Marian and Clive were also very involved in the annual Mosses Christmas Show, which was to take place in early December, so naturally they liked to have the Mystery Play well in hand in order to concentrate on that at the end of November instead.
I did go to the pub for a bit with the others, where Annie and Gareth revealed to me that they’ve decided that spending a fortune on a big wedding was immoral, so instead they were going to have a thrifty one and make a large donation to charity.
‘Luckily I’m the same size as Mummy was when she got married, so she suggested I wear her lovely wedding dress,’ Annie said on the Thursday, when I called in after taking Flo for a walk. ‘I took it out of storage this morning, with the veil and everything, and it was perfect. It’s hung up in my bedroom now. And dear Miss Pym says she’ll try and find four bridesmaids’ outfits in shades of pink on eBay, which she can alter to fit. She makes almost all her own clothes.’
‘I’d never have guessed,’ I said untruthfully. ‘But what about a reception? It’s a pity I got rid of the big glasshouse really, though I suppose it would have been too cold in January.’
‘Oh, we’ll have it in the village hall, with a simple buffet: perhaps all the guests could bring a contribution.’
‘I’ll make the wedding cake, that can be mine,’ I offered. ‘And do you know, I think getting married this way is going to be much more fun!’
‘Yes, that’s what I think, too,’ Annie said, her eyes shining. ‘And it will make our special day even more wonderful, knowing that we’ll be helping others.’
‘Spread the love,’ I agreed, giving her a hug. ‘Now, show me this beautiful wedding dress!’
It was Stir-Up Sunday, and the day when the church service traditionally included the prayer beginning with the words, ‘Stir up, O Lord, the wills of your faithful people’, which always used to be the signal for the Christmas puddings to be made.
My own huge, round one was long since made, but I spent most of that day cooking the ones for the Senior Citizens’ Christmas lunch. Mrs Gumball does all the rest of it, but I rather like making the puddings.
We’d stopped putting charms in them after a minor disaster when one of the Senior Citizens broke his dentures on a Bachelor’s Button: in any case, they always refused to give them back, and it got expensive buying new ones every year.
I felt the first twinge or two of excitement that Christmas always gave me: dim but happy memories of those spent with my parents and more recent ones with the Vanes. And whatever difficulties I’d had with Tom, I’d always tried to make sure that Jasper, too, would have a hoard of joyous treasured memories of Christmas.
It had been ages since Nick had gone abroad, but not a single postcard, with or without tart recipe, had arrived. Meanwhile the CPC had become more of a Wedding Circle, since we spent almost the whole time discussing Annie and Gareth’s big day!
Miss Pym put in low eBay bids on bridesmaids’ dresses and had already secured two, which were on the way.
‘And there does not seem to be much interest in bidding on the others, so I will know by this evening whether we have those as well,’ she said. ‘They are all in shades of pink, so though we won’t match, we will have a theme.’
‘Lovely,’ I said resignedly, though pink is definitely not my colour and, to be honest, it’s not going to do a lot for Faye’s ruddy complexion, either. ‘Though let’s hope it doesn’t snow, or we will freeze to death!’
‘What about if we all get an ivory-coloured pashmina or wrap?’ suggested Marian.
‘Good idea,’ I said, for at least a pashmina is likely to be useful later.
‘The meeting had better be at my house again next week, so we can have the first fitting,’ Miss Pym suggested, but by then we had completely lost the thread of our rota, as usual, so it might have been her turn anyway.
Although Ritch still often called in at the cottage after the Mummers sessions, we hadn’t been to Butterflake’s for a drink for ages, probably because he has another woman — or even two or three — on the go. Caz was still hanging around the cottage just as much as usual, though, but since he’d staked his claim on Ophelia, I supposed he would want to keep an even closer eye on her.
I finally got a postcard from Nick, with a Turkish delight recipe on the back. I wondered if that was an improvement on tarts …
We all had a mince pie tasting at the CPC over at Miss Pym’s neat bungalow in Mossedge. We had to wait until we’d had our bridesmaids’ dresses fitted first, though, so they didn’t get marked.
