A Winter Flame (26 page)

‘I hope you acted totally gobsmacked,’ said Eve.

‘I was like Meryl Streep,’ laughed Susan. Eve shuddered. She had seen her auntie acting in the Hoppleton Players’ version of
A Christmas Carol.
Meryl Streep she was not.
‘I’m off to buy an outfit in Meadowhall when Patrick finishes work. I think Pav must be doing the rounds and telling people today, so be prepared. He was off to Max’s and
Bel’s houses next.’

Max and Bel had been a brick to Violet when she was going through the trauma of splitting up from her last boyfriend. They’d been supportive and understanding and protective –
everything that Eve hadn’t been because she had been too stuck on Planet Eve, surrounded by Eve’s problems and all things Eve. Some friend she was. Especially after all the love and
support she’d had from the Flockton side of the family over the years. If it wasn’t for them, Eve would have been in care for sure. Considering Jacques hadn’t been in her life for
very long, he seemed to have got the measure of her too quickly.

‘What about Granny Ferrell?’ Eve asked her aunt. ‘Is she coming?’

‘No,’ Susan said flatly and definitely. ‘She’s a loose cannon and after all Violet and Pav have been through, I don’t want anything to spoil it for them. And as you
know, Eve, your grandmother has a particular skill for spoiling things. I won’t let her on this occasion. She can look at the photos afterwards and moan that she wasn’t invited, but
somehow I don’t think she’ll be all that bothered, whatever her nasty mouth decides to say.’

Eve agreed. Her grandmother was too good at knowing the wounding point. Everyone would be on tenterhooks if she was at the wedding, and she would enjoy commanding that sort of power. She put the
phone down and thought how lovely Pav was to arrange all this behind Violet’s back, even if it wasn’t a church with a vicar, but a tiny chapel in a theme park and Santa Claus conducting
the ceremony.

As she looked through her diary, she wondered if she should go over to the paddock and see how Jacques was getting on burying the old horse. She didn’t really want to; she was sick of
death – it seemed to be everywhere she looked at the moment – in newspapers, on the news, and the image of Sharon Wilkinson’s pretty face was branded on her brain. She tried to
settle to work but couldn’t. She took two more sips of her coffee, then reached for her coat and set off towards the paddock. She couldn’t take the train because Thomas wasn’t
around. He was glued to that train usually, so Eve presumed he had gone off to the loo or for a quick coffee. She cut through the forest and again felt that strange magical feeling that always
trembled down to her bones whenever she watched those old Czechoslovakian fairy tales as a child, like
The Singing Ringing Tree
and
Three Gifts for Cinderella.
As she neared the
paddock, she saw the unmistakeable back view of Thomas’s overalls and his bare bald head, because he was holding his cap in his hand. All the Welsh and Polish lads were there, gathered
outside the fence, even Effin. Jacques was there, spade in hand, and despite the frost chilling the air, his coat was off and his shirtsleeves were rolled up. There were silvery lines
criss-crossing down his arms, Eve noticed. Old scars.

Thomas nudged the workman at his side who budged over to let ‘the missus’ through the crowd. Even Holly and her twin boys were at the adjoining fence looking across.

‘They’re just going to start,’ whispered Thomas. ‘It’s heartbreakin’, innit?’

Jacques noticed her and nodded a brief greeting, without smiling. He hadn’t smiled at her in days, and she was both surprised and annoyed that it bothered her.

‘Christopher wasn’t with us for very long,’ said Tim with a cough, then his voice froze and he couldn’t carry on.

‘Christopher might not have been with us for very long, but at least he ended his days with good love and care,’ Jacques took over, against a background of sniffing. ‘A little
love in life goes a long way, and I think Tim will tell you that Christopher really perked up living here with us. Some mornings he was like a spring chicken.’

Eve noticed how everyone was hanging on his every word. There was an emotion that was binding everyone together here and she didn’t know what it was, she just felt its power, its warm,
all-encompassing power and that each and every one clustered around Christopher’s grave had a huge respect for the man now talking.

‘But he was a very old boy and any time he had with us was a blessing for him and us both.’ There was a chorus of nose-blowing. ‘It’s all any of us could hope, that we
are loved to the last. So goodbye Christopher, old boy. We shall miss you. We wish we could have had you for longer, but we’re just glad we had you at all.’

