Christmas and Other Things I Hate: Things I Hate

By Elizabeth McGivern

The heart-warming new story from the bestselling author of the Amy Cole series.

Filled with her signature mix of belly-aching humour and poignant emotion, this is the perfect book to curl up with this Christmas season.

Jane McMahon hates Christmas and this year is no different.

After losing her dream job, Jane reluctantly heads home to face her family for the holiday season.

She is determined to make it through the holidays with as little drama as possible, especially as she has to face her newly engaged, ex-boyfriend. Unfortunately, that's easier said than done as his bride-to-be happens to be Jane's younger sister.

When Jane offers to swap seats with Helen Childers on their flight, neither of them could predict just where this simple act of kindness would lead them.

Helen is in a rush to get home and spend the holidays with her mother but with her plans shrouded in secrecy, things may not be as simple as they seem.

The new friends agree to accompany each other on their journeys home, resulting in an unforgettable road trip, filled with enough mayhem and magic to make this a Christmas that neither of them will ever forget.

Will Jane get her Christmas wish make it through the holidays in peace, or will she find out exactly what life has to offer when you take a leap of faith?

A gorgeous, feel-good love story to snuggle up with this winter. Perfect for fans of Jojo Moyes, Cecilia Ahern and Marian Keyes.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pernickety Publishing
• Release date: Nov 1, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393710103

Book preview

Chapter 1

I hate Christmas.

There, I said it, and I’m sticking by that damning statement. I hate the forced happiness of it all, I hate the effort you have to put into visit people you don’t mind avoiding for the rest of the year and don’t get me started on the cost.

This year, in particular, it’s a cost I could really do without. I was already broke, before I was made redundant from my job – which was basically the only good thing in my life.

To add salt to the wound, they made me fly to the headquarters in London to get the news. To add salt to the salt, I thought I had been invited over for a promotion.

I worked in human resources so it was a new experience to be the one sitting on the other side of the table, being told my position was no longer needed.

I hoped that when I delivered news like that in the past I was better at it than the joke of a guy they’d brought into let me go.

I couldn’t remember the last time I had enjoyed Christmas beyond my childhood. Basically it all went downhill for me after I was told Santa wasn’t real.

I now had to face a five-hour car journey from Belfast back to the family farm in Cork, all so I could stick an ugly jumper on me, dump a paper hat from a cracker on my head and plant an artificial smile on my face, while listening to my sister drone on and on about her wedding plans.

I loved my sister but there were only so many mood boards a woman can look at with fake enthusiasm before she cracks and my limit, which we discovered on my last visit home at Easter, was two.

She wasn’t even engaged by then, she just wanted to have things prepared should her boyfriend ‘get around’ to proposing sometime in the near future.

It turned out, all she had to do was leave enough hotel brochures, ring pictures and mood boards lying around the house, and her other half got the hint.

My reluctance to go home wasn’t helped that this other half of hers happened to be my ex-boyfriend.

She’s not some man-stealing witch, or heartless monster, it was over between him and me a long time before they got together and, to be honest, they make a much better couple than Lucas and I ever did.

We were childhood sweethearts, he was a very nice boy and we were together together all through school, but by the time it came to choosing our next step, I jumped at the chance to do an internship at my dream company in the city, while he wanted to stay closer to home.

There were a lot of tears when we parted ways and I thought that we would end up getting back together once I got tired of being in the city, but I never did.

I loved living and working in the hustle-bustle of Cork, compared to my quiet life in the small seaside village of Kilkin and soon enough I earned myself a junior position in Harriot and Gloss – industry leaders in high-end skincare products. I impressed them early on. So much so, they put me through a human resources management course at university. After that, my trajectory was uphill all the way. I was confident, organised and dependable. It also helped that I kept to myself so when it came to redundancies I was best placed to do it because I had zero friends to worry about upsetting.

Most people – other than upper management – hated me. I was the one that always had to play the bad guy. I was the one who let people go, told them they couldn’t have the holiday dates they wanted, negotiated their contracts and wasted hours arguing with union officials.

There were offices in Cork, Dublin, Belfast, London and there was even talk of a New York one opening in the next two years, so I had high hopes for my future.

A few bad investments had made things pretty bleak over the last six months and I had to cut factory jobs across the board, but I didn’t once worry that I would be joining them. Apparently they were closing down my branch, the Belfast factory, in the New Year and there wasn’t even a plan to move me to any of the other offices.

I was out.

I argued my case, I offered to stay on to give the workers the news and, at one point, I even threatened them with a wrongful dismissal claim, but I was assured that everything was above board and I was no longer needed. They recommended that I take the holidays to rest and use this as a wonderful opportunity to find a new direction in my life.

I had used that crock of shite line on people before. I doubted they believed it either.

I had absolutely no clue what I was going to do but I did know one thing for certain: spending five hours travelling across the country in my tiny car and smiling at my family wasn’t going to give me any in-depth insights as to how I was going to pay my rent.

The flight from London to Belfast was crowded, filled with people much happier about the prospect of landing than I was and the airline staff were all wearing antlers.

