by Lucy Coleman
‘Noted. Thanks, Valerie. Appreciated.’
Valerie has become a friend, one who really cares, and maybe, with what we’ve both been through, we recognise in each other some common ground. A little help in times of need goes a long, long way.
It’s the final cruise of the year and it’s been a fabulous day. As Tollie and Gray do their parting goodbyes at the head of the gangplank, our visitors form an orderly queue to take their turn to express their thanks. One little girl hangs back. Her mother is busy chatting and laughing with several other parents as the line creeps forward very slowly. Everyone is in high spirits after raising the roof with some very exuberant renditions of a whole raft of Christmas favourites.
The little girl’s name is Phoebe and she keeps glancing down at me, as I’m rolling up the Christmas rug.
‘I know Santa needs a lot of help, so why doesn’t he have a Christmas angel? Angels can make anything happen.’ Her little voice is so soft and yet her question is insistent.
‘It takes a whole team of elves and helpers to make the toys and get everything sorted. That would be an awful lot for one angel to manage, wouldn’t it?’
‘Yes, but an elf doesn’t have a magic wand.’ Her little frown is forlorn.
‘Hmm. Well, I guess that would be useful, but magic wands are for special things. Besides, the elves love making toys as they know how much the children look forward to playing with them.’
Her frown continues to deepen as she stares back at me.
‘But if Santa had an angel helper, she could make everything right.’
I freeze as I realise where Phoebe is going with this. She’s one of the families invited here today on our final Little Stars trip because she recently lost her father in a tragic accident.
‘I want my daddy back – just for Christmas.’ And with that she bursts into tears. Her mother appears behind her, placing a hand on Phoebe’s shoulder as she kneels down to comfort her daughter and wipe her eyes.
My heart feels as if it’s being torn in half as I look at those worried little eyes desperately seeking an answer. I have no idea what she’s been told, so I don’t know what to say and I glance at Phoebe’s mother, earnestly.
‘Daddy will be watching us from heaven, darling, so he won’t miss a thing. He wants us to try very hard not to be sad and to make everyone else smile. We can do that, can’t we?’
Phoebe swallows hard as emotions continue to swamp her. Her mum wipes a stray tear from her little cheek.
‘I don’t want you, Grandma, or Granddad to be sad, Mummy. Even if it hurts to smile.’
Her mother glances at me and what I see is a broken-hearted woman who is trying so hard to hold it all together. I cast around, desperately wanting to be of some help.
Two pairs of eyes are focused on me as, sitting back on my heels, I begin speaking.
‘I believe there is a little angel inside all of us, Phoebe,’ I tell her gently. ‘When people are sad, we might not have a magic wand to wave, but we can do something really magical to help. And that’s to share our love by being strong. It’s a time to give people lots of hugs and remember all the happy times. And it’s okay to cry and let your feelings out. But being brave and cheerful is important, because your daddy wouldn’t want you feeling miserable all the time. When you make new, happy memories, that will make him smile, too.’
Phoebe’s mum reaches out to place a hand on my arm, giving it a grateful squeeze.
‘We’ve had a lovely time today, haven’t we, Phoebe? We’ve sung, and laughed, and it’s been a blessing. And we will have lots of smiley times this Christmas, in between our tears.’
‘We can be like angels, can’t we, Mummy?’ Phoebe casts an enquiring glance, her forehead wrinkled as she waits for confirmation.
‘We can, my darling girl. We can be angels for Daddy. Thank you, Immi. Thank you so very much.’
As they stand and hurry across to catch up with the others, my own tears start to fall. I bend my head, shaking them off as I continue rolling the rug. I feel stupid for obsessing over the minutiae of life, when all around me there are families facing the biggest hurdles of their lives. There is nothing more humbling than witnessing other people’s pain and loss.
It’s time to start putting things into perspective and focus on my blessings.
