by Carol Wyer
‘Come in,’ he boomed. ‘I’m Fairfax. Great to meet you.’
The voice was sonorous and pleasant and, accompanied by the broad smile, put her at ease.
She shuffled into the entrance and offered up the bottle of wine.
‘You shouldn’t have,’ he said, taking it from her and waving his other arm like an enthusiastic conductor. ‘Come in. Don’t stay in the cold.’
‘Seriously, you shouldn’t have,’ chorused Eleanor, appearing from nowhere and sweeping Chloe into her arms like a long-lost friend. She’d put her hair up in a high ponytail so it now seemed as if she had an exploding firework or a bright blue sparkler on her head. Chloe decided it suited her effervescent personality. ‘Fairfax went to Costco and has bought enough booze to open his own pub.’
He grinned amiably, revealing a slight gap in his front teeth. ‘It’s the festive season. I had to ensure we had enough for entertaining the troops.’
‘We do have quite a lot of guests coming over Christmas and the New Year,’ she agreed, ushering Chloe into a living room that was not dissimilar in size to her own but resembled a room in a small chateau or palace, furnished as it was with antique furniture, striped chairs with wooden armrests and claw feet, glass-fronted ornate cabinets housing porcelain vases and dishes, dark wooden tables bearing knick-knacks, and on the walls a mixture of paintings, some large and in heavy gilt frames, others in oval frames made of black onyx – a collection of portraits and of men and women.
‘Fairfax used to be an antiques dealer,’ said Eleanor, seeing Chloe’s eyes open wide at the sight of a bronze sculptured boar on a round table. ‘That’s an Italian sculpture.’
‘An Uffizi boar or “Il Porcellino”,’ said Fairfax. ‘Can I take your coat?’
‘See, to me that’s just a scruffy bronze sculpture of a pig, but to Fairfax it’s an Ufizz-y.’
‘Uffizi,’ he repeated with an Italian accent, making it sound as if there was a ‘t’ before the ‘z’. ‘It’s the famous art gallery in Florence and Mr Porky is certainly not scruffy. But I shan’t bore you about it.’ He waited for the pun to sink in. Eleanor rolled her eyes. Chloe smiled politely and he bowed taking her coat with him.
‘He’s always doing that. Cracks me up,’ said Eleanor. ‘Where’s your handsome mutt?’
‘I didn’t think it appropriate to bring him over.’
‘He’s always welcome. I love dogs. Bring him with you next time.’
Chloe warmed to the woman with her crazy hair and open face. She took a chair near the roaring fire. ‘You didn’t opt for a log burner?’
‘It didn’t fit in with all the furniture. The open fire works better. It’s a bugger to clean out each day, though. I’ve delegated that job to Fairfax. Now, what do you want to drink. We literally have everything.’
‘Wine’s lovely. White if you have any?’
‘Oh, we have.’
Fairfax reappeared and Eleanor left them to chat. ‘So, where’ve you come from?’ he asked.
‘Appletree. It’s a tiny village the other side of Lichfield.’
‘But that’s not where you’re from. I detect an accent. A slight Scottish one, if I’m not mistaken.’
Chloe was surprised. ‘You can? I’ve lived around the Midlands for over twenty years. I thought I’d lost it.’
‘It’s still there.’ He sat back. ‘I have an ear for accents. I used to practise mimicking them when I was a kid. It was my party piece.’
‘He’s always been a joker,’ said Eleanor, coming back into the room with two glasses of wine in her hands. She passed one to Chloe, the other to Fairfax, before departing again.
Fairfax explained. ‘I was the smallest, ugliest kid in school. I had to come up with something to fit in, so I took to impersonations. I could do passable ones of most of our teachers. My mates loved them. I was so good at impersonating our English teacher, a Canadian, the headmaster overheard me one day and actually thought I was him.’
‘You still do them?’
He grinned wickedly. ‘I most certainly do, Miss Moneypenny,’ he replied, emulating Sean Connery and raising his glass. He changed to Humphrey Bogart. ‘Here’s looking at you kid.’
‘Oh, not already,’ said Eleanor. ‘He’s only known you ten seconds and he’s launched into his voices.’
