The Reluctant Elf (Kindle Single)

by Michele Gorman

  The bell over the door rings. They must have found the button in the parlour.

  ‘The Master calls. I’ll be right back. Meanwhile try to think of something we can use for sandwiches.'

  ‘Sure,’ he says. ‘Is it okay if I run home quickly?’

  ‘Have you got something at home that we could use?’

  He frowns. ‘I’m a bachelor living alone. They won’t want pot noodles.’

  ‘Right. Wishful thinking. You may as well do whatever you need to do at home. You don’t need to be back here till six. I’ll try to think of something.’

  Prunella is prostrate on one of the sofas in front of the fire with her hand over her eyes, while the twins take turns throwing the Yahtzee dice at each other from five paces.

  ‘Is everything all right?’

  ‘I have a splitting headache,’ says Prunella. ‘Have you got any tablets?’

  ‘Sure, I’ll just go get them.’

  ‘Bring in some more of that drink, will you?’ Hugo asks. ‘Actually I can help you carry the glasses.’

  He hops up from the chair, swaying slightly as he does so.

  ‘Hugo, I’m sure she’s perfectly capable of carrying a tray by herself. Honestly, it is what she does.’

  It’s not worth pointing out that what I do is design gaming software for brats like hers.

  ‘To tell the truth, I don’t mind getting away from the family for a while,’ Hugo says as he follows me to the kitchen. ‘We were supposed to go to Tanzania and they’re still angry with Rupert for bringing us to Wales instead. But it’s his dosh so I can’t really blame him for choosing a free holiday over one that’d cost a packet.’

  ‘Free?’ Aunt Kate doesn’t charge very much for her rooms but they aren’t free.

  ‘All expenses paid, Rupert said. I guess that’s because your aunt needs the rating. She’s comped our whole stay.’

  Terrific. Not only are we killing ourselves to please these pompous farts, we’re doing it for free.

  I can feel him come up behind me as I reach into the cabinet for glasses. He’s standing way too close. This is a rural kitchen, not a rush-hour Tube train.

  I should grind my heel into his foot but Aunt Kate pops into my head. If she has comped Rupert’s whole stay then it tells me just how much she feels she needs his rating. As much as I’d love to castrate Hugo, I can’t throw away her only chance.

  He grasps the counter on either side of me as I turn with the glasses. ‘I couldn’t help but notice the way you looked at me earlier.’

  Yes, with utter contempt.

  ‘I’m sorry, I—’

  ‘Ssh, you don’t have to be sorry.’

  As his blubbery lips dart towards mine I get a whiff of his foul breath.

  ‘Jesus!’ he shouts, with his upper lip clenched between my teeth.

  Oh my god. I’ve bitten the reviewer’s brother-in-law.

  But then he smiles (when I release his lip) and shrugs. ‘Oh I see, you like to play hard to get.’

  Behind Hugo I see a movement.

  ‘I didn’t mean to interrupt.’

  Rupert is standing in the doorway, watching us.

  Chapter Nine

  Hugo springs backward at the sound of his brother-in-law’s voice. ‘No, I don’t think there’s anything in your eye,’ he says. ‘I can’t see anything.’

  ‘Thanks. Actually it feels better now.’

  My heart is hammering.

  ‘Would you like a drink, Rupert?’ I ask.

  ‘No, thank you. I was just checking on when tea would be ready. I’ve got some work to do.’

  ‘Would seven be all right? We’ll serve it in the parlour. I’ve just got to get some headache tablets for Prunella.’

  I rush from the room, leaving the two men staring each other down.

  What must Rupert think? They’ve been here less than three hours and I’ve just rounded off an afternoon of bathtub gin and a questionable lunch with a romantic interlude in the arms of his sister’s husband.

  Unless one of his rating categories includes staff promiscuity, I’ve just put Aunt Kate’s livelihood in jeopardy.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Danny asks when he returns at six on the dot. ‘You look weird.’

  Humiliation is coursing through me. I don’t want to tell Danny what happened in the kitchen.

  ‘Oh I’m fine. I think this corset is too tight, that’s all. I’ve been thinking about the sandwich situation. We can serve some of the caviar for the adults and make peanut butter and jam sandwiches for the twins. Aunt Kate has about three jars of it in the larder and Mabel goes nuts for the stuff, so I’m sure the twins will love it.’