The four of them varied from baby pink to a deep rose (mine) and are all the traditional tight-bodiced, full-skirted type, with big, puffed sleeves. There was much pinning and tacking, then we had our mince pies and a modest sherry, since most of us were driving.
Miss Pym had also found some cheap pashminas on the internet and we gave her the go-ahead to buy them.
‘And Roly is providing all the flowers, including decorating the church and my bouquet,’ Annie said gratefully. ‘It is so kind of him. In fact, everyone is being wonderful.’
‘That’s because we all love you, dear,’ Marian said. ‘You will have a splendid day, just you wait and see!’
What with organising the Christmas Show, Senior Citizens’ Christmas hampers and lunch, and directing the Mystery Play (among other things too numerous to list), Marian was, by the end of November, starting to look even thinner, her huge dark eyes sunken and her cropped silver hair bristling with electricity. But she and Clive always insisted they loved to keep busy: and they must have done or they wouldn’t have volunteered for everything!
Luckily for their peace of mind, Nick returned just in time for the next Mystery Play rehearsal, albeit bleary-eyed, unshaven and very, very grumpy. He snapped out his lines with barely a look at me, which boded well for the next day’s early morning start helping Mrs Gumball to cook the Senior Citizens’ Christmas Lunch.
I can’t describe to you how much I wasn’t looking forward to that.
Chapter 28: Cold Snap
I make my own version of those fat balls for wild birds that you can buy, mixing birdseed, dried fruits, nuts, bacon rinds and crumbs with some melted dripping or lard. You can either put blocks of it on the bird table or refill those coconut shells that are pierced for hanging up. The cold weather seemed to be set to continue into December and though the child in me found pleasure in the idea of a White Christmas, it would be hard on the birds and other small creatures.
The Perseverance Chronicles: A Life in Recipes
I was up at the Hall before dawn, carrying two baskets containing the big Christmas puddings, along with some brandy butter I’d whipped up the night before. It’s not far, especially if you take the shortcut through the woods and the walled garden, but by halfway I’d begun to wish I’d taken the Land Rover.
Mrs Gumball and Nick were already hard at work by the time I arrived, and had divided the cooking between them, leaving me the role of skivvy. I quickly discovered that Nick is hell on wheels in a kitchen, too, and takes no prisoners. Had it not been for such a good cause I wouldn’t have stood it for a second — but never again! The moment when it was all packed into the Meals on Wheels van and trundled down the drive was wonderful — as was the stiff drink and long soak in the bath I had as soon as I got home, despite it being only lunchtime. Nick had offered to drive me back, but by then I wasn’t speaking to him — if I had been in the first place, which was a moot point.
Annie, who had also risen early that morning to help put the Christmas decorations up in the village hall and then stayed to serve dinner, popped in to Perseverance Cottage later to report that it had all been a great success: the geese were delicious, and we’d all got a vote of thanks for our labours at the end.
Clive was going to write it all up for the Mosses Messenger, with photos … and come to think of it, I did vaguely recall that he’d been up in the Hall kitchen earlier and a flashbulb had gone off right in my eyes …
Marian and Cliv
e rushed out the first December issue of the Mosses Messenger at record speed, and it was as I feared: there was a photograph of me looking hot, cross, shiny and dishevelled in the Hall kitchen, flanked by Nick, in gleaming chef’s whites and Mrs Gumball, wearing a crisp, frill-edged pinny and with not a hair on her head out of place.
However, there was a lovely picture of the Senior Citizens toasting Annie and Gareth’s engagement in dandelion and burdock, sherry, beer or Pinot Grigio, according to their tastes.
Once I’d recovered from that, I threw myself into giving the cottage its annual big Christmas clean, from the attic downwards. Unfortunately, when I went up to the attic I found I hadn’t fully secured the bottom section of the loft ladder, so that it slid up when I was near the top. I clung to it, swinging to and fro over the stairwell like Tarzana of the Apes but, luckily, finally dropped off when over the landing. I lay there on my back for a few minutes, winded and giggling slightly hysterically, but after that I double-checked the ladder before trusting my weight to it.
