Saving Mr Scrooge (Moorland Heroes Book 2)

by Sharon Booth

  "Don't you dare," he said, his voice deceptively quiet.

  "Dare what?"

  "Imply that I'm not fit to run this place."

  Dropping all pretence, Marley turned to face him fully, hands on hips. "Well, are you?"

  Kit gaped, stunned at the nerve of her. "Are you serious?"

  "You know nothing about this company. The LuvRocks contract is massive. Okay, I'll admit, I was never very happy with it, either. I think the company's tacky and tasteless, and yes, I agree with you that Carroll's should be moving away from it, and back towards our own products."

  "So, what's your problem?"

  "My problem is that it takes time. You can't just decide on a whim that you want to end your association with LuvRocks! Do you have any idea how hard Jack worked to get that contract in the first place? And did it never occur to you that he did that for a reason? The factory wasn't doing too well, until LuvRocks came along. If you'd bothered to research, at all—”

  "I did research! I'm well aware of what was happening before the dratted contract. Nevertheless, I'm determined to take Carroll's back to its roots."

  "And to hell with what Jack thinks?" Marley glared at him. "While the cat's away, and all that. Have you even told him? Because I think someone should. You have no right—”

  "I have every right!" Kit's voice was strained, and he could feel his heart pounding. "How dare you lecture me? You know nothing about me, nothing about Carroll's."

  "I know a damn sight more than you do," she began, but he banged his hand on the desk, shutting her up.

  "If you knew as much as you think you do, you'd know that this company doesn't belong to Jack. It belongs to me. Jack was put in place as manager here by me. Do you understand that? Is that clear enough for you? I am Carroll's Confectionary, and what I say goes. I don't have to run anything past Jack, or get his permission. Get it?"

  She very obviously did get it, as she went quite pale and simply stared at him, her hazel eyes large and bewildered. Kit felt a wave of remorse as he watched her struggling to absorb that information. He'd been unforgivably rude to her, shouting like that. "I'm sorry," he muttered. "I didn't mean to raise my voice. It's been a trying day." He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes.

  There was quiet for a moment, then Marley said, "I'd better get back to work."

  "Yeah, yeah." He picked up a pen, tapping it distractedly on the desk. "I'll be away tomorrow, by the way. In fact, I'll be away for a couple of days."

  "Right."

  They looked at each other. She seemed as shell-shocked as he felt. Kit looked away first. "Thanks for the coffee."

  "No problem."

  Marley closed the door after her, and dropping the pen, he let out a loud sigh—though, whether one of regret, relief, or sheer frustration, he simply couldn't say.

  Chapter Eleven

  When I arrived at Fox Lodge a few days later, I found Great Uncle Charles downstairs, sitting in front of the television, hurling curses at a rather stupid contestant on The Chase.

  "You're on the mend, then," I said cheerfully, heading into the kitchen to put the kettle on.

  "No, I died in my sleep," he replied.

  Ignoring him, I busied myself making the usual weak tea for him, and extra-strong tea for myself. "I can't stay long tonight," I told him, as I handed him his mug.

  "Well, heaven be praised," he said. "Good news at last." He eyed me curiously over the mug. "Why not? Got a date?"

  "No, I haven't." A date! Chance would be a fine thing. How long had it been?

  God, I couldn't even remember.

  Appalled, I searched my memory banks. There must have been someone, surely? Vaguely, I recalled a night out in Whitby, with some bloke David used to go to school with. It had been a while. Shameful, really. I ought to make some effort, I supposed, or I would end up living alone for the rest of my life. Sitting in a chair, bitter and lonely, dreaming about what might have been. Worse than Miss Havisham. At least she'd got as far as getting engaged.

  "If you must know, I'm going for tea at Mum's. She's invited me, Olivia, David, and the kids over."

  "Oh? Special occasion?"

  I hesitated. Should I risk telling him the truth? Was it worth the more-than-likely derision that would result if I did? Could I be bothered with yet another argument? On the other hand, it was about time that Great Uncle Charles realised there was a lot more to my mother than he gave her credit for. I hated the thought that he still remembered her as some broken, distraught woman, sobbing over her errant husband. Mum was a different person to then, and he should know that. "She's introducing us to her boyfriend."

