by Heidi Swain
Best not to start thinking about his hands again . . .
‘I’ll vacuum reception and the main corridor, but that’s it,’ he said, coming further into the room and closing the door. ‘Hattie, look I know you’ve been avoiding me today.’
‘No, I haven’t,’ I lied, moving to the other side of the room. ‘I’ve just been busy. As have you, along with everyone else for that matter.’
‘Well, whatever,’ he cut in, ‘but I need to talk to you about last night.’
Oh god.
‘Did you fix that tap?’
‘Bugger the tap,’ he muttered. ‘You know what I’m talking about.’
I fiddled about with the shepherd’s head gear and pursed my lips. He was obviously well aware that I had been on the verge of kissing him, but given my new-found gift of making situations a hundred times worse since I’d arrived in Wynbridge, I decided to hear what he had to say about it all before I added my two pennies’ worth.
‘You were going to kiss me, weren’t you?’ He blurted out.
Damn. I bent down to ostensibly retrieve a coat hanger but really, I was buying time.
‘And had you not been about to fly off to the other side of the world, Hattie,’ he carried on, ‘I would have definitely kissed you back, but—’
I didn’t need to hear that.
‘Beamish,’ I said, a little louder than I meant to. ‘I don’t know what made you think I was going to kiss you, but I definitely wasn’t.’
‘But you leant in.’
‘Because you had paint on your face and you needed to get it off before it dried.’
He ran a hand distractedly through his hair.
‘You really weren’t leaning in for a kiss?’
‘No,’ I laughed, ‘of course not! Were you when you wiped my face?’
‘No,’ he insisted, ‘no.’
‘There you are then,’ I said, even managing a nonchalant shrug.
‘Oh god,’ he groaned, running both hands through his hair this time. ‘I really thought . . . oh my god, this is so embarrassing.’
‘It’s fine,’ I said, feeling a sharp prickle of guilt.
It really wasn’t fair to turn the tables on him, but I didn’t know what else to do.
‘No, it’s not,’ he said, sounding mortified. ‘Whatever must you think?’
‘Nothing,’ I shrugged again, hanging the shepherd on the rail. ‘It was nothing, just crossed wires. Forget it.’
‘I’m an idiot.’
‘No,’ I said, ‘you most definitely are not.’
‘Well,’ he said, clearing his throat, ‘I’m sorry. I was wrong and I hope I haven’t made you feel awkward. That was certainly not my intention.’
‘You haven’t,’ I said, ‘it’s fine. I promise. Let’s forget it.’
‘Are you sure? You must think I’m a right arrogant prick.’
‘I really don’t,’ I said, as the door began to open, ‘let’s say no more about it.’
‘Now here you two are,’ said Dolly, stepping into the room and eyeing us curiously. ‘We were wondering where you’d got to. If you don’t hurry up there won’t be any mince pies left.’
*
Dolly and I weren’t expected in school the next day and it was a relief to think that I would be able to go to bed and not have to set an alarm on a weekday. Don’t get me wrong, I was enjoying my time in school, in spite of the incident in the art room, but getting up in the dark during my holidays was not my favourite thing to do.
‘The play was wonderful, wasn’t it?’ I said to Dolly that evening as I replayed some of the most memorable moments out in my head.
‘A total triumph,’ she agreed, as she settled down with her knitting. ‘But given the amount of work which went into it, it couldn’t have been anything but. I don’t think I can remember a more intense year of planning and preparation.’
I wasn’t sure if it was all that different to any other year, or if my friend’s advancing years were catching up with her. She had certainly yawned more than I had that evening and I was feeling pretty zonked myself.
‘And how are you looking forward to the tour of Wynthorpe Hall tomorrow?’ I asked, picking up the Christmas Wish List.
We still had a way to go to complete it, which was just as well given my seasonal spirit was still struggling to burst into flame. The play had produced another spark, but with so many other things to worry about crammed into my head, it hadn’t caught light yet.
‘I can’t wait,’ she smiled. ‘I bet it’s going to be amazing and I’ve heard that Dorothy’s afternoon teas are legendary so we won’t have to worry about cooking dinner tomorrow night.’
