43.
CHRISTMAS EVE 2015
It was Christmas Eve. Serena’s favourite day of the season, made all the more special by it being Winter’s birthday (Will had managed to find out from the Scottish birth registry that, amazingly, Winter had been born on her due date). Serena was waiting for Will to get back from the hospital before giving Winter her presents. She checked her watch as she cleared the breakfast table and saw it was nearly nine. Five minutes later, Will came pounding down the stairs to the kitchen.
‘Any news?’ Serena asked immediately.
‘No, but she’s well and truly in the thick of it. Her boyfriend arrived half an hour ago, so she released me. She wouldn’t let me go when I got to the hospital with her. I’m sure I was fairly useless, but she said she wanted a familiar face. The midwives were a bit confused. We had to keep explaining we weren’t a couple!’
Serena laughed. ‘How was she doing? Was it agony?’
‘Horrendous. I had no idea these things go on for so long either. They were talking about an epidural when I left, so she might get a bit of rest before the pushing bit starts. Goodness, it made me very glad to be a man.’
‘You’ll think I’m mad but, even though it sounds awful, I’d still have loved to experience it.’
Will put his arms out and embraced her. ‘I know,’ he said into her hair. Serena took a deep breath and looked up at him.
‘You look exhausted,’ she said. ‘Why don’t you go and have a bath and a nap and we’ll do Winnie’s presents just before lunch?’
‘That sounds like heaven. I’ll go and run a bath now. You couldn’t bring me up a cup of tea, could you?’
‘Will do,’ Serena promised. ‘And some toast. But you’d better just quickly pop your head round Bernie’s door and update him and Betty on how Rosamunde’s doing. They’re so excited!’
As planned, everyone in the house congregated for Winter’s present-opening ceremony just before lunch. She thoroughly enjoyed being the star of the show, soon getting the hang of ripping open the wrapping paper on all her presents. The attention didn’t stop there either, as it was also the day of Winter’s christening.
The service was due to start at five o’clock so that it could take place in candlelight and an open invitation had been given to all the parishioners to attend the service and enjoy some mulled wine at the back of the church afterwards, although just family and close friends would head back to the Vicarage for the after-party.
Serena felt she was becoming quite a pro at catering for groups and parties now, with Mrs Pipe’s help. It was now nearly four o’clock and she had just taken a batch of mince pies out of the oven while Ashna fed Winter her tea. The baby was smothered in yogurt and would need a good clean-up before being buttoned into the precious family christening robe.
‘Brandy butter!’ Serena exclaimed. ‘I knew I’d forgotten something. Are you happy to carry on feeding Winnie while I run to the shops? It’s early closing today so I’d better go now.’
‘Of course, don’t rush. I’ll give her a quick bath and start getting her into her gown once we’re done,’ replied Ashna, and Serena gave both of them a kiss before dashing upstairs, where Mrs Pipe chased after her with her parka.
‘Don’t ye forget this,’ she said, ‘it’s winter-proud out there, it is.’ Serena took the coat gratefully. She dashed along the lane to the high street, discovering Mrs Pipe was right. It was freezing, with ominous dark clouds low in the sky.
She ran into the grocer’s and picked up some brandy butter, as well as a couple of other items (impossible to have too much milk), then began to hurry back towards the Vicarage. But then, suddenly, she slowed down, realising it was her favourite time of day on her favourite day of the year. She wanted to enjoy it. Dusk, and no one had yet pulled their curtains, allowing Serena to observe scenes of such utter cosiness she felt as though she were watching a Richard Curtis film.
Nearly every window of every cottage along the high street seemed to showcase a festive scene within, with Christmas trees of all different shapes and sizes, bedecked with decorations and lights, presents scattered around the base. Some trees were tastefully arranged, with gleaming white lights, while others were more of a mishmash of childishly made treasures and bright and garish illuminations.
And then, of course, each house had a fire – some in inglenooks or tiny hearths, while others had log burners or gas fires – all roaring away, keeping the cold at bay and lending a sense of festive comfort to each house.
