Comfort and Joy

by Cathy Bramley

  ‘Why am I just the person, anyway?’ I asked, my eye alighting on a sign advertising a trio of whiskies in a special wooden presentation box. Tom loved whisky. I could buy it, wrap it up and … But no, no, I mustn’t. I dragged my eyes away.

  ‘Ooh yes.’ She darted to the counter at the back of the shop. ‘Can you and Tom finish this, do you think? Eminently quaffable?’

  She held out a wine bottle that had a cork poking out of the top and an inch of wine missing from the bottle.

  ‘Well …’ I hesitated. If I knew Annabel, she’d refuse to take a penny for it and it was probably really pricy.

  ‘Go on.’ She pulled out the cork and wafted it under my nose. ‘Burn Cottage. It’s a Pinot Noir from New Zealand.’

  ‘Nice.’ I nodded, trying to look knowledgeable. ‘Why did you open it and only drink a drop?’

  ‘A client asked for a taste and it’s a shame to leave it here over Christmas.’

  ‘What a waste,’ I said, tutting with annoyance on her behalf. ‘Fancy asking you to open it and then leaving it!’

  She giggled, revealing a cute dimple in her left cheek. ‘Don’t worry, he paid for the entire bottle. He also bought two cases so it was well worth the effort. Anyway, can I tempt you? It’s got rich savoury notes and hints of red fruit and wild thyme. It’ll marry beautifully with your steak tomorrow.’

  I laughed. One of the things they don’t tell you about living in a village is that there are no secrets from anyone. In this case, it was less surprising that Annabel knew what Tom and I were having for our Christmas dinner because she was the butcher’s girlfriend. They had been together ever since they got to know each other at a competition we’d held at the cookery school earlier in the year.

  ‘If you’re sure you don’t want it?’

  ‘Absolument.’ Annabel went pink, shoved the bottle at me and twisted the hem of her jumper round her fingers. ‘I’m taking a break from alcohol over Christmas and Jack prefers a nice hearty bottle of ale. Anyway, with his children coming to stay with him, I don’t think this Christmas will be a very drunken affair. It’ll be mugs of hot chocolate and games of Mousetrap and Buckaroo.’

  I didn’t even know those games were still around. I felt a pang of longing for the sort of Christmas Annabel was describing. That was exactly what my parents would be doing in Canada with my brother Matt and his wife Celia and the kids, Robin and Eloise. It was exactly what I wish I was doing …

  ‘That sounds perfect,’ I said wistfully.

  ‘Do you think?’ Annabel bit her lip. ‘I’ve only met Asha and Finn a couple of times. They were super cute and we got on well, but spending Christmas with them feels like a huge leap from taking them swimming followed by supper at Pizza Express in York.’

  ‘Stop worrying,’ I said. ‘You’re great with children; Noah loves spending time with you. Besides, kids love Christmas. What can go wrong?’

  Her face softened into a smile. ‘You’re right. And Jack is so looking forward to it; he’s the biggest kid of all.’

  ‘I’m going to the butcher’s now to collect my steak. Are you ready to leave, we can go together?’

  ‘Yes indeedy.’ She pulled on a thick sheepskin coat and began turning out the lights. ‘Allons-y.’

  The trio of whiskies caught my eye again. Oh sod it, I never was very good at sticking to the rules. I reached into my bag for my credit card.

  ‘Annabel, wait, before you set the burglar alarm …’

  The butcher’s

  A few minutes later, Annabel and I arrived arm in arm at the butcher’s shop. Jack, a tall bear of a man with a ruddy complexion, broad shoulders and fingers as fat as his home-made sausages, was too busy singing to notice us approach the door. Annabel was right; he was indeed being a big kid. He had swapped his usual white pork-pie hat for a red Santa number with a flashing light on the end and there were Christmas songs blaring out from the radio. As soon as he saw Annabel, he dashed round the counter and took her bags from her.

  ‘All I want for Christmas is you,’ he crooned, scooping her off the ground.

  ‘Careful, darling!’ she gasped, gripping onto him. Then she hooted with laughter as Jack positioned her under a spring of plastic mistletoe and proceeded to kiss her enthusiastically.

  ‘Merry Christmas, my precious little elf,’ he said, finally lowering her to the floor but keeping his arms round her.

