The Great Christmas Knit Off

by Alexandra Brown

  ‘And?’ I say, keen for her to elaborate on Luke’s tragic inability to understand that cheating is out of order, and especially with sisters and friends of your girlfriend being totally off-limits.

  ‘Oh, yes, it was ridiculous really – he said that he’d always fancied me and that if I ever wanted to give him a try then to just let him know, or something like that. I just laughed it off as we had all been drinking – it was at that music festival we went to that time. I don’t know where you were, queuing up to use one of the rankest bogs in the universe, I think. I was in the tent when he turned up and creeped me out.’ She grimaces. ‘Clive wanted to batter him.’

  ‘Oh my God, Clive knew about it?’ I say, aghast. How humiliating! But weirdly, I don’t feel anything very much towards Luke. Hurt, a bit, I suppose, but it’s more of a stunned numbness to be honest. I pull up my jeans and fasten the button.

  ‘Ah, Clive was fine and we actually laughed it off, once he had calmed down; you know what he’s like, and how he goes off the deep end without thinking things through. But he had a word with Luke and told him to show me, and you, a bit more respect.’ She sits back upright and pulls off her jacket. ‘Blimey, it’s hot in here.’ She dumps her jacket on the carpet. ‘I’m so sorry babe.’

  ‘What for? It wasn’t your fault,’ I say, pushing my head through the neck of the cashmere top.

  ‘Well, for not saying anything before; but I didn’t really know what to do for the best. Clive said to forget it and that it would only hurt you and that there was a chance you might not even believe me in any case – plus Luke told me that he’d say that I had come on to him, if you ever found out.’ She bows her head and lets out a deep breath.

  ‘Hey, it’s fine. Honestly, he did me a favour, not turning up at the church, we can all see that now. Lucky escape and all that.’ I smile wryly. ‘If he was trying it on with my bestie, and at it with my sister before we were even married, imagine what it would have been like after the wedding, if I had found out about his philandering a few years down the line – a whole lot worse, especially if we had gone on to have children. You can’t mess around when it gets serious like that, with responsibilities, it’s just not fair,’ I say, patting her arm. And then it comes to me – what if he does the same thing to Sasha? She is my twin sister after all, and I know we’ve never had that ‘twin’ connection, sixth-sense bond that people talk about; we don’t finish each other’s sentences and all that, but I do still love her. The trust has gone, obviously, but I care about her, and we have a shared history from growing up together, which bonds us no matter what, I guess. I wonder if I should talk to her, get it over with and at least hear her out. Hmm, the thought lingers.

  ‘Do you wish I had told you?’ Cher says, twiddling her earring again.

  ‘I’m not sure.’ I shrug. And I’m really not. ‘Anyway, it’s all in the past now. Something I do know is that hindsight may be a wonderful thing at times, but is it always a benefit?’ I raise an eyebrow in what I hope is a very profound way and swiftly decide against telling Cher that Luke was never keen on her, he’d always try to stop me going to visit her, claiming she was either using me, because, ‘How come she never bothers to make an effort to travel to you?’ It didn’t matter to him that she had a pub to run, he didn’t get that, or he’d call her a chav because of the way she dressed. And now I know why. It all fits together; there was a reason why he wanted to keep me away from her – in case she told me all about his pathetic behaviour. God, I must have been such an oblivious idiot not to have even had an inkling of what he was really like.

  ‘Indeed,’ Cher says, jumping up and giving me a hug.

  ‘Come on, let’s get some breakfast and have a good catch up; I want to hear all about the course with the brewery,’ I say, smiling, not wanting anything to tarnish my last day in Tindledale. I loop my arm through hers as we head downstairs.

  *

  ‘So you’ll at least come and have today’s special with me before you go home?’ Cher pleads after polishing off the last of an extra plump pork sausage. She places her knife and fork together on the plate and then dabs the corners of her mouth on the linen napkin. ‘I won’t have seen you at all, hardly, otherwise.’ She pushes her bottom lip out. ‘Clive’s doing his special mixed roast and all the meat is sourced locally, organic too, I think. Hmm, don’t quote on me that as I’m not totally sure, but anyway, there’ll be pork with crispy crackling, beef with the biggest Yorkshire puddings you’ll ever see, lamb infused with garlic and rosemary, loads of potatoes roasted in goose fat, a vegetable medley pulled from one of the villager’s polytunnels mere minutes earlier, stuffing balls – and lashings and lashings of lovely rich gravy,’ she adds in a silly voice to sound like an Enid Blyton character. And I laugh.

