That didn’t quite come out the way he’d expected it to. He should have said that he was terrible at picking presents so it might have been the easiest option, but for anyone else it wouldn’t have held the same meaning, it wouldn’t have symbolised their most excellent qualities as it did with her. Mary’s hand slipped and the mule bucked.
‘One all,’ she said. She really was doing the right thing, said a voice in her head, one that was standing there, arms folded and head shaking slowly from side to side with disbelief.
‘I mean—’
‘Charlie’s book of life hacks was brilliant,’ she spoke louder, cut off whatever useless crap he was going to come out with to mitigate what he had just said.
Jack picked up the pan and hung it carefully.
‘Yes, I particularly liked, Ships are safe in harbours but that’s not why ships are built. It’s about comfort zones and reaching beyond them.’
Mary felt some heat in her cheeks, willed it to go away. Had he drawn the right conclusion from what she’d said last night when she’d been half asleep in front of the fire? Did he suspect that she planned to desert him, hand in her notice and leave her currant- and sultana-filled comfort-zone harbour to work for a property magnate in another county?
‘Why did you give Robin your bracelet? Was there a hidden meaning?’
‘A friend gave it to me after my father passed; a reminder that whenever I needed someone to talk to, I should ring her and she’d be there for me.’
‘And did she keep that promise?’
‘She did. As I shall be there for Robin when he needs a friend.’
Jack smiled. ‘That’s incredibly generous of you, Mary. Such a thoughtful gift to give someone.’
She used to love the way he said her name. He elongated the ‘a’, an ever so slight roll on the ‘r’, the ‘y’ became more of an ‘e’ than an ‘i’. It made her sound like a lady, a countess, someone who wore a crown.
‘And thank you for the Christmas present you gave to me in the office, it was very kind of you,’ he went on. ‘I haven’t opened it yet so I don’t know what it is. It’s waiting at home. I was saving it for Christmas Day.’
She always took ages to source something to give to him for Christmas; this time she’d bought him a travel kit for overnight hotel stays. It was a mini hard-shell suitcase and had an atomiser for cologne, a soap pump, razor, nail clippers, scissors, a styptic pencil, even an emergency flannel that folded into a tiny magic square of material. It was a gift perfectly matched to him.
‘I hope you like it. It took me quite some time to find.’ She couldn’t resist emphasising the trouble she’d taken, the thought.
‘Did you open your present from me?’
‘Yes, thank you.’ Though the least said about that the better. She picked up the plastic guitar, added it to the mule’s load.
‘Remind me, what… what did I buy you for Christmas?’ said Jack then.
He couldn’t even remember. This decision to go was just getting easier and easier, thought Mary as Jack attached the gun holster to the saddle.
‘A tartan shopping bag, a matching headscarf and a box of jellied fruits,’ she said, imbuing the words with contemptuous neutrality.
‘What? Did I?’ said Jack. His mind rewound to the conversation they’d all had about crap Christmas presents and how jellied fruits were right up there with the worst of them. He swallowed. ‘What did I buy you last Christmas, can you remember?’
Did he go shopping in a trance, Mary wondered.
‘Erm… a folding rain hat and a colossal jar of mint imperials,’ she answered him.
‘What?’ His eyebrows were low, knotting together in the middle. ‘And the year before?’
‘A Flowers of the Valley talcum powder trio and a box of clotted cream fudge.’
Jack visualised the presents as if they were laid out in front of him in all their frumpy glory. He let out a long breath of annoyance before speaking again. ‘I’ve never known what to buy you, Mary, so since you came to work for me, I’ve always asked Kimberley to choose your presents on my behalf. She said she knew what you’d like.’
Well that explained it, thought Mary. Bloody Kimberley. She’d always had a chip on her shoulder and she’d climb over everyone to be first in the queue for the coveted position of Jack’s new PA as soon as it became vacant. It might have explained it, but it didn’t excuse it.
Mary picked up the dynamite, balanced it expertly.
‘Your turn, Jack.’
