by Fern Britton
Helen thought of Sean, Terri and Chloe battling up the motorway. ‘Please hurry up and get here, kids, before the weather does,’ she whispered, ‘then Christmas can really start.’
*
The traffic had been holiday heavy and as the temperature dropped, the snow started again, but Sean and the girls arrived safely around 6 p.m.
Sean and Terri dropped Chloe off and then set out for the Dolphin. There was just time for everyone to unpack and get settled before supper at the pub.
By the time Helen drove out of Pendruggan, the lane had a good covering of snow and the Mini’s wheels were struggling for grip, but the sky was crystal clear with a canopy of stars twinkling in the heavens.
The pub was busy and Don was working hard behind the bar while Dorrie was edging through the tables to take orders while delivering steaming plates of delicious grub to the diners. Sean and Terri hadn’t come down from their room yet, so Helen and Chloe got settled at their favourite table, the one in the snug with a view over the fields and the lights of Trevay.
‘Cheers, my darling,’ said Helen, raising her gin and tonic to Chloe. ‘A bit different to last year’s Christmas, isn’t it?’
The two women looked at each other, remembering. It was on Boxing Day last year that Helen had told Gray she wanted a divorce. She had meant to wait until the new year, so as not to spoil the holiday for any of them, but trying to keep her unhappiness from bubbling to the surface was like battling to keep a lilo underwater. A couple of weeks before, she had found a Tiffany box on Gray’s desk in the study. She hated herself for looking, but she couldn’t help herself: it was a beautiful single diamond set on a platinum chain. She’d never been an acquisitive sort of person, but it was a wonderful gift and she was looking forward to being surprised by it on Christmas morning. Instead, she received a pair of lacy knickers and a sewing machine. The sewing machine was just what she wanted; she had ordered it herself online and had it delivered for Gray to wrap and put away. But where was the beautiful necklace? Not under the tree, or in her table cracker, and not under her pillow that night.
A grit-sized piece of ice formed in her gut. And it was growing.
Boxing Day morning was spent having a lie-in and then a lazy breakfast. When the phone rang, Gray leapt up from the table and dashed into the study to answer it.
Feeling paranoid, her pulse rushing in her ears, Helen lifted the extension in the kitchen, and listened.
*
‘God you are such a cliché!’ Helen spun round as Gray came and nuzzled her neck ten minutes later when she was at the sink.
‘I can’t help but fancy my sexy wife.’ He gave her one of his seductive smiles.
‘I’ll tell you what you can’t help. You can’t help getting a hard-on talking to your latest shag on the phone. Well, if you think I’m going to relieve your frustrations in her absence, you can think again.’
‘Darling, what are you talking about?’
‘I heard her voice on the phone.’
‘Who? Sally? She’s a client. Thanking me for getting the car she’d bought her husband for Christmas. I had to pull out all the stops to get it delivered on Christmas Eve. Still, the customer comes first, eh?’
‘Nice try. Are you in the habit of throwing in Tiffany necklaces as well?’
Gray let go of her waist and stepped back, deciding which tactic to employ. He chose to attack.
‘You’re mad! What are you talking about?’
She gave him a look of heartbroken defeat, collected her coat and went for a long walk.
That night she asked for a divorce.
*
Chloe broke the silence. ‘Are you happy, Mum? No regrets?’
‘No regrets, darling.’
‘Hi, Ma, budge up a bit.’ Sean and Terri had come down at last.
The atmosphere grew warm again and the jolly mood of the pub soaked into their little group as they raised a toast to each other.
Later they drove back down to Pendruggan, Terri’s four-wheel-drive jeep leading the way in the crunchy snow. They convened at Gull’s Cry for hot chocolate and a sprawl in front of the television before gathering themselves up for midnight mass.
The church was lit entirely by candles and the central heating was on full blast. Helen’s gang found Queenie, Polly, Pete and Tony, and sat in the pew behind them. Queenie regaled them all with how many channels she had on her new telly and how handsome Huw Edwards looked in HD. The happy group engaged in cheerful chatter until the organ struck up ‘O Little Town of Bethlehem’, and the congregation rose to their feet.
