A Cozy Christmas in Cornwall

by Jane Linfoot

  His voice shoots high in protest. ‘You were the one who told us to be open and honest about sex and that it was never too early to know where the clitoris is.’ He gives a snort. ‘I’m only telling it like it is.’

  Libby’s hissing through her teeth. ‘Well DON’T!!!’ Then she turns around to everyone. ‘Okay, we’ll carry on without them. Let’s see who can jump in the sea first!’

  She has that effect. However determined I am to resist her commands, simply to show I can, when I look down my feet are running, and Merwyn’s bounding along beside me. And just beyond him Miles is beaming at me, leaping like a slow motion TV advert as we pass through the garden shrubbery. As we dash out onto the sand, on the other side of him Bill’s moving like a winger on a rugby pitch, only without the ball, with the single-minded concentration to match. I mean, truly, why the hell has he come along? Okay, he came to the rescue yesterday, but does that mean he’s ‘friends and family’ now? Surely he should be staying at home taking care of the castle or whatever it is he does.

  And there’s another thing. Libby telling everyone to go and jump into the sea. I mean, why? As Fliss and I watch everyone hurling themselves into the waves like lemmings, splashing the shallows up their jogging bottoms like there’s no tomorrow, all I can do is look at her and grimace.

  Fliss raises her eyebrows at me as we dodge the worst of the spray. ‘She didn’t think this one through, did she?’

  But Libby’s powering towards me through the foam. ‘You did get that, Ivy? Everyone running into the winter water, that’s a wholly unique image.’

  Damn. ‘Or maybe we could go again?’

  In the end we go the whole way along the beach to St Aidan, running in and out of the sea, by which time the promise of phone signal and warm radiators to dry our soaking wet legs on has become too much, so we all head past the boats bobbing in the harbour, their rigging jangling on their metal masts in the wind gusts, and up the winding cobbled street to the Hungry Shark for some warm apple punch and a wifi fix.

  Obviously with a bar full of fairy lights, punch bowls, stacks of mince pie muffins and piles of crusty Cornish pasties topped with festive holly leaves, I’m back in Instagram heaven. From the way they’re waving madly from the corner down the end of the bar, this also seems to be where Keef and his mates hang out, when they’re not catching half pipes, or whatever it is they do on the beach.

  Libby’s lot are already at a table, Willow and the Twiglets are having lengthy discussions at the bar, no doubt arguing origins and sugar content.

  By the time I get to Fliss and my pasty, Harriet and Oscar are in high chairs, and there’s no avoiding Bill who’s between them looking hugely grumpy passing out cheese cubes and carrot straws. I’m settling back against my bench seat at the side of Oscar when Milo appears.

  ‘Is there room for a small one?’

  It’s one of those questions he’s not expecting an answer to. Realistically, the answer’s no, because the space beside me is child sized. But his glass and pasty are on the table, and his hip hits mine before I can protest. My elbows are clamped to my sides which makes my pasty pointless because I can’t get my hand out to eat it. But I take it the wide smile is meant to more than make up for that.

  ‘We haven’t had chance to chat yet, I hear we have a lot in common.’

  Oh shit. I knew our single status would have to come at some stage, I just hadn’t expected it to be so soon or so direct. I can’t begin to imagine the build up they’ll have been giving me so I need a carefully considered reply here. So you’re single and desperate too? would work. Or maybe I should go straight for the desperately NOT seeking … denial. Instead I take the total cop out and let him do the work. ‘We do?’

  He’s laughing at me. ‘Don’t tell me you don’t know – we both work in retail.’

  As I let out a breath of relief my chest deflates entirely. ‘Great. Of course, I do styling at Daniels, so does Fliss.’ Widening it out to three of us is so much less intimate than two.

  His eyebrows flash upwards. ‘How’s that going? I hear they’ve been having troubles.’

  This is one of those painful conversations where I’m on my specialist subject, and I’ve totally flunked the first question. ‘I’m with Daniels the department store and everything was fabulous there when I left a week ago.’ I add in a cover all just as a talisman. ‘As far as I know.’ Like not walking under a ladder. Or throwing spilled salt over my shoulder. Or not taking ivy in the house haha. Obviously I break the rules on that one all the time. All those superstitions my granny insisted on so often, I can’t do anything else. Not that they saved me trouble in the long term. I turn to Fliss for backup, because suddenly Milo’s making me doubt myself. ‘Daniels are doing brilliantly … aren’t they?’

