‘A blind date!’ Gemma squealed down the phone. ‘That was how me and Mike got together and look how that turned out!’
I pressed my lips together and decided not to mention last night’s near miss with the pillow.
‘You should go for it, what have you got to lose?’ she added.
‘Apart from my dignity in the staff room, you mean?’ I sighed. ‘Marcia showed me a picture and he didn’t look too bad until she admitted that he still lived at home with their parents, sleeps in a single bed and kisses his Kylie Minogue posters before going to sleep each night.’
‘Oh dear,’ she sniggered. ‘Sounds like that film, Failure to Launch.’
We both fell silent, thinking about Matthew McConaughey’s tousled hair.
I cleared my throat. ‘Anyway. What are you up to for the rest of the day?’
I heard her shuffle in her seat. ‘Well, Mike and I are doing some planning for next year.’ She sounded all excited and happy.
I smiled, glad she was over her desire to strangle him.
‘Me too,’ I said. ‘I’ve ordered some seed catalogues and I’m going to pop down to the allotment later and make a list of everything I think I should grow next year. I’m toying with the idea of setting up a gardening club at school, too. I thought I might ask your mum for some advice. I think the children would love growing their own vegetables.’
‘Ah, that’s a terrific idea and I’m sure she’d love to help. We’re planning on knocking through the kitchen into the dining room, to make the downstairs more open. It’ll make it easier to keep an eye on the baby when I’m in the kitchen if we’ve got one big room. And then Mia can be in the living room watching telly or revising. Hmmph, although I’ll believe that when I see it.’
My smile slipped away and I swallowed. ‘Sounds perfect,’ I said, forcing a lightness that I didn’t feel.
My plans sounded like the plans of a single lonely person. Hers sounded like the plans of a growing family. Which was true, of course.
I rang off with promises to see her soon as I needed to get on. I had an appointment with a hoe and some errant weeds at Ivy Lane. Besides which, I wanted to see who was around. Funny how I’d taken on the allotment to give myself some peace and quiet and now I made it my destination whenever I needed company.
But that was the thing about life, I mused; no matter how diligent you are, it never does quite go to plan.
Two weeks later, we were halfway through December and I was still relying on Ivy Lane for my fix of social contact. Our numbers were rather depleted, though, I thought sadly as I looked across the allotment. Shazza was here, but no Karen. I’d spotted Christine in the pavilion office and Liz was in her polytunnel. But that was it. Roll on summer when Ivy Lane was teeming with colour and people and life . . .
I pushed the spade into the soil, rested my foot on it and took a breather. Despite the temperature, which was barely above freezing, I was hot and out of breath.
Today I was digging the area that Brenda had had her potatoes in. I hadn’t really done much digging on my plot all year. Since Charlie had ploughed it all up with the rotavator in March, I’d managed to keep it ticking over with a fork and a hoe. But now that I was virtually a gardening expert, I knew about leaving clods of earth for the winter frosts to break down to give me a good start next spring. The next job would be to cover all the bare earth over with manure. I was in no rush to do that bit.
It was back-breaking work but fairly mindless, which was just as well because my head was crammed full with all the things I still had left to do before Christmas.
‘Tilly!’ I looked across to the road to see Christine bustling towards me waving a piece of paper in her hand. ‘Are you busy next week?’ she called.
I bit my lip and smiled. Ask any teacher if they are busy in the run-up to Christmas and they are likely to stare at you, gimlet-eyed, before either bursting into hysterical tears or charging at you with the nearest blunt instrument.
‘Why?’ I asked as she got closer. I’d learned my lesson with Christine. She would have to reveal her hand before I revealed mine.
She hugged me, smiled from underneath her bobble hat, and held out a mocked-up poster for the Ivy Lane Christmas party.
‘I need some ideas for the party and as you did so well with the cake sale . . .?’ She beamed at me hopefully.
I took a deep breath.
