The Christmas Forest
Page 14
‘Nothing wrong with that,’ said Fred. Enid unlocked the door and they dumped all the shopping, then squeezed into the armchair together beside the picture window and drank piping-hot tea, Enid sharing with Fred the English tradition of dunking biscuits.
‘We should get the tree sorted,’ Fred said eventually, their tea and biscuits devoured.
‘Yes, poor thing; it looks a bit naked.’
So they went through to the sitting room and in the pinkish glow of the setting sun they decorated the tree. Enid hummed carols as they painstakingly wound the lights around it and then Enid insisted on each decoration being carefully arranged by size and colour: the smaller silver baubles at the top and the large gold ones on the thicker, lower branches.
At last, it was done. ‘Turn on the lights,’ Enid said, and Fred pressed the switch, instantly illuminating the room with the tiny white lights. They looked like stars in the night sky.
‘If I’d done that in Aus, you wouldn’t have noticed – it would’ve been too light! It’s magical, isn’t it?’ Fred stood back to admire their handiwork, then turned his attention to the sitting room window. He saw that, just to add to the magic, snowflakes had begun to dance again.
‘Come on!’ he said. ‘I can’t get enough of this!’
This time, Enid didn’t hesitate. They bundled themselves up in their outdoor gear again and headed out into the front garden for another snowball fight.
‘Merry Christmas!’ Fred shouted to anyone passing by, overcome by the sort of simple happiness he hadn’t known since he was a child.
Chapter Thirty-nine
Christmas Day
Enid
We slept late on Christmas morning, finally woken by the church bells.
‘We’d better hurry,’ I said, waking Fred. ‘I can hear the bells – church will start soon.’
‘Happy Christmas,’ Fred mumbled, pulling me towards him. We kissed, but I wouldn’t be distracted further: I couldn’t let Bess down. For the first time since he’d been here, Fred dressed smartly – a crisp blue shirt and some dark jeans – while I decided to break the rule of a lifetime and wear one of my dresses. It’s burgundy velvet so it feels nice, even though it clings to every curve.
Fred wolf-whistled when he saw me. ‘Are you sure we have to go to church?’ he asked, but I told him we definitely did. ‘What about your prezzies?’ he asked, following me as I dashed out the back to check on the hedgehogs and then made sure Clifford had enough food. ‘When do you want them?’
‘I’ve got some for you, too, but let’s do it tonight when it’s just us again.’
‘But you gave me the radio!’ Fred protested.
‘Well, you’ve been a good boy, so you might have a couple more. Come on, the bells have stopped – we’d better run.’
We made it to the service just in time and found that Bess, Harry Harrison, Dan and Morag had saved us space in a pew. Everyone shuffled along and soon the chords of the first carol struck up. Fred has a nice voice and he joined in with all the singing, laughing when the offertory hymn turned out to be ‘Ding Dong Merrily on High’.
‘Lovely service, George,’ everyone was saying as we slowly trooped out of church at the end, everyone waiting to shake hands with the rector. ‘See you back at mine!’ Bess said, kissing George on the cheek.
Arriving at Bess’s cottage, I was bowled over by the effort she’d gone to in making everything look festive and welcoming.
The fire was already burning bright and swathes of ivy hung over the mantelpiece with fairy lights strung through it. The cushions on all her grey sofas were plumped and everything looked tidy and straight – only the nativity scene wasn’t quite as orderly as it might have been. Dan spotted this, too, and immediately set to work organising it.
The tree in the corner gave off a faint whiff of pine, though the smell was competing with the delicious scent of roasting turkey.
We all followed Bess through to the kitchen and it was clear this room had been given the same treatment. Her usually cluttered dresser had been tidied and Bess immediately lit the cinnamon-scented candles lined up along it. I was amazed to see how neat all the wooden worktops looked considering Bess had been making a feast – she’s not normally the tidiest of cooks.
‘Now, what can I get you all to drink?’ she asked, her eyes bright. Bess looked in her element, as she always does when she’s hosting, and she was wearing a particularly stunning dress. It wasn’t even terribly bright: a nice, calm, grey colour, though her tights were shocking pink. She turned to the fridge and pulled out a magnum of champagne. ‘Champers?’ she asked and we all said yes please. She uncorked it ceremoniously and Harry Harrison offered to pour it into the neatly arranged flutes waiting on the island. ‘And here’s a drink for Dan, too,’ Bess said and Morag took it through for him.
We carried our drinks into the sitting room and Bess and Harry Harrison brought in trays of delicate smoked salmon served on fresh brown bread, which we all leapt on.
‘Church always makes everyone hungry,’ mused George. ‘Perhaps it’s the communion wine – it’s like an aperitif!’
I observed Morag with him, and wondered if the electricity between them was still there. But even I could notice that something had happened between Bess and Harry Harrison. The next time Bess headed back to the kitchen, I followed her.
‘So . . . any news?’ I asked.
Bess laughed. ‘You’ve sussed it, haven’t you? Harry asked me out last night. I was so shocked, Enid! I hadn’t seen it coming.’
‘So do you fancy him?’ I asked. ‘I thought you were into George?’
‘No – you thought that! It turns out I’d overlooked the diamond that was sitting right in front of me all along. Enid, “fancy” doesn’t even begin to describe it. I’ve no idea what the future looks like, but let me tell you – we are very well matched in a certain department!’
‘Which department?’ I asked, being too literal as always, before realising what she was on about. ‘Oh, I see!’ I laughed. I wanted to find out more, but Dan arrived in the kitchen with his new tablet.
‘Is it okay to take this upstairs for a bit?’ he asked Bess. ‘Dad said to ask you first.’
