‘Did I hear the “V” word?’ he said, approaching our table with a large grin and trying not to spill his pint. He slurped at it. We all looked at him, confused.
‘Volunteer,’ he clarified. ‘A word of advice,’ he said to Harry. ‘It’s the one word guaranteed to produce a list of excuses quicker than Bazza the barman over there can pour a pint of bitter. You need to dress it up a bit. I usually say I’m looking for “glamorous assistants” or “skilled tradespeople” – you can break it to them that the role’s unpaid once you’ve drawn them in.’
Harry laughed. ‘Here, have a seat,’ he said, pulling out a chair.
‘What do you need helpers for, anyway?’ George asked, plonking himself down and nibbling on some pork scratchings from the open packet on the table.
‘I’m headmaster at the local primary school,’ Harry explained. ‘I’m teaching Year 2 this year and we’ve decided to put on a production of a woodland-themed winter story but I’m afraid I don’t have a creative bone in my body.’
‘Well, you can put me down on your list of helpers,’ said George. ‘I’ve produced enough nativity plays in my time . . . Keep it short, sweet and not too many lines. And no live animals, whatever you do!’ George pulled a horrified face at the thought.
‘Well, you’re dramatic enough alright,’ quipped Morag. ‘Harry, you know I’ll help too. I’m Morag, by the way,’ she said to George, holding out her hand. The rector shook it with gusto and then smiled broadly as introductions were made around the table. Then Enid shocked us all.
‘I’m not much good at acting myself, Harry Harrison,’ she began (Enid always gives Harry his full name when she talks to him). ‘But I’ve read a lot of plays. And I know everything there is to know about woodland creatures. Bess mentioned that you wanted to have a chat with me about them. I’m happy to help – at least until I leave for Australia,’ she suggested. I prayed that Harry wouldn’t scare her off with an overeager response, but he had the measure of Enid by now.
‘That would be great, Enid. I’ll put you down on my list. And you, Bess?’
‘Of course; you didn’t need to ask.’
‘And there you have it. A bevy of glamorous assistants!’ George remarked as he finished his pint. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d better go and mingle.’ We watched as he asked Bazza to refill his pint glass then continued with his socialising.
‘He seems nice,’ said Morag, finishing off the pork scratchings.
‘Yes,’ I agreed, observing him from afar.
‘He’d make a much nicer boyfriend for Bess than Nigel,’ Enid said, golden eyes flashing with certainty, and we all laughed. ‘What?’ she said.
I pulled her to me and kissed her. ‘Just that you’re always so damned honest!’
Chapter Twelve
Wednesday 29 November 2017
Fred
The day before had signalled the end of a bit of work Fred had been doing at Bunnings Warehouse, the hardware store, since his mum had died – just to keep him in groceries and get the bills paid – which meant he was on the lookout for work again.
He should really try to get himself something more permanent. Perhaps even something to do with cricket – a groundsman, maybe – if he could bring himself to get back into that world again after giving up on his dream career all those years ago. But with Enid about to arrive, he didn’t think it was worth looking seriously until after Christmas.
Which meant that for now he was free to surf. His best mate, Todd, had Wednesdays off so he gave him a call.
‘How you going, mate?’ Todd said when he pulled into the drive an hour later. ‘Just saw Dougie at the servo and he reckons it’s perfect conditions if we head in now. Wind’s going to pick up later.’
‘Cool, just give me five,’ Fred told him, hoisting his board into the back of Todd’s ute, then locking up.
Fred always thought that Todd was a perfect example of how appearances could be deceptive. With his surfer-dude looks – sun-bleached hair, tanned skin, perfect white teeth and an athletic physique – it would be easy to think there was no depth to him at all, when in fact he was a born-again Christian who was married with a kid and who worked hard as an interpreter through the week, taking Wednesdays off to surf and work on the novel he was writing that was based largely on his own colourful life.
Fred had been shocked when Todd first told him that his mum had thrown him out when he was thirteen. He’d survived on the streets for two years before being taken in by a Christian couple he’d called Mum and Dad ever since. They hadn’t had that much money but they’d scraped and saved so that Todd could travel overseas and study languages in England, which was where he’d met his wife.
