A Winter Flame

by Milly Johnson

‘Oh look, it’s coming,’ said Eve, deciding she must have bored the baby reindeer out of its mother. They watched as the next quarter of its body slithered effortlessly out, then Holly struggled to her front feet and the calf plopped softly to the floor.

  ‘It’s out! Oh, well done Holly! Congratulations, girl.’

  Congratulations? Did you say that to a birthing reindeer?

  Eve felt joyously cheerful. It shouldn’t have been a lovely moment with all that goo but the tiny reindeer looked like Bambi, albeit Bambi in a big rubber balloon.

  ‘Now watch, she’ll take all that jelly off,’ said Jacques. But Holly didn’t. She crumpled back to the ground, her neck strained towards her back, and then Eve noticed something protruding from her back end.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘There’s another calf in there,’ said Jacques.

  Holly swung her head around to her side and butted herself.

  ‘Oh God, Jacques. She can’t get it out. You need that vet.’

  The usually silent Holly gave another distressed bray right on cue.

  ‘Jacques, do you have the keys to the enclosure? We have to get in with her.’ Even as she was saying it, Eve didn’t believe what had just come out of her mouth. But whether or not it was the whisky talking, she felt the compelling need to offer the poor animal anything she could of comfort.

  With one hand Jacques scooped out a jailer’s hoop of keys from his pocket, and with the other his phone. ‘It’s the big one with the green top,’ he said, whilst dialling the vet yet again.

  Eve fumbled with the lock and then the bolts and went inside the enclosure where she dropped to her knees beside the newly born calf, pulling the greasy vernix from his face so he could breathe, before turning her attention to Holly.

  ‘It’s not a head that’s stuck, I’m sure it’s a leg. No, wait, it’s the calf’s back end, I think.’

  Jacques relayed the information down the line.

  ‘Well, if you can’t send a vet here, let us know what to do. Please get get someone to talk us through it,’ he said, his voice raised enough to be taken note of.

  There was a lull in the conversation as the woman on the end of the line went to find a vet and seemed to be taking ages about it. He tapped the back of the phone impatiently.

  Luckily the calf was breathing and trying to get up. So young and already getting to its feet, thought Eve. Nature really was something else.

  ‘Ah, thank you,’ said Jacques, obviously re-engaged in conversation. ‘Yes, it is a bottom . . . So what you’re saying is that we need to use one hand, reach in and push the butt end of the calf forward then reach in with the other arm, following the leg until you reach the foot.’

  Eve’s head whirled around. ‘You have to be joking,’ she said. The look on Jacques’ face told her that he was doing anything but.

  ‘I’m not joking, Eve.’

  ‘I can’t do that . . .’ said Eve.

  ‘Eve, look at the size of my hands. I most certainly can’t.’ Jacques held his spade-like mitt up. If he put those in, Holly would be singing soprano just before she split in half.

  ‘I can’t. I just can’t,’ said Eve. She hadn’t had enough whisky to consider that to be a possibility. ‘There must be another way.’

  ‘Yes, we let her die.’

  Then Holly brayed a really pitiful noise of pain and Eve shook her head.

  ‘Okay, tell me again.’ She couldn’t believe she was about to stick her hand up a reindeer’s backside. ‘I need to wash my hands.’

  ‘There’s no time. Put your hand in and push the calf’s bottom.’

  Eve puffed out her cheeks and raised her hand. It wavered near Holly, then pulled back. She told herself she couldn’t do it, then that she could. She took another deep breath and pushed her hand in. It was easier than she thought to push the calf forward, although the sensation of seeing her hand disappear into a glob of gel wasn’t on her list of things to do again in a hurry.

  ‘Now, put your other hand in and find the leg.’

  Eve grimaced and pushed her other hand in gently, searching around, and thankfully found it straightaway.

  ‘Now, trace the leg to the hoof and cup your hand around it to prevent it tearing her.’

  Eve was enjoying this marginally less than the ever-so-patient Holly.

  ‘Got it.’ She was astounded and squealed with something like delight. ‘Jacques, I think I’ve got them both.’

  ‘Great. Now push gently on the bottom and pull gently on the hooves.’

