Christmas at the Dancing Duck

by Daisy James

  The noise level had ratcheted up from murmur to shriek and Kirstie could barely hear the Christmas carols that were playing on a loop over the loudspeakers. However, everyone seemed to be having fun. Every category had a constant stream of participants and queues formed as the afternoon progressed, necessitating Josh to pin on his ‘crowd control’ badge.

  ‘It’s a huge success!’ declared Josh, sliding his arm around Kirstie’s shoulder. ‘Despite the rotten weather.’

  Kirstie beamed, but before she could reply there was a crack of lightning that could be heard above the cacophony in the Old Barn. For a brief moment it was like someone had pressed the mute button on the conversation and the congregation turned in unison to stare out of the barn doors.

  ‘Come on. I’ll treat you to a glass of my fabulous mulled wine,’ Josh offered, steering Kirstie over to Leon’s makeshift kitchen.

  ‘Josh, thanks for everything you’ve done this week. You’ve been amazing.’

  ‘All in a day’s work, ma’am.’ He saluted.

  She laughed. ‘Above and beyond, I think.’

  ‘I haven’t done anything that Don and Sue didn’t do every single year for thirty years. I think it’s important to keep the village traditions going. They become part of the rituals for other families too. Hey, I hope you’ve remembered to wrap my present for tomorrow. I took the liberty of a quick peek under the Christmas tree in the bar and I couldn’t see anything in the shape of a cricket bat?’

  Kirstie laughed again. She hadn’t forgotten to buy presents. She had spent the previous morning mooching around Salisbury in search of the perfect gift for everyone. Everything was all wrapped up on the kitchen table, apart from Ethan’s, which was so huge it had been relegated to his parents’ bedroom. She knew he was far too young to appreciate the wooden tricycle but come summer he’d be able to ride it at his new home where there would be a garden for him to play in. She had also bought him a large stuffed giraffe so he had something he could play with straight away.

  She knew Olivia and Harry would adore the peppermint-and-cream garden love seat. She had cut out photographs from the catalogue and stuck them on a sheet of Christmas paper she had bought at the Christmas Craft Contest because she had arranged to have it delivered to the cottage after the completion of their purchase.

  Emma had her Whitby jet necklace and a bottle of the French perfume she coveted every year, and Kirstie already had Rachel’s present organized – the cute pencil drawing of the cluster of field mice decorating a wedding cake. She had spent the rest of her time prevaricating over what to buy for Josh. She had never been inside his house so she had no idea of his current taste in interiors. Their truce was tentative so she didn’t want to rock the boat by being over extravagant or stingy. She didn’t want to buy him anything too intimate either.

  ‘Sandra’s anxious to get everything organized in the church hall tonight, if you’re up for it?’ said Josh. ‘Once we’ve finished here, we’ll carry the food over to the vicarage, but there’s still the tables to set up in the hall, the decorations to hang, and the music to sort out. Then all there’ll be to do in the morning is heat everything up and serve.’

  ‘No problem, count me in.’ Kirstie smiled. She turned to glance out of the barn door to see the rain continued to slam down like stair rods on the cobblestones. ‘I think we should add an extra layer of clingfilm to the plates or everything will turn into mush.’

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls,’ boomed a familiar voice over the microphone. ‘Judging will take place in ten minutes. You have ten minutes left! If you intend to enter your masterpiece in one of our competitions, please place it in the appropriate section on the top table. That’s ten minutes, ladies and gentlemen.’

  There followed a flurry of activity as last-minute tweaks and adjustments were made and the various works of culinary art were placed on their allocated tables to await the verdict of Tony Butterworth, Rachel’s father and the village baker of over thirty years. Everyone then retired to the bar for complimentary drinks whilst the difficult work of selecting a winner took place.

  ‘I loved that gingerbread pirate ship,’ said Emma, twirling her finger distractedly through a long silver necklace she had crafted herself to look like an icicle. ‘That would be the winner if I was judging the competition.’

  ‘I liked the treehouse,’ said Kirstie. ‘And some of the hand-made chocolates looked amazing, especially the dark chilli chocolate bombs.’

