Twelve Days of Christmas

by Trisha Ashley

  ‘I suppose she was, though she would have preferred me to train to be a teacher, like you and Alan — she didn’t consider cooking much above skivvying. And when I left the restaurant and signed up to Homebodies instead, she thought cooking for large house-parties in the summer and looking after people’s properties and pets in the winter was just like going into service.’

  ‘It’s worked very well though, hasn’t it? You get paid so much for the summer jobs that you can take the poorly paid home-sitting ones in the winter.’

  ‘They’re more for a change of scene and a rest, so staying rent free in someone else’s house suits me fine: I get to see a different bit of the country and they get their house and pets taken care of, so they can enjoy their hols without any worries.’

  ‘But now your next home-sitting job has fallen through, you could spend Christmas Day with us, couldn’t you?’ she suggested. ‘We’re going over to Mum and Dad’s for dinner and Mum is always saying she hardly sees you any more.’

  ‘Oh no, I couldn’t!’ I said with more haste than tact.

  ‘It would be better than staying home alone — and I’ve just invited my cousin Sam to stay. His divorce has been finalised and he’s at a loose end. You got on so well when you met in the summer and went on that date.’

  ‘Laura, that wasn’t a date, we just both wanted to see the same film. And he’s at least a foot shorter than me.’

  ‘That’s a gross exaggeration — a couple of inches, at most! Anyway, he said he liked a woman who knew her own mind and the way you wore your hair made him think of Nefertiti.’

  ‘Did he?’ I said doubtfully. My hair is black, thick and straight and I keep it in a sort of long, smooth bob that curves forwards at the sides like wings. ‘I expect he was just being kind. Not many men want to go out with someone taller than themselves.’

  ‘They might if you ever gave them the chance, Holly!’

  ‘There’s no point: I met my Mr Right and I don’t believe in second-best.’ Alan had found me beautiful, too, though I had found it hard to believe him at first after all that school bullying about my height and my very untrendy clothes. .

  ‘It doesn’t have to be second-best — I know you and Alan loved each other, but no-one would blame you, least of all me, if you fell in love with someone else now. Alan would be the last man to want you to mourn him forever.’

  ‘I’m not still mourning, I’ve moved on. It’s just. .’ I paused, trying to sum up how I felt. ‘It’s just that what we had was so perfect that I know I’m not going to find that again.’

  ‘But was it so perfect? Is any marriage ever that?’ she asked. ‘And have you ever thought that you weren’t actually married for long enough for the gilt to wear off the gingerbread?’

  I looked at her, startled. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, you were very happy, but even the best relationships change over time: their little ways start to irritate you and you have to learn a bit of give and take. Alan wasn’t perfect and neither are you: none of us are. Look at me and Dan, for instance. He can’t understand why I need forty-six pairs of shoes and I hate coming second in his life to rugby — but we still love each other.’

  ‘Apart from our work, the only thing Alan and I didn’t do together was the running — we shared everything else.’

  ‘But one or both of you might have felt that was a bit claustrophobic eventually. Alan was a dreamer too — and he dreamed of writing. You couldn’t do that together.’

  ‘Well, I didn’t stop him,’ I said defensively. ‘In fact, I encouraged him, though the teaching took up a lot of his time and energy. And I was going to write a house-party cookbook, so we did share that interest too, in a way.’

  ‘Oh yes — I’d forgotten about the cookbook. You haven’t mentioned it for ages.’

  ‘It’s nearly finished, just one more section to go.’

  That was the one dealing with catering for a Christmas house-party, which I had been putting off.

  ‘I do realise the dynamics of the relationship would have changed when we had children, Laura, but we had it all planned. I wish now we hadn’t waited so long, though.’

  ‘There you are, then,’ she said triumphantly, ‘if you find someone else, it’s not too late to start a family — look at me!’

  ‘Funnily enough I was thinking about that in Devon, and I decided that although I don’t want another man, I do want a baby before it’s too late. So I thought I’d try artificial insemination. What do you think?’