This was another reason to hate Christmas: novelty headwear.

My seat mate was mercifully quiet but kept trying to look out the window past my hair. I wouldn’t have minded but she pulled at it when she leaned too closely.

After the third time she accidentally tugged a strand as she strained her neck to watch the clouds, I offered to swap seats.

Really? she asked.

Yeah, I don’t really care about the view.

We both got out of our row and awkwardly swapped positions before we got into our new seats. I managed to hit my knee on the arm rest as I tried to avoid the refreshment trolley.

I cursed under my breath and prayed that this last discomfort wasn’t my breaking point and that I wouldn’t end up sobbing uncontrollably in front of a stranger.

Thanks, she said, I love watching the descent. I feel much calmer when I can finally see the ground again.

I smiled and hoped that she didn’t want to talk anymore; I wasn’t in the mood to make a friend.

Are you flying home for Christmas? she asked.

Kind of, I replied, I live in Belfast but I’m making the drive to Cork to see the family.

I’ve never been, she replied, I’m heading to Dublin to be with my mum. I couldn’t get a direct flight in so I’m hoping that I’ll grab a bus or a train handy enough.

I didn’t answer, I didn’t want to encourage this conversation any more than I had already, but she had other plans and I realised that I was going to have to put up with it until I could get off this plane.

Her name was Helen and she had been visiting friends in London but was eager to get home to Dublin, get into the Christmas spirit and see her mum.

She seemed friendly enough, despite her off-putting nervousness, but we passed the time making small talk, which seemed to relax her anytime the plane hit a patch of turbulence.

I take it you’re not a fan of flying? I asked.

Am I that obvious?

Just a little.

A bigger bump in the cabin made her grab tight hold of my hand. I didn’t want to pull it away and be a totally heartless person but I also didn’t want to spend the rest of the flight being her stress ball. I coughed to try and bring her attention to the situation.

I’m so sorry, she said, as she released my hand and blushed, I’m really not usually this bad, I guess I’m just a bit jittery. Holidays are tough.

Preaching to the choir, I replied, as I held my tea up to toast the sentiment.

Cork is a long drive, she said, Were there no flights?

I’m not in much of a rush to get there.

I let the words hang between us and didn’t bother to offer more of an explanation. I was never going to see this woman again so I didn’t feel much need to offload my personal drama onto her lap.

I hope I haven’t stumbled onto the beginning of a Christmas movie cliché here? asked Helen.

What do you mean?

Ack, come on, you know the story of the high-flying executive who has to travel back to her family in some rural one-horse town. She comes face-to-face with her lost love, realises that she still loves him and she’s been replacing the relationship with work but now she knows that it’s him she really wants.

Nice try, but no.

Damn it, I was hoping I could be the loveable sidekick, who provides comic relief while you’re ‘finding yourself’. So, there’s no ex-boyfriend that you’re looking to reconnect with on your visit home?

"Isn’t that what Facebook is for? I asked, All these lonely people looking up their exes from school to ‘reconnect’ and try to add some excitement to their lives?"

She thought about this for a second and said: Not me, I use it for keeping tabs on my enemies.

She winked and went back to looking out the window while I tried to get the airhostess’ attention so I could get rid of my empty cup. By the time I turned around, Helen was searching in her bag for something.

Have you lost something?

I’m looking for my purse, this bag is pointlessly large and I spend a stupid amount of time throughout my day searching for things.

She eventually gave up and sat the bag back on the floor.

So why don’t you want to go home? she asked.

I didn’t say I didn’t want to go home, I corrected.

Ok, why aren’t you in a rush? I can’t wait to be with my mum again.

Maybe I have a terrible relationship with my parents and you’re asking an extremely personal question that is triggering some pretty bad things for me, did you think of that?

Do you?

No, but it would serve you right for being so nosy, I said with a smile.

There was something about Helen that I couldn’t put my finger on. She seemed to have a childlike curiosity with her questions and it felt like she really wanted to know me instead of this just being two strangers chatting on a plane.

I felt at ease for the first time since I left that horrible meeting and allowed myself some time to relax before thinking about the excruciating family time that lay ahead in the next few days.

I answered some of her questions, ones that didn’t involve too deep an insight into my spiralling self-worth and laughed at her stories about her trip to London.

It was a bit of send-off for me, she explained, It’s just a quick stop in Dublin then on to see my mum.

Does she live far?

A hop, skip and jump away, but I won’t be back. Dublin is over for me, it’s time for a change of scenery. You like Belfast?

I don’t see much of it, to be honest. I work hard but I’ve got time off now and I guess I can see where it takes me.

The words you’re saying sound exciting but judging by your face it’s like someone handed you a death sentence.

Maybe you did walk into a cliché, I replied, My name is Jane and I’m a workaholic. Well, as of this afternoon, an unemployed workaholic.

They got rid of you two days before Christmas? What a bunch of scumbags. I bet it was some smarmy HR rep, I hate those guys.

I shifted awkwardly in my seat and nodded my head.

"Don’t worry about it, Jane, those pencil pushers don’t know what they’ve lost. This