  ‘You big softy,’ she giggled. She nestled under his arm and gazed up adoringly at him and I felt a wave of pride at having a hand in getting them together. In fact, we’d made a number of matches at the cookery school this year: not just Annabel and Jack but Mags and Dave, Pixie and Cheryl and, of course, Tom and me. Which just went to prove what I’ve always thought: food and love go hand in hand, like mulled wine and mince pies.

  ‘And Merry Christmas to you and Tom, Verity,’ Jack said, placing a more restrained kiss on my cheek as I tried not to drip raindrops on his clean floor.

  ‘You too. I hope you weren’t staying open just for me?’ I said guiltily, looking round at the scrubbed shelves and the almost empty window display. There were just two turkeys left behind the counter – one that looked as though it could feed an army and a more modest one, plus a tray of Jack’s home-made chipolatas and some local smoked bacon.

  ‘Don’t you worry;’ Jack shook his head dismissively, ‘that beast of a bird is still waiting to be collected too. The other one is ours, for mine and Annabel’s first family Christmas.’

  His face split into another broad smile before he disappeared into the back to find my order and Annabel and I exchanged grins; there was no doubt about Jack’s excitement. He came back with two bags.

  ‘This fillet steak will melt in your mouth,’ he said with a wink. ‘And I’ve added a bit of turkey liver for the dogs. Seeing as it’s Christmas.’

  ‘Thanks, Jack, I’m really touched.’ I smiled. My miniature Dachshunds, Comfrey and Sage, would enjoy that for breakfast tomorrow. I reached into my bag and pulled out a slightly damp gift bag. ‘In that case, I’ll swap you for some Christmas-pudding fudge.’

  ‘Don’t mind if I do.’ He undid the ribbon and put a piece straight in his mouth. His eyebrows lifted appreciatively. ‘Wow … OK, well, that has to be worth a few slices of bacon.’

  ‘There’s no need!’ I argued.

  But he added a wedge of bacon rashers to my bag anyway.

  ‘Have some truffles!’ I said triumphantly, setting a box of them on the counter.

  Jack laughed and flipped a handful of his home-made sausages into a bag. ‘Chipolatas. On the house.’

  ‘This could go on all day,’ Annabel laughed and slipped an arm round his waist. ‘Now, who’s ordered that whopper of a turkey because I’ve still got some present-wrapping to do before the children arrive?’

  ‘Harriet from the cheesemonger, she won’t be long,’ said Jack, seemingly unperturbed about the time. ‘Well, technically, her mother ordered and paid for it, but Harriet is collecting it for her.’

  ‘I thought she was spending Christmas with her family in a rented farmhouse up north?’ I said with a frown.

  ‘She is,’ Jack confirmed. ‘The rest of them have gone on ahead, Harriet wanted to catch any last-minute trade before setting off to join them.’

  ‘Look, Jack.’ Annabel produced some tinkly Christmas bells from her bag and gave them a shake. ‘I thought while you’re reading Asha and Finn a story tonight I could go out in the garden and jingle them and you can say, “Listen carefully, Santa’s on his way!”’

  ‘They’ll love that,’ said Jack, beaming.

  ‘You’ll love that, you mean,’ said Annabel, poking him in the ribs.

  ‘The kids always leave a mince pie and a glass of sherry for Santa.’ He grinned sheepishly. ‘Then once they’re asleep I’m going to do footprints in flour, like pretend snow, leading from the chimney.’

  His enthusiasm for making Christmas magical for his children was adorable and my heart bounced with happiness for him. He
’d once confided in me how miserable last Christmas had been just after he and his wife got divorced, the children had stayed with her and he hadn’t seen them open their presents. So sad when we couldn’t be with the ones we love at Christmas, I mused, feeling that familiar prickle of sadness myself. Just then the door opened again and Harriet arrived under the cover of a large pink and black polka-dot umbrella.

  ‘Hurrah for Christmas! Sorry I’m so late, the people of Plumberry have been buying their bodyweight in cranberry-flavoured Wensleydale all afternoon,’ she trilled, shaking her brolly off outside before coming in and pressing her cold cheek to mine. ‘Anyway, I’m here now, chuck me my turkey, please, Jack.’

  ‘Certainly,’ he said, nipping round to serve her.

  ‘Also …’ said Harriet, looping her fair hair behind her ears before delving into a brown paper bag. She cleared her throat and began unloading blocks of cheese from her bag while singing: ‘Glad tidings of Camembert and Yarg, Camembert and Yarg! See what I did there?’