  "Boyfriend?" The scorn in his voice was unmistakable.

  "Other half, partner, whatever you like to call it. They've been going out together for a while now, and she thought it time we all met."

  He cackled. "God help the poor sod, getting involved with your family, that's all I can say."

  "Don't worry," I assured him, "we won't be introducing him to you, so it won't be anywhere near as horrific as it could be for him."

  He tutted, then put the mug on the coffee table as he was wracked with another coughing fit.

  "Are you sure you should be downstairs?" I eyed him doubtfully. "Maybe you should still be in bed."

  "No chance. I'm sick of seeing that bedroom." He wiped his eyes and sighed. "I'm all right. I'm eighty-nine years old. What do you want from me—cartwheels?"

  At least he had the central heating on, that was something. Although, the very fact that he hadn't turned it off at the first opportunity was a bit worrying. He clearly wasn't totally well, or he'd have been at the boiler controls like a flash. "Have you eaten?"

  "Had some spaghetti hoops a few hours ago."

  "Is that it?" I sighed. "I'll make you something. Have you got anything in the freezer?"

  A quick search of the kitchen revealed he had barely anything edible in the house, before I headed back through to him. "Who does your shopping?" I asked, feeling guilty that I still hadn't done anything about the food situation.

  He looked puzzled. "I do. Who else?"

  "You know, you really ought to have a home help, or something."

  "You must be joking! I don't want anyone round here, sticking their noses in my business, thank you very much. I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself."

  "But you're eighty-nine, and not well." I considered him for a moment. "Look, I'll order you a takeaway for your tea, then tonight I'll buy you some shopping online. It could be delivered tomorrow afternoon, or the day after, at least. And if I can't get a slot for tomorrow, I'll bring you a few bits and bobs at lunchtime. Okay?"

  I waited for the protests, and when none were forthcoming, my eyes widened. "Are you sure you're all right? Why aren't you arguing with me?"

  "Bloody hell, I can't win," he grumbled. "Did you want me to argue with you?"

  "Of course not."

  "Well, shut up and get on with it, then. I'm bloody ravenous. Order me a curry, there's a good lass."

  "A good lass?" My mouth dropped open in shock. "Should I call a doctor?"

  "Oh, bugger off," he snapped. "I want a chicken Jalfrezi, and make sure you use that takeaway near the school. The one between the wedding shop and the pub is well dodgy. Lots of cats go missing round there, and that's all I'm saying."

  I rolled my eyes, but did as he asked. "Will you be okay to answer the door yourself?" I asked uncertainly, thinking it really was time I headed over to my mother's to meet that toy-boy hunk of hers.

  "Ooh, I don't know. Should I ask my mummy if I'm allowed?" Great Uncle Charles waved his skeletal hand at me. "Go on, clear off, and have a good look at this fancy man of your mother's. I want all the details when you come here next. I haven't had a good laugh in ages."

  "Takeaway should be here within twenty minutes," I told him, determined not to rise to the bait. "Enjoy your Jalfrezi. I'll let you know about the shopping delivery, okay?"

  "Yes, fine, whatever." He pick
ed up his mug again. "Thank you, Marley."

  I'd been heading into the hall, but stopped dead in my tracks. Thank you? Since when did Great Uncle Charles ever thank me for anything?

  I glanced back over my shoulder, but he was apparently absorbed in The Chase again, so I said nothing, just left the house and closed the door carefully behind me. Well, that was a weird experience. I hoped he really was all right, because a grateful Uncle Charles was, quite frankly, a bit terrifying.

  ***

  As I turned into my mother's street, I saw my sister and family just ahead of me. Olivia was holding Max's hand, while David pushed Tommy in his buggy. Sam skipped ahead of them, stopping now and then for them to catch up. Olivia and David were chatting, and I saw them laughing together, as Olivia placed her hand on David's back and rested her head for a fleeting moment on his shoulder.

  Watching them, I felt a lump in my throat. They were such a tight-knit family. I knew my sister and brother-in-law didn't have much money, and were worn out with the stress of taking care of three young boys, but the love and warmth they shared radiated from them. Would I ever have that kind of relationship? I simply couldn't imagine it.

