Twelve Days of Christmas (14 page)

‘It’s
huge
,’ I said with resignation. It looked as if I was in for a traditional Christmas whether I wanted one or not, so I might as well just give in right now and go with the flow!

* * *

After tea and mince pies – or whisky and mince pies in Noël’s case – Tilda went upstairs to lie down, using the stairlift under protest, though she was obviously still shaky. When I took her a hot water bottle presently, I found her half-asleep already under the flowered satin eiderdown, though that was probably the exhaustion of directing Jess with the unpacking of the suitcases.

Noël stretched out on the sofa for a nap while Jess and I went into the kitchen and had a fun, if messy, time marzipanning and icing the cake and sticking a lot of old decorations on it that we found in a Bluebird Toffee tin in one of the cupboards. There was a complete set of little plaster Eskimos, sledging, skiing or throwing snowballs, and an igloo.

‘Didn’t you even have a Christmas cake when you were little?’ asked Jess, positioning a polar bear menacingly near one of the Eskimos.

‘No. My gran often made lovely fruit cakes, but she didn’t set out to make a Christmas cake as such.’

‘I think it’s really sad that you never had a tree, or presents or crackers or anything, until you were grown up.’

‘I thought so too, when I was at school,’ I said ruefully. ‘I so envied all my friends! I expect that’s why I went overboard with the whole seasonal gifts, food and decorations thing when I got married. But that isn’t really what Christmas should be about, is it?’

‘But it’s
fun
!’ she protested. ‘I love everything about Christmas – but not as much as Grandpa. He’s an expert, you know, he’s written a book about it.’

‘Oh yes, I think he mentioned that.’

‘It’s called
Auld Christmas
, like the pub name, and it’s about ancient traditions being absorbed into new ones and stuff like that, and how the Twelfth Night Revels celebrate the rebirth of the new year and goes back way before Christianity.’

‘Does it? It sounds like
you’re
an expert too,’ I said, impressed.

‘Oh, Grandpa’s forever going on about it, and my parents have always brought me to Old Place for Christmas, so it’s just sort of seeped in.’ She looked a bit forlorn suddenly. ‘I wish they could be here this time, too, but I do understand. They could hardly fly back from Antarctica just for the Christmas holidays, could they?’

‘No, but they must be missing you an awful lot.’

‘Oh, they’ll be so into what they’re doing they won’t even remember I exist until they get back!’ She sounded tolerant rather than aggrieved by this. ‘But they did record a DVD wishing me Happy Christmas before they went, a bit like the Queen’s message, though Granny says I can’t have it until Christmas Day.’

‘That’s something to look forward to.’

‘Yes, and I don’t mind them not being here so much now we’re staying with you. Christmas is going to be much more fun! You don’t really mind if we have a proper one, do you?’

‘I suppose not, and it’s starting to sound as if I’ll have enough of Christmas this year to make up for all the ones I’ve missed.’

‘And presents, too. I make all mine and I’ve got a wonky one I practised on you can have,’ she said generously.

I couldn’t imagine what she’d made, but I thanked her anyway. ‘I wasn’t expecting anything – I wasn’t even expecting
Christmas
, come to that! Mind you, I do have one present already, from my best friend.’

‘What’s she like?’

‘She’s my husband’s younger sister and my opposite in every way: tiny, fair and blue-eyed like he was . . . but she doesn’t look like him otherwise.’

‘Was your husband short, then? Uncle Jude is a
giant
.’

‘He was exactly the same height as me – six foot.’

‘That’s tall enough to be a model, except they’re all skinny.’

‘Well, you know what they say: never trust a skinny cook.’

‘Do they?’ She frowned. ‘Oh, I see: it means you don’t love food.’

‘And won’t eat your own cooking!’

When we’d finished and I’d fixed a paper frill (also from the toffee tin) around the cake, I covered it with a large glass dome I’d spotted in one of the old glazed-fronted cupboards that lined one wall of the huge kitchen, then put it in the larder.

‘Now, perhaps we’d better make some more tea and you could take it through while I start dinner. Could you pop up and see if your Granny’s awake and would like some?’

I’d taken some beef mince out of the freezer as soon as I’d got back earlier and now quickly made a large cottage pie and put it in the oven, then cored baking apples to stuff with dried fruit, brown sugar and cinnamon. There was long-life cream, ice cream and a half-used aerosol can of squirty cream that had come from the lodge with the other perishable food . . . and when I counted, there were a total of four and a half aerosol tins of sweetened cream, so it must play a large part in their diet!

