by Heidi Swain
I lay on my bed with the music box, still in its wrappings, by my side and inhaled deeply, trying to think things through and formulate a revised plan for December. I didn’t intend to but I must have fallen asleep, or at least almost asleep, because how else could I explain the hazy outline of a woman sitting at the foot of my bed if she hadn’t come to me in a dream? She was very definitely not the grey lady, but bore a striking resemblance to the woman my heart still ached to see. Not the last, cancer-ravaged image of her, but the happy, healthy, Christmas-loving version who had been so cruelly taken from me when I was too young to make any sense of the whys and wherefores. It was those very whys and wherefores, I finally realised, that I had been denying ever since, but as her last few coherent words drifted back to me I sat up, knowing that this was a very special moment and exactly what I had to do with it.
Mum had warned me, before the disease really took hold, that she would be gone by Christmas or just after it, and that in losing her I would most probably lose my love for the season, but I would come back to it one year, when I least expected it. She had told me that she would never leave me, that when I needed her most, and when the time was right and I was in the right place, there would be signs to let me know.
She was insistent that she would find a way of telling me it was time to move on and that I should let go and embrace Christmas again. Of course she had no way of knowing what other horrors would play out during the Decembers after she had gone – neither of us did – and none of that was her fault. She had said what she thought was for the best at the time and what I should have remembered and been holding on to after everything else had turned so sour.
My fingers reached out for the music box that held her favourite tune and my eyes roved over the very same style of roses that had decorated her bedroom and I finally knew what I had to do. These were the signs. It wasn’t magic at all, it was Mum. She was telling me it was time to reclaim Christmas and there was nowhere more comforting, nowhere safer in the world than Wynthorpe Hall, in which to try and do it. If I was going to dig deep and let Christmas back into my life, then there really was no better place to be.
The hall was quiet as I padded back down the stairs and I was surprised, when I glanced at my watch, to discover that I had been in my room for the best part of the entire day.
‘Decided to put in an appearance, have you?’ teased Hayley as she bustled through from the pantry and back towards the kitchen. ‘I thought you were never going to wake up.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Three times I’ve come up to see if you were planning to do any work today,’ she tutted, ‘and every time you were out for the count.’
‘You should have woken me,’ I told her, surprised that I had actually been properly asleep and how much of the day I had lost. ‘There’s so much to do.’
‘I’m only joshing,’ she said, playfully punching my arm, ‘everything’s done and besides, you must have needed it, although looking at you, you don’t look much better than you did before you sloped off after breakfast.’
‘Thanks, Hayley,’ I said, rolling my eyes. ‘I’m actually feeling much better.’
‘Well that’s something, I suppose,’ she shrugged.
Together we walked into the kitchen and on catching sight of me Dorothy automatically reached for the radio.
‘It’s all right,’ I told her. ‘Don’t change it on my account.’
She and Catherine exchanged glances as I bent to fuss Floss, who had done me the honour of leaving her warm bed to come and say hello.
‘Deck the Halls is actually quite fitting, don’t you think?’ I said, standing back up. ‘Given the date and the venue,’ I added, looking around the vast kitchen that defied all attempts to organise it.
‘I suppose it is,’ said Catherine, ‘although—’
‘Although you didn’t expect me to say so,’ I smiled.
‘Quite,’ she agreed. ‘Are you all right, my dear?’
‘I think so,’ I sniffed as a traitorous tear escaped and rolled down my cheek. It was quickly followed by another, and the three lovely ladies rushed to my side and ushered me into a chair.
‘Whatever’s wrong?’ frowned Hayley as Dorothy handed me one of her pretty hankies. ‘It’s not because I teased you about not pulling your weight today, is it?’
‘No,’ I sniffed, shoving the hanky to my nose and blowing hard. ‘Of course not.’
‘Are you not well?’ tried Dorothy, laying her hand across my forehead to check my temperature.
‘I’m fine,’ I blubbed, ‘better than fine.’
