Christmas at the Dog & Duck

by Jill Steeples

  ‘Until the New Year apparently. It’ll be so lovely to have the whole family together for Christmas. It’s been such a long time.’

  ‘I’m so happy for you Betty. Oh, and thank you for the mince pies by the way. They were absolutely delicious.’

  ‘I’ll drop some more off to your house,’ she said conspiratorially. Clearly Betty had much more important things to be thinking about then the closure of the pub. It had been a huge body blow to me, but I was beginning to realize that life and Christmas would go on in Little Leyton regardless of what was happening at The Dog and Duck.

  *

  There was a real cold nip to the air as I took Amber across to the field, what I would always think of as Max’s field now, for our training session. I dug my hands deep into the pockets of my padded jacket, grateful for its fur-trimmed collar as I snuggled into its comforting warmth. The ground was crisp and hard beneath my feet and the branches of the trees were tipped in frost, creating a winter wonderland effect. As I gazed across the fields with sheep dotting the landscape, I took a deep breath, admiring the beauty of the countryside, a scene that wouldn’t have looked out of place on a Christmas card.

  Talking of which, my Christmas cards were all written and ready to go. I’d been so organized this year, hardly able to wait for the festive season to start. Now, I wondered what the hurry had been about. With only my dog-walking duties to keep me busy in the run-up to Christmas, I would have plenty of free time on my hands. Still, that just meant more time to savour and enjoy the delights of the season. This afternoon I would get out in the village to hand-deliver the cards for my friends and neighbours.

  Amber ran off gaily, her previous accident now well and truly forgotten. She hadn’t suffered any ill-effects from her run-in with the bush, apart from a small scar on her side which she had to show for her adventure. She still insisted on having a good old sniff around that part of the field, but carefully avoided going into the deepest depths of the shrubbery there. Seeing her from a distance, her nose to the ground, her tail held straight behind her, filled me with a warm swirl of pride. The little dog had come on in leaps and bounds since I’d first started working with her.

  Today though was the first time since I’d been using the field that I was keeping my fingers tightly crossed that I wouldn’t bump into Max Golding. He’d phoned me already this morning, but really, what did we have to say to each other? Nothing was going to change the fact that the pub was now closed. What Max and I needed was some distance from each other. Our personal lives had become too embroiled with the future of the pub. My head was telling me one thing; that I needed to go back to London to take up my career again and leave the fate of The Dog and Duck in the hands of its new owner, while my heart was telling me something else entirely; that I needed to stay in the village, to oversee what would happen to the pub – maybe just until a new landlord was in place. Didn’t I owe it to my parents, to Eric and to all our lovely customers to see the pub through this period of change? I laughed out loud. Who was I kidding? The only reason I wanted to stay was to satisfy my own curiosity and desires. And then there was Max, of course. Always Max. Messing up my head with his all-pervading presence. I tucked a hand inside my jacket to check my envelope for Firman's was still there, with a mental note to myself to post it later.

  ‘Come on, Amber,’ I called, as a cold shudder ran the length of my body.

  Walking always cleared my head, so I picked up the pace. I definitely needed to clear my head – of the pub and all thoughts of Max Golding.

  Later, on my way home, after dropping Amber off with Cathy, I walked to the other end of the village and called in at Beck’s Farm Shop. Today I should have been collecting the Christmas tree for the pub and, with Dan’s help, decorating it too, but Max had put paid to those plans. Instead I decided, not wanting to be completely deprived of the pleasure, I’d decorate my own Christmas tree at home. It wouldn’t be quite the same without Mum and Dad around to help out, but at least I knew once the tree was up, twinkling away brightly in the window, that it would feel as if the Christmas season had well and truly arrived.

  ‘Hi Ellie, how are you?’

  Ryan Lockwood was making easy work of lugging Christmas trees over his shoulder and putting them through the netting machine, bagging them up ready to sell to his customers. I hadn’t seen him in years. Hadn’t even realized he was back in the village. Back when I’d known him, years ago now, he had a reputation as a bit of a wild boy. A known truant, the school grew tired of his continued absences and he was eventually expelled. Afterwards there were all sorts of rumours about him – drink and drugs, run-ins with the police – but whether there was any truth in those stories I didn’t know. Standing in front of me now was a strong and fit young man, with a wide handsome face, almost unrecognizable from that wild and wayward teenager.

  ‘Hi Ryan, it’s great to see you.’

