Chapter 28
CHAPTER 28
L aura left the house and sauntered down Charnley Hill to the village. Christmas Eve had finally arrived and the high street was busy with people doing last-minute shopping, enjoying a well-deserved break at the Ginger Cat Café, or, like Laura herself, just out for some air and a change of scene.
Veronica came out of the café as Laura was passing by.
‘Jack’s popped up the allotment to cut us a cabbage for tomorrow so I thought I’d treat myself to coffee and a bun.’ She placed a hand on Laura’s arm. ‘Lovely to see you. Everything ready for tonight?’
‘More or less. There’s bound to be something I’ve forgotten but whatever it is, it won’t be missed. There should be a good crowd. Most people accepted and those that didn’t will probably turn up anyway.’
‘They will indeed. And is Cynthia ready to party?’
‘She most definitely is, now she’s all glammed up in pink.’
Veronica smiled, tilting her head to one side. ‘Well, I shall be in competition with Cynthia this year. I’ve got a new dress! Red, it is, with long sleeves and quite a low neckline. More glam than the green velvet I usually turn up in but it is a party, and red’s such a Christmassy colour.’
‘Sounds gorgeous,’ Laura said. ‘It gives you a lift, having something new to wear, doesn’t it?’
‘It does.’ Veronica nodded vigorously, her expression lively in a way that piqued Laura’s curiosity. ‘Jack bought it for me as a surprise. Well, I was with him, of course. He whisked me down to Cliffhaven yesterday afternoon, all of a sudden. I found it in that little boutique just off the main square. And then we made it to the men’s shop just before it shut, and Jack bought a smart blue shirt, so we’ll both be in our glad rags tonight.’
‘Both? Jack’s coming to the party?’ Laura was astonished, and delighted. ‘That’s…’
‘I know! I’m as surprised as you are. It’s a real turn up for the books. Well, I’d better get home.’ Veronica stepped towards the kerb, then added, as if it was an afterthought, ‘I’m glad all that dreadful business over the development site’s out of the way. The new houses will be up before we know it, and everyone will have forgotten they ever made a fuss in the first place.’
Veronica was obviously fishing for a bit of gossip, although sweet as she was, she’d never come right out and ask a direct question.
Laura just nodded. Veronica looked a little disappointed at the lack of reaction, but clearly the topic was still on her mind.
‘Yes, I did think about sending Jack up to your place to get one of Mr Masters’ lovely trees, but in the end I got the old one out of the attic. It’s artificial but you don’t get needles in the carpet.’
‘Whereas I shall be sweeping them up forever more.’
Laura left Veronica waiting by the kerb for a gap in the traffic and continued her stroll along the street. A little further on, she passed Veronica’s wool shop. A felt-tipped notice was fixed to the inside of the door: Wishing all my customers a very Happy Christmas. Shop closed until New Year .
There were similar notices appearing on shop doors and windows as Laura made her way along the high street. Everyone was anxious to start their Christmas festivities, and who could blame them?
Stopping outside the bakery displaying one lonely loaf and four mince pies in the window, Laura took out her phone and dashed off a quick text to Emily, asking if she was at home and receiving visitors. The answer came back immediately: Yes! Come now .
Laura thought for a moment before she texted back : Have to stop off somewhere first. Won’t be long .
Smartening her steps, she reached the lych-gate of St Luke’s and passed through. The heavy oak door of the church was closed but not locked. Laura lifted and twisted the black iron handle and went in. At four o’clock this afternoon there would be a crib service for the children, and tonight, the usual gathering for midnight mass, but now the church was deserted. Laura heard her own footsteps echoing on the ancient stone floor as she wandered down one of the side aisles. Along the length of the aisle, plump, waxy candles flickered in carved stone niches, decked with greenery and studded with bright holly berries. The candles weren’t real – they’d stopped leaving real ones alight – but they were no less beautiful for that. The real candles, those in the silver holders on the altar, would be lit tonight, when organ music and the sweet sound of carols would rise gloriously to the rafters.
She and James had attended midnight mass a few times over the years, and then the party had taken over and somehow, not surprisingly, they’d stopped. Some of Laura’s guests tonight would come to mass, though, leaving the party in time to process down the hill and through the village to the church.
