The Christmas Stocking and Other Stories

by Katie Fforde

  ‘Oh, shush! We’ve got snow, haven’t we? And what could be better than that?’

  ‘Having a Ski-Doo or a team of huskies?’

  Ginny threw a snowball at him. Within seconds he’d got her right back and for a few frantic minutes they bombarded each other until, exhausted, they flopped on their backs into a patch of untrammelled snow and made snow angels.

  ‘I’m loving this!’ said Ginny. ‘Being a bride was horribly grown up. This is being childlike in the best sense.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Ben. ‘Even though there seems to be a little tiny gap between my jacket and my jeans. The snow is seeping in.’

  Ginny stood up and held her hand out to him; she helped him get upright. ‘Come on, let’s explore the woods. You never know, we may find a lamppost and a family of beavers, all the lovely Narnia stuff.’

  ‘More likely to find polar bears,’ said Ben. ‘Though I could certainly do with a fur coat.’

  ‘You’ll warm up when we get going.’

  Ben kissed her cold cheek, took her hand, and they set off.

  It was quite tiring, walking through deep snow, but it was a bit shallower when they got further into the woods. Ginny hung back a bit and let Ben lead the way. As they walked she considered telling him about the hot tub that was supposed to be quite near the house. But she knew they wouldn’t find it. There was no such thing as a hot tub in this strange, snowy world.

  ‘Hey! A building,’ said Ben.

  As she came up behind him into the clearing, Ginny was hit by a wave of déjà vu. ‘It’s a church!’ she said; the church, she thought. ‘Let’s go and see if it’s open. I love old churches.’

  Although she spoke cheerfully, inside she suffered a wave of unease, quickly eclipsed by a pang of regret for the quiet church wedding she’d wanted. Basically it had been cheaper to do the whole thing at the hotel, but Ginny knew that it hadn’t been the expense; it was because they didn’t really understand her faith, or her wanting to bring God into a marriage ceremony. It was the biggest, most important of the fights for which she’d longed to have Ben beside her.

  This was a little gem of a church. Ginny wasn’t an expert but it looked early. It was grey stone and not very decorated except by ivy. Large yew trees stood in the churchyard, heavy with snow.

  ‘I wonder if it was built here in the woods, or have the woods grown up around it?’ said Ben quietly.

  ‘Shall we see if it’s open?’ asked Ginny, half expecting to see the woman from her dream and now keen to go inside. She set off down the path where the snow was less thick for some reason.

  Ginny stopped at the door. ‘I can hear music!’ she whispered. ‘There must be a service going on.’

  She looked around at the snow, clear of footprints, and didn’t meet Ben’s gaze. She knew he was wondering how on earth there could be a church service, with people in it, unless they’d all been delivered by Father Christmas’s sleigh.

  ‘Is it locked?’ asked Ben.

  Ginny tried the handle. ‘No,’ she said, ‘we’ll tiptoe in and sit at the back.’ She opened the door.

  The church was empty, and the music stopped the moment they entered. But it was lit. There were branches and sconces of candles everywhere, sending shadows up to the beamed roof, and while it wasn’t a bright light, it was warm and somehow welcoming.

  ‘There must be a service soon,’ said Ben, still keeping his voice low. ‘We’re just early. It would take ages to light all these candles.’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Ginny, not believing a word of it.

  Together they walked up the central aisle to the altar. It wasn’t very far.

  They were at the chancel steps, admiring the beauty of the candlelit church, when Ben put his hand on her arm. ‘Darling, I’ve been wanting to tell you something …’

  Ginny was alarmed. ‘What?’

  He smiled gently. ‘Nothing horrible. Only – well – how much I love you really. I know I haven’t said that for a long time although I never stopped feeling it.’

  ‘You’ve been away so much—’

  ‘And I need to explain that, too.’ He paused. He looked a bit guilty. ‘I’ve been doing two jobs.’

  ‘What?’ Just for a minute, Ginny was furious. There she was having to handle a wedding on her own when he was – well, what was he doing? ‘You’ll have to explain.’

  ‘It is quite complicated but I was given a contract, a one-off, which was really well paid. But because it was a one-off, I didn’t want to give up my day job, so to speak, so I did both. And the contract was in Europe, which was why I was never here.’