  ‘Did you see the chocolate concoction that was about ten times the size of everyone else’s?’ Josh laughed.

  Emma giggled. ‘I think that was supposed to be the Death Star.’

  ‘Ah, now that makes sense!’

  ‘Okay, everyone. We’re ready to announce the winners,’ called Rachel through the door.

  A mass exodus of people surged from the pub into the barn. It had stopped raining but it was merely a temporary reprieve. All remaining light had seeped from the sky, shadows rippled along the walls, and the whole place looked as though a gang of ghosts had decided to attend the party too.

  Tony tapped the microphone and the throng became silent. ‘Again, I want to reiterate what Kate Grigson said last week at the Christmas Craft Contest: it’s fantastic to see how many talented people we have in the village. I’m especially pleased with the children’s entries this year. Well done, everyone! So, without further ado, the winner of the children’s chocolate-making competition is …’

  ‘Do you think we will have enough food for tomorrow?’ whispered Leon as a beaming seven-year-old boy with blond ringlets made his way through to the front of the prize-giving ceremony.

  ‘More than enough. In fact, I think we’ll be bringing some home with us,’ said Josh. ‘I’m looking forward to it. Mum and Dad rang this morning from Tenerife to wish us all luck. They’re having a great time in the sunshine with the grandkids.’

  ‘And finally, the winner of the adults’ gingerbread competition is … Sukie Grant, for her treehouse design. It’s a fantastic twist on the theme. Congratulations, Sukie.’

  A rumble of applause and a lone wolf whistle rang through the barn as she pushed her way forward to collect her golden trophy, fashioned in the shape of a Hansel and Gretel gingerbread house. Her cheeks glowed with undisguised pleasure.

  ‘Okay, everyone. Thank you all for coming today to show your support to The Dancing Duck Inn’s final Big Christmas Baking Bash, especially in this dreadful rain. As you know, everything that has been entered in the competitions will be donated to Reverend and Sandra Clarke for their Christmas Day lunch party in the church hall. Anyone who can spare an hour would be most welcome to help with the transfer of the food to the vicarage. Thank you, and a very merry Christmas to you all.’

  A resounding round of applause reverberated into the rafters.

  ‘Come on, let’s get a move on before the rain starts again,’ said Emma, rushing over to help Leon dismantle the kitchen café and return the appliances and crockery to the brasserie kitchen. Kirstie saw Emma jump when Leon accidentally brushed her cheek with his fingers. His Mediterranean-hued face flooded with colour and Emma’s eyes widened. Had the realization finally started to seep in? wondered Kirstie. She hoped so – it was about time.

  ‘Guess that leaves me and you to coordinate the food transportation,’ said Josh, smiling down at Kirstie.

  ‘I guess it does.’

  Together they arranged a relay team to take the platters of baked goods from the barn to the church hall and the vicarage kitchen. It was completed within the hour and all they were left with was the clearing up.

  ‘Leave that to us,’ Rachel said. ‘Why don’t you two go over to the hall and help the Rev set up the tables for tomorrow. Divide and conquer, eh?’

  ‘Thanks, Rach. You’re a star. Come on, Kirst. If we work our socks off, we can have everything done by ten and that’ll give us plenty of time to relax before Santa begins his rounds.’

  Like a monster lurking in the clouds waiting
to bare its teeth, the rain had resumed. Josh hooked Kirstie’s coat over her shoulders and, with his arm loosely around her waist, they trotted across the village green to the church hall, covering the last few metres at a run. Kirstie felt as though the clock had rolled back two years and she and Josh had never been apart.

  It was a wonderful feeling.

  Chapter 20

  ‘What do you think?’ asked Sandra as she stood back to admire the transformation of the drab church hall into a festive dining room.

  Triangles of Christmas bunting hung around the walls, interspersed with garlands of holly and clusters of golden balloons. The tables were arranged in a U-shape and covered with pristine white linen cloths loaned by the brasserie, which would be closed on Christmas Day and Boxing Day. Chunky cathedral candles encircled with foliage and pine cones dotted the centre of each table and there was a hand-made Christmas cracker at each place setting.

  At the back of the room were two additional tables: one held a ghetto blaster with an assortment of CDs waiting for an airing, and the second was piled with cups and saucers and the largest silver teapot Kirstie had ever seen.

