The Little Vintage Carousel by the Sea: A gorgeously uplifting festive romance!

He laughs despite the mouthful and nearly chokes.

‘Why, thank you.’ He pretends to bow when he can finally speak again. ‘My ability to feed myself is second to none.’ He pauses for a second. ‘I say while someone else feeds me.’

It makes me giggle again. I’ve got to stop this – the giggling is getting ridiculous.

‘Did you find the place all right?’ He says while I try to furtively lick melted ice cream off my fingers after finishing my own cornet.

‘Not really, but I thought I’d have the full Pearlholme experience and ask a stranger for directions. The bloke selling newspapers outside the train station?’

‘Yep, I asked him as well.’

‘So he said. You weren’t joking when you said everyone knows everything around here, were you?’

‘Told ya.’ He winks at me. ‘Where are you staying? It’s not The Shell Hotel, is it?’

I roll my eyes. ‘Oh, come on. Why are you the third person to say that to me today?’

He looks worried. ‘I take it you are?’

‘Of course I am. I’m starting to wonder if they’ve changed the standard greeting in Pearlholme from “hello” to “you’re not staying at The Shell Hotel, are you?” in a sinister voice. Let me guess, the newspaper guy and a woman outside the pub asked you the same thing?’

‘Actually, it was the newspaper guy and an old gent who started talking to me on the bus when I went into the next town.’

‘Oh, great. It’s a real county-wide thing then? That’s comforting.’ I glance at him. ‘It can’t be that bad, can it?’

‘I don’t know. I gave it a quick peek from the corner when I was looking around the village but I didn’t want to get too close. It looked like the kind of place you might walk into and never be seen again.’

‘Thanks, that’s even more comforting.’ I know he’s only joking but I narrow my eyes when he grins again. ‘Not all of us are lucky enough to get a perfect little cottage with a landlady who makes us mac and cheese, you know.’

‘It was an amazing mac and cheese too. I’d ask her for the recipe but I doubt I’d get further than getting the cheese out of the fridge without burning the cottage down so it’s safer if I don’t.’

‘I’d say your inability to cook is endearing but I’m even worse. I doubt I could get further than a bowl of uncooked macaroni and a block of cheese. Sounds good, right?’

‘If you ever want to cook for me, that’s the cottage.’ He leans forward and reaches his arm past me so I can see where he’s pointing. I follow his grease-covered finger towards the first cottage on the cliff, the closest one to the road where I stopped on the way down here, a delightful little picture-worthy stone building with a grey slate roof, surrounded by a lot of greenery and a garden hidden behind a rhododendron hedge. Even from this distance, I can see that it’s just as perfect as I’d pictured it, although it’s difficult to concentrate with his arm so near, and the movement has sent a wave of his tropical shower gel towards me, along with the sexy scent of oil on skin and an undercurrent of sea air.

‘I mean it, you know?’ He suddenly turns serious. ‘You’re welcome to come over anytime. If your hotel is anywhere near as bad as it looks from the outside, or if you want a nice view or a bit of company or something …’

‘Thanks, Nathan.’ I cut him off because I’m surprised that he’s offered, that he genuinely seems keen to see me, and that he doesn’t think I’m a nutter for coming here. I should probably say something else but I’m a tad flustered.

He looks like he wants to say something else too, but he doesn’t. ‘How long are you staying?’

‘A couple of weeks,’ I say, deciding it’s best to keep it vague. ‘It’s kind of a working holiday. As long as I’ve got a laptop and an internet connection, I can work anywhere. My boss probably only gives me a cubicle in the office so she can check I’m not slacking off. She’s let me bring my work with me. She was really understanding about the whole phone thing. She thought I should get it back to you as quickly as possible.’

‘Nice boss.’

How can I tell him? He’s just told me he’s not interested in a relationship, and I’m definitely not, so what am I going to say? I’m here to write an article about whether you’re going to fall in love with me or not? The answer is already a resounding ‘not’, so what am I here for? To make up an article about us falling in love? Neither option makes me sound any less off my rocker.

‘Well, it’s my own fault for being so careless.’ It takes me a moment to realise he means the phone when he looks at me. ‘Or so distracted.’

I go red for no reason.

‘To be honest, I’m kind of enjoying being without it. Pearlholme is the kind of place you come to disconnect, and this little old thing …’ he pats the pocket of his dungarees ‘… is perfect for that. It can phone, it can text, it can take an awful picture, and it’s got no internet, which is a welcome break to be honest. Do you know, I actually slept soundly last night rather than tossing and turning for ages over something I’d just read on Twitter or watched on Facebook.’

