‘Patrick’s asked me to marry him,’ Susan blurted out. Then she waited for her daughter’s reaction with a fearful expression on her face.
‘That’s brilliant!’ said Violet, breaking into a big smile and throwing her arms around her mum. ‘He’s a lovely fella. I’m thrilled for you.’
‘Are you okay with it, really?’ said Susan, collapsing into a sigh of relief.
‘Of course, I am,’ said Violet, taking a celebratory swig of coffee. ‘You’ve been on your own for far too long. You deserve to be happy with a nice man.’
‘We should make it a double,’ said Susan. ‘I can’t understand why you don’t marry that lovely man of yours.’
Violet nursed her cup. ‘We’re okay as we are,’ she said, unable to convey the voice to back up the words. She didn’t want the tears to come to her eyes, but they did all the same.
‘Love, what’s up?’ said Susan. ‘Don’t you love him any more? Don’t you keep any more big secrets from me, my girl. I’ve had enough of that sort of thing for five lifetimes.’
‘Love him?’ Violet gave a dry chuckle. ‘I love him so much it hurts me. But he’s nine years younger than me, Mum. Six years ago he was a teenager. He’s too young to commit for ever.’
‘Oh, Violet, how do you know that?’ said Susan, stroking the white-blonde hair back from her daughter’s face. ‘Your dad and I were only bairns when we married. And we knew what we were doing.’
‘Dad wasn’t nine years younger than you. Pav might think he wants to settle down, but one day he’ll realize that he’s drop-dead gorgeous, married to a forty-something, and twenty-year-old women with pert boobs and no wrinkles will be flinging themselves at him.’ Violet pushed the tears back with the tips of her fingers.
‘Violet. Listen to me,’ said Susan, taking her daughter’s hand. ‘Love – and I’m talking proper, deep love – doesn’t come along as often as you might think. And when it does, you have to grab it with both hands and hang on to the gift that life gives you. You’ve only got to think of her upstairs if you need any proof of that one. I never thought I’d meet anyone else after your father died. But I have, and I’m lucky for that. I don’t know that in ten years’ time Patrick won’t have an affair or get run over by a bus, but I can’t turn down my chance of happiness because of what might never happen. We only have the here and now as a definite.’
Violet nodded. She knew what her mother was saying was right but she was still frightened to commit herself wholly to Pav. She needed to keep something back in reserve to protect herself because otherwise, when the day came when he would leave, there would be nothing left of her.
Chapter 18
The Daily Trumpet would like to amend the entry made in last Friday’s journal. We did, of course, mean that Mr Donald Hill was a famous factory mogul, not a famous fat Tory mongrel as printed.
We recognize this has caused some distress to Mr Hill and his wife, Brian, and wish to extend our sincere apologies.
Chapter 19
The Daily Trumpet would like to apologize for the entry made in last Tuesday’s edition when we referred to Mr Donald Hill’s wife as Brian. This should have read Pamela. We regret any distress caused.
NOVEMBER
Chapter 20
It took over three damp, miserable, cold weeks before Eve could stand for more than two minutes without the pain in her back dragging her into a curled foetal position. Behind Susan’s back one day she got dressed, which took forever, and then opened the back door to see if she could walk to her car. She couldn’t. Who would have thought a variation on a childhood illness could have laid her so low. She conceded defeat and got back into bed before her auntie discovered her and slapped her legs.
At least the blisters on her front had dried up, but they itched like crazy and a large tub of aqueous calamine cream was her new best friend. She had smeared so much on that it had seeped slightly through her skirt, but it would have to do; her jacket would cover it up. Auntie Susan had tried to insist that Eve took another week off, but Eve now had just enough strength to stand her ground. Just. Plus she needed to find out what was going on with Winterworld because no one would tell her. Violet was infuriatingly vague. All she would say was that everything was going to plan, according to Jacques, and she wasn’t to worry.
‘My plan or his plan?’ Eve asked.
‘It’s all looking fantastic,’ Violet replied. Which didn’t exactly answer Eve’s question directly, and made her suspicious.
