The Night Before Christmas

by Scarlett Bailey

  Katy re-composed herself. ‘You’ll find a tourist information pack in your room as well as tea and coffee making facilities, and complimentary biscuits. Only there’s no kettle quite yet because the delivery has been delayed by the snow, and quite possibly no biscuits either as the kids were up there earlier and they do love a shortbread.’ Katy presented them with a big, heavy looking, old-fashioned metal key. ‘Oh, and don’t lose it because we can’t get another one cut without having to find an actual blacksmith. Apart from that, enjoy your stay!’ The smile snapped on again. ‘How did I do?’

  ‘Getting there, definitely getting there.’ Lydia smiled encouragingly. ‘Perhaps try a little less honesty for the actual paying guests. So where are Jim and the kids?’

  ‘Torturing Alex and David,’ Joanna said. ‘Just to warn you, Alex is a little bit … um … testy, probably the long journey. Leave your bags there for now and come and say hello. We’re in the family sitting room, it’s much cosier than the guest one, hope you don’t mind.’

  Katy led Lydia and Stephen through what Lydia assumed must be the more formal, guest sitting room. Situated at the front of the house to the left of the staircase, it was a grand, self-important room, with what looked like its original plasterwork intact on the high ceiling, forming an ornate central rose surrounded by swathes and swags of some kind of fanciful plaster foliage. The floor-to-ceiling stripped oak window shutters were open in defiance of the glass-shuddering wind that was whipping the snow into a balletic frenzy outside. Not strictly in keeping with the period, the walls were painted a more Georgian white and duck-egg blue, which Lydia supposed was more fashionable and guest friendly than some heavily patterned wallpaper. There were two pairs of sofas, some mismatched ‘shabby chic’ armchairs and even one chaise, arranged around an assortment of what looked like lifestyle magazines fanned out on small tables, to create three or four little intimate areas in the imposing grandeur of the room. Trimmed with fresh holly and made of white marble, there was a beautiful, original fireplace, over which hung an integral oval mirror that must have returned the reflection of many a hopeful young woman over the last hundred years. A fire had been set, but not yet lit, giving the room a sense of anticipation, like a sleeping princess on the verge of being awoken with a kiss.

  ‘It’s almost impossible to keep this room warm,’ Katy said, rubbing her hands together and shuddering as they followed her, Vincent Van Dog padding closely at heel. ‘Jim says it’s because of the ghost of one of the sisters that used to live in the houses. Nonsense, obviously, and really irritating as the kids believed him and now they arrive in our bed every single night screaming about being dragged into the lake by Mad Molly. I wouldn’t mind, but they won’t lie still. Tilly’s the worst; it’s like going to sleep with a hyperactive octopus. It’s okay for Jim, he could sleep through an earthquake, but, quite honestly, if I don’t get some more sleep soon I’ll be chucking myself in the lake!’ Katy smiled ruefully, but Lydia noticed she did look a little wan beneath all the Christmas cheer. Hosting Christmas must be taking its strain on her, Lydia decided, resolving to be an extra helpful guest.

  ‘There really aren’t any ghosts here, though, just high ceilings and drafty windows, and, given the fact that the ancient central heating didn’t make it as far as this room, no radiators either.’ Spotting a china shepherdess ornament out of place on the mantelpiece, Katy hopped over a footstall to realign it, turning back to survey the room and all her handy work. ‘This room hadn’t been used for years, we don’t think. When we arrived, it was full of junk and looked like the family had been letting their pets run riot in it. But I did find that old chaise, in surprisingly good nick, under all the rubbish, and a few other bits and bobs that we’ve put around the place, like Little Bo Peep here, and this old, old photo of the year the lake froze over and people could skate on it.’

  Lydia flashed a surprised look at Stephen, but he seemed engrossed in staring at his new surroundings.

  ‘Of course,’ Katy continued, ‘we’ll get the fire going once the real guests arrive, but it took me an age to get this looking right, so for now I just like to come and stare at it sometimes and threaten the children with murder if they touch anything.’

  ‘It is very posh,’ Lydia said. ‘I feel like I should be taking a turn around the room with Mr Darcy on my arm. Katy, you are so clever, you’ve turned all this into a spread from Country Living.’