‘You don’t have the apps on your phone.’

‘So you went through my apps but you didn’t go through my browsing history? You’d make a terrible investigator, do you know that?’

He’s smiling as he says it and he doesn’t seem annoyed with me. ‘I didn’t even think of that. I didn’t want to invade your privacy too much.’

‘You didn’t want to open my browser and find I was into unicorn porn or something like that?’

I raise an eyebrow. ‘Is that a thing?’

He laughs. ‘I have no idea. I promise I’m not into anything weird. If you had opened my browser, you’d have found Google News and searches for how to make a Pot Noodle more interesting.’

‘Can you make a Pot Noodle more interesting?’

‘It’s really a case of with or without the sauce packet. Some bloke on YouTube tried putting it in a sandwich, which just looked … ick. And I’m always being careful not to strain something with my adventurous cooking.’

Surely it’s not normal to just sit here and smile at someone? Everything about him makes me smile. I feel comfortable sitting with him, and I’m suddenly so, so glad I came. I know it won’t lead to anything more, and I don’t want it to, but I’m just glad to have met him. He feels like someone special.

I shake myself. I have to stop it. I’m here to further my career, nothing more. ‘So, are you okay? You said on the phone that you felt better than you had for months. Had you been feeling bad?’

He gives me a sideways glance and his dark eyes turn soft. ‘I can’t believe you heard that. Or cared.’ He looks out at the sea again. ‘Yeah, I hate London. My last job was restoring an Edwardian organ in the basement of a London museum. I felt like I hadn’t seen daylight in months. I couldn’t have asked for a better job at a better time than this.’

I glance at the giant tent behind me. There’s not much of the carousel to see. He hasn’t opened the tent from this side, so all that’s on show is the greyish white canvas of the marquee covering and enough space for Nathan to work around it. ‘Do you get many jobs like this?’

‘It’s been a while since I was sent anywhere quite as perfect as this, but yeah, I go out to fix things in situ if I can. Our workshop is on the outskirts of London, so we get stuff brought in there or shipped to us, or we go out to jobs like this one. There’s six of us there and we all have different specialities. My boss is one of the leading antique restorers in the country, so people go to him with whatever they need doing and he decides which of us is best suited to the job. I’m lucky that I mainly fix big old things because I’m more likely to get to go out to jobs. I’m probably sixty per cent away and forty per cent in the workshop. The guys who fix up furniture and small easily moveable things are almost always in the workshop.’

Which explains his absence on the train for weeks at a time. It’s easy to tell how much he likes being outside. It’s something I’d never really thought about until I wandered through Pearlholme, but I don’t get much fresh air either. I’d always thought I got enough on the walk from my flat to the tube station every day and the lunchtime walks to the nearest sandwich shop, but there’s a difference between London fresh air and real fresh air.

I can’t help looking at his hands again as he leans down to draw mindless patterns in the sand at his feet. ‘Do you know they’ve invented these really clever hand coverings for people who do messy jobs … called gloves?’

Instead of being offended like I feared he might, he laughs, a warm sound that shakes the wood we’re sitting on. ‘I need to be able to feel what I’m doing. See this?’ He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the small metal thing he was rubbing earlier. ‘They’re the bearings that allow the carousel to turn, and because it’s so old, they’ve got gunk all around them where it isn’t supposed to be. I’ve got to be able to feel if they’re damaged – if there are any chips or splits it’ll affect the movement – and the best tool I’ve got for clearing these little ridges out is my thumbnail.’

He rubs the metal thing with his thumb and then runs his nail along one of the grooves in it, a tiny noodle of grease appearing in its wake.

He wipes it on the cloth. ‘We’ve got fantastic gloves that are like a second skin, but nowt’s as good as actually feeling something this old with your fingers. I think you can almost feel the years that have passed.’ He rubs the bearing with the cloth and then shoves it quickly back into his pocket, suddenly seeming embarrassed. ‘Sorry, I’m sure you’re not even vaguely interested in my metal bits.’

‘No, I am, it’s fascinating. I love carousels but I’ve never thought about how they work, and I’ve definitely never met anyone who does something so interesting before.’

‘Ah, me and the word “interesting” don’t belong in a sentence together. You just don’t know me well enough yet.’

There’s that ‘yet’ again. The butterflies that haven’t left my stomach since the train the other morning take off in another storm of fluttering.