  Fliss is busy disentangling a soggy spinach puff from her hair and raises an ironic eyebrow. ‘Obviously they’re struggling without me, it’ll all be fine once I start my “back to work” transition.’

  He shrugs. ‘Well, you’re at the sharp end, and what do I know? Investments are what I dabble in, mostly I sell luxury cars.’

  However much I’d love to quiz him about the knock on the front passenger side of my Corsa he’s not going to be interested, so I’m taking this back to him. ‘And how’s that going?’

  He’s smiling again, but this time there’s an extra twinkle. ‘Terrible, but December always is. That’s how I got to sneak away early and come here.’ His eyebrows close together again, and he’s back to the spotlight and thumb screws. ‘Christmas must be Daniels’ busiest time, how did you get time off?’

  I’m not going to start on the saga of my outstanding holiday allocation. ‘The shop windows get blacked out for the after-Christmas sales, a lot of the sale stock is displayed in boxes, so it was a great time for me too.’ I make my smile bright and friendly, but make sure the ‘keep out’ signals are firmly in place on my metaphorical six foot high razor wire personal defence fence. ‘And will your dad and Miranda be joining us for lunch?’ It’s the best diversion I can think of.

  Milo somehow has his arms free, because he’s munching his pasty. ‘I left them a note, but I guess they’ve decided on the hot tub instead.’

  Thinking of Ambrose alone at the castle, I lean over to Bill. ‘I hope you’ve locked up your gin store.’

  Bill treats me to me his best superior eye roll. ‘It’s fine, my dad’s around to keep an eye on things back at the ranch.’

  I’m leaning forward to check. ‘Actually, I think you’ll find your dad’s here, I’m sure he waved earlier when I was at the bar.’

  Milo frowns. ‘There’s your answer. The castle and all the gin to themselves, they won’t be going anywhere.’ He grins and pulls a face. ‘Talk about a handful, since we lost Mum he’s gone right off the rails, I never know what he’ll get up to next.’

  Fliss gives a groan from along the table. ‘Don’t say that, I’m relying on Ambrose to keep Miranda out of trouble.’

  Despite having zero space Milo manages to nudge me and his voice drops. ‘If babysitting him means I get to meet people like you, I’m not complaining.’

  The huskiness in his voice makes my stomach contract. ‘Great.’ The little bit of sick in my mouth is probably why they call it a gut reaction. And it’s all to do with me, and nothing to do with Milo, who I’m sure is lovely so long as he’s further away and not turning that dazzly-toothed smile in my direction. Come to think of it, now he’s up close, I’m picking up Paco Rabane Million and lots of it, but it’s smelling nothing like as nice as it does in the store. I need to speed this up and not only so I can decompress my bum. ‘Maybe we should hurry back?’

  Milo’s smiling at everyone again. ‘I’m sure they’ll be fine, they’re only enjoying a bit of alone time, what can go wrong there?’

  Bill catches my eye over Oscar’s head. ‘Are you worried Ambrose might drown again?’

  The glare I send him isn’t anything like hard enough. And now I’m hanging my hopes on Oscar and H
arriet to give me a fast exit. Whenever Fliss and I venture out for lunch with them we only ever have a two minute window to bolt down our food before one of them starts yelling. But thanks to Milo pulling silly faces at Harriet and making the kind of car noises that send Oscar into peals of helpless laughter, today they’re lasting longer. Half an hour later when Harriet’s still kicking contentedly, munching chunks of Milo’s second pasty I’m despairing of ever leaving when Oscar comes through for me.

  Fliss suddenly lets out a shout. ‘No, Oscar, don’t take the top off your drink, I just filled it up!’

  A second later the whole chilly beakerful sloshes out and into my lap. ‘Oh no!’ Thank you, thank you, thank you, Oscar! As the water soaks my crotch and beads on my pink glittery jumper I’m hoping my gasp of horror hides how delighted I am.

  Fliss leaps up and dives back with cloths from the bar. ‘So sorry, Ivy-leaf, what was I saying about you being accident prone?’