  ‘Do you think so?’ Katy beamed, all traces of tiredness at least temporarily banished from her round face. ‘I am rather proud of it, I must say. Come on, now for the hidden delights of the Heron’s Pike servant quarters.’ Crossing a dark, narrow, wood-panelled corridor, Katy opened another stripped door to reveal the family sitting room, about half the size of the other one, but even more lovely and infinitely more cosy, almost glowing with the warmth of a roaring fire scented with pine cones. His hosting duties over for now, Vincent curled up on the hearth, falling fast asleep almost immediately, despite the din from a room teeming with excitable children. Lydia knew that, technically, two children could not be considered great enough in number to ‘teem’, but somehow, despite being aged only six and four respectively, Jake and Tilly usually managed it.

  ‘Do you want to hear a song about a bra?’ Jake asked Lydia by way of greeting, the moment she entered the room.

  ‘Did you say a bra?’

  ‘Please God, not again. Jake, if you sing that one more time in my hearing, I will throw you in the lake,’ Alex grumbled.

  ‘You won’t because I shall just run away and you won’t be able to catch me,’ Jake scoffed, not in the least bit offended or intimidated by his honorary aunty. ‘You’re not very fast and you are very fat.’

  ‘Jakey, mate, we all love your song,’ Jim said, crossing the room to greet the new arrivals, ‘but at least wait for Aunty Lydia to sit down and have a glass of pop in her hand!’ Lydia dodged Jake, and hugged Jim, kissing him lightly on the cheek, which took some doing as he was an impressive six foot four and looking rather rugged these days since he’d lost the city suit and let his sensible haircut grow out a bit. The stubble wasn’t a bad look either, Lydia mused, wondering if the same look would suit Stephen. Stunning house, strapping husband, cute if unruly kids, a slightly mutilated dog … Lydia felt a pang of jealousy; Katy really did seem to have it all.

  Obviously a little merry already, Jim’s breath was scented with mulled wine, Lydia noticed before he released her to give a rather stunned Stephen one of his trademark bear hugs.

  ‘Glad you two aren’t dead in a ditch,’ he said, cheerfully. ‘Did Katy tell you our folks are all stuck where they are? So, no grandparents for these guys. Shame for them, but we can have another celebration in the New Year. And, you know, any day without an in-law in it is always a bonus in my book.’

  ‘Jim!’ Katy chided him gently as she peered into an old dark-wood sideboard and produced a couple of wine glasses, handing them to her guests.

  ‘Don’t pretend like you don’t feel the same,’ Jim chuckled as he filled the glasses with ruby red wine straight from a cut-glass decanter. ‘What is it you call my mum? Medusa?’

  ‘The children!’ Katy hissed, nodding at Jake, who, after having his song offer rejected, was now scratching Vincent’s ear, and Tilly, who was humming away in the corner as she fashioned herself an outfit made purely from tinsel.

  ‘Well, are you going to say hello to me, then, or am I passé now I’m the size of a house?’ Alex asked Lydia from the sofa, where she was sort of beached, her long legs resting on a footstall, her bump rising before her like a full moon.

  ‘Hello, love,’ Lydia said, slumping down next to her. ‘I swear you’ve gotten even more massive since I saw you last week! Are you sure you’re not due for another month?’

  ‘Quite sure,’ Alex said, frowning at her bump. ‘Although it is starting to feel like I’ve been pregnant for about a hundred years.’

  ‘Elephants are pregnant for nearly two years,’ Jake said, getting up fro
m the fireplace, resting his chin on the bump and peering down his nose at it. ‘Perhaps you’re an elephant.’

  ‘Nice,’ Alex said, pursing her lips. ‘Really nice.’

  ‘Hello, Lydia, Stephen,’ Alex’s husband, David, said as he came back from somewhere that was evidently quite cold, as he still had a scarf on and was rubbing his hands together. ‘Good to see you! Awful out there. Lexi, don’t, whatever you do, go into labour now, we’ve got no chance of getting you to a hospital and I very much doubt this house is sterile.’

  ‘Hey, I clean,’ Katy protested.

  ‘And I’m not due for five weeks!’ Alex snapped. ‘Can we all please stop dwelling on my huge, massive stomach and talk about something else for once, please!’

  ‘Hormones,’ David mouthed silently at Lydia, causing Alex to shoot him a look that would have killed him, if only the laws of the universe would allow it.