Before the end of term, which was less than two weeks away, I had the Christmas disco to supervise and the staff Christmas lunch to attend (think soggy sprouts, dry pre-sliced turkey and not even a sniff of sweet sherry to wash it down). My class had been chosen to sing carols at a local old people’s home, which I was assured was an honour, but the exchange of relieved looks between the deputy head and the reception teacher didn’t go unnoticed, and there were three performances of the whole school nativity to be organized and endured. And our ‘Mary’, a little girl in my class, had informed me two days ago that she wouldn’t be there for the show, because she was going to Tenerife with her whole family for Christmas.
All of this would be hard enough to cope with at any time of year, but now, with thirty children in full Christmas party mode in my charge, I was exhausted.
Nonetheless, I took the piece of paper from her.
The poster promised mulled wine, mince pies and the presentation of the prizes won at the annual show back in August. But apart from the refreshments, it lacked a certain ‘festiveness’.
‘Hmm, it doesn’t seem very Christmassy.’
Christine sighed. ‘Exactly. That’s just what I was thinking.’
She shoved her hands in her anorak pockets, rolled her lips inwards and frowned. I stifled a smile; with her red cheeks, bobble hat and earnest expression she looked like a little elf.
‘I think we need a bit more Christmas spirit,’ I said. ‘How about a Secret Santa? We pick names out of a hat and buy each other a present? And what about collecting a gift from each plot holder for the children that go to the soup kitchen? That would be a nice touch. And decorations . . .’ I twinkled my eyes at her. ‘Leave the decorations to me.’
‘Oh Tilly, I’ll leave it all to you if you don’t mind.’ Christine threw her arms around my neck and kissed my cheek.
I swallowed anxiously. I did mind really.
‘What with the baby coming soon, me helping Gemma out with the cooking and cleaning and trying to sort everything out at Ivy Lane . . . it’s all getting on top of me.’
I scanned her face. She did look tired and, if I wasn’t mistaken, a bit tearful too.
‘Of course,’ I said, squeezing her arm. ‘Anything I can do, just ask.’
‘Thanks, Tilly, love. I’m sorry it didn’t work out with you and Aidan, but his loss is our gain. You’d be too busy to help me out if you were courting.’
I watched her go, glanced down at the poster and exhaled.
Great.
At least my single status was useful to someone. I would probably end up alone, with no one but Cally’s offspring for company, but as long as there was someone to fiddle about with allotment posters, all was well with the world.
Which reminded me, I really should make an appointment at the vet’s for him. I’d bottled out of taking him to have the snip so far because I’d felt sorry for him, but he’d had his fun and I needed to be sensible about it before he impregnated any more fertile felines.
Poor Cally. I winced at the thought on his behalf. A life of celibacy probably wasn’t top of his Christmas list. I sighed and put the poster in my pocket.
Quite frankly, it wasn’t at the top of mine either.
Chapter 8
It was beginning to look a lot like Christmas. And despite being on my tiptoes on the top rung of a ladder on the porch of the pavilion, I had that warm tingling sensation in my stomach confirming that it was beginning to feel a lot like Christmas too. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve, I had broken up from school for a fortnight and put all the frenetic activity of the end of term behind me. All I
had to do now was finish off the pavilion decorations for tonight’s party and then I would switch to relaxation mode for a whole two weeks. Hurrah!
I hummed happily to myself as I wound the last set of fairy lights along the edge of the porch. The pavilion was covered with the lights, which was as it should be. There’s no such thing as too many Christmas lights, as far as I’m concerned. I just hoped Nigel didn’t notice anything amiss with the electricity bill next month.
‘Right then . . .’ Right on cue Nigel appeared from the pavilion and tied a smart knot in his checked woollen scarf. His eyes lifted to all the fairy lights and I held my breath, wondering if he’d read my mind. ‘Oh, Tilly,’ he beamed, ‘this is going to be a marvellous Christmas party. I’ve never seen the place look so wonderful.’
And I’d never seen him look so happy. ‘Thank you,’ I said, smiling as Liz joined us on the porch.
‘We’re all set inside,’ she said. ‘The mulled wine is in the urn on low, the glasses are all laid out and I think everything’s ready.’