Behind one window was an elderly gentleman dozing in an armchair while an unwatched television flickered brightly in the corner. In another, a black-and-white cat was sitting on the windowsill, beside a nativity set, scrutinising Serena as she paused for a moment to look inside. In the next house, a young mother read to her child on the sofa, the little boy with his thumb firmly in his mouth, his head leaning on her shoulder. A few doors along, a couple laughed as they wrapped presents together, kneeling on the hearthrug. The woman looked up and spotted Serena. She smiled, but quickly got up and drew the curtains across.
Enough. It was time to retreat to her own home – to the Vicarage and the joys that were awaiting her there. Joys that Serena had thought until recently she would never know.
The house was, she now realised, the very opposite of cursed. It was lucky.
EPILOGUE
CHRISTMAS EVE 2015
On the way to the church, it began to snow. Gentle tickly flakes that settled in everyone’s hair, making them look as though they had bad dandruff.
‘About time too,’ said Will. ‘They’ve been promising us snow for days. Wish I’d put a bet on a white Christmas.’
‘I did,’ twinkled Pete, smiling smugly.
When they arrived at the door, Will spotted a lady he’d never met before, timidly entering the church.
‘You must be Shilpa!’ said Will, introducing himself to a petite, middle-aged woman. ‘Let me take you to Ashna. She’ll be so pleased you could make it. You will join us later, won’t you?’
Ashna, on spotting her mother, ran over and embraced her with such emotion that Will felt a lump rise in his throat. He left them to enjoy their reunion.
The service that ensued was magical. The church was packed – even Paddington turned up, wondering where Winter, her charge, had got to. The pews were bathed in candlelight, meaning everyone had to squint to read the service sheets, but nobody seemed to mind. They joined in heartily with various carols and when Winter was taken up to the font for the christening, all the little children in the church were invited to come to the front to be able to see more clearly and to join in with a tenderly sung ‘Away in a Manger’.
Will was in charge for most of the service but Bernie took over for the actual baptism, meaning Will could play a proper fatherly role in the proceedings.
‘Now, could the godparents all stand over here,’ instructed Bernie. ‘That’s right, mind yourselves, we don’t want any of you catching fire.’ There was a titter amongst the congregation and the godparents – Max, Pete, Ashna, Alice and Lisa – took their positions and replied solemnly as Bernie took them through the necessary questions.
Then Bernie took hold of little Winter and there was hardly a dry eye in the church as he baptised her.
He dipped her slightly into the font and made the sign of the cross on her forehead with the holy water.
‘Winter Ashna Blacksmith, I baptise you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen. Good girl, I knew you wouldn’t cry,’ Bernie said as Winter looked at him, baffled. He lit a candle, which seemed to mesmerise the baby, then he asked: ‘Mind if I do the rounds with her?’ Will and Serena shook their heads.
‘Here we go,’ said Bernie, as he carried Winter in his large and capable arms down the aisle and back again. She beamed at her admirers and even started waving – a rather regal wave that made everyone laugh.
‘Phew!’ Bernie said, handing her back to Will. ‘Always a relief when you ma
nage not to drop them, isn’t it?’ He smiled and stroked Winter’s fluffy head, before Will handed the baby to Serena and took over the last part of the service.
They were about to sing one last carol when there was a loud crash as the church door swung open and shut. A man bumbled in, his eyes bright and his cheeks pink. He made his way to a pew, tripping over a hassock. Every head in the church turned to look. Will recognised him as Rosamunde’s boyfriend: they’d met briefly at the hospital earlier in the day.
‘Has she had the baby?’ Will called out, unable to help himself.
The chap stood up, looking embarrassed yet ecstatic. ‘Yes!’ he called back. ‘A great big baby boy. Buster William. We’re going to call him Buster Bill. He’s amazing and Rosamunde’s fine. Tired, but very happy.’
