The Christmas Stocking and Other Stories

by Katie Fforde

  She ate a slice of her chocolate orange (chocolate for breakfast was a family tradition in her mother’s house) and let her mind drift to Étienne. He was devastatingly attractive, but in spite of this, and being French, he was extremely kind. He made her feel attractive. And he was lovely with the little ones. She gave a wistful sigh and decided he was just part of what was turning out to be a very special Christmas.

  She pulled on her clothes and went downstairs to the kitchen. Rupert hadn’t let her stay downstairs and help him clear up after dinner and Meggie thought that there might well be detritus from the fish pie she could deal with. Fenella and Rupert were going to a lot of trouble to make sure she had a lovely time; she was determined to do everything she could to make it all go a bit more easily.

  She enjoyed having the big old kitchen to herself, though it seemed a bit empty with Bessie now gone. She would have liked to put on some Christmas music but there was a quite complicated sound system and she didn’t want to waste time working it out. Meggie wanted the kitchen to be gleaming before Fenella appeared. She switched on the chilli fairy lights that decorated the row of kitchen equipment above the Aga and set to.

  She was giving the table a final wipe when Étienne appeared. ‘Good morning! Happy Christmas!’ he said.

  In his tight navy blue jumper over well-fitting jeans and shiny leather shoes he managed to look incredibly smart and relaxed at the same time. He came over to her and kissed her cheek. He had obviously just shaved and smelt of something delightfully citrusy and sharp.

  Offering a brief prayer of thanks that she’d brushed her teeth already, instead of waiting until after breakfast as she usually did, Meggie smiled shyly. ‘Happy Christmas. Shall I make you some coffee?’ There was a coffee machine in the corner and Meggie felt fairly confident of being able to make it work. Her father had one somewhat similar.

  ‘I will make coffee,’ he announced and moved towards the machine. ‘Did you have a Christmas stocking?’

  ‘Yes, I did! I wasn’t expecting one but it was a lovely surprise. Did you have one?’

  ‘Yes, but I think Father Christmas must think I am very dirty and also an alcoholic. There was a lot of shower gel and soap but also a small bottle of brandy.’ He said all this completely seriously but Meggie knew he was joking.

  ‘I had those things as well but also chocolate,’ replied Meggie, realising suddenly that the toiletries were probably from a supply used to stock Somerby’s guest rooms when they were rented.

  ‘I also had chocolate.’

  Rather to her relief (Meggie wondered what she could think of to say next) Rupert arrived. He looked bleary-eyed and his hair was ruffled; he was wearing very brightly striped pyjamas under his dressing gown.

  ‘Morning! Happy Christmas,’ he said with a sleepy smile. ‘The girls came in to open their stockings at four o’clock this morning. Thank goodness they eventually went back to sleep. Fenella too. All my girls out sparko. Tea?’

  Meggie had already slid the kettle on to the hot plate of the Aga and Rupert went to it. ‘I’m going to take my parents tea in bed,’ he said, ‘then we can have Buck’s Fizz.’ He poured boiling water into a small teapot he’d taken from a hook. ‘I wonder if I can persuade my parents to have breakfast in bed too? Then we can all be as raucous as we like.’

  Rupert was just assembling a tray when Hugo appeared. He was dressed but also looked tired. He was carrying Ted, helpfully dressed in blue stripes. ‘Morning, all,’ he said. ‘Good God, those PJs, Rupes! Bit bright, aren’t they?’

  ‘The girls choose me a pair of Christmas pyjamas every year from a rather smart catalogue,’ Rupert explained. ‘One day they’ll be dark navy with a subtle bird’s-eye spot but, currently, it’s bright stripes.’

  ‘Shall I take him?’ said Meggie, going to Hugo, feeling the need to be useful and always liking to have a baby or small child to hide behind. ‘Does he need a bottle?’

  ‘Actually I was wondering if there was a banana or something I could mash up for him. I must get the high chairs in from the car.’

  ‘No need,’ said Meggie. ‘I’ll mash the banana and then feed him on my lap. What about Immi? She must be hungry too.’

  ‘You are a star!’ said Hugo. ‘I’ll go and get her. It would be lovely to give Sarah a bit of a lie-in. She feeds the babies herself in the night and although they went for nearly four hours at first, they’ve been snacking ever since.’

