‘Yes, Jack?’
Dithering idiot. ‘Well done,’ he said, and swallowed hard.
‘Yep, we did good.’ Mary opened the door, and they walked back into the inn to be met by thunderous applause, and some loud whistling from Luke.
‘Fabulous,’ said Charlie. ‘The best version of “Good King Wenceslas” I have ever heard.’
Mary took an exaggerated bow, overcompensating the jollity. She didn’t want to give a hint of what she really felt, because inside herself, she was crunched into a corner crying hard.
‘Us now,’ said Luke, getting up keenly. ‘Come on, Bridge.’
Bridge gave a drawn-out sigh. ‘If I must,’ she said and put on the wellies and coat that Mary had just vacated.
‘You look like a lagged pipe,’ Luke laughed at her.
‘I feel like one.’ The coat that fitted a man of six foot two was no fit for a five-foot, eight-and-a-half-stone woman.
Luke opened the door, waved her forward.
‘Look, Mr Tumnus is over there,’ he yelled and pointed into the distance. Bridge’s head whirled round, then she realised what he was talking about.
‘Knob,’ she declared him.
‘Isn’t this beautiful? It really is like Narnia,’ said Luke, turning a full circle to view the surroundings from all sides. ‘And how cosy does the inn look through the window?’ It did too; a friendly orange glow shone gently out, as if there was a sun trapped within the walls.
‘Which carol are we going to sing?’ asked Bridge, dragging his attention back to the job in hand. It was freezing and she wanted to be inside again as soon as humanly possible.
‘ “Jingle bells”. It’s my lucky song,’ said Luke, while fiddling behind his back. ‘Look, secret weapon.’ He’d taken the bell that sat on the bar, which a landlord might use to announce last orders. ‘We’ll wow them with the sound effects.’ He gave it a little shake to demonstrate.
‘It doesn’t exactly jingle, more of a dong,’ said Bridge, eyebrows crunched together in exasperation.
‘Who doesn’t love a dong?’ said Luke and then hooted and Bridge found her automatic disapproval of him melting into a chuckle. This is what we were like, always laughing, joking, larking around. She’d forgotten. He’d been an irresponsible Great Dane pup and she’d loved him for it. Once upon a time.
‘Okay, ready?’ said Luke, ringing the bell, which sounded as if he was a teacher announcing to pupils it was the end of playtime. He counted down on his other hand.
‘Three, two, one. Dashing through the snow…’
He really did have a terrible voice, thought Bridge. He couldn’t hold a tune with a pitchfork. He attempted a harmony in the chorus, at least that’s what she thought he was doing. And then a yodel. Who yodelled while they were singing ‘Jingle Bells’? She steadfastly kept to the melody and tried to increase the volume to drown out his efforts, then was belted by the realisation that she was actually taking this competition seriously. She’d got too used to winning, beating down other competitors, even here and now in trying to avoid making the after-dinner coffees. She throttled back, let his bizarre a cappella attempt shine.
Luke ended the song with a mad flurry of dong-jingles.
‘We’ve so lost,’ said Bridge with a laughing sigh.
‘Wrong. That was amazing. It was highly original and if I’d had the sense to record it, I would be sending it to Simon Cowell as soon as I got a signal. Now let’s go inside and receive our bouquets.’
They opened the door to a scene of hilarity equalled only by marshmallow-poo-gate.
Charlie and Robin were cackling like lunatics, Mary was clapping merrily and Jack was sitting mouth agape.
‘What. The. Bloody. Hell. Was. That?’ he asked.
‘See?’ said Bridge, throwing a hand up at Luke before answering Jack. ‘He insisted on too many factors.’
‘Look, the melody – i.e. you – was strong and when the basics are rock solid, you can experiment around them,’ explained Luke, as if that was his business template as well as his carol-competition-winning strategy.
‘Bravo,’ said Charlie, clapping loudly. ‘You’re in my top two so far.’
‘I preferred the first couple,’ said Jack.
‘Us now,’ said Robin, turning to Luke and enquiring, ‘How cold is it out there?’
‘If you’re asking that in order to pull a favour so we don’t have to go outside then don’t bother, because out we are going,’ Charlie admonished him sternly.