During the mumble of ‘goodbye Christophers’ Eve slid to the back of the crowd and slipped away before anyone saw the tears flowing down her cheeks. Jacques’ words were too
cutting, too full of meaning. They were as meaningful to her about Jonathan as they were about Christopher. Sometimes she wished she had never met Jonathan, then she wouldn’t have this
never-ending pain within now, but then she would have missed the short, sweet, rich firework length of time they had together that lit up her life and altered it for ever.
We wish we could have
had you for longer, but we’re just glad we had you at all.

‘Eve.’ His voice came from behind, his body caught it up. He ran steadily and quickly towards her before stopping at her side. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Yes,’ she said, covering any loss of composure with a bristling tone. ‘I just have to get back and get on.’

‘I didn’t ask you to join us because I didn’t think you’d want to be there.’

‘I didn’t,’ she said. ‘But I felt I should show my face.’

His arms filled the top of his sleeves. He must work out, she thought. Mind you, if he hadn’t had a job for ages, he had plenty of spare time to beef himself up at a gym, said her head.
Surprisingly another voice rose up and snapped, ‘Oh for God’s sake, stop bitching about the man, Eve. Give him some credit.

‘I’ll be helping on the snagging list today, you don’t need me in the Portakabin, do you? You’re better at the paperwork than I am anyway; if anything comes up, I’m
sure you’ll be fine with it.’

‘Well yes, of course I’ll be fine,’ nodded Eve, trying to look brave and efficient and not as if she felt near to crumbling like a packet of Digestives under a steamroller.
‘Are you expecting any calls?’

‘I know Pav is going to tell you about his wedding today,’ said Jacques. ‘I’d appreciate it if you didn’t say you already knew. Serena will be ringing this
afternoon about the final arrangements for the wedding chapel.’

Eve nodded. Her green eyes held his blue ones, but there was no impish sparkle in them.

‘Right,’ she said.

‘You know where I am if you want me,’ he said. ‘Effin’s taking the Santapark sign down this morning, so you’ll get your Winterpark one up.’

‘Ah, good,’ replied Eve.

‘I’ll get on,’ and he turned and ran back to the paddock whilst Eve watched him. He ran in a very masculine way, she decided, confident and assured. He ran as if he had done a
lot of it – and seriously. She used to run; Jonathan used to say she was incapable of actually walking anywhere. She had stopped running when he died – one of many things she loved but
didn’t do any more. She used to run up hills until she reached the top, breathless and exhilarated, and the air felt sweeter in her lungs for the effort.

Pav was waiting for her when she reached the Portakabin. She plastered on a wide smile in greeting and prepared to act her socks off.

‘Hello there. Thought you were on a day off. Violet not with you?’

‘Er, no,’ said Pav. ‘Can I see you for a moment, Eve?’

‘Come inside,’ she said, stripping off her gloves as she opened the door into the cosy warmth of the Portakabin. They would be moving into a completed log cabin at the other end of
the park any day now, but she doubted it would ever feel as cosy as this little scrappy place, with the grumpy machine making coffee-Tourette’s-type noises.

‘Sit down. Can I get you a drink?’

‘No, it’s fine,’ said Pav, moving the chair back from the table to give himself leg room. Eve tried not to smile. Pav always exuded such lovely, warm, friendly vibes. She was
so glad he was marrying her beautiful cousin. Only now did she realize how distraught Violet must have been to think she was losing him, and how happy she must have been to know that she
wasn’t.

‘Okay, shoot,’ said Eve, trying to keep her grin friendly and professional. Pav stroked his thin line of a black beard nervously.

‘I haven’t told you,’ he said, with an apologetic tone, ‘but I have booked the wedding chapel for Violet and myself for Saturday.’

Here goes, said Eve. Please don’t make me do an Auntie Susan/Meryl Streep.

‘This Saturday? The day after tomorrow?’

‘Yes. I know it is short notice, but if I told anyone sooner, the secret might have leaked out.’

‘Wow.’

That was worse than anything her Auntie could have come out with so she felt duty bound to add more.

‘I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to react. I’m presuming she hasn’t a clue? No, of course she hasn’t or she would have said.’

‘No, she doesn’t know,’ said Pav. ‘It is a surprise for Violet. Today, I went to see Susan and Bel and Max. Now I come to see you. It’s just a small wedding. In the
chapel here.’

‘Here? Why here, Pav?’

He seemed surprised that she asked that. ‘Because Violet loves Christmas so much.’