  ‘OK. I promise,’ I hold up the palms of my hands in protest, but truth be told, I hardly need an excuse to stay a little while longer. And how can I refuse a proper pub Sunday roast lunch?

  ‘Yay!’ She claps her hands together in glee.

  ‘But I must pop down to Hettie’s first. I need to make sure she’s OK, and say goodbye to her properly …’ My voice trails off. I’m going to worry about her, but she has Marigold, I reassure myself, and make a mental note to call the House of Haberdashery every day to see how she’s getting on, and I’ll definitely be coming back at weekends, if I can afford to – I could be out of a job by this time tomorrow.

  ‘Why don’t you bring her with you?’ Cher takes a swig of her tea. ‘For lunch! And the others, the knit and natter group – the more the merrier. My treat, on the house; my apology for not being in my actual house as it were, when you turned up.’ She grins.

  We’ve had a lovely catch-up, a gossip and a laugh. I’ve told her about Ben, and she was very approving, said that he’s a far better fit for me than Luke ever was, even if he does seem a bit awkward and inexperienced when it comes to women, at least he won’t be thinking he’s some kind of super stud and try it on with my sister and best friend, to which I said, steady on, as absolutely nothing like that has happened between us, apart from him holding my hand, and even that was circumstance rather than a deliberate intention. And I mentioned Adam too, and she said he’s out of order for barking at me like that and she has a good mind to bar him if he ever ventures into the Duck & Puddle, which he hasn’t done since arriving in Tindledale, and that in itself is odd as far as she’s concerned, because everyone who comes to the village ends up in the pub, as I well know.

  Hettie was very reluctant at first to join us for lunch so I’m glad Marigold took charge, practically pushing Hettie’s spindly arms into the sleeves of her good winter coat – Marigold had mistakenly plumped for the thick wool coat at first, only to be told off by Hettie insisting that it wouldn’t do to wear ‘that old thing’ to the village pub. Marigold then bundled Hettie into the passenger seat of the Land Rover and chugged us all the way up the grit-covered lane and through the village before abandoning the car right outside the Duck & Puddle’s solid oak front door, so Hettie literally had no time to protest further. And it’s now a wonderful sight to see her tucking into the mixed roast with all the trimmings – she’s sitting beside me at a long scrubbed pine table in the best spot next to the roaring fire in the inglenook surround in the snug. She’s still very subdued, worrying about the money and bailiffs coming back, no doubt, but at least she’s here amongst friends. And I know Marigold and Lawrence will look out for her and I’ll be making sure all the eBay stuff gets paid for and posted off right away and Taylor has offered to help out too.

  The table is decorated with sparkly wreaths of holly set around crimson-red candles to give it a gloriously homely festive feel, and Michael Bublé is singing ‘It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas’ through the pub sound system, which I suppose it is. Only seventeen shopping days left! That’s what it said on the front page of the Tindledale Herald newspaper in the B&B breakfast room this morning. And I haven’t really thought about Christmas much this year, having dec
ided a few months ago that Basil and I will just stay at home alone and watch all of the TV while I plunge my face into a tin of Quality Street, lifting it only to swig from the biggest bottle of Baileys that I can find. Talking of which, Cher has just appeared at the table and is now handing out tumblers of the creamy coffee-coloured mixture.

  ‘Something to get you all in the Christmassy mood, ladies,’ she says in a merry voice, giving Leo a wink. He lifts his glass, tilts his head to one side, clicks his tongue on the roof of his mouth and gives her a big wink right back.

  They’re all here, the knit and natter group, plus Lawrence, who’s over by the bar chatting to a few of the Tindledale Players – he’s having a rare afternoon off, so I insisted he join us as my guest – I wanted to thank him for being, quite possibly, the best B&B owner in the whole wide world. He’s literally moved me on from the perpetual doldrums state that I was in when I came here just a few days ago, and I’m not joking. I can honestly say that I feel as if my life has changed by coming to Tindledale. I look around the table, at all the cheery faces, laughing and toasting each other, chatting about their knitting projects and how the newly formed Tindledale Tappers (the name that Taylor has chosen for the group) could put up a card in the village store window to see if anyone else would like to join in. The group is thinking of venturing as far as Market Briar too with their invitation – Marigold and Hettie are very keen to get Dolly involved, they’re determined to know exactly what it was that she was doing up in London when I met her on the train.

