Christmas for Beginners: Fall in love with the ultimate festive read from the Sunday Times bestseller

by Carole Matthews

  Of course, I confided all about Lucas and Aurora to Bev and she assured me that I’d done the correct thing. I hope she’s right as I rely on her greater experience in these matters.

  ‘I’m telling him what a lucky man he is.’

  ‘He is,’ I agree. ‘However, if you can put each other down for a moment, there’s work to do.’

  ‘You spoil all my fun,’ Bev complains. Nevertheless, she gives Alan one last kiss.

  ‘Better get back to kids before they kill each other,’ Alan adds.

  ‘I was coming to tell you that Lucas has abandoned them and gone walkabout,’ I say.

  ‘Want me to find him?’ Alan asks.

  I shake my head. ‘He probably needs a bit of time to calm down. If he’s not back in time for lunch, I’ll go and look for him.’ Like most teenage boys, Lucas runs on stomach time. As soon as he’s hungry he’ll return.

  So Alan heads off to referee the arguments and bickering while Bev comes with me. We link arms as we walk across the farmyard, three dogs and two guard geese in tow. Betty Bad Dog is trying to bite the geese but they’re having none of it. If she carries on, I know who’ll come off worse.

  I squeeze Bev. ‘It’s so nice to see you two happy.’

  ‘He’s moving in with me,’ she confides.

  ‘Wow. That’s good news. And a big step for you.’

  ‘Yeah. I’ve tried him out and found him sufficiently domesticated. He’s going to put his cottage up for rent. With a bit of luck, we could even be together for Christmas.’

  ‘That’s lovely.’

  ‘What are you and Shelby up to over the holiday?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I admit. ‘He says that he’ll be back from his stint in panto by then. In the nick of time. It only finishes on Christmas Eve, so a quiet one at home, I guess.’

  ‘He’ll want you to spend it at Homewood Manor.’

  ‘I expect so.’ The thought fills me with dread. How will I look after all the animals? I can’t leave them alone.

  ‘Your van isn’t the most festive place,’ Bev scolds.

  ‘I could pretty it up.’ I grimace. ‘Lights and stuff.’

  ‘Don’t sound so flipping enthusiastic.’

  ‘This is more your kind of thing. Help me. What shall I do?’

  ‘We could go shopping this afternoon.’ She looks back at the barn. ‘Any excuse to leave this flipping lot to it and hit the charity shops.’

  ‘I do need to find another Baby Jesus.’

  ‘They’ll have them coming out of their ears,’ Bev assures me.

  I hate shopping in all of its forms. Bev usually does it all for me or I make Lucas do it online.

  ‘We can pop into one of the DIY sheds and get some Christmas lights.’

  ‘We haven’t got a tree yet.’ I think it’s a moot point to make.

  ‘Didn’t I tell you? The Hot Mayor is sending us one.’

  ‘Is he? That’s very kind.’ I confess that I haven’t given Matt Eastman much thought as I’ve been so busy, so it’s nice to know that he’s still thinking of us.

  ‘It’s coming in a couple of days. So we should get some decorations.’ I must still look reluctant as she adds, ‘I’ll treat us to a coffee and some cake as you’re being so brave.’

  ‘After lunch?’

  ‘Yeah. I’ve got a lentil shepherd’s pie for the hungry hordes today.’

  ‘Sounds good. It’ll warm them up.’

  ‘Should I put some drugs in it?’

  ‘As tempting as it is, it might be ever so slightly illegal,’ I say.

  ‘Ah. There is always that.’

  ‘You love them all really.’

  ‘I do. It’s just that some days they test us more than others.’

  ‘They do, indeed.’ And we go into my caravan so that Bev can fill me in on the preparations for the open day.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  When lunch is over we take Bev’s car into town. While she drives I look out at the rolling fields, beautifully stark in their winter garb. In town we find another Baby Jesus in the Oxfam shop. It’s probably a bit more boss-eyed and moth-eaten than a Messiah should be, but it’s big and only costs four pounds. The plastic doll has also got blonde hair and a pink romper suit but, once it’s well-swaddled and viewed from a distance, Bev assures me it will be fine. Frankly, I’m still in mourning for my expensive and realistic baby that the alpacas munched and it’s hard to view any replacement as adequate.