17
A Helping Hand
The next morning we’re all up and out early. Tollie, Gray, Abe and Fisher are tasked with taking down the decorations on The Star Gazer and giving it a good clean. Why Fisher feels the need to join in cleaning his own boat, when he’s good enough to let us use it, I don’t know. But when the guys are all together there’s a lot of banter going on and I think he’d hate to be left out. Besides, Valerie will – no doubt – spoil them throughout the day. Everything from bacon sandwiches, courtesy of The Bullrush, to mugs of hot chocolate and a bottle of the special Christmas brew at some point later in the day.
As for me and Ethel, we’re helping out in The Bullrush’s kitchen, because it’s their busiest day of the year. I’m last out of the door and am conscious I need to up my pace as it’s already seven-thirty, so I’m running late. The final Sunday before Christmas is a special day here on the canal with the much-celebrated Bullrush Inn Christmas dinner and an all-day pop-up Christmas market. The stalls are laid out in the communal car park and it’s very popular. People come from miles around, as it’s a tradition that’s been upheld for as long as I can remember.
Thankfully, Aysbury Manor allows the use of a large gravelled courtyard the other side of the lane as a visitors’ parking area. There are a few old farm buildings that are no longer in regular use, but store farm machinery that hasn’t been moved in a long time. Most of the manor’s farmland is now leased, and worked, by Adler’s farm.
Up ahead of me I spot Bernie Williams with his clipboard, standing on the edge of the towpath as he directs stallholders to their pitches. I wave out as I stride towards him.
‘Hi, Bernie. How are you? It’s been ages. How is The Great Escape?’
‘Now you’re a sight for sore eyes, Immi – that’s put a smile on my face. She’s good, thank you. The old girl is due to hole up in the boat yard to have some work done to her hull in the spring, so I’ll be staying put for a while and giving Turnpike Cottage a bit of attention. Other than that, she’s shipshape and the old girl has done me proud.’
Bernie has been around forever and is one of Tollie’s oldest friends. He owns a small cottage a mere stroll away and used to have a permanent mooring here at the marina. His wife, Claire, died a few years ago and since then he spends more time on his boat cruising the canals than he does on dry land.
Rumour has it that he has a temporary job at every place he stops, and he works his way around them. I know for a fact that he lends a hand at one of the pubs further up the canal and in summer is often found in the Wennington Lock Tea Gardens, about half an hour from here. He cuts the grass and generally potters, as he’s a keen gardener. But he always heads back to run our two pop-up markets. One in mid-summer, which is more of a fête, and the Christmas one, which is very much for food lovers.
‘I hear you and Gray are engaged, Immi. Congratulations and about time, too! Tollie is over the moon.’
Bernie leans in to give me a warm hug.
‘Tell that man of yours if he doesn’t treat you like the princess you are, then he’ll have me to answer to.’
I stand back, shaking my head and smiling up at him.
‘Bernie! He already has Tollie and Fisher bending his ear. I think poor Gray needs an ally, to be honest with you, as it’s tough trying to please them both. Have you heard about next year’s celebration – ten years of Santa Ahoy?’
‘I did hear a whisper, but I haven’t been around much lately. I have plans to catch up with Tollie tonight, though. I’ve been doing some work for a widow who lives the other side of Wennington. Back in the summer she wanted some bushes pruned and we’ve sort of struck up a friendship, I suppose you cou
ld say. I’ve been helping her out with a few jobs around the house, in between my usual little jaunts.’
I try to maintain a straight face, as this is obviously a big deal for Bernie but he’s trying to keep it low-key.
‘Well, that’s rather nice to hear. What are you doing Christmas Day?’
‘I was hoping to invite her back to the cottage for a couple of days. To be honest, it’s been a blessing living on the boat, but I’m not getting any younger and I’ll be talking to Fisher about a mooring for The Great Escape.’
‘Permanently?’
‘Maybe.’
‘Well, why don’t you join us for Christmas Day lunch? There’s only eight of us, so it might be a nice introduction for your lady friend. It will be Tollie, me, Gray, Gray’s mum – Rona – Abe, Ethel, Fisher and Valerie.’
‘Valerie?’
‘Mrs Price. Everyone calls her Valerie now.’