  She stared at me from startled, long-lashed blue eyes. ‘Really? Well, I suppose you could,’ she conceded reluctantly after a minute. ‘But wouldn’t you prefer to try the natural way first?’

  ‘No,’ I said simply. ‘I want the baby to be just mine.’

  ‘How would you manage financially? Have you thought it through?’

  ‘I own the cottage,’ I pointed out, because I’d paid off the mortgage on our terraced house with the insurance money after Alan died, then moved out to an even smaller cottage in the countryside between Ormskirk and Merchester. ‘And I thought I could finish off the cookery book and maybe start doing party catering from home.’

  ‘I’m not sure you’ve seen all the pitfalls of going it alone with a small child, but I know what you’re like when you’ve made your mind up,’ she said resignedly. Then she brightened and added, ‘But I could help you and it would be lovely to be able to see more of you.’

  ‘Yes, that would be great and I’ll be counting on you for advice if I get pregnant.’

  ‘I must say, you’ve really surprised me, though.’

  ‘I surprised myself, but something Gran said right at the end made me realise I ought to go out there and get what I want, before it’s too late.’

  ‘You mean when she said some man’s name you’d never heard of?’

  I nodded. ‘It was the way she said it — and she could see him, too. I’d never seen her smile like that, so she must have loved and lost him, whoever he was — and perhaps her journal will tell me that eventually. Her face went all soft, and I could see how beautiful she must have been when she was young.’

  ‘Just like you, with the same black hair and light grey eyes.’

  ‘Laura, you can’t say I’m beautiful! I mean, apart from being the size of a maypole, I’ve got a big, beaky nose.’

  ‘You’re striking, and your nose isn’t beaky, it’s only got the tiniest hint of a curve in it,’ she said loyally. ‘Sam’s right, you do look like that bust of Nefertiti you see in photographs. . though your hair is a bit more Cleopatra.’

  I was flattered but unconvinced. Gran’s skin had been peaches and cream and mine was heading towards a warm olive so that I look Mediterranean apart from my light eyes. Gran’s mother’s family came from Liverpool originally, so I daresay I have some foreign sailor in my ancestry to thank for my colouring — and maybe my height, which has been the bane of my existence.

  ‘I quite liked Sam, because at least he didn’t talk to my boobs, like a lot of men do,’ I conceded and then immediately regretted it, because she said eagerly, ‘So you will come to us, if only for Christmas dinner? I promise not to push you together, but it would give you a chance to get to know him a bit and—’

  My phone emitted a strangled snatch of Mozart and I grabbed it. Saved by the muzak.

  Chapter 2

  Little Mumming

  At my last hospital I was frequently left in sole command of a children’s ward in a separate building, night after night. When the air raid sirens went I took all the children down to a dark and damp cellar, where I had to beat hundreds of cockroaches off the cots and beds before they could be used. Finally, earlier this year, weakened by too many night shifts, lack of sleep (for I found it impossible to sleep during the day), too much responsibility and poor food, my health broke down and I was sent home to recover.

  October 1944

  I hoped the call wasn’t the man from Chris’s Clearance saying he’d decided against collectin
g Gran’s fairly worthless sticks of furniture and bric-a-brac, but no, it was Ellen from the Homebodies agency.

  ‘Holly, you know I said there was nothing else on the books over Christmas?’ she said in her slightly harsh voice, without any preamble. Ellen doesn’t do polite, except to the customers. ‘Well, now something’s come up and I’m going to ask you to do it for me as a big, big favour!’

  ‘A favour?’ My spirits lifted. ‘You mean a house-sitting big favour?’

  Laura caught my eye and grimaced, shaking her head and mouthing, ‘Don’t you dare!’

  ‘Yes, a major crisis has just blown up,’ Ellen explained. ‘You remember Mo and Jim Chirk?’

  ‘You’ve mentioned them several times, but I haven’t met them. They’re one of your longest-serving and most dependable house-sitting couples, aren’t they?’

