Читать книгу Christmas on Rosemary Lane - Ellen Berry - Страница 13

By the time winter took hold, bookings had started to thin out. Lucy had expected this to happen; after all, only the brave-hearted were inclined to hike into the hills with ominous clouds overhead. As the end of term approached, it had rained for what felt like weeks, and she was looking forward to Ivan taking a break over Christmas. Life had been hectic, especially since he had been working in Manchester, and they needed some family time together.

Although Lucy’s mother had pushed for them to spend the festive season at theirs, Lucy had put her foot down this time. For years now, they had alternated between going to Ivan’s parents’, where it would be terribly restrained, with a foot-high tinsel tree sitting primly on a side table, and her own parents’ place, which would be decked out in full, extravagant finery.

‘But it’s our turn this year,’ her mother had argued.

‘Yes, but we’d love to spend it here for the first time,’ Lucy explained. ‘Why don’t you and Dad come to us?’

‘Are you sure, darling? It seems like an awful lot of work …’

Lucy smiled, knowing her mother was merely reluctant to relinquish control. ‘It’s a lot of work for you too, us lot all descending. And we’d love to do it. I don’t think Rosemary Cottage will feel properly like our home until we’ve had Christmas here.’

Reluctantly, Anna had agreed (Lucy’s father, Paddy, never had any say in such matters). Ivan’s parents had been invited too, but they tended to view visiting Yorkshire as akin to traversing the Arctic tundra, and had politely declined.

And so Lucy propelled herself into preparing for Christmas, scribbling lists and bringing in holly and dark, glossy foliage, plus crispy seedpods and branches with which to create festive arrangements throughout the house.

Although she had enjoyed her run of looking after their guests, it was a relief to block out some time in order to ready the cottage for her parents’ arrival on Christmas Eve. In amongst the foliage in the house, she dotted cream tapered candles, red velvet ribbons and silvery fairy lights. Although she had a vague memory that her childhood friend Hally’s dad had sold Christmas trees, she gathered from asking around that the nearest source these days was a farm several miles out of the village. So she drove out there with the children and selected a seven-foot Scots Pine, which was delivered later to great excitement. As soon as it was set up in place, scenting the cottage and shimmering beneath an explosion of multi-coloured baubles, it felt as if the festive season had properly begun.

By now, the entire village was strewn with twinkling decorations. A huge tree glinted with jewel-coloured lights, and shop windows were filled with glowing nativity scenes and fuzzed with fake snow. Only an appearance of the genuine stuff could have made Burley Bridge look more festive. Lucy threw herself into every event going, from Della’s festive drinks in the bookshop, to a heart-soaring carol concert in the village church. She had never felt such anticipation over Christmas Day itself since she had been a child.

Ivan, too, seemed to be full of festive spirit as the holidays grew closer. He had a buoyancy about him these days, Lucy was relieved to note, and he was certainly doing well in his new post at Si Morley’s agency. Thirteen hotels in the once-beleaguered chain had been blitzed of their trouser presses, cheap melamine desks and industrial shower gel dispensers. ‘Modern rustic with a hint of hippie’ summed up the new look, according to Ivan: ‘A little bit of Ibiza in Bradford,’ he laughed. They offered green juices, massage and complimentary morning yoga.

Meanwhile, as Rikke had gone home to Copenhagen for the holidays, Lucy’s mornings involved getting the children up and ready for school on time and cracking on with some last-minute orders for festive decorations. Happily, her floral displays around the village had led to several requests for handmade Christmas wreaths.

The annual Burley Bridge children’s party was also drawing near. Lucy had gathered that the fancy dress element was the highlight, and Marnie and Sam had been talking about it for weeks. Unhelpfully, they had changed their minds about their costumes numerous times, and still hadn’t decided when she’d dropped them off at school that morning.

‘Can’t you just throw something together?’ Ivan asked, when he and Lucy caught up on the phone that lunchtime.

‘Throw what together exactly?’

‘I don’t know,’ he said distractedly. ‘You’re the one who’s good at that stuff—’

‘But it’s tonight,’ she reminded him. ‘There isn’t enough time. I can’t believe we’ve left it so late.’

‘Could you just nip out and buy something?’

Lucy laughed dryly. ‘Where are you suggesting I nip out to?’

‘Surely there’s somewhere. What about that everything-shop on the high street?’ The general-store-cum-post-office, he meant.

‘Ivan,’ Lucy said, shaking her head, ‘how many times have you actually been in there?’

‘Loads,’ he protested, a trace of amusement in his voice.

Lucy smirked. ‘What’s her name, then? The lady who owns it, I mean?’

‘Er …’

‘You don’t know, do you? It’s Irene.’

‘Irene! Yes, of course.’

‘You should remember,’ she teased him. ‘She has a crush on you.’