  ‘That’s going to be hard to spin as Victorian,’ he says.

  ‘We can’t be perfect. At least they won’t go hungry. Just toast the bread for the caviar. With a little lemon it’ll be great. Very decadent. I’ll make another batch of drinks.’

  Maybe if Hugo drinks enough he’ll pass out before he can lunge at me again.

  ‘I’ve got to turn down everyone’s beds while they’re all downstairs, and restock the bathrooms. You’re okay making the sandwiches and the tea?’

  He nods, already counting out slices of bread.

  It’s only taken a few hours for the parlour to look like a bomb’s hit it. The twins have pulled nearly every book from the shelves. The cushions are off all the sofas and unoccupied chairs and Oliver is throwing the Monopoly money in the air to watch it rain down over everything.

  Danny noses the tea trolley through the door.

  ‘Look, darlings, tea!’ Hugo says. His earlier sexual assault seems forgotten but I’m pleased to see that his lip is swollen. Prunella hasn’t noticed, but then she hasn’t really paid him any attention since they arrived.

  Rupert is staring at the trolley.

  ‘Is everything okay?’ I ask before I can stop myself. What if he outs me like a real-life edition of Cluedo? It was Ms Crisp in the kitchen with a romantic embrace.

  ‘I was just remembering my Granny’s tea trolley. It looked just like that.’

  Probably with better food though.

  ‘Do you remember it, Prunella?’

  ‘I remember that she stank,’ she says, shifting to a sitting position. ‘I don’t know why you insist on deifying her, Rupert.’

  ‘I don’t deify her, Pru, I just have good memories of being with her. Maybe if you let yourself feel anything but dissatisfaction, you would, too.’

  ‘You can be ridiculous sometimes. I’ll just have a cup of tea,’ she says to me. ‘White. I’m not hungry after that lunch.’

  ‘Of course,’ I say, pouring her a cup and wishing they wouldn’t bicker in front of “the help”. ‘Would everyone like tea?’

  ‘I’ll have some more of that cocktail, if there’s any going,’ Hugo says.

  I’m not about to leave the safety of the room again. ‘Danny, could you please make a pitcher?’

  ‘What’s this?’ Amanda demands as she picks up a sandwich.

  ‘It’s peanut butter and jam,’ I say. ‘My daughter loves them and I thought…’

  Her tongue darts into the side of the sandwich. ‘Yuck, I hate it!’ She throws it back on the plate.

  ‘I hate it too!’ cries Oliver, on sight alone. ‘I’m not eating it.’

  ‘You don’t have to eat it, darlings. They’ll make whatever you want.’

  ‘Well actually…’

  ‘Do you want to try a special one?’ Danny says smoothly as he returns with a fresh pitcher of blinding cocktail. ‘Children aren’t usually allowed to have these. But since it is Christmas I think you could…’ He seems to reconsider. ‘Well, maybe you’re not ready for one.’

  ‘Yes, I want one!’ says Oliver.

  ‘Me too, give it to me now!’

  Danny sighs. ‘Well all right, but you’re very lucky.’ He hands a sandwich from the second plate to each child.

  What are those?

  Amanda and Oliver look unsure as they sniff the toasted bread
. Then Amanda, in her trademark move, sticks her tongue into the side. Her eyes widen. She prises open the sandwich and licks it clean before throwing the spittle-slicked toast back on the plate.

  ‘I want another one.’

  Oliver levers his sandwich open. ‘Me, too. I like it!’

  Well at least they’ll get to eat something.

  ‘I’ll just go get the caviar,’ I say.

  ‘No need, it’s right there. In the sandwiches.’

  Amanda and Oliver are stuffing caviar sandwiches into their foul little mouths.

  ‘Wow, that’s impressive,’ says Hugo. ‘They’re usually very fussy eaters. It looks like we’ll need more sandwiches.’

  Sighing, I go to the kitchen to make a hundred quids' worth of caviar into sandwiches for greedy children.

  Rupert follows me.

  ‘Lottie, may I have a quiet word please?’