On the morning of her first day back at work, Eve had to borrow a large safety pin from her aunt as her skirt was too big. She had lost over a stone and a half since coming down with shingles. As Eve stepped through the door for the first time, the fresh air went straight to her brain like a triple shot of vodka and she toppled slightly.
‘That’s it, you’re going back to bed,’ said Susan, attempting to shepherd her frail niece back indoors. ‘Violet, help me get her inside.’
‘Auntie Susan, as much as I’ve enjoyed your hospitality, if I have to spend one more day in bed, I will scream,’ said Eve. ‘And I need to get back to Winterworld because you, Violet Flockton, are being very short on detail.’
‘With good reason,’ Violet returned. ‘You needed to rest body and head.’ She didn’t add that she was terrified to tell her cousin what had been going on. Eve’s adrenaline levels would be up to Usain Bolt’s, three seconds before his torso broke the finishing line. Maybe it wasn’t a bad thing that Eve was going back to work on this early, sunless, mid-November day so she could see all the changes for herself. Violet couldn’t keep up being evasive for any longer.
As Violet drove them closer to Winterworld, the triangular tops of the Christmas trees came into view – all white with sparkling snow. Eve felt the first stirrings of panic. She had – up to this point – imagined that the operation had more or less ground to a halt in her absence. But the closer they got to Winterworld and saw the number of vehicles crowded outside the gates, the more wrong she realized she had been. It was as if she had fast-forwarded a year rather than just less than a month.
As they pulled into the car park and then walked through the gates, she was seeing a very different place to the one she had left, clutching her back. This world was full of trees strung with Christmas lights. Engineers were testing out a snow machine and a flurry of large dry flakes fell on her head for a few seconds. Workmen were hammering inside the log cabins and two of them were fixing a tall, chunky signpost in the ground. Various arrows at the top pointed to Santa’s grotto, The Snow Ponies, Santa’s Snow-Cones Ice-Cream Parlour – What? The Elf Theatre. The Elf Theatre? thought Eve. Where the bollocks did that feature on the original plans? There were red-and-white-striped candy canes everywhere she looked as well. Then she spotted one of the arrows pointing to The Reindeer. Damn, she never had stopped its arrival. The sodding thing had probably arrived by now. Then a troupe of midgets in green elf suits passed by carrying brown hessian sacks, causing Eve to shake her head in the hope that the vision would dissipate – it didn’t. They were, if the signpost was to be believed, heading for their designated theatre. Effin Williams was barking at a trio of workmen sweeping up some broken glass.
‘Ti trior iwsless a cachu carw!’
‘He says we’re as useless as reindeer shit,’ said Arfon, one of the Welsh joiners, wearily translating for his Polish co-worker.
Why was everything so bloody glittery? How much tinsel was wrapped around those trees? Who sanctioned a ‘bauble market’?
‘Well, hello!’ came a big booming voice to her left. Eve turned slowly to see her nemesis, or partner, as she supposed she had better call him.
‘What have you done?’ she said, her voice no louder than a breath.
‘I’ve been busy,’ said Jacques with hearty smugness.
‘I can see that,’ said Eve.
‘I’m glad you approve, I’m rather proud . . .’
‘I didn’t say I approve,’ said Eve, her voice finding some volume. ‘I
n fact, I don’t approve at all – not one bit. Which part of “do not turn this into a Christmas extravaganza” didn’t you understand? This. Is. Supposed. To. Be. Winterworld.’
‘Same thing,’ sniffed Jacques.
‘No, it is NOT,’ said Eve, feeling the rise of temper inside her. Some other workmen were chuntering to each other in Polish as they pulled a huge sleigh loaded with wrapped presents in the direction of the gift shop. Eve watched it pass in front of her with a mouth open in disbelief, whilst Effin was screaming at the men, stabbing his finger in the opposite direction.
‘The grotto. I said take it to the bloody grotto. Dw i erioed ’di gweithio ’da’r fath grŵp o dwats di-glem!’
‘What he say?’ asked Mik, one of the Polish sledge-pullers.
Once again Arfon translated it.
‘He said that he’s never worked with such a group of incompetent twats. We’re in the wrong job us, Mik. We should be employed as official interpreters in this place.’