  Doll bought and bagged, we go into B&Q and load up a cart with Christmas lights. I prefer the tasteful and understated white but Bev – my trusted companion and self-appointed style advisor – is having none of it. We get the most colourful ones on display. Hundreds of them. All with variable flashing options. This is going to be a nativity crossed with Blackpool illuminations.

  ‘I’ll get in touch with the Hot Mayor,’ Bev says. ‘Find out when the tree is coming.’

  ‘It’ll need to be about twenty feet tall to take all these flipping lights.’

  ‘I’ll tell him that,’ she jokes. ‘Go big or go home.’

  When we’re spent up, we load up the car and then head to a little café for a recuperative cup of tea and a slice of lemon drizzle – things that will put everything in the world to rights. We sit in the window, too, which always seems like an extra treat.

  We both make appreciative noises as we enjoy our refreshment.

  ‘So?’ Bev asks between sips. ‘How’s Widow Twanky?’

  ‘He’s the villain,’ I remind her. ‘Nebuchadnezzar!’ I try to mimic Shelby’s villain voice, but don’t quite do it justice.

  ‘Ah. We should have an outing to go and see him do his thang.’ Bev picks all the crumbs from her plate with her fingertip. ‘The kids would love that.’

  ‘Would they? I haven’t been to a panto since I was about four and I hated it then. My mum took me and I cried all the way through it.’

  ‘They’ve got better since then,’ Bev assures me.

  She’s probably right. The early press reviews are great and Shelby, surprisingly, seems to be really enjoying it. I’m still not convinced it’s for our kids, though. ‘They’re struggling enough with all the fuss of Christmas. Wouldn’t it be too much of a trial to drag them en masse to Birmingham? Besides, I’m sure some of our teenagers would think it “totally” uncool to go to a panto.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Bev agrees. ‘Perhaps something local, a bit more low-key just for the littlies? I’ll see what there is. Surely you’ll go to Brum to see Shelby’s production, though?’

  ‘Shelby hasn’t mentioned it. But then he’s been so engrossed that he probably hasn’t thought of it.’ Neither had I, if I’m truthful. Our worlds have always been kept firmly apart until now.

  My friend frowns at me. ‘Is everything OK between you?’

  ‘Yes.’ I nod, maybe too vigorously. ‘I’m sure it is.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Bev doesn’t look convinced. ‘When did you last see him?’

  ‘Over a week ago now,’ I have to admit. ‘He’s hoping to come home on Sunday though.’

  ‘So he should. Love by Skype isn’t quite the same.’

  ‘No.’ Never a truer word spoken. ‘It’s the official opening night next week, so it’s only going to get worse from here on in.’

  Bev’s frown deepens.

  ‘It is just a temporary thing,’ I assure her. ‘After Christmas, everything will be back to normal.’

  But Bev doesn’t realise that I have my fingers crossed when I say that.

  After we’ve finished in town, we take our booty back to the farm. It’s dark early in the day now and all the lights are on – a welcoming sight. Bev drops me off and parks the car while I shut the gate. All the students will have gone home now, their tasks finished for the day.

  Alan comes out of the barn and they hug each other as if they haven’t seen each other for months. I get a little pang of loneliness.

  ‘I’ve seen kids off,’ Alan says. ‘And fed animals.’

 
; ‘Thanks, that’s very kind. Saves me a job.’

  Alan nods.

  ‘Were the kids OK this afternoon?’ I ask.

  ‘Depends what you mean by OK? No one died.’

  That’s good enough for me. Some days you have to be grateful for small mercies and hope that tomorrow will be better.

  ‘Come on, lover,’ Bev says. ‘Take me home and ravish me.’

  ‘Can we have us tea first?’ Alan asks. ‘I’m starving.’

  ‘I’d never expect you to lurrrrve on an empty stomach,’ she purrs.

  In reality she’ll be on her sofa watching Flinton’s Farm with a cup of tea. Perhaps I should start watching it. I can get it on my phone. That would be a surefire way of seeing Shelby every day. Though, as Lucas bans it in our humble abode, I’d have to watch it in secret.

  I say goodnight to Alan and Bev, then do a quick tour of the animals. They’re all happy to settle down early and most are already curled up, comfy in their straw. Oh, for the life of a pampered animal. Mind you, it wasn’t always thus for our charges so they deserve a bit of love and TLC.