‘I literally have no idea what you are saying to me,’ he replied, Donald Trump to a tee. ‘I have tremendous respect for women though. I want to tell you.’
Both women laughed.
‘Here’s to us all and happy days here at Sunny Meadow,’ said Eleanor.
‘Amen to that,’ Fairfax replied, still in Trump’s voice.
‘We lived close to the centre of Derby before coming here. Great for work but we needed some space. We both craved green fields and countryside and to get away from town life. We heard about this development, came up to see it and kaboom! we fell in love with it,’ said Fairfax.
‘That’s pretty much the same for me. I wanted a place away from it all and as soon as I drove over the reservoir, I knew I had to move here,’ said Chloe.
‘Didn’t fancy returning to Scotland?’
Chloe shook her head. It held too many memories of her family. It wasn’t a place she wanted to revisit. She was best moving forward. ‘I’m settled in this area. I just need a change. I’ve recently split from my husband.’ The words spilled out of her mouth at speed. Best to get it over with. People would be curious as to why she was living alone. There was no shame in admitting to the failure of her marriage, although saying it made it seem even more real.
‘Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,’ said Eleanor. ‘Honestly. We both understand how it feels. We’ve been through divorces too.’
Fairfax nodded. ‘It’s a tough gig but you’ll pull through. Give yourself a chance to breathe, take it all in and then allow yourself to move on.’
His words were sincere, as were his eyes fully focused on her. For a crazy moment she felt as if she’d known this couple for a long time. The wine was smooth and cool and the light flavour of peaches burst on her tongue as she took a small sip.
‘Thank you,’ she said, not knowing what else to offer. She was saved by the phone and Fairfax beetled off to answer it. He was only a few minutes, during which Eleanor spoke animatedly about the new house. Fairfax returned, a smile on his face.
‘It was your dad, something about picking up a costume for a fancy-dress party next weekend.’
‘Oh yes, it’s a Seventies-pop-star-themed party. They’re going as members of ABBA. Dad wants to go as Agnetha. I said I’d collect their costumes for them.’
Fairfax laughed. ‘That sounds just like him. You know, Chloe, he’s just turned seventy and recently bought a Harley Davidson. He plans on taking Eleanor’s mum on Route 66.’
‘Really?’ Chloe was astounded.
‘He’s always been adventurous,’ said Eleanor proudly.
‘I think you inherited your wild streak from Tug.’ He looked across at Chloe. ‘Ask her how we met?’
Chloe was intrigued. ‘Go on.’
Eleanor took a sip of her wine, swallowed then giggled. ‘I was his skydiving instructor. He was doing a skydive for charity and bricking it. It was a tandem dive so he was strapped to me. I almost had to chuck him out of the plane he was that scared, but it was a great dive and as soon as we landed, he was so elated to have done it and stayed alive, he asked me out.’
Fairfax gave another smile that lit his eyes. ‘True story,’ he said, amused by Chloe’s open-mouthed expression.
The fire popped and snapped gleefully in the grate, tiny explosions as flames, a kaleidoscope of magenta, yellow ochre and paprika, rose and shimmied like exotic dancers with arms outstretched upwards. The room was filled with the scents of a pine forest warmed by the sun, and as she relaxed into the chair Chloe felt something she hadn’t experienced in a long while – a feeling of belonging.
Chapter Four
Tuesday, 19th December
‘Don’t say a
word.’ Chloe addressed her words to Ronnie who stared dolefully at her. The pounding of a hundred hammers beating out a crazy xylophone tune on the stretched nerves in her head made her want to throw up. She reached for the aspirin and swallowed two, chugging an entire glass of water. She’d only been in the house two days and both mornings she’d woken with a thick head and nausea. Today’s was the mother of all hangovers and embarrassingly, she couldn’t quite remember what had happened towards the end of the evening at Eleanor’s.
Having eaten nothing before drinks with Eleanor and Fairfax, it hadn’t taken much alcohol for her to feel less inhibited. Her hosts had ensured her glass was topped up and had insisted she have another and another. She remembered telling them about her parents and Georgia, and later playing charades but it was all too foggy after that. She hoped she hadn’t said or done anything stupid. Surely she wouldn’t have blurted out the fact she was a writer, let alone she was C J Knight, author of Spank Me Harder, Vicar. She held her head in her hands, cool fingers massaging her temples and groaned. She’d have to move again if she had let it slip. The whole point of this process had been to hide away and remain anonymous, yet within forty-eight hours of moving in she’d possibly told her new neighbours all about her life.