  ‘But, darling, you knew we were getting married—’

  ‘The money! I’m not overly obsessed with it, you know that, but the money was so good …’ He paused. ‘I’ve got enough for a deposit on a house!’

  ‘Oh, Ben!’ She went into his arms and hugged him. ‘Really? We can have a house?’

  He held her very tightly. ‘We can. Our own house. We don’t have to live in my flat any more, which I know you hate—’

  ‘Only because it hasn’t any garden,’ said Ginny, although this wasn’t the only reason she didn’t like it.

  ‘Now we can have a proper little house. It’ll be all we ever wanted.’

  ‘Oh, Ben!’ she repeated. ‘I was thinking all sorts of horrid things about you! About how you were ducking out of the wedding preparations because it was so ghastly, when all the time you were working so hard for a deposit! But why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘I wanted it to be a surprise, a wedding present of sorts. I love you so much, and I wanted our married life to start off on the best foot possible. But I’ve not been here for you the way I should have been. I just hope you can forgive me now you know it was for a good reason.’

  ‘I love you so much, Ben. And I will forever, I know for a fact.’

  ‘And me you! There’ll never be anyone else for me now I’ve got you.’

  They hugged for some time, then Ginny said, ‘It’s almost as if we’ve renewed our vows.’

  ‘Only this time it’s just for us, in this beautiful church.’

  Maybe not just us, thought Ginny, but didn’t say. She didn’t think they were quite alone. But too many words might change the atmosphere.

  Ben took her hand. ‘We’d better go,’ he said. ‘There might be a churchful of people arriving soon.’

  She squeezed his fingers. She knew there wasn’t. She felt as though this church and this special moment had been prepared just for them.

  The music started again just as they reached the door and they stopped to listen. It was an old carol, one of Ginny’s favourites.

  ‘It’s “Tomorrow Shall Be My Dancing Day”,’ she whispered, scared that it would stop before it had finished.

  As the last notes trailed away and there was only the organ’s last chord to listen to, Ben opened the door. ‘Let’s go.’

  While they were both hungry and wanted to see what, if anything, they would find for their lunch, they didn’t rush. The country churchyard was so pretty, filled with snow, and now sunlight was coming through the clouds, causing the headstones to cast blue shadows.

  ‘Look,’ said Ben. ‘This one hasn’t got snow on it.’

  ‘It must be in a specially warm place,’ said Ginny, knowing her explanation sounded silly.

  ‘Hey!’ she said, having read the headstone. ‘It mentions Withycombe! Where we’re staying!’

  ‘“Here lies Hannah Stanwick,”’ read Ben, ‘“faithful servant to her Lord in Heaven and to her worldly masters, Sir Terence and Lady Withycombe. ‘Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace.’”’

  ‘Look at her dates!’ said Ginny. ‘Eighteen fifteen to nineteen hundred. She was a good age, especially for those days.’

  ‘Eighty-five,’ said Ben.

  They stood there for several minutes, looking at the gravestone in silence.

  ‘Let’s get back,’ said Ginny.

  They walked back through the sn
owy woods in silence, holding hands. Ginny felt uplifted and closer to Ben than she had done for months and months. A glance at him told her he seemed to feel much the same.

  In the cottage, the kitchen range was blazing. There was a pan of hot soup on the stove. There was a new loaf of bread, butter and a plate of ham and pickles.

  ‘I’m starving!’ said Ben.

  ‘Me too!’ said Ginny. ‘And weirdly tired. I suppose a wedding takes it out of you.’ She didn’t repeat what he already knew, that her wedding had been especially tiring.

  ‘Do you think maybe it would be wise to have a little lie-down before we eat, revitalise ourselves?’ Ben asked with a twinkle in his eye.

  Ginny returned his knowing smile. ‘I think forty winks would be an excellent idea.’

  Later, after lunch, full of soup and ham sandwiches, they went back into the sitting room. The fire was blazing and there was a small table drawn up in front of it. On it were some old-fashioned games, a wooden jigsaw puzzle and a pile of books.