  I’m beaming. ‘It’s fine, after yesterday you can throw water at me all day long.’ And who would think one small cup of the stuff would spread so far and so effectively. The best part is, everyone gets up to help and by the time we’ve used up most of the Hungry Shark’s industrial sized kitchen roll mopping up there’s little point sitting down again. So we get our coats on again, Bill’s getting as far away from Harriet as he can but Milo comes to pick her up. So with him carrying her and Fliss and I sharing Oscar, we wander up and down the mews and the narrow twisting streets soaking up the twinkle and the golden warmth from the shop windows. And when the older kids’ groans get too much to take we wind our way back down past the harbour, out over the dunes, and back down onto the sand.

  Thanks to us keeping up with Merwyn’s bounds and barks, we reach the castle ahead of the others. As we look back we can see them a long way behind, still trudging around the curve of the bay.

  ‘Here, Oscar, I’ll draw you a Christmas tree in the sand, and we can fill it with shells while we wait for the others to catch us up.’

  Milo puts Harriet down and she crawls towards us. ‘She needs one too.’

  Fliss joins in. ‘And make one for me.’

  Even with a small group of people, there’s this wonderful feeling of space and solitude you get on an empty beach that you don’t get anywhere else. The wind blowing around my head might be cold even through my hat, but as I pick up a stick and start scraping lines in the flat damp sand, it wraps me in my own cocoon. It doesn’t matter that Merwyn’s paw marks are scattered across them or that Harriet’s throwing handfuls of sand at us. Or even that the sea is the same dull brown as the sky today, with chalky white dashes of foam, instead of blue and glittery. What begins as one tree ends as a long line, wandering and wavy above the foam of the water’s edge. As the others come they join in too, as fast as I draw them they’re dotting them with shells and stones and seaweed strands.

  Libby’s marching along the tree line wafting her phone triumphantly. ‘A Christmas tree forest on the beach, no one’s put one of those up yet this year.’

  By the time we eventually get cold and drift our way back to the castle, the masses of grey clouds in the afternoon sky are fading. But as we come into the courtyard, instead of the expected glow spotlights and the steam from the hot tub, the stone flags are unlit, and the tub cover is on.

  Fliss shrugs. ‘Miranda’s had enough of the hot tub! That’s a first.’

  Libby’s marching past, flicking on the lights in the kitchen. ‘They’ve probably gone for champagne supplies.’

  Fliss hisses at me under her breath. ‘Or more likely, they’ve run short of Viagra and lube.’

  I wink at her. ‘Is someone jealous …?’

  Tiff comes out of the kitchen. ‘They aren’t in the kitchen or the family areas.’

  Then I notice Willow, hands across her chest, looking around the courtyard, and have a rush of gratitude for the way her sage oil saved me yesterday. ‘Everything okay there?’

  She’s looking perplexed. ‘I’m picking up something … something unresolved … something crying out for our attention …’

  Fliss must be feeling helpful too. ‘Do we need a candle for that?’ She shoots me an eye roll.

  Then it hits me. ‘All this going out, we still haven’t decorated the trees! You’ll feel much more settled when we’ve got those done, Willow, we all will.’ So much sensitivity – it’s a bit unnerving.

  Willow nods. ‘Thanks, let’s just stay open and vigilant anyway.’ As she passes me she puts her hand on my arm. ‘We’re going to have to do some work together, Ivy, that sage oil I gave you hasn’t cleared anything.’

  ‘It sorted the donkey smell.’ I grin at her, determined to show myself I’m over yesterday’s wobble. ‘Let’s get the trees done first, I can sort my chakras out any time.’

  She’s smiling at me over her shoulder as she walks into the house. ‘You won’t feel right until you do, Ivy.’

  ‘Jeez.’ I let out a sigh and shake my head at Fliss. ‘What is she going on about, I’m totally fine.’

  Fliss pulls a face. ‘We both know you’re not.’ She pulls me into a squeeze. ‘You do a bloody good job of hiding it though. I just wish we knew what to do to make things better for you.’

  Fliss has been there for me through all the chaos, picking up the pieces. And sometimes I wish she wouldn’t do this. Mostly I’m totally okay. The second someone understands, I crack. My mouth’s filling with saliva, and I swallow it down. ‘I’m doing Christmas – in a bloody castle – if that doesn’t make me feel great, what will?’

  She passes me a hanky. ‘It’s a temporary fix. Like putting a band aid on a fractured femur. What about afterwards, in January?’