Hayley shrugged her shoulders and looked to Catherine to see what she was going to suggest.
‘I’ll fill the kettle,’ said Dorothy.
Tea, it turned out, was Dorothy’s default setting, as was cake.
‘Mick and Angus have already left to collect Jamie from the airport,’ she continued, ‘so I think we’re safe to break out these.’
Reverently she placed a battered old Quality Street tin on the table and Hayley eased herself into the seat next to mine.
‘Don’t let the tin fool you,’ she said in hushed tones, ‘there’s far greater treasure than chocolates inside.’
I looked at her and raised my eyebrows.
‘The tin’s a decoy,’ she informed me, tapping the side of her nose.
I looked at the faces of my new friends and, dare I say it, family, as we drank our tea and indulged in the delicious Lebkuchen biscuits Catherine’s German grandmother had been so adept at baking and, thankfully, had passed on the recipe for, and sighed.
Hayley was poised to launch off again and remind us what was left to do before Jamie’s plane landed but Catherine stopped her.
‘Before we start thinking about all that,’ she smiled, ‘or start making some serious plans about how we’re going to contain my husband’s outrageous festive ideas, I think Anna has something she would like to say.’
Dorothy and Hayley looked at me, their mouths slightly open and their eyebrows raised. OK, so perhaps there was a little magic in the Wynthorpe walls, or the ability to read minds, at least.
‘Yes,’ I began, feeling suddenly shy. ‘There is something I would like to say actually.’
I cleared my throat and fiddled with the crumbs on my plate.
‘If it’s all right with you,’ I said, looking at Catherine, ‘and only if you haven’t already made alternative plans of course, I really would quite like to stay here for Christmas after all.’
‘Yes!’ said Hayley, punching the air and pulling me into an awkward sideways hug.
‘There now,’ smiled Dorothy, looking well pleased. ‘How about that?’
‘I never for one second thought you’d be spending it anywhere else,’ added Catherine, her smile reassuring me that I couldn’t have made a better decision. ‘What was it that changed your mind?’
‘Was it divine intervention?’ giggled Hayley, squeezing harder. ‘I love it when that happens.’
‘Sort of,’ I said, feeling the music box in my pocket digging into my side. ‘Something like that.’
Chapter 8
At a little after six that evening Angus phoned to speak to Catherine. Hayley, Dorothy and I were setting the table ready for what was going to be a very late supper. There was a definite buzz of excitement and expectation in the air and although a little nervous about my decision to stay, I was also enjoying the tentative beginnings of really feeling that I was a part of something. It was a long time since I had felt as though I truly belonged or was so welcome anywhere.
‘Oh well,’ we heard Catherine sigh and say, ‘it can’t be helped.’
She sounded utterly deflated and we looked at one another, wondering what on earth had happened.
‘Will you ring again in the morning?’
We all looked in her direction.
‘All right, my darling. Sleep well.’
Catherine replaced the receiver, then turned to us and shook her head. Hayley snuf
fed out the candles and Dorothy returned some of the plates and bowls to the warming drawer.
‘What’s happened?’ I asked.
‘Jamie’s flight has been cancelled,’ she said. ‘Some industrial action in Europe having a knock-on effect, or something, I couldn’t really hear.’
‘But they definitely won’t be home tonight?’
‘No,’ she sighed, ‘not tonight. This is the last leg of his journey and instead of being the most straightforward it’s turning out to be the most complicated of all.’ She sounded as fed up and frustrated as Jamie no doubt felt. ‘Angus said he’ll ring to give us an update in the morning.’
‘Oh, love,’ said Dorothy, rubbing Catherine’s arm. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘Oh well,’ was her stoic, but unconvincing reply, ‘I suppose I’ve waited this long. One more night won’t hurt, will it?’
‘They aren’t sleeping in the Land Rover, are they?’ piped up Hayley. ‘Or on those horrid plastic seats in the airport?’
