I look in each cabinet and closet.
‘Where are you, you little brats?!’
I get back downstairs to the kitchen just in time to see Danny cutting up the last bit of beef.
‘What are you doing?!’
There’s a huge mound of cubed beef on the chopping board.
‘Just getting the meat ready for the stew. What are you doing?’
‘I’m trying to find those flippin’ children. Do you realise you’ve just cut up a Chateaubriand?’
‘Are you speaking English?’
‘It’s supposed to be cooked whole and sliced at the table for everyone. Not used for stewing beef.’
That meat cost me nearly sixty quid. I glare at him. ‘You don’t really know how to cook, do you?’
‘I thought that would have been obvious from yesterday.’
‘Then why accept a job cooking?’ I say, flinging open each of the cabinets, just in case there’s a child wedged in there.
‘You know why,’ he mutters. ‘And you would have done exactly the same thing.’
He’s right. Of course he’s right. If Mabel lived on the other side of the world, I’d do anything to see her.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘It’s not like I could cook any of these ingredients either. I’ve just eaten out at nice restaurants in London, so I thought a few fancy meals would impress Rupert. I am really sorry.’
Suddenly it’s really important for him to say that it’s okay, that he forgives me.
‘Lottie, I live on fry-ups and takeaways. If it’s not Chinese, Indian or fish and chips, I haven’t had much experience with it. So, I’m sorry. I should have told you I couldn’t really cook.’
‘Do you really know how to make a stew, or was this another salmon-in-salmon Danny special?’
He flinches. ‘I think Mum used to put a bunch of meat and veg into a pot of water and boil it for a few hours. That should work, right?’
‘Like I would know! While I go look for the twins, see if you can get a recipe off the internet.’
The twins aren’t in the fridge either.
I’m starting to panic.
When I get back to the parlour, everyone is in the same position as yesterday. How quickly we find our routines, even when we’re away.
‘It is a lovely day,’ I say, walking to each of the windows and pulling back the curtains.
No twins fall out.
‘Would anyone like another board game? We’ve got lots here.’
I fling open the cabinet at the side of the bookshelves. No children.
‘Hugo, see if the twins are hungry,’ says Prunella. ‘If they are, the cook can make them lunch early.’
Hugo rises, draining his glass. ‘Lottie, are the twins in the conservatory?’
‘Um, they must be.’
I hurry after him.
Of course, they’ll be in the conservatory. It’s the sunniest room in the house and it’s probably where Mingus is trying to snatch some peace and quiet. Besides, it seems to be his life goal to leave his fur on all the soft furnishings. He wouldn’t want to miss out the sofas there.
I’m right about Mingus, at least. He’s curled up on the back of one of the sofas.
‘Hmm, where are they?’ Hugh says. ‘Lottie?’
I look all around, as if he’s overlooked his own children.
‘I’m afraid I don’t exactly know.’
His eyes widen. ‘You don’t know? You don’t know where my children are? They could be anywhere in the house?’ His voice rises. ‘Anywhere in the wood, for that matter? Or playing beside the road? Prunella!’ he bellows.
Rupert marches into the conservatory a minute later. ‘Must you shout, Hugo? What is it?’
‘She’s lost the children.’
Rupert looks confused. ‘Lost them?’
‘I haven’t exactly lost them, Rupert. I just don’t have them to hand right this second. I think they’re hiding. They’ve got to be here somewhere, right?’
That sends them both off shouting for Oscar and Amanda. They stomp through all the rooms I’ve just looked in. By the time we all get back to the parlour, I’m nearly as panicked as they are.
But Prunella hasn’t left the sofa. ‘They must be here somewhere, Hugo. You know how they like to hide.’
‘Prunella, you’re worse than a cat when it comes to those children. Could you please at least try to care that they’re missing? God, they might have been snatched. Were all the doors locked?’ he asks me.
‘I… I don’t—’
Mabel has been watching this exchange with interest.
‘They’re probably in the dungeon,’ she says.
‘What dungeon, sugarpea?’
‘Downstairs. I don’t like it down there. I saw a spider.’