The beam on Bernie’s face is heart-warming. ‘Oh. Well. That would be smashing, thanks, Immi. I bet Yvonne will love it.’
‘Great. I must dash. I’m kitchen hand today and the potatoes won’t peel themselves.’
I leave him chuckling away as my fast walk turns into a sprint.
‘So sorry I’m late,’ I gasp, as I finally head into the kitchen. Having slipped off my coat, I grab one of the aprons and walk over to the sink to wash my hands.
Jude and Jade are cutting out small circles from the largest tray-baked sponge sandwich I’ve ever seen; and there’s a stack of similar trays on a trolley awaiting their turn.
‘Great job, girls. Is this one of the desserts?’
‘Yes, it’s the base,’ Jade replies.
Jude jumps in. ‘We have vanilla cream and strawberries to—’
‘—sandwich in between. And white chocolate nests to go on the top,’ Jade continues.
‘Well, it sounds amazing.’
‘And thank you for the bracelets,’ they both say, in unison. ‘We love them!’
I knew they would, and I wanted Tollie to be the one to give them to the girls.
‘You two make amazing elves and we wanted you to know how much we appreciated your help. It’s a wonderful thing to put smiles on people’s faces and you are both twinkling little stars.’
They are beaming ear to ear and, behind me, I suspect that Sarah will be looking on, every bit the proud mum. The silver bracelets with tiny little stars hanging from them were the perfect gift.
‘Right. It’s time to peel and chop.’
There’s a clatter behind me and I do a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree turn to see a rather stressed-looking Sarah basting a huge turkey.
‘Do you want me to do that? I can keep an eye on it if you tell me how often I need to do it. The practice will come in handy, as that’s probably about the size of the one I’ve ordered from the farm shop.’
Sarah raises her eyebrows, giving me a brief but decidedly hesitant look. I’m not known for my cooking skills, and maybe a huge turkey isn’t the best place to start, but I’ll manage somehow. I take the basting tool she hands to me, making a mental note to dig out the one I’m pretty sure Tollie will have in his kitchen – somewhere.
‘You are an angel. Set the timer for every thirty minutes. Just make sure you put the foil back over the breast each time. I need to start work on the beef Wellingtons. Kurt and Ethel are laying the tables and they’ll be joining us as soon as they’ve finished. Thanks, Immi.’
It’s going to be a long day.
When Tollie, Gray, Abe, Fisher and Valerie arrive, they find The Bullrush Inn team sitting in the conservatory, looking shattered. Jude and Jade are sprawled along the banquet against the side wall; opposite them, Sarah, Kurt and I are each nursing a large glass of wine. The trusty Maggie, who arrived ten minutes ago, places a small glass of port in front of Ethel, who reaches out for it immediately, taking a large gulp.
‘Judging by the look of you all it was a busy one this year. Poor dears, you’re done in.’ Normally she’d have been here, but today her sister’s birthday happened to fall on the day of The Bullrush Inn Christmas dinner and Maggie had a fancy lunch of her own to attend.
‘Sixty-four covers. But who’s counting?’ Sarah exclaims. ‘I’m sure I said never again, this time last year. It seems I have a short memory.’
‘You did,’ Kurt confirms, rather soberly. ‘But wasn’t it a great day? I mean, all that buzz and chatter, all those smiling faces. Well done, team. We did it.’
He sounds elated and the girls sit up, reaching across the table to high-five everyone. However, as we lean forward, Sarah, Kurt, Ethel and I do so with a groan.
‘I’m so sorry I couldn’t help out,’ Maggie says. ‘But I’m here now and I’m taking charge. I bet you are all starving.’
Maggie is wonderful; she drives over from Middle Norton and works most weekends and some evenings. She’ll turn her hand to anything.
‘Sorry, Maggie,’ Sarah replies, sounding weary. ‘The plan was to do a big pot of stew, or maybe Bolognese for us all, but we ran out of time. There’s some cold meat wrapped up on platters in the fridge and a few uncooked beef Wellingtons. Best ones I’ve ever made, if I say so myself. If you pop them in the oven, they’ll only take thirty minutes. I’m not sure what else we had left over.’