  ‘Yep, you too. After a Christmas tree?’

  ‘Please. Nothing too big. Maybe about 5 foot or so and something that won’t drop all its needles.’

  ‘Over there.’ Ryan pointed to a row of trees leaning against the fence. ‘Pick out the one you fancy and I’ll bag it up for you.’

  ‘Thanks. I didn’t think you’d be so busy already.’

  ‘Oh yeah, Christmas seems to have come early to Little Leyton.’ He rolled up the sleeves of his sweatshirt and wiped his brow with his forearm. ‘I’ve already sold over twenty trees today.’

  ‘Wow!’ I laughed. ‘Well it’s really good seeing you back in the village, Ryan. Are you sticking around for a while?’

  ‘Yep,’ he nodded. ‘There are worst places to live. And you?’

  ‘I’m here until at least the New Year but after that who knows…’

  Ryan had a point. There were much worse places to live than Little Leyton and for me the village would always have a special hold over my heart, waiting to welcome me back in the fold - at any time in the future.

  Thirty-Four

  I stood back to admire the tree which was standing tall with a myriad of colourful lights twinkling in its branches. It was perfect. Well almost. I leant down to pick out a small silver frosted bauble that was lost within the lush green foliage and placed it towards the top of the tree where it had a better chance to shine. I sighed in full and utter appreciation of its beauty.

  In previous years, along with Mum, we’d chosen a colour scheme for the tree; one year we’d gone for all silver, the next all gold, then red and green, we’d even had a purple year, which we’d thought was a terribly good idea in the middle of November, although by the end of the festive season, the allure of the bright purple had worn a little thin, and we’d declared that from then on it would be traditional colours all the way.

  I’d had a brief moment this morning when I’d toyed with the idea of trying the purple again, maybe with some silver to break up the purpleness, but then the red and green was always so lovely and festive, and the baubles and toy soldiers and jolly Santas were glistening at me, shouting, ‘pick me, pick me.’ In the end when I simply couldn’t choose between the different colours, I thought, to hell with it, why shouldn’t all those bright and shiny baubles mingle happily together on the tree. Once I started I couldn’t stop, overtaken as I was by an enthusiasm to hang as many of the decorations we’d collected over the years, onto the tree. Eschewing our usual tasteful white candle lights too, I found some old multi-coloured flashing lights in the loft and draped those over the tree, even adding some silver and turquoise tinsel around the bottom.

  I smiled, feeling inordinately proud of my handiwork. The whole effect was gorgeous; bright and brash, the colours clashing wildly, a joyful explosion of festivity nestling in the window of No. 2 Ivy Lane Cottages.

  In fact, at that moment, I thought it was probably the best and most beautiful tree I’d ever seen. I pulled out my phone to take a photo of it to send to Mum. She would most definitely not approve, I thought smiling, but then Mum wasn’t here…

&n
bsp; Suddenly I remembered the gift she’d given to me on her last trip over. I went over to the dresser and opened the top drawer, pulling out the wad of pink tissue. Inside, I uncovered the little glass angel, my fingers tracing a trail around her halo and on the delicate carving of her wings. What was it Mum had said? That she hoped the angel might bring me a little luck over the Christmas period. That would be nice. Carefully, I hung the decoration on one of the top branches of the tree, where it could be seen, the light through the glazed windowpane reflecting through its wings. Perfect. My work here was done.

  Without my parents around to help me in the tree-dressing ceremony, Michael Buble had heroically stepped up to the plate and was giving his full and heartfelt support as he hummed his approval in the background.

  ‘It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas…’

  Just as I pressed send on the photo to Mum I noticed a text from Max, his name on my phone always eliciting a quiver of anticipation inside me.

  Hi Ellie! Sorry… I know I’ve upset you by closing the pub, but it had to be done! Don’t let this spoil things between us. Please? I’m going to be pretty busy in the run-up to Xmas, but hopefully we can catch up over the break? Missing you. Speak soon, yeah? Love Max xxx

  Grrr. Upset me? That didn’t even come close. I sank down on the sofa, unable to drag my eyes away from my masterpiece of a tree. Oh God, but I missed Max too. I didn’t want to admit it to myself but that man took up so much space inside my head. This wasn’t only about the pub, it was about us, our relationship. Clearly I hadn’t mean anything to him. Every minute of the day, he was there, infiltrating my mind and senses with the memory of his scent, his touch, his whole being. He’d upset me and infuriated me and really I had half a mind never to see or speak to him again. That would teach him. And yet… oh how he’d mesmerized me too.