James’s funeral service had been held at St Luke’s, although he wasn’t buried in the churchyard. He hadn’t been a believer, but Laura had felt comforted in the traditional, familiar setting with her favourite hymns as part of the service, and she was sure James would not have minded.
At the end of the aisle, she turned to the centre and stood facing the altar with its magnificent display of winter flowers and silvered greenery, and above, the beautiful stained-glass window depicting Luke, the physician, tending to the sick. She said a silent prayer for James, then turned and walked back down the carpeted central aisle. A movement caught her eye and the verger, a short, squarely-built woman appropriately named Mary, approached from the shadows at the side of the church.
‘Hello, Laura.’ She smiled. ‘I saw you come in but I didn’t want to disturb.’
‘You wouldn’t have been.’ Laura smiled back. ‘I just popped in to offer up a quick prayer for James.’
‘Lovely,’ Mary said, beaming. ‘Busy day for you, I expect.’
‘Yes, but perhaps not as busy as yours.’ They both laughed. ‘I like to make the time, if I can. I might not show my face here very often but, you know, I love this church. Not just for the religious side but because I like to think of all those feet traipsing through this same building for hundreds of years, and yet it’s still here in Charnley Acre, like a solid, dependable heart that never stops beating.’
‘My, that’s poetic,’ Mary said.
‘Ha, yes, well it is Christmas. I think it does something to my brain cells. Seriously, though, I don’t know how St Luke’s is still standing, with all the troubles it’s had.’ She nodded towards a table by the door where several boxes with slots in the top were set out, each with a particular fund mentioned on the label.
Mary followed her line of sight. ‘Between you and me, we’ve done a deal on the woodworm in the bell tower. One of the parishioners has connections with a good firm who said they’d give us a discount, so we’re almost there on that one. And people are so kind, offering to give up their free time to come in and fix up this and that. He’s one of them, that gardener fellow. What’s his name?’ Mary put a finger to her chin. ‘Clayton, that’s it.’
‘ Clayton ? Really?’ She shouldn’t have been surprised, knowing what sort of man he was. ‘What’s he going to be doing?’
‘Mm, not sure. Vicar knows. They were in a huddle the other day, discussing what he could do, I suppose. Like I say, people are so kind.’
Laura smiled. ‘He offered to do some work on my house – Spindlewood. I think I may take him up on that. I’d pay him, of course.’
Mary clasped her hands across her expansive bosom. ‘Ah yes, Spindlewood. Lovely house, and so well worth preserving. You’re lucky to live there, Laura. You keep it going. It’ll bring its own rewards. There’s not much that can’t be fixed up with some filler, a bit of new timber and a lot of faith, in my opinion.’
‘You’re absolutely right, Mary. And I fully intend to keep Spindlewood in one piece as long as I can still get up a ladder.’
‘Hmm, I’d let him do the dangerous work. Clayton. Snap his hand off while the offer’s still there, I would.’
Laura laughed. ‘I might just do that.’
Halfway along the gravel path leading to the lych-gate, Laura stopped, quite suddenly, and turned to look back at the mellow stone walls of the church. What had she been thinking? She couldn’t sell Spindlewood, not now. Probably not ever. It should be Holly’s one day. Her daughter loved the house as much as she did, that was obvious every time she came home. Anyway, what did a few draughts and a drop of rainwater matter? The repairs could all be done gradually, and no doubt when they were done it would be time to start all over again, but that was fine. Besides, having had so much space for so long, she couldn’t imagine living anywhere smaller, or away from Charnley Acre, and cottages of the kind she liked hardly ever came on the market anyway. Nor could she imagine herself in a cramped new-build, like the houses Spencer was putting up, although of course she’d manage if she had to.
‘You’re spoilt, do you know that?’ Laura admonished herself, as she reached the lych-gate and left the churchyard.
But somebody had to be Spindlewood’s guardian, and it may as well be her rather than some stranger who may not love it as much as she did.
Eight minutes later, Laura rang the bell at Cloud Cottage.
‘You’re puffed out,’ Emily said, holding the door back to let her in. ‘You’re out of condition, that’s your trouble.’
