Christmas at the Marshmallow Café

When downtrodden checkout assistant Bonnie Green receives a letter from a mysterious uncle, she can hardly believe her eyes.

Gifted a hundred-year lease on a famous cafe situated in the middle of a mythical theme park, Bonnie sets off with her best friend Debbie on an adventure to a hidden valley in the Lake District where they will find new friendship, love, and happiness, all set against the magic of Christmas ... and more marshmallows than they can possibly eat....

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Bonnie and Debbie head for the Lake District and Christmas Land, but when they encounter the locals, they begin to worry…

 After taking the junction for Christmas Land, Bonnie began to see more signs. The landscape had changed, becoming beautiful, all rolling hills and moorland as they entered the Lake District. In the distance she caught glimpses of glittering water whenever they crested a rise. After a while she nudged Debbie awake. The younger girl looked up blearily, grinned, and said, ‘Are we there yet?’

‘Not yet, but nearly. Isn’t it pretty?’

Debbie looked around. ‘Where did all the hedges go?’

Dry stone walls had replaced the grassy hedgerows, the roads narrowing in many places to a single lane punctuated by small passing places.

‘It’s so charming,’ Bonnie said, unable to keep a grin off her face. ‘All these hills and lakes—’

‘Fells and meres, Bon,’ Debbie said.

Bonnie frowned. ‘What? You fell where?’

Debbie shook her head. ‘The hills are called “fells”, and they call the lakes “meres”, “waters” or “tarns”.’

‘Well, aren’t you the expert?’

Debbie grinned. ‘Countryfile. Got to do something with my unemployment. You know, when I was a kid growing up, I used to fantasize about John Craven dressing in black and fronting a goth band.’

‘So no My Little Ponies, then?’

‘Had one once. I cut off its hair and painted it red.’

‘I bet you were popular in playschool.’

Debbie grinned. ‘No one ever pushed me off the slide.’

They passed another Christmas Land sign, poking out of an overgrown verge. Someone had scrawled Father Christmas is dead in red paint diagonally across it. Debbie glanced at Bonnie and raised an eyebrow.

‘So it looks like this mythical place really does exist.’

‘Well, it did, at least.’

 ‘Sounds like my kind of place,’ Debbie said.

‘I’d turn back, but the tank’s low and I haven’t seen a petrol station in miles,’ Bonnie said. ‘I’m counting on them to have one.’

‘All or nothing,’ Debbie said. ‘Have you seen Deliverance?’

Bonnie groaned. ‘Of course I have.’

‘What about Wrong Turn?’

Bonnie shook her head. ‘I’m not familiar with that one.’

‘It’s about these kids who break down and end up caught by a family of rednecks—’

Bonnie put up a hand. ‘I can imagine. Can’t we talk about mince pies or something?’

‘There’s a man flagging us down up ahead,’ Debbie said.

‘Is he wearing a Christmas hat?’

‘No, but he has some kind of stick.’

Debbie was right. An old man in Wellington boots, a tweed jacket and a flat cap was waving a stick at the car.

‘Lock the doors,’ Debbie said.


Author Bio

  CP Ward is an author from Cornwall in the UK.

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