Christmas Cakes and Mistletoe Nights

by Carole Matthews

  ‘That would be great. I’ll give you my credit card. There’s probably less on it than there is on yours.’

  ‘Mine is pretty maxed out.’

  I grimace. ‘Mine too.’

  Danny looks serious. ‘We’re getting really low on funds. Worryingly so.’ He scratches his head. ‘We could give up this idea of the itinerant lifestyle for the time being and I could try to get a job back in London. I’ve not been out of it too long. I still have contacts.’

  ‘Hopefully, it won’t come to that. I don’t want you to go back to that. You hated it so much.’

  ‘I know. It would feel like selling my soul again, but I can’t think of another option. My talents are limited.’

  I grin at him despite the gravity of our situation. ‘I wouldn’t say that.’

  He manages a smile back. ‘In certain areas,’ he corrects. Then he’s serious once more. ‘Heading back into the City again might be worth it as a temporary measure. I can earn much more doing that and this house is going to take some serious money to put right.’

  ‘That was always my worry when I lived here and now poor Lija has inherited it from me.’ She mustn’t have had a survey done when she bought the house or it would surely have flagged up some of the remedial work that was so desperately needed.

  ‘She’ll be fine,’ he says. ‘She’s not doing this on her own. We’ve got her back.’

  ‘I know you’d enjoy working at the boatyard.’

  ‘I would but that’s not the be all and end all. The pay’s not great and we need the cash right now.’

  ‘I could get a job too.’

  ‘Lija needs you here and she’s paying you what she can. Let’s see how it all pans out after Christmas. Everything else can be put on hold. Our priority is to open again.’

  I wrap my arms round him. ‘You’re a very kind person.’

  ‘Let me go and sort out a dehumidifier before the stores close. Then we’ll go back to The Dreamcatcher and get rip-roaringly drunk.’

  ‘On one bottle?’

  His sigh acknowledges our alcohol-based shortcomings. ‘We’ll do our best. If one bottle isn’t enough, we’ll get drunk on love.’

  ‘Sounds like a plan to me.’

  When he leaves, I watch him making his way down the garden and then I go into the dining room. I find Lija curled up in the corner, crying.

  ‘Oh, Lija. Don’t cry, love. Hush now.’ I sit down beside her, even though the floor is still quite damp, and take her in my arms. ‘This isn’t the end of the world. We’ll sort it out, I’m sure. Danny’s on the phone now trying to find a dehumidifier to hire. If he can get one, he’ll go straight into town to collect it. He’ll be able to fix things like the skirting boards. It isn’t insurmountable.’

  But she doesn’t stop crying. She just sobs in my arms. I’ve never seen her like this before. All her resilience has gone. So we sit on the floor together and I rock her until the tears eventually subside.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Danny comes back with a monster-sized dehumidifier which he and I manhandle into the dining room with the help of Rainbow. When we switch it on it makes the noise of a large aeroplane taking off. I hope Lija has some earplugs as she’s going to need them.

  ‘OMG,’ Rainbow says. ‘Totally deafening or WHAT?’

  We close the door on it and I cross my fingers, hoping that it does its job quickly and efficiently, even though the whirring din makes me feel as if we’re standing on the end of a runway.

  Lija returns from giving Stan his tea and, a few minutes later, Rainbow’s dad comes for her and she gives us all a kiss and a squeeze before she goes, waving as she does.

  Danny grins. ‘She’s a gem.’

  ‘Would be nicer if she was very quiet gem,’ Lija grumbles.

  ‘We couldn’t have managed without her,’ I point out. If she was my employee, I’d give her a bonus or a day or two off in lieu. Though, in fairness, Rainbow never seems to want to be away from here.

  I don’t like to leave Lija alone, so when Rainbow’s gone, Danny and I stay and have supper with her. The cupboards are looking distinctly bare, but there are plenty of eggs so I whip up a few omelettes and grate a nub of blue cheese into them for some bite. To be honest, I don’t think any of us are hungry. We’re so tired we’ve gone beyond it.

