A Christmas Cracker

by Trisha Ashley

  I think I was running away from my feelings, more than anything else – for try as I might, there was something subtly bewitching about Tabby that kept drawing me into doing things I didn’t intend to in the least … things I certainly shouldn’t even be tempted to do, seeing I was supposed to be in love with Lacey.

  And Lacey had been so sweet and forgiving about my unfounded jealousy – or so I thought, until I checked my phone later that morning and found an anonymous message, telling me that she and Guy had been a lot more than just good friends before she met me …

  ‘Yes, we were going out together, but it was years before I met you!’ Lacey confessed.

  ‘Then why on earth didn’t you tell me?’ I demanded. ‘In fact, you let me think you didn’t even know him very well.’

  ‘But I didn’t lie to you,’ she said earnestly. ‘I mean, you didn’t ask me if I’d ever been out with him, and anyway, he dumped me so it was true when I said I didn’t even like him, let alone take his flirting seriously!’

  ‘I suppose all your friends knew and I’m the only one who didn’t?’

  She shrugged. ‘It was ages ago and I hadn’t seen much of him till recently, when he started hanging out at the same places again.’

  I was feeling … I don’t know, sort of deceived. But then, my conscience wasn’t quite clear either now.

  ‘I’ll drive myself up to Godsend next time,’ she promised. ‘It just seemed silly not to get a lift with Guy when he was going to Little Mumming anyway, even though I didn’t enjoy being cooped up in his car with him.’

  ‘But he only seems to visit Old Place when you’re at Mote Farm for the weekend,’ I pointed out, jealousy rearing its ugly head again.

  ‘It’s a coincidence. He was chasing Tabby, but I think he’s lost interest. I’m not surprised, because she doesn’t make the best of herself. She should do something with that hair, for a start.’

  ‘What’s the matter with it?’ I said, surprised, because I rather liked Tabby’s curtain of long, cocoa-brown hair and the fringe that framed her face, set with those all-too-enchanting lilac-grey eyes …

  ‘It’s boring,’ she said pettishly. ‘But let’s not talk about Tabby, darling.’

  ‘I wasn’t; you brought her up.’

  I looked at her, young, beautiful and more than a little devious, and instead of going all gooey, as I admit was the effect she usually had on me, I just felt exasperated.

  ‘Lacey, I don’t think things are really working out between us, do you?’ I asked suddenly. ‘I mean, we have such different tastes and want different things out of life. We can’t even agree on where we want to live!’

  ‘But – we can work all that out,’ she said, and then added, staring at me with wide eyes filling with reproachful tears, ‘Don’t you love me any more?’

  ‘Of course I love you,’ I said uncomfortably. ‘I just thought you might have changed your mind, or wanted to postpone the wedding for a bit.’

  ‘But I’ve got my dress and everything,’ Lacey said, as if that was the clincher. Then she swore she still loved me and, goodness knew, I couldn’t stand being cried at, even when I was sure the waterworks were being turned on for effect.

  The upshot was that we agreed that she was to come and spend Christmas at Mote Farm, so we could have more time together and work things out.

  Or not, as the case may be …

  Chapter 52: Daggers Drawn

  Q:How did Scrooge win the football game?

  A:The Ghost of Christmas passed!

  Randal came back from London both tense and terse, so I assumed that things hadn’t gone too well between him and Lacey, until he announced to Mercy that she wanted to spend Christmas with us.

  ‘How wonderful!’ Mercy said, clapping her hands. She was still convinced that there was a lot of good in Lacey, though if it was true I thought she might need to start fracking to find it.

  ‘Yes, isn’t it just? Lacey suggested it,’ he said gloomily, though you’d have thought he’d have been pleased about it.

  ‘We’ll show her a proper family Christmas and get the chance to really know one another – it will be so much fun,’ she said, though personally I thought that sounded like a recipe for disaster … and I was starting to think more like Scrooge by the minute.

  For a moment I even contemplated going to Blackpool for Christmas and New Year with the cracker workers, rather than watch Lacey do any more of the twisting-Randal-round-her-little-finger stuff, but I didn’t think I could stand all the bingo and karaoke.