The Merrifield clan gave gusto to the hymn while Queenie joined in with a surprisingly low, Lee Marvin rumble.
During the reading about Mary’s pondering on her fate, Helen heard the latch on the back door open. Several heads turned, smiled at the newcomer and then resumed listening. Helen didn’t look round but heard the footsteps coming towards her. It was clear that, whoever it was, was looking for a seat. She shifted up a bit, leaving the end of her pew empty. She was taken aback when it was Piran that sat down next to her. He glanced in her direction, gave a tight smile and bent his head in prayer.
At the sharing of the peace, Piran shook the many hands offered his way. Helen had been ostentatiously avoiding it by shaking any and everybody else’s, including Simon, who had held her hand with tenderness and given her a warm embrace.
When Helen and Piran finally got to each other, he took her hand, kissed her cheek and whispered in her ear, ‘Peace be with you.’ She looked up at him and their eyes met for a moment, then they both smiled.
With a quiet laugh, Helen replied, ‘Thank you. And peace be with you too.’
After that, the warmth of his thigh and shoulder so close to her own was palpable – and it flowed through her in an exquisitely, deliciously disturbing way.
As the last organ chords of ‘Hark! The Herald Angels Sing’ echoed round the vaulted ceiling, Helen was one of the last to leave her pew, thinking of Piran’s unspoken olive branch. Should she ask him back to Gull’s Cry for a festive glass of something? Distracted by a hug from Tony and then another from Queenie, Helen realised with chagrin that Piran had already left his seat. She looked around and could just see him at the door talking to Simon, then he walked off and out into the night. She hurried over, but when she got to Simon, there was no sign of Piran outside. Helen momentarily felt something akin to disappointment, but was then annoyed with herself for her foolishness. Stop behaving like a schoolgirl. Piran is NOT for you! Taking hold of Simon’s shoulders, she gave him a big hug and invited him over for a drink.
‘I’d love to, Helen, but forgive me, I can’t. I have to be up early.’
Secretly relieved, she said, ‘No problem. Lunch is at one, so see you at about twelve-thirty for an aperitif?’
‘Perfect. And, Helen, Happy Christmas. God bless you.’
22
On Christmas morning Helen awoke to the sound, drifting up the stairs, of someone making a pot of tea. A few minutes later, Chloe came quietly up into the bedroom and put the tray on the blanket box at the end of the bed. She moved towards the window and opened the curtains.
‘Happy Christmas, Mummy!’
Helen opened her eyes. ‘Happy Christmas to you, Chloe darling. Is that tea I spy?’
‘Yep. And that’s not the only surprise. It snowed during the night and we have a winter wonderland outside.’
They drank their tea, Chloe opened her stocking, with much oohing and aahing, and they slowly got themselves and the house ready for lunch.
Sean and Terri rang to wish them Happy Christmas, as did Simon, who was very gracious about them not coming to church that morning.
For the next couple of hours, mother and daughter boogied round the house to songs on the radio and Helen drank a little too much brandy and lovage, a Cornish drink which Don had introduced her to; excellent for tummy upsets or sea sickness, but very alcoholic. Teetotal Chloe sensibly drank fruit juice. By midday, Helen was qu
ite merry. Polly and Pete popped by and they exchanged presents with Helen: sloe gin from them and a thermos flask each from her, perfect for warm soup when they were out in their ambulance on cold nights. They couldn’t stop as they were on call, but shortly after, Queenie and Tony knocked at the door to wish them Happy Christmas before walking up to Pendruggan Farm where Sylvia the farmer’s wife always gave them lunch. After letting them in, Helen’s unsteady legs carried her to her rocking chair.
‘Happy Christmas!’ Not wanting to risk getting out of the rocking chair, Helen gestured to Chloe. ‘Darling, can you get Mr B.’s present by the fireplace?’
Chloe passed the wrapped garden tools to Tony. When he opened them he was lost for words. He could only manage to nod in gratitude, but his face beamed with such pleasure, it touched Helen’s heart.
‘I’ve just got the kettle on for coffee, Mum could do with one. Would you two like a cup as well?’
‘No, we’d better be off,’ said Queenie. ‘’appy Christmas! Careful in this snow. Bye.’