  ‘Here.’ Étienne, who had been sipping a tiny cup of coffee which probably contained more caffeine than an entire jar of instant, took Meggie’s burden. ‘You get Immi. I will hold this one while Meggie mashes.’

  Hugo headed off to fetch his daughter. Seeing this desperately handsome young man holding a baby gave Meggie such a pang of lust she was glad she could turn away from the room and hide her blushes. She had to remind herself that she was only nineteen, far too young to even think about having babies, and that Étienne was so out of her league it was ridiculous.

  She was still a bit breathless when he came towards her with an apron he had found hanging over the bar in front of the Aga. ‘Here, put this over yourself. Babies are messy.’

  ‘Right,’ said Rupert, carrying a tray with tea and bread and butter on it. ‘I’ll see if I can persuade the aged parents to stay in bed long enough for us to have a jolly breakfast. Oh, hi, Zoe! Competing with me on the bright nightwear front, I see.’

  Zoe came into the kitchen as Rupert left, smiling benignly. She was wearing red flannel pyjamas with dressing gown and slippers to match. Zoe still managed to look cute, Meggie thought, and with her baby bump she could be mistaken for Father Christmas.

  ‘Happy Christmas, you two,’ said Zoe to Meggie and Étienne.

  ‘Happy Christmas,’ they replied.

  A few minutes later Hugo and Rupert were back in the kitchen, Hugo with Immi and Rupert rubbing his hands in satisfaction. ‘Mission accomplished – the parents are staying in bed. I think we’re OK if we have breakfast now. We can take Sarah and Fen some up too if they don’t want to come down.’

  ‘Sarah will want to come down,’ said Hugo. ‘I’ll go in a minute and tell her breakfast will be ready soon.’ Hugo handed Immi to Meggie with a grateful look and fell into a chair.

  ‘Can’t really see Fen and the girls wanting to miss it either,’ said Rupert, ‘but they were stirring when I went past so they’ll be here soon. So! Who’s for Buck’s Fizz?’

  ‘You know,’ said Hugo, ‘adding orange juice to perfectly good champagne is just making it sweet and we all know sugar is poison.’

  Zoe shook her head at him. ‘Hugo! Champagne is alcohol! Leaving the orange juice out of the Buck’s Fizz doesn’t make it healthy, you know!’

  ‘You’re just being priggish because you’re not drinking,’ he replied. ‘I just prefer my champagne straight.’

  ‘It’s Christmas: you can have it just as you like,’ said Rupert, taking the foil off a bottle.

  ‘I seem to have arrived at exactly the right moment,’ said Gideon. ‘Bottles being opened and all that.’ He kissed his wife and then Meggie on the cheek. ‘So, what’s for breakfast? Scrambled eggs and smoked salmon? Would you like me to make it, Rupes?’

  ‘Yes, please,’ Rupert said enthusiastically.

  ‘I’m starving,’ Zoe agreed.

  ‘Me too,’ agreed Étienne, tenderly scooping mashed banana off a tiny chin.

  ‘Let’s crack on!’ exclaimed Gideon.

  Meggie was surprised to find herself so relaxed amid such cool people who knew each other so well. It was very unlike her. She’d given Immi to Sarah when Sarah’d arrived but didn’t feel exposed.

  When everyone was round the table eating breakfast – she had been thrilled to note that Étienne had made a big effort to sit next to her – Meggie asked, ‘When do we open Christmas presents? I have a bit of wrapping to do.’

  ‘Oh, that’s because you spent so much time wrapping mine!’ said Fenella, with her mouth full.

  ‘There’s a
bit of controversy,’ said Rupert. ‘In my family we always had to wait until after tea.’

  ‘And in mine we did them after breakfast,’ said Fenella. ‘And it’s my house!’

  It wasn’t the first time they’d had this discussion, Meggie realised.

  ‘Oh, OK,’ said Rupert, ‘we’ll do some now but keep some back for later. Maybe the grown-ups’ presents after tea?’

  ‘So when do we have the turkey?’ asked Gideon. ‘And do you want me and Zoe to do it?’

  ‘Yes please,’ said Rupert and Fenella in unison.

  ‘We’re not territorial about it,’ Fenella went on. ‘We’ll have enough to do. And we usually eat about three? We never seem able to get it together before then.’