  ‘So!’ Lydia said, taking a seat besides Alex and holding her hand. ‘Isn’t this perfect? The four of us together at Christmas. Do you know that, in all the years we’ve been friends, we’ve never done this? Even when we were at uni, we always went our separate ways at Christmas. And then there were boyfriends, husbands and in-laws. And look at us now, there’s snow, and a fire, and a tree, and countryside and isn’t it just a wonderful life?’

  ‘Bloody hell, have you been possessed by the spirit of Judy Garland?’ Alex asked irritably. ‘I expect it is wonderful, if you don’t have piles and constant acid reflux. And cankles, just look at my cankles! What if I never get my ankles back? What if I turn into one of those women who can only ever wear elasticated trousers and who constantly have their kids’ tea down their top and never get a decent haircut?’

  ‘What are you saying,’ Katy said, self-consciously tucking her mass of blonde curls behind her ears, and rubbing at an orange stain on her top. ‘And this isn’t the kids’ tea, it’s yours. I made you lasagne, Alex, because it’s your favourite. Because I love you, you fat cow.’

  Alex buried her head in her hands and groaned. ‘Oh, God, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m such an awful bitch at the moment, it’s the hormones.’

  ‘That’s what I said,’ David interjected, earning him a reprise of the killer look.

  ‘Cows are pregnant for the same time as human beings,’ Jake told her. ‘You do look a bit like a cow.’

  ‘And now,’ Tilly said, emerging from the corner, a shimmering spectacle of a fire hazard, ‘I shall put on a show.’

  ‘Oh, God save me,’ Alex wailed, once more burying her head in her hands.

  It was at that exact moment the doorbell sounded and Vincent leaped from his slumber like a rather lopsided attack dog.

  ‘Oh, that’ll be Joanna,’ Katy said delightedly, looking at Lydia.

  ‘And Joanna’s new boyfriend!’ Lydia exclaimed. ‘Come on, let’s go and get a look at him!’

  Two women, two children and a dog raced for the door, all of them, with perhaps the exception of the dog, keen to get a look at the latest man in Joanna Summer’s life.

  ‘Wait for me!’ Alex yelled, gesturing frantically for David to pull her to her feet, her voice receding into the background as Lydia and Katy vied for first place. ‘Bloody wait for me, you bastards!’

  In the end, Katy, who wasn’t wearing a stylish but impractical pair of stiletto boots, made it first, flinging the door open and dragging Joanna inside for one of her biggest hugs.

  ‘Jo-Jo!’ she yelped happily, as Vincent did his best to maul the latest arrival. ‘Look at you!’

  Joanna was indeed a vision of loveliness. Wearing a white woollen coat trimmed with faux fur, and a matching hat, her red hair cascading down her back. She looked like she’d just stepped off the set of a remake of Doctor Zhivago.

  ‘How do you get out of a car after three hundred miles looking like that?’ Lydia asked her old flatmate, kissing her on the cheek.

  ‘I don’t know, darling, I’m just naturally glamorous, I suppose.’ Joanna grinned at her. ‘And so are you two. Look at you, Katy, with your country rosy cheeks, and you, Lyds, all city sophistication – you put me to shame, the pair of you.’ It was part of Joanna’s charm that she always responded to a compliment with one of her own. Now she bent down and graciously kissed Tilly, before ruffling Jake’s hair, distastefully but gently edging Vincent out of her way with the toe of her boot.

  ‘We want to know if you are really going to get married this time!’ Jake told her.

  Katy shrugged. ‘I’m not even going to pretend that I haven’t coached him to say that. So, are you?’

  ‘And can I be bridesmaid?’ Tilly followed up.

  ‘Shhh!’ Joanna put her fingers to her lips, glancing over her shoulder into the night. ‘It’s early days, but the signs are good.’ Careful to address the children directly, she added, ‘But we don’t want to frighten him off, do we, kids? So if you can manage to keep your questions to yourself, then, yes, Tilly, you can be bridesmaid and, no, Jake, you don’t have to be pageboy.’

  ‘Aunty Jo,’ Tilly said, ‘I watch you on telly all the time. I hope you’ve got me a tiara for Christmas, like the ones on your show made from purest diamonique.’