‘Ta. Any coffee going?’
‘I can do better than that.’ Emily disappeared and came back with a bottle containing something red and glowing. ‘Sloe gin. Dad makes it. This’ll warm the cockles, and it is Christmas. I’m ever so glad you’re here but what’re you doing out anyway? Why aren’t you up to your armpits in pastry and whatnot?’
Laura shrugged her coat off and sank onto Emily’s sofa. ‘It’s all done. Well, that’s not quite true but Holly’s baking the sausage rolls and things that were in the freezer so I escaped. Wow, this is gorgeous!’ She held up her little glass of sloe gin and gazed at the pretty ruby liquid. ‘It’s reaching parts I didn’t know I had!’
‘It does that.’ Emily sat down in the armchair. Wilf ambled into the room and slumped on the carpet by her feet.
‘I’ve just been to the church,’ Laura said.
‘For James?’
Laura nodded. ‘James, yes. But while I was there I came to a decision.’
‘Oh?’
‘Yes. I’m not going to sell the house.’
Emily made a disappointed face. ‘Of course you’re not. I’ve always known that. I thought it was going to be something juicy.’
‘Have you? I haven’t. Anyway, sorry to let the side down but there’s nothing juicy to tell.’
Except that Clayton kissed me . Laura fidgeted on the sofa and sipped some more sloe gin. One part of her longed to pass on this new information, analyse it and giggle over it with her friend. The other part of her, the part that was still reeling from that kiss, spoke more sense. It was too soon. Besides, it might never happen again; they’d both been feeling emotional at the time.
The Christmas tree she’d rescued from the snow and taken to Mistletoe Cottage had its work cut out. Firstly, it had to lead Clayton into believing that bad memories didn’t have to ruin every one of his Christmases forever more, and then it had to help him put the Spencer business behind him and begin a proper recovery from Louise’s death.
One wonky little Christmas tree with one heck of a task ahead of it. It was strange, but Laura preferred to think of it that way rather than give herself any credit for lifting some of Clayton’s sadness. She may have given him a little nudge towards the light, but she wasn’t a psychologist – or the Christmas fairy; she’d leave that privilege with Cynthia.
So, then, the kiss. Gratitude? A sudden rush of in-the-moment friendly affection? If there was nothing more to it than that, it was probably for the best. And wasn’t that one depressing thought…
‘Laura?’
Emily was looking quizzically at her. Laura realised she was smiling. She rallied, holding up her almost empty glass and squinting at the drop that remained. ‘Blimey. If I’d known I’d be drinking this early I would have had a proper breakfast.’
‘Sloe gin’s not drinking. It’s essential fortification for the partying to come. Pass that over and I’ll give you a top-up.’
Laura clutched her glass. ‘No more. I’ll only drop off this afternoon and I haven’t got time for that.’
Emily put the bottle down and narrowed her eyes. ‘Laura, will you be okay tonight?’
She didn’t have to explain further; she meant would Laura be okay without Spencer by her side at the party. She admitted she’d had a little wobble about that this morning. It would feel strange, and there were bound to be whispered comments and knowing looks amongst her guests. Nothing intentionally rude or unkind; it was just human nature, and the wobble had soon passed.
‘Of course,’ she said. ‘I’ll have you and Holly there, and anyway I’ll be enjoying myself too much to notice.’
And who else might she have there ? She gave herself no more than a second to dwell on that.
‘It’s a shame none of your dates worked out, Em.’
‘Well, cheers! You make it sound as if that’s it, game over!’ Emily widened her eyes, and downed the rest of her sloe gin.
‘You know I didn’t mean it like that. I meant in time for Christmas, that’s all.’
‘Yeah, I know, me too. But there’s a bright side. It leaves me free to flirt like merry hell with all the single blokes at your party.’
Laura giggled. ‘You are joking. At the moment I can’t even think of a single guy I’ve invited. Not one that would suit you, anyway.’
‘Yep, I’m joking. But come New Year, who knows? I might have struck lucky by then. The internet’s like The Windmill Theatre.’ Emily drew inverted commas in the air. ‘We never close.’