‘I’m looking forward to meeting the folk who live there as much as getting a peek inside the place,’ I told her, which was true. ‘What time will we be leaving?’
‘Not until after school,’ she said. ‘Beamish will come and get us as soon as he’s finished for the day and in view of the fact that we don’t have the usual early start tomorrow, I think I’ll have a lie-in.’
My eyes flew from the list to Dolly’s face.
‘Well I never,’ I gasped, feeling as if the world had slipped a little on its axis.
That wasn’t like her at all. Dolly was always up with the lark, even when she had stayed at the hotel, but her unchanged tone didn’t suggest it was anything for me to be worried about.
‘Well, that’s the plan,’ she said, now frowning as her needles clicked at speed, ‘so I daresay I’ll be awake even earlier than usual because I haven’t got to get up, won’t I?’
‘Yes,’ I agreed, ‘in my experience, that’s usually the way of it.’
‘And what have you got planned for tomorrow?’ she asked me.
‘Same as you most likely,’ I sighed. ‘I wouldn’t mind staying under the eiderdown until there’s a hint of daylight peeping around the curtains.’
I didn’t add that I was planning to telephone Jonathan and tell him about the Christmas card fiasco. I wasn’t going to mention the letter which accompanied it, but as I was feeling so guilty about that and the near-kiss, I had to come clean about something.
It wasn’t a call I was looking forward to but it didn’t feel right, preparing to head off for a new life in another country with the man I loved while stowing away an extra suitcase full of secrets. That said, I wouldn’t be mentioning Beamish. There was no need to test Jonathan’s resolve about my friendships with the opposite sex just for the sake of it.
‘I’ll bring you breakfast in bed, if you like,’ I told Dolly.
‘Oh now,’ she smiled, ‘that would be a treat. I can’t remember the last time I had breakfast in bed. Certainly not since I lost my Stanley,’ she mused. ‘It’s just not the same, getting out of bed to make it and then getting back in again, is it?’
‘I suppose not,’ I smiled back.
Dolly rarely mentioned her husband who had died young, far too young judging by what she told me. They had had no time to start a family and Dolly had never looked for another partner to share her life with. ‘When you’ve drunk vintage champagne,’ she had said, ‘there’s no desire to sup second-rate fizz.’
‘Did Stanley used to bring you breakfast in bed often?’ I asked.
‘Special occasions,’ she said wistfully. ‘Birthdays and anniversaries. Not that we shared enough of them. So yes, breakfast in bed tomorrow would be lovely, Hattie. Thank you.’
At least I could go to bed knowing that I was going to be starting and ending the next day nicely, even if the bit in the middle did feel destined to go a bit belly-up.
Chapter 14
Snow was something Dolly and I had decided not to include on the Christmas Wish List.
‘It’s too chancy,’ she said, when we discussed it. ‘I only want you to add the things that are dead certs and as lovely as snow would be, it’s just too far beyond our control and it generally arrives in Wynbridge after Christmas these days anyway.’
However, I knew the moment I opened my eyes
and glanced from the window to the bedside clock, that the local TV weather forecaster had underestimated the potential ‘odd flake’ she had hinted at and that this year was the exception to Dolly’s rule.
The light was just a little too bright to match the time and sure enough, when I looked out, everything was covered with a pretty dusting and the clouds looked very much like they had more to offload. I was surprised to discover I was rather excited by the sight.
‘Good morning, Dolly,’ I greeted her a good while later with a laden breakfast tray and the newspaper. ‘Are you ready for room service?’
Dolly smiled and hitched herself further up the bed. She looked tiny in the double divan as she plumped the pillows and rested her head back into the snowy white cases.
‘Is it too early?’ I quietly asked. ‘Do you want me to come back in a bit?’
Personally, I was surprised she was still in bed at all, but looking at her I felt sure she could have carried on snoozing all day.
‘No, no,’ she said, her first words were a little croaky. ‘This is perfect, thank you, Hattie. I never meant to lay so late. Whatever time is it?’