  When I’m done, I head to the caravan. The lights are blazing out and the kitchen window is steamed up. The second I’m through the door, the dogs go into a barking frenzy and hurl themselves at me and I fuss them while saying ‘Inside voices, doggies. Inside voices.’

  Lucas is at the stove stirring a pot. The raising of one eyebrow is his more muted response to my homecoming.

  ‘Hey,’ I say.

  ‘Successful trip into town?’

  I hold up my plastic saviour of mankind. ‘New Baby Jesus.’

  ‘Cool,’ he says. ‘It looks a bit creepy though.’

  ‘It’s a doll. They’re all creepy.’

  ‘I’ve made some supper.’ Lucas nods at the pan he’s stirring. ‘I’ve been a total shitbag for the last few days. This is an apology in the form of a curry.’

  ‘Smells wonderful.’ And it does. A waft of spices fills the air.

  ‘Sweet potato and spinach dhal,’ he says. ‘Downloaded the recipe.’

  ‘You modern thing, you.’

  Lucas chuckles. ‘I’m not modern, you’re a dinosaur.’

  ‘It’s nice to see you laugh,’ I tell him.

  ‘Yeah, well. I’m a moody teenager. What can I say?’

  I’d like to give him a hug, but that might be a step too far. ‘Have I got time for a shower before dinner?’

  ‘If you don’t hang about. Ready in five.’

  ‘OK.’ So I do as I’m told and rush round in the shower and throw on some clean clothes. Then I set the table and, as soon as I’m done, Lucas dishes up, ladling the curry into bowls with dairy-free bread on the side.

  ‘Where did you get this lot?’

  ‘I walked down to the village shop. A new guy has taken it over and they stock some amazing stuff.’

  ‘I’ll have to check it out.’

  ‘Yeah, but you’ve been off the farm once this week, so you’ll have to wait until you’ve plucked up courage again.’

  ‘True.’

  Lucas laughs again as he spoons the dahl into his mouth. He seems much cheerier and I wonder why.

  ‘If you think you can manage it, I’ve got a poetry slam coming up.’

  ‘I’ve no idea what that is.’

  ‘It’s like a poetry competition, generally judged by people who know nothing about poetry, but I’ve kind of entered it.’ Then he goes all shy. ‘No big deal if it’s not your thing.’

  ‘Of course it is. I’d love to come along. You know that I always want to hear more of your poetry.’

  ‘It would be nice to have your support,’ he says. ‘Plus I need a lift there and back.’

  Ah, that’s more like it. But then I would do that anyway and Lucas knows it.

  ‘What about your dad? Do you think he’d be able to come?’

  Instantly, Lucas’s demeanour changes. ‘You can’t tell him.’

  ‘Don’t ask me to keep more secrets, Lucas. It’s not fair. This should be something we could enjoy together – all three of us.’

  My troubled teen puts on his mardy face. ‘He’d just spoil it for me.’

  ‘But he’s so proud of you. Remember what the fundraiser was like in the summer when you and he were on the stage together? Wasn’t that great?’

  ‘He always wants to steal my thunder,’ he complains – which is not my memory of it at all. In reality, Shelby was nothing but encouraging and kind. He was so proud of Lucas’s performance. ‘I seriously don’t want him there. He can’t help but hog the limelight. It’s in his DNA. This is something that I want for myself. It has to be our secret.’

  ‘OK. That’s fine.’ Lucas is quite impassioned, so I don’t push it. I’m simply glad that he’s asked me to be there. If I have to keep it from Shelby, then that’s how it has to be. ‘When is it?’

  ‘Next week. I’ll let you know the details.’

  That’s another consideration. I doubt Shelby would be able to attend anyway with it being his first proper week of shows, but I think it’s best that I don’t mention that. If I tell Lucas that his dad can’t go, then he’ll definitely want him there.

  ‘I’d love to hear what you’ve got planned. Do you want to try out your poem on me after supper?’

  ‘No,’ Lucas says and returns to eating his curry.

  And that’s pretty much the end of that. So much for me being supportive.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Bev has been scheming behind my back. Clearly, she was worried after our tea room conversation and has secretly been Skyping Shelby to organise for him to come home today. It’s all been taken out of my hands and is planned to the nth degree. In true Bev style, she’s volunteered herself to look after the animals and Lucas. I’m not sure which will be the more demanding.