  It’s such a marvellous, close-knit community here, not like the anonymous converted Victorian house I live in at home. Hmm, I wonder if anyone would actually notice if I just never turned up at work again? You hear of it all the time in London – just a few weeks ago there were a few lines in the local paper about the body of a man lying undiscovered for three years before neighbours called the council complaining about the stench – and he had worked for TFL.

  I ponder for a bit, daydreaming some more as I immerse myself, watching and listening to the chatter going on around the table, but soon realise that I’m being ridiculous, I can’t just leave my life in London behind. Besides, I have a flat with rent and bills to pay for, not to mention the Buy Now Pay Later agreement that I took out with DFS to get a new sofa – I had reached a particularly low point one night soon after the wedding that wasn’t, and stabbed apart Luke’s old leather two-seater with a crochet hook followed by a pair of size nine knitting needles. He had brought the sofa from his house share when we first moved in together and was very attached to it, on account of it being his special ‘gaming’ seat. Well, that’ll teach him to play games, is what I had thought at the time. Ha! And I have to say that it was pretty satisfying, especially the part where I found a folded up fifty pound note wedged inside a crack in the leather. Because as luck would have it, that was the exact same amount the man-with-a-van wanted to take the sofa to the tip. And that’s not all, because I also found a pair of Sasha’s Jimmy Choo shoes that she had left at my flat one time, then begged me to keep safe as they were limited edition or something – yep, I donated them to the local charity shop.

  A woman with fair hair, pale aqua eyes, porcelain skin and rose-tinted cheeks appears at the table, holding the hand of a very pretty, brown-eyed toddler with a wonky, super-short, Baldrick-from-Blackadder style fringe.

  ‘Kitty!’ Lawrence dashes over from the bar and gives her a hug. ‘And Teddie.’ He bobs down to smile at the little girl. ‘Oh dear!’ He stands back up and gives Kitty a curious look.

  ‘Mummy got a bit carried away with the fringe trim,’ Kitty explains with a very regretful look on her face.

  ‘Ah, I see. Want me to even it up sometime?’ Lawrence offers jovially.

  ‘Oh, would you mind, please? That would be great,’ Kitty says, clearly relieved.

  ‘Sure, no problem. So how are you, darling?’ Lawrence says, and I scoot along on the bench to make room for them all to sit down.

  ‘Thanks,’ Kitty says politely, glancing at me then, ‘Pretty good, thank you,’ turning to Lawrence, smiling serenely, meeting his gaze then flicking her eyes away. ‘Yes, we’re doing OK, aren’t we, petal?’ she adds in a kind of dreamy voice, kissing the top of the little girl’s head, who’s now sitting on her lap snuggling into a fleecy blanket.

  ‘Well done,’ Lawrence says softly, giving her hand a quick, discreet squeeze before looking at me. He rubs his hands together as if to lighten the mood. ‘Kitty, did you get to meet Sybs and her dog Basil?’ he says in an extra cheery voice. Basil, on hearing his name, pops his head up from underneath the table and licks the back of Lawrence’s hand. Lawrence gives Basil a piece of pork crackling from his plate. ‘Shush, don’t tell the chef,’ he jokes. ‘His crackling is legendary, but you’re such a cute dog, plus I’m going to really miss you.’

  ‘Oh no, I haven’t,’ Kitty says. ‘And you’re leaving us today, I hear. Have you had a lovely time?’ She smiles in my direction as she leans around Lawrence.

  ‘The best, thank you.’ I grin warmly. ‘Although I really wish I had made time to pop into The Spotted Pig to try out your panettone bread pudding and rum custard. It sounds truly scrumptious.’

  ‘Well, you’re in luck because that’s why Teddie and I popped in – to deliver a fresh batch to Sonny the chef. He sent the kitchen boy over earlier on the off chance of me making some for today’s special,’ she laughs.

