted throughout the bobbing and chattering throng of people, but most of the night’s clientele were newbies. There were several different but distinct groups of people who stood out—each group comprising people wearing Santa hats and reindeer ears, knitted jumpers with Christmas trees and bow-wrapped presents on the front, and dangly, light-up earrings. They sang carols and howled approval as their buddies downed shots.

Carolyn turned to Mags and tutted.

Bit early for all these Twelve Pubs of Christmas get-togethers, isn’t it? I can barely hear myself think.

Mags squinted at Carolyn, her face contorting as she stared hard at Carolyn’s moving lips. She held her hands up to her ears and shrugged.

What are you saying? she shouted above the din. I can’t hear you over all these Twelve Pubs eejits.

Carolyn snorted. Mags wasn’t one to sugar-coat her opinions. It was one of Carolyn’s favourite traits of her friend.

She reached out and clutched Mags’s hand to firmly but delicately lead her around the crowd and up to the bar. They squeezed through a tiny gap in