by Karen Clarke
‘Oh, he said he was going to do some external filming, get a few shots of the beach, that sort of thing.’
‘The sort of thing we were supposed to be doing just now?’
Ollie pulled a mournful face. ‘I’m not really outdoorsy, unless I’m on a horse,’ he said, releasing yet another mince pie from under its foil covering. ‘Not during winter anyway.’ He put the pie in his mouth, and made muffled noises of pleasure. ‘Not in this country, at least,’ he said when he’d swallowed. ‘I ski in Verbier, but that’s different.’
‘Cold is cold, wherever you are.’ I was easily able to picture him on a ski slope, or urging a stallion over a jump at the Badminton Horse Trials.
‘It’s different in nice surroundings, doing nice things.’
‘So, what we were doing out there… that wasn’t nice?’
He jerked his shoulders. ‘It was work, I suppose.’
I stared. Was I part of his job? A new cast member in Ollie Matheson’s ongoing reality show?
‘I really would like to get on,’ I said, as he poured water into our mugs from a great height while flourishing his other arm, like a magician. It was dawning on me that most things Ollie did were for effect. I wondered how he coped alone in a room without an audience.
‘I thought we could have a quick getting-to-know-each-other session.’ He passed my mug across the worktop, eyes turned up to full twinkle. ‘We could ask each other questions while you work.’
He assumed a serious expression, as though about to be interviewed on Newsnight about Syrian refugees, but before I could reply there was a burst of trumpets from his jacket pocket.
‘Hold that thought.’ He pulled out his phone, face tightening when he saw who was calling. ‘It’s Tattie,’ he said, already backing into the hall. ‘Sorry to be rude, Lily, but I’d better take it.’
‘Go ahead.’
‘What do you want, Tats?’ he said, as he took the stairs two at a time.
I strained my ears but only heard the bedroom door closing, followed by the creak of floorboards and the lancing tone of his voice. They were obviously having an argument.
Sighing, I turned my attention to the mince pies, and wished Mum was here to talk to. Or Erin. Or anybody from my old life. I thought of Max, but couldn’t locate any pangs of longing. I switched on the radio instead, and listened to Mariah Carey singing about what she wanted for Christmas, while I started making pastry.
As usual, baking took on a soothing rhythm. I soon had a stack of fresh mince pies and then rustled up a batch of scones.
As I cleared up, and checked I had enough plates and cups to go round, I wondered whether Ollie was still on the phone. I turned off the radio as Noddy Holder stretched his vocals to breaking point yelling, ‘It’s Christmaaaaaaaaaaaaas’, which suddenly made me think of Doris.
I cocked my head. Nothing. Maybe Ollie was deep in contemplation after his conversation. Hard to imagine, but possible.
I glanced through the window, wondering what Craig was up to. The car was there, so he couldn’t have gone far. Then again, the beach was only a short walk away, and he clearly wasn’t bothered about the cold. Maybe he was taking exterior shots of the houses on Maple Hill, where the daylight was fading and house lights were beginning to glitter.
I dried my hands and checked my phone. Mum had texted:
‘Hope all’s well, good luck with your gusts! Xx’
Guessing she meant ‘guests’ I replied:
‘All under control, good luck with your plap! Xx’
‘I think you meant play’,
she responded.
‘Call yourself a teacher!! Xx’
Smiling, I made some more tea and took out my notepad, a new idea for my novel popping into my head.
Leaning on the worktop, I wrote: Jennifer’s cupcakes were enormous…
Cupcakes sounded like a euphemism.
Jessica’s cupcakes were the envy of all her friends.
It still sounded like a euphemism.
You should open your own café,’ her friend Craig kept saying. He was the biggest fan of her baking and never stopped trying to encourage her to…
Craig? I scribbled it out and wrote Carl.
‘If you find a job you love, you’ll never work a day in your life,’ he was fond of saying. But Jessica already had a job she loved. She was a police officer and currently in the middle of a grisly murder investigation.
I read it through, then tore out the page, balled it up and aimed it at the bin. It missed, but I couldn’t be bothered to pick it up.
The cottage was far too quiet.
I tore upstairs and knocked on Ollie’s door. No answer.
Taking a breath, I turned the handle and peered inside, spotting his cowboy boots lined up beside his brogues and moccasins at the end of the bed.
