With Love at Christmas

by Carole Matthews

  The High Street’s pretty, old-fashioned and still harbours plenty of quirky, individual shops that attract visitors from all around the area. The downside of its popularity is that there is far too much traffic so that, instead of noticing all the pretty buildings, you tend to focus on all the cars. The offices of Westcroft & Co. are slap bang in the middle – housed in one of the not-so-pretty buildings that were renovated in the seventies by stripping all the character from them. It is, however, very handy for a quick trip to Budgens at lunchtime.

  ‘Morning, Juliet.’ One of the boys greets me as I swing in ready to face the day, phone already to his ear. I probably shouldn’t call them boys – they are men. But each of them is young enough to be my son and, as is so often the way with estate agents, not one of them looks over fifteen. They’re all highly strung. Sometimes it’s like having five more kids and trying to keep them under control too. Now there’s a thought. And they all treat me like their mum. Whatever problems they have – whether at home or with work – they always feel the urge to come and tell me. I always want to try to sort their difficulties out for them. The girls are just the same, too. There are two of them, and they’re both long, willowy and unbelievably high-maintenance. The only good thing I draw from it is that it makes me realise that it’s not just Tom and Chloe who are totally self-focused.

  ‘Morning.’ I unwind my scarf, peel off my coat and settle at my desk, which is tucked away in a corner at the back of the main office.

  When I left the library I didn’t do very much for about a year, and then I found this job advertised in the local paper. Amid stiff competition, and to my complete surprise, I got it.

  I’m the office administrator, rather than being at the cutting edge of the selling part of being an estate agent. I deal with paperwork, appointments and look after some of the rental side of the business. Nothing too taxing. But it’s a very busy office, and it suits me just fine. I’m efficient and organised and, as long as I keep on top of the paperwork, I take it more or less in my stride. Sometimes I miss the quiet calm of the library, the joy of the slightly musty books, but I try not to think about it too much. I work from nine to five here, and only the occasional weekend when pressure of work dictates.

  Despite the recession, property in Stony Stratford always goes well. There’s generally more demand than there is supply. All of which goes to keeping my boss, Robin Westcroft, a happy bunny. His father ran the business before him, but it’s Robin who’s been at the helm for the last twenty years and who’s turned it into the successful concern that it is. There are seven agents who work in the office, and there’s another lady, Angela, who comes in just at weekends when the office is busiest. Then there are two other branches that Robin has added over the years. One in Olney, a very nice town near here, and one up in Towcester. We are the flagship branch, though. We don’t usually see much of the other staff, but Robin has a barbecue for us all each summer and, of course, there’s the Christmas party, which is coming up soon.

  Robin Westcroft is a bit older than me, early fifties. He’s a good-looking man. There’s a touch of the Rufus Sewell about him – never a bad thing. He’s very smart, always wears an expensive suit, well-polished shoes and a nice watch. Someone who looks after himself. He runs, works out, that kind of thing. Though when he gets time to do it I don’t know, as he always seems to be at the office, morning, noon and night. When he’s not at our branch, he’s invariably at one of the others. He has an easy charm that makes him a pleasure to work for. All the staff love him.

  ‘Morning, Juliet,’ Robin says as he emerges from his office. Most days I believe he gets in at about seven o’clock, but I’m never here to witness it.

  ‘Hello, Robin. How are you today?’

  ‘Well enough,’ he says. ‘How are the plans for the Christmas party coming along?’

  ‘All organised,’ I tell him. ‘I’ve booked the dinner and disco at The Cock Hotel again.’ A nice place in the centre of the High Street, just a bit farther down from the office. ‘It’s still very reasonable, and we all enjoyed it last year.’

  He shrugs his approval. ‘Excellent idea.’

  The truth is I was so busy that I didn’t have time to shop around to find anywhere else that might have been more suitable. I kept meaning to, but I had to book this up in September to make sure we got in. Next year, I’ll start earlier – about June! – and we might go somewhere more glamorous. I’m not sure where, though. The Cock Hotel is convenient for the other staff to get to as well. Robin puts on a minibus for them so they don’t have to drive.

