Driving Home for Christmas

by Emma Hannigan

  I’m all about stews in the oven at the moment. Unlike you with your barbecue and outdoor eating, we’re trying to stay warm and cosy here! It’s very cold this winter: you picked a good one to avoid, I can assure you. If I’m not wrong we’re in for snow in the next couple of weeks. Who knows? Maybe we’ll have a white Christmas.

  I think I’ll be putting extra herbs in casseroles to ensure they’re especially tasty. I think Scott will like that. He’s a fine-looking fella. I know I’m over the hill but I can still appreciate, can’t I?

  Mind yourself, Maggie,

  Your friend,

  Sadie

  Each year once December dawned Holly came into her own. Huntersbrook House – her stone-built, double-fronted Georgian home – lent itself so beautifully to being decorated. It could be made to look like a scene on a Christmas card, and each year she enjoyed every minute of the build-up to the great day. As she cuddled into Paddy in their ancient iron bed she murmured, ‘I’ll be getting the Christmas patchwork quilt cover out today. I know it’s countdown time once that’s in place.’

  ‘When we got married, I thought if I humoured you for a year or two about the whole Christmas obsession you’d lose interest,’ he joked. ‘In fact you’ve got worse.’

  Holly threw back the quilt and got out of bed.

  ‘Take it easy, woman, it’s cold in here!’ he complained, but he was smiling.

  ‘I’m so excited!’ She shot off to root in the hot press. Soon she was back with the red, white and green cover. She’d made it while she was pregnant with Lainey. Each evening as her tummy had grown bigger, so too had the quilt. Now, thirty-one years later, as she spread it lovingly on their bed, she took a step back and admired it. The white brought out the moulding in the ceiling above. It never ceased to amaze her how something as simple as changing the bed linen could alter the mood of the room. Their usual saffron quilt cover gave off a calming warmth, which she’d enjoy again in the new year. For now, though, she thrilled to the Christmas atmosphere.

  ‘I think I’d like to get two red shades for our bedside lamps,’ she mused.

  ‘Holly, we don’t need any more Christmas stuff. You should’ve married Santa Claus!’

  But Holly didn’t hear him: she had already charged out of their room and down the sweeping staircase. In a few days’ time she’d have the whole place twinkling and sparkling. The wide wooden stairway was crying out for swags and tiny lights, and this year she’d picked up yards of thick, luxurious red velvet ribbon: she planned to tie it into huge plump bows, adding an Edwardian edge to the decorations.

  Last year she’d been obsessed with white. She’d bought a box of plain white baubles and pristine white satin ribbon. She’d loved its crisp effect against the green foliage – and she’d been able to use her white napkins and tablecloths, no need to buy anything else. But from the moment she’d allowed herself to contemplate Christmas, straight after Hallowe’en this year, she’d known red would be this year’s colour.

  Sadie hadn’t arrived yet so Holly put the kettle on the Aga and popped a couple of rashers into a pan. She’d make some toast and a big pot of tea to ease them into the day. Finding her notebook and pen, she made a list of jobs to be done. It was only Thursday but she knew the weekend would be upon them in jig time and she wanted to be organised.

  But instead of her usually steady scrawl, the page filled with tears, smudging the pale blue lines. Holly’s hands shook. She dabbed her eyes with a tissue she’d tucked up her sleeve, and willed herself to stop crying.

  Gazing around her beloved kitchen, she couldn’t imagine waking up in any other house. It had been her home for ever, her mother’s and grandmother’s before hers. The reality of what might be about to happen was almost unbearable.

  At the sound of Paddy’s footsteps descending the stairs she caught her breath and rushed to the sink where she splashed her face with cold water. She patted it dry on her apron and positioned herself at the Aga just as her husband entered the kitchen.

  ‘That toast smells good,’ Paddy said, as he joined her.

  ‘Will you get a chance to gloss the front door today?’ Holly asked, hoping Paddy wouldn’t sense her upset.

  He grinned. She’d be like a cat on a griddle now until she got at least some of her decorating under way. ‘When I’ve had breakfast I’ll sand it and try to do the first coat. I think I’ll go for a duck-egg blue this time,’ he said. He picked up the paper and began to leaf through it.