‘Oh, stop it,’ he exclaimed.

‘How can you forget Irene? She was all overexcited watching you mowing the lawn.’ Lucy was laughing now. ‘D’you feel objectified, when that happens?’

‘You’re being ridiculous.’

‘Okay – so who has the hair salon across the road from her?’

‘What is this?’ he cut in, chuckling now. ‘A who’s who in Burley Bridge quiz?’

‘Yes, and you’re doing terribly!’

‘Anyway,’ he said, quickly changing the subject, ‘do they have to dress up? I mean, is it crucial?’

‘Of course it is! It’s not just the party. There’s the parade through the village to the Christmas tree.’

‘God, it is quite a number,’ he conceded. ‘Wish I was there to help.’

‘Bet you do.’ She laughed hollowly. ‘Just hurry home tonight, will you? I can’t wait to see you, and neither can the kids. They’ll be desperate to show you their outfits – if we can cobble something together in time.’

After finishing the call, Lucy headed upstairs, pulled down the ladder from the hatch in the ceiling and climbed up to the attic. Although there was a lamp, it was still dark and shadowy – so dusty she could feel it in her throat – and the abundance of clutter set her on edge. They had shoved any surplus possessions up here when they’d moved in, and never got around to sorting it all out.

Ivan always launched himself into new hobbies and interests, almost to the point of obsession – which would involve buying all the equipment, materials and accessories. Lucy coughed as she picked her way through the evidence of Ivan’s long-forgotten passions. There were tennis rackets and a defunct rowing machine. She gashed her shin against the sharp corner of a saxophone case.

‘All this stuff,’ she muttered irritably, relieved to find boxes of fabric remnants now. Once a keen crafter, often making her own clothes during her student days, these days she rarely had the time. She pulled out reams of fabric, hoping for inspiration to strike. Marnie could be an elf, Lucy decided, as she unearthed a length of bright green material. Further delving revealed an ancient light brown onesie, which had belonged to Marnie and could possibly be fashioned into a reindeer outfit for Sam. Lucy transported her finds to the box room where her sewing machine was set up.

By the time she set off to pick up the children from school, she had managed to knock up a basic elf’s tunic and cut reindeer antlers from sturdy cardboard, which she had covered in felt and stitched to the onesie hood. Pretty impressive, she decided, considering it had all been thrown together at the last minute.

‘How come dads never have to involve themselves with this kind of stuff?’ Lucy asked with a wry smile at the school gate. There was murmured agreement amongst the mums that men seemed adept at swerving the issue.

‘You mean, Ivan wasn’t beavering away on the sewing machine last night?’ teased Carys, to whom Lucy had grown especially close.

‘He wasn’t here,’ Lucy reminded her. ‘He’ll just get to admire their costumes later – when it’s all over.’

‘Is this his last day at work?’ Carys asked, and Lucy nodded. ‘Bet you can’t wait.’

‘I’m counting the hours,’ she admitted. ‘It’s been a pretty long haul without him …’ Lucy caught herself, and felt guilty for even admitting this. There were still five days to go before Christmas and Ivan had agreed to forget about work until after New Year. It meant almost three weeks together as a family. Carys was a single mum to Amber and Noah – Marnie and Sam’s new best friends – and rarely got a break. Even when her husband had still been in the picture he had barely lifted a finger, apparently. It had been Glen who had nagged for a dog until Carys had crumbled. Of course, they all loved Bramble, their bouncy springer spaniel. But Glen had never once walked him – Bramble immediately became ‘Carys’s dog’ – and all Glen had done was moan about the hair, the mud brought in on paws, the vet’s bills.

More shockingly still, he had never once set foot in the children’s school, figuring that ‘We don’t need two of us to go to a parents’ meeting.’ Thank God Ivan wasn’t like that. When he was around, he wanted to do stuff with his children. Holed up in the shed, he and the kids had already constructed a rather wonky-looking wooden farm, an easel for Marnie and almost completed a birdhouse. The kids loved nothing more than time spent with their dad over spirit levels and pots of paint. Lucy hardly ever ventured into the shed. It was their domain, and she was happy to leave it that way.

The school doors opened and the children surged out. ‘See you at the party,’ Carys said as her own kids ran towards her. ‘Hope they like their costumes!’

‘They’ll have no choice,’ Lucy said with a laugh as Marnie and Sam appeared in the playground. As they set off for home, she described the outfits she’d made. Naturally, the children insisted on pulling them on the minute they were back.

‘I love it, Mum!’ Marnie enthused, posing for a picture as Lucy whipped out her phone.

‘Can we go to the party now?’ Sam demanded, clattering about the kitchen in the onesie.

‘It doesn’t start till half-six,’ Lucy said. ‘You need dinner first.’