  ‘Ooh,’ Lawrence and I say in unison, both of us licking our lips in anticipation, not having looked at the pudding menu yet. I’ve just polished off the mighty mixed roast, which I have to say was just as Cher promised, sterling and superb, and so filling that I can barely move now, but I’m sure I can squeeze in Kitty’s pudding too – I’ll just propel myself down to the station later, using my wheelie suitcase as a toboggan if I have to.

  ‘And are you OK after your tumble in the village square?’ Kitty says softly. My forehead creases and my heart sinks slightly, but it soon lifts when she follows with, ‘Teddie loves lying in the snow, don’t you poppet? It’s such fun.’ The little girl nods and holds out her soft toy cat for me to see. I give it a stroke, feeling relieved and grateful to Kitty for kindly alleviating my potential embarrassment.

  ‘Yes, no physical damage,’ I say truthfully – only emotional, but I’m dealing with that. I take a big swig of Baileys.

  ‘I wanted to dash out and give you a hug,’ Kitty continues, lowering her voice and leaning into me, ‘but I couldn’t leave Teddie on her own in the café. I’m so sorry,’ she adds kindly, and my heart melts; with all that she must be going through, she still has compassion for a total stranger, face planted and bawling in the snow.

  ‘Thank you. You’re so kind,’ I reply, and she simply nods and gives me a gentle look before turning towards Lawrence.

  ‘I was going to call you today, but seeing as you’re here I might as well ask you now …’ Kitty pauses and ruffles Teddie’s hair. ‘I think it’s time,’ she says quietly. ‘Will you deal with …?’

  ‘Of course I will. No problem at all. I’ll call in this evening and take care of it after I’ve tidied up Teddie’s fringe.’ And whatever it is, makes Kitty let out a long sigh of relief, as if she has been holding it all in and can finally let go. She instantly appears to look lighter, even her shoulders have moved down from the tight position they were in just a few seconds ago at the nape of her neck. The moment changes when Cher darts back over to our table.

  ‘Sybs. So sorry, love, to interrupt your special leaving lunch.’ She looks really uncomfortable, awkward almost, which is totally unlike her.

  ‘What’s up?’ I ask, before taking another swig of Baileys.

  ‘Er, there’s a phone call for you.’ And for some reason she looks away.

  ‘Oh?’ I lift the linen napkin off my lap, place it on the table and instinctively go to stand up. ‘Who is it?’ I ask. Nobody knows I’m here, apart from Mum. Cher twiddles her earring furiously.

  ‘Please, just co
me with me out to the back.’

  ‘Cher, please, you’re scaring me.’ God, please don’t let something have happened to Mum or Dad.

  ‘Oh, no, sorry babe, it’s nothing like that.’ A short silence follows. Cher purses her lips, plants a firm hand on her hip and then quickly comes out with it. ‘It’s Luke!’

  ‘I’ll be right outside the door if you need me,’ Cher says kindly, gesturing to the phone on the coffee table in her private lounge behind the bar. I swallow hard and give her a nod before closing the door and lifting the handset to my ear.

  ‘Hello,’ I say tentatively, my mind already in overdrive, trying to work out why on earth he’s calling me now. And here? Surely it can wait until I get back? It’s not like he’s phoned me at all since the wedding. Apart from one time, which was just full of excuses, so I didn’t really listen properly. No, he’s left Sasha to make all the calls, claiming that he didn’t want to upset me any more than was really necessary. Arrogant, spineless bastard, more like – did I not even deserve an explanation? After he had cleared out his gear on the day of the wedding, that was that; he cut ties with me, and the flat, not even bothering to enquire about his half of the rent according to the tenancy agreement that he had signed too. Not to mention all the other joint things: utility bills, the massive balance still owed to the wedding venue, the florist, the photographer, the tour bus company. And it didn’t all just go away because the wedding didn’t happen. It’s one thing him not wanting to marry me, but he could have at least mentioned it before the actual day.

  ‘Sybs, it’s me!’ I close my eyes, momentarily blanching at the presumption that it’s OK for him to have retained such familiarity by way of a casual ‘me’.

  ‘Who?’ I can’t resist making him sweat just a little bit and the hesitation in his voice is palpable.