I didn’t do much up there anyway, other than sweep away the cobwebs and collect the boxes of Christmas decorations … especially after I discovered a few more forgotten odds and ends of Tom’s. And I don’t know why, but they made me burst into tears. I didn’t miss him — in fact, there was a sense of relief that he wasn’t ever going to be coming home again — but I think that made me feel even guiltier.
Perhaps there was added guilt, too, about what happened with Nick on Bonfire Night — but of course that was just a combination of alcohol, shock and a need for comfort, not love. Nick may be attractive (even when he’s at his worst, barking orders at me in the Hall kitchen), but he’s also exasperating, and that’s twice he’s dropped me like a hot potato and gone off doing something food-related and therefore far more important.
In between all my cleaning, I baked some Christmas tree gingerbread shapes for the next CPC, though wedding mania was still holding sway. Miss Pym intended making more adjustments to our dresses, since Marian was losing weight, while I was putting it on. I blame it on being unable to do much in the garden, which lately is either frozen hard, covered in snow, or both.
I couldn’t believe that already it was the last Mystery Play rehearsal in the village hall, and really we didn’t need it, we were all word-perfect. So after a quick run-through, we all turned to helping Marian and Clive set the hall up ready for the village Christmas Show the following evening. I was looking forward to that, since I never got involved, so all I was expected to do was buy a ticket and go to watch it.
It was late and bitterly cold when we went out, so most of us headed straight for home. Nick silently fell into step beside me, but instead of seeing me to my door he strode off at the turn from the drive up to the Hall with a brusque ‘Good night!’, leaving me to it.
Everyone goes to the Christmas Show, including Roly, Mimi and Juno. Even Nick came this year, but when Juno offered to change places so I could sit by him, I said quickly that I was quite happy next to Roly, and Nick glowered at me.
The evening followed its usual pattern: Ted the gardener gloomily produced rabbits out of a battered top hat and silk scarves out of the ears of members of the audience. He was followed by the infants singing carols, which always reduced most of the audience to tears, and Dave Naylor singing ‘O Sole Mio’, which didn’t.
The Senior Citizens’ Tea Dance Club’s display of salsa dancing was particularly memorable. Some of the others may have been more technically perfect, but the fire and liveliness of Mrs Gumball’s performance more than made up for any little mistakes.
On the Friday I went to Liverpool to fetch Jasper, dog and baggage home for the Christmas holidays, though I took a wrong turning and circled one of the two cathedrals twice, before charging off in what luckily turned out to be the right direction.
It was lovely to see him again, but Ginny was still about as attractive as a hairball, and gave an experimental nip or two at my ankles as I hugged Jasper.
His belongings seemed to have doubled since I left him there in October, and we had a job getting them into the Land Rover. I treated that like a sort of three-dimensional jigsaw puzzle, which is something most women are good at since life is a three-dimensional jigsaw puzzle containing several trick two-sided pieces. (I’m sure Nick is one of those, from an entirely different puzzle.)
All the way home Jasper was silently texting messages on his phone and when I asked who to, he said his girlfriend! He didn’t expand on this interesting remark but I expect he’ll reveal all eventually.
The day after Jasper came home Nick slammed in through the kitchen door like a whirlwind and demanded, ‘Why didn’t you tell me Ophelia Locke was the ARG supporter who was targeting you — and at Polly Darke’s instigation?’
‘How did you find that out?’ I blurted, taken off guard.
‘Caz just told me, among several things he suddenly decided I ought to know — and I might have taken the other incidents more seriously if I’d known about it.’
Jasper, who’d been sitting at the table finishing off a late, late breakfast, looked up. ‘Ophelia was? What, with those animal rights people?’
‘You mean, you didn’t know about it either?’ Nick said in a quieter voice, seeming slightly mollified.
‘I didn’t tell him — or about the other incidents,’ I said, ‘because I didn’t want to worry him.’