  ‘Listen, Rupert, that wasn’t what you—’

  ‘It’s about the stockings,’ he says.

  I’m not wearing stockings, so he can’t possibly take issue with my attire. Is he one of those sexist men who think women deserve what they get just because they’re not dressed in floor-length potato sacks?

  ‘Just what are you implying?’

  ‘I’m not implying anything. Your aunt told me she’d have stockings for the children’s gifts tonight. If you give them to me, please, I can put them in Prunella’s room.’

  Of course, it’s Christmas Eve. I have a stocking for Mabel too, easily portable gifts that I’ve carefully chosen over the past few months in anticipation of our visit. Father Christmas is leaving her big gifts at home for when we return.

  But I haven’t the faintest idea where Aunt Kate might have stashed the twins’ stockings. There weren’t any in the boxes of ornaments we found.

  I can’t even give him a pair of my socks. They wouldn’t be big enough.

  ‘I’ll just get them for you. Be right back!’

  ‘You can leave them in Prunella’s room. Thank you.’

  Upstairs I tear through all of Aunt Kate’s drawers but there isn’t even a leftover sock of Ivan’s, let alone any Christmas stockings.

  So I don’t really have any choice in the matter.

  ‘Danny?’ I call sweetly into the parlour. ‘Can I see you out here for a minute, please?’

  We throw ourselves, exhausted, on the sofas after everyone has retired to their rooms and Mabel is in bed. She wasn’t at all disappointed that the twins turned their noses up at the peanut butter. We gorged on the sweet and savoury sandwiches. The poor thing is probably upstairs now on a sugar high, trying to fall asleep so that Father Christmas can come.

  Music drifts quietly from the record player in the corner. Aunt Kate’s collection of classical music and operatic favourites fill an entire library shelf, giving us all the Callas, Carrera and Pavarotti we could want.

  ‘That went okay, considering,’ Danny says, rubbing his bare legs. He’ll have a cold drive home without his socks.

  ‘It could hardly have gone worse! It’s probably wrong to hate children, right?’

  ‘Not those children. They deserve a slap. Along with their parents.’

  ‘You did very well with them though. You’ve got a knack with kids.’

  ‘It helps to have your own.’

  ‘You miss her.’

  He nods. ‘I think about her all the time. I’d move to America if I could, but that’s not realistic. Without a way to work there legally, it would be a precarious way to live. I want to be a more stable influence in Phoebe’s life, not a less stable one. It has to stay like this for a while, but now that she’s getting older, she’ll soon get to stay with me during her holidays.’

  The joy in his face makes me grin too.

  ‘What about Mabel’s father?’ he asks. ‘Is he in the picture?’

  ‘No, he erased himself when I fell pregnant.’ I give him the short answer. After all I’ve known him for less than forty-eight hours, even if it feels a lot longer than that.

  ‘We’ve been okay, Mabel and I. We had my parents until three years ago, and Celine.’

  ‘Ah the mythical Celine you keep mentioning. She does sound incredible.’

  ‘She is. She’s part of our family.’

  He watches me from beneath his mop of hair. ‘You say that, but can anyone you’re paying really be part of the family? I don’t mean to say that you don’t love her, but at the end of the day she is your employee. If something went wrong you could fire her. You can’t do that with family. You’re stuck with them through thick and thin, whether or not you want to be.’

  ‘I’m sure it started out as a financial arrangement with my parents but she’s been with us since I was small, so she is part of my family.’

  ‘Even though you pay her to cook and clean for you so you don’t have to do it.’

  I don’t like his tone one bit. ‘I’m not some spoilt silly rich woman you know. If you must know, we actually have very little extra money. Celine lives rent-free and we pay her a stipend.’

  But that doesn’t make it sound any better. What I mean is that, because she’s part of the family, we all take care of each other.

  Why am I being so defensive anyway? It doesn’t matter what Danny thinks of us.

  ‘You can go home now,’ I say, pushing the discomfort from my mind. ‘Can you be back by eight for breakfast?’

  ‘You’re the boss.’

  ‘I didn’t mean—’

  ‘Good night, Lottie.’

  He crosses the room in just a few seconds until he’s towering over me.