She flicked her eyes up to him and he thought that they really were beautiful: the colour of a blue lagoon with just a hint of green, with thick dark eyelashes. How could he have worked with her for so long and never noticed? How many other things had he missed from seeing only work in his line of vision? He was more of his father’s son than he wanted to be. He should have checked what Kimberley had bought and wrapped for Mary. Actually no, he should have chosen something himself for the woman who gave him the idea for vegan scones, who had the guts to tell him the ones he produced were awful, who reached out to him when his dad had died to comfort him, only for him to snub her, as his father would have done to a ‘silly young thing’.
‘Mary, I promise you, I shall have some severe words with Kimberley when we get back to work. I don’t know what she was thinking of.’
He sounded cross and she was sure he would take Kimberley to task, but she wouldn’t be there to see what she got for a present next year from him.
‘Don’t even give it another thought,’ said Mary sweetly.
‘Gather round everyone, we have a nice pot of tea for you all,’ Charlie announced as Bridge followed him in with a tray and so called a halt to their game. Just as the mule kicked off Jack’s addition of the water canteen, which looked remarkably like the sort of frumpy shopping bag that Kimberley had bought for Mary.
* * *
They all sat around the fire, drinking tea and listening to Radio Brian, who was now rabbiting on with tips for what to do with leftover Christmas food and booze.
‘Who has leftover booze at Christmas?’ said Robin. ‘We don’t, do we, Charlie?’
‘Not so much as a dreg of Cherry B,’ Charlie replied. ‘Talking of which, any cherries around?’
‘I’ll get you one from the bar,’ said Luke, and sprang up to bring him a cherry on a cocktail stick. Or two, as it happened.
Charlie popped them in his mug and Bridge made an ‘ugh’ noise.
‘My tablets play havoc with my tastebuds,’ he explained. ‘I’ve had some very weird cravings the past couple of weeks, haven’t I, Robin?’
‘He has. I did wonder at one point if he might be pregnant,’ replied Robin.
Mary didn’t say that the same thing had happened to her dad. He developed an obsession for bacon, burnt to a crisp and dipped in vinegar. She didn’t say it because her dad was very near the end then. It was like a switch going on, weird cravings revving up. Jelly cubes rolled in salt, toast slathered in mayonnaise. He didn’t even like mayonnaise usually.
‘Whatever lights your candle, Charles,’ said Luke.
‘…my wife and I like a turkey curry,’ Radio Brian announced to them. ‘And my friend Malcolm makes frugal soup from the outer layer leaves that you strip off your sprouts. He says it’s delicious.’
‘Malcolm sounds like a laugh a minute,’ was Robin’s response to that.
‘It’s minus two outside but it will feel like minus ten,’ said Radio Brian.
‘All the more reason to stay within arm’s length of this glorious fire,’ said Bridge.
Luke cast his eye towards the log basket. ‘I think we need some more wood from the shed.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ said Mary.
‘You will not,’ said Charlie. ‘Not while there are young, hunky men around.’
‘This is the age of sexual equality, Charlie,’ Mary said, wagging her finger.
Charlie wouldn’t have it though.
‘Women and men cannot be equal, t
here are too many biological differences. Men cannot bear children and women cannot grow beards.’
‘I’ve been out with a few who could,’ said Luke with a snort.
‘All the lines are blurred these days, Charlie,’ said Bridge. ‘Best not to stray into that territory.’
‘Charlie is right from a propriety perspective,’ said Jack. ‘I couldn’t sit here while a lady is braving the elements on my behalf. I’ll come with you, Luke.’
‘Lady, eh?’ said Bridge, quirking her eyebrow at Mary when Jack and Luke had gone out. Mary didn’t respond. It was just a word, it meant nothing.
* * *
Jack had to put his shoulder to the door of the log-store because it appeared to have frozen in the jamb. It gave after the second mighty heave and Jack went flying through it and landed on the wood pile. ‘Yep, this is the way my day is going,’ he sighed, as Luke helped him up.
‘Why’s that? I thought we were all having a good one.’
‘I’ve been giving Mary probably the world’s worst Christmas presents. Headscarves and tartan shopping bags, old-lady toiletries, mint imperials. And jellied fruits.’