  I read his text over and over again, all the time lingering over those most important words. Missing you and love. I sighed and switched my phone off. It was never a good idea to read too much in to these things.

  *

  Johnny, Polly, Josie, Ethan, Dan, Silke, Andy and I had gathered in Polly’s cosy cottage for a pre-Christmas soiree. We’d all brought a supper dish along, and there was plenty of booze available too; Prosecco and beers and a cranberry-infused fizz which had been going down very easily all night long. In the middle of the coffee table was a plate of mince pies baked by Josie and we were now tucking into those as we went round the group for the Secret Santa. The others had opened their presents already – Johnny had opened his Santa Claus boxer shorts and roll of toilet paper in the same design to much hilarity – it was only left to me now to undo the prettily wrapped box in front of me. Everyone was looking at me expectantly, urging me to get a move on, but nothing was going to stop me from savouring the moment. I turned the parcel over in my hands to try and get some clue as to what might be inside. I shook it to my ear to see if it made any noise – it didn’t – and I held it to my nose to see if it had any scent – it hadn’t.

  ‘Come on, Ells, just get on with it, would you? We’re all dying of suspense here,’ said Johnny, who was now looking slightly the worse for wear, having slumped halfway off the sofa.

  Quickly I untied the ribbon, my fingers tearing at the reindeer paper and pulled off the lid to the pretty floral box to find a pair of pink ribbed walking socks inside with paw prints on the soles.

  ‘Oh my goodness they are gorgeous,’ I said, deciding there and then that I had to put them on. I pulled them over my feet and wiggled my toes in the air. ‘Thank you to whoever chose these. They’re brilliant and will be perfect for my dog-walking.’

  ‘Don’t suppose you’ll be doing much dog-walking though when you take up your new high-flying job in the city,’ said Josie.

  ‘No.’ A life in London would be so different to the one I’d made here in Little Leyton. No dogs, no close friends, no beautiful countryside, no Max Golding - I suppose there had to be some perks. ‘But I will wear these socks regardless,’ I said, pushing the black cloud away. ‘They will look very sexy with my pencil skirt and heels.’

  Digby, who had come along this evening as my plus-one, sniffed at them curiously and wagged his tail in approval. I glanced at my watch, wondering how Gemma and her family were getting on. Today was their moving day and they would be in their new, rented home by now. A new start for them too, and a more secure future, I hoped.

  ‘Ha ha, any news on the pub?’ Ethan asked.

  Dan, Andy and I shared a look and shrugged.

  ‘No, nothing,’ I said.

  ‘Although we are still being paid,’ said Andy, ‘which takes the sting out of it a bit.’

  ‘Yeah, but for how long? Has Max not said anything to you, Ellie, about when the pub will re-open again?’

  I had to admit that he hadn’t and I was in the dark as much as anyone else.

  ‘Seems strange though, don’t you think,’ said Johnny, ‘that he’s chosen to do his so-called renovations now when it’s the busiest time of the year for the pub. And he’s not giving any idea of when it’ll be open for business again. Unless he’s got other plans for the place now?’

  I hated the way Johnny had a habit of putting a voice to all my innermost fears and worries.

  ‘Nah, I don’t think so,’ said Dan. ‘There’s no need to worry. The Dog and Duck will open again once the place has had a facelift and he’s got a new manager lined up. Admittedly the village seems a bit sad with the pub out of action but in the grand scheme of things, for the sake of a couple of months, it’s not really such a big deal, is it?’

  There was a reluctant murmur of agreement from the others.

  ‘I suppose,’ I sighed, wondering if I hadn’t overreacted to Max’s plans for the renovations. After all, he’d told me that he’d intended to close the pub for refurbishment, I just hadn’t expected it to be so soon, and over the Christmas period too. By the time the pub was open again, I could be back in London.

  ‘I’m just disappointed that the pub won’t be open for the carol concert,’ I said, ‘that’s always such a good night, or Christmas Day drinks, and then there’s New Year’s Eve too…’

  I knew I was in danger of sounding whiney on the subject, but it still saddened me to think of all those lovely occasions we’d be missing out on.

