The Magic of Christmas (14 page)

‘That is
so
not true,’ I said hotly.

‘No, Lizzy isn’t like that in the least,’ Annie agreed loyally, ‘and neither is Nick.’

Polly, who’d been quiet, rallied again: ‘Oh, I knew he had an
old
mistress who wouldn’t accept that their affair was over. But it was me he loved — and me he spent his last night with!’

‘I don’t believe you. He was with me only a few days before he died, and he swore he loved me and soon we would be together always,’ Leila declared.

‘Presumably after I had obligingly died, and he had inherited the cottage?’ queried Roly mildly.

‘You
are
ninety-two, Roland,’ Leila said defensively. ‘In France we are more practical about these things.’

‘Not practical enough, my dear. I was leaving the cottage to him for life only, then to Jasper after him, not outright.’

‘And you were going to tell me all this when, exactly?’ Nick demanded of his wife in a voice that reverberated through the greenhouse like thunder. ‘And why refuse me a divorce?’

‘I knew that you would try and take half my restaurant that I’ve worked for so hard — half my money. Why should I give you what is mine? I thought once Lizzy was free, you might be more reasonable about it, and I would wait. And I will fight you through the courts for every penny!’

‘I don’t want your money — I don’t want anything of yours, just my freedom!’ Nick said furiously. ‘I’ll sign a statement to that effect any time you choose — would have done before, if I’d known what was worrying your mercenary little heart. You and Tom seem to have been made for each other!’

‘No they weren’t. She’s a lying cow and it’s
me
he loved and wanted to spend his life with!’ Polly said, quivering with rage. Then she entirely lost it and lobbed her plate of food at her rival. Half a scone daubed with cream and red jam clung to the side of Leila’s face like some exotic wart, before sliding slowly down her cheek and dropping off, smearing her expensive suit on the way.

Mimi giggled, but Leila gave a scream of rage and lunged at Polly with her long, sharp red nails. I was just thinking that I’d put my money on Leila, when Nick seized her arms from behind and two of the surfers, who must have followed Polly through the tomato plants, leaped forward and grabbed her too.

‘Put them out!’ Unks snapped. ‘You!’ he said to Polly. ‘Whatever the truth of the matter, you should have had the decency to stay away. If you don’t go now, I’ll have you removed.’

Polly went limp and started sobbing, and the two surfers let go of her arms. She stumbled towards the door on her extremely high heels and, as the crowd parted to let her through, I realised we had unwittingly been providing entertainment for everyone within ear-and eyeshot — which, in a greenhouse, is pretty well everyone who could cram in.

The only good thing was that the police and the vicar seemed to have left before the floorshow.

Nick, still grasping Leila’s arms, snapped in my direction, ‘Excuse us! Back later, Roly — hope your horse won.’ And he marched her off. I would have liked to have been a fly in the car on the way back to London: Nick’s invective can be quite inventive when he’s in a rage.

Unks looked pleased. ‘Well, she was always a bitch,’ he remarked happily. ‘Don’t know why he took up with her, except she was beautiful, I suppose, and they had the cooking stuff in common. Once he’s over her, he can start again — with a sensible Lancashire lass this time, perhaps?’

‘They’re both lying old bags!’ quavered the small, pathetic voice of the drippy girl from the Mummers right next to me, and it was quite lucky from her viewpoint that neither of them was there to hear that description, because it would have been tantamount to staking a kid to attract tigresses. ‘He loved
me
— and what’s more, I’m having his baby!’

White as a sheet and naturally rather pop-eyed, Ophelia Locke seemed an unlikely candidate for Tom’s attentions, so I was probably the only person who believed her. Still, it was another reason to be glad the other two had gone. There was clearly a general feeling among the onlookers that this was a scene too far and we were into the farce; but then, before anyone could rally enough to say so, Ophelia fainted backwards.

Caz Naylor stepped forward and caught her neatly, then slung her over his shoulder, where she dangled limp as a shot rabbit. ‘Not right in’t head, Mr Pharamond,’ he said tersely.