‘No, they’ve managed to get a room at the hotel just next door,’ Catherine explained. ‘They only had a twin though,’ she added, biting her lip.
‘Better than nothing, I guess,’ I shrugged.
‘Mick might not think so by the morning,’ said Catherine, with a small smile. ‘Have you not heard Angus snore?’
It was down to me to ferry Hayley back to Wynbridge later that evening.
‘I hadn’t planned to go back tonight,’ she explained, after calling home to tell whoever was there that she wasn’t staying for the reunion dinner or overnight now after all, ‘but it seems a bit pointless to mess up one of the rooms for no reason.’
‘But I wouldn’t mind helping you prepare it again,’ I insisted. ‘If you would rather stay I don’t mind helping out and besides, how much mess could you make in such a short amount of time?’
Hayley looked at me and grinned and I guessed that on her own time and in her own place her standards of tidiness weren’t quite as strict as those she adopted when she was in professional mode. But I really didn’t mind whether I ended up taking her back to town or not. If she stayed I would enjoy her vibrant company, but taking her home would give me the opportunity to give my little car, which had been sitting idle for the last few days, a much needed blast.
‘Look, do you want me to stay over?’ she asked.
‘It’s entirely up to you,’ I told her.
‘Because really, I’d like to go home and revise my outfit,’ she mused, chewing her nails at the expense of the polish she had apparently ‘borrowed’ from me earlier in the day.
‘OK,’ I said, thinking she couldn’t possibly have an even tighter pair of jeans to pour herself into. ‘That’s fine. I’ll go and grab my car keys.’
‘So now you’re trying to get rid of me?’
I looked at her and sighed. She may have been good fun and fast becoming a great friend, but she could also be infuriating.
‘Of course I’m not.’
‘Well, that’s good,’ she said, with a wink. ‘Because when I make friends with someone they don’t ever get rid of me, it’s for life.’
In spite of her attempts to wind me up, I was really rather pleased about that.
In keeping with my Wynthorpe routine, early the next morning I pulled on my trainers and headed out into the crisp, frosty air. It was a solitary pursuit that particular day as Floss simply refused to budge and consequently I decided to go a little further and risk a run through the woods, avoiding the witch’s house, of course.
Unfortunately, however, I didn’t manage to find either the Wishing Tree or the circle of beech trees where Mick and I had gathered logs, but I did add what felt like a couple of extra kilometres to my distance as I got hopelessly lost for a while and ended up, quite literally, running around in circles.
When I finally found my way back to the hall, and was cursing Dorothy and her extra calories which no doubt accounted for my lack of puff, I was surprised to find the Land Rover parked outside the kitchen with the back doors thrown open. I really didn’t think I’d been out that long and looked down at my muddied trainers in dismay. Sweating, dishevelled and out of breath was not how I had planned to meet any of the Wynthorpe boys, and I wondered if I could possibly somehow sneak in unnoticed.
Given the sudden eruption of voices from the other side of the door, I guessed not.
‘So,’ began a man’s voice I didn’t recognise, but which must have been Jamie’s. ‘Already it starts. I’m barely back over the threshold and you’re telling me we have yet more bloody repairs to fund and a Christmas spectacular to finance.’
‘But I thought you’d be pleased about everyone coming,’ said Angus. He sounded unusually downcast and a little sulky. ‘I thought it would be the perfect opportunity to get us all together and finalise everything.’
‘And have you talked to Archie about finalising things?’
He didn’t wait for his father to answer.
‘Because I can tell you right now, Dad, the last time I spoke to him he wasn’t very happy that things were still so up in the air.’
‘Archie is never happy these days.’
‘You know what I mean.’
Angus didn’t say anything.
‘He’s got it in his head that you and Mum are playing favourites, and over this, of all things.’
‘But I’ve told you a thousand times,’ said Angus, beginning to sound angry, ‘we have no choice. If we don’t do it this way, then the family will be in danger of losing everything. You know we’re right, Jamie, and you know exactly why.’
