The Magic of Christmas

by Trisha Ashley

  ‘No, really.’ I wasn’t drinking any more coffee out of any of his cups, now I knew about his habits.

  ‘Shall I settle up with you now, or do you want to send me a bill?’

  ‘Oh, Annie will send you one at the end of the month, if that’s OK? I put it all down on her chart and she does the bookwork. Bye, Flo.’

  I bent to fondle her smooth, velvety head and, when I rose to go, Ritch followed close behind me up the hall and reached out a long arm to open the front door, brushing casually against me as he did so.

  ‘Oh — thanks,’ I said, unnerved by the proximity of all that naked male flesh, and shuffled past into the sunlight just as Annie, towed by four large hounds, was passing the end of the drive. Unable to wave, she began to smile, then caught sight of Ritch lounging in the doorway in his mini-robe. The smile wavered, she went pink and hurried on.

  I dashed after her, calling out: ‘Hey, Annie, wait for me!’

  She turned reluctantly. ‘Lizzy!’

  ‘That was not what it looked like,’ I said severely. ‘Honestly! You should know me better by now! He phoned me this morning and asked me to go and sort Flo out, because he had a hangover.’

  Actually, in that bathrobe it was almost a hang under, so it’s just as well it was only Annie who spotted us, because she’s probably the only one who would have believed me. I took two of the dog leads.

  ‘He simply couldn’t be bothered to let Flo out this morning, which is terribly selfish, and has put me right off him.’

  ‘I should think so, too,’ she said indignantly. ‘The dog must have been desperate!’

  ‘She’d made a puddle, but as close to the back door as she could, poor thing. But speaking of pee, Annie, you’ll never believe what Ritch does with his!’

  And I was right: she didn’t believe me and insisted he must have been joking, though I’m sure he wasn’t. It’s not a fad likely to catch on in Middlemoss.

  ‘So, how did you and Gareth get on the other night?’ I asked, changing the subject. ‘You never really said.’

  She blushed under her freckles. ‘Fine … he is so nice. But he can’t cook, so it was just reheated ready-meals. I told him about the French cookery course we did after we left school and I’m going to get him a slow cooker like mine and show him how to use it.’

  ‘You should invite him back to dinner at your place, only early enough so he can help you cook it,’ I suggested. Cooking together is, I think, a very intimate thing to do.

  ‘That’s a good idea. Something simple but nice, like that chicken in white wine thing you do, or a risotto.’

  ‘And a stodgy pud. Bet he likes those — most men do.’ Even Nick, though he pretends he doesn’t, just to wind me up.

  ‘Yes, he’d bought a chocolate gateau,’ she agreed, ‘and he ate quite a bit of it. Oh, well, must go and take these dogs back. I’ll put the extra Ritch pet-sitting on the chart for you when I get home … and Lizzy,’ she added anxiously, ‘you aren’t falling for him, are you?’

  ‘No, though he’s very attractive — or was, until I got grossed out by his habits! But even were I looking for another man, one who thinks pee and hot, casual sex will cure anything is obviously operating on a different wavelength from mine.’

  ‘Gosh, yes!’ she agreed, innocent blue-grey eyes open wide. Ritch is not the only one in Middlemoss operating on a different wavelength from me, but I love her anyway.

  ‘I’ve served my time in the prison of love, though I might get another dog later, once Jasper’s taken Ginny off to university with him.’

  ‘Tell me when, and I’ll find you a nice stray,’ she promised, beaming. ‘Is Ginny going to university with Jasper?’

  ‘Yes, he’s persuaded the landlady of a student house to let him keep her with him, but don’t ask me how.’

  ‘Oh, he can be just as charming as Tom was, when he wants to be,’ she said. ‘Only of course, he is much more solid, reliable and kind.’

  The church clock struck eleven, galvanising my memory. ‘Oh, must fly, Annie! I’m supposed to be up at the Hall tasting some ice cream Nick’s made, and Mimi said he invited me especially, so he’ll be cross if I don’t go.’

  Thrusting the dog leads back into her hands, I rushed off.

  In fact, Nick seemed totally surprised, but not displeased, to see me. He was wearing a blue-striped apron, a smudge of sugar and a streak of raspberry, and looked good enough to eat … if you liked that kind of thing, of course.