‘So what’s been happening?’ Todd asked as he drove the short distance down the road to the beach.
‘I heard back from Enid and she’s deffo coming over for Christmas.’
‘No way! That’s magic. Hey, you guys should come over to ours for Chrissie. We’ve got some friends from the UK coming to stay – Serena and Will. They’ve got a couple of young kids so our little Tess is going to be chuffed. What d’you reckon? Nice barbie? And we’ve got the pool . . .’
‘Sounds good, mate, but it’s not that straightforward. Enid isn’t that keen on company.’
Todd shot Fred a look as he pulled into the car park next to the best surfing spot.
‘What do you mean?’ he asked, smiling unsurely. ‘She’s a loner?’
‘Kind of . . . She’s got this condition . . . Asperger’s.’
‘She’s autistic?’
‘Yeah, on the spectrum. Look, mate, please don’t tell me I’m mad to have her to stay; I’ve had all that from Terri-Lee.’
Todd’s face darkened at the mention of Terri-Lee. He’d never liked her. ‘Hey, I’m not going to judge her for that – or you, for that matter. And clearly she’s got a lot going for her if you’ve made this relationship work long-distance. I think this could be the start of something special for you, mate, and you deserve it. About time you had something good happen. And if she doesn’t fancy it then no biggie, but the invitation’s there – just turn up on the day if you want.’
‘You’re a good mate,’ Fred told him as they headed out into the ocean.
Later, after a trip to the tip to get shot of a shedload of rubbish from the house, Fred lay in his hammock in the garden and listened to the galahs squabbling overhead. He thought about Enid and wondered what she’d think about meeting his best mate. Would it be too much for her? He was brought out of his reverie by the sound of the fly screen on the front door creaking open then slamming shut.
‘G’day?’ came a voice he recognised. He groaned. He thought Terri-Lee might have been put off after their little confrontation the other night but she clearly wasn’t going to give up. He should probably take a firm stand with her. Tell her their friendship wasn’t going to work if she wanted more from him. But, in fairness, she’d been a real help when his mum had been on her way out, assisting him with all the practical stuff after she died, too. He couldn’t just ditch her and their friendship. It wouldn’t be right.
‘There you are!’ she said, finding him in the hammock. She was carrying a couple of brown paper bags. ‘I’ve got some afternoon tea for us – juices and one of those caramel slices you like! My mum brought it back from her trip down South, from a place called Emu Point. Look, you can’t tell me that isn’t tempting?’ she said, producing the mouthwatering cake with a flourish.
And somehow, as ever with Terri-Lee, it seemed to Fred there was a subtext to her message.
Chapter Thirteen
Wednesday 29 November 2017
Enid
It’s now only a little over a week until I leave and so I began to pack today. Impossible to start too early. I packed and unpacked the case three times before I was satisfied that it was as neatly organised as humanly possible. Bess suggested rolling clothes up as apparently it saves space to do that, but there’s no way I would contemplate rolling cl
othes after I’ve painstakingly ironed them.
Looking at the open case probably wouldn’t be a delight for most people’s eyes, but it is for mine: an orderly patchwork of khaki, navy and beige – my favourite colours. Bess’s would be a jumble of pinks and reds and all sorts of headache-inducing neons.
Bess seems to have struck up quite a friendship with the rector already – I spotted them chatting yesterday – and I’m convinced he’ll make a very nice replacement for Nigel. I still haven’t said one word to that guttersnipe since the party, though I doubt he’ll have even noticed. I was hoping we might have another dump of snow, which might stop him travelling from London this weekend, but it’s all but disappeared and we’ve been left with slush and icy rain. I’m not at all keen on rain and can’t wait to escape to the sun, though I still can’t bear to think about the journey.