  The stage was set and it looked amazing.

  ‘Looking forward to coming over here tomorrow? Don’t forget to hang up your stocking tonight,’ Josh joked from the top of a stepladder where he was putting the finishing touches to a string of hand-painted letters endorsed with the legend ‘Merry Christmas’.

  ‘I’m not sure Santa has me on his list this year.’ Kirstie shrugged, aware that Olivia and Harry were in Ireland, her friends in London. However, she knew Emma and Rachel wouldn’t forget her, just that they wouldn’t be able to hide their gifts in her stocking even if she did decide to hang one up – and she hadn’t got around to putting up a Christmas tree in the flat.

  ‘O, ye of little faith.’

  ‘Kirstie? Josh? We need to finish up now,’ called Sandra. ‘Robert’s anxious to get ready for Midnight Mass. If I leave you the key, would you be able to lock up?’

  ‘No problem. I’ll drop it off at the vicarage as soon as we’ve finished, or would you like me to open up in the morning? I know you’ll both be busy with the morning service and the turkey!’

  ‘Oh, that would be very kind of you, Josh. Thank you.’ Sandra gave them a wave and disappeared.

  ‘Want some help tomorrow?’ asked Kirstie.

  ‘Sure. I’ll give you a knock at eight. With Mum and Dad away, I don’t want to open my presents by myself.’

  Kirstie laughed, then she said something that was out of her mouth before she had chance to think it through properly. ‘Why don’t you come over and spend the night at the pub? You can take the sofa. I’ll cook you breakfast and we can open our presents together.’

  ‘Sounds like a plan,’ said Josh, refusing to meet her eyes whilst he rubbed his palm over his stubble, as he considered her impromptu invitation.

  ‘Kirstie …’

  ‘Josh …’

  ‘You first.’

  ‘Okay.’

  Kirstie walked to the upright piano and dragged out the heavy, padded tapestry stool. She sat down, her heart drumming a symphony of anxiety against her ribcage, but she knew this was the perfect time to talk to Josh.

  ‘You’re right – as always. We do need to talk.’

  Josh took a seat beside her on the stool, clasped his hands between his knees and lowered his head, but he remained silent.

  ‘I wanted to say I’m sorry, Josh. Sorry for everything. Sorry about the way I behaved after Mum and Dad died. You deserved better. You deserved an explanation, and much more consideration than I gave you. All I can say in my defence is that I wasn’t thinking clearly. The shock of losing them both so unexpectedly, then the onslaught of grief, made me forget that I still had people around who cared for me.’

  ‘I didn’t just care about you, Kirst. I loved you.’

  ‘I know and that’s what makes me feel so guilty. I desperately needed to escape from all the sympathy, the overbearing sadness, the agony of opening my eyes every morning and realizing it hadn’t been a nightmare, that this was my new reality.’

  ‘I was there for you. I would have …’

  ‘I know you were. You were amazing. I can’t explain it. I felt like I was an automaton, that everything I did was just a reflex action. I didn’t feel I had any control over my life at all. I wanted to continue with our plan to go travelling, wanted to separate myself physically from the place that held so much anguish, but it was as though some invisible force was preventing me from taking that initial step into a new life. I thought that if I stayed in Cranbury I’d be able to keep my parents’ memory alive just a little bit longer, that I would still be able to feel them walking by my side.’

  ‘You should have talked to me about it, or to Livie, or Emma, anyone. We were so worried about you. Everyone was upset. And your refusal to pursue your dream to travel, a dream you had talked about for years, just made things worse. Watching you hug your grief around you like a comfort blanket was heartbreaking for anyone close to you.’

  ‘I felt so alone. Livie had Harry …’

  ‘… and you had me.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Josh, I really am. I just woke up one morning and knew I couldn’t leave the Dancing Duck, couldn’t leave the village just to go travelling around Europe and Asia. It seemed so decadent, so indulgent, too fun-filled and hopeful after what had happened.’

  ‘I would have done anything for you, Kirst, anything to ease your pain. If I could have taken it from you and carried it on my own shoulders I would have done. It was agony to witness your distress.’