‘Absolutely, you have to go outside,’ said Jack. ‘This is serious stuff. No concessions.’
Charlie smiled at him. ‘Thank you, Jack,’ he said.
‘Come on then, Captain,’ said Robin. ‘Let’s show ’em how it’s done properly.’
‘Ooh, my wellingtons are lovely and warm,’ Charlie said then, putting them on straight after Bridge had taken them off.
Robin opened the door, Charlie followed him outside and they stood in wonder for a few moments, looking around them. The snow was just starting again, falling like feathers on them. Robin turned a slow full circle, smiling blissfully, arms extended, hands open, catching the flakes and the image struck Charlie as familiar, and at the same time not at all – like déjà vu in reverse.
‘It’s beautiful, like fairyland,’ gasped Robin.
‘Isn’t it magnificent,’ said Charlie. ‘Look at all that snow. If I’d been a few years younger, I would have just bounced in it.’ A memory from his childhood rolled into his mind then. ‘I remember my mother buying me a pair of wellingtons, bright red ones, just so that we could go sploshing in mud together.’ A loaded sigh. ‘What a fabulous woman she was. I wonder if she’s up there wait—’
Robin cut him off, he didn’t want to hear it.
‘She’ll be shouting down, Pick a carol you naughty boy and get on with it because Robin is freezing his Jacksons off. So what will it be? “The Little Drummer Boy”? “In the Bleak Midwinter”?’
‘Something jolly, not a dirge,’ said Charlie.
‘ “Away in a Manger”?’
‘Do I look three?’
‘No but you act it mostly.’
Charlie flapped his hand at Robin in mock exasperation. ‘ “Deck the Halls” then.’
‘I only know the fa-la-la-la-laaa bit.’
Inspired by the snow everywhere, Charlie clicked his fingers, began to sing, confident this was the one. Robin knew it, everyone did.
‘White Christmas’. Charlie’s voice, Matt Monro-mellow, nailing notes with a precision that Luke could only dream of. On the repeat, Robin attempted a harmony, easy enough though he’d never done it before, secured it. He figured he’d heard the song so many times, the score had been imprinted on his brain. Flawless.
They both held the final note, then Charlie made a cutting gesture and they let it float away on the snowflakes.
‘Ah,’ said Charlie. ‘I think we’ve won.’
‘Hands down,’ said Robin. He opened his arms and Charlie walked into them.
‘I love you,’ he said.
‘Ooh, twice in one day. I am honoured,’ said Charlie.
‘Don’t,’ said Robin, squeezing him tighter.
‘And I love you. And this has been the best white Christmas in history.’
Robin took his dear face between his chilled hands and kissed him.
‘Love of my life,’ he said.
‘Love of my life,’ Charlie said back to him.
A prick of tears behind Robin’s eyes, a sign to go in before he broke down completely, dissolved into the snow at his feet, in the air.
Charlie pushed open the door and he and Robin were met by a rapturous round of applause. Mary was wiping her eyes surreptitiously, but there wasn’t a lot that got past Charlie.
‘That was perfection,’ said Bridge. ‘I think it’s safe to say you two aren’t doing the coffees.’
Charlie gave a deep bow as Robin dropped a curtsey.
‘I thought our bell was inspired,’ said Luke
, feigning hurt.
‘Yes, it inspired everyone to vote us last, you bellend,’ said Bridge, presuming that’s where they were on the leader board.
‘Come on then, Bridge. Let’s get started. We can’t be brilliant at everything.’
In the kitchen Luke tipped some beans into the fancy-dancing coffee machine and checked the water level, while Bridge busied herself getting out some mugs. She spooned some brandy butter into a dish, switched on the grill to warm up the mince pies. They’d been home-baked by someone and there were old metal biscuit tins full of them.
‘I am actually hungry enough to eat more than one of these,’ she confessed. ‘How can that be?’
‘A renewed appetite for food signifies a renewed appetite for life, that’s what my spiritual guru always says.’
‘You have a spiritual guru?’ asked Bridge, as a picture of Luke in a kaftan, folded into the lotus position shot through her brain.
