Christmas at the Falling-Down Guesthouse: Plus Michele Gorman's Christmas Carol Read online

  ‘Do you have lights or anything for the front?’ Danny asks as I’m busy raking dead leaves from under the overgrown bushes. We haven’t managed to find any clippers, so Mr Grey-Smythe and his family will have to accept our wild and rustic hedges. We dig up a load of blooming yellow primroses from the wood to fill out the bare spots in the borders. Hopefully they won’t all die before Boxing Day.

  ‘It would look a lot more Christmassy with lights,’ he continues. ‘You could have a ready-made Christmas tree right here.’

  The tree!

  ‘We don’t have a tree for inside,’ I say. ‘We can’t host guests for Christmas without a Christmas tree. Is it too late to order one?’

  Danny stares at me. ‘Order one? Is that how they do it in London?’

  As if I don’t feel foolish enough without admitting that my parents ordered our Christmas tree from the same delivery service for more than a dozen years.

  ‘I suppose you’d just go chop one down in the forest then?’

  ‘Exactly,’ he says. ‘Do you know where to find a saw?’

  ‘In the garage, I guess.’ My eye falls on the tree by the front door. ‘Maybe we could cut this one down. It’s a nice shape.’

  ‘And leave the stump? I don’t think your aunt would appreciate you chopping down her landscaping. We can find one in the wood.’

  Mabel will love seeing a Christmas tree in its natural environment. It’ll be like the time she first saw Brussels sprouts still on their stalk at the farmer’s market. She had no idea that’s how they grow. ‘Give me two minutes. I’ll just go get Mabel.’

  We make a merry party half an hour later as we stomp along the woodland paths looking for two straight, tall trees for the parlour and the hall.

  ‘Do you play jolly woodsman like this a lot?’ I call to Danny as he walks a bit ahead with the saw slung over his shoulder. He seems at home amongst the trees, casual and relaxed and competent. I’m not used to that. My parents were lost if they had to do anything more complicated than changing a light bulb. And now I work with computer programmers. I haven’t exactly been surrounded by manly displays of ability.

  So Mabel isn’t the only one impressed by this outing.

  ‘Usually I’d work this week and next,’ Danny says, ‘so it’s not worth bothering with a tree.’

  ‘I guess a lot of people need taxis over the holidays.’

  He shakes his head. ‘I don’t mean driving the taxi. I take two weeks off at the end of each year so that I can sculpt full-time.’

  ‘A taxi driver with the soul of an artist.’ I smile. ‘Do you sell your sculptures and have exhibits and things like that?’

  ‘Yeah, whenever I can. But it doesn’t pay, so I fit it in around driving. Sculpting doesn’t pay the bills yet. One day, maybe. What do you do for work?’

  ‘Oh, it’s boring. I’m a software programmer, mostly for games.’

  His eyes light up. ‘That doesn’t sound boring. Do you like it?’

  ‘I don’t mind it. I guess it’s only boring if you’re not a gamer.’

  ‘What about you? Are you a gamer?’

  I shrug. Despite working in the industry for five years, the gaming bug never properly took hold. I much prefer curling up with a good book. The last thing I feel like doing after spending all day in front of a computer is stare at another screen.

  ‘Mummy, look!’ Mabel runs to a pretty pine and hugs it. ‘Ouch.’

  ‘I think that one might be a bit small.’

  It’s exactly Mabel’s height.

  ‘How about this one though?’ I say of the one beside it. ‘It looks straight. What do you think, Danny?’

  ‘It’s your job to choose and mine to saw. Say the word and it’s ours.’

  ‘Speaking of ours, are we trespassing? We are, aren’t we?’

  ‘Probably, but this is the kind of an emergency where trespassing’s okay. Besides, who’s around to stop us?’

  He’s right. There doesn’t seem to be a soul for miles. It’s completely silent here amongst the trees.

  ‘So, will this be our Christmas tree?’ He pulls the saw from his shoulder.

  ‘I think so. It’s tall enough. And that other one would work for the parlour.’

  ‘Then stand back, ladies.’

  Mabel springs to my side.

  ‘Mabel,’ he says. ‘You’ve got the most important job. I’m going to saw and when you see it start to tip, you have to shout timber. Okay?’

  She giggles.