  ‘Happy Christmas.’ He leans down and kisses my cheek, and I feel the warmth of his lips long after he’s left for home.

  Chapter Ten

  Sleep doesn’t come easily and it’s not because I’m waiting for Father Christmas. I’ve got visions of Danny dancing in my head. Something about his vulnerability when he talks about his daughter tugs at my heart in a way it hasn’t been tugged in years. So it’s a shame that he thinks I’m a self-centred Londoner who exploits my “help”.

  And even if it has started to seem like we’re just two friends together in this charade, the fact remains that he’s drawing a salary to be here.

  It’s just past six a.m. when I finally admit defeat. Sleeplessness has won. Mabel stirs when I crawl out from under the duvet. I freeze. There’s no way she’ll go back to sleep this morning, not with a stocking full of presents waiting for her at the foot of our bed.

  But she swallows in her sleep and turns over with a sigh. I don’t risk kissing her.

  ‘I love you, Mabel,’ I whisper instead.

  When I see the black shoes in the hallway, I have to laugh. Rupert has taken me up on my offer to polish them. But my smile turns to a frown as I bend to pick them up.

  Oh no. Please say he hasn’t. Tentatively I give them a sniff.

  He has.

  Mingus has weed in Rupert’s lace-ups.

  That damn cat!

  How does one clean cat wee out of leather shoes? Even Martha Stewart would struggle with that one.

  Rupert won’t appreciate wet shoes so I can’t wash them. But I’ve got to get the smell out somehow.

  I rush to the basement looking for anything that might help. Bleach? No, can’t get them wet. Soap powder could help soak up the wee, at least. But would that leave a white residue? Then he’d think I’d been doing lines on his insoles. And if his feet became sweaty he might end up with bubbles in his shoes.

  My gaze falls upon a bottle of Febreeze on the shelf above the washer. Ah, the miracle spray, saviour of many a morning-after-curry W.C. and student who hasn’t got around to washing his clothes.

  Blotting a cloth inside each shoe first, I soak up as much of Mingus as possible before giving each one a blast.

  It seems to be working, although Rupert’s shoes now smell of Febreeze.

  I take them into the kitchen and give them the polish he wanted in the first place.

  Now they
smell of shoe polish and air freshener. He’s definitely going to be suspicious of that, but it’s better than the alternative.

  Mingus rubs against my leg, purring like he hasn’t just urinated in our guest’s brogues.

  ‘Bad cat!’

  He looks perfectly innocent.

  ‘Oh I suppose now you think I ought to feed you? For that little stunt, you’re getting chicken for breakfast.’

  He sniffs at the dish and turns away. His disdain is absolute.

  Damn cat.

  As I’m putting the rest of his food packets away I see Aunt Kate’s spice cabinet. Which makes me wonder…

  Twenty minutes later, Rupert’s shoes smell deliciously of cloves, and faintly of shoe polish. He’ll waft Christmas cake with every step today. Happy Christmas, Rupert.

  I creep back upstairs to see if Mabel is awake.

  ‘Good morning, Mummy,’ she says when I open the door. She has her stocking clasped to her chest.

  ‘Happy Christmas, Mabel! I see Father Christmas was here.’

  ‘You didn’t wake up either when he came in?’

  Solemnly I shake my head. ‘I didn’t see him.’

  ‘I wonder how he always sneaks past us? He must be very quiet.’

  ‘Would you like to open your presents? Remember, the ones from me are at home, and I bet Father Christmas left the big presents there too, so that we don’t have to carry them back on the train.’

  ‘He’s very considerate. Is Danny awake yet?’

  ‘He doesn’t sleep here, honey. He has his own house, remember?’

  ‘But he could sleep here if he wanted to, right? That would be all right with you, wouldn’t it?’

  What is she asking? ‘You like Danny, don’t you?’

  ‘Oh he is a good egg. I like him very much… do you like him, Mummy?’

  ‘Of course I do. He’s a very nice man, and he’s helping us a lot, isn’t he?’

  ‘Oh Mummy.’ She rolls her eyes. ‘I don’t mean do you like him. I mean do you like him. Because he likes you.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘Because he told me,’ she says as a small green parcel at the top of the stocking grabs her attention. ‘Should I open this one first?’