  ‘There’s nothing stopping us from doing the whole mulled wine and mince pie thing ourselves on Christmas Eve if we wanted to. We could set up stalls outside the pub and at different points along the High Street. The locals would love it. What do you reckon?’

  ‘Yep, great idea,’ said Andy, clearly enthused by Dan’s suggestion. ‘Let’s do it. What do you say, Ells?’

  ‘Yeah, I’d love that.’ In the absence of the pub being open, it would be the next best thing. The carol concert just wouldn’t be the same without a warming mug of mulled wine and a mince pie to enjoy afterwards and now the locals would get their Christmas Eve refreshments after all. It would be lovely, I knew, just not the way I would want it to be.

  As Digby and I made the short walk home I rummaged around in the inside pockets of my jacket looking for my gloves and pulled out the letter to Firmans. I'd completely forgotten to post it. Walking past The Dog and Duck I looked up to the top window to see a light glowing dimly in the front bedroom. Either the builders were working very late or else someone had already moved into the pub. Who knew? I was way past second-guessing Max Golding’s intentions. When I got to the post office, I ran my fingers along the edges of the envelope, tapping it against my hand for one last time. I really couldn't put this moment off any longer. I felt a small smile of satisfaction appear on my lips at the realization that I was making absolutely the right decision before popping the letter in the box.

  Thirty-Five

  I woke early on Christmas Eve morning and padded over to the bedroom window to draw back the curtains. I shivered at the cold winter’s scene greeting me outside and wrapped my arms around my chest. A sharp frost covered the ground and mut
ed white clouds hung low in a grey sky. I craned my head upwards, just as I’d done when I was a little girl, searching for Father Christmas, wondering if he was on his way yet. The thrill of the anticipation I felt back then stirred in my stomach even now. I could never imagine a time when I would tire of the excitement of Christmas, even if things would be very different this year without Mum and Dad around and with the pub being closed too.

  Downstairs, I switched the lights on the tree, gave Digby his early morning hug and flicked on the kettle. I was just putting a teabag into a mug when the phone rang.

  ‘Hi,’ I said distractedly, grabbing the phone to my ear as I pulled open the fridge door with my other hand.

  ‘Ellie, it’s Max.’

  ‘Max!’ Treacherously, my heart soared. I hadn’t spoken to him in weeks, ever since that night he’d broken my heart when he’d closed the pub down, and yet now I was ridiculously pleased to hear from him.

  ‘I need to see you. Can you come down to the pub?’

  ‘What, now? It’s seven o’clock on Christmas Eve morning, Max. I haven’t heard from you in weeks. What’s so important? Can it not wait until after Christmas?’

  ‘No, it really can’t, Ellie. I need to speak to you now.’

  ‘I don’t know, Max, I…’

  ‘It’s an emergency.’ There was a steely determination to Max’s voice that unnerved me.

  Dread swept through my body. ‘What sort of an emergency?’

  ‘Um,’ he wavered, obviously wondering whether to tell me or not, before saying, ‘a flood kind of emergency.’

  ‘Oh God! Right, I’ll be straight down.’

  Why Max was calling me out to help, I had no idea. Surely a plumber would be much more useful in these circumstances. To be honest, I wasn’t sure I even knew where the stopcock was. Still, no matter, maybe he just needed me there for some moral support. I raced upstairs and threw on some clothes, not even bothering to shower. With Digby at my side, eager at the prospect of an early morning walk, I pulled on my wellington boots and we rushed outside. The cold made me gasp and I rubbed my hands together before finding gloves inside the pockets of my coat. We half-ran, half-skipped, our way down the High Street – not easy in wellies – and within minutes we were standing outside The Dog and Duck, my heart beating wildly, whether at the exertion from my early morning run or from the knowledge that I would be seeing Max again, any moment now, I wasn’t sure. I tried the door but it wouldn’t open. Anxiety stirred within me standing in front of the place that had always meant so much to me. What if water came gushing out as soon as the door was opened? What if everything had been completely wrecked inside. I’d seen the devastation caused by flooding on the TV and that was the last thing the pub needed. Urgently, I rapped on the door with my curled fist. Hearing footsteps from inside the building, my pulse quickened as they became noticeably louder the closer they got. The door swung open and there was Max, dressed in jeans and a black T-shirt splattered with white paint. He raked a hand through mussed-up hair and sawdust fell in a snow cloud around him. Weariness etched his features, but his face lit up in the biggest warmest smile when he saw me.