  Yet when I put the omelettes on the table, we all make a valiant stab at them. To help the meal along, we crack open the bottle of wine and I pour Lija a small glass. I know she shouldn’t be drinking during pregnancy but she was knocking it back like it was going out of fashion the other night. I will talk to her about it, but now’s really not the time. Poor girl has enough on her plate without me nagging her. I did notice that she’s gone from smoking to vaping, and she’s hardly doing that either, so that’s another improvement. I think.

  After we’ve finished, we sit there quite pleased with the result of our day’s work but wondering exactly what happens next. I make coffee and we toss some ideas around, but nothing really fruitful comes of it. We’re all too shattered to think and even a shot of caffeine fails to perk us up.

  When Lija starts to yawn, I take that as our cue to leave. I’d stay here, but the bedrooms are too damp and leaky. Luckily, Lija’s room has fared better than the others. We’ve had a fan heater running in there with the windows open to try to air it and take the chill off as this ancient central heating isn’t the most efficient. I run upstairs to check how it is and all seems OK. Then I pop into what was my bedroom but there’s still a steady drip in there that’s half-filled a bucket today. I pick it up and throw the water out of the window, letting it run down the roof of the veranda to the garden, then position the bucket under the leak again. With one last check on the whirring dehumidifier, we’re set to leave.

  I kiss Lija goodnight and fret about her as Danny and I head back to The Dreamcatcher. It’s cosy on here as Danny left the woodburner running. Diggery goes berserk when he sees us, as usual. I feel all my muscles relax when I climb on board and I hadn’t realised just how tense I was. It’s good to be home. The cold night can press in at the windows all it likes, the rain can try to beat us down, but in here we’re safe and warm.

  ‘Let’s have another glass of wine,’ Danny says. ‘I’m too wired to sleep yet.’ So he throws a couple of logs on the burner and opens another bottle. We curl up on the sofa together and one glass leads to two. I snuggle into him.

  ‘You haven’t said much about Lija’s baby.’ I top up Danny’s glass again.

  ‘I’m pleased for her,’ he says. ‘It’s just going to be tough, that’s all.’

  ‘I know. But there’s never a perfect time to have a baby. If anyone ever thought through the implications and waited until the ideal time, the human race would die out.’

  ‘It would be nice if the guy was still around. That would help.’ He raises an eyebrow. ‘We’re going to have to step in and do a lot for her.’

  ‘I don’t mind that. Do you?’

  ‘No. I’d rather we were doing it for our own kid, though.’

  I sit up at that. ‘Really?’

  ‘I haven’t thought about it much in the past, but it’s been on my mind recently. I’d like to be a dad one day.’

  ‘You’d be a great father.’ I can see Danny being cut from the mould of my own dad and that’s no bad thing.

  ‘I know we’ve never talked about having a family, but it would be good for us, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘It would be fabulous,’ I agree. ‘I didn’t think it would ever happen. I’m ancient and my ovaries are probably like shrivelled up raisins. And we’re as poor as church mice.’

  ‘You just said that there’s never a perfect time.’

  ‘You’re right.’ Even through the haze of wine, I get a thrill of excitement. ‘A baby Wilde-Merryweather. Wouldn’t that be a thing? What if I’m too old? Could we even do it?’

  Danny laughs. ‘We should try very hard.’ Then he takes my wine from my hand and kisses me deeply and my body ac
hes for him. His strong hands stray under my shirt and I’m already lost. ‘Starting right now.’

  When we’ve kissed and kissed and kissed, he throws the rug and the cushions onto the floor. Still entwined, we tumble after them and make love on the rug, hot from the heat of the fire and our passion. We’ve been careful with our contraception so far, but not tonight. Tonight we’re raw, wanton. It might be madness, but we both seem to want it. As he moves above me, face soft in pleasure, it reminds me of the first time we were together and I delight in his firm body and press his hips into mine.

  When we’re sated, Danny pulls the blanket over us and we fall asleep in each other’s arms in the warm glow of our love and the fire. Diggery comes to nestle against my feet. I know that my back will give me merry hell in the morning from sleeping on the floor of the boat but, for now, I’m in seventh heaven.