‘And I am sorry about the mess.’ He holds his hands out in front of him and wiggles his fingers again. ‘Modern grease tends to come off with wet wipes. The old stuff that’s in this is like tar – they don’t make it like this anymore.’

I look behind us at the tent. ‘How old is it then?’

‘Oh, I wish I knew.’ His face lights up, making laughter lines crinkle around his eyes again. ‘Usually they’re emblazoned with the name of the maker and the date, but this one isn’t. I can vaguely date it because the horses are solid wood, anything from the 1930s or Forties would’ve been aluminium, and it changed to fibreglass in the Fifties, but only pre-1930 would’ve been made solely of wood, so it’s definitely at least that old, but from the style, the trappings and just the way it’s carved … I’d say it’s older than that, the late 1800s to the turn of the century. It matches what you would’ve seen at that time, but it’s nothing like a commercial carousel, and it’s definitely never had commercial use— Sorry, I’m rambling. Simple answer: late Victorian era.’

‘Oh, please, ramble away, it’s fascinating.’

‘You have no idea how many times I’ve heard that, but fascinating is code for, “When will the boring bastard shut up? Oh God, is he still going? Kill me now”, usually accompanied by the distorted facial expressions of trying to hide a yawn.’

It makes me laugh even though it probably shouldn’t. He gives me a smile when I meet his eyes, but I get the feeling that it covers something deeper. ‘I used to love going on these when I was little. There was one on the seafront where we went every summer and I always went on the same horse. Mum used to call it “my” horse.’

‘Me too. My nan and granddad used to take my brother and me for days out by the seaside when I was young and the carousel was the only thing my nan was brave enough to go on. Maybe that’s why I was drawn to fixing them … but seriously, everyone in my life knows better than to ask me questions about work because I get overexcited talking about it.’

I tuck a leg under my thigh and turn towards him, trying to figure out why anyone would want him to shut up. ‘Do you know the film Carousel?’

‘The old Rodgers and Hammerstein musical from before The Sound of Music? The one that “You’ll Never Walk Alone” comes from and no one knows that?’

I’m smiling again as I nod. ‘It’s one of my favourite films.’

He screws his face up. ‘It’s about a dead guy who hits his wife and then gets a chance to go back to earth and make amends so he hits his daughter instead.’

‘It’s about a man who died before he could bring himself to tell his wife that he loved her because he thought she deserved better than him, when all she really wanted was for him to realise that he was good enough and always had been.’

He hums the chorus of ‘If I Loved You’. ‘I’ve got about six copies on DVD. When you work on carousels, it’s a go-to present every Christmas and birthday regardless of the fact someone “goes to” it every year. It’s not exactly my favourite film but it has a certain charm.’

‘My best friend thinks I’m nuts for loving it.’

‘I like it because films were magical back then. Every movie meant something; they weren’t the action-packed blockbusters that are just like every other one of the hundred action-packed blockbusters that come out each week. They were a real experience to go and see. I love watching old films because they’re such a snapshot of times gone by.’

I grin at him again and wave towards the giant structure behind me. ‘I couldn’t believe it when I saw all those photos of wooden horses on your phone. I mean, what are the chances?’

When he smiles this time, I can see the tension drain from his shoulders. ‘Do you want to have a look? It’s mostly in pieces and a total mess, but if you wanted …’

‘I’d love to,’ I say, loving the way the lip he was biting as he asked spreads instantly into a wide smile.

He jumps to his feet and holds a hand out to pull me up and I’m just about to slip mine into it when I look up and realise what I’m doing. ‘Better not, thanks.’

He groans and rips his hand away, swiftly hiding them both behind his back. ‘I don’t know what’s got into me today. I keep wanting to explain that I’m not usually this much of an idiot, but I’ve needed to say it about ten times so far and every time just proves the point.’

‘You’re great,’ I say and then blush furiously. There’s forthright and there’s forthright. ‘I mean, this whole place is great, the beach, the carousel, the ice cream. I’m glad I came.’ I pretend to focus on getting to my feet and pulling the legs of my capri trousers down where they’ve ridden up my thick calves so I don’t have to look at his gorgeous face.

My sandals tap on the wooden walkway as I follow him around the side of the tent and through a gap where the material is pulled aside.

‘Welcome to my humble abode,’ he says, and I smile at the way he drops the ‘h’. I love a Yorkshire accent.

