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 though, 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? At the end of the day, she is your employee, no matter how you feel about her. If something went really wrong then 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. ‘Don’t make me sound like some spoilt silly rich woman. 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 really quite 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, I’ve got to remember that he’s drawing a salary to be here.
It’s just past six a.m. when I finally get up. 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 bloody cat!
How am I supposed to clean cat wee out of leather shoes? Even Martha Stewart would struggle with this one.
Rupert won’t get into the Christmas spirit if he has to squelch around in wet shoes, so I can’t wash them. But I’ve got to get that smell out somehow, because there’s nothing festive about urine, either.
There must be something in the basement 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? He’ll think I’ve been doing lines on his insoles. And if his feet get sweaty, he might end up with bubbles in his shoes.
Finally, I spot a bottle of Febreeze on the shelf above the washer. Ah, the miracle spray. I soak up as much of Mingus as possible with a cloth before giving each one a good blast.
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.
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.
As I’m putting the rest of his food packets away, I see Aunt Kate’s spice cabinet. Which makes me wonder…
When I put Rupert’s shoes back in front of his door, they smell deliciously of cloves, and faintly of shoe polish. He’ll waft Christmas cake with every step today. Happy Christmas, Rupert.
I creep back to Aunt Kate’s room 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?’
‘Oh, he is a good egg. I like him very much… do you like him, Mummy?’
‘Well, yes, he seems like a nice bloke. 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?’
As much as I’m dying to ask her what Danny has said, it’s not right to pump my seven-year-old for information.
I don’t know when the twins will get to open their gifts, so we make a pact to keep our morning stocking raid a secret until later. Hopefully that way we’ll avoid a double tantrum in case they’re made to wait until after lunch.
‘I’ll just go have a quick bath while everyone is still asleep, okay?’ I tell Mabel. ‘Danny’ll be here soon to fix breakfast.’
‘Okay, Mummy, I’ll go find Mingus. I think he might like to play with this.’
Out of all the gifts I’ve picked out over the past six months – gifts I was really excited about, like the silver charm bracelet and wild animal stencil art box and LEGO Architecture Big Ben – it’s the pencil with googly eyes and blue feather hair that she loves most.
Next year Father Christmas is shopping at Poundland.
‘Mingus should have a Christmas too,’ she continues, bouncing off the bed.
Mingus should have a kick in the backside.
I creep to the bathroom. Every extra minute that Rupert’s family stays behind closed doors is precious. I don’t know how Aunt Kate does this for a living. I wouldn’t want to live around strangers all the time.
Flushing the loo, I go to wash my hands.
That’s when I hear a weird rattling in the floor.
Oh no. I forgot to wait the five minutes after flushing that Cook warned us about.
Turning slowly, I see the grate over the drain cover in the middle of the tile floor start to vibrate.
Grrrrrrrrrrr, grrrrrrrrrrr, grrrrrrrrrrr… burp!
The grate lifts at
one end, releasing a big turd that shoots across the floor, skidding to a stop next to the claw foot of the tub.
Probably not my turd, incidentally.
Water starts bubbling up behind it, covering the floor with a selection of our guests’ leavings.
Oh, that is disgusting, and I speak as a mother who’s dealt with more than her fair share of bowel movements that weren’t hers. We’ll have to bolt those drain covers to the floors.
Scooping the offending waste into the toilet, I mentally draft the polite wording to make little signs above each sink. I can just imagine Prunella’s reaction if this had happened to her. Though, since nobody complained yesterday, it does mean that the guests must not be washing their hands. Delightful.
Danny is in the kitchen when I come down after my bath.
‘Happy Christmas!’ he says. He’s wearing green and grey striped socks with his breeches.
‘You’re looking very festive.’
‘Yeah, well these were the only other knee-length socks I’ve got.’
‘I’m sorry I gave your others away.’
‘No worries. I can buy a new pair with the £1,000 you’re paying me.’