‘We’ll get off then, Tilly, unless you’d like us to help you with the lights.’ Nigel slipped a proud arm around Liz’s shoulders and the pair of them grinned goofily at each other.
Oh, that first flush of love. I remember it well. I blinked rapidly as unbidden tears popped into my eyes. Here we go again. That was possibly the only downside of Christmas; I lived on a permanent knife edge of emotional outpourings. Christmas carols were my absolute weakness; I’d yet to make it to the second verse of ‘Silent Night’ without my voice going all wobbly.
I shook my head and smiled. ‘I’ll be fine, Nigel. You two go and get ready. Besides, I don’t want to turn the lights on until you’ve gone. Then it will be a surprise when you come back later.’
I waved them off and reminded them to drive carefully on the snowy roads.
We had had our first snowfall during the night and when I’d woken up this morning I’d been quite alarmed by the muffled silence in Wellington Street until delightful realization had dawned. I’d bounced out of bed to get my first glimpse of the Christmas-card beauty of my street and I’d been ridiculously excited ever since.
The daylight had already faded and I had almost finished. Good job really, as I still had to dash home, change into something stunning and be back here for the festivities in little more than an hour.
I wrapped the end of the cable around the final wooden upright on the porch, climbed down from the stepladders and held my breath as I tried the electrics.
Ta dah! At the flick of a switch the pavilion was transformed from a damp and dreary hut to a fairy-tale house. I stood back to admire the sight and pressed a hand to my mouth to stop myself from squealing. It was absolutely breathtaking.
‘Sterling work, Tilly,’ I murmured to myself as I moved the ladders to the centre of the porch.
There was just one more thing to do.
I tied a big red satin ribbon around the huge bunch of mistletoe that I’d bought from Kingsfield market, climbed back up the ladders and fixed it just above the front door.
I smiled to myself; this would put a twinkle in many a person’s eye this evening. Kissing under the mistletoe was de rigueur at all the best Christmas parties. And this was definitely going to be the best Christmas party, if I had anything to do with it. My friends at Ivy Lane had done so much for me over the year and this was my way of thanking them. For bringing me back to life.
Inside the pavilion I checked that the mulled wine was simmering nicely before switching off all the lights except those on the Christmas tree. I paused and looked around the room before locking the door, my heart swelling with pride. Nigel was right, everywhere did look wonderful. We’d set up a small Christmas tree adorned with red baubles and strings of silver beads as well as hundreds of tiny fairy lights, of course. The entire room was festooned with garlands of ivy and holly picked from the allotment and dozens of little candles were dotted about the room ready to light at the start of the evening.
As I drove away, I glanced at the magical picture behind me, the pavilion twinkling in the darkness and the bunch of mistletoe hanging like a big question mark above the door.
I looked away and concentrated on the road ahead.
Chapter 9
My party outfit for this evening consisted of a short-sleeved teal satin mini dress, which floated elegantly from around my legs and gathered softly around the scooped neck. It was very flattering and, worn with a tiny black cardigan, black tights and heels, it was verging on the sexy side for the Ivy Lane pavilion, but for once, I decided to throw caution to the wind. It was Christmas after all and if I couldn’t let my hair down at Christmas, when could I?
I ruined the effect slightly by setting off from home in wellingtons with my heels tucked into my handbag, but it couldn’t be helped. Better to arrive in wellies than with a broken ankle. I’d hoped to be one of the first to arrive in order to witness everyone’s gasps of wonder when they saw all the fairy lights, but shuffling along the icy pavements had taken longer than I’d anticipated and I could already see people inside as I approached the steps.
As I paused on the porch under the mistletoe to change my shoes, Gemma and Mike arrived.
‘Christmassy dot com, Tilly! Everywhere looks amazing!’ she cried as she waddled up the steps towards me like a side-stepping penguin. Mike was following closely behind, carrying an assortment of bags in one hand and supporting his wife’s bottom with the other.
I helped her up the last step and laughed as I pulled her into my arms. ‘Hello, you! I knew you wouldn’t let me down with your appreciation of my efforts.’
