Christmas at the Falling-Down Guesthouse

by Lilly Bartlett

‘You didn’t say anything about the carrots.’

  He frowns when he peers into the pot. ‘I guess I can add enough butter and salt to make up for it.’ Holding up a green bottle, he adds, ‘By the time they get through this, they won’t be able to taste anything anyway.’

  ‘What is it?’ There’s no label on the bottle.

  ‘This is gin.’ He pulls another bottle from his bag. ‘And this is brandy. Just make sure you always serve it in very small quantities. Whatever you do, never leave the bottle with the guests.’

  ‘And why aren’t the bottles labelled?’

  ‘I don’t bother with that. I know which is which.’

  ‘As long as it doesn’t blind anyone.’

  ‘My eyesight is perfect.’

  ‘Then let’s mix one with the cordial.’

  I start pouring the gin into the pitcher I used for our drinks last night, but Danny grabs my hand.

  ‘Hey, hey, stop. You’ll kill them. Seriously, you need about a spoonful for each glass, that’s all. You’d better let me do it.’

  Everyone is waiting for lunch in the dining room. Prunella’s bath didn’t help her mood, and the twins are rocking back and forth in their chairs, trying to see who can break theirs first. At least Hugo has his clothes on.

  ‘Here we are!’ I say.

  The tureens of mash and carrots – which are also mash – are heavy in my arms.

  A very nervous-looking Danny comes in behind me with the steaming main course.

  ‘We’ll leave you to enjoy your lunch, but do let us know if you need anything. Would everyone like a drink? There’s also a non-alcoholic cordial for the children.’

  ‘Where’s the wine?’ Prunella asks.

  ‘Oh, well, we’ve made a special drink instead, and it’s really delicious.’

  ‘The Victorian landed gentry loved this at Christmas,’ Danny says as he pours glasses of moonshine for everyone.

  Hugo nods like he knows this already.

  ‘Thank you,’ says Rupert. ‘We’ll let you know if we need anything.’

  I fight the urge to curtsey. It’s the flippin’ dress.

  ‘Wait a second,’ says Hugo. ‘Is that prosciutto wrapped around the salmon?’

  ‘No, it’s also salmon,’ says Danny, looking at me as if to say What kind of nutter wraps salmon in prosciutto?

  My look glares back: What kind of nutter wraps salmon in more salmon?!

  ‘Ah, yes, our salmon-in-salmon recipe,’ I say, instead of what I’m thinking. That smoked salmon was supposed to be for another meal. ‘We’ve researched the menus of the era and were surprised at some of them too, but they’re authentic.’ My face reddens. They can’t really believe such nonsense.

  But Hugo is already downing his gin cordial and Prunella has her fingers on her temples. Something tells me she has a lot of bad days.

  ‘And here’s the gravy!’ Mabel says, setting it on the table.

  ‘Gravy on salmon?’ Rupert asks, pouring a bit on the side of his plate. ‘Beef?’

  ‘It’s good on the mash,’ the girl twin, Amanda, says, talking with her mouth full. ‘It tastes like Mother’s.’

  ‘Bisto?’ I mouth at Danny.

  ‘And I suppose the carrots are pureed like this because Victorians lost their teeth early,’ Rupert says.

  That sounds at least as good as the excuse I’m about to come up with.

  ‘Hmm, I’m not sure I’ve got a Victorian palate,’ he continues. ‘But I do appreciate the effort. Thank you.’

  We all rush out before they can ask any more questions.

  ‘You used all the smoked salmon?’ I hiss to Danny when we’re safely back in the kitchen.

  ‘You said to cook the salmon.’

  ‘You don’t cook smoked salmon. You eat it as it is. That was supposed to be for tea one night.’

  ‘I wouldn’t eat that as it was. It looked slimy and raw.’

  I’m starting to doubt Danny’s culinary skills, but considering that I’ve made baby food of the veg, I’m no better.

  Upstairs later, the tile floor is soaking wet from Prunella’s bath, and her towel is in a heap beside the loo. The messy cow.

  As I mop the floor, I hope the family aren’t going to take too many baths. I know the twins won’t. They’re the same age as Mabel and she acts like soap and water might kill her.

  We’ve just got time to run to the hospital to see Aunt Kate before we need to serve tea, so we leave everyone in the parlour with stacks of board games and newspapers. The twins forgot their fury over the lack of telly as soon as they caught sight of Mingus. That poor, poor cat.

  Danny stays behind to boil the eggs for sandwiches, throwing me his car keys.