‘Well after eight,’ I said, setting the old-fashioned tray with its legs down, over her lap.
‘It’s light for eight,’ she frowned, picking up on the same clue to the weather that I had spotted. ‘It hasn’t snowed, has it?’
‘It sure has,’ I told her, pulling the curtains open. ‘It’s not particularly deep but everything’s covered.’
‘Well I never,’ she smiled, sitting up straighter. ‘That young woman on the weather last night said it wouldn’t reach as far south as here. Can you move the tray, my dear? This I have to see.’
‘No, you don’t,’ I said, pulling my phone out of my dressing gown pocket and snapping a few shots of the view. ‘You stay where you are.’
Dolly looked at the pictures and tucked into her honey-covered toast while I poured us both cups of tea.
‘I’m rather pleased I’m not at school today,’ she said, no doubt thinking of the slippery walk to work. ‘Although it’s a shame to miss the children’s excitement.’
‘But not Beamish’s concerns about the boiler,’ I reminded her. ‘I bet he’ll be like a bear with a sore head.’
‘Now, Hattie,’ she tutted, ‘when have you ever known him to be anything other than an affable young man? Nothing fazes him. Although,’ she added, looking again at my phone, ‘there’ll be plenty of extra jobs for him to do today, what with gritting the paths and checking the water pipes.’
My mind flitted back to the dodgy tap in the art room which had very nearly been the instigator for more than a wet shirt.
‘But I’m sure he’ll manage,’ Dolly sighed, ‘and still be on time to take us to the hall.’
‘Oh yes,’ I agreed, dismissing the thought of our drenching. ‘Wynthorpe Hall is going to look even more perfect now, isn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ she said, her pale cheeks gaining a little colour. ‘Let’s hope it hasn’t all melted away by the end of the day. Was that the post?’
Her mention of the rattling letterbox reminded me of my morning’s task. It was now four days since my Christmas card to my parents had set off on its unexpected journey.
‘I’ll check,’ I told Dolly, standing up, ‘and would it be all right if I used the house phone to call Jonathan? I promise I’ll reimburse you when the bill comes in.’
‘Of course,’ she said. ‘You should know you don’t have to ask. And don’t worry about bringing the post up, but if you could take the tray down that would be most appreciated. I’m rather comfortable in here so I don’t think I’ll get up just yet.’
I wasn’t sure if she was tactfully staying out of the way while I made my call or if she was genuinely enjoying her lie-in. Either way, I valued the privacy her reluctance to get up afforded me.
‘All right,’ I said, as I backed out of the room and pulled the door to with my foot. ‘I’ll see you in a bit.’
Downstairs I picked the post up off the mat – checking there was no missive for me – and then fiddled about with the breakfast things before making myself a strong coffee. For someone who was so keen to come clean, I was certainly dragging my heels. I glanced up at the clock to work out the time difference. It would be after lunch for Jonathan and the last thing he probably needed was an interruption from me. Perhaps I should leave it until later, when I could be certain that he wouldn’t be at work? No, I couldn’t. I would end up tying myself in knots all through my visit to Wynthorpe Hall and I didn’t want anything to mar that.
I might have still been feeling rather sceptical about what Christmas and all its associated traditions and rituals really meant to me, but now, thanks to the Wish List and the school and the snowy scene beyond the window, I could sense that little spark was starting to consistently burn a tiny bit brighter. Had I not made such a mess of a few things it might well have been roaring away, but what I had so far was better than nothing and a darn sight more than I would have had had I decided not to come.
‘Jonathan?’
‘Hattie, is that you? Is everything all right?’
‘Yes,’ I said, swallowing down the lie. ‘Yes, I just wanted to talk. I’ve missed you this week and I have something . . .’
‘Look, my darling, I’m sorry to cut you off, but I’m just about to go into a meeting. Can I call you back?’
‘Of course.’
‘Are you sure everything’s all right?’
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘sorry. I shouldn’t have rung now.’
‘It’s fine.’ He said. ‘I’ll ring you back in a bit, on the cottage phone, yes?’
‘Yes,’ I said again, ‘that would be great.’