I tuck the dread of travelling into the cupboard in my mind labelled ‘For later’; I’m trying to keep it there until the day I leave. This has had disastrous results in the past, but I’m hopeful that the amount of money I’ve spent on the flight will be an incentive to overcome my worries when it comes to it. If I don’t go – if I bottle it – I know I’ll disappoint everyone, including myself, and there’s no doubt it would seriously test my relationship with Fred. There’s another good reason to try to face my demons.
I’d just finished my lunchtime sandwich and was about to put the finishing touches to my tricky sausage dog portrait when, over the rushing hum of the incoming tide, I heard a loud crash outside. I opened the front door and was shocked to find the rector lying on the ground outside Bess’s cottage with a long ladder on top of him.
‘Help!’ he wailed dramatically. I walked over and stood looking down at him, though I wasn’t going to help the man in any way until I knew what he’d been up to.
‘What were you doing?’ I asked, standing with my hands on my hips and narrowing my eyes like I’ve seen suspicious people do on TV. I assessed that he must have had the ladder up against the bathroom window on the first floor. ‘If you want to see Bess naked you don’t need to sneak around spying on her through the bathroom window. She’s a life model at the art college,’ I told him, wiping the cold rain from my face.
The rector blushed deeply. ‘You haven’t even asked if I’m okay!’ he protested. ‘I could have broken my neck! Will you please help me up and then I’ll explain what I was doing?’
‘No,’ I replied, obstinate. ‘Tell me first.’
He sighed. ‘I was trying to save some bloody cat that was stuck up on that windowsill! He was obviously distressed so I thought I’d try to help! I tried knocking on the door but there was nobody in.’
I felt a bit shamefaced. It wasn’t the first time Clifford had got stuck up on that ledge. I budged the ladder and offered the rector a hand, which he grabbed before dusting himself down.
‘Did you manage to get him down okay?’ I asked, concerned for Clifford. I couldn’t see him anywhere.
‘Bloody animal jumped down just before I fell. Seemed to land perfectly well. I think he scarpered into the churchyard.’
I didn’t like his reference to Clifford as a ‘bloody animal’ but I decided to give him one more chance on the basis that he seemed a better option for Bess than Nigel.
‘Do you like hedgehogs?’ I asked.
The rector looked at me warily then seemed to soften. ‘I do, as it happens. Always make sure I leave some food out for them through the winter months. Why do you ask?’
‘No reason,’ I replied. ‘See you around!’
As I reached my front door I turned to see him hobbling off in the direction of the rectory, the ladder dragging heavily behind him through slushy puddles. Clifford emerged from nowhere with a loud miaow.
‘You troublemaker,’ I teased. ‘Come on, come inside before the rector sees you.’
Chapter Fourteen
Friday 1 December 2017
Bess
Today was a rare day off from both the college and the pub and I decided to spend it doing all the things I love. I started by stripping my bed and remaking it with crisp, clean sheets – my idea of heaven. Then I pottered about and ate a bite of lunch before braving the pouring rain to head into St Aubin’s village, where there’s a market just outside the parish hall every Friday. Despite the rain there was a festive feel about the place: all the Christmas lights had just been put up and were glowing in the gloomy afternoon sky, and one of the stallholders was playing Christmas carols from his stereo.
I made a start on my Christmas shopping, buying brightly coloured decorative pom-poms for Morag, a little bag that might be quite nice for Enid to use on her trip and a hand-knitted jumper for Nigel that he’ll probably hate. I spotted a rather attractive second-hand book on owls for Dan and then, not wanting to leave Harry out, I stopped at Roger’s CD stall and bought him an album by a band called First Aid Kit. They have a folksy feel to them and Harry loves folk music as much as I do.
After that I made my way to the post office/sailing shop/travel agent’s, where I bought my Christmas cards and stamps from Patricia – ‘the misery seeker’, as Nigel meanly, though accurately, calls her, indulging as she does in the unusual hobby of going to funerals. She’s democratic in her attendance too, unbothered about whether she knew the deceased or not.
‘These are lovely,’ I remarked as I handed several packs of the cards to her. They were my kind of Christmas cards: a cosy scene of a golden retriever asleep beside an Aga in a kitchen decorated for Christmas.