As Chloe closed the door behind them, she laughed affectionately at her mum, who was still in the rocking chair and really was quite tiddly now. ‘Here, Mum, best get this coffee down you or you’ll never get through the day.’
*
Simon arrived promptly at 12.30 p.m. and walked into the kitchen, having carefully knocked the snow off his boots by the door. He had a small plastic carrier bag in one hand and his gloves in the other. ‘Afternoon, all. I hope I’m not too early.’ He looked around. ‘Oh dear, am I the first? I thought I might have kept you waiting.’
This was a lie. As soon as his service was over, he had dashed back home to change, unable to wait a second longer to see Helen. He had even tried to kill a bit of time by walking the long way round the village green.
Chloe took his coat and gloves and they wished each other Merry Christmas. He walked over to a rosy-looking Helen, ensconced in her rocking chair by the Aga and bent down to give her a kiss. She smelled of brandy.
‘Hello, Simon. Would you like to put your gifts under the tree while I finish my coffee?’
‘Happy Christmas, Helen. Don’t get up.’ He crossed to the door leading to the living room. ‘They’re only tokens, you know, but heartfelt nonetheless. It looks lovely in here, Helen. Really lovely.’
They heard the sound of a sports car pulling up outside. Two minutes later, Penny barged in carrying three large bags of extravagantly wrapped gifts, a magnum of Krug and small drifts of snow on her shoes.
‘The road from Trevay to here is treacherous! Good old Jeremy the Jaguar managed it, but once or twice it got quite hairy.’
‘Let me help you with those, Auntie Pen,’ offered Chloe. ‘I’ll put them under the tree, if you like?’
‘Yes please, gorgeous girl. Merry Christmas!’ Penny let the bags, champagne and her coat fall into Chloe’s care.
‘And Simon! Happy Christmas on the busiest day of the Christian year! Packed ’em in this morning, I bet!’ She swaddled Simon in a Thierry Mugler-perfumed bear-hug.
‘And Happy Christmas to you too, Penny. Thank you, we’ve had a marvellous turn out for the services.’ Simon wriggled out of her grasp and pushed his glasses back up his nose. ‘Can I get you a drink? Helen?’
‘I think I may be all right for a moment,’ replied Helen carefully.
Chloe came back in. ‘For the moment? I think you’ll be all right until Easter! Mum hit the bottle a bit early and I am trying to sober her up.’
‘Poo to that!’ said Penny. ‘Simon – open that champagne!’
Simon had never been taught how to open a bottle of champagne, so Penny gave him a quick lesson: ‘Twist the bottle NOT the cork, but hold both firmly and the cork will gently pop into your palm.’
Simon did as he was told and was rather pleased with himself as the bottle opened in a pleasingly James Bond sort of way.
Chloe had the glasses ready but, spotting Sean and Terri walking up the path, she produced only four champagne flutes, deciding that her mother had imbibed quite enough Christmas spirit already.
Sean and Terri, entering laden down with gifts, were greeted with more hugs and kisses. There was now quite a crowd in the snug little kitchen.
Terri helped Chloe take the coats upstairs, leaving Penny to carry the drinks tray into the living room where the fire glowed and crackled invitingly.
Once Chloe and Terri had rejoined them, there was a lot of toasting each other. Having decided she had better relieve her mother of the hostess duties, Chloe declared that lunch was postponed till 2 p.m. so that they could all open their presents and relax.
‘I’ll play Father Christmas,’ volunteered Sean, who was nearest the tree.
Helen received a vintage, turquoise Hermès scarf from Chloe’s charity shop, a couple of novels she’d been wanting from Sean, and a special-edition DVD of Little Women from Terri. Penny gave her an enormous jar of Crème de la Mer moisturiser and a Donna Karan cashmere dressing gown. Simon’s gift was last and in a small envelope.
‘What’s this?’ Helen peered into his smiling brown eyes. She opened it and read, Dear Helen, You are hereby entitled to make your choice of a full surfing outfit including accessories. Happy Christmas from The Trevay Surf Shack and Simon x x x’ She looked up at him with undisguised pleasure. ‘Thank you, Simon. What a wonderful gift! Thank you all – I am so spoilt, I think I might cry.’ And she promptly burst into tears.