  Eve exerted a slow but definite force, then Holly made an awful noise and Eve’s nerve wavered.

  ‘Oh God.’

  ‘Take it slowly, you’re doing fabulous.’

  ‘Where’s the bloody vet?’

  ‘He’s on his way, apparently,’ said Jacques.

  ‘Where’s Holly’s keeper, then?’

  ‘I sent Tim home. His wife is in labour.’

  ‘You’re having me on.’

  ‘Nope,’ said Jacques with an amused little laugh. ‘How are you doing, Eve?’

  ‘I’m pulling.’

  ‘Good girl.’ Jacques listened to the instructions coming down his mobile and then relayed them. ‘Now ease the bottom in a bit further.’

  ‘If I push the bum in any more it’ll come out of her mouth.’

  ‘Just a little bit more, until you can get the hooves past it.’

  ‘Go missus,’ said a strange voice. She glanced over her shoulder to see she had an audience. Some of Effin’s men were gathered at the fence and more people were coming.

  ‘Oh my God, I think I’m doing it. They’re out, Jacques. I’ve got the hooves out.’

  Jacques finished off the conversation with the vet, stuck the phone in his pocket, and bent at the side of Eve. ‘Now I can help you pull,’ he said. ‘Ready.’

  ‘As I’ll ever be,’ said Eve.

  ‘You can do it, Eve.’ Was that Violet’s voice she just heard?

  ‘On the count of three; not “three-go” but “one-two”, then we go.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘One, two . . . three.’

  They pulled slowly and firmly. Poor Holly gave a cry.

  ‘It’s not budging,’ said Eve.

  ‘Oh yes, it is,’ said Jacques, in serious panto mode this time. ‘Again, one, two . . . three.’ The calf slid out, delivered on a slide of two tons of slime and two massive weary cries from Eve and Jacques, and a ‘thank the bloody Christ’ bray from Holly. Immediately Holly started to lick her newborn calf and then the first one, which staggered towards its mother wanting some overdue attention. There were cheers and claps from the fence. Half the workers were there by now, it seemed.

  ‘Twins,’ said Eve, thinking that her outfit was ruined. However much she washed it, it would always remind her of having her arms up a deer’s bum.

  ‘That’s rare for reindeer,’ said Jacques. ‘Well done. You were absolutely brilliant, Eve. You should be proud of yourself. She might have died had it not been for you.’

  Eve was shaking. She didn’t feel proud of herself or brave, she just felt ‘what if . What if Holly had died alone in her paddock because no one was there? What if she hadn’t got pissed and needed some air? But she kept that inside and said, ‘I’m sure she would have been fine.’

  ‘You know that’s not true,’ said Jacques, and put his hand on Eve’s shoulder. ‘Eve, you’re shaking. Are you all right?’

  ‘Yes, I’m fine,’ she said. He must have been able to smell the whisky on her breath. She’d nearly anaesthetized Holly with it. She suddenly felt very embarrassed and attempted to turn away and claim some space between them, but his hand gripped tighter.

  ‘Come here,’ he said, turning her around and pressing her into his chest. She got a noseful of his jumper and his Christmas-tree smell and felt his hands warm on her back as they squashed her into him. ‘I think you might need a hug after that.’ She was amazed that she stayed in the cage of his arms and let him hug her, and she tri
ed not to acknowledge that yes, she did need a hug at that moment.

  Eve’s legs were shaking more than her upper body was and Jacques’ warm, considerate hold on her was the only thing keeping her from falling down into a dark chasm. She had edged near the portal of death again that afternoon, seen it open and be ready to claim Holly and her calf, only to close again unfed, and it had rocked her. But she’d had the power to alter the natural course of Holly’s life. It was something that should have made Eve feel better, but all it did was reinforce the feeling that maybe her influence had worked the other way with Jonathan. Just as Ann Lighthouse had said.

  Chapter 26

  In last week’s Margaret Dodworth’s monthly recipes, we did of course mean to boil the tin of condensed milk in water and microwave the butter until soft, not to microwave the tin of condensed milk until soft and boil the butter in water. The Daily Trumpet apologizes for any misdirection in this matter.