  ‘I’ve put it in your diary.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Then I hesitate. ‘I’ve booked for Rosemary, too. Will she be coming along this year?’

  I’m never sure what’s the right thing to do. The appearance or not at office dos of Robin’s wife is a constant source of gossip. Sometimes she turns up and is lovely; sometimes she turns up and is drunk. Sometimes she doesn’t turn up at all. Even at the barbecue – which is held at their house. I know it embarrasses Robin terribly.

  ‘I’m not certain,’ he says, and there’s a sadness behind his eyes. ‘We’ll have to see nearer the time.’

  Usually about ten minutes beforehand, in my experience. ‘Sure everything’s OK?’

  ‘Yes, yes.’ He waves away my concern. Robin surveys the office. ‘About time we put the Christmas decorations up? It looks a bit miserable in here. Olney have got theirs up already.’

  ‘I’m going to do it as soon as I can this week. If I can grab an hour to spare.’

  ‘I knew you’d be on the case.’ He smiles at me, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. ‘You’re lovely, Juliet,’ he says. ‘I don’t know how I’d manage without you now.’

  I flush at that. ‘Thanks.’ I’m always flustered when Robin praises me. He does it quite often. Perhaps it’s because I’m not used to the attention, as most of my family treat me with as much respect as they do the wallpaper. Even the dog gets more fuss than I do.

  Chapter Twelve

  Rick looked at the kettle on the hob. ‘A watched kettle never boils,’ he said sagely.

  The girl tried a laugh through her tears.

  It had taken an age. In fact, his blood was boiling more than this kettle. What sort of landlord was happy to have someone living in a tip like this – and a youngster with a sickly kid at that?

  He was seething.

  Finally, the kettle sent out a meagre jet of steam and a whistle and Rick made tea in two chipped mugs. He gave one to the girl. ‘Nature’s cure for everything,’ he said as he sat down at the kitchen table opposite her. ‘A nice cup of tea.’

  When he’d looked in the cupboards for tea bags, there was hardly anything in there either. You couldn’t move for the Christmas stuff that Juliet had packed into their cupboards at home. The contrast was marked.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, sniffling. ‘I didn’t mean to cry. It’s just all got a bit on top of me.’

  ‘That’s understandable, love,’ he said, sympathetically. ‘I think I’d feel like weeping myself.’ If Rick didn’t need the work, he’d be straight on the phone and giving this landlord a piece of his mind. Might still do. The man was probably only fixing the floors at all because he could get the money back off his insurance company. The boiler was staying broken because he’d have to shell out for that himself. ‘Don’t worry, at least I can get your floors sorted out for you.’

  ‘Thanks.’ She sipped gratefully at the tea.

  The little girl smiled warily at him and he tickled her under the chin, eliciting a full-blown grin. ‘I’m Rick, by the way. Rick Joyce.’

  He held out his hand to the girl and, hesitantly, she shook it. Her hand was insubstantial, as light as a feather in his.

  ‘Lisa Hall,’ she said. ‘This is Izzy. Say hello to the nice man, Izzy.’

  ‘Hello,’ the little girl whispered, thumb in mouth.

  ‘She’s lovely. I have a grandson who’s about the same age.’ />
  ‘You don’t look old enough to be a grandfather,’ Lisa said.

  He tried a laugh, feeling ridiculously flattered by that. ‘Oh, believe me, I am.’

  Rick looked round at the shabby kitchen. The front was off the broken boiler, the lino in here was ripped, half the cupboard doors were missing. And my grandson has a very different life to this, he thought. Rick took a swig of his tea to clear the lump that was suddenly in his throat. ‘If you don’t mind me saying, Lisa,’ the name felt strange on his tongue, ‘you seem to be a bit out on a limb here. If you’re going to get the council to move you, wouldn’t you be better trying to get into Milton Keynes?’