  She’s been here since six o’clock this morning and everyone’s fed and watered. Except Lucas, who is still in bed. In fairness, this is the one day he does get a lie-in as he’s usually up every weekday to help me with the animals, so I’m happy to let him be.

  It’s ten o’clock and Bev and I are tucking into hard-earned hot buttered toast when her phone rings. It’s the Hot Mayor, she mouths to me.

  She chats away to him while I concentrate on my toast, and when she hangs up she says, ‘One Christmas tree arriving on Monday.’

  ‘Wow.’

  ‘What size?’

  ‘Extra large, I hope.’ She widens her eyes lasciviously.

  ‘You’re terrible,’ I tell her. Then, before I can ask any more, Shelby turns up and I can’t tell you how excited I am to see him.

  I take Bev’s example and rush out to the yard, hugging him tightly when he gets out of his car.

  ‘That’s an unexpectedly enthusiastic greeting,’ he says as we hold onto each other.

  ‘I’ve missed you,’ I say. ‘I’m so glad that Bev organised this.’

  ‘Me too.’

  We hold hands as we walk to the caravan. Inside, Lucas has just surfaced. He’s in his pants and a T-shirt, his legs pale and scrawny. His hair is a bird’s nest.

  ‘Lucas!’ Shelby is all smiles and good cheer.

  ‘Morning, Father,’ Lucas mutters back. He’s not at his best when he’s just woken up.

  ‘All good, son?’

  Lucas shrugs. ‘Other than the fact that we’re killing our planet one piece of plastic at a time, everything’s hunky dory.’

  ‘Great.’ Shelby gives me a perplexed glance.

  To Bev’s delight, Shelby kisses her and she puts the kettle on again. ‘Toast, Superstar?’

  ‘I’d love some. Thanks.’ Shelby flops down on the sofa. ‘My stomach’s been rumbling through the entire drive. I was going to head back last night, but we finished really late. I left as soon as I could this morning.’

  ‘I’m just glad you could be here.’ And I am.

  ‘I thought we could do something all together,’ Shelby says, brightly. ‘It’s a glorious day out there. Freezing cold, bu
t the sun is doing its best.’

  ‘If we wrap up, a walk would be nice.’ I look across at Lucas for his approval.

  He looks horrified. ‘What? Me too?’

  ‘It would be fun,’ I assure him.

  ‘In whose world? I want to stay here and play Fortnite. By myself.’ He gives me a pointed stare. ‘I don’t need a babysitter either. No offence, Bev.’

  ‘None taken, you ungrateful little shit,’ she says mildly.

  Lucas does smile at that.

  She pushes toast to him and Shelby and they sit opposite each other in reasonably companionable silence though, these days, I always feel an undercurrent of tension. Perhaps that’s just me.

  ‘I’m going to cook you a roasty dins,’ she tells Lucas. ‘Let these two have some “grown-up” time together.’

  ‘Thanks for that image,’ Lucas bats back. ‘Now I’ll have to bleach my brain.’

  I hope that Shelby doesn’t jump in because, if he says one word wrong, Lucas will go into a huff.

  ‘Come out with us oldies during the day and then you can have the evening with Bev,’ I suggest.

  He sighs at me. ‘Must I?’

  ‘Yes,’ I tell him. ‘You absolutely must.’

  ‘Come on, Lucas,’ Shelby urges. ‘I’m not going to be around for a while. Spend the day with your old man.’

  Lucas’s expression is one of extreme resignation, but it says he’s coming.

  So, much faffing later, we’re all wrapped up and two out of the three of us are raring to go.

  ‘See you later,’ Bev says. ‘Don’t worry.’ That comment directed to me. ‘It will all still be here when you get back.’

  ‘I have every faith in you,’ I assure her.

  ‘I might have eaten all your chocolate, though,’ she quips.

  I kiss her cheek. ‘You’ll be very welcome to it.’

  ‘Have fun.’ She waves to us all as we go.

  Wellies donned and multiple dogs in tow, we set out over the stile and across the fields. There’s a public footpath that runs along the left-hand edge of our property and, if you follow that for a couple of miles, you come out onto Moreland Nature Reserve. It’s an old flooded quarry that’s been turned into a haven for wildlife and has spectacular views across the countryside. In the summer you can’t move for people but, today, it’s relatively quiet. Only the hardcore walkers are out. And us.