Her words send us all scrambling for the back stairs. We can hear the twins as soon as I open the door.
‘Where’s the light?’ Hugo asks. ‘I’m coming, darlings, I’m coming!’
Amanda and Oscar rush through the coal cellar door as soon as I open it. Their faces are black with ancient coal dust, except for teary streaks down their cheeks.
‘We got locked in!’ Amanda says, hugging her dad.
‘It’s pitch black in there, and cold,’ adds Oscar. ‘I thought the cat might be hiding in there.’
Rupert flicks the old-fashioned iron door latch up and down. ‘You really should padlock this,’ he says. ‘It latches shut whenever the door is pulled closed.’
‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t think the children would go in there. I’ll have Danny put a lock on it so it doesn’t happen again. Oscar, Amanda, why don’t we go upstairs by the fire so you can warm up? I’ll draw your baths.’
The idea of bathing is clearly more upsetting than being locked in the coal cellar. Amanda’s lip quivers.
‘If you give me their clothes when they’ve changed,’ I say to Hugo, ‘I’ll wash and dry them for you. Again, I really am sorry.’
I can feel Aunt Kate’s rating slipping further from my grasp.
Chapter Twelve
‘The important thing is that you found them, Mummy,’ Mabel says, snuggling closer on our bed. ‘So, you shouldn’t be upset any more. There was no harm done.’
If only that were true. What reviewer in his right mind is going to award a good rating to a B&B that’s locked his relatives in the coal cellar? Even if they are monsters. He’ll have to fail us on health and safety grounds alone.
Once we got the twins into their baths, I needed a few minutes to myself. I had just enough time for a minor breakdown before lunch.
Unfortunately, Mabel caught me in the act.
I don’t like her to see me upset. When Mum and Dad died, I didn’t have much choice. I was constantly in floods of tears. Now, if it’s not a matter of life or death, I try really hard not to cry.
This might not be life or death, but it is Aunt Kate’s livelihood.
‘Everything will be fine, I’m sure.’ I sniff and straighten my dress. ‘Shall we go downstairs and see if we can help Danny?’
‘All right, but first I want to tell you something.’
‘What is it?’
‘I’m proud of you, Mummy. You’ve done your best and that’s all we can ask of anyone. If you’ve done your best then you should hold your head up high.’
How many times have I said that to my darling girl? It’s so nice to have some good words thrown back at me for a change.
‘Thank you. I’m proud of us all. Remember what the house looked like when we first got here? Now look at it. Aunt Kate will be proud of us too. We’ll serve Rupert and his family their Christmas dinner and see them on their way tomorrow.’
‘I’ll be glad to see the back of them,’ she says. ‘They’re eating us out of house and home.’
That’s Celine’s favourite expression. At least I’m not the only one on Mabel’s greatest hits list.
I send my daughter into the kitchen to see how Danny is getting on while I set the table for lunch. Wi
th a few pine boughs woven between the candles and the sparkling glasses and silverware, it looks quite festive by the time I’m finished. All I need are the Christmas crackers.
There are about a hundred in the cabinet under the stairs in the hall, but I have to crawl in to get them.
‘Do you need a hand?’
Hugo is standing behind me, making me very aware that my head is in the cabinet and my arse is in the hall.
‘No, I’m fine, thanks.’
‘You look fine from here.’
I back out, shuffling the boxes of crackers as I go. ‘How are Amanda and Oscar? Happy again?’
Maybe reminding him that he’s fathered two children with Prunella will knock him off his game.
‘There’s no long-term damage. Here, let me help you with those.’ He takes the boxes from me.
Fine, whatever. ‘Thanks. I’ll just set the table and then we’re nearly ready for…’
He stops in the middle of the hall.
‘Is something wrong?’ I ask.
I stop too.
He shifts the boxes to one hand and points at the ceiling. ‘Happy Christmas,’ he says.
You have got to be kidding me. We’re standing under the mistletoe that Danny hung to add a festive finishing touch for our guests’ first impression. Clearly, it’s making an impression on Hugo.
‘I have to finish laying the table,’ I say primly. ‘I’ll take those, thank you.’