‘Wow.’ I can’t help the intake of breath as I look around, even though it’s no more than the skeleton of a carousel at the moment. There’s a tall, thick pole in the centre, supported by diagonal posts, with rods extending out from the top of it like the arms of an umbrella. A rusty-looking engine is next to it, and an old pipe organ, but all the horses are stacked on the floor, and there are metal bars lying all over the place, and various piles of metal bits like the one Nathan showed me. ‘You did all this by yourself?’

‘What, took it apart?’ He continues when I nod. ‘That’s my job. I mean, the owner got the platform built and the tent’s been up for protection since he bought it, but my job is to strip carousels, fix them, and rebuild them. You can get them apart in half a day if you know what you’re doing.’

‘Where did it come from?’

‘That’s the most interesting part. No one knows. The guy who owns the fish and chip shop on the promenade is some millionaire fish and chip mogul. He won it in a blind auction and got planning permission to install it on the beach. Apparently he’s going to do free rides for everyone who buys food there or something.’

‘A millionaire fish and chip shop mogul … It’s not Ian Beale, is it?’

‘An EastEnders fan,’ he says with a laugh.

‘Not really, but my mum insists on telling me every plot point in minute detail. The more I protest, the more I hear about it.’ I’m sure he didn’t want to know that. ‘Can you find out anything else about it?’

‘When I collected the fence keys from the chip shop, the girl serving said it was found in an abandoned house or something. I’m hoping that stripping it down will give me more clues about its origin.’

‘What do you think?’ I ask because I get the impression he wants to say more.

His face lights up again. ‘It’s definitely not been outside because it doesn’t have the wear, so an abandoned house would make sense. Must’ve been a massive house though – can you imagine getting something this big into one of our crappy one-bedroom flats?’

I shake my head, looking up at the spire on top. It really is humungous.

‘There’s a dent in the top and damage to the rounding boards, and the top bars are bent, so that suggests something fell on it. From the scratches and debris, I’d guess a roof or ceiling came down on it, but at the same time, I’d guess that whatever it was also gave it some kind of protection. This is in incredible condition for the age of it, it must’ve been well cared for back in the day, and although it’s obviously been let go since then, it doesn’t have anywhere near the damage you’d expect.’

The tent smells of aged wood and the grease that Nathan’s hands are covered in, and I wander around the circular area, stepping over the metal posts that he’s carefully laid out. I run my fingers down one of the support poles suspended from the bars above, carved into a twist and covered in tarnished gold paint, which comes off in flakes when I touch it. ‘Did you say that this was all carved by one person?’

‘I reckon so, yeah. I think this was a personal project, something never intended for public use. It doesn’t have the glitz of a fairground ride, but it has a personal touch in every bit of carving. There are the same quirks in every part. I can’t see how it could’ve been the work of a workshop where you’ve got different carvers working on each bit. It doesn’t feel like that.’

‘It must’ve taken forever.’ I look around in awe as I crouch down and run my fingers over what I assume is one of the rounding boards he mentioned, a lavishly carved but battered frame surrounding cracked mirror glass, one of many stacked against each other on the floor. They look like they belong on a castle wall with an evil queen peering in and asking who’s the fairest of them all. The intricacy of one simple panel is incredible, and it’s unimaginable that one person could’ve done all of this by hand, but Nathan really seems to know what he’s talking about.

‘This is such a massive find. Original steam-powered gallopers from that era are so rare. There are only about seventy in the world and this isn’t one that’s registered. It’s also the most complete one I’ve ever come across and in as near to original condition as possible. It’s incredible. Look at this.’ His long legs step over a tangle of metal poles as he walks towards one of the wooden horses lined up at the edge of the tent. ‘These have only ever been painted once. That’s unheard of for something of this age. Usually when I go to restore carousel animals, the biggest job is stripping back layers and layers of paint where someone’s thought they were preserving it by slapping on another coat every few years. This is the original lead-based enamel that’s been out of existence for decades now … Why are you smiling?’

I blush and try to rearrange my face because I hadn’t realised I was. It doesn’t work. I can’t stop myself smiling at his enthusiasm. ‘Because you know so much.’

It makes him smile too but he shakes his head. ‘This is new territory for me. Usually I work on family-owned travelling carousels or museum jobs where you’ve got a full written history and a log of every repair and fault it’s had over the years. This is such an incredible discovery, it’s unreal, and … look at this.’ He goes to pat one of the horses but stops himself before he puts black grease all over that too. Instead he points at it and I go over for a closer look. ‘This is the lead horse, it would always have the manufacturer’s signature on it, but this one doesn’t. It’s another thing that suggests this was the work of just one person and that it was never intended for public use.’

‘What’s a lead horse?’