‘Fantastic news!’ replied Will and he started to clap, the entire congregation joining in even though they didn’t have a clue who this man was. Betty Pemberton even wolf-whistled, causing Miss Dawson to frown and purse her lips. She’d fully recovered from the fleeting joie de vivre that had transformed her on the night of the Harvest Supper.
‘And now, our final carol – “Silent Night”,’ Will said when the applause had died down.
The carol sung, the service almost finished, Will delivered his final blessing, before advising everyone about the mulled wine available at the back of the church.
‘One last thing,’ Will said. ‘I want to thank you all so much for coming to Winter’s christening today. It means the world to us to feel so welcomed into the village.’
‘About time too,’ piped up the Colonel. ‘And may I ask you a question on behalf of your parishioners?’
‘Of course,’ said Will, raising his eyebrows enquiringly.
‘Well, now that your lovely baby’s been christened, can we expect to hear wedding bells anytime soon?’
Will glanced at Serena. She gave a very gentle nod, almost imperceptible to anyone but him.
‘Maybe,’ Will said with a smile. ‘Just maybe . . .’
AUTHOR’S NOTE AND ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I remember starting to write my first novel on holiday in Menorca at the age of nine and a gust of wind blowing the pages into the swimming pool. Not a good start! But all these years later, I’m thrilled to have written my second novel and I certainly couldn’t have done it (nor, indeed, my first book) without the support and encouragement of these wonderful people: my amazing husband, Dan (for everything, not least the amusing first edit!); my beautiful girls – Ruby Hope and Iris Rose; my mum, Lorna (who was once a young vicar’s wife living in a haunted Vicarage); my late father, Reverend John Lambourne (whose younger self I tried to capture in Will); my siblings – Matt (stories of Dad), Kate (medical facts checker) and Vix (all-round supporter) – and their families; my late grand-parents; Sarah Lambourne and my twin nieces, Jenn and Rach, for help with the twin research (neither twin is remotely like Luna, I hasten to add!); my uncle, aunts and cousins; Sarah and Graham Boxall; my sibs-in-law – Sophs, Har and Jess – and their families (thanks, Pete, for the Aussie lingo and beer expertise!); Fox Force Five (Nats, Emma, Toni and Amanda); Ruth Faye; Elizabeth Kilgarriff; Beth Say; Mini Book Club (including Becky Jury); Kate and Jason Mills; Damian James and Kate Motley; Pat and Bianca O’Connor; my old mate Martin and his sister, Helen Alkin; the godfathers (Chris and Chris); the Pilcher family; my wonderful childminder, Ali Lewis; Gillian Smith of Belle Flowers in Robertsbridge; Geoffrey Whitehead; Bex M, Holly and Lilli; Liz Sheehan; Rachel (creative writing classes!); and – last but not least – the fabulous MLA team (Jo Stafford-Power, Grieveous, Sue and Mr B). As well, I must thank all the reviewers and kind people who have contacted me with positive feedback in relation to my first book and expressed interest in a second. Finally, my thanks go to Amazon Publishing, including Sammia Hamer, Sophie Missing, Monica Byles, Ian Critchley and the rest of the incredibly lovely and hard-working team (and to Jodi Warshaw and Emilie Marneur for finding me in the first place!).
This book is in memory of my maternal grandfather’s aunt, Connie, who made the most exquisite christening gown when her sister was expecting him, but sadly died at the age of twenty-one before he was born. It always struck me as such a sad story. The gown has since been worn by thirty babies in my family.
BIBLIOGRAPHY
Reverend W. D. Parish, A Dictionary of the Sussex Dialect, introduced by Lynne Truss (Snake River Press, 2008).
Robin Guild, The Victorian House Book: A Practical Guide to Home Repair and Decoration (Sheldrake Press, 4th edition, 2007).
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Photo © 2016 Vix Atkinson
Rebecca Boxall was born in 1977 in East Sussex, where she grew up in a bustling vicarage always filled with family, friends and parishioners. She now lives by the sea in Jersey with her husband and two children. She read English at the University of Warwick before training as a lawyer and also studied Creative Writing with The Writers Bureau. Home for Winter is her second novel.
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