‘But I’m not hungry,’ he retorted, ‘and there’ll be cakes and sweets at the party. Noah said—’

‘You can’t just have sweets and cakes, love.’

‘Why not?’

‘’Cause all your teeth’ll fall out,’ Marnie retorted, slipping into the wise older sister role she so enjoyed.

‘Don’t care,’ Sam huffed.

‘Yeah, who needs teeth?’ Lucy agreed with a smile. ‘We could just gum our food—’

‘Will Daddy see our costumes?’ Sam wanted to know as she put on a pan of pasta.

‘Yes, of course,’ Lucy replied, ‘when you come home. If he’s back in time, he might even come out and join us on the parade.’

‘Hurrah!’ Sam yelled, antlers bobbing.

She looked at her children, aware that it wasn’t just the party and parade they were delighted about. It was the fact that Ivan would soon be home. Never mind Lucy’s costume-making skills. As far as Marnie and Sam were concerned, nothing could compete with seeing Daddy on a Friday night.

Pesto pasta was shovelled down hastily, and Lucy managed to unearth some queasily coloured lime green face paint to complete Marnie’s incarnation as an elf. By the time they set off, the village was already milling with children dressed up and making their way to the party. There were Santas and snow queens and a plum pudding on legs, all hurrying along in the fine rain. As they entered the village hall, Lucy looked around in amazement at a sparkling scene of Christmas trees, model polar bears and stacks of presents. The entire building had been turned into a grotto. Festive music filled the hall as a strident woman wearing tartan trousers and a Christmas jumper – whom Lucy recognised as the school’s deputy head – called the excitable children to heel. Clearly in charge of the games, she soon had some kind of dance competition on the go as Lucy found Carys at the trestle table.

‘This is pretty impressive,’ she said, helping herself to a mince pie. ‘Is there always this much food?’

Carys nodded. The table was crammed with plates of cakes and cookies and dishes of foil-wrapped sweets. ‘Some people around here have the whole home baking thing wrapped up. It’s kind of competitive. No one says so, of course, but there’s something shameful about being the one who brought the unwanted ginger cake and brandy snaps.’

Lucy laughed. ‘I didn’t bring anything. I didn’t realise—’

‘It’ll have been noted,’ Carys teased her, ‘but you’ll be excused, seeing as you’re new.’

‘Am I still new?’

Carys smiled. ‘We’re still new and we’ve been here for five years. What I mean is, the real villagers are the ones who were born here and you and me will never be one of those.’

Lucy knew what she meant. Ivan had made a similar point: that they would always be ‘newcomers’, and that villages tended to have their own traditions and rituals that were run by a select few. Well, fine, Lucy thought now, glimpsing Marnie and Sam grabbing cupcakes with their new friends in tow. Occasions like this brought the whole village together. As the party ended, and the children headed outside, she felt lucky to be a part of things here.

Despite the steady rain, the parade was a riotous affair as the children had been handed bells to ring as they made their way through the village. Carys had rushed home to fetch Bramble, who now led the procession in his festive red and white fur-trimmed coat. People waved from their windows above the shops. Several shops had opened late and set out tables laden with yet more mince pies and cups of mulled wine ready for the taking. Lucy took a paper cup of wine with thanks and looked around for Ivan. No sign of him yet – but she hadn’t really expected him to come out and join them. He’d be waiting at home, she decided, as she sipped the warm, spicy drink. Hopefully he’d have brought back a decent bottle of red for them to share by the fireside once the children were in bed.

It was almost nine when they finally said their goodbyes and started to make their way home. Spirits were still high, despite the rain. Marnie and Sam clutched the bags of sweets they’d been given at the party as they ran ahead down the wet garden path.

Marnie was first to reach their front door. She rattled the handle impatiently. ‘Mum, it’s locked!’

‘Is it?’ Lucy frowned, quickening her pace. ‘That’s funny. I thought Dad’d be home by now.’

‘Where is he?’ Sam asked, pulling on a wilted antler.

‘He’s probably just delayed,’ she replied as she let them into the house. ‘Maybe something happened at work. Don’t worry. He’ll be back soon.’

‘I want Dad,’ Sam huffed, ill-tempered now as he stomped into the hallway. He unzipped the onesie, stepped out of it and kicked it aside on the floor.

‘So do I,’ muttered Marnie, pushing her damp honey-blonde hair from her face. ‘Why’s he late?’

‘I don’t know, love. I’ll try his phone.’ The children plunged their hands into their bags of sweets as Lucy made the call. ‘Not too many now, Sam,’ she warned as her husband’s voicemail message began: Hey, it’s Ivan. Sorry, can’t take your call right now. Leave me a message and I’ll get right back to you …

She glanced at Sam as he stuffed a handful of jelly snakes into his mouth. No point in trying to limit sweet consumption now, she decided. She wasn’t up to a big debate on the matter, and it was a special occasion after all. Instead, she turned her attention to lighting the log fire in the living room in the hope that it would catch quickly, and cosy up the house. Surely Ivan wouldn’t be too long now … Pushing away a niggle of concern, she herded the children upstairs for their baths, with the promise of hot chocolate once they were tucked up in bed.