  She’s staring at me really hard. I scrape my hanky over my eyes and dab my nose. ‘Hey, I’m not that broken.’

  ‘Aren’t you?’

  Realistically she’s the one who’s staring at an impossible January – getting two kids up and out of the house before seven every morning, finding nursery fees, doing a full day’s work then going home to thirteen hours of screaming kids again. So long as I stop my flashbacks running riot in my head, I can keep things at bay. Problem solved.

  As I hear a loud trundling noise I look around and blow out a breath. ‘Saved by the log trolley. It’s Keef, bringing in the wood.’

  I have to say, he’s got excellent timing. What’s more, his cornering is way better than Bill’s. He sweeps around in a huge curve and pulls the trolley to a neat halt by the back door next to a stack of empty baskets.

  ‘How’s it going, Keef?’ Oscar scoots up and gives him a fist bump.

  ‘Great thanks, little guy.’ Keef turns him upside down, and puts him back on his feet again, then turns to us. ‘Is someone having a Dido moment out front?’

  ‘Sorry …?’ I have no idea what the hell he’s talking about and from the way Fliss is frowning neither has she.

  ‘A white flag over the door? That’s what Dido sang about isn’t it?’

  Fliss gets in first. ‘The whole point of that song was that Dido said she wasn’t putting a white flag over her door because she wasn’t surrendering and giving in to her broken heart. Why?’

  No one’s supposed to know, Dido’s what she cries herself to sleep to when Rob’s really late home. That’s why she’s so up on the details the rest of us wouldn’t have a clue about.

  Keef shrugs. ‘Well, whether it’s Dido or pirates, something like a flag’s appeared over ours, I saw it just now. Come round and take a look for yourselves.’

  He props the trolley handle against the wall, and we scoop up Harriet and as we follow him out of the courtyard we run into Bill on his way back from the coach house.

  I might as well warn him. ‘Pirates have taken over the castle, Bill, you might need to come too.’

  As we come around the front, sure enough, there’s a large piece of white cotton fabric flapping around, its end jammed in the first floor window frame.

  I have to say it. ‘That’s Ambrose and
Miranda’s room. And this is less Dido, more like people hanging their bedsheets out of the window after their wedding night?’

  Fliss lets out a gasp. ‘Surely they can’t have …?’ Then she looks at me. ‘Of course they bloody haven’t, not even Miranda can claim virgin status when her grandkids are running up and down the landing.’

  I’m nodding in agreement. ‘Brighton’s very continental, Miranda probably just hung the bedding out to air while they went to the wine merchants.’

  Keef’s tilting his head on one side. ‘One problem with that theory – Ambrose’s car is right there under our noses, exactly where Libby tells him not to park it.’

  As I take in Ambrose’s sparkly wheels as close to the front door as he can get without actually parking in the castle porch, my stomach drops. ‘They’re hardly going to go for a walk, they’re not in the hot tub or downstairs … so where the heck are they?’

  ‘Miranda!’ Fliss is cupping her hands around her mouth, shouting up at the window, Keef follows up with a small pebble or two, then we all join in the shouting.

  There’s a rattle, and as the sash flies up the sheet flops down and lands at our feet. And when we look up again, Miranda’s filling the window frame.

  ‘Where the HELL HAVE YOU BEEN?’

  Fliss shoots me a sideways grimace. ‘We walked to St Aidan, then we’ve been searching for you and Ambrose.’

  Miranda’s barking. ‘Well, we’ve been stuck up here all bloody day, we even hung out an SOS flag.’

  Oscar’s stamping around waving a stick. ‘All bloody day … all bloody day …’

  Miranda’s still going. ‘We locked the door and it jammed, we shouted the place down this morning, why didn’t anyone come to help?’

  We all know the answer to that, but maybe now’s not the best moment to explain.

  Keef’s calling up. ‘Stay where you are, Miranda.’ As if she’d do anything else. ‘Two minutes, I’ll get the ladders.’

  In reality it’s slightly longer, but then he’s back from the side of the castle, and we’re hearing the aluminium clinking against the stone as he extends them up the facade. Seeing him shimmying up the rungs in his Aztec print surfie pants, his bead braids flying, to a window filled with Miranda, it’s weirdly like watching Rapunzel in reverse.