  ‘The secret butler obviously expects us to curl up in front of the fire, play games and read,’ said Ben. ‘Which is not a bad idea.’

  They made themselves comfortable, piling up the cushions (there seemed to be more cushions now than previously) and covering themselves with a couple of thick woollen rugs.

  Ginny thought that the olden days were very good at some things, but they hadn’t quite got draught-proofing worked out yet.

  They hugely enjoyed themselves, first playing snakes and ladders and after that they did the jigsaw. As Ginny inserted the final piece – wife’s prerogative – Ben picked up one of the books. ‘Would you like me to read to you? You can shut your eyes if you’re sleepy.’

  ‘What’s the book?’

  ‘A Christmas Carol,’ he said, ‘perfect for the time of year and—’ He didn’t finish his sentence but began reading.

  Ginny loved the sound of Ben’s voice but she would have preferred something that didn’t involve anything otherworldly. Yet she closed her eyes and let her mind drift. Would they ever have sat in front of the fire and read in their normal lives? No, she concluded. They might watch a box set, or a film, which was also nice, but being read aloud to was very special. This little hideaway might not have been Ginny’s luxurious cottage, but it had done them a world of good. She let herself drift off, thinking exercise, food and blessed isolation had really worked their magic.

  Ginny woke up on the sofa several hours later with a cricked neck and a cold draught nipping at her feet. The fire had gone out, as had the oil lamp, and the cottage was dark and cold. Ben was sprawled across the floor, A Christmas Carol on his chest rising and falling with the rhythm of his breathing.

  Gingerly, not wanting to tread on any part of Ben in the gloom, Ginny made her way over to the window and the last of the wintery, afternoon light. She gasped so loudly that she heard Ben stir behind her. The snow had all gone, as if it had never been there.

  ‘What is it?’ Ben asked sleepily.

  ‘The snow’s gone.’

  ‘How weird. And what’s happened to the fire, and the lamp? God, it’s chilly. Shall I see about some tea to warm us up?’

  Ginny nodded, still unnerved by the sudden change in the landscape. Ben got to his feet, fumbling for the torch on his phone, and made his way out to the kitchen. Ginny had to stop herself crying out that she’d come with him; she suddenly didn’t want to be left alone. But she was being silly – snow could melt, fires could die, and lamps extinguish all by themselves in the few hours they’d been snoozing.

  Ben came back into the living room almost immediately. ‘The range isn’t lit and there’s no hot water.’

  Ginny’s eyes widened in mock horror, trying to pull herself together. ‘You mean, we have to make our own fires? That’s awful!’

  Ben grinned feebly. ‘I’m happy to do it, love, but it may take a while.’

  They looked at each other across the room, and an understanding passed between them.

  ‘Gin? Would you mind if we left quite soon? It’s not just that the secret butler has let us down …’

  ‘No, that’s fine.’ She breathed a sigh of relief. ‘I want to leave too.’

  ‘We’ll get supper somewhere,’ said Ben. ‘I’ll go up and pack the bags.’

  ‘I’ll just clear up here and the kitchen. Meet you downstairs in five.’

  Ginny lit the oil lamp and headed to the kitchen as Ben hurtled up the stairs guided by his phone. Something had changed and she no longer felt comfortable in the cottage. She couldn’t wash the plates quick enough and was grateful that the secret butler (or whatever euphemism Ben wanted to use) had done the pots and pans. She dried the plates and replaced them on the dresser. Then she turned round to check everything was in order. That was when she saw it.

  On the table was an old book, open. Ginny placed the oil lamp on the table and inspected the page.

  In beautiful handwriting were the words ‘I am now confident that the newly-weds will be very happy in their marriage.’

  Ben came in, dropping the bags at the door, and looked over her shoulder.

  ‘The ink’s wet,’ he said. ‘Let’s go!’

  ‘Just hang on. I have to find out a bit more.’ She blew on the ink until it was dry and then she inspected the book.

  Going by the name on the first page, it belonged to Hannah Stanway, housekeeper to Withycombe Manor. It was full of recipes and notes. The last entry before that day’s was written in 1900, the year of Hannah’s death.

  ‘We saw her grave,’ said Ginny. The implication hung in the air.