Mik then translated what Effin had said into Polish and Eve watched the Polish workers bow their heads to hide their sniggering.
‘Who authorized that sleigh thing? I thought all monies spent had to be jointly signed for,’ said Eve.
‘Ah, well.’ Jacques stroked his stubble. ‘The thing is, we needed to act quickly, and so thank goodness you gave me permission.’
‘I most certainly did not,’ said Eve. Then her brain caught up. Violet had asked her to sign some forms when she wasn’t quite compos mentis. He’d got her own cousin to do his dirty work – the conniving bastard. Oh boy, he was starting to show his colours now.
‘This isn’t happening,’ said Eve, watching a trio of snowmen bumble past her, carrying wreaths of holly leaves and boxes labelled ‘baubles’. She was still in the grip of shingles and having a nightmare. Any minute she was going to wake up and see the Winterworld she had imagined, devoid of stupid things like elves, candy canes and bloody reindeer.
‘We have even got our first booking for the wedding chapel,’ said Jacques with a little wink. Then he sighed. ‘Shame it wasn’t us, but then again we can wait.’
‘More fool them,’ she whispered under her breath as she turned away. She had only been in his presence for five minutes and already her heart was thumping with fury.
‘Come and let me show you the animal enclosure,’ he said, chuckling at her bristling. ‘You’ll notice something very different about it since the last time you saw it.’
‘I hope I will,’ said Eve, ‘considering the last time I saw it, it was a square of mud.’
‘The ponies have arrived and totally settled in,’ said Jacques.
‘Great,’ replied Eve, in a voice that reflected the news was anything but great.
‘And she arrived on Saturday,’ he said, keeping to her pace.
‘She?’ asked Eve. ‘Who is “she”?’
‘Holly.’
‘Holly who?’
‘Hollywood . . . hurrah for Hollywood!’ Jacques started to sing with a very bad Ethel Merman vibrato.
Eve looked blankly at him.
‘It sounded like we were doing a knock-knock joke,’ he explained.
‘Hmm,’ hummed Eve, totally unimpressed by his attempt at humour.
‘What do you think of the enchanted forest, then?’ asked Jacques, pride beaming in his eyes as they entered the small forest of snow-capped firs twinkling with lights.
‘It’s nice,’ Eve nodded with reserved approval, even though she was far more impressed than she let on. The forest looked as if it had been there for ever. There was a magical prickling in the air, like a low dose of electricity, which hung like the lanterns between the trees. For a few seconds it was as if she had wandered into her childhood favourite book, The Enchanted Wood, where the trees were a darker shade of green than usual and whispered their secrets to each other with a wisha-wisha-wisha sound overhead. And the smell was like fresh, pine-scented aftershave, though she realized a split second later that it was drifting from Jacques. She didn’t like the way his ‘enchanted forest’ was making her feel. It was dredging up a memory of her Auntie Susan taking her and Violet to see the Father Christmas who visited Higher Hoppleton Hall every year. She had a clear memory of walking into the oak-panelled library and seeing the huge man with the long white beard and small half-moon glasses, and knowing he was the real one. That was especially sweet because she had been losing her faith. At school, the class rough-arse Charlene Prince had been mocking her for still believing in Santa, but after meeting him at Higher Hoppleton all her doubts disappeared. Then four days later, she woke up on Christmas morning to find no presents because Ruth had been too plastered the night before and forgot to put them out. Charlene Prince was right after all – he didn’t exist, and something in Eve began to die that Christmas. And kept on dying more with every passing Christmas until it died outright five years ago.
A curling path had been laid through the wood for the pony and trap rides. At least Jacques hadn’t overridden her plans on that score whilst she was ill.
As if reading her thoughts, he said, ‘Path okay for you? Does it meet with your approval?’
‘Yes,’ said Eve, unable to resist adding, ‘remarkably.’
‘Good,’ said Jacques. ‘Think how romantic it will be to ride a pony and trap to the wedding chapel through here. Or the betrothed couple could take the mini-train if they so wish. The forest will be covered in twinkling lights.’
‘It is already.’
‘Oh, this is nothing compared to what it will be like,’ said Jacques. ‘Romantic with a capital R.’