‘Does she?’

‘Yes, of course,’ he smiled. ‘She goes crazy for Christmas. She is like a child.’

Does she?
Again Eve gulped down the realization that she didn’t know that. She knew Violet always enjoyed Christmas – how could she not in Auntie Susan and Uncle Jeff’s
cosy house, with the real tree and all the paper decorations which they and Nan Flockton used to make throughout the whole of November. But she didn’t realize that her cousin loved it enough
to be married by the Christmas equivalent of Elvis. It seems she didn’t know much about anyone she was supposed to love.

‘I don’t want you to do anything. Everything is arranged with Jacques. I just want you to turn up and be the guest and sign the register as witness. Please don’t tell
Violet.’

‘I’m really happy for you both,’ said Eve with a rush of emotion. ‘I think you’re so good together.’

‘I love her with all my heart,’ said Pav. ‘Maybe on Saturday she will believe it finally.’

After Pav had gone, Eve couldn’t concentrate. There was something circling her brain like an eagle that was distracting her from filing invoices. The eagle wouldn’t
go away. The eagle had a whiff of lemon French fancies about it. Eve stopped struggling against it, put on her coat and walked up to the amusement park. The sky was dark and dull, but the bubble of
Winterworld was a much more colourful and beautiful place. The snow machines were puffing out flakes which fell softly onto Eve’s shoulders as she walked. Hundreds of colourful lanterns were
lighting the forest with their soft glow. It reminded her of Narnia. But it wasn’t the look of the place which was driving her feet forward, it was the feel of it. Something had touched her
as she stood at the side of Christopher’s grave with all the people whom her Aunt Evelyn had chosen to work here. They were all united in striving towards the same end – Evelyn’s
vision. Only she was pulling in a different way. Only she was standing outside the snow globe of Winterworld, looking in through the glass.

I can’t believe I’m going to do this, she said to herself as she reached the amusement park.

Effin’s men were struggling with the huge iron ‘Santa’ part of the sign. He was screaming at them as usual.

‘
Cocs Cymreig a prics Pwyl – s’dim dianc!
’

‘He said, “Welsh cocks and pricks from Poland – there’s no escape!”’ translated Arfon for Mik, who then promptly translated it into Polish for his workmates.
Eve noticed that one of the Welsh lads was wearing a pair of Christmas pudding deely-boppers on his head; another had tinsel wrapped around his hard hat. The place was soaked in Christmas and there
was no getting away from it.

‘Effin, can I have a word?’ said Eve, touching his arm.

‘You can have more than one, lovely,’ replied Effin.

Eve took a big breath.

‘Leave the sign as it is, will you?’

‘Eh?’

‘Winterpark isn’t the right name. Santapark is.’

Effin tried not to let his top lip pull back over his teeth.

‘It’s taken five of them over half an hour to unscrew it.’ Then he added a respectful, ‘Missus.’

‘I know, and I’m sorry. But I’ve had a change of heart.’

Effin sighed through gritted teeth. ‘’Course. You’re the boss, so if that’s what you want . . . Oy,’ and he shouted up at the men on the scaffolding.
‘Don’t bloody take that down, leave it up. Screw it back in. And don’t take half as long putting it up as you did taking it down, you lazy bastards.’

There was a chorus of protesting groans in response, which set Effin back into paroxysms.

Eve took a few steps backwards to watch the spectacle of the sign being replaced, and crashed into Jacques. ‘Sorry,’ she apologized.

‘Why did you do that?’

‘I didn’t see you,’ she said.

‘I didn’t mean bump into me, I meant keep the sign.’

‘I don’t know,’ said Eve, and meant it. ‘It just felt right. I don’t like that I like it. But if we strip all the Christmas references away from the park, I think
we’d be doing the wrong thing. I’ll admit it, okay?’

Jacques crossed his arms and she noticed there was a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. Ordinarily this would have make her hackles rise, but that smirk told her the ice was thawing
between them and it was more than she deserved.

‘What?’ she said.

‘Nothing,’ he replied. ‘It’s finding you, isn’t it? The Christmas spirit of this place.’

‘Don’t talk bollocks,’ she replied.

‘Come in with us, Eve. The water’s lovely.’

‘How are the honeymoon cabins coming along?’ she said with a sniff, changing the subject completely and trying to hide the shake in her voice. ‘Do I need to check them?
I’m presuming one of them will be used on Saturday night?’