  ‘Tabby’s been helping me to make the Christmas cake,’ Mercy told him. That had been fun and involved soaking the dried fruit overnight first in most of the contents of the small bottle of brandy kept in the cupboard with the other baking supplies.

  ‘Well, speaking of Christmas,’ Randal said (though actually, we speak of Christmas just about every day, so it wasn’t exactly a novel topic), ‘I walked round to Liberty’s and they’d just done their windows, so I took pictures of our crackers.’

  He showed us on his iPad and very splendid they looked, too. They’d made a giant cracker in the same colours and suspended it, broken in two, so that our sparkly new Marwood’s crackers seemed to be spilling out of it.

  Friendship Mill now had its own Facebook page and Twitter account, and Randal put the pictures on there next day. Not that we needed any extra publicity, for the closer we got to Christmas, the more visitors we got, so that at peak times the place was practically bursting at the seams.

  With all that was going on, very soon Randal and I were back on our old footing again, with him snapping orders at me as he organised the rewiring and redecoration of the upstairs room, which was to be the new gallery, displaying the work of the artists in residence – when he had anyone in residence.

  You could access the gallery from the café level, where the lift was, but there were stairs down, too, which brought you out by the workshop I’d earmarked for myself. And between bouts of cracker-making and helping Mercy in the office, or with whatever else she wanted me to do, not to mention being at Randal’s beck and call, I’d sometimes sneak into my workshop and gaze out of the back window at the trees … And if the sketches I made for future papercuts at the weekends showed variations on the theme of a male Sleeping Beauty, with a suspiciously bronze-haired beauty hacking her way towards him, I blamed my subconscious – and Lacey, who seemed to be constantly ringing Randal, as if to bind him to her firmly with words of a love I only hoped was true.

  We’d advertised for a Santa, and Nick Dagger from the Auld Christmas had been hired. He was very ancient, but insisted he was up to the job and that it would make a nice change of scene from the pub.

  ‘And I’ve got me own white beard and hair and a pair of black wellies,’ he’d pointed out, which for Mercy at least seemed to be the clincher. Randal was more doubtful, but said if Santa couldn’t stand the pace, then we’d have to draft Job into doing it instead, though I suspected that his deep and mournfully fruity voice would frighten the poor little mites to death.

  After a drought of messages from Guy, there was a sudden flurry: he was coming up the following weekend especially to see me, he said, to which I replied that he should pull the other one, it had bells on it.

  Then he said I had the wrong idea and he had something he wanted to talk to me about, which had an ominously familiar ring to it.

  I only hoped he wasn’t going to confide anything I really didn’t want to hear, like everyone else had seemed to do lately!

  He was driving up late on Friday night and going back the next evening, so we would have to meet on Saturday, but that was impossible: the mill was way too busy now we were getting closer to Christmas and Santa was arriving in his grotto that day, too, so I couldn’t just go waltzing off.

  In the end he wore me down, though, and I agreed to meet him in the woods behind the mill at nine, before we opened.

  Guy was sitting on a log in the clearing near the pebble beach at the stream’s
edge and his handsome, mobile face looked so unusually serious that I wondered what on earth he was going to say.

  He certainly surprised me, because it seemed that the wolf had a heart, after all, and had lost it to Lacey.

  ‘I love the woman, but she doesn’t believe me,’ he said bitterly.

  ‘Well, you must have heard about the man who cried wolf once too often?’ I said, and he gave a wry grin.

  ‘But I really do mean it this time! I realised I loved her when I heard she’d got engaged to Randal, of all people.’

  ‘But that’s all part of the pattern, isn’t it? You always seem to want the girls who’re engaged to other men,’ I pointed out helpfully.

  ‘I wanted you and you weren’t engaged to anyone.’

  ‘I know – I’m so flattered,’ I said sarcastically.

  ‘Randal warned me off Lacey. He does a very good veiled threat with menace, does Randal,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, I can imagine.’