  I looked at Mimi suspiciously and she waved her spoon at me and called gaily, ‘Just in time!’

  ‘Hello, my dear,’ Unks said. ‘I didn’t know you were coming. This is going to be a treat, isn’t it?’

  He, Mimi, Juno, Mrs Gumball and even Caz Naylor, half-concealed by the shadow of the inglenook, were all sitting round the kitchen table, spoons poised.

  ‘Here, have mine, Lizzy, and I’ll get some more,’ Nick said, and I took the proffered bowl and sat down, looking at it dubiously. The ice cream was sort of grey, like town snow turned to slush, and the blood-red raspberry coulis swirling over it contrasted strangely.

  ‘It tastes better than it looks,’ Mimi remarked. ‘I love liquorice! Yum!’

  She was right. Nick sat down again next to me, long legs brushing mine. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘It looks horrible in a sophisticated sort of way, but tastes great.’ I turned to see what Caz was making of it, but he’d quietly stolen away, leaving only an empty dish behind, which was tribute enough, I suppose. ‘It’s the opposite of coffee granita, which I always expect to be delicious, but never quite comes up to expectations.’

  ‘Oh? I’ll have to see what I can do about that.’ His eyes gleamed.

  ‘Nothing I haven’t already tried!’ I snapped.

  ‘You want to take a bet on that?’

  I might have been tempted to rub ice cream into that superior smile, if I hadn’t already eaten it all.

  Mrs Gumball was still daintily spooning hers in. ‘What that boy will think of next!’ she said, shaking her head so that all the silvery-grey curls, tied up on top of her head in a skittish whale spout effect, quivered.

  ‘Great,’ Juno said, laying down her spoon. ‘Mimi, don’t lick the bowl!’

  ‘Why not, when we’re just family?’ she demanded indignantly.

  ‘It’s still not polite.’

  ‘Roly eats roast duck with his fingers and then licks them.’

  ‘Would you like to go for a drive?’ Juno asked, in an attempted diversion. ‘I think my leg’s up to it now, if we don’t go too far.’

  Mimi clapped her hands. ‘Martin Mere to feed the ducks!’

  ‘Oh good, good,’ Unks said. ‘Bit of fresh air will do you both good.’ He got up. ‘Must go and study the form a bit — got a horse racing on Saturday. Snowy Sunday.’

  ‘Not in September, surely?’ I said, puzzled.

  ‘Name of the horse. Snowy Sunday out of Weekend Blizzard.’

  Unks has shares in three racehorses, but they usually seem to fall over, or go backwards, or do something that doesn’t involve getting past the post.

  ‘Cold lunch in the dining room at one,’ Mrs Gumball said, heaving herself to her feet. ‘I’m just off to see to my Joe’s dinner. Mind my kitchen’s clean and tidy again when I get back, Nick Pharamond!’

  ‘Don’t I always clear up after my cooking?’ he demanded indignantly.

  ‘I’ll load the dishwasher myself,’ I promised her.

  One by one they went, and Nick and I quickly sorted out the kitchen in fairly amicable silence.

  ‘That’s that,’ I said finally, looking round to see if we’d missed anything. Nick is a very messy cook and it was surprising how many pots and pans he had used just to produce ice cream and sauce. ‘I’ll have to go, I’ve got someone coming to look at the greenhouse and he said around lunchtime.’

  ‘You have? Someone you know?’

  ‘No, a stranger who saw the ad on the Freecycle website.’

  He frow
ned. ‘I’d better come and deal with him for you. You should get me to do this sort of thing. Anyone might turn up on your doorstep.’

  ‘I can handle it! I mean, I’m only selling an old greenhouse, not the crown jewels,’ I said firmly. I’m used to doing everything myself, so why would I suddenly need a man to do it for me?

  ‘I’ll walk down with you anyway, just make sure—’ he began to insist, as though I were some frail little flower; then his BlackBerry went off and while he answered it I slid quietly away home.

  The man was waiting for me in the yard outside the cottage, leaning against an old pick-up truck and smoking a roll-up, and I instantly rather regretted refusing Nick’s offer so hastily, because there was just something about him I didn’t like, even apart from the aroma of stale alcohol.

