‘Sure, I can give you a hand if you like.’
Earlier in the day Polly had dropped off a beautiful wreath brimming with holly and ivy, spruce, mistletoe, pine and various coloured stems of willow and dogwood. I’d hung it carefully on the nail on the front door, the addition of dried orange slices and cinnamon sticks tied with ribbons emitting the most delicious aroma, providing the perfect welcome to The Dog and Duck over the festive season.
I threw another log on the fire and stoked the flames with the iron poker.
“It’s the most wonderful time of the year!”
‘Do you know any other words to that song?’ asked Dan, ruefully.
‘Oh sorry.’ The tune had been going over and over in my head all day long as I’d begun to place a few decorations around the pub. Pine cones in the hearth. Swags of holly and ivy around the picture frames. Mistletoe above the door frames.
Maybe it was time for me to dig out the Christmas CDs, so I could sing along to something else, although I might have to wait until Dan was out of the way as I suspected he wasn’t feeling the goodwill of the season in quite the same way as I was just yet.
‘So what you doing for Christmas this year, then?’ he asked.
‘I’ve not made any firm plans yet. It will be strange with Mum and Dad being away. It’ll be the first time ever that I won’t be spending it with them.’
Usually on Christmas Day we would wake early, opening our stocking presents to the sounds of Christmas carols on the radio. Dad would pour glasses of Buck’s Fizz and raise a toast to us all. Afterwards we’d have a light breakfast of scrambled eggs with smoked salmon, before heading out to St Cuthbert’s for the morning service. Then we’d make the short walk to the pub where we’d join our friends and neighbours for a few festive drinks, and much laughter. Back at home, we would be greeted by the most delicious smell of the turkey roasting in the Aga, and then we’d all get busy putting on the vegetables, heating up the cranberry and bread sauces, and putting the Christmas pudding on to steam. Some years it would be just the three of us; other times Nanny Browne and Aunty Sue and Uncle Vic would come to stay, or sometimes Eric, Josie and Ethan would join us for the day. How ever many people we had around our Christmas table it was always the most wonderful occasion, a sumptuous meal that was drawn out over several hours, where we pulled crackers, sang songs, told tales and went on, getting steadily merrier, long into the night. After we finished our puddings, we moved on to crackers and cheese and Dad would break open the port, ending up playing card games into the early hours of the morning.
A pang of regret tore at my heart. This year it would be oh so different.
‘Well if you’re at a loose end, you’re very welcome to come and join me and Silke down on the boat for Christmas dinner. I’ve volunteered to work over lunchtime, but we’d love to have you come back with us, if you’d like to.’
‘Aw thanks Dan, that’s really love of you to offer, but Josie and Ethan have invited me round to theirs to spend it with Eric and baby Stella, so I’ll probably end up going to them.’ I’d been holding off making firms plans just in case…Well if I was being honest, just in case I received a better offer. Part of me was disappointed that Max hadn’t made any mention of his Christmas plans yet.
My gaze drifted around the pub which was looking even more warm and welcoming than usual with the few festive touches I’d added today. Tomorrow it would look even more Christmassy once the tree was in place. Strange to think that the pub still looked and felt the same as it had ever done, but Eric was no longer officially the landlord of The Dog and Duck. His contract had come to an end and despite Max’s best efforts, he’d been unable to persuade him to sign up to a new one. It was definitely the end of an era. Eric had agreed to help out and oversee the running of the pub until he went off on his travels in the New Year. Whether we liked it or not there would definitely be a new manager behind the bar within a few weeks. If whoever came in as the new landlord could do half as good a job as Eric had done these last few years then we’d know the pub would be in very safe hands indeed.
‘You do know they’re forecasting a white Christmas this year?’ Dan was arranging a display of the new Christmas craft beers at the end of the bar.
‘Really?’ I turned to look at him. ‘No, I hadn’t heard that. That would be amazing. Although I’m sure they forecast a white Christmas every year and it never actually happens. Usually it’s grey and damp. Have you tried any of those beers yet?’ I asked him.