  ‘You most certainly will not!’ Holly exploded. ‘If it’s not cherry red it’s not home.’

  They had the same discussion every year. It was almost as traditional as Christmas itself.

  ‘Quite apart from the fact that Huntersbrook House has always had a red door, I’m all about red velvet this year,’ she went on.

  ‘Great,’ Paddy said, distracted now.

  ‘Are you listening to me?’ Holly swatted his arm.

  ‘Huh? Of course I am,’ Paddy said. He put the paper aside and filled the mugs with tea. Holly buttered the thick toast and piled the rashers on top. Paddy sat down in his customary chair which offered a view of the garden. ‘Nothing quite like hot buttered toast as you’re looking out at the frost, is there?’ he observed.

  ‘Indeed there isn’t,’ Sadie called from the side door. ‘Morning, all.’

  ‘Morning, Sadie,’ Holly said. ‘Sit you down and I’ll get you a mug.’

  ‘It’s a sharp one out there today. You’ll need a woolly hat,’ she said, blowing on her hands.

  ‘I’m headed for the back field to gather holly and ivy for my wreath,’ Holly announced.

  ‘Thought you might,’ Sadie said, smiling.

  ‘I wonder if there’ll be many berries this year.’ Paddy refilled his mug.

  ‘We’ll soon see,’ Holly said, wriggling her shoulders.

  After breakfast she went to find a pair of sharp scissors to cut the greenery, then pulled on a thick sweater and her coat. She thought of her mother in Australia, lolling about in the sun totally unaware of the bubbling pool of bother that was threatening to hit Huntersbrook House.

  Her meeting with Jacob had kept Holly awake for hours last night. She understood where he was coming from: he was too old to continue with the amount of livestock he currently owned. But the loss of the money he contributed was catastrophic. Things had been balanced on a knife edge as it was. But this latest blow meant Holly might be forced to make a decision she’d never previously contemplated.

  She fought back fresh tears angrily. She’d never been one for crying. In fact, people who made a habit of it annoyed her. But the prospect of losing Huntersbrook House was overwhelming. Holly felt sorry for Paddy, the children, the animals – it would affect them all profoundly. More than that, though, she was ashamed. This house had been in her family for generations and she was about to lose it – unless some miracle occurred.

  ‘I’ll see you both in a while,’ she called, injecting as much cheer as she could into her voice. As she whistled for Jess and Millie to follow her, the sight of their eager faces and wagging tails added to her sadness. The dogs adored running across the land and lazing in front of the Aga on cold days …

  The low winter sun cast a soft buttery glow over the glistening grass. Holly bumped the jeep to the thickest hedges at the boundary of their land, then got out and stood where she was, enjoying the vista, despite her anxiety. She never tired of the rolling fields and welcoming sturdiness of Huntersbrook House. Many people moved several times in their lives and thought of home as a place to put furniture, but to her, Huntersbrook was so much more than that. It represented who she was. Its stature and grandeur made her feel secure and safe. She was proud to be the third generation of her family to inhabit the beautiful Georgian house.

  Feeling the damp chilly air penetrating the many layers of her clothes, she knew she needed to get on with her task. She snipped away until she had a large, tangled pile of holly and ivy, then stooped to pick it up and toss into the car boot. N
ow she had to dig out the moss in the garden, and then she’d be ready to make the wreath. She got in, started the engine, and did her best to assume a cheery expression. The last thing Paddy needed was someone moping around as if the world was ending.

  The sound of Sadie’s singing mixed with the hum of the Hoover emanated from the living room. She’d the voice of a strangled cat, Holly mused, as she unloaded her moss and then the foliage into the kitchen, glad to have the warmth of the Aga engulf her. She went into the pantry where she found several wire coat hangers. She pulled them apart, then fashioned them into a large wide hoop, the base for her wreath, to be covered with moss first, then layers of holly and ivy …

  When Holly stepped back to look at her handiwork, the lurking dread she was determined to bury taunted her. This might be the last time she’d hang a wreath on the front door. It might even be the last time she’d have the materials to make one. This time next year, she and Paddy might be living in a tiny apartment. If they were lucky …

  ‘Hi, love. That looks great.’ Holly started as Paddy came up behind her. ‘What’s with the glum face? Aren’t you happy with it?’