  ‘Had a bit of trouble finding you,’ he said, straightening with a leer and running bloodshot eyes over me as though I were a dubious filly. ‘Lonely down here, isn’t it?’

  ‘Not really, people go past on the main road all the time and my family live up the drive,’ I said briskly. ‘So, Mr …’

  ‘Roach,’ he slurred.

  ‘So, you’re interested in having the greenhouse?’

  ‘Well I was, but I took the liberty of having a look at it while I was waiting, and it’s in pretty poor condition.’

  ‘The supports are fine and it should dismantle easily. Anyway, what were you expecting for nothing?’

  ‘It’ll cost you a fortune to pay someone to take it away for you,’ he said. ‘But I don’t suppose a lady like you would know about that. Recent widow, aren’t you? Bet you miss having a man about the place.’

  He came a bit closer, flicking his cigarette onto the cobbles.

  ‘Look, are you interested or not?’ I demanded, ignoring the innuendo but backing off slightly. The yard brush was leaning against the wall behind me and I reckoned that if desperate, I could always beat him into submission with it: it was a good, sturdy one.

  ‘Perhaps I might be,’ he said, with what was definitely a leer. ‘Maybe you’d like to discuss it somewhere more comfortable? I wouldn’t say no if you invited me in.’

  ‘Oh, Nick!’ I exclaimed thankfully, as his tall, broad-shouldered figure appeared round the end of the barn. He looked from one to the other of us from under dark brows and I took his arm and squeezed it meaningfully. ‘This is Mr Roach. He came to look at the greenhouse.’

  ‘Loach,’ the man corrected me, backing off warily. ‘But I’ve had second thoughts. It’s not quite what I wanted. Doubt it’s what anyone wants,’ he added. ‘Well, see you!’

  He climbed back into the cab of his pick-up and drove off with a bit of unnecessarily macho revving and tyre screeching.

  Nick looked at me with one raised eyebrow, but nobly refrained from saying, ‘I told you so.’

  Realising I was still clinging to his arm, I hastily let go and moved away.

  ‘Do you want to come in?’ I asked. ‘Or go back for lunch? I’m going to have ham and split-pea soup and home-made bread.’

  ‘I’ll stay, but only if you promise to let me handle anything else you want to get rid of. I’m sure Roly will back me on this one — and the cottage is part of the estate.’

  ‘Oh, all right!’ I agreed. ‘But don’t think I couldn’t have handled that horrible man without you, because I could! I’ve already had much nastier people chasing me up for money they say Tom owed them, when they don’t seem to have the least bit of proof.’

  ‘You haven’t paid them, have you?’

  ‘Despite what you think, I’m not entirely stupid,’ I said with dignity. ‘I asked Unks’ advice, and he told me to pass them all on to his solicitor, Smithers, and he would deal with them for me and let me know which were the genuine ones that had to be settled.’

  ‘I don’t think you’re stupid,’ he said, following me into the cottage. ‘You just take independence a little too far sometimes, that’s all.’

  ‘Did you come down just to lecture me, or did you want something?’ I asked pointedly.

  He smiled innocently and said, ‘I just wanted to know what recipe you’d already tried for the coffee granita?’

  ‘One you sent me from Italy on a postcard of the Leaning Tower of Pisa,’ I said with satisfaction. I hauled out the postcard album to look for it and he seemed amazed that I’d not only kept them all, but also carefully put them into a book. However, show me anyone interested in cooking who wouldn’t have hoarded the recipes.

  We ended up looking through the album for almost a whole hour without arguing, which must be a record. Maybe he was mellowing.

  ‘I’ll see you at the first Mystery Play rehearsal on Tuesday night,’ were his surprise parting words before striding off whistling, the sun glinting on his blue-black hair.

  What could he mean? Had he volunteered to help Clive?

  Ritch phoned and invited me for a quiet drink at the café-bar in the former Pharamond’s Biscuit factory on Tuesday night, so he could ‘get to know me better’! He said he was tied up until then, which gave me a bad moment because I remembered that note from Polly Darke I found in Tom’s pocket just before he died …

  I told him I couldn’t go, since I had a Mystery Play meeting and the cast tended to go to the village pub afterwards, but he said that was OK, he would meet me and come along too, and I simply couldn’t think of a way of telling him not to on the spot.