Eve nodded. He was right, it would probably be the most romantic part of the whole ceremony.
‘And there will be snowmen and elves waving at the bride and groom from behind the trees,’ Jacques went on.
Eve groaned. ‘Dear God. You’re not serious?’
The man was a walking joke from a Christmas cracker.
The small, pretty forest began to thin and within a few steps it was behind them and Eve was standing at the side of the reindeer enclosure. She had just opened her mouth to drop a sarcastic comment about how stunning the fence was when Jacques raised his finger to his lips.
‘Shhh,’ he said. ‘Prepare to meet Holly.’ Then he started to make a soft clicking noise with his tongue and his teeth.
Just when Eve was about to tell him not to hand in his day job and become an animal trainer, she saw an inquisitive nose protrude from the side of the reindeer shed.
‘Come on, girl. Come on,’ encouraged Jacques in a voice so soft and quiet that Eve wouldn’t have thought it possible to have come from him.
With a two steps forward, one step backwards pattern, the small, barrel-tummied, white reindeer edged outwards and towards them slowly.
‘Isn’t she lovely?’ whispered Jacques. ‘She’s pregnant. Naughty Olly in her last home cleared a five-foot fence to be with her. But who could blame him?’
The reindeer sniffed the air as if trying to pick up the scent of whether she was faced with a friend or a foe. Her soft, dark eyes told Eve that she wanted to trust them, but was afraid, and Eve’s heart lurched in her chest in sympathy.
Jacques held out his hand and Holly backed up. ‘It’s okay, girl, come on.’
Holly seemed to inch towards his hand, then sniffed and jerked backwards, but Jacques’ patience paid off and finally the reindeer pushed her head against his cupped fingers.
‘She’s been hand-reared,’ said Jacques. ‘She likes affection. But then, don’t we all?’ And he took Eve’s hand firmly and placed it on the reindeer’s cheek.
Eve thought it would be wiry, but Holly’s fur was thick and soft.
‘She likes you,’ said Jacques, taking away his hand and letting Holly rub her head against Eve’s fingers.
‘Oh, she’s lovely,’ said Eve, mesmerized by this experience, which wasn’t on her list of top ten things to do. Holly’s fur was so thick she couldn’t get her fingers through it. And she’d presumed
the reindeer would be much bigger and clumsier-looking than this, with big, dangerous antlers. Eve suddenly became very aware of being watched and turned to see Jacques staring at her, wearing a grin so cheesy it should have come free with a packet of Jacob’s crackers.
‘You’ve taken to her big-time, haven’t you?’ he said. ‘You’ll be heading up a chorus of ‘Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer’ any minute now.’
‘Don’t bet on it,’ said Eve, letting her hand drop. ‘When’s she due to give birth?’
‘Could be any time. She’s very big,’ said Jacques.
‘Does the local vet help reindeer give birth?’ Admittedly it was a change from diagnosing wet-tail in hamsters. ‘I presume you’ve asked?’
‘Believe it or not, I have that covered,’ said Jacques. ‘You’ll have to get up much earlier than that to catch me out. Mr Fleece did a stint at a wildlife park. He can handle a delivery of a reindeer baby when it comes.’
‘Mr Fleece?’ Well, that was a great name for a vet, thought Eve. On more than one level.
‘Yep. He’s a jolly good fellow,’ replied Jacques, deadpan.
Eve was just about to ask what on earth he was on about when she got it: Fleece a jolly good fellow. She shook her head, tried not to groan, and turned her back on both Holly and him. Poring over the accounts book was preferable to his stand-up comedy routine. Pulling her own teeth out would have been preferable to his stand-up comedy routine, if she was honest.
In the distance, Effin’s Carmarthenshire tones were splitting the air as he showered abuse on his workmen – Welsh and Polish alike.
‘I think in a past life he was Attila the Hun,’ said Jacques. And Eve smiled, though she didn’t want to. She quickly recovered.
‘Right, if you can take me through all that you’ve done since I was last here, I’d be very grateful,’ said Eve, trying not to sound as in need of a sit down and a rejuvenating coffee as she was.
A Winter Flame Page 10