Tilda had a tray in bed and the rest of us ate around the big pine table in the kitchen. By the time I’d cleared this away and then gone out for one last check on Lady and to give Merlin a run, I was exhausted.

But I still felt on edge, as if waiting for something – and I realised it was Jude’s daily call! In a peculiar way, I sort of missed the adrenaline rush of crossing swords with him, even if he had managed to provoke me into losing my temper on more than one occasion.

Noël had gone to bed and Jess was in the morning room watching something fuzzy and probably highly unsuitable on the TV, half-glazed with sleep. I sent her upstairs, but she made me promise to come and put her light out on my way up in a few minutes. The child in her was only just beneath the surface: I ended up reading her a bit of
The Water Babies
from a book we found on one of the shelves, before tucking her up with her teddy bear and saying good night.

* * *

Tonight I could only focus on the journal entries for long enough to discover that Gran’s first meeting outside the hospital with N seemed set to become the first of many.

Then my eyes started to close as if weighted with lead and I switched out the light and sank back on the pillows – only to start awake again a moment later, my heart racing, filled with shocked guilt because for the first time in eight years, I had forgotten the anniversary of Alan’s death!

I climbed out of bed and fetched his photograph in its travelling frame from the top of the washstand: and that’s how I fell asleep, holding onto my lost love, my face wet with tears.

Chapter 14
Toast and Treacle

I was up much earlier than everyone else, seeing to Merlin and double-rugging Lady, as Becca had suggested doing if it got really cold, before letting her and Billy out into the snowy paddock.

It was bitterly icy out there and the wind felt as if it was coming straight off the tundra so, after hanging the haynet on the fence and breaking the ice in the water trough, I was glad to go back in and thaw out. Mucking out would have to wait for later.

By now I’d found a note about the care of Billy, which had come adrift from its place in the file and been pushed into the pocket at the back. However, apart from feeding him some of the goat biscuit things every day, which I had been doing anyway, he seemed to eat much the same as Lady. At the bottom of the typed page, Jude had written:
If Billy gets ill and goes off his food, tempt him with toast and treacle
.

Was he serious?

I got the defrosted ham out of the larder and boiled it, pouring away the water. Then I smeared it with honey and mustard, stuck it with cloves, and put it in to bake.

By the time I’d followed this up by making a blancmange and a quick chocolate cake from a favourite recipe, Noël and Jess had appeared. Tilda was, as I expected, still shaken, bruised and stiff, though she’d apparently announced her intention of coming down later.

When I asked them what they would like for breakfast, Jess said, ‘A bacon and egg McMuffin, if you
really
want to know.’

‘There are muffins in the freezer, you could have a Holly Muffin instead, if that would do?’

In fact, we all had bacon and egg-filled muffins, including Tilda, though Jess took hers up on a tray along with toast, marmalade, butter and a little fat pot of tea.

Apparently she usually eats a hearty breakfast, though if she got through that lot, then she must eat her own body weight every day, since she’s the size of a sparrow!

Fortified by that, Noël and Jess were all set for an expedition to the attic to fetch down the Christmas decorations.

‘There are only two days to go before Christmas, so there’s no time to waste,’ Noël said. They wanted me to go with them, which in my new spirit of drifting with the seasonal flow I agreed to do, just as soon as I’d cleared the breakfast things.

Jess was dispatched to collect her granny’s breakfast tray and tell her where we were going to be, in case she thought we’d deserted her. I was just checking the ham when there was a hammering at the back door.

George must have snowploughed up the drive again, for the tractor with the heavy blade on the front was on the other side of the gate and, to judge from the footsteps across the snowy cobbles, he’d already made a couple of trips to and fro. There was a large holdall and a suitcase at his feet, and he was holding an assortment of other stuff, including a lot of greenery.

He gave me his attractive grin over the top of it, his healthy pink face glowing under its shock of white-gold hair and his sky-blue eyes bright.

‘Morning! Met the postie in the village and thought I’d save him the trouble of bringing your mail up, seeing I was coming anyway. I’ve brought the old folks’, too, though theirs mostly looks like Christmas cards.’

‘That’s kind of you.’

‘If you take that?’ he suggested and I relieved him of a large bundle held together with red elastic bands, two parcels, a hyacinth in a pot and the bunch of holly and mistletoe.

‘Henry sent you the hyacinth, and the holly and bit of mistletoe are from me. I’ll cut some more and drop it off in the porch later.’

‘Oh – how kind of you both,’ I said, gingerly holding the prickly bouquet and trying not to drop anything. ‘And the bags . . . ?’