  ‘I know, and this might sound crazy, but I didn’t want you to do everything for me. I needed to be on my own. I wanted to keep my misery to myself, not share it with anyone. That didn’t seem fair.’

  ‘Sharing our traumas helps to ease the burden, you know,’ Josh said gently, staring at his laced fingers, clearly reluctant to look up and break the spell of honesty.

  Kirstie continued as if she hadn’t heard him. ‘I couldn’t bear the sympathetic glances, hated hearing everyone’s heartfelt condolences. Every time I heard the words I’m sorry for your loss, I wanted to scream. I know that probably makes me sound like a horrible person but it’s how I felt at the time. But, conversely, I also couldn’t bear to leave it behind. I’m so sorry, Josh, it was selfish of me to put my needs before yours.’

  Tears began to roll down Kirstie’s cheeks but she left them to fall unchecked. She recalled the day Josh had left Cranbury as though it were yesterday. He had worn himself out pleading, begging, cajoling, bribing, trying anything and everything to persuade her that continuing with their trip was the best thing to do. In the end, he had given in first and announced that he was leaving irrespective of her decision to stay. It was what he had to do to make sense of what had happened.

  ‘I loved Don and Sue as though they were my own parents,’ Josh whispered. ‘Don was always so patient with me, showing me how to fix a tap or wire a plug or attach a beer pump. Your dad was an amazing guy.’

  ‘He was, and he loved you too, Josh. He used to say that I’d hit the jackpot when I met you, that he would be proud to have you as a son-in-law.’ Kirstie paused, then glanced up at the wooden roof of the church hall. ‘What do you think he would be saying now?’

  ‘I think Don would be bursting with pride at what you’ve achieved, Kirstie.’ Josh took hold of her hand. At last, he shifted in his seat to look her directly in the eye.

  Kirstie flicked her eyes from their joined hands to his face and was shocked to witness the raw emotion etched across his features. Realization of how much she had hurt him slammed into her chest, whipping the air from her lungs. However, now that she had taken the first step on the road to apology she was determined to reach the finishing post. She needed him to understand how she had felt, hoped that if he did he might be able to forgive her.

  ‘I did get the letters you sent to Livie. She and Harry constantly badgered me to rep
ly. But I thought that if I let you go, you could start afresh. Eventually, I went to stay with Millie in London, volunteered at her local drama school, cooked meals to make up for the meagre rent I gave them. I started to believe I could have a different life: one that wouldn’t be constantly weighed down with the agony and misery of being an orphan. Such an awful word!’

  ‘Kirst …’

  ‘I got a job part time in a teashop and kept up with the drama school at the weekends. Then, one day, a day that will be etched on my soul for ever, a TV producer, Brad Baxter came to the school to audition the kids for a new teen drama. It was an amazing day and at the end of it, he asked if I’d like to audition for a presenter’s job for a late-night cookery programme he was involved in making for FMTV. I leapt at the chance and I loved it! Then when Brad moved on to produce the morning show, he chose me to present the cookery segment and Kirstie’s Kitchen was born.’

  ‘So why didn’t you come home more often? When you had your life back together?’

  ‘I’d moved on physically. I loved my job, loved my tiny studio flat, loved my friends and social life – such as it was – but deep down inside there was still a scorching terror that if I went back home all the pain and the grief and the self-blame would come rushing back to overwhelm me. I’m a complete coward, I know, but I was scared. Oh, Josh, I’m so, so sorry.’

  Kirstie dropped her face into her palms and a huge sob erupted from somewhere deep within her body. The rain hammered down on the tiled roof and the wind pressed its fingers into the cracks in the windows, causing them to rattle ominously. Josh rubbed her back, muttering soothing words until she regained control and wiped her tears away on the cuff of her sleeve.

  ‘After everything I did to insulate myself from the pain, there were still times when I was ambushed by memories, especially when connected to the aromas and fragrances that reminded me of special occasions. Furniture polish is one. Mum always used to polish her auction pieces until they shone before humming and haaing about the best place to show them off. Sawdust is another. Oh, and varnish. They remind me of the times when Dad hand-made all the shelves they needed to display their treasure.