‘I’m joking, Bridge. I have no idea. If you’re hungry, maybe it’s your body telling you to eat. People don’t listen to their bodies when they cry out for attention, but they should.’
‘Aren’t they more likely to cry out for water or nutrition than mince pies?’ she asked with a slight note of scoffing in her voice.
‘Maybe your body is crying out for what mince pies represent: laughter and company and warmth.’
‘Bollocks,’ said Bridge and unpeeled the plastic wrapper from a packet of After Eights. But it wasn’t bollocks, it was right on the money.
‘Have you planned your wedding yet?’ asked Luke.
‘Well seeing as my first one was… low-key, I thought maybe Chatsworth House this time. The full works. Champagne reception, five-course meal, lots of bridesmaids, white dress…’
She waited for him to make a comment about that but he didn’t even look tempted to.
‘Fixed a date yet?’ he asked.
‘Not much point fixing a date when you’re still married to your husband,’ answered Bridge with a humph. ‘Why, have you and Carmen?’
She presumed he’d say they were going to fly off to the Maldives or Hawaii as soon as the decree absolute came through. He was loaded now so it was bound to be a showy affair. They’d probably get a dolphin to swim up the beach to deliver the rings to the priest. But he surprised her.
‘I think we might just slip off to a registry office and do the deed without any fuss. Party afterwards for close friends and family. Why isn’t this coffee machine working?’
Bridge leaned across, pressed a button and the machine burred into life.
‘Ah, cheers. Remember our wedding, Bridge?’ said Luke.
‘How could I ever forget it?’ she said.
He in a suit he’d bought from a supermarket, she in a dress she’d bought from a charity shop. Luke’s foster mum had taken in the waist for her, Luke’s foster dad had put a ribbon on his ancient Volvo estate and driven them to the town hall. Her mother hadn’t been there even though Bridge had decided to invite her. She forgot, she said. Bridge was glad really, because she’d have only spoiled it.
Bridge remembered fizzing with excitement as she recited her vows, feeling as if she were on the brink of something special with this man. Luke got his words mixed up, stumbled over parts where she was word perfect because she’d been rehearsing them for weeks.
Until death do us part.
They thought they’d be together forever. She’d loved him so much and she’d felt his love for her, like an energy that was almost tangible.
‘How are your foster parents?’ she asked him, knowing that Luke would always stay in touch with them because he’d loved them like his own. More than his own, in fact.
‘Good. I say good although Phil’s riddled with arthritis, but living in Portugal in the sun helps. Sandra loves it out there. Ducks to water.’
She knew he’d bought them a villa in the Algarve. She’d seen his financial records, pored over them with her accountant.
‘Have you seen anything of your mother at all?’ Luke asked.
‘You are joking.’
‘I’m really sorry, Bridge.’
‘Don’t be. I’ve not had any relationship with her for—’
‘I didn’t mean about her. I meant I’m really sorry. About us.’ He had turned fully towards her. He had taken both of her hands in his.
She hadn’t expected this, didn’t know what to say. For once, Bridge was dumbstruck. This short but massive word could have changed their history, but he’d never said it before. Not ever. She felt the warmth of his skin pressing against her own as he carried on speaking.
‘I think back often to how hard you worked and what you wanted for us both. I should have been a better husband to you. I let you down on so many fronts. I let you think you were wrong when you were right.’
It wasn’t all you, she wanted to say. And it wasn’t all bad, it really wasn’t. But she couldn’t; the words lodged in her throat.
The coffee machine picked that moment to buzz to say it had done its duty and delivered coffee from bean to jug. It couldn’t have timed its intervention better.
‘Yeah well, it’s all in the past.’ Bridge pulled her hands from his in one smooth movement. ‘And we both have a bright, shiny new future to look forward to, don’t we?’
* * *
‘Mary was just saying that Boxing Day breakfast is the best meal of the whole season,’ said Robin to Bridge and Luke as they walked over to the table with the mince pies, mints and coffee.
‘Oh, I totally agree,’ said Luke.
‘I’ve never heard of a Boxing Day breakfast,’ said Jack.
‘What?’ exclaimed Luke. ‘Where have you been living, under a rock?’