He picked them up and heaved them over the threshold.

‘Becca’s. I cleared as far as New Place and she called to me and asked if I’d drop them off.’

‘She did?’

I supposed it made sense, when I came to think about it, since if it carried on snowing she might have to walk up through the snow on Christmas Day. She did seem to need an awful lot of stuff for one night, though!

‘We’ve just finished breakfast – why don’t you come in and have a cup of tea?’

‘Nay, I haven’t time, but I’ll carry Becca’s bags through for you if you like, one of them’s heavy.’ He stamped the snow off his boots and came in, shutting the door behind him.

‘Is that George?’ called Noël from the kitchen. ‘Tell him to come through!’

‘I can’t stop,’ George called back, but walked up the passage anyway, while I lingered to put the holly and mistletoe in the utility room together with the hyacinth, until I could find it a saucer to stand on.

Despite what he’d said, he was sitting at the kitchen table when I went in and Noël was pouring him a mug of slightly stewed tea.

I put a plate of mince pies in front of him and, sniffing the air as appreciatively as a truffle hound, he said, ‘Something smells good in here!’

‘That’s the ham cooking . . . and maybe the cake I made earlier.’

While he consumed a succession of mince pies he told us what the lane down to the main road was like, which was pretty bad for anything except four-wheel-drive vehicles, especially the last steep, bendy stretch from Weasel Pot Farm.

‘Their lad Ben’s doing a roaring trade, pulling the SatNav people out of the ditch on the first corner. They get partway up it, then slide down again.’

‘You’d think they would take one look and realise the SatNav was wrong,’ Noël said.

‘More money than sense, buying those things in the first place,’ George said.

‘But the postman got up it all right?’ I asked.

‘He’s got a Post Office Land Rover and he’s used to it,’ he explained. ‘Did you make these mince pies yourself, flower?’

They were quite small, but even so, I’d never seen anyone put a whole one in their mouth before. I nodded, fascinated.

‘They’re champion – you’re a grand cook as well as a strapping lass,’ he said with approval.

Jess giggled and he grinned at her. ‘And you’ll be another strapping lass too, when you’ve finished growing.’

Jess blushed, but actually I think she was quite pleased.

‘The forecast says more snow is likely on higher ground,’ Noël said, ‘so I suppose we might get cut off.’

‘Maybe, though we usually manage to keep the lane to the village open, don’t we? But you couldn’t get even the tractor over the Snowehill road to Great Mumming, now.’ George consumed the last mince pie on the plate as though he was popping Smarties, then got up. ‘Well, I’ll be going: the dog’s on the tractor and it’s bitter out there. I’ll drop you more greenery off later, Holly, you’ll want it for the decorations – this first lot’s more of a token gesture. And maybe you’ll have hung the mistletoe up in the porch when I come back,’ he added with unmistakable intent, and it was my turn to blush.

‘Oh yes, we
must
hang up the mistletoe later,’ Noël agreed, ‘and have lots of green stuff in the sitting room. We were just about to go up into the attic and bring down the decorations when you arrived.’

‘Then I’ll leave you to it.’

Noël showed him out, while Jess got the giggles. ‘George
fancies
you!’

I carried on sedately stacking the mince pie plate and the mugs in the dishwasher. ‘He fancies my cooking, Jess, that’s all.’

‘Do you think he’s nice-looking?’

‘Yes, he’s very handsome, in a rugged, outdoor kind of way.’

Noël came back in. ‘It’s bitter out there, isn’t it? And what are these two bags he’s brought?’

‘They’re your sister’s – I suppose she thought she might as well send her overnight things up with George while she had the chance, in case the weather worsens. Jess, you could help me carry them up to her room while we’re going in that direction. Take the overnight bag and I’ll have the case.’

‘I’ll look through our mail later,’ Noël said.

‘There’s already a whole stack for Jude. It’s piled on that table in the front hallway,’ I told him.

‘I’ll bring it all in later and sort it out,’ he promised. ‘A lot of it is probably junk.’

We dumped the bags in the room that had been assigned to Becca and then Noël checked again on Tilda, who was fast asleep, before we carried on up past the nursery.

Jess gave the attic door a good shove and it opened reluctantly with a protesting screech.

‘Jude ought to get that fixed, it’s always sticking,’ Noël said, pressing down a light switch and illuminating a large space, well filled with the abandoned clutter and tat of centuries.

‘There’s another, smaller attic over the kitchen wing, but there’s nothing much in it, as I recall. In the days when there were several servants, I think some of them slept there.’