The mention of money makes me feel uncomfortable.
Stop it, Lottie. It’s just a financial transaction. There’s nothing to feel awkward about. Even if I am starting to wish that money wasn’t part of the equation.
‘Look what the ladies left for us.’ He lifts the edge of the tea towel covering an assortment of oddly shaped eggs. No two are the same.
‘That’s scrambled eggs for everyone then.’
‘And kippers. What else is on the menu today?’ he asks.
I can’t tell if he’s also ill-at-ease about last night. Maybe he just thought he was making friendly conversation when he basically accused me of using Celine as cheap labour. Maybe he didn’t get offended when I dismissed him and told him to come back today to work for us. Either way, he’s looking at this as a financial arrangement to get him to Texas to see his daughter. I’m his boss for a few days, nothing more.
So, I guess that’s the way I’d better start thinking of it too. ‘There’s that beautiful beef in the fridge,’ I say, trying to push any silly ideas about romance from my mind. ‘I thought we could do that with potatoes and vegetables. And we’ve got the Christmas pudding for dessert. If we feed them enough, we may not have to make peanut butter sandwiches again tonight. Should we make lunch a little later, say, around four?’
‘As long as the children won’t have to wait until afterwards to open their presents. I used to hate having to wait.’
But we don’t need to fear for the twins’ feelings. I can hear them both screaming blue murder as they run down the stairs. Of course, Prunella and Hugo didn’t make them wait. Those children get anything they want.
Rupert comes downstairs after his niece and nephew.
‘Happy Christmas, did you sleep well?’ Danny asks.
‘Until the banshees woke, yes, thanks. Happy Christmas to you both. Is breakfast on the schedule this morning?’
‘Absolutely!’ I say. ‘If you’d like to go in to the dining room, the table is set, so sit anywhere you’d like. I can bring in coffee or tea?’
‘Coffee, please.’
‘And would you like eggs? Beans? Kippers? Bacon and toast?’
‘Yes, I’ll have two soft-boiled eggs please.’
Somehow, I just knew he’d say that. Good luck to Danny finding two the same size.
Hugo and Prunella come into the dining room together, just as I’m serving Rupert his breakfast. It seems to be the one meal that Danny does actually know how to cook. Maybe we can convince our guests that the Victorians ate only fry-ups.
I’m not sure why I’m surprised that Hugo and Prunella have come down together. After all, they are married to each other. Whether they like it or not, their paths must cross sometimes – like two weather systems crashing into each other to make a miserable low-pressure system that washes out your Bank Holiday weekend.
‘Beautiful day!’ Hugo says, peering out the window at the bright blue sky. ‘What’s on the agenda before lunch?’
He looks at me.
Rupert looks at me.
Even Prunella deigns to look at me.
I guess it’s my job to entertain them too. ‘I’m afraid I’m not really from around here, so...’
‘There are a few nice walking paths that run close to the house,’ Danny says as he brings in a big pot of tea. He looks perfectly comfortable in the house now, like he lives here all the time. ‘If you wanted to go for a walk after breakfast, I’ll be happy to take you. It is a beautiful day. Lottie, would you like to come too?’
‘Yes, Lottie, please do,’ says Hugo.
And have Hugo try to drag me into the bushes? ‘Oh no, thanks, you go ahead. I’ll need to do some cleaning before lunch. Do take Mabel though, Danny, if you don’t mind looking after her.’
‘I don’t mind at all. What do you say, Mabel? Do you want to come for a walk with us?’
She’s just come into the dining room with Amanda and Oscar. All three are whispering together.
‘Yes please!’ Mabel says.
‘What about you two?’ Rupert asks. ‘Do you fancy a little walk after breakfast?’
‘I hate walks!’ Amanda shouts. ‘I won’t go, and you can’t make me.’
‘Walks are for losers,’ Oscar adds, looking straight at his uncle. ‘That makes you a loser.’