‘Which other incidents?’ asked Jasper.
Nick gave him a quick résumé of what had been happening and then added, ‘And there was a firework thrown at her at the bonfire, did she tell you about that?’
‘We don’t know that was Polly,’ I said, going pink as usual when anyone mentioned Bonfire Night.
‘Actually, we do, because Caz spotted her doing it.’
‘He did? Then why on earth didn’t he say so?’
‘You know how he feels about the police. It took him long enough to tell me.’
‘You won’t tell Unks about Ophelia being in ARG, will you?’ I asked anxiously. ‘Only they’ve thrown her out now, and since she and Caz are getting married it would be a pity to spoil everything.’
‘You are the strangest woman!’ Nick exclaimed, looking exasperated.
‘She certainly is,’ Jasper traitorously agreed. ‘Do you know, I found her crying over her postcard album when I came downstairs earlier and when I asked her why, she said there was something terribly sad about Crème de Coeur!’
Nick seemed strangely cheered by the thought of my misery. ‘She did? Well, well!’
‘Shouldn’t we do something about this woman, if she’s playing nasty tricks on Mum?’ suggested Jasper.
‘Something is going to be done,’ Nick assured him. ‘Leave it to me.’
‘Oh, right,’ Jasper said, looking relieved. ‘Well, come on, Ginny. Mum, can I borrow the car, if you don’t need it today?’
‘Why, where are you going?’ I asked automatically.
‘Meeting Stu and some other friends, and maybe going to see a film and have a pizza, but I won’t be late. And I won’t drink and drive,’ he added patiently.
I handed him the keys to the Land Rover. ‘Are you meeting your girlfriend?’
Jasper tapped the side of his nose infuriatingly, which was all the reply I got. Nick followed him out and I saw them talking together before I closed the door against the icy wind.
When I looked out again, the yard was deserted and the hens had retired to huddle somewhere warmer. The very last Honey, her thick brown feather bloomers blown up like an inside-out umbrella, was running up the ramp into the henhouse.
Chapter 29: Clueless
Today’s meeting of the CPC was our Christmas party, because instead of the next one we were all going to help pack and distribute the WI Senior Citizens hampers. Everyone came to Perseverance Cottage bearing food — little triangular sandwiches, quiche, individual cream-topped sherry trifles decorated with green diamonds of angelica and, of course, Christmas cake. We ate our slices at the end wi
th a chunk of crumbly Lancashire cheese on the side.
We had a lovely time, but after they’d gone and I was clearing the table, I couldn’t help remembering back to when my son was taken ill on the same occasion, five years earlier …
The Perseverance Chronicles: A Life in Recipes
I scribbled a heartfelt ‘but thank goodness he pulled through!’ to end the paragraph, thinking how lovely it was to have him home again, even if he did seem to be out of the house most of the time. There was certainly nothing wrong with his appetite: food vanished from the fridge and cake tins overnight, and I was making mincemeat flapjacks on a daily basis.
His Christmas present wish list seemed to consist almost entirely of books and CDs, although I’d already collected a few bits and pieces, including a spectacular Swiss army knife with millions of gadgets, which I rather coveted myself. I was sure it would come in handy.
I had an awful lot of handwritten pages of notes for my next Chronicle and the Just Desserts book to type up, which would keep me occupied between all the Christmas stuff. But then, I’d already made the Christmas cake and pudding, and I didn’t need to think about Christmas dinner itself, because we always had it up at the Hall with the family. It will be yet another goose … but then, it usually was.
The first Mystery Play dress rehearsal (for which I wasn’t needed) took place up at the Hall, and apparently went quite well, with only one or two minor mishaps. Clive and Marian randomly mix up the various acts of the play for the two dress rehearsals because there’s a feeling that it would be unlucky to do the complete thing right through before the actual performance. I could only hope that the snow had thawed and it was not quite so bitterly cold when I came to rehearse in my Eve costume the following Tuesday.
The Magic of Christmas Page 28