She shuffled into the room she’d designated as her office, slumping onto the ergonomic chair she’d bought to fit under the simple solid oak table. The room was a small work space but the Japanese desk had caught her eye, having not only a discreet integrated drawer but an innovative storage system nestled between the frame’s legs where she could store paper or notepads. The glass top gave it a pleasing aesthetic appearance which she hoped would help encourage her to sit down and reach a daily word count of 3,000 words. She pushed away the notepad and, with elbows on the table, stared at the small black and white sketch of Ronnie she’d had commissioned after she’d received her first royalty cheque. Would she get over this writer’s block? She needed to or she’d have to find a job again. The last one had been in a bookshop but that had been over five years ago. She wasn’t sure she could be that person again. It had taken so much effort and confidence-building to get the job. Nanny Olive had been instrumental in helping her overcome her difficulties to face the public and take up the position. William had eroded what confidence she’d gained, little by little, stealthily, and she hadn’t realised until it was too late.
Ronnie, who’d followed her into the room, pushed his nose into her heel and snuffled.
‘I know. You want a walk.’ A steady thump of his tail against the wall was all the response she needed. It lifted her spirits. She could always count on Ronnie for that. There was no way she was going to be able to write this morning. It was already nine-thirty. She may as well get some fresh air and let it work some magic on her head, along with the pills she’d just taken.
The knock on the door gave her a start. Ronnie dashed off to see who the visitor might be. She followed him, wishing she’d changed out of her pyjamas before coming downstairs. She ran a hand through her unruly hair and opened the door.
‘Morning. You not dressed yet?’ Fairfax was in a coat, gloves and a ski hat with bright red pompoms hanging down beside his ears.
Her bewildered look gave him the information he needed. ‘You’ve forgotten, haven’t you?’
She nodded. There was no point in pretending otherwise.
‘The tree. We talked about it last night. We’ve got an open-backed Nissan truck so we said we’d help you chose a tree from the Christmas tree farm and bring it back for you. And we’re going to visit the reindeer. You do remember the reindeer, don’t you? Once we told you about them, you seemed very keen to visit them.’
A vision of her wearing a felt reindeer headband, complete with large antlers, waving a wine glass about and excitedly declaring she’d love to see the reindeer flashed before her. Then another of her and Fairfax singing Rudolph, the Red-nosed Reindeer loudly. ‘Oh Lord, I was truly drunk, wasn’t I?’
‘Not at all. A little merry,’ he replied. ‘You were great fun. We both thought so. Eleanor’s almost ready. I thought I’d come and see if you were still up for it. Thought we’d go ahead of the crowds. It’s always quieter there before lunchtime. If we’re lucky we’ll be the first there.’
She couldn’t back down now. Besides, if she went along she’d find out just how much she had revealed the night before. She gave a nod. ‘I won’t be long.’
‘No hurry.’
‘I ought to just take Ronnie out for a quick walk.’
‘Oh, it’s okay. Bring him with you. He can run around with us. Plenty of room in the car.’
‘Thank you. We’ll be over in ten minutes.’
She charged upstairs and grabbing clothes from the floor and the wardrobe dressed as quickly as possible. There was little time to dwell on what she was doing. Hopefully, there wouldn’t be many people at the farm. She had to do this. ‘You are stronger than you think.’ She repeated the mantra aloud twice more. At least she’d be able to prepare the house for Christmas. It would look cosier with a tree up in the corner of the sitting room.
Picking up the lead from the kitchen top, she called Ronnie. ‘Come on. You’re going to see lots of trees. Lots and lots of them. Don’t try and pee up them all though, or we’ll both be in disgrace.’
As she dashed out of the house, she caught sight of Alex in his work clothes, carrying a large hammer. He waved and walked across to them. Stooping to pat Ronnie, he gave her a smile. ‘So, you’ve met the neighbours.’