  ‘I’ll have to,’ she sighed. ‘That’s where I lived before, but I wanted to get out of the city. I got in with a bad crowd, Rick,’ Lisa admitted. ‘I didn’t want that for Izzy. The only way to break from them was to move right away. But it hasn’t been as easy as I thought. I always dreamed of living in the country. I even had this picture in my head of what village life would be like.’ The girl gave a bitter laugh. ‘It hasn’t quite worked out like that. To live here you need plenty of cash, a car and a posh accent. No one talks to me. They all look at me as if it’s my fault the house is in this state. The landlord promised to do it up when I moved in.’ She looked around her and said, needlessly, ‘He never has.’

  ‘I’ll put in a good price for the floors,’ Rick said. ‘One that he can’t refuse. At least we can make a start on those. I’ll remind him gently about the boiler, too.’

  ‘Why would you do that?’ Lisa said. ‘You don’t know us from Adam.’

  ‘It’s coming up to Christmas, love. You can’t stay in this freezing place over the winter. It’s not fair on the youngster.’

  ‘I’ve got nowhere else to go.’

  ‘No family that can help you out?’

  Lisa shook her head sadly. ‘No. They live miles away, and I never see them.’

  He wondered how that had happened. Sometimes he wished his kids would move miles away! He thought of Chloe and Tom, who had every comfort they could think of provided for them. Not that they were rich, but neither of his children had ever had to worry about where their next penny was coming from. Not like this young lass. Rick’s heart went out to her. ‘Then I’ll see what I can do.’

  ‘Thanks, Rick.’ Her thin, grateful smile created a knot in his stomach.

  He might be getting old and grey, but he still remembered how hard it was when he was young and had nothing. Rick drained his tea. ‘I’ll get these floors measured up, and I’ll drop you some heaters back later today.’ Producing his wallet he pulled out a twenty-pound note and handed it over to her. It was all he had on him. ‘Use this to pay for running them.’

  ‘I can’t accept your money,’ Lisa protested.

  He folded the note into her palm. ‘Take it for Izzy,’ he instructed.

  She looked at him, bewildered. ‘I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘Say you’ll get on to that council again and ask them to move you somewhere better.’

  Lisa smiled, and it made her look younger than ever. ‘I will,’ she said.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Of course, I don’t get a minute to myself all day. Now that Robin has mentioned the lack of Christmas decorations, I want to get cracking with them. It’s not like me to be so late. I always want to enjoy them for as long as we possibly can, and would put them up in the office in September if I could – and at home, too. So I give Rick a call and tell him that I’m going to stay late and decorate the office, otherwise it could be February next year before I get round to it. He’s got an extra call to make, he says, so dinner at Chadwick Close will be late tonight, and the rest of the clan will just have to put up with that.

  When everyone else has departed for the day, I tidy away the paperwork on my desk and go to rummage in the darkest depths of the walk-in stationery cupboard at the back of the office. Eventually, under piles of paper and sundry stationery that’s been dumped in there, I find the half-dozen big boxes that contain the Christmas decorations. There’s a nice selection, although they do look a little too corporate for my own tastes. We have big snowflakes and fluffy snowballs that hang from the ceiling, and a range of glittering silver reindeer that gambol across the big front windows. There’s a smiley polystyrene snowman that sits in the corner, and a big white sparkly Christmas tree with green and red baubles.

  I lower the lights in the office and lock the door so that we won’t get any late stragglers coming in trying to arrange to view a property. First, I’m going to put up the Christmas tree and then, when the High Street has emptied completely, and no one can see me climbing on the desks, I’ll start on the window displays.

  Unpacking the tree, I straighten out its branches and dust them off. Just as I’m about to put the three separate parts of it together, Robin’s door opens and he comes out bearing his briefcase. He starts when he sees me.

  ‘You made me jump, Juliet,’ he says, hand on heart. ‘I thought everyone had gone home.’

  ‘Putting up the decorations,’ I say. Although he’s probably worked that out, due to the fact that I’m surrounded by boxes with tinsel spilling out of them and am standing next to a Christmas tree. ‘I never got a chance today, and I thought I might as well stay for an hour and get it out of the way.’

  ‘You didn’t need to do that.’

  I shrug. ‘I don’t mind. I love putting up decorations.’ Sitting back on my desk, I say, ‘I have a little ritual at home. I have my album of Christmas songs on the iPod, and I normally have a glass of wine and a mince pie or two.’