  ‘Now Lacey’s told me not to go near her any more, she doesn’t even want me around,’ he said. ‘She had a big scene with Randal when he found out she hadn’t told him we used to go out together. He was tipped off by an anonymous message.’

  ‘Oh, I wonder who that was from,’ I said drily.

  He raised one dark eyebrow. ‘They didn’t seem exactly like a marriage made in heaven, so I thought it might just cause enough of a bust-up to derail the engagement. But no, she says she’s definitely marrying him and she’s even spending Christmas here with the family.’

  ‘I know, and we’re all delirious with pleasure at the prospect,’ I said.

  ‘Look, I really am serious about this,’ Guy insisted. ‘But I don’t know what I can do to convince her I love her.’

  ‘You’ll have to find some way of showing her you mean it, then. And I don’t mean the caveman stuff you tried on with me in the mill,’ I added.

  ‘Like what?’ he asked, looking blank.

  ‘I can’t imagine, short of eloping with her,’ I said, ‘and if ever there was a man less likely to head for Gretna Green, it’s you.’

  I rose, hoping my decent black trousers weren’t green with moss from the log.

  ‘It’s getting on towards opening time, so I’d better get down to the mill. Santa’s arriving early and I want to see him settled before the children start to form a disorderly queue.’

  He got up too and said, ‘I’ll walk you down, but I won’t go in because I’m too afraid of Randal.’

  I think he was only half joking.

  ‘Sorry I couldn’t be more help,’ I said.

  ‘No, actually you’ve been really helpful,’ he replied, giving me a hug and kiss that took me by surprise. ‘You’ve given me lots to think about!’

  He strolled off up into the trees and I turned and carried on down to the mill, where I appeared to have given Randal something to think about too. He was staring up at me from the stockroom loading bay with a face like a thundercloud and then he turned round and went back in, slamming the doors behind him.

  Mercy had already taken charge of Father Christmas and installed him in a comfortable chair in his grotto, with a sack of toys nearby. He made a very good Santa because, as well as looking the part, he had a high, piping, elven laugh and said the same thing to every child: What would they like for Christmas and had they been good? And then he would listen carefully before saying he’d see what he could do.

  ‘Eh, I’ve seen you in the pub and you’re a strapping lass! Would you like to sit on my knee, too?’ he said, when I went in to tell him Lillian had volunteered to bring him some lunch, which he intended eating in his grotto with the door shut, the curtains drawn and a ‘Santa has gone down the chimney but will be back in half an hour’ sign.

  I thought he was being a bit ambitious and would probably crumble under my weight, but apparently he had better luck with Lillian. When she didn’t come back from delivering his lunch and it was almost time for the cracker-making demonstration, Joy went to find her and said she was cuddled up in the armchair with Santa, sharing his sandwich.

  Just as well we’d drawn the curtains …

  ‘Lillian’s had her eye on Nick Dagger for ages.’

  ‘Isn’t he a lot older than she is?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes, but he’s well off and he’s got his own cottage by the pub,’ she said. ‘She thinks it might be better to be an old man’s darling, but I expect she’ll find out she’s mistaken,’ she added, with prim relish.

  Randal was avoiding me and when we finally met over the dinner table he didn’t mention seeing me with Guy – not that it was any of his business who I walked in the woods with, anyway. I just hoped he hadn’t got the wrong idea about that kiss, even if that wasn’t any of his business either … though what I’d discussed with Guy certainly was.

  ‘You were out early this morning, dear,’ Mercy said. ‘You’d already had breakfast, fed Pugsie and Pye and gone when I came down.’

  ‘Tabby was having a little tryst with Guy in the woods,’ Randal told her.

  ‘Really? Is he paying you attentions again, dear?’

  ‘No, it wasn’t a romantic tryst, he just wanted to chat to me.’

  ‘A strange hour and place for a little chat,’ Randal said. ‘A friendly little chat.’

  I gave him a chilly look, but it didn’t stop him following me into the kitchen later and warning me not to get involved again with Guy.

  ‘I wasn’t involved with him in the first place,’ I told him coldly.