‘Good God, man, she’s twenty-five, not one hundred and five. Why did you buy her those?’
‘I… er… actually I charged someone else with the task of buying something suitable for her,’ came the answer.
‘Wow, what a bitch,’ said Luke with a crooked grin of astonishment. ‘Why didn’t you just buy her something yourself? It’s not that hard, even if you’re the world’s crappiest present-picker. A John Lewis voucher never fails to hit the spot as a failsafe.’
Because you’re your father’s son, that’s why, came an unwelcome voice in Jack’s head.
‘And if you must know, I’m feeling awfully ashamed of myself where Mary is concerned. Quite a few things have come to light over the past few days.’
‘Like what?’
‘This is going to sound really bad.’
‘Try me,’ said Luke.
Jack took a deep breath. ‘I have patronised her,’ he said, with the same tone someone might have employed to confess that they had shagged a zebra.
Luke waited for more and when nothing was forthcoming he waved his hands in the air as if to encourage the ‘more’ to come out.
‘I’ve treated her as if she was a young woman who should really stick to what she was paid to do and not as someone with a brain capable of working outside the parameters of her job.’
‘For instance?’ asked Luke; the disclosure didn’t exactly shock him.
‘Do you know, Luke, it was Mary’s idea that the company should make vegan scones. I remember thinking at the time when she suggested it, Thank you, but you’ll find I know more about all this than you do and can you please ring the dry-cleaner and ask if my suit is ready to be picked up.’
‘Yep, that really is patronising,’ said Luke, nodding.
Jack cringed. ‘Then vegan scones hit the market, were an absolute wow, and our head of product development said we should follow suit. We could have led, not followed, if I’d listened to Mary. But we weren’t too late, thank the lord, and they were a massive hit… and I gave product development the credit for the idea.’
‘Ouch,’ said Luke.
‘It gets better – or rather, worse. The vegan scones weren’t good enough at first and it was Mary, not the bakery team, who told me we needed to revisit the recipe. And she suggested we use red cheese instead of white so the cheese scones would look more obviously “cheesy” and she suggested we make luxury short-life ranges exclusive to high-end stores. All of these were brilliant ideas.’
‘All of these brilliant ideas from the mind of a young woman who shouldn’t be thinking outside her box?’ Luke suggested to him. Jack couldn’t bear to see himself mirrored in those words.
‘And there’s more…’
‘You’re kidding,’ said Luke, which didn’t help.
‘I wasn’t as sympathetic as I could… should have been when her father died. I asked the same woman who bought the presents to enquire when Mary would be returning to work. I did tell her to say there was no rush, but it appears she left out that part of the email.’
‘Bitch is too kind a word, I think.’
‘Yes, quite. Then last year my own father died and Mary was… was kindness itself. Held the fort while I was off.’ He gave the front of his head a rub of angst. ‘I’ve just had the most awful, uncomfortable game of Buckaroo with her.’
Luke snorted, tried not to laugh, covered it up as a cough.
‘I said all the wrong things. I can’t even repeat what I said about that bloody diary.’ A growl of frustration. ‘Anyway, after our conversation last night I decided to take the bull by the horns and I went into Mary’s room and I wrote in the diary that I’d like to take her out to dinner.’
‘Blimey,’ said Luke, knocked back by that. ‘I’m impressed.’ And he was. Hardly the most direct approach, but for Jack it was leaps and bounds.
‘Luke, over the past few days, I’ve felt as if I’m viewing Mary through other people’s eyes. Everyone likes her and respects her here, don’t they? And she’s such a lovely person. Why have I seen her and yet not seen her before?’
‘You’re seeing her now,’ said Luke, opening up a sack and starting to throw logs into it. ‘Better late than never.’
‘I don’t want to be my father. I never realised until I came here how much I was like him. I don’t want to be that man.’
‘Then don’t be him,’ said Luke. ‘Simple as that.’
‘I want what you have with Carmen and what Bridge has with her new man. I want to be as loved-up as Charlie and Robin. I want someone to smile at me the way they smile at each other.’
‘Yep, it’s good. It’s worth having,’ said Luke and smiled at the thought of what he had with Carmen.