I bet Rupert is really sorry not to have sprung for that holiday to Tanzania.
‘Well then, you’ll just have to stay here,’ Prunella says. ‘A walk will do me good. What time will we eat?’
‘I’ll just prepare everything before we go and we can eat around four,’ Danny says.
‘Make it two o’clock,’ she demands. ‘I don’t want to eat late.’
Chapter Eleven
What have I gotten myself into? I’m used to parenting a moderately challenging but basically well-behaved child, not the spawn of Satan. I can’t reason with Oscar and Amanda, and if I lock them in their room, they’ll probably chew their way out.
‘Well, I’m sure you got some nice presents from Father Christmas.’ Although they deserve a lump of coal. ‘Why don’t you play with those?’
‘I’m bored!’
‘Me too.’
‘Great, then you can come upstairs with me and clean the bathrooms. Shall I get you some rubber gloves?’
They run together into the parlour.
Sometimes reverse psychology does work.
I go into Prunella’s room first. It’s a tip. There are towels strewn all over the bed and the duvet has been pulled on to the floor. I wonder if that’s where she makes Hugo sleep, in a little nest at the foot of the bed.
One end of the rug is covered in talcum powder and there are ring marks on the side tables where they haven’t bothered to use the coasters. It’s probably good that they usually go away for expensive holidays. At least then the hotel owners can use some of the money to fix what they’ve ruined during their stay.
I tidy up as best as I can, take a deep breath and move on to Rupert’s room. Lord only knows what I’ll find there.
But it doesn’t even look like he’s staying in the room. The bed is perfectly made. There isn’t one personal item in sight. Does he levitate over the mattress, or sleep in the wardrobe, perhaps hanging upside down from the clothes rail?
The only clue that he’s been there is that the bed is much neater than I managed to make it yesterday. Hats off to Rupert. He wins my vote for guest of the year.
The duvets are also pulled over the mattresses in the twins’ room.
They may have the manners of the girls at St Trinian’s, but at least the twins tried to make their beds, as slapdash as it is.
Smiling to myself, I whip back the first duvet to straighten it.
I smell bed-wetters.
This is literally a cover-up.
Mabel went through a short phase a
fter my parents died, where nightly accidents became an issue, but, luckily, she stopped as suddenly as she started, and we haven’t had to worry about it since.
I should be furious about Aunt Kate’s wee-stained mattresses, but my heart goes out to the twins. They didn’t do it on purpose.
Unlike the cat.
I find their sodden pyjamas balled up under one of the beds. I can wash and dry them and get them back to their room in time for bed. But the mattresses need cleaning.
After a lot of scrubbing, I’m just drying the second mattress with my hairdryer when I hear everyone coming back. They sound like they’re in high spirits.
‘Did you all have a good time?’ I ask, watching Danny’s expression for signs of a struggle.
‘It was very nice,’ he says. ‘Look what Mabel found.’
She holds out a long feather. ‘It’s a peasant feather!’
‘It’s beautiful,’ I say. ‘I think you mean pheasant.’
She looks at Danny for confirmation. ‘Pheasant,’ she says. ‘And we saw a live one too in the field.’
‘I’m glad you had fun, but I’m glad you’re back too. I missed you.’ I hug her close.
‘I’ll just put lunch on,’ Danny says.
‘And how about some of that cocktail too?’ Hugo asks. ‘After all, it is a holiday, and nearly past noon. How were the children?’
‘Oh, they were fine. I hardly even noticed them here,’ I say.
‘Where are they?’
I look around. That’s a good question.
‘They’re off playing,’ I say. ‘Would you like a cup of tea to warm up? The parlour is toasty with the fire going.’
Once I get the adults safely into the parlour, I go looking for the children that I seem to have misplaced.
‘Oscar, Amanda!’ I whisper.
I check upstairs, behind all the curtains and under the beds.
‘Are you playing hide and seek?’
Christmas at the Falling-Down Guesthouse Page 7
