by Lucy Coleman
‘That’s a pound in the fundraising bucket, Captain Gray. Elves don’t give kisses away for free!’ he chortles.
I leave the two of them chatting and walk briskly along the lane. It’s so busy today that a couple of times I step back into one of the lay-bys when there is a steady stream of traffic in both directions. The stalls are laid out in the public car park next to The Bullrush and it’s a tradition that’s been upheld for as long as I can remember.
Thankfully, Aysbury Manor allows the use of a large, gravelled courtyard the other side of the lane as a visitors’ parking area. There are a few old farm buildings that are no longer in regular use, but store farm machinery that hasn’t been moved in a long time. Most of the manor’s farmland is now leased, and worked, by Adler’s farm, but we charge two pounds a car for parking and it soon adds up.
I turn into the Saint Nicholas’s Well complex, walking past the side window and the tall wall that surrounds the pretty courtyard garden to Byre Cottage. As it backs onto the lane, there is only one entrance via the tall wooden gates. It’s a perfect little property for a person living on their own as it’s very secure with the cluster of larger barn conversions abutting what was formerly a farmyard. Standing on tiptoe to reach over the top of the gate, I undo the sliding bolt and step into the garden, pulling the gate shut behind me.
Tapping on the stable door that leads directly into the kitchen, I stand back but there’s no sign of movement at all. To my right is the sitting room and I walk over to peer in through the patio doors, but everything looks normal. Ziggy has a chair of her own and her cushion is there, but she’s nowhere to be seen. Patrick could be out Christmas shopping, of course, and I know Ziggy has numerous little spots in which to curl up and sleep.
I decide to try his mobile, but when I do it goes straight to answerphone. As I’m walking out of the gate and about to reach over to slide the bolt shut, a voice calls out. ‘Hang on, Immi, don’t overstretch. We can’t risk Aysbury’s number one elf pulling a muscle.’ It’s Cameron who, along with his wife, Lizzie, lives in Meadow Barn on the far side of the complex.
‘There you go,’ he says, giving me a broad smile. ‘We did Fisher’s booze cruise last night and had a whale of a time. I hope it’s the start of an annual tradition.’
‘Booze cruise, is it? I was told it was wine and canapés.’ I laugh as he looks at me mischievously.
‘Well, it’s a nice little addition to the Christmas jollity, isn’t it, and this year’s market is the biggest I’ve seen.’
‘Yes, Bernie said he didn’t have enough pitches to meet the demand. Have you seen Patrick this morning?’
‘No. Not since yesterday, actually. I bumped into him on his way to the vet’s. Poor Ziggy was in her carrier and she was a little vocal, to say the least. Val has the same problem every year when she takes her for the jab.’
‘But he was here last night?’
‘No, I don’t think so. Whether he dropped Ziggy back a bit later, and then went off, I don’t know, as we weren’t around. The car wasn’t parked up when we arrived back just after eleven last night. We stayed behind and sat chatting with Fisher and your mum for a while. It was an enjoyable evening.’
That’s strange. I hope Ziggy is all right.
‘Thanks, Cameron. Well, if you do bump into Patrick can you let him know that I was looking for him?’
‘Will do.’
‘I’d best get off, as our second Little Stars Special cruise sets sail in half an hour,’ I reply, looking at my watch.
‘And I hear that the fund has almost reached its target. That’s quite a feat, Immi. I take my hat off to the committee. Tollie is walking around with a permanent smile on his face these days!’
He’s right about that and it seems that everyone is noticing it.
Tollie is talking to a little boy named Joshua. His younger sister was killed in a tragic car accident only six months ago and the family are still in pieces. They are facing their first Christmas without her there beside them. It’s hard not to tear-up as I look across at his mum, sitting at one of the tables, her eyes unnaturally bright as she tries to hide her emotions. It was Joshua’s father who emailed Mum to put his son’s name forward for a silver ticket:
We are all broken and there have been times when the only thing keeping us going is Joshua’s attempts to make us smile. He talks about Kaitlin every single day and, at first, we found that hard to deal with. There were times my wife and I just changed the subject. It was too heart-breaking and there was no normality to our lives. We were going through the motions of getting up each day and trying to cope as best we could.