‘Evidently, poor girl,’ agreed Unks, looking rather taken aback.

Hanging upside down must have sent the blood rushing to Ophelia’s head, for she revived enough to beat weakly on Caz’s back and whimper, ‘Put me down, you big bully!’

Caz ignored her and carried her off, the crowd parting to let them through. There was a spontaneous spatter of applause.

Unks unscrewed the top of his cane. ‘Anybody want a shot of brandy? I certainly do! And wasn’t that the girl I let an estate cottage to — makes handicrafts, or some such stuff?’

‘Barbola work?’ suggested Mimi. ‘And is Caz walking out with her?’

‘Smocks,’ I said. ‘Yes, Unks, that’s the girl.’

‘Nobody does barbola work these days,’ Juno said. ‘And I shouldn’t think she’s Caz’s type.’

‘Oh? Well, that was all just like a play!’ Mimi said, still clapping her hands. ‘Was it a play, Juno? Is that the end?’

‘Yes, time for us to go home,’ she agreed. ‘Come on, that gardening programme you like will be on by the time we get there.’

Mimi whirled the chair about with no more ado. ‘Lovely party — thank you for having me!’ she called politely over her shoulder. The remains of Polly’s jam scone squidged under the wheels.

The excitement clearly over, some of the remaining guests followed them out, though the last two Mummers were still obliviously droning on in the background and I could see one of Tom’s surfing chums stretched out under the trestle tables, snoring.

‘Jasper,’ I said, as he finally came in, closely followed, nose to heel, by the little dog, ‘Unks says we can live at Perseverance Cottage for as long as we want to. Isn’t that kind?’

‘Really? Thanks, Unks. I was worrying what would happen to Mum when I went off to university, but now I won’t need to any more.’

‘You don’t have to worry about me at all!’ I said indignantly. ‘I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.’

Jasper eyed me uncertainly. ‘Are you all right, Mum? Only you look a bit strange.’

‘Strange? Why on earth should I look strange?’ I demanded, though I could feel hysteria trying to tweak my mouth into an idiot’s grin.

‘I think we’re all tired and a bit overwrought,’ Annie said quickly. ‘What an exhausting day! All these scenes and revelations.’

‘What scenes and revelations?’ asked Jasper, looking from one to the other of us.

‘I’ll tell you later,’ I promised, which I would have to, even if only the edited lowlights. ‘I wonder how we can get rid of the last of the guests.’

‘I’ll send Joe back to turf out the stragglers,’ promised Unks, hoisting himself to his feet with Jasper’s help. ‘But most of them will go when they see me leaving.’

He advised me, before Joe drove him away, not to dwell on recent events, but instead remember Tom as he once was. He looked frail and tired, so I hoped it all hadn’t taken too much out of him.

I was fine — too numb and full of elderberry wine and brandy to feel anything except a desire for oblivion.

It was early evening before Joe Gumball loaded the last drunken surfer into the back of the taxi called to take them to their B&B in Mossedge, and finally persuaded the two Mummers to go away. They had been too drunk to notice the scene with Ophelia, or even question where she had vanished to. (And what
had
Caz done with her?)

The urns and crockery had long been efficiently removed by the WI ladies, with my grateful thanks, and Marian and Clive Potter had supervised the local Cubs and Brownies in carrying the trestles and chairs back to the village hall, so that was that.

Annie saw to the poultry, and then cooked us a meal we none of us really felt like, except the dogs, before going home.

Finally alone with Jasper I felt almost too exhausted for the effort of explanation, but when I told him that he really
was
Unks’ great-great-nephew he just said, ‘Yes, I know. Unks told me ages ago, when I asked him why I looked more like Uncle Nick than Dad.’

‘You did?’ I stared at him. Then I sighed tiredly, and decided to tell him about the other pretenders to the throne of love and get it all over with at once. ‘Did you also know that your father was having an affair with Leila as well as Polly? They nearly came to blows this afternoon.’