‘No, although I think perhaps we should,’ he said, looking up at me with a smile on his face. He picked up the bottles, one by one, and read from their labels. ‘There’s a “Yuletide Special Ale” brewed with winter fruits and spices, “Santa’s Special” which is a rich malty ale that has chocolate undertones, the perfect accompaniment to mince pies, apparently, and a “Winter Delight” that’s flavoured with cinnamon and ginger.’
‘Mmm, I suppose we ought to sample one for ourselves, just in the name of research and for the good of the locals.’
‘What do you fancy?’
‘Well, Betty Masters dropped off a box of her mince pies today so I think it will have to be a “Santa’s Special”, don’t you?’
Dan poured our beers, while I put the money into the till and came back with a couple of Betty’s mince pies. It was early evening and we didn’t have any customers in yet so we pulled up a couple of stools behind the bar, and indulged. Well it was almost Christmas, after all.
‘Do you mind if I put on a Christmas CD?’ I asked, Dan.
‘If you must,’ he said, with a wry shake of his head.
‘Hmmm, these are delicious.’ I took a bite into the crisp sugar-coated pie, the pastry melting in my mouth and the hit of fruits mingling with spices on my tongue was just lovely. Washed down with a mouthful of the chocolatey beer, I had to agree it was the perfect combination.
Not long after, a cold shaft of air whooshed though the snug as the front door opened and I looked up to greet our first customer of the evening, or as I soon found out, not a customer but my new boss, Max Golding. My heart gave a little fillip, as it always did, at the sight of him. As he dropped his head to avoid the low beams I was reminded of the first time I’d spoken to him in here. Then I’d been totally overawed, my body responding strongly and immediately to his presence. Nothing had changed in the months since. If anything my feelings for him had only grown stronger, if my beating heart and flushed cheeks were anything to go by now.
He looked over his shoulder and past us into the bars, checking to see if we had any customers in. When he saw there weren’t any he turned and locked the front door behind him.
‘Look, I’m glad I’ve caught you both here. There’s something I need to tell you. It’s all a bit short notice, I know, but I’m closing the pub with immediate effect.’
‘What?’ I spluttered, looking at Dan for support. ‘You can’t do that!’
‘Sorry Ellie, but my contractors will be here first thing in the morning to make a start on the renovations.’
‘Not now, surely Max? It’s Christmas for heaven’s sake. We’re always so busy at this time of year. All our customers will be so disappointed if they can’t come in for their festive pint – it’s madness to do it now. Why not wait until after the New Year, when it will be so much quieter?’
‘I know it’s not ideal, but my guys have got a gap in their schedule. If we don’t do it now, it’s going to mean a wait of another couple of months. And I really don’t want to have to do that.’
I glared at Max, anger bristling along the length of my body, hardly able to believe that he could pull such a stunt. Why hadn’t he discussed this with me? I knew this was his business now, but weren’t we supposed to be friends - more than friends - and hadn’t he promised me there would be no more secrets. If only he’d run his plans past me or Dan we could have told him this was absolutely the worst time to close the pub. I dropped my head in my hands.
‘But I was going to get the
Christmas tree tomorrow. And then there’s the carol concert in the High Street on Christmas Eve. And what about Christmas Day? The pub has never been closed on Christmas Day. It’s a Little Leyton tradition to have pre-Christmas dinner drinks. Tell him, Dan!’
‘It does seem a shame,’ said Dan, noncommittally.
‘A shame! It’s a bloody disaster. Please Max, don’t close down the pub. Not now. I’m begging you.’
‘Sorry Ellie.’ He dropped his gaze. ‘I’ve lined the guys up now. They’re all ready to go. You need to trust me on this. Once the work’s done, you’ll see that all the upheaval will have been worth it.’
‘But Max…’ I sighed. It was futile trying to appeal to his better nature. At the moment I wasn’t sure he even had one. He was definitely the Grinch who was walking off with my Christmas.
‘Look if it’s the money you’re worried about, then obviously I’ll honour all the staff’s wages while the pub is closed.’