Jack sometimes wondered if he had been. Life in Figgy Hollow was like a life in a different solar system. He couldn’t remember the last time that he didn’t have any inclination to check his emails or care about where his phone was. His hand usually twitched towards it every few seconds, when he wasn’t seated at his Mac or laptop. It was the first thing he looked at every morning, the last thing every evening.
Bridge sat down and picked up a mince pie. Whoever had made the pastry had been heavy-handed with the butter because it crumbled delightfully against her teeth. She wasn’t drunk but there was definitely a fair amount of wines, both fortified and not, sloshing around inside her. Funny thing about alcohol sometimes, she mused, it split the brain, made one half see things through a distorted lens and the other see them with hyperlucidity. She looked across at Charlie who was smiling serenely, listening to the table conversation. He didn’t look ill in the slightest. Maybe Mary had got it wrong. She hoped so. Someone at the end of their life wouldn’t have had the strength to sing so beautifully about a white Christmas in the whitest Christmas they’d seen in decades, surely? Her eyes travelled to Mary then, her body language telling as she was leaning away from Jack on her left and towards Robin on her right. Luke was explaining to Jack that Boxing Day breakfast was a pan-fried mash-up of all the uneaten components of a Christmas dinner. She barely recognised him from the Luke of old. He looked like an older brother of himself, a sensible sibling, who cared for himself, worked hard and also reaped the fruits of his labours to enjoy with extended leisure. A man who had carved his place to fit him comfortably. The rough draft of the Luke she knew was long gone, refined out of existence. She hoped the rough draft of Bridge was long gone too.
Chapter 27
After the dishes had been cleared and washed up and the excess food decanted into bowls and put in the fridge for the morning, Jack stoked up the fire and they gravitated to the chairs placed in a crescent around it.
Jack couldn’t remember the last time he had done nothing and been able to enjoy it. He was a hard taskmaster on himself, always trying to run and be first across a finishing line that seemed to constantly move away from him; but now, here, today he felt like a marionette whose strings had been severed, forcing him to collapse.
‘Doing nothing is an acquire
d art,’ said Charlie, as if he was reading Jack’s mind. ‘But, take my advice and do acquire it. I was lucky, I had a mild heart attack when I was sixty that made me sit up and take notice.’
‘First time I’ve heard anyone say that a heart attack was lucky,’ said Jack, raising his eyebrows.
‘It saved my life, ironically,’ replied Charlie. ‘After that Robin insisted I retire. I didn’t need to work, we had more than enough money, so I sold the businesses and we lived, didn’t we Robin?’
‘Oh we did,’ agreed Robin, nodding emphatically. ‘We toured the world, we went on safaris, dived into lakes as deep as forever, travelled to the top of the world and the bottom, swam with dolphins, went whale spotting, gambled in Vegas, schmoozed with glamorous glitterati, sunbathed on sugar beaches…’
‘Sounds blissful,’ said Jack.
‘It was.’ Charlie sighed. ‘I’ve had a good life, done almost everything I wanted to. Including, might I add, have a white Christmas this year. I wanted snow, lots of it. I wanted it to blind me with its brilliance.’
‘Well you certainly got your wish, Charlie,’ said Jack.
‘I’m lucky that I have my loved one here to share it with me though,’ Charlie said. ‘You’ll be glad to get back to your lady, Luke and Bridge her dear Ben. And poor Mary, your family must be worried silly about where you are. It can’t last much longer, can it? Though I think I could survive forever in a world full of Christmas trees, log fires, mulled wine and mince pies.’
‘Cholesterol!’ yelled Luke, for comic effect.
‘After all this food, I think I’m mainly constructed of cholesterol now,’ said Bridge. ‘If I cut myself, I bet I’ll ooze brandy butter before blood.’
‘I do hope Radio Brian’s having a lovely day too,’ said Robin. ‘I’ve missed his voice since he went off air.’
‘I have enjoyed his pre-recorded playlist though,’ said Charlie through a mouthful of mince pie. ‘It’s as if he’s made it from all my favourite Christmas songs.’
‘Shall we play a parlour game?’ suggested Luke. ‘What about charades?’
I Wish It Could Be Christmas Every Day Page 22