  ‘I can do the potatoes and sprouts,’ said Meggie. ‘If I’m not looking after babies.’ Feeling slightly uncomfortable with everyone looking at her she felt obliged to explain. ‘I do the potatoes and sprouts when I stay with my dad.’

  ‘We’ll all pitch in, otherwise you’d develop sprout-peeler’s thumb or some such,’ said Fenella firmly, ‘although I suppose we’ll let the grandparents off.’ She paused. ‘My mum and I always get just a bit drunk while we peel spuds and compete for speed. She likes a knife and I like a peeler.’ She cleared her throat suddenly, obviously missing her mother.

  Fenella was just drawing breath after breakfast, enjoying a few moments of solitude while people got their presents together and Rupert hustled the girls into their clothes, when she became aware of her parents-in-law, complaining loudly about the stairs, the slightly scuffed paintwork and anything else they passed on their way down to the kitchen.

  Fenella nipped out and ran up the stairs to the ground floor and waylaid them in the hall. ‘Good morning! Happy Christmas! I do hope you slept well. Let’s go into the drawing room.’ She’d learnt when Somerby first became a wedding venue not to ask people how they’d slept in case they told her.

  ‘Where is everyone?’ asked Lady Gainsborough frostily, and ignoring Fenella’s ‘Happy Christmas’.

  ‘We’re all just putting presents under the tree,’ replied Fenella. ‘The fire is going well in there.’ God bless Gideon and Étienne, who’d got an inferno going, making other heating almost redundant.

  Fenella herded them into the drawing room where, she was delighted and amazed to see, her children were dressed and playing prettily with a clockwork train set that had been a present from Zoe and Gideon. Meggie was on the floor with them, putting the trains back on the track as necessary. The babies, who had been quite vocal, were now sleeping happily in their enormous pushchairs that were up the quieter end of the room.

  ‘Come and sit by the fire,’ said Fenella. ‘Children? Come and say happy Christmas to Grandmama and Grandpapa.’ She smiled encouragingly, knowing her children would not want to do this.

  Meggie, possibly reading the situation correctly, got up. ‘Come on, girls! Let’s go and say happy Christmas!’

  Lord and Lady Gainsborough looked down at the children. God, thought Fenella, they’re like characters Roald Dahl would invent, looking at the children as if they were street urchins.

  ‘Go on,’ prompted Meggie in a whisper. ‘Say happy Christmas!’

  ‘Happy Christmas, Granny and Grandpa,’ said Glory. Simmy gave a fair approximation of the same thing.

  ‘Fenella!’ said Lady Gainsborough. ‘I thought we’d made it clear how we would like your children to address us! Grandmama and Grandpapa, as we addressed our grandparents!’

  ‘They just got muddled for a minute,’ said Fenella. ‘No need to take offence.’

  But her mother-in-law loved nothing better than to take offence, especially when none was intended.

  ‘And who are you?’ Lady Gainsborough asked Meggie.

  Meggie, who seemed a bit taken aback, said, ‘I’m Meggie, the “mother’s help”, just here for a couple of days while everyone’s so busy. We met last night over supper?’

  Lady Gainsborough just nodded approvingly and, dismissing her grandchildren with a flap of her veiny, ring-heavy hand, picked up the crossword, which had been left for her. Her husband grunted and did the same, picking up an ancient copy of Punch, which Fenella had found for him in a box somewhere.

  Now that awkwardness was over, and the children were back playing with Meggie and Étienne, Fenella breathed a sigh of relief. She took the opportunity to go upstairs to her bathroom to brush her teeth. She might be brave enough to take the test that was hidden at the bottom of her handbag. She’d been blaming not doing it on being so busy with Christmas, but Fenella knew it was cowardice really. She’d been feeling stressed, and the last thing she wanted was for that stress to taint what would be – might be – a very happy moment.

  Half an hour later, Fenella went back into drawing room feeling braced for the forthcoming day. She had clean teeth, a little make-up on, and a new jumper over her jeans. Everyone was sitting round with drinks, chatting convivially, and she was amused to see her starchy mother-in-law softening in the warmth of the combined charm of Hugo, Gideon and Étienne. Maybe it was because he was French, but he managed to combine great respect with a touch of flirtatiousness that Lady Gainsborough obviously adored. It was going to be all right, she thought. Christmas was going to be perfect!

  Then all the lights went out.