‘I almost kissed Mary yesterday, you know, after we were carol-singing. I looked at her in that huge coat and those ridiculous wellingtons and I wanted to pick her up and plant my lips on hers.’
‘Then maybe you should have, Jack,’ said Luke.
‘I don’t know what she feels about me.’
‘I don’t either,’ replied Luke. It wasn’t his place to make it easy for him. Jack needed to learn first-hand from Charlie’s life hack that he should meet the requirements of his requirements. Everyone deserved as much.
Chapter 30
When Jack and Luke got back in, there was no one around.
‘We’re up here, looking at pictures,’ called Robin from upstairs.
Jack and Luke took off their coats and wellies, piled up a few logs at the side of the fire to season them and joined the others. They were checking out the photos framed and hung on the walls. Not only photos though as there were also yellowing pages taken from an old book, the title of which could be seen in small ornate lettering at the top.
‘Hiffftory of Figgy Hollow of Yorkfffyer,’ Mary struggled while reading aloud.
‘Be careful putting “f”s where “s”s should be,’ Robin warned her. ‘You can get yourself into all sorts of trouble.’
‘It sounds like it’s been written by Radio Brian,’ said Charlie and chortled.
‘I give up, I can’t make out the lettering even with my glasses on,’ said Robin, taking them off and slipping them back into his shirt breast pocket while stepping out of the way so that Luke could get closer to read.
‘Fays here that Figgy Hollow waf an Anglo Faxon fettlement,’ said Luke.
‘Ah, “hollow” means “valley”,’ said Bridge, reading sensibly.
‘ “Valley of figf”?’ questioned Luke. ‘I wonder if it was originally Valley of cigs then. Maybe Figgy Hollow is where all the Vikings got their duty-free fags from.’
‘Stop being an arse, just for a little while please,’ said Bridge, even though she could see Robin, Mary and Charlie giggling like toddlers who had just heard the word fart.
She read on, expertly translating the ‘f’s into ‘s’s
where it was appropriate to do so: ‘ “The name Figgy Hollow is said to originate from the production of fig plants brought over by the Romans and farmed from the thirteenth century by monks in the nearby monastery. The valley, i.e. hollow, and tributary stream gave perfect sheltered and watering conditions for the figs to flourish and the monks both traded in the harvested fruits in the markets along the east coast and made figgy beer, wine, and brandy.” Ah, so figgy really does mean from the fig then. “The monastery was destroyed by troops of Henry the eighth in 1540, but the industry endured. The stone was reclaimed to build local houses, the old inn and, in 1641, the church of St Stephen, which stands on the site of the wasted monastery.” ’
‘How fascinating,’ said Charlie.
‘I bet the monks were wasted as well with all that figgy booze,’ joked Robin.
‘Maybe those cottages were once filled with workers who used to reap the fig harvest and tread on them, or whatever you do with figs destined for bottles,’ said Luke. ‘I shouldn’t think it’s still going as a local delicacy, though, I haven’t heard of it.’ And he would have, at a food fair.
‘I wonder if the church owns all the buildings, then?’ said Bridge, cogs turning in her head.
‘You’d buy it?’ asked Luke, instinctively knowing where her thinking was going.
‘If the price was right. With a bit of TLC, it could be one of those places that turns up on the prettiest villages pages on Pinterest. Like Cockington or Bibury.’
If the photos were anything to go by, Figgy Hollow was very pretty once upon a time, with its central stream and tiny village green. The church and nearby run of cottages appeared to have been designed by an architect who’d discovered a secret cache of figgy brandy before he’d picked up his drawing tools, but the overall effect was quaint and perfectly imperfect.
There were foxed sepia photos of children playing on the green; a man with a huge moustache, in a smart waistcoat, standing proudly outside the inn, smoking a clay pipe. An elderly lady in a bonnet and shawl sitting in a wicker bathchair outside one of the cottages; a soldier in uniform by the bridge with a bride in a long white dress holding a posy. He had one leg and a crutch held under his arm, an older woman and a man at the other side of him, dated 1918 at the bottom.
I Wish It Could Be Christmas Every Day Page 25