  ‘That can also be arranged here.’

  I laugh. ‘If I’d thought about it in advance I could quite easily have brought something in.’

  ‘No need,’ Robin says with a grin. ‘Wait five minutes.’

  He puts down his briefcase and dashes out of the door. I look after him, bewildered, and then carry on assembling the Christmas tree. Goodness only knows what he’s up to. I set up the tree in the corner and stand back to admire it. Our bare little office looks better already.

  Minutes later, Robin reappears bearing a bottle of red wine, a box of Mr Kipling’s finest mince pies and a CD of Christmas music. Like an excited child, he holds his stash aloft.

  ‘All from Budgens.’

  ‘Oh, Robin! That’s fantastic. What a lovely idea.’

  Stripping off his coat and jacket, he dashes to his office. ‘I’ve got glasses, too.’ Soon, he’s pouring out wine for both of us. He clinks his glass against mine. ‘Cheers.’

  ‘Cheers,’ I echo. ‘Merry Christmas.’

  ‘Merry Christmas, Juliet.’ He takes a hearty swig. ‘I’d like to stay and help. If that’s OK.’

  ‘You don’t have to do that.’

  ‘I’d like to,’ Robin says as he loosens his tie. ‘To be honest, this is the first bit of Christmas cheer I’ve had.’ He holds up his glass again and his eyes avoid mine. ‘I’m afraid there’s not much festive spirit in the Westcroft household at the moment.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

  ‘Things aren’t good between Rosemary and me,’ he confesses. ‘I’m sure you know that from the office gossip.’ I try a non-commital mumble. Of course Robin and his troubled relationship are regularly the hot topic. The opinion of most of the staff is that Robin should have left his wife years ago.

  ‘Haven’t been for a while.’ My boss picks up a few of the Christmas-tree baubles and goes to hang them. I do the same. We stand at opposite sides of the tree and fiddle with the baubles and the branches. ‘I think the phrase is “we’ve grown apart”,’ he continues.

  ‘All marriages go through their rough patches,’ I offer. ‘Goodness only knows, Rick and I have had our moments.’

  ‘Really?’ Robin seems surprised by this. ‘I always thought of you as the perfect couple.’

  I laugh at that. ‘Far from it!’ I shake my head, still smiling. ‘We’re fine now,’ I add hastily. ‘Absolutely fine. But i
t hasn’t always been the case. We’ve weathered some storms in our time.’ A couple of years ago, I even considered leaving Rick for another man, something I never thought would happen, not in a million years. With any relationship, no matter how long it has endured, you can’t just rest on your laurels. I wonder why Rosemary Westcroft is unhappy with her husband. If you asked for my opinion, I’d say that she’d have to go a long way to find a nicer man. But then you never know what goes on behind closed doors, do you? Who knows, he could have a whole range of despicable habits once he takes off his smart suit jacket for the night. I pick up another bauble to hang. ‘If you want my advice, Robin, just stick with it. I’m sure, given time, that you’ll come out the other side.’

  ‘You think so?’

  ‘I’m sure so.’

  ‘What got you through it all?’

  ‘I just came to realise that I was happier as a married woman at the heart of my family. That’s where I wanted to be.’

  ‘I wish Rosemary could appreciate that. Perhaps the fact that we’ve never had kids hasn’t given us that cement. As it’s just the two of us, maybe it’s too easy to see the faults. I love her, Juliet, but I’m not sure that she feels the same any more. There’s a terrible gulf between us, and I don’t know how to bridge it.’ He looks at the gaudy bauble in his hand. ‘Look at me. I’d rather be here with you, having a glass of wine and a laugh and putting up the Christmas decorations than at home with my wife. I’m always frightened of what’s waiting for me. I can never tell if we’ll be OK or if she’ll be hurling plates at me.’

  ‘Oh, Robin.’ My heart goes out to him. ‘You can’t go on like that.’

  ‘I know. I’m envious of your family life, Juliet. You always seem so tight-knit. You talk of them all with such pride.’