I’ll get Danny to take that flippin’ mistletoe down too. I’d snatch it from the ceiling myself if I could reach. I’m definitely not asking Hugh for a boost up.
The beef stew actually smells delicious. It might not win Danny any culinary awards for presentation, and it probably hasn’t got the biggest wow-factor for Christmas lunch, but at least we’re able to feed our guests.
They’ve downed an entire pitcher of cocktails by the time they pull their Christmas crackers, and here I am, I’m standing slumped against the fridge watching Danny microwave the Christmas pudding.
‘Are you sure you’re supposed to do that?’ I ask him.
‘There’s not much choice now. It would need to steam for an hour and I forgot to start it before we served lunch. Besides, I looked it up on Google. The Google is never wrong.’
‘My Mum never microwaved it.’
‘That’s because Celine did the cooking, right?’
‘You don’t have to be mean about it, you know.’
His eyebrows shoot up. ‘I wasn’t trying to be mean. Didn’t Celine do the cooking? That’s what you told me.’
‘Mum also cooked.’
‘Then I stand corrected. I’m sorry… why are you so sensitive when I mention Celine?’
‘I’m not,’ I say, sensitively. ‘I just don’t need anyone judging me, that’s all.’
‘Lottie. The last thing I’d ever do is judge you. Come on. You’re a single mum who’s had a horrible time. If anything, I’m jealous that you’ve got Celine. And I admire you.’
The blush creeps up my cheeks. He admires me!
‘Thanks, Danny. You’re pretty admirable yourself, you know, the way you’re devoted to your daughter. A lot of men don’t bother.’
‘I’m sorry about Mabel’s father, Lottie, but not all men are tossers. I hope you do know that.’
‘Well, I haven’t run across very many since Mabel was born, tossers or otherwise, so I’ll have to take your word on that.’
Danny is starting to restore my confidence though. If I were Phoebe’s mother, I wouldn’t have moved away.
The microwave pings and the moment passes.
I grab the brandy bottle and follow Danny to the dining room for our grand finale.
‘Is everyone ready?’ I say, holding the match over the booze-soaked pud. I always loved this part of Christmas lunch, when Dad would set our pudding alight, sending mum into a fit of sherry-soaked giggles. God, how I miss them.
I touch the match to the top of the pudding and it whooshes into blue flames that race down the sides.
Then the flames race around the plate.
Then they start racing across the linen tablecloth, following the trail of brandy I’ve managed to slosh there.
‘Look, Mummy, it’s like bonfire night,’ says Amanda, remarkably calm for someone about to be caught in a house fire.
It takes only seconds for the flames to take hold.
‘Get some water!’ Hugo shouts, pulling his family away from the table.
I dash to the kitchen for a pot of water, but by the time I get back, Danny is already there, pulling the pin on the fire extinguisher.
‘I don’t think we need—’
But it’s too late. He aims the nozzle and shoots a white cloud of foam all over what’s left of Christmas lunch.
The fire is out. As is any possibility of eating that pudding.
‘We’ll just go into the parlour,’ Rupert says tactfully. ‘Maybe we’ll have our coffee in there?’
Looking at the bright side, at least we don’t need to worry about keeping everyone out of the dining room when the 8.30 train passes tonight.
‘I guess I overreacted,’ Danny says, tucking his mobile phone away. He was talking to his daughter when I came upon him in the conservatory. I felt embarrassed catching him in such an intimate conversation, but his tone was so tender that I thought, once again, what a lucky little girl she is.
‘Better safe than sorry, I guess. Aunt Kate wouldn’t thank us if we burned her house down.’
He laughs. ‘This has been the Fawlty Towers of Christmases. But it could have been worse.’
I raise my eyebrow. ‘Please, tell me how that could be.’
‘Well, at least we tried, and you can’t do more than that.’ He glances at my expression. ‘Sorry, I was being a dad. It’s just something I say to Phoebe.’
‘I say the same thing to Mabel.’
For a moment we look at each other, possibly recognising our common bond as single parents. And maybe, I dare to hope, maybe just a little bit more.