  ‘Any chance anyone could give me a hand with this trunk?’ an American accent enquired from behind an armful of presents. ‘I think Joanna’s packed London!’

  Lydia froze. Something in those few muffled words sounded a chime of recognition within her. No … it couldn’t be, could it?’

  ‘Here, let me help you,’ David offered, arriving with Alex, who waddled a step or two ahead of him, eager to greet Joanna.

  ‘Hello, Jo, you look like a Russian hooker!’ Alex greeted her cheerfully.

  ‘And you are glowing!’ Joanna informed her serenely.

  ‘What, like radioactive waste?’ Lydia dimly heard Alex retort as, with everything seeming to happen in slow motion, she watched David relieve Joanna’s boyfriend of his pile of gifts, one by one. Her heart pounded in her chest as saw his head dip with the effort of dragging a large brass-cornered trunk into the lobby. Hair, light brown, thick and wavy, with that familiar much-kissed hairline. It could not be. Lydia held her breath, hoping that she was delusional or somehow drunk on one sip of wine, but knowing she wasn’t.

  His heavy cargo finally in place, the mystery man looked up and smiled.

  ‘Hi, everyone, I’m Jack.’

  But Lydia knew at once that he wasn’t Jack to everyone. To her, he’d been Jackson Blake. Handsome, American and utterly charming. Joanna’s new boyfriend was the long-lost love of Lydia’s life.

  Chapter Four

  The day Lydia had first met Jackson Blake had been a boiling hot Thursday in May, about a month and a half before she’d met Stephen. As in recent years, summer had arrived early, and to Lydia, as she left the heat and fug of her chambers in Lincolns Inn, it felt like three months’ worth of polite English sunshine was being burned off in a single fever-pitched day.

  Lydia’s day had not gone well. She had lost a case and her client was about to serve six months for dealing cannabis. Just her luck to get an exceptionally right-wing judge that didn’t see that her elderly client had only taken up buying drugs to ease the pain of her husband’s arthritis, picking up a few extra ounces for her neighbours in the sheltered housing while she was at it. Grounds for appeal were already in place, even if the process probably wouldn’t work fast enough to get her client out of prison before her sentence was up. Lydia was determined to have the conviction quashed, not only for a client’s sake, but because she hated to lose. More than that, though, she’d hated seeing the look on Janet Thorne’s face as she’d waited to be taken away, sitting quietly in the stifling holding cell, knowing she wouldn’t see her disabled husband again for at least three months.

  Lydia had slowed down as she approached the tube station. She knew Joanna wouldn’t be at home, as she was doing the prime-time shift on BuyIt! TV. And she wasn’t looking forward to an empty flat, smelling of last night’s Indian food and beer
binge that neither one of them had bothered to clear away. The pub over the road was thronging with drinkers, spilling out onto the pavement. Lydia wondered if the inside would be cool by comparison and relatively empty. Not normally one to drink in bars by herself, she had crossed the road without really thinking, and was standing at the bar ordering a long G&T before she knew it.

  The inside of the old-fashioned pub, although cool and spacious, was indeed largely empty. Pulling up a stool, Lydia positioned herself at the bar, and was just about to take out some client files to go over when she thought better of it and took out her battered but beloved Penguin Modern Classic edition of Breakfast at Tiffany’s. Over the years, she supposed the book had become something of a talisman, a sort of lucky charm. To begin with, though, it had simply been her favourite book, one she had read and re-read ever since, at the age of twelve, her English teacher had handed it to her and said, ‘Look, I know how hard it must be, stuck in the middle of your mum and dad’s divorce. Try getting lost in a good book, I find it helps.’ She had lost count of the number of times she had read it since, but it always helped.

  Absorbed in the pages of her book, it had taken some time for Lydia to realise someone was watching her. She glanced up to catch the eye of a man across the bar, and looked down instantly, staring at the words in front of her without really reading them. In that fraction of a second, she’d gleaned that the man was rather tall, well built, wearing a pristine white shirt without a tie and had eyes that were blue enough for her to notice them across the room. Waiting for another moment or two, Lydia looked up again. The man was gone.

  ‘Film or book?’ a soft American accent asked her, causing Lydia to swivel round on her stool. There he was, leaning against the bar, his thick honey-brown hair a little longer than most men wore it, his open-necked shirt revealing tanned skin. He smelled divine, and those blue eyes …