  ‘When I was in London, I found out that Lacey was involved with him – but ages before she met me,’ he said, frowning. Then he looked consideringly at me. ‘That didn’t surprise you, did it? Did Guy tell you?’

  ‘Actually, Lacey did, some time ago,’ I said.

  He was still looking at me. ‘Someone sent me an anonymous message telling me about it.’

  ‘Well, it wasn’t me. Why would I want to drive you apart?’

  ‘No reason at all,’ he snapped, slamming down the tray he was holding and walking out, though he had to reopen the door to let Pugsie through when he started yapping.

  ‘I understand nothing about anyone,’ I said to Pye.

  ‘Mrrow,’ he agreed.

  After that, Randal seemed to throw himself into his work even more and so did I, until the very last of the Christmas cracker orders were sent out and the workshop could resume a more leisurely pace.

  I did tell Emma all about Guy’s visit next time I saw her and she said the situation sounded impossible, but she thought Christmas should prove interesting, though maybe not in a good way.

  Then she added that she wasn’t sure how good hers would be, come to that, since Des would be home for it and had already signed a new contract for a year without first asking her if she wanted to move out there.

  ‘So then I said it would be better if we stayed here and flew out for the school holidays and now he’s furious, though I’m sure he thinks he can get me to change my mind at Christmas.’

  ‘And will he?’

  ‘No way,’ she said with determination.

  The busy days passed quickly and suddenly we were poised on the edge of December and the slippery slide down to the festive season. Despite everything, I felt as excited as I had when I was a small girl, wondering what Father Christmas would bring me.

  Had I been naughty or nice? I think the jury was still out on that one.

  When Liz returned from school for the holidays, she shared my excitement and together we fetched down the decorations from the attics and spent a happy afternoon adorning the large pine tree that Randal had set up in the corner of the drawing room.

  He said Pye’s ghosts would just have to walk through it and then, after hanging around criticising our efforts at decoration, helped festoon the ceiling with paper garlands and balloons.

  Freda ordered up a huge supermarket Christmas food shop and filled the fridge, larder, freezer and cupboards, while Mercy, Liz and I baked up a storm of mince pies
and stollen.

  Liz was to be an elf, so that she could help Santa and earn some extra pocket money. We’d already ordered her a costume and she looked very fetching in green, with silvery bells.

  A small padded envelope was awaiting me one evening when I went home after the mill shut.

  There was no one other than Emma who might send me a present and I hadn’t ordered anything, but when I ripped open the envelope out fell a small sealed plastic bag and a note. The dried-out and crumbly grunge in the bag looked disgusting, and embedded in it I could see a small section of gold studded with what might once have been shining opals and pearls.

  I snatched up the note that had fallen out of the envelope with it, which explained that the enclosed had been in the Lost Property box at the cat rescue centre ever since Pye had passed it into his litter tray upon arrival. A kennel maid had spotted it and popped it into the bag, but hadn’t thought it of any value and they’d forgotten about it till now.

  ‘Are you so greedy you swallow rings whole with your dinner?’ I asked Pye, and he made one of his silent grimaces at me, possibly in apology.

  When I told the others at dinner what had happened, Mercy said how fortunate it was that it had turned up and was I going to send it to Jeremy?

  ‘Yes, though it looks in such a state I’m not sure how pleased he’s going to be,’ I said. ‘But never mind, at least he’ll have it back and realise I was telling the truth.’

  ‘Do you want me to help you try and clean it a bit first?’ asked Liz.

  ‘No, he can do that himself.’

  ‘A truly crappy present,’ Randal commented, his face straight, so I didn’t know if he was joking or not, though Liz giggled.

  ‘Really, Randal,’ Mercy said indulgently.

  Something came over me and I couldn’t resist it: I made a special red tartan foil cracker and enclosed the letter and the plastic goodie bag in it, before posting it to Jeremy.

  Off with a bang.

  I didn’t add a message of my own, because it spoke for itself, really.

  Chapter 53: Advent

  Q:What must you know to be an auctioneer?