  ‘They were,’ she said darkly. ‘And they were supposed to be house-sitting up on the East Lancashire moors over Christmas — they’d been two or three times and the owner asked for them again — but no sooner had they got there than their daughter had her baby prematurely and they’re flying out to Dubai to be with her.’

  ‘You mean, they’ve already gone?’

  ‘They’re on their way home to repack and get their passports, then they’re booked onto the first flight out. They phoned me just before they left — and so they should, too, because they’ve dropped me right in it!’

  ‘It doesn’t sound as if they could help it, Ellen — it’s just one of those things. I hope the baby is all right.’

  ‘Which baby?’

  ‘Their daughter’s baby.’

  ‘I have no idea,’ she said dismissively, which wasn’t any surprise, since where business is concerned she’s totally single-minded.

  ‘Look, could you help me out by taking the job on? It should be two people really, because it’s a large manor house in its own grounds, and a bit remote and there are a couple of pets to look after, too. Only there’s no-one else free on the books apart from you. Could you possibly go? Tomorrow? I’ll make sure you get double pay,’ she wheedled.

  ‘If there are pets, who’s looking after them at the moment?’

  ‘The owner’s elderly aunt and uncle live in the lodge and say they will keep an eye on things until you get there, but I don’t think they can really be up to it, or presumably Mr Martland wouldn’t have needed Homebodies in the first place.’

  ‘Martland?’ I interrupted.

  ‘Yes, Jude Martland. Have you heard of him? He’s quite a well-known sculptor — he did the Iron Horse next to the motorway near Manchester, all welded strips of metal — very modern.’

  ‘Oh yes, I think I have. But actually, I heard that surname recently in another context and it’s unusual, that’s why I was surprised.’

  ‘Just a coincidence, then — truth is stranger than fiction,’ she said, disinterestedly rustling some papers.

  ‘That’s true,’ I agreed, and of course these Martlands could have no relationship to the Ned Martland Gran had mentioned (assuming I’d even heard the name right): she was a working-class girl and wouldn’t have mixed in the same circles as minor gentry from moorland manor houses.

  ‘Anyway, he inherited the pile, which is called Old Place, about a year ago and he’s abroad somewhere, but so far we haven’t managed to get hold of him to tell him what’s happening. He isn’t coming back until Twelfth Night.’

  I’d turned away from Laura’s disappointed face, though I could feel her eyes boring accusingly into my back. I was starting to suspect she’d hastily invited her cousin Sam for Christmas as soon as I’d told her my Christmas job had fallen through — the idea had probably never crossed her mind until then.

  ‘It doesn’t sound too arduous,’ I said to Ellen. ‘I’ve looked after quite big houses before single-handedly. What are the pets you mentioned?’

  ‘One dog and. . a horse.’

  ‘A horse? You call a horse a pet? Ellen, I don’t do horses!’

  ‘It’s very elderly and you do know a bit about horses, because you went to that riding school with Laura, remember.’

  ‘I only watched her, that hardly qualifies me to look after someone’s horse, does it?’

  ‘I expect you picked up more information than you think you did. Mo said she was very easy to look after and all the instructions were written down.’

  ‘Yes, but—’

  ‘I expect the elderly couple in the lodge can advise you if there’s any difficulty. And there’s a cleaner and a small village nearby with a shop, so it isn’t totally isolated. What do you say?’

  ‘Well. . I suppose I could. But I’m a bit worried about the horse. I—’

  ‘Oh, that’s wonderful!’ she broke in quickly. ‘I’m sure the horse won’t be a problem, it’s probably in a field and you only have to look at it once a day, or something. And the good news is, Mo and Jim felt so awful at landing the job on someone else at such short notice that they left all their supplies for Christmas behind for whoever took it on. Though actually, I suppose they could hardly take a turkey and all the trimmings out to Dubai with them!’

  ‘No, but it was a kind thought. Where exactly is this place, did you say?’

  ‘I didn’t, but I’ll email you directions and all the details now. It’s a bit off the beaten track, but you usually like that.’

  ‘Yes, especially over Christmas. That aspect of it is perfect.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’ll do up there, because apparently the TV reception is lousy and there’s no broadband.’