  ‘I don’t believe in ghosts,’ said Ben.

  ‘Nor do I. We need to leave!’

  Ben reversed the car. ‘Where to?’ he said.

  ‘Let’s get back to the main road and think about it then,’ said Ginny.

  By the time they were out of the woods they’d started to laugh, the sort of laughter created by the release of tension. They’d escaped. But what they’d escaped from they didn’t know.

  ‘So, left or right?’ asked Ben.

  ‘Right,’ said Ginny. ‘We’ve got all evening to find somewhere to stay.’ She was determined to find somewhere, even though she knew on Christmas Day it would be difficult. She really didn’t want to have to go back to the flat. His mother would be over like a shot, wanting to know why they’d come home early. Ginny would have to say something went wrong with the booking and then have to listen to hours of comment on how she could have done things better.

  ‘Well, that’s weird!’ said Ben. ‘There’s a sign to Withycombe! Isn’t that where we just were?’

  ‘I thought so. But we’ve driven miles, haven’t we?’ asked Ginny.

  ‘We’ve been on the road for quarter of an hour.’

  ‘Let’s switch on the satnav; it may come up with a town we could go to …

  ‘It’s determined we’re going to Withycombe,’ Ginny went on. ‘Look – there’s a sign! Withycombe Cottages and Manor House. I’m sure that’s what I booked!’

  ‘Then let’s go! They may still have our cottage available,’ said Ben.

  ‘We – er – I may not have booked it. There may have been a mistake.’ Neither of them was ready to talk about where they’d spent last night, and what had happened there.

  ‘Let’s go anyway. Hang the expense. If they’ve got a room, we’ll have it!’ He paused. ‘I really don’t want to go back to the flat and have my mother interrogating us about our honeymoon.’

  Ginny giggled. Hearing Ben talk about his mother like that made her feel better.

  Soon after the turn was marked and they followed a drive down for a quarter of a mile or so until they came to a large, imposing manor house.

  Ginny would have turned round and gone back by this time but Ben was on a mission. They got out of the car and he took her hand. He strode into the big house as if he had every right to, Ginny trotting slightly behind.

  ‘Good afternoon!’ said Ben firmly. ‘We’re looking fo
r accommodation—’

  Before he could finish his explanation and apologise for it being short notice and all the other things Ginny was certain he had in mind to say, the woman at the desk, whose badge said ‘Sharon’, looked up firmly. ‘Name?’

  ‘Andrews,’ said Ben.

  Ginny opened her mouth to speak but shut it again. Sharon was looking down a list. ‘Ah yes,’ she said. ‘Honeymooners.’ She smiled. ‘You’re in one of the cottages. Come with me.’

  When she had summoned a minion to take over her duties Sharon collected a large metal key. ‘Someone will bring your bags if you leave your car keys. Come with me, I’ll show you where you’re staying.’

  They were escorted across the floodlit drive and a stretch of lawn to a path flanked with lampposts which led into some woods. It was surprisingly similar to the path to the cottage they had just fled from and yet, for some reason, Ginny was confident it was different.

  Superficially the little house was much the same, but this version had been updated. There was fresh paint in tasteful, muted colours. Two little bay trees stood on either side of the porch (which the previous house hadn’t had) and although the key was still large and iron, Ginny doubted it was ever kept under a plant pot.

  ‘I’ll show you round. We’re very proud of this little place; it’s our most recently renovated cottage.’

  This was the place Ginny had booked. She recognised it from the website. There was the tasteful sitting room, with a wood-burning stove. Comfortable tweed-covered sofas draped with cashmere throws, white painted bookcases, and an entertainment centre that could show anything from early black-and-white movies to the latest new releases.

  ‘The kitchen is through here,’ said Sharon. ‘Oh, and your box of food has been delivered and the cold stuff put in the fridge.’

  It seemed a lifetime since Ginny had packed that box – a lifetime she could hardly remember just now.

  The kitchen was at least twice the size of the previous one and as high-tech as the first one had been simple. There were granite worktops, an island, a fridge the size of a family car and every gadget imaginable. Only a trained chef would get the best out of it, Ginny decided.