‘I never send them,’ Patricia replied, stony-faced, as she totted up the total on the notepad in front of her before rustling her packet of Maltesers and stuffing a handful into her mouth. ‘Make a donation to charity instead,’ she said with difficulty.
‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Well, lots of people do that nowadays.’ I wondered if my approach was a bit old-fashioned and uncharitable, but then the cards I send are always charity ones, and I like that annual contact with friends, whether they live nearby or far away.
‘Price of stamps,’ Patricia grimaced, Maltesers devoured. She was breathing heavily. ‘It’s just not worth it.’
‘No,’ I said faintly, thinking she might be in the wrong job. ‘Maybe not.’ I felt an urge to giggle but managed to keep it in until I emerged into the torrential downpour outside, where I immediately bumped into Harry.
‘You look amused!’ he said as we untangled our umbrellas.
‘Oh, it’s nothing really! Why aren’t you at school?’
‘Teacher training day, which finished early, and unfortunately Dan’s spending the afternoon with Melissa. I don’t know what to do with myself now.’
‘Come to mine,’ I offered. ‘I’m not working today. I’m heading back now and I’ve just bought some mince pies from the market. You could drop in once you’ve finished your shopping?’
Harry smiled. ‘I’d love that,’ he said. ‘I’ll be with you in half an hour.’
By the time he arrived I’d managed to unpack my shopping, plump the cushions, put the kettle on and unearth my set of antique china teacups. I answered the door, flushed from my rushing around.
‘I love this cottage,’ he said, ducking his head to avoid the beams. ‘And you’ve decorated it for Christmas already,’ he added with wonder, following me through the sitting room and into the kitchen. ‘It looks so festive!’
‘Oh no,’ I replied. ‘These are just my year-round fairy lights. I haven’t got the Christmas ones out yet.’
‘I’ve not spotted them before! I’m so unobservant. Is there a distinction?’ he asked, amused.
‘There is for an elf like me. Now, tea of coffee?’
He hesitated for a moment.
‘Or beer? Wine? Sherry?’
‘Actually, I’d love a beer. I’m sorry – I know it’s only the middle of the afternoon, but I had a fraught conversation with Melissa this morning. Not that I’m going to bore you about that.’
‘You wouldn’t be boring me. I’ll join you
,’ I said, passing him a bottle of beer and pouring a glass of red wine for myself. ‘How civilised! Let’s go through to the sitting room and I’ll light the fire. We can eat these mince pies!’
The sitting room smelt of the spice-scented Christmas candles I’d bought recently, mingled with the freshly chopped logs stacked in their basket by the log burner. While I set a match to the fire, Harry was magnetised by the photographs on the mantelpiece.
‘I’ve never noticed these photos before. What a handsome couple,’ he said, picking up the large silver frame. ‘Your parents? They must be.’
‘Yes,’ I smiled. ‘On their wedding day. Enid was born a year later, then I arrived a couple of years after her. They gave us a wonderful childhood.’
‘Morag told me they’re no longer with us, but she didn’t say what happened.’
‘A car accident. Enid and I were in our early twenties.’
‘Bess, I’m so sorry. It must have been devastating.’
‘It was. It was just the two of us, really, after that. Our paternal grandparents lived in New Zealand; they’ve both died since. Mum’s parents are lovely but they have a farm in Norfolk and, although it’s wonderful to stay with them now and then, they’ve always been super-busy. And both our parents were only children so there are no aunts or uncles or cousins.’
Harry regarded me with his kindly eyes. ‘You do such a good job with Enid. You’re such a support to her.’
‘It’s no hardship, not really. But I am worried about this trip to Australia of hers . . .’
‘Worried in what way?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said, staring into the flames of the log burner. ‘Worried she won’t go; worried she will; worried she’ll hate Fred and Australia; worried she’ll love it and never come home . . .’
‘You’re covering every eventuality. Sounds like you won’t be happy whatever the outcome.’
‘No,’ I smiled. ‘I suppose not.’
The Christmas Forest Page 5