I’d half expected to find him upset – or perhaps watching clips of Players on You Tube – but his phone was lying on the duvet beside him and he was flat on his back, fast asleep, snoring noisily.
‘Wow,’ I whispered. So that’s how Ollie Matheson coped with being on his own.
He slept through it.
Chapter Twenty
‘What a lovely spread.’ Doris cast an approving eye over the table I’d brought into the living room and piled with plates of sandwiches, mince pies and scones. I’d also put out a bottle of lychee-and-guava juice, which I’d bought on my pre-Ollie shopping spree. I’d thought about putting out champagne, but had worried that my neighbours would think I had a drink problem – or was showing off. ‘And the Christmas tree looks so pretty.’
‘Thank you,’ I said, admiring it with her. I’d set the multi-coloured lights to twinkle on and off and the colours reflected along the wall, disguising the fact that I hadn’t had a chance to hang any pictures yet. Or buy any.
‘And you’ve got the fire going.’
I looked at the grate, where flames were dancing behind the fireguard. ‘I thought it made a nice touch.’
‘I noticed smoke coming out of the chimney yesterday and I thought to myself, Felicity Meadows would be delighted. She loved a nice fire. She was the original owner of Seaview Cottage,’ Doris explained. ‘Said she’d only ever leave this place in a coffin.’
‘Well, I hoped she lived a full life.’
‘Oh, she’s still alive,’ said Doris. ‘She got sick of seeing the sea and moved to the countryside.’
‘Right.’
‘Is that your family?’ Doris headed for the photo on the mantelpiece. ‘You look like your father,’ she said, studying his smiling, suntanned face. ‘Around the eyes.’
‘Thanks,’ I said, touched. It was nice to hear, though I knew I looked more like Mum, and that Chris was the one who’d inherited Dad’s dark hair and eyes. ‘He passed away a few years ago.’
‘I know.’ She turned. ‘Your mum told me.’ What? ‘He’ll always be with you, like a handprint on your heart, just like my Roger is with me.’
‘That’s… lovely,’ I said, meaning it.
‘So, where are your men?’
‘Men?’
She peered around the room. ‘Your… guests.’
‘One’s out, and one’s upstairs,’ I said, wondering where Craig had got to. He knew the meeting was due to start.
‘I wasn’t sure whether we were meant to contribute, so I brought a few things.’ Doris handed over a heavy, canvas bag. ‘Nothing much,’ she added, as I peeped inside at a heap of Tupperware containers. ‘Just a few sausage rolls and some of my birdseed muffins, a chocolate cake and my version of Viennese whirls – I use lemon curd. Oh, and I popped a few dog biscuits in.’
‘Dog biscuits?’
‘Celia Appleton said she might pop by and she’ll probably bring Chester, her dog. He’s getting on a bit and doesn’t like being left on his own.’
‘That’s fine.’ I was a bit scared of dogs, having been bitten as a child, but decided not to say so. Just like I hadn’t pointed out that Doris was fifteen minutes early. ‘T
his is very kind of you.’
‘No trouble,’ she said, though it was obvious she’d gone to a great deal of effort. ‘And I popped in some paper plates and plastic cups.’
‘Wow,’ I said. ‘That’s very kind, thank you.’
As I made room for everything on the table, Doris said, ‘Any sightings next door?’
I looked round to see her angling her head, eyes swivelling in the direction of the Lamberts’. ‘Sightings?’
‘My friend, Ellen Partridge, says she saw Barry in the underwear department in John Lewis in Poole and he was picking out lacy bras with his other woman,’ she said.
‘I haven’t noticed anything.’ I thought for a second. ‘Maybe he was with his sister, choosing a Christmas present for Sheelagh.’
‘He hasn’t got a sister, just an older brother called Nigel,’ she said. ‘Now, shall I put the food on plates while you go and get changed?’ She looked askance at my flour-covered jeans and sweatshirt. She’d hung up her coat and was straightening her lavender twin-set over her grey woollen skirt. ‘Unless you already have?’
I felt torn, guessing she’d love an opportunity to snoop around, but knowing I looked a mess. In the end, vanity won. ‘That would be great,’ I said. ‘I won’t be long.’