  Chapter 27

  It was nearly ten o’clock that night before Violet and Pav got home and far too late to cook, so Violet went for fish and chips whilst Pav laid the table. She was smiling as she walked home, thinking about seeing Eve engulfed in a Jacques hug after the second baby deer was born – a new member of the park family. That sight had made her giddily happy. All the park family, as she called them, had seen a different side to Eve today, which she was thrilled about. They had been wary of her, but after today she had gone up leaps and bounds in their estimations. Violet hoped they’d grow to think of her with as much affection as they regarded Jacques. He laughed and joked with everyone, got his hands dirty with the builders and wasn’t above mustering up some coffees and sandwiches for the lads putting up the mighty carousel. Violet was growing very fond of the park family – because that’s what it was starting to feel like she belonged to. She would be quite sad when Effin’s men had finished and moved on. The Welsh lads were very funny, totally resigned to Effin’s screeching at them. Violet wasn’t sure she could live without Effin’s fantastic Welsh insults very kindly translated for them by Arfon and Thomas, who was in charge of the train. Still, all good things came to an end, and she herself would need to go back to her ice-cream parlour in Maltstone and employ a manager to run the ice-cream parlour in Winterworld when it was up and running smoothly. She thought Janet might be the perfect person for the job. In the holidays they employed her son Robbie too, a big, strapping, handsome boy who might be up for a bit of temporary work when he had finished his exams in the summer.

  Oh, it was a jolly ship. There was always laughter to be heard. Violet had never used the word ‘guffawed’ in her life, but that was the perfect description for the sound Jacques would make when Effin was at full pelt.

  One of that day’s Effin-isms was an absolute corker.

  ‘He said that the big horse’s arse had done more work today than the rest of us have done collectively since we’ve been here.’ The laconic Arfon had kindly translated that one for them as he lifted up his drill. He said it as nonchalantly as if it was something he heard every day – which he did, albeit in different forms.

  A couple of the ‘elves’, not in costume, had come into the ice-cream parlour to have a sneaky look at Pav’s horses and hopefully test some ice cream. The elder of the two – Marvin – was a roofer by trade, but at his age the going was getting tough. Landing a job in Winterworld, even if he did have to wear a daft green costume, was like a Christmas gift in itself. It was a delicious feeling knowing that this winter his feet would be firmly on the ground and he’d be warm inside a grotto. As ‘grotto guide’ his wages wouldn’t be as much as they were on building sites, but he didn’t care a jot. The hours and comfort of the job far more than made up for that – and the fact that his wife wouldn’t be nattering that he’d ‘come home dead’, as she put it. Apparently Evelyn had sent a recruitment scout looking for ‘elves’ months ago. She really did have every base covered.

  Violet felt a sudden rush of happiness. Today had been a sweet day with Eve trying not to be gooey and maternal over the new reindeer babies, but pride was oozing out of her every pore. It was as if they had defrosted her poor cousin a little – given her something to smile about on a day when she wouldn’t have thought it possible. If only Jacques would move into her heart. Because Violet felt sure that if Eve let him, he would. He was just lovely.

  When she pushed open the outside door, Violet could hear Pav’s voice talking to someone in the lounge, but when she walked into the room it was to see him quickly slam down the phone.

  ‘Wrong number,’ he said, smiling at her, and she knew he was lying. She didn’t accuse him outright. But when he nipped to the loo after the meal, she rang the redial button and heard a merry female voicemail announcement.

  ‘Hi, this is Serena. I’m obviously not in at the mo, so please leave your name and number after the three beeps. Thank you.’ A trilling, ditzy voice that Violet could imagine belonging to a Marilyn Monroe clone. Then Violet tried 1471 and the same automated voice answered.

  Violet didn’t leave a message.

  Chapter 28

  The vet was very pleased with the reindeer babies, two little boys. They were tiny and gauche, with long angular legs, but able to stand on them in order to shadow their mother and drink her milk. Eve made them her first port of call the next morning. She had slept solidly for the first time in a long while – no dreams about Jonathan, no nightmares about his parents. That was both unexpected and welcome.