But Joshua was strong, despite his tears, and he made us realise that a child’s view of death is different from an adult’s. He understood that Kaitlin will never be here in the physical with us again, but he’d sit and talk to her, anyway. Telling her what had happened at school and even just how much he missed her. When we noticed Kaitlin’s favourite teddy had disappeared, we found it next to his pillow and that has been a comfort to him. So now we talk to her, too. And while it’s going to be the hardest thing we’ve ever done, this Christmas we are going to celebrate it as a family in the way Kaitlin would have wanted us to. There will be tears, we know that, but her Boo Bear will be sitting on the dining table next to Joshua as I carve the turkey.
Kaitlin would want us to make Joshua’s Christmas as special as possible under the circumstances. It’s not about the presents, of course, which is why I’m writing to you. Last year was Kaitlin’s and Joshua’s third trip on The Santa Ahoy Special and it was a magical experience for them both. This year we’d love for our little star, Joshua, to get a silver ticket. In the last six months he has kept us going and while the pain will never go away, without him I don’t know how we would have kept going. That’s a testament to the strength of a six-year-old boy who has taught us to count our blessings and to treasure our memories.
God bless for all you do, and for the joy you bring!
Will and Jessica Beaumont
Reading the email broke all our hearts and reminded us why we do what we do.
For the Little Stars cruises, Mum liaises with the family to find a meaningful gift for the child concerned, and often their siblings too, when the trauma extends to the whole family. I remember that last year Mum managed to get a bridal company to donate a stunning crystal tiara for a little girl named Laura. She wanted to be a ballerina when she grew up and her eyes sparkled when she opened her gift. Laura’s mum is diabetic, and she collapsed at home. This plucky five-year-old dialled 999 and stayed at her mum’s side until the paramedics arrived. Joshua’s dad is right, it is humbling how selfless and brave children can be. What shreds my heart as I watch Joshua taking his very special gift from Santa is that tucked beneath his arm is a teddy bear and I wipe away a tear with the sleeve of my elf jacket.
Turning to gaze out of the window, I take a moment to compose myself. In front of The Bullrush Inn, the Aysbury Christmas carollers are in full flow, attracting an ever-growing audience. Two men walk around with buckets as the children happily throw in coins and then rush back to their parents to ask for more. Christmas is a time that reminds us of the fact that the pleasure is in the giving, not the receiving.
‘Right,’ Santa booms out with gusto. ‘It’s time for a bit of a sing-song again before I tell you one of my favourite stories!’ Tollie signals for me to change the backing track and I make my way to the galley.
‘What story, Santa?’ a little girl calls out, clasping her new stuffed reindeer in both arms. Since opening her present, she hasn’t put it down once.
‘Well, it’s all about the time when Rudolph single-handedly rescued everyone’s Christmas,’ he replies, a serious expression making him wrinkle his brow.
‘But how?’ she asks, impatient for the story to begin.
Tollie puts back his head and laughs. ‘You’ll have to wait a little bit longer, but it begins with one snowy Christmas Eve when I couldn’t even see my hand
in front of my face. We were about to get lost, very lost indeed!’ Tollie instinctively knows which stories are right for each group of children.
Seconds later, the opening chords to Wizzard’s iconic ‘I Wish It Could Be Christmas Everyday’ strike up and Jude and Jade’s voices encourage the little ones to join in, while the adults sitting at the banquettes are raising the roof. Moments like this are priceless.
Jude is today’s fairy, and she stands alongside Santa’s seat, using her magic wand to conduct the singing. Jade makes sure everyone has a glow stick and those who are too shy to sing wave their arms in the air. Before the last chord is struck, I notice that everyone has joined in, in one way or another, and Ethel, bless her, is also having a whale of a time.
‘Come on, girls, I’ll walk you back to The Bullrush. Thank you so much for making it yet another wonderful cruise,’ I say as we walk back arm in arm. Even though we’re wearing our thick coats, there’s no disguising our costumes and we attract a lot of attention, but everyone smiles back at us.