  ‘I’m not kidding. It’s critical, so get ready.’

  She giggles again and whispers, ‘Tell me when, Mummy, okay, so I don’t miss it?’

  An hour later the Christmas trees are up in the hall and the parlour, thanks to Danny’s handy homemade tree stands. They’re bare of ornaments though.

  ‘Let’s have a look around for Aunt Kate’s Christmas stash.’

  I know she’s got one. We’ve already found decorations for Easter, Valentine’s Day and the Queen’s Jubilee squirrelled away in the many cabinets in the house. If the worst comes to the worst we can always drape the trees with bunting and call it a patriotic Christmas.

  I don’t believe in ghosts, but I swear this house retains some of the character of its past inhabitants. It’s easy to imagine women of a certain age in full stage makeup and flowing gowns draped on the sofas and chaise longue while Ivan plays host, tipping ice cubes into gin and tonics.

  Of course, they probably wore tracksuits to the Tesco and did Zumba in the conservatory, but I like my romantic vision better.

  ‘Lottie, I’ve found them,’ Danny calls as he staggers downstairs with a huge cardboard box. ‘There’s another one up there. It’s not heavy, just awkward to carry. This one has the lights. If you want to check them, I’ll go get the other box.’

  Mabel and I begin plugging in each of the two dozen strings to make sure they work. Some are even for outside. Perfect.

  ‘This should be enough for both trees,’ I say, winding the first string around from the top.

  ‘If we space them carefully,’ Mabel adds.

  I look at her. ‘Do you remember Granddad saying that every year?’

  ‘No, but you say it every year,’ she says shyly. ‘And then you say that Granddad always said it. Does it make you sad?’

  ‘No, honey, it makes me happy to remember him.’

  We’ve just got the lights on the first tree when Danny brings the other box down. ‘Sorry for the delay, but I had to take a phone call.’

  I keep forgetting that he has his own life outside Aunt Kate’s B&B.

  ‘I think we’ve got plenty of decorations,’ he says. ‘Some look like antiques.’

  ‘I’m not surprised. Aunt Kate loves Christmas. She’s going to be so unhappy to miss this one.’

  I feel a little stab at my words. As I sat by her hospital bed last night, I kept wishing she’d open her eyes. No matter that I know she’s on drugs that are keeping her in the coma. And that that’s a good thing. She’ll sleep as long as the doctors want her to.

  ‘We’ll have Christmas with her when she wakes up, won’t we, Mummy?’

  ‘Definitely, and she’ll love how we’ve decorated the house. I bet it hasn’t looked this good since— Can I see those, please, Mabel?’

  She hands me the box of ornaments she’s just picked up.

  Oh, Mum.

  It’s an old-fashioned ornament box, the kind from the fifties or sixties, made of thin white cardboard with a crinkly cellophane window on the top and a dozen compartments for glass baubles. Whatever baubles once lived there are long gone though, replaced by others that were never a set.

  They were my mother’s.

  Or duplicates at least. Every year, Mum bought a new ornament for our tree. The little wooden drummer boy, the blown-glass Christmas tree, the pom-pom snowman, they’re all here. She must have bought two and sent one to Aunt Kate each year. After the accident, Celine made sure she packed ours away in a separate box at home. They’ve stayed in the a
ttic for the last three Christmases. I wasn’t ready to open up those memories.

  Now, I guess, it’s time to hang them again. ‘Here, Mabel, you can put up the first one.’

  Carefully she selects a branch for the silver angel. ‘It’s beautiful. Is it a guardian angel?’

  ‘I think it must be,’ I tell her.

  Chapter Six

  I’m dead on my feet by the time Danny drives us back from the hospital that night. But a promise is a promise so, practically delirious, I stumble to the kitchen, over-boil the pasta, pour over a jar of sauce and, as a small apology for my cooking, make up a batch of elderflower and ginger cordial for us all.

  ‘Mummy, don’t come in yet!’ Mabel calls from behind the closed dining room door.

  I can hear her and Danny whispering together. That makes me smile. I guess I’d better do as I’m told.

  I sit on the stairs to wait for my invitation inside. The hall isn’t going to win any House Beautiful awards, but it’s not bad for two days’ hard graft. I just hope the toothpaste holds up in the walls.