  For the first time in my life, I felt a pang of envy for my sister, followed by a sudden lurch of panic. What if David got fed up and left? How would Olivia cope without him?

  "Auntie Marley!" Sam had caught sight of me, and ran towards me, barging into my legs and nearly knocking me backwards. "Are you going to Grandma's, too?"

  "I am," I confirmed, nodding at Olivia who waited for me with a smile on her face.

  "Exciting, isn't it?"

  "I'm a bit nervous," I admitted. "Are you?"

  "A bit."

  "What on earth are you two nervous for?" said David, puzzled. "It's the poor sod who's dating your mother that I feel sorry for. Imagine having to meet the family, knowing you're being vetted, your every word and gesture considered and chewed over."

  "There speaks the voice of experience." Olivia laughed, nudging him. "I remember when you went through the same thing."

  "So do I," he said, with some feeling. "That's why I feel sorry for him. Marley practically interrogated me. I'm surprised she didn't tie me to my chair and shine a spotlight in my eyes."

  "Don't exaggerate," I said crossly, although I did recall that I'd sort of bombarded him with questions. Olivia was my baby sister, though. Someone had to look out for her.

  The curtains in the living room of Mum's cottage were open, and the twinkling lights of the Christmas tree shone through the window.

  "Whoever he is," Olivia said, looking toward them, "he's clearly done her a lot of good. I mean, this is the first year she's been in the Christmas spirit since Dad left. I never thought she'd put up her own tree and decorations again. We really need to give him a chance. Agreed?"

  "I always intended to," David said. "Who your mother goes out with is her business."

  "And no sly comments, if he's not well-spoken," Olivia said, eyeing me sternly. "No snide remarks about what job he does, or trying to find out what he earns, or what car he drives. None of that rubbish, okay?"

  "As if I would!"

  "Oh, you would, Marley. You know you would."

  "And no comments about the age gap," David added. "That goes for both of you, right? Let's go in there with an open mind and a welcoming attitude."

  "I don't need telling," I said. "If he's that important to Mum that she wants us to meet him, well, I'm willing to give him a chance."

  "Good."

  "Although," I added, "that doesn't mean we should be pushovers. We need to keep a cool head and our wits about us. We can't let Mum fall for some chancer."

  "Marley!"

  "Well, can we? You wouldn't want her to have her heart broken again, would you?"

  Olivia took a deep breath. "Okay. Just … just go easy, okay?" She smoothed Sam's hair. "Right, let's do this."

  If Olivia and I were nervous, it was clearly nothing to the mood Mum was in. Upon entering the house, via the back door, we found her in a state of near-meltdown. She was still wearing her dressing gown, and was wafting smoke from the oven with one hand, as she struggled to remove something from inside with the other hand, which was, thankfully, safely enclosed in a rather tatty looking oven mitt.

  "Don't open the door," she shrieked, but too late.

  Sam had rushed to enter the hallway, clearly intent on heading towards the living room where the television could be heard, and almost immediately the ear-splitting sound of the smoke alarm leaping into action almost sent him tumbling over in fright.

  "I've burnt my mini quiches!" Mum let out a wail that competed with the smoke alarm. "And not only that. I've burnt my bloody hair, too. Look at it! Got caught in my tongs! Look. You can smell how singed it is. Can you see? Does it look bad?"

  David winced. "Let go of me, Max. Let me turn that racket off."

  He managed to unwrap his little boy's arms from around his legs, despite Max's shrieks of fear, and strode into the hall. He fiddled around with the smoke alarm for a moment, then, mercifully, silence reigned.

  "Thank God for that," Olivia said. "Now, what were you saying about your hair?"

  "It got taffled up in my tongs," Mum said. She slammed the tray of mini quiches on the hob and stared at us in dismay. "Look at that. A fiver, they cost me, from the freezer shop. Only fit for the bin."

  "Why aren't you dressed?" I demanded.

  "Didn't want to mess up my frock, did I? Pointless now, what with my burnt hair, and everything."

  "Go upstairs," Olivia soothed. "I'll look for something else to eat, and you go and sort your makeup out."