‘You just don’t get it, do you Max?’ I blew out the candle behind me. ‘It’s not about the money. It’s about what’s best for the pub. For the community. We’re letting them down by not being open over Christmas.’
I thought I’d come to know Max, understood him, but yet again he'd managed to totally sideswipe me with his behaviour. He'd clearly given no thought to how I might feel in all of this, not to mention Dan, the rest of the staff and our customers too.
‘That’s the way it has to be, Ellie. I know it’s disappointing, but it won’t be for long. I promise you. I’m the new management now, and with that comes inevitable change.’ I couldn't help noticing the steely intent in his voice. ‘A case of “out with the old and in with the new”.’
Frank Sinatra was crooning in my ear urging me to ‘Have yourself a merry little Christmas’ There wasn’t much chance of that now, not with Max closing the pub for the Christmas period.
‘Well there doesn’t seem much point in us hanging around here now then.’
‘No, you get off.’ Max almost seem relieved. ‘I’ll lock up and put a notice up on the front door. I’ll give you a call later, Ellie, we can talk more then, if you like.’
Tears swelled in my eyes and my whole body shook with frustration and rage. Dan and I shared a look and his fingers reached out for mine behind the bar, giving them a supportive squeeze. With Mum and Dad away, I’d been banking on the pub and its lovely customers filling the hole my parents’ absence would make over Christmas. I’d been so looking forward to being at the heart of the community’s celebrations and now Max had dashed all my Christmas plans in one fell swoop. It was heartbreaking.
I thought we’d finally got over our differences. I thought Max shared the same vision for the pub as me. I thought … How wrong could you be?
Frank was still warbling in my ear, telling me all my troubles would soon be out of sight. I glared accusingly at the CD player, stabbing at the button to turn it off. For once, even Frank Sinatra couldn’t make everything better.
Thirty-Three
The next morning I woke with a heavy heart and a throbbing headache on account of all the crying I’d done the previous night. After Max had dropped his bombshell, I’d walked straight home and as soon as I’d got through my front door, I’d slumped down onto the floor and cried. Tears of anger, disappointment and regret. Once I started I couldn’t stop. I just couldn’t believe Max had taken the decision to close the pub, it made no sense whatsoever.
Why would he choose to have the renovations done now at the busiest and most profitable time of year? After everything I’d told him about the importance of the festive season to the pub. Unless that didn’t matter to him anymore. With Eric now out of the picture and with his name on the deeds to the pub, Max could do exactly what he wanted with the place. First and foremost, he was a businessman, an entrepreneur. You didn’t get to acquire his level of wealth by being emotional or sentimental over business decisions. Perhaps, as Johnny had suggested, Max had other plans for the pub after all and was intending on turning it into a luxury home before selling it on for a tidy profit.
My heart tore. Maybe Max had the perfect excuse now to do exactly that. He’d given me the opportunity to take up the role of manager and when I hadn’t given my heartfelt consent, he’d seen that as a chance to offload the business, to do what he knew best, turn the pub into a lovely family home. A lot less aggravation. Tons more profit.
In between bouts of sobbing last night, I’d made myself a mug of cinnamon hot chocolate, stirring marshmallows into the delicious sweetness when there was a knock on the door. From the heavy intent of the brass knocker and the feelings it stirred within me, I knew immediately it was Max. It could be no one else. He knocked once, twice and then again. I stayed stock-still, hardly daring to breathe, not wanting to make the slightest movement. Max knew I was there, and he knew that I knew he was there, but I had no intention whatsoever of speaking to him. When my phone rang, I switched it off and went upstairs to take a bubble-filled bath.
This morning, with the scent of the cranberry body wash I’d used tugging at my senses, I pulled back the curtains to look at the winter scene outside. A layer of frost covered the ground and the chill of the December morning penetrated the window, sending a shiver down my spine. In the garden below a robin bobbed about happily, before taking up position on the flowering winterberry, surveying the scene around him. Through the houses, I could see the spire of St. Cuthbert’s reaching up into the sky. I still intended going along to the Christingle service, Midnight Mass and the Christmas morning service, as I’d done every other year, but looking out over Little Leyton this morning, Christmas seemed to have lost a little of its shine.