  ‘Don’t creep up on me like that, for goodness’ sake,’ she snapped.

  ‘Sorry! I didn’t creep – I was putting the paint away and I thought you saw me coming towards you from the shed,’ he said, looking stung.

  ‘Sorry, I was miles away.’ Holly shook herself. ‘Let’s just get on with making the place look special, and we mustn’t forget Lainey’s birthday is on Saturday and then we’ll be on the countdown to Christmas. There’s lots to be thankful for,’ she said, to bolster her own mood as much as Paddy’s.

  ‘Well, you’re off to a winning start, love. That’s going to be the best wreath ever,’ he said.

  ‘You say that every year,’ Holly said, ‘but it’s pretty impressive, I have to admit. Just wait till I add the red ribbon. How’s the front door coming along?’

  ‘It’s done. This stunning creation can take its place on the hook tomorrow. What time is the hunt leaving on Sunday morning?’

  Huntersbrook was one of the favourite venues in the locality for the Wicklow Hunt. With more than a hundred members it was one of the longest-established ones around, and Maggie had been Master for many years. As well as supplying them with lots of great social opportunities, it was a steady form of revenue for Huntersbrook. Even now when people were cutting back on most things, local horsemen and -women continued to pay their cap and gallop across the land each week.

  ‘Nine thirty, so I want it up before then. Joey’s coming at the weekend so I’ll get him to do the pillars on either side of the front door with you.’

  ‘Is he bringing Sophia?’ Paddy asked.

  ‘Apparently. If she’ll come,’ Holly said, with a flicker of irritation.

  ‘I didn’t think she’d last as long as she has.’

  ‘Me neither, but Joey seems smitten so who are we to argue? He’s the one living with her. We only see her the odd time.’

  ‘She’s so different from us,’ Paddy mused. ‘She looks on the fields as a running track. She doesn’t understand country ways because she’s a city girl. And when she met our Joey on that training course she wasn’t on the lookout for a fella.’

  ‘I know, but I find it hard to bite my tongue at times. She makes no effort to meet us halfway. It’s like she’s right and we’re wrong and there’s no wriggle room,’ Holly said. ‘It’s Joey I feel sorry for. She puts him in such an awkward position.’

  ‘As long as he’s happy …’

  Holly squeezed her eyes shut in frustration. It bothered her that Sophia looked down her nose at Huntersbrook. She hadn’t said it to Paddy and she certainly wouldn’t let Joey know how she felt, but she took it as a personal insult that Sophia had so little respect for their family home. ‘I’ll make sure we have all the food we need for the weekend. Jacob gave us a gorgeous lamb for the freezer to soften the blow of him pulling out of his rental agreement,’ she said. ‘I’ve asked Sadie to put a stew together for Lainey’s birthday meal. We’ve enough veggies in the greenhouse to keep us going for now.’

  ‘I meant to tell you Mrs Healy gave me the nod that she has a turkey for us for Christmas. I didn’t want to take money from her last week – I was only an hour moving the two horses for her – so she insisted on giving us one of her birds.’

  ‘That’s generous of her and most welcome,’ Holly said. ‘I can barter with Jim for a ham too. His three grandchildren want to hunt on St Stephen’s Day so I’ll waive their cap.’

  ‘Good plan,’ Paddy agreed. ‘I’ve spoken to our kids and we’re all agreed on doing a small token gift to open on Christmas morning. I can’t bear the prospect of wasting a lot of money on stuff no one wants.’

  ‘Neither can I,’ Holly said. ‘Everyone’s feeling the pinch of this recession.’

  ‘Is Pippa coming down for Lainey’s birthday too?’ Paddy asked.

  ‘No, she’s going to New York tomorrow, remember? She’s back late on Saturday night but she won’t make it down here, needless to say.’

  ‘Fair play to Pippa,’ he said, with a shake of his head. ‘She’s opting out of the recession, isn’t she?’

  ‘So it seems.’

  Sadie came into the kitchen from the pantry, carrying a leg of lamb studded with rosemary and garlic.

  ‘That looks divine, Sadie.’ Holly moved across the kitchen to wash her hands in the sink. ‘There’s rather a lot of meat for us, though. Are we expecting a crowd?’