‘Take your time, dear.’
Upstairs, I barged into the spare room to find Ollie still sound asleep, one hand cupping his privates. I couldn’t believe he’d slept through the doorbell chiming.
‘Ollie!’ I leaned over and shook his shoulder.
‘Sweetie.’ Reaching out, he pulled me down on top of him. ‘You smell like a tart,’ he mumbled into my hair.
‘What?’
‘Mmmm, mince tarts,’ he whispered, nuzzling my ear. ‘I was dreaming about them.’
I wriggled out of his grasp. ‘Ollie, you have to get up.’
He turned over, sliding his thumb into his mouth.
‘OLLIE!’
He shot upright, as if I’d fired a gun. ‘Lily, what is it?’
‘It’s time for the Christmas lights meeting,’ I said, noting that his hair looked immaculate. ‘Doris Day turned up early.’
‘Doris Day?’ He looked thrown.
‘You met her, briefly.’
‘Where have I heard that name?’
I suppressed a sigh. ‘Your grandmother might have watched some of her films.’
‘Your neighbour’s an actress?’
Doris was singing the chorus of ‘Mistletoe and Wine’ in a high voice and I knew it would be stuck in my head for the rest of the day. ‘Could you try and charm her, while I get changed?’
‘Oh god, yah. Absolutely.’ He leapt off the bed, smoothing his hands down his cheeks as if rubbing away the last vestiges of sleep – or checking for non-existent wrinkles.
‘You look fine,’ I observed. His shirt wasn’t even creased.
He tweaked his sleeves and collar. ‘Ollie Matheson saves the day,’ he said, striking a Superman pose. ‘The Doris Day.’
‘Ha, ha,’ I said.
‘Shall I fetch my mistletoe from the car?’
‘Definitely not,’ I said. ‘It’s probably dead by now.’
He grinned, and ruffled my hair as he passed.
As I hurriedly changed into a plum-coloured dress and teamed it with a fluffy cream cardigan, I heard Doris bark, ‘Put that sausage roll down, young man. It’s bad manners to start before everyone’s here.’
I smiled as I pulled a brush through my hair and swiped some nude lipstick on. I had a feeling Doris wouldn’t be as easy to win over as most of the females Ollie met. I doubted she’d be asking for his autograph or requesting a selfie with him.
I pulled on some tights, after checking for holes, and ran downstairs as the doorbell sounded again.
It was Sheelagh this time, in a sequin-embellished V-necked dress beneath an emerald-green coat. ‘Jill Edwards is still at school and can’t make it,’ she said, as she came in. ‘But I told her you’re going to look in before the end of the week and she’s looking forward to seeing you.’
About to protest that I hadn’t made any such arrangement, I remembered my promise to Alfie the day before and stammered out my thanks.
‘The Jensens can’t make it either, on account of their high-powered jobs.’ Her smile vanished as Doris’s voice drifted out.
‘You can put your trumpet away, dear,’ she was saying to Ollie. ‘Nobody likes a show-off.’
‘I might have known she’d be early.’ Sheelagh removed her coat and thrust it at me, along with a bottle of white wine. ‘I’d better go and rescue that poor young man.’ She hurried through, her feet puffing over her pointy black velvet pumps.
‘Nice to see you too,’ I murmured, hanging her coat over Doris’s on the banister post. Before I could catch my breath, Craig slipped through the front door, bringing with him a blast of icy air.
‘Sorry,’ he said, swinging his camera to the floor. ‘I forgot the time.’ His eyes were bright in his flushed face and his hair was untidy. ‘There’s a lot of potential around here to make a decent programme,’ he said, clearly fired up as he removed his jacket and placed it on top of Sheelagh’s coat.
‘Interviewing the neighbours, by any chance?’ I sounded like the fun-police and probably looked like them, too, holding the bottle of wine as though I’d confiscated it. ‘Behind Closed Doors?’ I added, widening my eyes in a meaningful way, not sure why I was cross with him when he hadn’t done anything wrong.
He looked at me for a moment, as though weighing up how to respond. ‘I’m not getting much good stuff with Ollie,’ he said at last, smoothing a hand over his tousled hair. ‘Every time the camera’s on, he starts performing—’
A set of knuckles rapped on the door.