‘It’s grander than the others and it’s always behind the chariot so it leads the rows of horses. One of my jobs is to make a couple of extra chariots to make it more accessible for everyone.’

‘Wow. You can do that?’

‘Of course. It means it’s not quite a complete restoration – if it was up to me then I’d preserve it exactly as it was – but I get the impression that it’s more about money-making for the guy who owns it, so it’s got to be brought up to date and made all flashy and light-y.’ He laughs. ‘By light-y, I mean I’ve got to install a load more lights. Sorry, I forget how to speak English some days.’

I grin at him. ‘Same.’

The sun is warm as we step out of the tent and back onto the beach again. ‘I’m so glad you came,’ Nathan says quietly. ‘And I’m sorry, I don’t usually get so overexcited about the arrival of complete strangers. You must think I’m a right loon.’

‘Well, I did have ice cream.’

His smile is so wide that I’m physically incapable of not smiling in return and we stand there smiling at each other for a few moments, and I tell myself that the sun is what’s heating up my cheeks and not anything else. It’s definitely not the way his forearms flex as he moves.

We’re back to smiling at each other for no reason, and I know I’m delaying leaving. I’ve been here for a couple of hours and he hasn’t got any work done in that time, but I don’t want the afternoon to end yet. I haven’t even given him— ‘Oh, I totally forgot about your phone! Here!’ I go to pull it out of my pocket but he holds up a blackened hand.

‘I can’t take it, I’ll ruin it.’

‘I could put it in your …’ I nod towards the pocket of his dungarees, which he keeps putting things into and producing things from. The only thing he’s missing is a baby kangaroo.

‘Actually, I’d rather you keep it.’

‘Why?’ I stop with it halfway out of my pocket.

‘Because if you give it back, you haven’t got an excuse to come and see me again.’ He’s blushing furiously as he says it and it makes my stomach flip over in the most exhilarating way possible.

He ducks his head, dark eyelashes touching his red cheeks. ‘I’m sorry, I think the sun’s gone to my head.’

‘Or maybe all the ice cream,’ I say, trying not to think about what it means that he wants me to come and see him again, or how much I want to.

‘Exactly.’ He looks up and meets my eyes with that wide grin and there we go just standing there smiling at each other again.

I shake myself. This cannot be real. He doesn’t want a relationship and neither do I, and I’m standing here imagining what it would be like to kiss him. ‘Okay, I should go. I guess I’ll see you around?’

‘Yeah, of course.’ He goes to fiddle with his short hair but stops himself just in time as he walks me back along the wooden path to the base of the ramp I came down. I take a few steps up it, trying to convince myself not to run across the road for another ice cream each just to delay leaving a bit longer. This is silly. Not only have I not mentioned the article, I haven’t even thought about it myself since I set foot on the sand earlier.

‘Wait, Ness?’

When I turn back, he looks like he’s psyching himself up to say something, and the words all spill out in such a rush that it takes me a few moments to translate them. ‘Will you come for a drink with me this evening?’ He actually seems like he needs to catch his breath. ‘Not as a date or anything. You came all this way to bring my phone back; the least I can do is buy you a drink. I promise to be a bit more composed and to have washed my hands and—’

‘I’d love to,’ I say, wondering why he seems so nervous. He’s sweet and funny and absolutely gorgeous. I can’t imagine there are many women likely to turn him down, date or not.

He lets out a long breath and I wonder if I’m imagining that it was a sigh of relief. It makes something flutter inside me again. Am I just projecting the feelings flapping around inside me onto him? I’m the one feeling relief because I didn’t want this afternoon to end and now we’ve got an extension.

‘Not that there are many options around here, but what do you think about giving The Sun & Sand a try? It looks pretty from the outside.’

‘Sounds perfect.’

‘Around seven?’

‘I’ll meet you there.’

‘Okay.’

‘Okay.’ I nod, still holding his gaze and smiling at him.

I still don’t want to walk away even though I’m going to see him again in a couple of hours.

Oh, come on, Ness. This is ridiculous. I force myself to give him a proper wave and walk back up the ramp to the promenade, feeling like I’ve got lead boots on my feet. I’m positive I can feel his eyes on my back, and when I get to the top, I turn around and he’s still there. He holds up a greasy hand and gives me a smile, and I do the same, waiting until he turns away and goes back towards the carousel, pulling the bearing out of his pocket and rubbing at it again.

I force myself to walk back along the promenade rather than skipping like a joyous lead actress in a romance film, and I can’t remember the last time I felt this fluttery and excited.