‘Oh, so that’s what she and Nick were arguing about when they left! He pushed her into his car and roared off, and then Polly came out and drove away too, though she didn’t look fit to be behind the wheel. And another thing,’ he added thoughtfully, ‘why was Caz giving that Mummer girl a fireman’s lift? She didn’t seem to appreciate it.’

‘She fainted — right after declaring that it was really
her
your father loved, not the other two. And, Jasper, she says she’s pregnant!’

His eyebrows rose. ‘She does?’

‘I hope it isn’t true, because goodness knows, things are complicated enough without that.’

‘Well, look on the bright side,’ Jasper said, with the breezy insouciance of youth. ‘At least there’s no chance the baby’s mine!’

I was woken early next morning by a thirteen-gun salute, which proved to be half my remaining stock of ginger beer exploding.

After cleaning the sticky mess up and loosening the rest of the caps so I wouldn’t lose all of it (Jasper and I are very partial to ginger beer), I went out to see to the poultry.

There appeared to be fewer quail. Presumably Caz had taken the opportunity the previous day to cull the male ones again, though I wasn’t sure how he found the time, unless he’d popped back after taking Ophelia to … well, where
had
he been heading? So long as it wasn’t to his giant freezer, I didn’t suppose it really mattered. Perhaps he had just put her in a Mummer’s car and left her to it. Or carried her home to her estate cottage, which is not far from his, protesting all the way? (Though I didn’t think most local girls would protest if he wanted to carry them off, the foxy sheikh of the western Lancashire world.)

I hadn’t really thought of him in the knight-errant role before, even if he appeared to have been protecting me against the ARG activists. Perhaps he’d got something going with Ophelia. But then, that did seem a bit unlikely too, since he was definitely carnivore and I remembered Tom telling me once that all the other Mummers were vegan and wouldn’t even wear leather shoes.

The quail, in their little pens, all made identical cheeping sounds. I’d never managed to tell one from the other, which was lucky since I didn’t actually get attached to them, like I did to all the Honeys and Myrtles, and even the ducks. But sometimes even they were so nasty and vicious to each other that I stared to feel maybe their real destiny was to be on a plate with stuffing and gravy, or orange sauce. Nature is red in beak and feather, as well as tooth and claw — someone should tell ARG that.

But after wrapping a couple of dozen quail eggs in onion skins during the sleepless night watches before the funeral, I really didn’t care if I never ate another one, let alone a quail itself … so I thought I’d get rid of them; find them another home.

The duck population was here before me and was pretty self-sufficient, but the hens could just naturally reduce as they died of old age — so long as I found the eggs before they hatched. After all, it was just going to be me here at Perseverance Cottage most of the time, and if I didn’t produce much more food than I could eat, with the bit extra for barter, then I’d have time to throw myself into helping Annie expand Posh Pet-sitters, and earn some money. Barter worked well up to a point, but not with electricity bills and the Inland Revenue.

Yes, even the enormous, aluminium-framed glasshouse — relic of a doomed attempt at market gardening by a previous tenant — could go. There was a small one behind the cottage that did well enough for my needs. I decided to get Jasper to put it on Freecycle, where you can advertise anything you want to get rid of — but also get things you need, for free. I expect someone will want it. But what I was to do with Tom’s workshop contents I couldn’t imagine …

Back at the cottage I was surprised to find Jasper up and getting ready to go to the dig, which on the whole I thought a good idea (though possibly not in the Diesel jeans that had cost me a fortune). I think we both had that spaced-out, anti climactic feeling, and the alternative was sitting about thinking unproductive thoughts.

‘Do you know how many eggs I had to sell to buy those jeans?’ I demanded, but he took the question as rhetorical and carried on cutting multilayered doorstep sandwiches.

I couldn’t drive him there, since, even if the van hadn’t been down at the garage, now it had done duty as a hearse neither of us fancied ever getting in it again. But Dave Naylor was coming that morning with the ancient but, he assured me, very practical Land Rover I had in a rash moment agreed to swap it for.