  Chapter Thirty

  A week later and the café is open for business as usual. The diary is full with bookings and the mince-pie making machine – me – is cranking them out at full throttle. We’re running the industrial-sized dehumidifier all night and that seems to be keeping the worst of the damp at bay. It still makes a horrendous racket though, so Lija is going to bed with cotton wool in her ears and, during the day when we have customers here, Danny and I wrestle it into the other room. I’m emptying litres and litres of water out of it every morning and I wonder how much longer we’ll need it because it will have to go back soon due to the cost. It’s over fifty quid a day to rent, but the upside is that’s it’s drying the place out like a dream.

  Today, the frost is hard, the air freezing and it’s a job to rouse myself from sleep. When I finally manage to sit up and look out of the window of the boat, the canal has thin patches of ice on the surface. The first time this year. The overhanging trees are drooping low over the water, heavy with icicles. Lacy white cobwebs grace our windows. Even with the heating and the log burner going at full tilt, The Dreamcatcher is feeling chilly. I run out of the shower, shivering, and then make myself a quick piece of toast so that I can get cracking with baking as soon as I head up to the house.

  Danny has been taken on at the boatyard and is loving it, even though it’s hard, physical work. He’s been getting up before six and walking along the towpath into work. At night he’s not coming home until after seven or even later. This morning, he’s going to try to take the Maid of Merryweather down into their boat dock. We’ve had no more rain since the deluge of last week, but the temperatures have dropped dramatically – the needle is barely above zero – and the weathermen are making ominous noises about snow.

  It’s still quite dark, dawn only just peeping over the horizon, and I stifle a yawn when I stand on the jetty with Diggery to watch Danny tinkering with her engine.

  ‘Jump on the back and have a go at starting her, Fay,’ he says, hands covered with oil. ‘See what she does.’

  What she does when I turn the key is cough, splutter and generally make a right old fuss. What she doesn’t do is start. It’s clear that our old lady isn’t impressed at being so rudely roused from her lengthy slumber. I can’t remember the last time she was moved in earnest.

  ‘Come on, lovely,’ I urge. ‘You can do it.’ Yet, disappointingly, the engine falters and dies once more.

  Danny fiddles some more, then he shouts up. ‘Give her another turn.’

  This time she seems a bit more robust. Like Stan getting over his pneumonia, she sounds a bit rattly but steady. With one almighty cough, she conks out again. I hear Danny mutter, darkly.

  ‘One last try,’ he says. ‘Then I’ll have to see if we can get her towed.’ He delves into the engine again, then shouts, ‘Turn her over, Fay.’

  I keep my fingers crossed as I turn the key and, despite a few wheezes, she sparks into life. After a few stutters and some alarming puffs of black smoke, the engine note settles and I do believe we’ve cracked it this time.

  ‘Good girl.’ I pat her side. ‘I knew you could do it.’

  Danny climbs onto the back with me, looking pleased with himself. ‘I have the magic touch.’

  ‘It works on all middle-aged ladies,’ I assure him. ‘Well done.’

  He glances at his watch. ‘Have you got time to cruise her to the boat dock?’

  I shouldn’t really as I know we have a lot on today and Lija will already be tapping her foot impatiently, but I can’t resist the opportunity to cruise the Maid once more. I’ll just have to face Lija’s wrath. ‘Oh, go on. I will.’

  ‘Gently, gently,’ he says. ‘Don’t rush her.’

  So I ease the boat carefully away from the jetty. Diggery runs up and down barking, then jumps on board at the last minute. The thin ice creaks, cracks and parts for us. I keep the engine just above idling and we drift into the canal, inching our way forward.

  ‘Nice work,’ Danny says and leans back on the taff rail behind us while I make micro-adjustments with the tiller. He slings a comforting arm round my shoulder.

  The sun is venturing over the horizon now, reluctantly inching its way into the sky. The hoar frost takes on a lemon sheen as its rays reach out. I take my phone out and snap a photo as it would make a perfect Christmas card.

  ‘This is beautiful.’ I feel quite teary that the Maid of Merryweather is moving again, and through this magical landscape. I hope that this isn’t her last journey and that Danny is able to repair her when we have the money. It feels as if we’re taking her to the hospital for some major surgery – which she might pull through or might not. If it is to be her last journey, then it’s a very lovely one.