  ‘Okay, you can come i-i-i-nnn,’ Mabel sings.

  I let out a gasp when I see what they’ve been up to.

  The dining room is gorgeous. Two twinkling silver candelabra stand on the long sideboard against the back wall and pine boughs are tucked over the large gilded mirror above it. More boughs rest on the windowsills and the freshly washed panes reflect the candlelight back into the room. The middle of the long dining table is illuminated too.

  ‘We didn’t use the tablecloth in case I spill on it,’ Mabel says.

  ‘Or in case I spill on it,’ Danny adds.

  ‘Most likely it’d be me though, Danny. I am only seven.’

  ‘You did a beautiful job. What a transformation,’ I tell them.

  Danny smiles. ‘I think it looks good enough for the reviewer, don’t you?’

  ‘If he’s not impressed with this then he’s got a heart of stone.’ My tummy fizzes with excitement. We’re going to pull this off!

  I pour the cordial into three cut-glass goblets and dish out our dinner. ‘I’m sorry the food probably won’t measure up to the surroundings, but I did warn you that cooking isn’t my forte. That’s why I’m paying you. Cheers.’ I clink Mabel’s glass beside me and Danny’s across from us. ‘At least I know how to make good drinks.’

  ‘This is delicious,’ he says. ‘Elderflower?’

  ‘Yes, and ginger. If I’d remembered the lime I’d have added that. I’m glad you’re impressed with the drinks. Remember that when you taste my cooking.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure it’s not bad.’ He takes a forkful. ‘Hmm. Well. The drinks are good anyway.’

  Mabel catches my eye. ‘I think it’s just fine, Mummy, thank you.’

  ‘Mabel,’ Danny says, reddening. ‘Where are my manners? Thank you, Lottie, for dinner. Everything is great.’

  ‘Liar,’ I say. ‘But thank you.’

  ‘Pants on fire,’ murmurs Mabel into her spaghetti.

  I feel a jolt as I watch Mabel chatting easily with Danny as we all finish our plates. When I was first pregnant, I worried a lot about being a single mother. But when we moved in with Mum and Dad those worries faded. Mabel got to have two extra people who loved her. Aside from the occasional questions about her father, she doesn’t seem to mind our modern family arrangement.

  But maybe she is missing something.

  As if reading my mind, Mabel says, ‘Mummy, is Aunt Kate married?’

  ‘No, she was never married.’

  ‘But what about Uncle Ivan?’

  Ivan died before Mabel was born, so she’s never met him. But Aunt Kate always talks about him like he’s still around. ‘They were very dear friends, but they weren’t married. Uncle Ivan was a confirmed bachelor.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘It just means he wasn’t the marrying kind.’

  ‘Danny, are you the marrying kind?’

  ‘Mabel,’ I warn. Our financial arrangement doesn’t give us the right to pry into Danny’s personal life.

  ‘No, I’ve never been married.’ He forks in another mouthful of spaghetti. He’s a good sport. ‘I guess nobody’d have me.’

  I find that hard to believe, but Mabel seems to consider this. ‘I guess nobody’d have Mummy either.’

  Danny tries to cover his laugh with a cough.

  She’s not wrong though. Her father didn’t stick around for very long after I dropped the bombshell on him. I was heartbroken at the time, but we probably wouldn’t have worked out anyway.

  I’ve got to give him some credit though. He might have bolted from our relationship but he did try to be a dad, of sorts. He was a hit-or-miss presence in our lives for the first few years after Mabel was born. I did want her to know her father, even though every time he visited it opened the wound in my heart again. And Mabel wasn’t overly keen on him. As a toddler, she didn’t understand why this strange bloke sometimes visited, expecting her to welcome him. His visits became more awkward over time, until finally they stopped.

  So, after wishing at first that we could be a family, it was actually a relief by the time he moved to Thailand and left Mabel and me to get on with our lives. Knowing him, he’s probably living in a beach hut with a string of young women that he updates more often than he does his Facebook status.

  ‘I do have a daughter though,’ Danny says. ‘She’s eight and she lives all the way over in America.’

  Ah, that explains why he’s so good with Mabel.

  ‘Is she like me?’

  ‘Well, she is smart like you, and nice and pretty, so yes, I guess she is.’