Maggie holds up her hand to stop Sarah.
‘Worry not, I have it.’
‘I’ll help.’ Valerie suddenly speaks up, and heads turn in her direction. ‘We’ll rustle up something between the two of us, I’m sure.’
We all nod in appreciation as people start moving up to squeeze everyone around the table. Kurt jumps to his feet, in a surprising burst of energy.
‘I’ll add another table. No point in squashing up when we have all this space.’ Abe immediately follows Kurt to help carry across another four-seater table.
‘And I’ll put on some music,’ Abe says, heading off in the direction of the bar area.
Sidling up behind me, Gray leans in to whisper into my ear. ‘Guess I’d better join the kitchen detail, then. I’m a man who is used to taking orders.’
With that he stoops down to plant a kiss on my cheek.
‘I’ll sort some drinks,’ Tollie says, doing a cursory check of the glasses around the table.
The rest of us continue to sit, unable – or unwilling – to move. Even the girls have settled back down, albeit they are poring over an iPad, playing a game that sees them stabbing their fingers at the screen in a frenzy. Every few seconds one or the other of them squeals and it’s funny to watch.
‘I was so worried about cooking Christmas dinner for eight.’ I incline my head in Sarah’s direction, to the left of me. ‘Now the figure has increased to ten and after today I’m wondering why I was being so silly. Seriously, that was an experience and a half.’
Kurt, who is the other side of me, laughs out loud and Sarah’s face breaks out into a smile. ‘You did brilliantly, Immi. Those were the best roast potatoes I think we’ve ever served.’
As we chatter away Fisher, too, disappears into the kitchen and, with one of the Christmas CDs playing softly in the background, my stomach moans hungrily. All that food we served up, plate after plate, and there wasn’t a moment spare to think about feeding ourselves. What I learnt was that even a commercial kitchen feels the pressure and if everything turns out perfectly, then it’s little short of a miracle. We had crumbly sponge, burnt gravy that meant starting again and Yorkshire puddings that ended up taking over the plates. But the diners were more than content, and eager to let us know it.
One thing I now know for sure is that if I ever need to look for a new career, it certainly won’t be in catering.
‘Guys,’ I say to Sarah and Kurt, ‘when you cater for our wedding next year, I don’t want you two missing out on the fun. We’ll sort a menu that can be prepared in advance and bring in a team of waiters and waitresses to serve us. If I thought you two worked hard before, I now have an even greater respect for what you’ve built here.’
We do a team toast, including the girls, who raise their glasses of blackcurrant juice.
When Gray appears bearing a large catering platter, there is a round of applause. Raising it aloft, as if he’s a professional, he places it in the middle of the long table.
‘Napkins? Plates? Forks?’ I prompt, as realisation dawns and he does a double take at the table. He smacks his forehead with his hand.
‘Right. Give me a minute – I’m new to this lark and it isn’t as easy as the girls make it look.’
We all start laughing.
Maggie has toasted thin slices of ciabatta and topped them with slivers of turkey, adding a generous dollop of the leftover, freshly made cranberry sauce. Fisher is next out with a platter of pinwheel sandwiches, filled with roast pork and stuffing, secured with cocktail sticks.
Gray returns with a platter of thin savoury biscuits, topped with various cheeses and garnished with a gorgeously gooey, homemade red-onion chutney. Fisher is behind him with the plates and napkins. And it isn’t long before Maggie appears with a platter full of sliced beef Wellington.
‘You’ll need a fork for these, guys, because they’re really hot but, Sarah, they smell so good. And don’t forget to save some room for dessert.’
Ethel brings up the rear with the best platter of all – a mountain of sweet-potato fries – and a cheer goes up.
‘What a feast!’ Kurt declares, eagerly tucking in.
‘Who says leftovers are boring?’ Maggie adds, grabbing a plate for herself and gazing at the spread with a sense of satisfaction on her face.
It’s funny how one minute you may feel so tired you can hardly move and the next you have the ability to jump up to grab just one more thing to eat. Then another. And another.