Normally, that would have done the trick. Sam adored his bedtime stories, and even at eight, Marnie still regarded them as a treat when she was in the mood for being read to.

‘Mum, Marnie took some of my sweets,’ Sam complained, swinging on his bedroom door handle.

‘No, I didn’t,’ his sister retorted.

‘Yeah, you did! You held my bag for me in the parade. You stole some.’ He ran at her with a half-hearted kick.

‘Ow!’ Marnie screamed, unnecessarily.

‘Sam, stop that,’ Lucy exclaimed.

‘I didn’t do anything.’ His dark eyes radiated annoyance.

‘C’mon now, you two. You’ve just had far too many sweets tonight. This is why I try to get you to eat celery.’

‘I hate celery!’ Sam announced. Lucy’s feeble attempt at a joke had clearly misfired.

‘Stop shouting, Sam. I’m not going to try and force celery on you now.’

‘I hate it more than anything!’

‘Yes, we get the message,’ Lucy muttered, rubbing at her temples, sensing the start of a headache.

Marnie sighed heavily. ‘When can we get a dog, Mummy?’

Lucy looked at her, figuring that the green face paint would take some shifting in the bath. ‘We’ve been through this hundreds of times before, love—’

‘You said we could have one when we moved to the country,’ she added with a frown.

‘I didn’t say definitely. I said we’d consider it.’

‘We’re in the country now,’ Sam announced, perking up instantly. ‘Can we get one please, Mummy?’

‘Life’s a bit busy just now,’ Lucy said firmly, although in truth, she would have welcomed a dog into their family. It was Ivan who kept insisting that they had enough on their plate.

‘Bath’s ready, Sam,’ she said now, to swerve them off the subject. ‘You’re first in tonight.’

‘He’s always first,’ Marnie bleated in the doorway. ‘I don’t want to go in cold water.’

‘It won’t be cold. We’ll put more hot in—’

‘He pees in it,’ she moaned, and Lucy wondered yet again where Ivan had got to. She was more than ready for him to take over tonight. The children were much more compliant for him – willing, helpful, eager to please, the way they were with Rikke too; basically anyone who wasn’t their mother. Mums always seemed to get the raw deal.

‘I don’t pee in the bath,’ Sam muttered.

‘You pooed in it once,’ Marnie crowed from the landing, which was true – but he’d only been two, and there was no need to bring it up now.

‘I didn’t,’ he growled.

‘You did! You pooed!’

‘Josh isn’t allowed to say poo,’ Sam added, referring to a boy in his class.

‘What does he say, then?’ Lucy asked as she folded towels in the bathroom.

‘Chocolate sausage.’

‘You’re kidding,’ she spluttered, at which Marnie guffawed in the doorway. ‘Is that true?’

‘Yeah.’ Lucy handed him a towel as he clambered out of the bath. ‘He has to say, “I need a chocolate sausage, Mummy.” And he has to put up his hand, even at home!’

The children were giggling now, fuelled by copious quantities of refined sugar, and God knows what kinds of chemical compounds went into those neon-bright jelly snakes. While Lucy was grateful they weren’t bickering, she was now clearly visualising the glass of red she would be enjoying soon, whether or not Ivan brought a special bottle home with him. They always had a few in stock, and Friday nights certainly warranted a treat.

Knowing they would be eating later than normal – due to the party and parade – Lucy had planned a quick meal of fresh tuna steaks, seared with olives and peppers. Their weekend evenings were lovely, and she treasured them. They rarely went out, preferring instead to cosy up at home – sometimes sitting out in the garden on warm summer’s nights, and in the colder months cuddling up on the sofa by the fire. She checked the time again – it was nine-forty – and willed Ivan to hurry home.

Sam had sloped off to choose a story now, and Marnie was splashing idly in the bath. ‘Can you try and wash off that face paint please?’ Lucy said.

‘It is off,’ Marnie said, which was clearly untrue. There was some gentle wiping with a flannel – ‘Ow!’ she screamed, as if she were being attacked with nettles – and finally, bath time was over and the finishing post was in sight.

Lucy usually tried to make their bedtime stories exciting, with her children snuggled on either side of her, tucked up in Sam’s bed. However, she might as well have been reading the boiler instruction booklet for all the feeling she was putting into it.

It was her husband Lucy was thinking about on this cold, wet December night. She yearned for him to hurry home and be with her, and to know that everything was all right.