  Fenella heard a four-letter word swiftly followed by a lot of coughing from her husband. ‘Must be a fuse,’ he said. ‘I’ll go and check.’

  ‘I’ll go with you,’ said Gideon, ‘just in case we need a plan B for cooking.

  As quite a lot of the many sets of fairy lights that decorated the drawing room along with boughs of tasteful greenery were battery operated the table lamps weren’t really necessary. But if the reason the lights had gone out was more than just a fuse, it could be a problem. The Aga had four ovens but they’d planned to use the electric cooker as well.

  ‘How are everyone’s glasses?’ said Fenella, wishing she could fancy a drink herself.

  ‘I’ll do it,’ said Hugo. ‘You sit down for a bit.’

  Fenella sat, but she was prepared to leap up at a moment’s notice. The lights going out had not given her a good feeling. They’d recently had the house entirely rewired at vast expense. A power cut was more likely than a fuse. She pulled her phone out of her pocket. ‘I’ll just go on Twitter. That’ll tell me what’s going on.’

  ‘Surely not on Christmas Day?’ said Lady Gainsborough, sounding shocked.

  ‘But yes,’ said Étienne, ‘my grandmother is also horrified by these things. However, phones are useful. I have photos of my family and our vineyard on it. Château de Saint-Vire – it is famous, non?’

  Apparently it was famous. Even Lady Gainsborough, not as interested in wine as her husband, responded positively. ‘Can I see the pictures?’ said Lady Gainsborough.

  ‘Certainement.’

  Seeing Étienne at her mother-in-law’s side, flicking through photos, Fenella hoped that ones of the château, which she and Rupert had seen, featured in the picture show. Lady Gainsborough would like that!

  It didn’t take Fenella long to realise it was a power cut, fairly localised, and as yet no one knew how long it would take to be fixed. It was Christmas Day and there was no bad weather predicted – there might not be many engineers on duty.

  Rupert appeared shortly afterwards with the same information. They went into the passage so they could talk privately.

  ‘What shall we do?’ asked Fenella, thinking about parts of the house growing colder as auxiliary plug-in radiators grew chilly.

  ‘Well, Gideon suggests we do the turkey on the barbeque but we should get going on that right away. Everything else will fit in the Aga, more or less, so we should be fine. Thank goodness we’re not entirely dependent on electricity. And we’ve got a fair few camping lamps and things. I’ll go and get them while there’s still a bit of natural light.’

  A thought shot through Fenella like a bolt. ‘The cottage! Gerald’s cottage! Those poor people
! There are six of them and no way of cooking their Christmas dinner – or lunch, whatever they call it …’

  Rupert’s expression reflected her anxiety. ‘And worse, that pathetic little wood burner doesn’t push out any heat.’

  ‘It’s no good, Rupe. You know how I feel about waifs and strays. I wouldn’t fancy cooking a Christmas meal in that cottage even if it did have electricity. We’ll have to invite them here, for the meal at least,’ said Fenella.

  Rupert nodded. ‘I know you wouldn’t be happy if we just left them there. So, can you go and get them?’

  Fenella was surprised. ‘Can’t you go? I’ll have enough to organise here.’

  ‘I’ll have to find the barbeque for the lads—’

  ‘No you won’t! It’s in the shed. Gideon and Hugo are more than capable. I’ve got the children—’

  ‘The children have got Meggie.’

  ‘I can’t abandon Meggie! What about your parents?’

  ‘They’ll cope. Power cuts are nothing to them. I’ll make sure they’ve got lanterns. The elderly are far more resilient about these things.’

  ‘But why can’t you go?’

  Rupert looked very slightly guilty. ‘I’ve got something I have to do.’ He put his hands on her shoulders and kissed her. ‘I’m really sorry, darling, but you’ve got to go to the cottage.’

  Although she had been annoyed with Rupert for not going, Fenella found being out in the fresh air and away from the hurly-burly of Christmas Day very pleasant. She usually organised a walk but with so many people and babies in the house, this year she hadn’t.

  She could have walked down to the cottage, in fact, but decided to take the car in case the people needed anything carrying up to the house. If the cottage was completely freezing and uninhabitable she could just about put everyone up, using the recently converted stable. And as she remembered hearing herself say gathering up waifs and strays was what Christmas was all about, she had to be prepared to put her money where her mouth was, so to speak. At least the stable had a good wood burner.