‘More champagne!’ ordered Penny, who was lolling on the rug by the fire, wearing the necklace and earrings Helen had given her.
Chloe and Terri were thrilled with their presents, and Sean couldn’t wait to try his new fishing rod. He had always been keen on fishing and on his last visit, Don had promised to take him out on his boat.
‘Thanks, Ma.’ And he got up and kissed her. ‘You’re the best. Oh no, don’t cry again!’ he fretted, as Helen’s lips started to quiver once more. ‘Tissues, someone, quick.’
Finally, Helen gave Simon his hand-made cross of mussels and driftwood. This time it was Simon who was blinking back the tears.
‘Oh for God’s sake! What’s wrong with you all!’ Penny was up on her feet, sharing the dregs of the bottle while everyone laughed.
‘Right. I’d better check the spuds and get the veg on.’ Chloe stood up. ‘Oh, Mum, there’s one more thing – from Dad. Here.’
Helen opened it with dread. A square box about twelve inches tall. She undid only the top end and read the words on the packaging. Standing up, she walked to the kitchen, where she threw it in the bin.
23
Lunch was excellent. Nobody mentioned Gray’s present in the bin. Instead, they concentrated on praising Chloe’s cooking. Helen poured the red wine that had been warming by the Aga and took a large slug as she toasted Chloe.
‘Here’s to us and those who love us and bugger the rest who don’t. Cheers.’
There was much chinking of glasses, and concerned looks passed over Helen’s head by Chloe, Sean and Penny. Then the table relaxed into the passing of dishes and gravy and the satisfying murmur of people enjoying good food and togetherness.
Later, when Sean and Terri insisted on doing the washing up and Simon had left, clutching his cross, to prepare for evensong, Penny sent Helen to bed to have a forty-five minute snooze before going over to the church. ‘Up the wooden hill to Bedfordshire for you, my girl. Chop chop.’
‘You will wake me, won’t you? I like to sing carols.’
‘Yes, yes, just have a lie down first.’
As soon as Helen had gone upstairs and the others were all ensconced round the telly, Penny nipped into the kitchen and opened the bin. Empty.
‘Looking for something?’
Sean was in the doorway.
‘No, no, I was just erm …’
‘Looking for Ma’s mystery present? I took the rubbish out so that none of us would find out what it was.’
‘Good idea. Yes. Good idea. I just wondered … if there was anything I could …’
‘No, there isn’t. Forget it. Ma obviously has.’
‘OK.’ Penny attempted to look unconcerned. ‘I’ll put the kettle on then, shall I?’
‘Yes please.’
*
Helen felt worse when she got up. She hadn’t been able to sleep. Her mind was churning over Gray and his bloody stupid gift. She ran through all the rude names that she could think of to describe him, then got up, cleaned her teeth and went downstairs.
Dusk was falling and they walked over to the church under a yellowing sky. As they got to the churchyard, big, fat snowflakes started to fall faster and faster. They walked into the welcoming warmth of the candlelit church and found their usual pew, just in time, as Simon was already standing in the chancel.
‘Good evening, everybody. I hope you have had a wonderful Christmas Day, and I think we can all thank God for his many blessings. I’d also like to thank Helen and her family, who shared their Christmas lunch with me.’ He smiled over at Helen and once again a frisson at the possibility of a blossoming romance fizzled through the congregation. Helen shook her head, smiling. Simon continued, ‘Walking from the vicarage just a few minutes ago, I was struck by the beauty of our village Christmas tree on the green, and I wondered if you’d all like to go outside so we can sing our carols around the tree, all the better for God to hear. Who would like that?’
‘All of us!’ said Tony, immediately standing up.
And amid the swell of laughter, the congregation got to their feet and walked out into the snowy darkness, clutching their orders of service, and the candles that Simon was lighting and handing out at the door.
As Simon started the singing, curious villagers heard the activity and came to join them. The snow fell thickly, the candles guttered, but for the first time in many years Helen felt at peace. Loved even. By her family, her oldest friend, and her new friend, Simon.