  ‘Just don’t hit anything, please,’ he adds after telling me the trick to coaxing the car out of third gear.

  ‘How is she?’ I ask Dr Lonergan at the hospital when she comes in to Aunt Kate’s room. ‘Any better?’

  She smiles. ‘Yes, in fact. I want to keep her on the medication for another day or so, and then we should be able to reverse the coma.’

  ‘Can you tell yet about possible brain damage?’

  ‘All the tests we’ve run look clear, so that’s a good sign. How are you holding up?’

  Her concern threatens to undo me. But I haven’t got time for a meltdown now. ‘I’m fine. The guests have arrived at the house, so it’s been a little crazy.’

  ‘It’s going to be fine, Aunt Kate,’ I say, in case she can hear me. I take her hand. ‘They’re all settled in and they’ve had their lunch. You don’t have to worry, okay? Just rest so you can get better.’

  I squeeze her hand, remembering too late that she can’t squeeze back.

  We make it back to the B&B without stalling the car. If Danny has any money left over from his ticket to America, he might think about upgrading it from death trap to just a load of junk.

  The hard-boiled eggs are cooling in a bowl beside the sink. I slice into the first one. Chalky green yolks spill out.

  ‘Danny, how long did you boil the eggs?’

  ‘Not long. Half an hour or so. Are they cooked?’

  ‘Oh, they’re cooked.’ We can use them to defend the house against invaders if we need to. ‘Mabel has rubber balls that wouldn’t bounce as well.’

  ‘I didn’t want to under-cook them.’

  ‘Mission accomplished.’ Unless the hens are working overtime, there won’t be enough for a second batch. ‘Let me think.’

  We’ve got to have something to feed everyone for tea. I haven’t the faintest idea how to bake and, judging by Danny’s efforts so far, neither has he. That leaves sandwiches, but with no smoked salmon and now no eggs, what are we supposed to make?

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

  ‘The Master calls, I tell Danny. ‘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. We can’t make Pot Noodle sarnies.’

  ‘Right. You may as well do whatever you need to do at home. You don’t have to be back here for an hour. I’ll try to think of something.’

  Prunella is lying on one of the sofas in front of the fire with her hand over her eyes, whilst 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 by your aunt,’ Hugo says. ‘I guess that’s because she needs the rating.’

  Brilliant. Not only are we killing ourselves to please these pompous arses, 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.

  Just as I’m about to grind my heel into his foot, Aunt Kate pops into my head. If she has waived the expenses for Rupert’s whole stay, then it tells me just how much she feels she needs his rating. As much as I’d love to break Hugo’s foot, 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,’ he says.

  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.’

  I catch a movement over Hugo’s shoulder.

  ‘I didn’t mean to interrupt.’

  Rupert is standing in the doorway, watching us.

  Chapter Nine

  Hugo springs back 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 kitchen, 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 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.

  ‘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 a jar of it in the larder, and Mabel goes nuts for the stuff, so I’m sure the twins will love it.’

  ‘That doesn’t sound very Victorian,’ he points out.

  ‘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.’

  We’re going to need it. 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 the sofas and chairs and Oscar 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. He seems to have forgotten his earlier sexual assault, 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.’

  I bet it had 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 parlour 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 Oscar, without even trying a bite. ‘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’s Christmas I think you could…’ He seems to reconsider. ‘Well, maybe you’re not ready for one.’

  ‘Yes, I want one!’ says Oscar.

  ‘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 Oscar 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.’

  Oscar 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.

  ‘But it’s right there,’ Danny says. ‘In the sandwiches.’

  Amanda and Oscar are licking all the caviar out of the sandwiches.

  ‘I’m impressed,’ says Hugo, leering at my chest again. ‘They’re usually very fussy eaters. It looks like we’ll need more sandwiches.’

  Sighing, I go to the kitchen to make a hundred quid’s 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 be taking issue. 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 a
re 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’ve got a stocking for Mabel too. Father Christmas is leaving her big gifts at home for when we return.

  But I haven’t got 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 don’t go past my ankles.

  ‘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’s not even a leftover sock of Ivan’s, let alone any Christmas stockings.

  So, I don’t really have much choice.

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

  Danny and I throw ourselves onto the matching sofas, exhausted, after everyone has gone to their rooms and Mabel is finally in bed. She was thrilled that the twins turned their noses up at the peanut butter and jam sandwiches. It meant she got to gorge on them. 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 opera fill one whole 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,’ he says. ‘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’s got 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.’