  I laughed as Annabel uttered a small groan and clapped her hands over her ears.

  ‘Leftovers, if you’re interested,’ Harriet added.

  ‘Very good,’ said Jack, unwrapping a wheel of soft cheese and squidging it between his fingers. ‘Fancy this baked with a bit of crusty bread, Annabel?’

  ‘Not for me,’ said Annabel, blushing. ‘I can’t … I’m watching my figure.’

  Jack waggled his eyebrows. ‘Me too,’ he said, sneaking a look at her bottom. ‘Can’t keep my eyes off.’

  ‘Me too,’ Harriet grumbled. ‘I’m watching mine turn into nine-parts Stilton to one-part woman. What about you, Verity?’

  ‘Yes please. Calories don’t count at Christmas, it’s a well-known fact. Is Yarg the one that’s wrapped in nettles?’ I said, peering at an oddly coloured lump of cheese Harriet had put on the top of the counter.

  ‘Correct,’ said Harriet. ‘The nettles attract a light mould, adds to the flavour.’

  Annabel made a sort of choking noise and Jack tutted. ‘You’re not squeamish about a bit of mould, are you? Quality food is about letting it mature. Same with meat.’

  Was I imagining it or did Annabel look a bit green?

  ‘I love it,’ I said. ‘The pongier the better for me.’

  ‘Right, I hope you’re feeling strong,’ said Jack, lifting the turkey up to show Harriet.

  ‘Oh my giddy aunt!’ Harriet’s mouth dropped open. ‘Is that mine?’

  ‘It is. Eleven kilos of top-class bird,’ said Jack proudly, puffing out his chest. ‘You won’t get a finer turkey … Oh hold on, I’ve got a call coming through.’ He pulled his phone out of his white butcher’s coat and his face lit up. He turned the volume of the radio down before answering it. ‘It’s my boy. Hello, Finn mate, are you excited to come to Dad’s soon? Are you about to set off?’

  He walked into the back of the shop to talk to his son, leaving Annabel and Harriet to wrestle the huge turkey into a carrier bag between them.

  ‘Mum will still worry it’s too small,’ Harriet said wryly. ‘And if I know her, she’ll be on the phone soon wittering at me to hurry up and arrive because she needs to start rubbing it with herb butter or something. I’d better be off. I’m dreading driving all the way on my own in the dark and the rain.’

  ‘Isn’t your boyfriend joining you?’ I asked. ‘Simon, isn’t it?’

  I hadn’t met her new chap yet, but she’d told me how he had been into her cheese shop every day for a fortnight in November buying a different cheese each time before finally plucking up the courage to ask her out. I didn’t think it was serious yet, but I knew she was quite keen on him.

  Harriet looked down at the floor and shook her head.

  ‘I did invite him,’ she mumbled, ‘but he said it was too soon for a family Christmas so he’s going to stay home alone.’ She plastered on a bright smile and shrugged. ‘Can’t say I blame him; eighteen of my noisy relatives is almost too much chaos for me to face, let alone an outsider.’

  ‘Maybe next year,’ I said tactfully.

  Hmmm. Simon’s attitude rang alarm bells as far as I was concerned; given the choice of being in the bosom of a loving if slightly chaotic family or spending Christmas on my own, I’d accept the invitation like a shot. But we’re all different …

  Jack walked back in just then, shaking his head affectionately. ‘Bless him, Finn is worried that Santa won’t know where he and Asha are to deliver their presents to tonight. I told him Santa knows everything, he won’t let them down and they’re going to have their best Christmas ever if I have anything to do with it.’

  ‘Oh, Jack,’ said Annabel with a catch in her voice. She threw her arms round his neck and covered his face with kisses. ‘You make the most wonderful father. I’m so proud of you.’

  Harriet and I exchanged amused looks as Jack went pink and patted Annabel’s back awkwardly.

  ‘Where is the farmhouse, Harriet?’ I asked, averting my eyes to save him further embarrassment.

  She rolled her eyes. ‘North-east. I tried putting the postcode into my satnav but it drew a blank. Not far from Newcastle, I think.’

  On the radio, a serious voice suddenly interrupted Coldplay singing ‘Christmas Lights’…

  ‘And now we’re going straight to our news team for an urgent weather report.’