  Tim, the keeper’s wife, had given birth to a little boy, too. A temporary keeper had been found for now until he came back to work, totally gutted that he had not been there for Holly.

  ‘Great, aren’t they?’ said Jacques, coming up behind Eve as she hung over the fence and watched the calves unsteadily walking behind their mum. ‘Our boys.’ He made it sound as if Eve had just given birth and he was cooing over their twins.

  ‘I think you’ll find they are her boys,’ said Eve, moving her hand towards Holly.

  ‘Of course, but they’re ours too. I’ve come over all paternal,’ laughed Jacques. ‘What shall we call them? I don’t think Holly’s forte is going to be picking their names out of a hat.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Eve. ‘I really don’t want the responsibility.’

  Jacques’ blue eyes began to twinkle. ‘Why’s that then? In case you pick a wrong one and they grow up with a complex?’

  ‘No, I didn’t mean that at all.’ Eve flicked a loose strand of hair behind her shoulder.

  ‘You do that a lot,’ said Jacques.

  ‘What?’ Eve half snapped, suspecting he was going to start his daft flirting.

  ‘Flick your hair back.’

  ‘How can I? It’s tied up,’ and Eve pointed behind her back at her long French plait.

  ‘I know. But strands work loose and you flick at them. They say if you play with your hair, you’re flirting.’

  Eve hadn’t a clue if she did do that with her hair or not, but she wouldn’t be drawn deeper into the conversation and give him the satisfaction of having banter with him.

  ‘Maybe it’s just annoying me and in my way,’ she said, turning away from him and making a full-stop statement.

  ‘Me or your hair?’ Jacques said.

  ‘Both,’ replied Eve, and Jacques laughed his big infectious laugh, and Eve had to bite her lip to stop herself smiling because she really, really didn’t want to.

  Then there was an almighty whoosh sound and they were both suddenly covered in snow.

  ‘Sorry,’ called a voice in one of the trees. ‘Adjusted the bloody thing too high.’ One of Effin’s men was fixing a snow machine to the trunk.

  In the paddock, Holly and her two little boys raised their heads to the snow drifting down. The way they were closing their eyes made it look as if they were smiling.

  ‘Think you just found a name for one of the twins,’ smiled Jacques.

  ‘Silly bloody snow machine?’ asked Eve, brushing the wet snow from her skirt.

 
‘Blizzard,’ said Jacques, and winked at her.

  Chapter 29

  ‘I have to go out,’ said Pav, wiping his hands on a towel after tea that night. ‘I may be some time.’

  He sounded so much like Captain Oates that under normal circumstances Violet would have joked about it.

  ‘Okay,’ she said, a lump rising to her throat. Who was he going to see? Serena with the nice voice? Wrong-number Serena? She had a sudden moment of panic. She wanted to throw herself onto him and hold him tightly, but she fought against her desperation. She had been in a relationship once with a man she did not love, whom she stayed with because she knew she would break his heart if she left. She did not ever want to have Pav stay unless he wanted to be with her. But just for a moment, she felt the panic that her ex must have felt on a daily basis, knowing that she was slipping away from him.

  ‘Is there anything you want whilst I am out?’ he asked. ‘Milk, bread?’

  ‘Not that I can think of,’ said Violet, pinning on a smile. Come on Violet, get a grip, said a voice inside her. You’re growing a big tree from a little seed. It may have been a wrong number after all and Pav rang it back to see who it was. But the other half of her brain was shrugging its shoulders. If that was a wrong number, I’m Gwyneth Paltrow. She took a deep breath and tried to deliver the question casually. ‘Where are you off to then?’

  ‘I just have somewhere to go,’ said Pav. ‘Something to do.’

  And he kissed her on the head and was gone. The sort of kiss that David Beckham gave Victoria in that first photoshoot after his affair allegations.

  Chapter 30

  The next morning the Portakabin was freezing because the fire needed a new gas cylinder. One of Effin’s men had gone out for a new one and Eve stood huddled in her old black woollen coat by the window, watching Jacques talking to a couple of the ‘elf-people’ as they liked to call themselves.