‘Of course, enjoy a bit of peace and we’ll call you down when we’re going for a walk.’
But somehow the walk didn’t happen. Fred and I became engrossed in one of my annual favourites, Fred Claus, which Fred had never seen before, while Harry Harrison helped Bess with the cooking and Morag and George kept them company. Then, before we knew it, Bess was telling us that dinner was served and – just like the rest of the house – she’d worked her Christmas magic on the dining room.
‘This is amazing!’ Fred said, as he devoured course after course. Scallops to start, then turkey with all the trimmings (Bess’s roast potatoes are out of this world), then Christmas pudding or trifle for dessert and, finally, mince pies with brandy butter.
After the meal the rest of us insisted on clearing up while Bess went to put her feet up by the fire. With the final pan washed and dried, Morag suggested a board game. We decided on Pictionary, which everyone was hopeless at apart from me and Dan, so we enjoyed thrashing the other teams.
After that, Bess found some ridiculous game where players had to put a highly uncomfortable mouth guard between their lips while the others tried to guess what they were saying or singing. Dan and I sat out of this game, finding the mouth guards too uncomfortable, but we found ourselves laughing until we cried as Fred, sounding like a gremlin, tried to sing ‘Silent Night’ and, despite multiple guesses, the others couldn’t guess it.
‘We should go,’ I told Bess eventually. ‘It’s late, and we still haven’t opened our presents.’
‘Thanks a million, Bess,’ Fred chipped in. ‘It’s been the best.’
‘It really has,’ Bess agreed. ‘The best Christmas in a long, long time.’
Back home, I lit the fire while Fred turned on lamps (I let him), and we finally gathered together our gift
s for each other, though I shoved mine into a cupboard off the sitting room so I wouldn’t give the game away. I was touched by the thought Fred had put into my presents and was about to give him mine when he produced another gift from behind his back: a square one wrapped in tissue paper.
When I opened it, I hardly knew what to say.
‘She’s like me,’ I said, eventually. ‘The girl in the painting.’
‘It’s the hair, isn’t it? And the smile.’
‘Not just that. She’s overjoyed to be alone, away from the crowd. That’s why you bought it, wasn’t it? You knew I’d identify with her.’
Fred nodded. ‘I just saw it and knew I had to get it for you.’
‘You’ve just blown my portable radio well and truly out of the water,’ I said, my eyes swimming with unshed tears. ‘But I do have something I hope you’ll like.’ I opened the cupboard door. ‘Only it was too big to wrap, I’m sorry!’ I hauled a brand-new longboard out and watched Fred’s face light up with delight.
‘This is awesome!’ he said, grinning from ear to ear. I gave him his other present, too: a winter wetsuit, together with hat and boots.
‘The sea temperature’s going to be a shock here, so I got you the best winter one they had,’ I explained. ‘And some Sex Wax for the board!’
‘I can’t wait to go in! Maybe tomorrow if the swell’s any good?’ Fred said, as he sat back down on the sofa, having rested the board up against the wall. He looked at it admiringly. ‘But Enid, what will I do when I leave?’ he asked, frowning. ‘About the surfboard and stuff.’
I smiled. ‘Well . . . how about you don’t?’
‘Don’t?’ Fred asked.
‘Don’t leave,’ I said, joining Fred on the sofa, and grabbing both his hands.
‘Just to be clear,’ Fred smiled. ‘You’re asking me to stay?’
‘Fred Claus, that’s exactly what I’m asking.’
Epilogue
November 2018
Bess is finally on her way to achieving her lifelong dream of marriage and children: she and Harry Harrison are engaged and last week she gave birth to a baby boy called Bear. He looks quite red and scrunched-up, if you ask me, but Bess is thrilled with him, and it’s good to know Dan will always have Bear to look out for him. I know my life would have been very different without Bess as my guiding light and protector.
Morag and George look pretty madly in love, too. They finally got together on New Year’s Eve and she’s just moved into the rectory, making her our next-door neighbour.
And as for me . . . Well, marriage and children have never been part of my plan, but my lovely Fred has stuck around since Christmas and he’s asked me to go back with him to Australia next month to experience a different sort of Christmas. I might, after all, finally cross the world to make that visit.
I just need to make my decision.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Huge thanks, as ever, go to Dan, Ruby, Iris, Del Boy and Rodney; to my mum and siblings (and you, Diddle, for continuing to inspire me); and to all my wider family and friends. Special thanks also go to Jess Bouteloup for her invaluable Australian input.
The Amazon Publishing team have been as brilliant as always, so my sincere thanks also go to Victoria Pepe, Sammia Hamer, Bekah Graham, Nicole Wagner, Gillian Holmes and the cover design team.
Finally, thank you to my loyal readers, whose encouragement and feedback is always truly appreciated.
REFERENCES
Chris Packham: Asperger’s and Me (BBC documentary)
Delia Smith’s Classic Christmas (BBC)
Are you Autistic? (Channel 4 documentary)
Odd Girl Out: An Autistic Woman in a Neurotypical World by Laura James (Bluebird, 2018)
Aspergirls by Rudy Simone (Jessica Kingsley Publishers, 2010)
Asperger’s Syndrome for Dummies by Gina Gomez de la Cuesta and James Mason (John Wiley & Sons Ltd, 2011)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Photo © 2017 by Jess Bouteloup
Rebecca Boxall was born in 1977 in East Sussex, where she grew up in a bustling vicarage always filled with family, friends and parishioners. She now lives by the sea in Jersey with her husband, children and cats. She read English at the University of Warwick before training as a lawyer, and also studied Creative Writing with The Writers Bureau. The Christmas Forest is her fourth book.