  ‘I’ll be fine — I’ll take my radio and lots of books.’

  Clicking off the connection, I turned to find Laura looking at me reproachfully. ‘Oh, Holly, it would have been such fun to have you here for Christmas!’

  ‘Believe me, it wouldn’t: it would have been like having the Grinch. And I’ll enjoy myself in my own way. There are only two animals to look after, so I’ll have lots of time to experiment with recipes and write that last section of the book. If I’m going to go ahead with the baby idea, I need to get it finished and find a publisher!’

  Laura sighed and cast her eyes up in mock resignation, but she knew me too well to try and persuade me out of it.

  ‘Now, what can you remember about horse management?’ I asked hopefully.

  I printed out Ellen’s instructions as soon as I got home and she was right — it was in a remote, upland spot, near a small village I’d never even heard of.

  Getting ready that night was all a bit of a scramble, though I couldn’t resist continuing my nightly reading of a page or two of Gran’s journal, which was getting more interesting again now she wasn’t talking about the past, but engrossed by the present. By November of 1944, she was evidently well enough to go back to work:

  Now I have recovered I have been sent to Ormskirk hospital, which pleases me because it is nearer home and also Tom’s widowed father, a sweet, kindly man, is the minister at the Strange Baptist chapel here. But my lodgings are very poor, in a nearby house run by a dour, disagreeable woman. The food is scanty and bad and we sleep dormitory-style, so there is little privacy. The treat of a fresh egg, which was a parting gift from my mother, I gave to my landlady to boil for my breakfast — but it never appeared and my enquiries about it met only with surly grunts.

  I read on a little further as she made new friends and settled in, but really I was way too tired to keep my eyes open and there would be lots of time to read the journals over Christmas — in fact, I would take the whole trunk of papers with me to sort out.

  Early next morning I loaded the tin trunk into my car along with everything else I usually take with me on assignments — boxes of herbs, spices and other basic ingredients, general food supplies, a cool box of perishable stuff, vital utensils, cookery books, laptop, house-party recipe book notes and my portable radio. . It was pretty full even before I added a suitcase, holdall and my wellies.

  Laura, resigned now to my decision, had driven over to give me my Ch
ristmas present (she’s the only person who ever gives me one). In return I gave her a bag of little gifts for the family, some of them home-made and edible.

  She also gave me strict instructions to call her daily, too. ‘Tell me all about it. Old Place sounds terribly posh, somehow, and I’ve never even heard of the village — what did you call it again?’

  ‘Little Mumming. It’s near Great Mumming, apparently. I’d never heard of it either, but I’ve found it on the map.’

  ‘It’s all been such a rush — are you sure you’ve got everything you need?’

  ‘Yes, I think so — most of it was still packed up ready to go. And I’ve put in my wellies, jeans, dog-walking anorak. .’

  ‘A smart dress, in case the local squire’s lady leaves calling cards and you have to return the visit?’

  ‘You need to stop reading Jane Austen,’ I said severely. ‘And I think this Mr Martland might be the Little Mumming equivalent of the local squire, in which case, if there is a lady, he will have taken her away with him, won’t he?’

  ‘Unless she’s upstairs in Bluebeard’s chamber?’

  ‘Thank you for sharing that unnerving thought.’

  ‘You’re welcome. But the house can’t be that big, can it? Otherwise there would be some live-in help.’

  ‘Not necessarily, these days,’ I said, drawing on my long experience of house-party cooking, where sometimes the only live-in staff had been myself and the family nanny. ‘Ellen mentioned a daily cleaner. It’s big enough to have a lodge though, because the owner’s elderly uncle and his wife live there and I’m to call in for the keys on my way up to the house.’

  ‘I can see you’re dying to go, but I still don’t like to think of you marooned in a remote house all on your own over Christmas,’ Laura said. ‘Have you got your phone and charger, and enough food and drink in case you’re miles from the nearest shop? I mean, the weather report said we were in for a cold snap next week and the odds on a white Christmas are shortening.’