  Mum stared at her. "Sort my makeup out? I've already done it."

  "Yes, we can see the mascara and eyeliner all over your face. It's kind of smudged."

  That was putting it kindly. Our mother could have played a creature from a horror film, with the grey circles under her eyes and the smell of burnt hair.

  "Oh, hell." Mum rubbed her eyes, which didn't help, and sighed. "I wanted everything to be perfect. He'll be here in a minute."

  "Well, hurry up, then," Olivia said. "I'm sure we can find something else to cook while you're getting ready."

  "You won't," Mum assured her. "I've got nothing in. Not done a big shop. Just got the quiches and a couple of bottles of wine and a twelve-pack of beer."

  "Brilliant."

  "What am I going to feed everyone with?" Mum wailed.

  "How about I nip to ‘chippy? I'm sure that'll go down well with everyone." We all turned to see Don standing in the kitchen. "I did knock," he said. "No one answered, so I thought I'd come round back."

  It fleetingly registered with me that, firstly, he was wearing a suit and tie, which was most peculiar for Don, and, secondly, he was in Mum's house, and why would he be there? Before my fuddled brain could join the dots, I heard Olivia say, "Sorry, Don, we're a bit busy at the moment. Was there something you wanted?" as Mum shrieked, "Oh, my God! Don't look at me! Don't look at me!"

  We all stared at her as she shot out of the room and bolted up the stairs. There was a moment's stunned silence, then everyone slowly turned back to look at Don.

  He ran a finger around his collar and shrugged. "Not quite the reception I were expecting, but never mind." He nodded at the quiches. "Reckon chippy's our best bet, don't you?"

  "You!" My mouth fell open. "You're Mum's toy-boy?"

  Olivia and David exchanged incredulous glances. "You can't be," David said. "You'd have told me."

  "Aye, well." Don looked a bit shamefaced. "Made Katie a promise, didn't I? Not 'til she was ready, she said. Begged me. What could I do? Sorry, mate."

  "But … but, how? When?" I shook my head, bewildered. "And what do you mean, Katie? No one calls her Katie."

  "I do," he said cheerfully. "She likes it."

  Olivia swallowed. "Er, let's get this sorted," she said, taking charge, at last. "David, take the kids into the living room and find them something to watch on the tel
evision for now. I'll shove these quiches in the dustbin. Marley, pour us all a glass of wine, or get cans from the fridge. As soon as Mum comes down, we'll make a list for the chippy, and Don and David can go."

  By the time Mum reappeared, freshly made-up and wearing a rather nice print dress, calm had been restored to the house. The boys were engrossed in some cartoon, or other, and the adults were sitting round the dining room table, drinking beer, or wine, and making a list of what they wanted to eat.

  "You look lovely," Don assured her, standing up and pulling out a chair for her.

  Like a proper gentleman, I thought with surprise. I would never have expected such behaviour from him. I still couldn't get my head around the fact that he was my mother's mystery boyfriend. I'd never have guessed in a million years. All that time, and he'd never said a word. Hell, and I'd confided in him about my father! He wouldn't have told Mum, though, would he? Surely not?

  Mum sat down and flicked her hair, rather self-consciously, over her shoulders. "I'm so sorry," she told us. "This wasn't how it was supposed to be, at all. I had it all planned in my mind, but everything went wrong."

  "It doesn't matter," Don assured her, putting his arm around her. "We're all friends here, aren't we? No need for any palaver."

  "I can't believe this," David admitted. "I never thought—you never breathed a word."

  "How long have you two been seeing each other?" Olivia said.

  Mum and Don looked at each other, as if trying to work it out. "About three months," Don said finally. "Unless you count that day at the supermarket. Then it's three months, two weeks and three days, exactly."

  "Huh?"

  David grinned. "Fancy you being on a dating site, Don. I never would have believed it."

  Don pulled a face. "Give over. I did no such thing. I haven't got the guts for owt like that."

  "It happened completely out of the blue," Mum said. "We bumped into each other at Sainsbury's. I was a bit frazzled, and Don helped me with my shopping, and gave me a lift home. I invited him in for a cuppa, and we had a nice long chat, and I suppose ..." Her voice trailed off, and she looked at Don.