The carollers are still on fine form and I’d love to stop for a while and listen, but I’m a little worried about Patrick. If Ziggy isn’t well, what if he feels that he can’t tell Mum about it? I could be wrong, of course, and my thoughts go off in a totally different direction, sending a shiver down my spine. Christmas is a tough time for some people and it’s his first Christmas on his own. Patrick wouldn’t do anything silly, I hope.
‘Let’s go in through the back door,’ I suggest to Jade and Jude, as it’s so crowded at the front. Inside isn’t any better; it’s heaving with people. Small children are running between the tables and it’s total chaos, but everyone is good-natured. I give the girls a goodbye hug, and then go in search of Mum, who is in the kitchen, loading dishes into the dishwasher.
‘Hi, everyone,’ I call out, waving to Sarah as she turns away from the hob to smile at me. ‘The girls are back and have gone to change.’
I walk over to Mum as she closes the cabinet door. ‘That’s all done. Anything else I can do before I go, Sarah?’
‘No, it’s fine. The girls will be down shortly. Many thanks for helping, Val.’
‘My pleasure, Sarah.’ Mum turns to look at me. ‘Is everything all right, Immi?’
I nod. ‘Yes. I’ll hang on while you get your coat.’
Mum gives me a questioning glance before we make our way out to the rear hallway.
‘Problems?’ she asks, once we’re out of earshot.
‘Has Patrick said anything to you?’
‘About what?’
‘Ziggy, maybe?’
‘She’s okay, isn’t she?’
I don’t want to alarm Mum, but my unease is growing.
‘He’s not answering his phone, which is unlike him. He mentioned to Cameron that Ziggy was off her food and he was taking her to see the vet yesterday. I popped round earlier on, and his car wasn’t there. I peered in through the patio doors and couldn’t see Ziggy, either.’
Mum frowns. ‘She wasn’t on her cushion?’
‘No.’
‘Something’s not right, then. Come on, let’s head round there now. I have a key in my bag if we can’t get a reply.’
I can see Mum is visibly shaken.
‘She was fine when I last called in a couple of days ago, Immi. You know what she’s like – if she’s not in the mood for whatever food you put down for her, then she’ll go straight to her biscuits. There’s nothing unusual in that.’ But Mum isn’t really talking to me, she’s trying to reassure herself.
‘How did your session go with the hypnotherapist?’ I enquire to distract her.
‘It was interesting, actually. We spent an hour talking through my most memorable childhood stories. It seems the travel sickness might be down to a ride I had on a waltzer at the fair, of all things. Do you remember those rides?’
‘I do. Yes, they go round quite fast, and can be ever so disorientating.’
‘Well, I don’t know exactly how old I was, but this boy jumped on the back and was spinning the individual little carriages around by hand. I think he was the son of the owner and he might have been trying to impress me. The moment I got off the ride my head was spinning and I was violently sick in front of everyone. It was so embarrassing. After that I never went on a ride again. Anyway, the hypnotist relaxed me and I can’t really remember the last bit of the session, but it has helped. I’m going back to see her again next week.’
I’m glad it wasn’t a waste of time and at least Mum is no longer frowning.
When we turn into the complex and Patrick’s car still isn’t there, I start to worry again.
‘I wouldn’t normally let myself in, but I need to know that Ziggy is fine. But I’m also wondering what’s happening with Patrick, Immi, not to have said anything to me. I do hope he’s all right.’
The look we exchange is one of concern.
Mum turns the key in the lock, swinging open the door and calling out, ‘Anyone home? It’s Val.’
I follow her inside.
‘Ziggy, Ziggy?’ Mum’s voice wavers as she calls her beloved cat’s name, turning to look at me anxiously. ‘She’s obviously not here. Everything looks in order, so it’s not as if Patrick rushed out. There are no dishes in the sink. Oh, where are Ziggy’s food bowls?’ Mum’s face drops as she looks at the little rubber mat where the three bowls are usually lined up.
‘Stay here and I’ll check around,’ I reply, my stomach beginning to churn.