I was so relieved to see her. Part of me had been worried that the baby would come before the night of the party and whilst I was sure she would rather be propped up in bed with a new baby in her arms, selfishly, I was delighted that she had made it.
And she looked absolutely radiant. She wore a long black dress with tiny crystals around the low neckline with a long black coat over the top and her hair sparkled with little diamantés. The baby was due in a matter of days and I had a sudden prickle of tears as I realized that this would probably be the last time we’d see her at Ivy Lane for months.
‘Promise me we’ll still be BFFs when the baby comes,’ I whispered as she returned my hug.
‘Promise,’ she said, kissing my cheek. ‘And I don’t think we’ll have long to wait for that to happen,’ she added in a faint whisper close to my ear.
Which didn’t sound at all worrying . . .
I glanced at her sharply but she gave me a don’t-say-a-word look.
‘How are you feeling, father-to-be?’ I said, releasing Gemma to kiss Mike.
‘Excited, nervous and scared witless.’ He shot a smile of pure adoration at Gemma.
‘Aww,’ said Gemma and I at the same time.
‘You go in, love, I just want a quick word with Tilly,’ said Gemma, nudging her husband towards the door.
‘A quick word,’ said Mike with a frown, ‘it’s too cold out here for you.’
She rolled her eyes and he reluctantly left us to it.
‘He’s right,’ I said. My lips had started to go numb and as Christmassy as it was on the porch, standing under the mistletoe might actually be construed as looking a teeny bit desperate. ‘Let’s go in.’
‘Oof!’ Gemma bent forward, leaning her hand on the porch railings, and started to pant.
‘Gemma?’
She held her hand up to silence me. I shut up and stared.
As soon as she was able to talk again she glanced over her shoulder to check we were still alone. ‘Tilly, don’t say a word, but I’m in labour,’ she hissed.
Only Gemma could come up with a sentence like that.
‘Well, yes, I gathered that much,’ I hissed back. I began to breathe rapidly with her. I had a woman in labour right here. It was all I could do not to scream for Mike, for help, for anyone, but she’d asked me not to. ‘Are you completely mad?’
‘Oh, I’ll
be ages yet,’ she said airily now that the contraction had passed. ‘There’s no need to panic and if I’d mentioned it to Mike, there’s no way he’d have let me come to the party.’
‘Well, no and rightly so, I’d say.’
‘Oh Tilly, you are sweet,’ she smiled breathlessly, ‘but this is my only Christmas party and I bought this maternity tent-dress especially for it and if I’d gone into hospital I’d have missed out on wearing it. But don’t worry. I’ve organized for Mia to spend the night at a friend’s and I’ve got my hospital bag in the car. We’ll just go straight there from here. It’ll be a doddle!’
‘And very lovely you look too,’ I said. ‘But I’m really not sure this is the best place for you.’
‘Oh it is,’ she said, widening her eyes. ‘At home I’d just be pacing around worrying. The party will take my mind of it for the next couple of hours.’
She scrunched up her face and bent over again as another contraction hit her. She reached into a pocket in her coat and brought out a little controller.
‘Full blast this time, I think,’ she muttered.
I recognized the white square in her hand from research into my own pregnancy, it was a TENS machine, designed to give gentle pain relief. I frowned. I hoped it was up to the job of disguising full-on labour from everyone including her husband at the party.
‘Are you sure about this?’ I said as soon as the pain passed.
She nodded and took my arm.
‘Merry Christmas, everyone!’ she yelled as we walked into the pavilion together. She turned to me and tapped her nose. ‘Mum’s the word.’ She winked at me, sucked in her breath and went over to join Mike.
Thirty minutes later I was on my second mulled wine and had really started to enjoy myself. I’d had several compliments about my dress and many more about the party itself.
‘I love the Secret Santa idea, Tilly,’ said Vicky, clinking her wine glass against mine. ‘Cheers!’
‘Cheers,’ I responded and took a warming sip. Vicky was looking ravishing tonight in a red velvet blazer, black trousers and spiky heels.
Ivy Lane: Winter: Part 4 Page 6