‘I’d better go through,’ he said, breaking eye contact as he bent to retrieve his camera. ‘I’ll try and blend into the background,’ he added, as I opened the door to let in the Harassed Couple – minus their twins – and Jane and Dennis.
‘Ooh, it’s changed a lot since Felicity Meadows and her brood lived here,’ said Jane, divesting herself of a thickly quilted purple coat and piling it on top of Craig’s jacket. ‘She was like the old woman who lived in a shoe, wasn’t she, Dennis?’ She turned to her husband, who’d dressed in a suit and bow tie, as if attending a film premiere, and had tamed his greying beard into something almost stylish.
‘She certainly had a lot of children,’ he agreed, adjusting the knot of his tie. ‘This thing’s strangling me.’
‘Doesn’t he look gorgeous?’ Jane whispered, squeezing his bottom as she followed him into the living room.
‘You OK with dogs?’
I spun round to see an older woman in the doorway, leaning on a wooden walking stick, an ancient, but friendly looking Labrador at her side. Trying not to goggle at her patchwork leather coat and flat cap, I waved them in.
‘You’re both welcome,’ I lied, shrinking back from the dog. ‘I don’t think we’ve met.’
‘Celia Appleton, Marnie’s gran. She said you’d saved the day by ordering some celebrity to switch on the Christmas tree lights.’
‘Something like that.’ It came out more apologetically than I’d intended.
She nodded brusquely, seeming to take in me, the house, and the situation with a sweep of her shrewd, blue eyes. ‘I’ll go through, shall I?’
‘Please do.’
As she flung her coat on top of the others, revealing several layers of clothing all in the same shade of pale grey – like mist – Chester plonked his bottom down and lifted a front paw. ‘He’s saying hello,’ she said. ‘He’s got beautiful manners.’
Not wanting to seem rude, I obediently shook the dog’s clammy paw, trying not to meet his eyes in case I inadvertently annoyed him.
The doorbell chimed again, and Chester gave a woof that made my heart jolt.
‘Come here, boy,’ said Celia, and he returned to her side, tail wagging as they went to join the others in the living room.
&n
bsp; Mr Flannery was outside, a sour look on his face. ‘I’ve had to leave my nephew in charge of the shop but he can’t be trusted,’ he said by way of a greeting, stamping his feet on the mat as he unfastened his black anorak. Unless it had started snowing again, he had a scattering of dandruff on his shoulders.
‘I’m sure he’ll be fine,’ I said, thinking, You didn’t have to come, you miserable toad. I checked that Barry wasn’t lurking outside before I closed the door. ‘Would you like a drink, Mr Flannery?’
‘Call me Clint,’ he said, tetchily. ‘I’ll have a mug of Ovaltine, please.’
Ovaltine? ‘I’m afraid the nineteen seventies wanted their Ovaltine back.’ It was a lame attempt to get him to crack a smile.
He narrowed his eyes. ‘I hope there’s some orange juice then.’
‘Lychee and guava?’
‘Never heard of them.’ Still in his anorak, he loped into the living room, where the noise level had risen to mildly deafening. Following him through, I saw Sheelagh was monopolising Ollie, who seemed relieved to be playing to an appreciative audience again.
‘Doris Day is terrifying,’ he whispered, as I edged past him to where my phone was plugged into a speaker on the windowsill. I’d been downloading some Christmas music when Doris had turned up. ‘She reminds of me of Nanny,’ he added, his mock-fear tinged with deep admiration. I dreaded to think how he’d have turned out if his nanny had been like Sheelagh.
‘Ooh, we should have a little dance,’ Sheelagh squealed, as Shakin’ Stevens sang ‘Merry Christmas Everyone’, swaying her hips and clicking her fingers. Her face was suffused with colour and I feared for her blood pressure – especially if she was wearing her corset again.
‘Is Barry running late?’ I asked her, checking the time. As head of the society, I’d have expected him to arrive with Sheelagh.
A funny look flickered over her face. ‘He got held up,’ she said, thrusting a hand through her curls. Her face contorted. ‘Ow! My ring’s stuck.’
Ollie sprang to the rescue, making her giggle as he released her fingers one by one. ‘What are you like, Loretta?’ He planted a kiss on the back of her hand.