  ‘Well, I bumped into young Scott on my way over and I told him we’d a fine lump of meat on offer, so I think he’s coming. Lord only knows who else might show up,’ Sadie replied.

  ‘You’ve certainly been very generous with the herbs there.’ Paddy smirked.

  ‘I’m all about all things tasty at the moment.’ Sadie winked.

  Holly dried her hands as she watched Sadie tossing piles of vegetables into a huge pot for soup. She could probably fit into it herself – she’d the physique of a sparrow, with fluffy white hair and wiry little arms and legs. She ate a big dinner in the middle of the day and rarely more than that. Otherwise it was mere pecking at a scone or a biscuit plus copious cups of tea. Still, Holly mused, appearances could be deceiving. She’d enough spirit and will to contend with anyone, from stubborn children to Maggie, who was easily roused to fury.

  When the children were small Sadie had effortlessly balanced them on one hip as she’d manoeuvred the old upright Hoover with the other. Her position as housekeeper had evolved naturally. She and Maggie had been friends for years. When Maggie’s husband Stanley had died after a short illness, she’d been the first person in the back door to make her a cup of tea, then bring Holly into the living room and read her a story.

  Maggie had come to depend on her and look forward to her frequent visits. With the running of Huntersbrook House, the land and the yard dumped in her lap, she had known she needed help so she’d offered Sadie a wage to continue doing what she’d naturally begun. Now, all these years later, Sadie was as much a part of the Huntersbrook House family as the Craigs themselves. She had no family of her own.

  ‘Would you not prefer to move in?’ Maggie had asked her, a long time ago.

  ‘Thank you, Maggie, but I like my cottage. I know I only dip in and out of it, and the entire building would fit easily in the hallway here, but it’s still home.’

  ‘I didn’t mean it like that,’ Maggie had said, blushing.

  ‘I know you didn’t, lovey,’ Sadie said mildly. ‘But the fact of the matter is that there’s no place like home, no matter where that may be.’

  Over the years the ladies in the village had often questioned her about the Craigs. People loved to know the ins and outs of other folks’ lives. But it became apparent rather quickly that Sadie would never broadcast the goings-on at Huntersbrook so they stopped probing.

  ‘Maggie showed me how to roast lamb with rosemary and garlic. I was useless in the kitchen when I first came h
ere,’ Sadie told Holly.

  ‘I can’t image you ever being useless, Sadie,’ she said fondly. ‘I know I’d be lost without you. You’re my angel.’

  ‘Ah, bless you, dear,’ Sadie said. ‘I’m a poor substitute for your mum but I appreciate the sentiment.’

  ‘You’re certainly not a poor substitute,’ Holly shot back. ‘You’re wonderful and you’re still here, which is more than can be said for her. She’s swilling wine with that old codger on the far side of the world.’

  ‘Indeed she is, and sure fair play to her,’ Sadie said. ‘Now where is this wreath you were working on? Is it finished yet?’

  ‘It is.’ Holly brightened. ‘The door’s had its lick of paint too, so I’ll hang it first thing in the morning.’

  ‘Ah, sure we’re flying along here,’ Sadie said cheerfully. ‘Give me a lift with the pot like a good girl. Once it’s up on the stove it can bubble away and we’ll have enough soup for the weekend as well.’

  ‘Judging from the weight, you’ve made enough to feed the whole town,’ Holly said, gasping as she lowered the pan on to the hob.

  ‘Now show me the wreath,’ Sadie said, with a twinkle in her eye. Holly picked it up and held it aloft. ‘Oh! You’ve outdone yourself on this one, my girl. It’s stunning!’

  ‘I’m more excited by the minute,’ Holly told her. ‘Let’s get the dining room set up for the post-hunt supper on Sunday night.’

  Holly began to relax as they piled plates and cutlery on the sideboard and fished out a packet of napkins. ‘The hostess trolley must be thirty years old if it’s a day, Sadie,’ she said, as she pulled it into place.

  ‘It certainly doesn’t owe us anything, does it? Still, we’d be lost without it. It’ll keep the rice warm and any leftover stew for the inevitable latecomer.’