Damn Max Golding! Why was I standing here moping when I should be full of joy and excitement for the coming few weeks? I wouldn’t give Max the satisfaction of spoiling my enjoyment of the holiday season, even if the pub was closed. Little Leyton was so much than the pub, it was a warm and supportive community, who rallied round each other to help out through tough times. Max might be happy to rattle around in his big stately pile without a friend to his name, spending his nights counting his money no doubt, but to the rest of us Little Leytoners, friendship, loyalty and respect counted for so much more than making money.
Quickly I pulled on my jeans, my thermal vest and my pink fluffy fleece. I had Amber to walk later this morning, but there was something I needed to do first. Dashing out of the front door, I ran straight into Pete the postman who handed a wad of letters to me.
‘Looks like you’ve got plenty of Christmas cards in there, Ellie,’ he said with a smile.
Oh, that reminded me! I needed to post Firmans letter. I ran back inside and grabbed the envelope, placing it inside my jacket pocket.
‘Already? How lovely. Thanks Pete. I’ll look forward to opening those later. How are you? Looking forward to Christmas?’
‘Can’t wait. It’s the best time of the year, I reckon. Especially with the little ones. They’re so excited.’
Pete had twin boys of about three years old, so I could just imagine how special Christmas would be in their household this year.
‘See you soon,’ I called, running down the High Street.
It was silly, I knew, but I wanted to see the pub, to check for myself that it was still standing, that Max hadn’t been in the middle of the night and torn it down with a bulldozer. When I reached the front door I tried the handle, hoping against hope, that it might actually open, but of course it didn’t. I pressed my nose against the glass of the door to see inside, just able to make out the pumps, the bar stools, my advent candle on the shelf which wouldn’t have the chance to burn now. I felt a huge pang of sadness that I couldn’t just walk inside and start preparing for the day’s trade. That I wouldn’t get the chance to decorate the Christmas tree for the window.
I stood back to read the notice that Max must have stuck to the door.
SORRY. THE PUB WILL BE CLOSED FOR RENOVATIONS FOR THE FORESEEABLE FUTURE. APOLOGIES FOR ANY INCONVE
NIENCE.
That was short and to the point and gave no indication as to when the pub would re-open, or even if it would re-open. My hand reached up to touch the beautiful wreath – at least people would still get to see its loveliness when they came to read the notice on the door. I was just about to turn away and head for home when a van pulled up at the kerb. Two men climbed out, opening up the back doors to pull out their toolboxes.
‘Morning, love,’ they called.
‘What’s going on here then?’ I asked, hopeful that I might get more insight from them.
‘Er…’ One of the men pointed to the notice as if I was asking a stupid question. ‘The pub’s having a facelift.’
‘And when will it be re-opening again, do you know?’
The guy shrugged and smiled. ‘No idea. You’d have to ask the gaffer about that.’
Dejectedly, I walked away, my hand turning over the envelope in my pocket. There was no point in surmising. Max obviously had his plans for the pub and from the sounds of it, nothing or no one would stand in his way. The sooner I got used to the idea that The Dog and Duck wouldn’t be featuring in my Christmas for this year, then the better.
On my way home I popped into the newsagents to buy a newspaper and just as I was leaving I bumped into Betty Masters.
‘Hello lovely, how are you today?’
‘Okay, I suppose, although you’ll have heard the news that the pub has closed down.’
‘Yes. It’s a shame, but I’m sure it’ll look lovely when it’s all done. I’ve heard that the new owner is good at that sort of thing.’ A big smile swept across her face. ‘Anyway, I must tell you, Pip is coming home at the weekend.’
‘Really? Well that’s just marvellous news,’ I said, giving her a big hug, thrilled to share in her joy. ‘And do you know how long he’s staying for?’
Christmas at the Dog & Duck Page 25