‘Oh, of course I know,’ he said, his voice quieter now. ‘But that doesn’t mean that I’m happy about it. This wasn’t how I expected my life to pan out, you know? I thought there’d be more to my existence than – this.’
Obviously I didn’t know what ‘this’ was because I couldn’t see through doors and if I had any kind of conscience I wouldn’t be listening at keyholes either. I made to walk away but his next words stopped me in my tracks.
‘And now you’ve given us another mouth to feed,’ he struck up.
‘I think that’s a bit strong,’ said Angus defensively.
‘Another bloody charity case for you and Mum to nurture and mend.’
‘Hey, now,’ cut in Angus, sounding properly angry. ‘You might be tired and fed up, but you can pack that attitude in right now.’
Charity case! I hoped the arrogant sod wasn’t talking about me but I had a sinking feeling that he was.
‘Tell me why she’s here again,’ Jamie said in a bolshy tone. ‘What’s the pretence this time?’
‘There is no pretence,’ said Angus firmly.
He sounded more than ready to stand his ground, and mine, and I was grateful for that.
‘Anna is here to help us organise Christmas.’
I let out a yelp then clapped my hands over my mouth as Floss began to woof.
‘Did you hear something?’ said Jamie, his voice suddenly far closer to the other side of the door than I was comfortable with.
‘No,’ said Angus. ‘Be quiet, Floss. As I was saying, Anna has great experience and fabulous references.’
That was true. I was very proud of my professional portfolio. I had taken years putting it together, but I had absolutely no experience when it came to organising a country-house Christmas and I had no idea why Angus was so insistent that I had. Why didn’t he just tell his son that I was there to support and take care of his mother? And collect wood. And bake cheese straws. And assist Hayley with the dusting. What exactly was my job title again?
‘Look, Dad,’ said Jamie, ‘I don’t care whether she organised the last royal wedding – we can’t afford a bloody party planner.’
Party planner!
‘But we need someone who can—’
What he was going to say next was lost as I heard Catherine shouting excitedly that her baby was finally home and Dorothy sobbing in the background. I ran a sweaty hand over my bumpy ponytail and le
t out a breath I didn’t realise I’d been holding. I had no idea what was going on, but I was bitterly disappointed that just when I’d decided that now was the time to ‘step into Christmas’, as Sir Elton John so succinctly put it, I was out in the cold – again.
‘What’s with the outfit?’ asked Hayley, wrinkling her nose as she climbed in the passenger seat of my car and flung her bag in the back.
‘Nothing,’ I shrugged.
‘And the perfume,’ she choked. ‘It reeks in here.’
I looked over my shoulder, ready to pull back on to the road.
‘Are they back?’ she squealed, making my foot slip off the clutch. ‘Is he home already?’
‘Yes,’ I sighed. ‘He’s home.’
‘Give me thirty seconds,’ she said, leaping out of the car again and across the pavement.
What I actually ended up giving her was seven minutes and thirty-nine seconds. When she had sent me a text with directions as to where to pick her up I hadn’t expected her to leave me stranded on double yellows and fretting about getting a parking ticket.
‘Where the hell did you go?’ I demanded, when she eventually came back wearing an even tighter pair of jeans and an even smaller sweater. ‘I was worried I was going to get a ticket.’
‘I ran home,’ she said, blushing profusely. ‘Having taken one look at you, I decided to change yet again and you can keep it buttoned, Miss Woodruff,’ she added, pointing a freshly painted violet nail in my face, ‘because you haven’t looked like that since the day you arrived, so pot and kettle springs to mind.’
She was right of course. When everything had gone quiet back in the kitchen I’d slipped inside, up the stairs, and spent a ridiculously long time over my morning ablutions before heading back to town to collect little Miss Tight Fit 2017.
‘But you disappeared,’ I said, looking about me and knowing there was no point arguing the point. ‘And this isn’t anywhere near where I dropped you off last night. Where did you go?’