‘You’ll want a ride over to the hospital,’ he says. ‘I’ll drive you.’
And suddenly I’m back to being his employer again.
There’s loads of activity around Aunt Kate’s bed when we get to her room. Two nurses are there with Dr Lonergan. My heartbeat quickens. Something must be wrong. She’s had a relapse. Or there’s brain damage. Or worse. My eyes flick around the room, searching for those paddles they use to bring people back from the dead.
‘Dr Lonergan, what’s happening?’
When she smiles, relief washes over me. It’s not bad news.
‘We discontinued the medication and your aunt is coming around. We’re just assessing her to make sure she’s able to follow commands. Everything looks good.’
‘Is she awake enough to know that we’re here?’
‘Why don’t you ask her yourself?’ she says, putting Aunt Kate’s chart back into the slot at the end of her bed. ‘We’re finished now, so we can leave you in peace. Happy Christmas!’
It’s probably completely inappropriate, but I pull her into a hug anyway. ‘Thank you for everything you’ve done.’
‘It’s my pleasure,’ she says, hugging me back. ‘I love a happy ending.’
Mabel and I bring the two grey plastic chairs close to Aunt Kate’s bed. Maybe it’s because she’s sleeping instead of comatose, or because she no longer has the breathing mask over her face, or maybe it’s my imagination now that I know the drugs have been stopped, but she looks different, better and more alive.
‘Aunt Kate? It’s Lottie.’
‘And Mabel.’
‘Today’s Christmas Day, Aunt Kate, and the doctor says you’re doing really well. That’s the best present in the world for us. Things are still fine at the B&B. Everyone had a nice dinner.’
No need to mention that we almost had to ring the Fire Brigade.
‘And Danny took everyone for a walk earlier. I think they’re having a nice time.’
Best to ke
ep the coal cellar incident quiet too.
‘They’ll leave tomorrow morning, so we can get back to normal and start looking forward to when you can come home.’
Though there’s a bit of gloom on the horizon too. It’s not just the reviewer who’ll leave tomorrow, is it? Danny has stuck to our arrangement. Tomorrow he’ll fulfil his promise and I’ll have no reason to see him again.
‘Can you hear me, Aunt Kate?’
‘Her eyelids moved, Mummy! Did you see?’
‘I did see!’
I feel my own eyes fill with tears. Aunt Kate really is coming back to us.
Chapter Thirteen
The guests are up early on Boxing Day, getting ready to escape back to London after breakfast. Danny’s handiwork on the drains made sure there were no more smelly plumbing surprises, and I’m even starting to hope the guests might get away with no more mishaps.
The twins had one more go at destroying the parlour, pulling everything off the shelves before Hugo got them strapped into the car. They might end up being decent adults but, to quote Mabel quoting me, I’m definitely glad to see the back of them.
‘So,’ I say to Rupert as he hands me his room key. ‘I do hope you enjoyed your stay with us. I’m sorry that there were a few… difficulties, but I hope that won’t affect Aunt Kate’s rating.’
He must know I’m being cheeky, but I’ve got nothing left to lose.
‘It was an interesting visit,’ he says. ‘Please do thank your aunt for inviting us. I’ll be submitting my review in early January when I’m back from holiday.’
‘Oh, are you going somewhere nice for New Year’s?’
He nods. ‘I’m flying to Tanzania tomorrow. On my own.’
I smile. ‘I understand completely. It’s not always easy having family around.’
‘Some families are easier than others. Most families are easier than mine.’
That’s true, though I’m probably not supposed to agree with him. ‘So, the rating then… could you give me a hint about how it went?’
He peers over the pile of cases he’s trying to wedge into the overfilled boot. ‘Well, I wasn’t fooled by your Victorian theme. It was pretty clear you were bluffing by the time the peanut butter sandwiches came out. But I liked that you carried on with it in the face of complete implausibility. You’re clearly very good at handling difficult guests. Frankly, I’d have kicked Hugo in the bollocks and gone straight to my sister, so you showed remarkable restraint there.’
Christmas at the Falling-Down Guesthouse Page 8