  I looked long and hard in the mirror and was at a loss to understand why, unless he was currently desperately short of another woman for his frequent, healthy sex rota.

  He probably wouldn’t bother after all, but if he did, I’d just have to hide behind the crowd and hope avid Cotton Common fans mobbed him, which seemed quite likely.

  I tried out two varieties of coffee granita on Jasper, later, but although he said they were delicious I still felt they lacked that little extra something …

  On the other hand, some mincemeat fudge turned out really well.

  Chapter 16: Unrehearsed Entrances

  I tried out my mincemeat fudge on the members of the Christmas Pudding Circle yesterday and it went down a treat, as did Marian’s variation on gingerbread biscuits for hanging on the Christmas tree. She had cut out an inner star and placed a crushed boiled sweet in the middle, which melted during the baking process to form a stained-glass effect. I used to do something similar for Jasper when he was little — traffic light biscuits. We are all busy cooking for the annual Autumn Fête next Saturday too, where there will be much friendly rivalry for the various prizes. Annie has asked me to make some bags of candyfloss and will collect them on Friday …

  The Perseverance Chronicles: A Life in Recipes

  I was a little late setting off for the first Mystery Play rehearsal on the Tuesday evening, because I’d spent the afternoon making a start on my Christmas cake — and not just my own, but the six small ones that each member of the CPC makes for the local Senior Citizens Christmas Hampers, to be distributed by Marian and the rest of the Mosses Women’s Institute.

  I like to soak the fruit in dark rum for about five days — no faffing around pouring alcohol into holes in the base for me! — so, after an afternoon of chopping and mixing, I had three enormous covered bowls sitting in the larder gently marinating, and an aching arm.

  When I got to the village hall the actors were standing about in groups, chatting. Acts 1 to 9 of the Mystery Play rehearsal would be supervised by me, the vicar, Miss Pym and Marian, whose husband, Clive, was, as usual, overall director. Roly, Voice of God in perpetuity, never put in an appearance until the final performance, since having played the role for so many years he could do it in his sleep. On the actual day he sits in a corner of the courtyard in a little striped canvas pavilion like something from a jousting field, well wrapped up and with a warm brazier, and speaks his lines into a mike connected to the speaker just inside the barn door.

  Clive was putting cardboard signs up in the parts of the room where the different acts were to gather and
I found Marian filling the boiler in the kitchen area behind the hatch, ready for its long, slow journey towards the tea break.

  I was just handing her my offering of treacle flapjacks, to go with what was left of her experimental gingerbread biscuits, when Nick loomed up beside me.

  ‘Hi, Lizzy: should I have brought something to eat, too?’

  I nearly dropped the box: he moved disconcertingly quietly for such a big man. ‘Oh, hello Nick!’

  ‘No, that’s all right. These of Lizzy’s are just extras, because I always bring a tin of Teatime Assortment with me,’ Marian said, ‘though the current one’s down to them pink wafer things, which no one seems to go for. But nice of you to offer, Nick — and that lamb recipe of yours in the Sunday supplement was a right cracker! I’d never have thought of doing that with olives.’

  ‘Oh, thanks, Mrs Potter,’ Nick said modestly with one of his most charming smiles, and she blushed. I was quite sure he knew the devastating effect these had, like silvery sunshine breaking out from behind lowering, purplish storm clouds.

  Clive, clipboard in hand, bustled up. ‘Ah, Nick, you’ve told Lizzy you’ve volunteered?’ he beamed.

  ‘To help out?’ I asked. ‘Continuity man? Props?’

  ‘To be Adam to your Eve,’ Nick told me blandly. ‘Delving while you spin. Giving in to your temptations. Eating the apple from your hand.’ He looked down at me quite seriously, though one eyebrow was quizzically raised. ‘Passing you the fig leaves.’

  ‘You?’

  ‘I’m sure we’re all delighted,’ Clive said. ‘I hadn’t thought to ask him before, because he’s been here so infrequently in recent years, but now he’ll be able to make most of the rehearsals, so that’s all right. And it’s only one fairly short scene, isn’t it?’

  ‘Er — yes,’ I agreed, still taken aback.

  ‘If I do miss any rehearsals, Lizzy can put me through my paces at home,’ Nick suggested. ‘I’ll be based up at the Hall from now on.’