  ‘Thank you, Andrew. News just in that the River Ouse has burst its banks in several places and many homes are flooded. York has been the worst hit and rescue teams are already working to remove stranded cars. The villages of Thickleton and Pudston are now severely threatened, two hundred homes are being evacuated and levels are rising rapidly in Plumberry and surrounding areas. Parts of the motorway and several major roads are underwater and police are urging people not to make any non-essential journeys …’

  Harriet clapped a hand over her mouth. ‘Oh Lordy! I’ve left it too late. I can’t leave now; it’s not safe to drive! Mum’s going to kill me.’

  ‘The kids,’ murmured Jack, his usual healthy complexion turning pale, ‘what about my kids? They’re in York.’

  He didn’t have long to wait for an answer: his mobile rang again immediately.

  ‘Hi, Jane,’ he said, pulling himself up tall. He tugged his Santa hat off and began rubbing a hand through his hair. ‘Are you already on your way? Are you OK?’

  Harriet, Annabel and I glanced at each other worriedly as his ex-wife delivered what was clearly bad news: Jack’s shoulders sank and his face crumpled with sadness.

  ‘I heard the news too,’ he said in a hoarse whisper. ‘Of course. It’s not safe. Not worth taking the risk. Yeah, I’ll talk to them both as soon as I’ve shut the shop. Jane …’ His voice wobbled. ‘Tell them Daddy loves them. Please.’

  I swallowed a lump in my throat as he ended the call and gave Annabel a look of pure anguish.

  ‘Asha and Finn are not coming. Jane reckons it’s too dangerous to drive. Christmas … our family Christmas is cancelled.’

  Annabel was at his side instantly. ‘Oh my darling, I’m so sorry. Perhaps tomorrow will be better; maybe we can drive over there, at least see them open their presents?’

  ‘It’s my turn this year,’ he said with a sob in his throat. ‘It’s my turn to have them. I was so looking forward—’

  And then to my absolute horror Jack began to cry proper tears. Annabel pulled him into her arms and made soothing noises and I felt my own eyes go misty too.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Jack,’ I whispered, touching his arm. He didn’t acknowledge me but Annabel gave Harriet and me a sad smile as the two of us tiptoed out, leaving them wrapped in each other’s arms.

  Out on the street, the rain was still hammering down and Harriet and I dipped under the bus shelter out of the deluge for a second. The lights in Tom’s restaurant on the other side of the road were all off as lunch had been their only service today and I felt a sudden longing to be home, in the dry and in his arms.

  ‘I feel awful for Jack,’ I said, biting my lip
. ‘He was so looking forward to being a family with his kids at Christmas.’

  ‘I do too,’ said Harriet and then looked down at her big turkey and groaned. ‘Come on then, Kevin, I’d better get you home, it looks like it’s just you and me for Christmas dinner.’

  ‘Kevin?’ I laughed.

  ‘Oh yes,’ she said airily, ‘we always name our turkeys; it’s a tradition.’

  ‘Of course, silly me. Hey!’ I said as a thought occurred to me. ‘Now you’re not joining your family, you could invite Simon round. No need to spend the day on your own, you could have the most romantic Christmas ever.’

  ‘Verity Bloom,’ she squealed, grabbing my arms and shaking me, ‘that is a brilliant idea! I’ll go round there later and invite him. Merry Christmas!’

  And with that she ran off into the dark, splashing carelessly through the puddles, swinging her eleven-kilo bird beside her.

  At least someone will get the Christmas they dreamed of, I thought fondly, as I pulled my hood back up and set off for home.

  Christmas Eve at Hawthorn Cottage

  Hawthorn Cottage, our new home, was at the top of a tiny cobbled street a mere five-minute uphill walk from the centre of the village. I adored it. So far we hadn’t done much more than move our furniture in and put our winter clothes in the bedroom wardrobe. But it was a quirky two-bedroomed eighteenth-century abode with two-foot-thick stone walls, beamed ceilings and a real log fire. We were looking forward to putting our stamp on the place in the spring and making it really feel like home. Now, though, I noticed with dismay, it didn’t look very homely at all. In fact, the cottage appeared to be almost in darkness except for the dim glow of light in the living room.

  My feet crunched over the wet gravel along the path to the front door and as ever, the dogs erupted into excited barks at the sound of a visitor. At least someone’s home, I thought, smiling to myself as I put the key in the lock. But where was Tom?