Making a huge effort to remain calm, I leave Mum leaning against the countertop, trying to figure out what’s going on. The sitting room is immaculate, the cushions on the sofas plumped and not a single thing out of place. Warily I head towards the staircase that leads up to the bathroom and the galleried bedroom. The bathroom door is ajar, and I gently ease it back. The shelf below the mirror is empty, not even a ring on it from toiletries, or splashes of toothpaste. The bar of soap on the handbasin is dry, the taps polished.
I go back out into the bedroom. The blind on the Velux window overhead is closed, but the light is pouring in through the main window, which looks out over the courtyard garden. The bed is made up and nothing looks out of place. I walk over to the wall of wardrobes and ease open one of the doors. It’s empty. And the second one is empty too.
‘Mum, you’d better come and take a look.’
Patrick is gone and so is Ziggy.
27
Desperate Times
As Fisher, Mum, Rona, David, Gray and I sit around the table in Fisher’s cottage, the news I have is even worse than we feared.
‘Okay. Here we go. I’ve been online and the fund’s bank balance stands at zero. The remainder of the money was drawn out the day before yesterday.’
A collective gasp goes around the table.
‘It’s been a tough day, knowing that the news was likely to get even worse as the enquiries began, but with three cruises to get through, I had to leave it all in Martin’s hands.’
I stare down at the papers in front of me, having scrawled some notes while Martin filled me in.
‘Martin’s first reaction, when I told him that Patrick has disappeared, was disbelief. When I told him about the missing funds, he went into panic mode. He is devastated as he recommended Patrick to us. While it seems that Patrick hasn’t taken money from the Lockside Nurseries, Martin was horrified to discover that several of the contracts Patrick negotiated on his behalf involved him levying a charge as a broker. That’s something Martin was never informed about. He rang me about an hour ago with an update, having succeeded in tracking down Patrick’s ex-wife.’
I pause to let the news sink in. When I glance across at Fisher his face is ashen and I steel myself for what’s coming next.
‘The truth is that their house was repossessed, and Patrick’s wife is divorcing him because he has a gambling addiction. The debt became overwhelming, and she decided she’d had enough. She hasn’t spoken to him for several months and had no idea he was living in Aysbury.
Martin was discreet and didn’t mention any details, only that he was expecting him at the nurseries on Friday but Patrick isn’t answering his phone.’
‘But messages have been left?’ David asks, struggling to comprehend what has happened, which is understandable.
‘Yes. Up until about lunchtime today, when Martin texted to inform me the number is now unobtainable.’
David mutters an expletive under his breath and we’re all sitting in silence and total shock. I keep thinking this can’t be happening. The silence is chilling, and I shuffle the papers in front of me into a pile, then stare across at Fisher, dreading what he’s going to reveal. Please, please don’t let it be any worse than it is already.
Fisher clears his throat, letting go of Mum’s hand and resting his elbows on the table, his hands so tightly clasped together that his fingertips begin to turn white. ‘There is no easy way to say this, guys, but I rang Charlton and Sons to explain what has happened and ask for an extension beyond the end of the month. Immi and I did a quick calculation and with the money from the cruises, the Christmas market and the car-parking charges, the barn dance and the sale of The Bullrush Brew, that should bring in around six and a half thousand pounds—’
‘Well, that’s something,’ David cuts in. ‘The final target is ten thousand something, isn’t it, Immi?’
‘Ten thousand five hundred and twenty-eight pounds,’ I confirm, wondering how long it will take to raise yet another four grand.
Fisher sits back in his chair, looking grim. ‘It’s worse than that,’ he mutters as our eyes meet. And then I know what he’s trying to tell us, but he hasn’t the heart to do it.
‘Patrick didn’t make that first payment, did he?’
Rona’s hands fly up to her face as she gasps and Mum, I notice, is crying.
‘No. Only the initial deposit has been paid, which you arranged, Immi. Patrick convinced them that it was just a case of waiting for the money that had already been raised to come in and they had no reason to disbelieve him. It was agreed that the remaining twenty-one thousand and fifty-six pounds would be paid by the thirty-first of December.’