‘I hadn’t even noticed a way into it,’ I confessed.

‘It’s in a dark corner of the landing and looks like a cupboard door.’

‘That would account for it’.

Noël led the way to a dust-sheeted pile between a large trunk and a miscellany of broken chairs. ‘Here we are,’ he announced and Jess tore off the sheet eagerly.

‘We need all these boxes marked with a large C, and that red metal stand for the Christmas tree,’ he began, then noticed he’d lost my attention. ‘I see you are admiring the Spanish chest, m’dear?’

‘Yes, it looks ancient?’

‘Parts of the house are extremely old and the chest has always been here. We think it might be Elizabethan and came into the family when an ancestor married a Spanish bride, or perhaps a few years later. Did I mention that family legend has it that Shakespeare once visited Old Place, too?’

‘No,’ I said, ‘though it doesn’t surprise me, since they found those Shakespeare documents over at Sticklepond recently. He seems to have got about a bit, doesn’t he? You’d probably be hard-pressed to find any large house in West Lancashire that he wasn’t alleged to have visited!’

‘Very true!’ he acknowledged. ‘You know, until recently we used to act out
Twelfth Night
on New Year’s Eve: “If music be the food of love, play on . . .”’ He sighed wistfully. ‘Oh well . . .’

‘I’m not allowed to go in that chest for dressing-up things,’ Jess said.

‘No, the mumming costumes for the Revels are in it, though the heads are stored in the hayloft behind the Auld Christmas.’

‘The
heads
?’ I repeated.

‘The Dragon and Red Hoss and the Man-Woman’s hat and mask,’ he explained, though that didn’t make things much clearer: the opposite, if anything.

‘You know,’ he added, looking at me with a puzzled air, ‘you already feel so much like one of the family that I keep forgetting that you are not, and don’t know all our little ways and customs. But I
have
mentioned the Revels on Twelfth Night, haven’t I?’

I was glad to be thought of as one of the family, even though I was doubling as cook and general factotum, because I was in a strange position: it’s easier when I’m on cooking assignments, because then I’m
definitely
staff.

‘Is it Morris dancing? I’ve noticed the photographs, especially in the library.’

‘That’s right, dancing and a little play-acting – just a simple ceremony . . .’ he said vaguely. ‘It takes place on the green in front of the Auld Christmas and has been performed for centuries, though of course there have been changes over the years. I’ll show you some more photographs after dinner, if you like?’

‘Thank you, that would be really interesting,’ I agreed, thinking that this might be a way of getting him to tell me more about his brother Ned.

‘Oh look – sledges!’ Jess said, spotting them leaning against the wall behind the boxes. ‘Two of them and they’re plastic, so they must have belonged to Uncle Jude and Guy.’

‘That’s right,’ Noël said. ‘There are a couple of old wooden ones around somewhere too, that we oldies had when we were children – or maybe they fell apart, I can’t remember.’

There was so much clutter;
anything
could be up there, including Santa and all his reindeer. It could do with a jolly good clear-out.

‘I think the blue one was Jude’s and the red one Guy’s, though I expect they fell out over
that
, too – Guy always wanted what his older brother had and they were forever squabbling.’

‘I suppose that’s natural,’ I said.

‘In a child, but perhaps not so allowable in an adult . . . though now Guy’s getting married and settling down, I expect he will see things differently. There’s nothing like having children of your own to give you a new perspective on life.’

‘
I
was a mistake,’ Jess announced.

‘More of a very welcome surprise,’ amended her grandfather.

‘Would it be all right if I used one of the sledges, Grandpa?’

‘Take them both down, m’dear: perfect weather for sledging and perhaps Holly will join you. I wish
my
poor old bones were up to it,’ he added wistfully.

Jess carried the sledges downstairs first, then came back up and started ferrying down boxes of decorations to the sitting room. I took the tree stand and a carton marked ‘swags and door wreath’ while Noël clutched the box containing a precious antique hand-carved wooden Nativity scene. By the time we’d stacked everything in a corner of the sitting room, I had to go and start making lunch.

Tilda stubbornly insisted on coming downstairs and joining us for soup, egg sandwiches and chocolate cake. Apart from a slightly black eye, she looked a little better, though moving very stiffly. Afterwards she established herself on the sofa in the sitting room and exhibited a slight tendency to issue orders to all of us, but especially me, wanting to know exactly how I would be coping with the catering over Christmas. But I didn’t really mind that, because when I cook for house-parties I’m used to consulting over the menus, so I sat down with her for a good discussion.