‘How did you know?’
‘The carol-singing outside my door at one a.m. kind of gave it away,’ he said with a grin.
Her mouth dropped open.
‘You mean you don’t remember?’ He stood up and she had to lift her head to look into his eyes. She shook her head. ‘Oh dear, the demon drink. Did Fairfax ply you with his famous raspberry liquor?’
Another blurry vision of them downing shots and Fairfax explaining how he brewed his fruit alcohol, of the back of her throat burning and then a feeling of euphoria and lightness.
‘I’m terribly sorry. What must you think of me?’ She shook her head in dismay.
He let out a soft laugh. ‘I’m only winding you up. I’ve fallen foul of Fairfax and Eleanor’s hospitality myself. You didn’t come carol-singing at my door. I spotted Eleanor and Fairfax walking you home at about midnight. You all seemed a little worse for wear, but no singing. Just a lot of weaving about and giggling.’
‘Oh, thank goodness.’ Her relief was swiftly followed by irritation. How dare he tease her like that and how stupid she was to have believed him.
‘You headed over to them now?’
‘We’re going to buy a tree.’ She didn’t know why she was telling him anything. Maybe it was because he was looking at her intently and she didn’t know how to end the conversation without appearing to be rude. Heaven knows what impression he’d already formed of her.
‘Is Ronnie behaving? You haven’t been feeding him cow pats again.’
A light had crept into his eyes. She was sure he was mocking her now.
‘No, but he did steal and scoff four leftover mince pies, so I’m expecting trouble later.’ She immediately regretted saying anything. Once again her cheeks heated up and she shifted uncomfortably on the spot. She’d made a complete fool of herself. She glanced away and spotted Fairfax waving at her. She made her excuses, keen to get away. ‘Sorry. I think they’re waiting for us.’
‘Sure. Have a good time.’
She raced off, heart pounding. Alex would think she was an utter idiot, saying dumb stuff and getting drunk. She’d avoid him in the future. He made her feel uncomfortable and she couldn’t face any more knocks to her confidence. It was more fragile than she thought.
‘Morning,’ said Eleanor. She was wearing sunglasses. She lowered them in a conspiratorial manner to reveal bloodshot eyes. ‘Hell of a night, eh? You feeling as rough as I do?’
‘Not too good,’ Chloe confessed.
/> ‘You’ll both survive,’ said Fairfax, leaping into the driver’s seat. ‘Come on, Chloe. You okay in the back with Ronnie?’
‘Thanks. You sure you’re happy about him coming along?’
‘Of course we are. Hop in.’
She opened the back door and waited for Ronnie to jump in and settle down on the back seat and then joined him. The car was more spacious inside than she’d imagined.
‘Off we go.’ Fairfax put the car into gear and they drew away. Chloe caught sight of Alex talking to one of the workmen but lowered her gaze. She didn’t want to be seen staring out at him.
* * *
Christmas Tree Farm was an actual working farm that had turned the festive season into a lucrative sideline to its agriculture business. A large wooden sign with a friendly cartoon face of a reindeer welcomed them to the place, and the outside of the farmhouse was lit up with fairy lights trailing down the sides of the worn brickwork. Hand-crafted wooden signposts directed customers to the trees, a Christmas gift shop, a grotto and the reindeer stables.
The Nissan was one of only three cars in the car park. ‘You have to see the reindeer first. Then we’ll get Ronnie and take him for a walk around the trees,’ said Fairfax, leading the way to the stable block where each reindeer was housed.
The smell of warm hay rose to greet her as she entered the covered building. Her headache was waning and she was able to focus on her surroundings. Christmassy harnesses hung on the wall of Santa’s Tack Room under names of Santa’s famous reindeer. In the distance, rustling and the odd grunt indicated the animals were up and about. Someone was there ahead of them – a woman with two small children who clasped pots of reindeer food eager to hand them out. Chloe smiled at the children’s faces shining with pure joy. While people bothered her, she never felt ill at ease with young children. Chloe closed in on the pen where a gentle brown face, wearing a harness, pushed away from the other reindeer to nuzzle against her hand, hoping for feed. She had none but moved out of the way so the youngster beside her might hand out his offering.