  ‘But she doesn’t live with you?’

  ‘Mabel, you must be getting tired,’ I say, seeing the sadness in Danny’s eyes. ‘If you’re finished eating, let’s get your teeth cleaned, okay? I’ll come back down in a few minutes to help with the dishes.’

  ‘That’s okay,’ Danny says, stacking the plates. ‘I can clear up and make us some tea.’

  By the time I tuck Mabel into bed and get back to the dining room, Danny has laid the table with pretty teacups and saucers.

  ‘Mabel is great,’ he says, pouring out a cup for each of us.

  ‘She has her moments.’ I sigh. ‘She can really get on my nerves sometimes. Does it make me a bad mother to say that? Sometimes when I listen to everyone else talking about how perfect their children are, I do wonder if I’m just less maternal, or if mine really is a pain in the arse.’

  Danny smiles. ‘She’s just precocious because she’s clever and, no, that doesn’t make you a bad mother. People who act like their children can do no wrong are kidding themselves. Nobody’s perfect.’

  This makes me feel a little less guilty. Ah, guilt, every parent’s constant companion. ‘She is a good kid at heart and she hasn’t always had it easy. My parents died three years ago. That was awful for her. For all of us.’

  ‘That’s really shite, I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘I lost my granddad last year. I know it’s not the same thing as a parent, but we were very close. That’s his taxi outside. He taught me to drive. I know I should get a decent car, but it reminds me of him.’

  I’m not about to comment on his deceased grandad’s teaching skills. Far be it for me to speak ill of the dead.

  ‘Grief is grief when you love someone,’ I say instead. ‘It’s a little easier for us now. Aunt Kate was amazing at the time. She came to live with us right after it happened. That’s why, now…’

  ‘I understand,’ he says. ‘But you said she’s recovering.’

  I’m desperate not to dwell in the shadowy corners of my imagination so, instead, I nod. ‘Tell me about your daughter.’

  She lives in Austin, Texas, he says, where her mother is from. She’s an artist too, that Danny met at university. I can’t help thinking that his story has a lot in common with mine and Mabel’s. I wonder if Mabel’s father ever misses her like Danny obviously misses his daughter.

  ‘Do you get to see her?�
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  He fiddles with the handle on his teacup. His big hands look ill-suited to such a delicate object.

  ‘I go over as often as I can get the money together for a flight. Her mother is good about me visiting. She was the one who wanted to move back to the US when Phoebe was two. Otherwise I’d see her more often.’

  ‘So, you’re not together with Phoebe’s mother because of the distance?’

  ‘Oh no,’ he laughs. ‘We’re not together because we drove each other mad. She thought I was too intense, and she’s probably right. But she never took anything seriously. We rowed all the time. Phoebe was definitely the best thing about our relationship. Luckily she got the right balance from both of us.’ He sighs. ‘I’m dying to see her again.’

  I can’t imagine being away from Mabel for weeks or months at a time. ‘When will you go next?’

  ‘Right after Christmas, thanks to you.’

  Ah, so that’s why he’s taken up my offer.

  ‘Then it was lucky I came along.’

  ‘Very lucky.’

  As we sit drinking our tea, a low rumble starts behind the dining room’s back wall.

  ‘That must be the 8.30 train. Cook mentioned it,’ I say, checking my watch. ‘Right on time.’

  The teacups begin to rattle in their saucers as the train closes in on us. It sounds like it’s about to come through the house.

  White flecks start raining down on the table. They look like an awful case of dandruff against the dark wood. But as the train passes, bigger pieces start bouncing off the polished table top. Then a chunk the size of a fifty pence piece splashes into my teacup.

  ‘That ceiling’s gonna come down,’ Danny says with his arms over his head.

  As the sound recedes I survey the debris strewn everywhere. ‘I don’t think my toothpaste is going to help much here. Danny, we can’t let the reviewer go through that every night. What’ll we do? The only other place to eat is in the kitchen… I don’t suppose we could we make a chef’s table there and let them watch you cook?’

  He looks horrified. ‘No way! I mean we’ve got to have Christmas dinner in here. Otherwise it’s not very Christmassy. The ceiling only seems to come loose because of the train. We’ll just have to keep them out of here when it passes. Otherwise the house looks fine.’