I had known it would be awkward for him to talk during the day and I hoped I hadn’t got him into trouble. Taking personal calls was most likely frowned upon, but I just couldn’t have put it off any longer.
By the time he called me back the single knot I’d tied myself into had turned into an entire tangle. Thankfully there was still no sign of Dolly and no sound of creaking floorboards overhead so I guessed she must have fallen back to sleep. I was rather pleased she was retiring before my move. A lady of her age deserved to sleep in every now and again.
I snatched up the phone before it had finished its first ring.
‘Jonathan?’
‘Yes, it’s me. I’m sorry about before.’
‘That’s all right,’ I said, sitting in the chair next to the fire which, in view of the chilly weather, I’d already cleaned out, messily remade and fumblingly lit. ‘I knew it probably wasn’t a good time, but I wanted to talk to you.’
‘How’s the weather?’ he asked before I had a chance to elaborate. ‘I checked the forecast first thing and it looked like you might be getting some of the white stuff.’
‘Yes,’ I confirmed, ‘everything was white when I got up this morning and actually,’ I added, looking over to the window, ‘it’s coming down again now.’
‘That’s something you won’t have to worry about over here,’ he said and I could hear the smile in his voice. ‘It’s twenty-seven degrees today.’
‘Wow,’ I said, trying to imagine the warmth on my skin and the hot breeze caressing my bare legs even though my calendar was flipped to December. ‘That sounds wonderful.’
‘It is,’ he said. ‘So, are you home alone then? I’m guessing Dolly’s in school. I thought you were going in with her? You aren’t sick of all those screaming kids already are you?’ He added with a chuckle. ‘Have you abandoned ship? I wouldn’t blame you if you had.’
‘No,’ I told him, feeling a little riled. ‘Dolly and I have a day off.’
The children at school didn’t scream, well not indoors anyway, and I wasn’t sick of helping out at all. Far from it, in fact.
‘She’s still in bed actually.’
‘What, at this time? She isn’t ill, is she?’
‘No,’ I said, biting back my annoyance when he was so obviousl
y concerned about my friend. ‘She’s just tired.’
‘That’s all right then. I don’t want you playing nursemaid as well as childminder during your holiday.’
My irritation began to prickle again. He wasn’t quite so concerned about Dolly then, just unhappy about the thought of me pandering to someone other than him. I decided it was time to pull the conversation back to the original reason for my call before I ended up not telling him about the card at all.
‘Look, Jonathan,’ I began, ‘there was a reason why I was ringing.’
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘you did say there was something. What is it?’
‘Well,’ I said nervously, the words unhelpfully sticking like treacle. ‘It was never meant to happen. And I’m so sorry that it has.’
I felt my eyes fill with tears which were of no help at all and my voice caught in my throat.
‘Hey,’ said Jonathan, ‘Hattie. Don’t cry, not when I’m so far away. Whatever is it? It can’t be that bad.’
‘It is,’ I sniffed.
‘Come on,’ he said, ‘tell me what’s happened and let me decide if it’s the disaster you’re imagining. I’ll bet it isn’t.’
‘All right,’ I said, taking a deep breath. ‘You know how I said a few days ago that I was thinking about getting in touch with Mum and Dad.’
‘And we decided that you shouldn’t.’
‘Yes,’ I whimpered. ‘Well, the thing is. I wrote them a Christmas card. And I had no intention of sending it. Absolutely no intention at all, but . . .’
‘But?’
‘But,’ I said, forcing the words out and cursing over why I had ever thought telling him was so important, ‘but it got muddled up with Dolly’s pile of cards and was sent in error.’
The other end of the line was suddenly deathly quiet.
‘I’m so sorry, Jonathan. It was an accident . . .’
‘And have your parents been in touch?’
‘No,’ I said quickly. ‘No. I haven’t heard a thing.’
I didn’t remind him that the postal service in the UK was stretched to the limit at Christmas and it might not have even arrived until today.
‘You’re angry, aren’t you?’ I carried on, filling the gaps where he should have been talking. ‘And you’ve every right to be, especially after we’d discussed it and decided it was a bad idea.’