  Dad would hate to see the state that she’s in but at least we’re trying to salvage her. The boat is listing to one side slightly and feels fragile. I’d better not bump the lock as we go into it or she might break apart.

  ‘She’s doing all right,’ Danny reassures me. ‘There’s plenty of life left in the old girl yet.’

  ‘Like me,’ I tease.

  ‘Hmm,’ he murmurs, gently kissing my neck. ‘That was very unseemly behaviour for a lady of a certain age last night.’

  I laugh. ‘There’s plenty more where that came from.’

  ‘Glad to hear it, Ms Merryweather.’ He pulls me to him and some of the chill of the day disappears.

  There are a few new houses that have been built down by the canal. A row of pretty stone cottages. I peep inside as I pass by – a good view afforded by my elevated position. They’re all looking ready for Christmas with trees and lights in the windows. It makes me realise that I’ve still so much to do but there seem to be so many other things to think about. I could do with putting Christmas off for another month or two – I might just be ready then. But don’t we always feel the same?

  We negotiate the lock without incident, the only boat on the water at this hour, and a short while later arrive at the boatyard. With my heart in my mouth, I ease her into the boat dock. From here she’ll be lifted to one of the covered dry docks so that she’ll be protected from the elements for the rest of the winter. It’s very kind of them to accommodate the Maid of Merryweather as I’m sure space is at a premium at this time of year. No wonder Danny is working all hours to show his gratitude.

  I take a photo of the Maid of Merryweather for posterity. ‘You’ll be all right here,’ I whisper to her. ‘You’ll be home before you know it.’

  There’s no one here yet but us, so Danny unlocks the Portakabin office and makes us a cup of tea. I drink from the chipped mug and my hands start to thaw out.

  ‘I’d better get back,’ I say as soon as I’ve drained the dregs. ‘We’ve got a full house today.’

  ‘I’ll see you later.’ Danny kisses me and I can tell that he’s already itching to get to work.

  I ruffle Diggery’s ears and set off along the canal, humming the opening bars of ‘White Christmas’ as I go.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  When I get to the house, it’s clear that Lija is not feeling festive but is very frazzled. She gives me a dark look for being
late as I burst through the door, letting in a blast of cold air.

  While I’m hurriedly tying my apron on, I say, ‘Sorry, sorry, sorry. Danny and I had to get the Maid of Merryweather out of the water and down to the boat dock. I knew you’d understand.’

  ‘Fucking canal,’ Lija mutters into her scone mix.

  If that’s the worst of her anger, then I’ll take it. I stand by her side and get stuck straight into preparing our cakes and sandwiches for the day. Rainbow is dispatched to give Stan his breakfast while we crack on.

  I’d love to tell you that Lija’s blooming in her pregnancy, but she isn’t. She looks drawn and tired. Her face is as white as a sheet and she’s got purple smudges beneath her eyes. I just want to give her a cuddle, but she’s so prickly today that I daren’t risk it. She’d probably take my head off.

  Instead, I concentrate on making mince pies, then trays of cranberry-flavoured macarons. Lija makes gingerbread stars and we ice them with feathery designs and decorate them with silver dragées. She crashes and bangs the trays, yet, through it all, she hardly says a word.

  Rainbow, of course, is blissfully unaware of the tension in the room. She puts on the Christmas music and cranks it up. Lija visibly winces. Singing away, Rainbow sets all the tables and prepares the cake stands.

  Mid-morning, I can bear Lija’s ill temper no longer and risk asking, ‘Is everything OK?’

  ‘Fucking Christmas,’ Lija complains.

  ‘I’m not sure that’s the traditional sentiment.’

  She gives me The Look again.

  ‘It will be lovely,’ I assure her. ‘We’ll all be here together.’

  ‘Huh.’

  That’s not cutting it either. ‘I’ll do everything,’ I tell her. Though I can hardly admit that I haven’t made much in the way of plans yet. We’re so busy that by the time Christmas comes we’ll all just be fit to fall in a heap. Still, Lija doesn’t need to know that. ‘All you have to do is be here and put your feet up. I don’t want you to lift a finger.’