Chapter Twenty-Four
Eloise woke with a start, wondering what had disturbed her slumber. It was dark, but that was to be expected, and when she turned over and looked at the small clock on the bedside table, she saw it was ten minutes past six.
Groaning, she closed her eyes again, intending to go back to sleep, but flinched when an excited squeal reverberated through the wall.
That’s what had woken her—Toby wanting to open his presents. She could hear muffled talking and guessed his mother was trying to keep him quiet. It was in vain because the little boy shrieked again.
Realising it was pointless staying in bed and keen to watch Toby open his presents, Eloise swung her feet to the floor, reached for her slippers, and shrugged on her dressing gown. Then she stepped into the hall and tapped on Sarah’s door.
It opened in a trice, Sarah looking apologetic. “I’m sorry, I’ve been trying to keep him quiet, but it’s impossible. He’s too excited, you see.”
“I expect he is,” Eloise said soothingly.
“I’m going to have to take him downstairs. He’s just getting more and more frustrated the longer I try to keep him in the room.”
“Do you mind if I come down with you?”
“Of course not,” Sarah said, and she glanced behind Eloise as Mitch’s door opened.
“Somebody’s excited,” Mitch said, and when Sarah apologised again, he waved it away with a smile.
Eloise had a smile of her own when she turned back to Sarah and caught her staring at Mitch’s T-shirted chest. That and pyjama bottoms were clearly his nighttime attire, and she thought he made quite a striking figure. He’d looked pretty good in leathers too, she recalled.
Maybe there was something there after all?
However, Bart was quite correct when he pointed out it was unlikely anything would come of it. Sarah’s future was far too unsettled, and Mitch would be heading back home in just over a week.
As would she.
The thought filled her with dismay, but she pushed it aside and followed Toby and Sarah downstairs.
There were no lights on in the sitting room, apart from the fairy lights on the Christmas tree, and they cast a magical glow over the room.
Eloise had a flashback of briefly remembered excitement from when she was little.
Her presents hadn’t been under the tree though.
Hers had been placed at the foot of her bed, and she distinctly recalled waking in the early hours of a long-ago Christmas morning, the world pitch-black and silent as she scooted to the end of the bed and felt around.
She remembered squealing with joy when her questing fingers touched the sack of paper-wrapped gifts, and she suspected that had been the last Christmas with her mother.
The last Christmas she’d been truly happy.
Toby shrieked as he rushed headlong towards the tree, crying, “He’s been! He’s been! Father Christmas has been!”
“Careful, you’ll knock the tree over,” his mother warned, but he flung himself forward. The tree wobbled but didn’t topple, and Eloise breathed a sigh of relief. Then she blinked owlishly as the room was flooded with light.
Bart was up, and he’d turned the big light on. “Look at the little fellow’s face!” he exclaimed, chuckling. “He doesn’t know which one to open first.”
Sarah sat on the floor next to her son, picked up the nearest gift, and handed it to him. “Shall we start with this one?” she suggested, and he reached for it eagerly, tearing at the paper.
It was exactly what he’d asked for—a red fire engine—and Toby hugged it to his chest, his face shining.
“Woo woo, woo woo,” he sang, trying to emulate the sound a fire engine made when it was on a call.
Mitch said to Sarah, “Is it okay if I film this, so you can concentrate on Toby?”
“Oh, that would be lovely, thank you,” she enthused. “These memories are so precious, aren’t they?”
Bart’s smile was wistful. “I remember having to get out the video recorder if Penny and I wanted to film Ross when he was little. It was bigger than a shoebox, and it recorded onto old-fashioned cassette tapes. Things are so much easier these days. You just point your phone and shoot.”
Sarah pushed another present towards Toby, who instantly dropped the fire engine and turned his attention to the new gift. She said, “By the time this one is all grown up, mobile phones will probably be a thing of the past and we’ll be using holograms or something.”
“Oh, don’t.” Eloise sighed, rolling her eyes. “Things are moving so fast, I can’t keep up as it is.”
Sarah took her aside and murmured, “Thank you for not buying any electronic toys for him. I much prefer the traditional kind, the ones that make children use their imagination. He’ll be wanting things with batteries and an internet connection soon enough.
If I can hold it off for a while longer, I will. ”
Bart stayed for a few minutes, watching as yet more gifts were unwrapped and exclaimed over; then he said, “I’m going to make a cup of tea. Anyone want one?”
Three hands shot up, quickly followed by Toby’s, even though he didn’t drink tea.
“I’ll bring you some juice, little man,” Bart told him as he left.
Eloise settled back in the armchair, stuffed her hands into the pockets of her dressing gown, and snuggled into it.
She couldn’t believe how much she was actually enjoying being awake at this time on Christmas morning and watching a small child open a plethora of presents.
This was the best Christmas she could remember since—
Stop there, she told herself. Today wasn’t the day for being maudlin.
Today was all about giving a homeless young mum and her little boy a damn good Christmas.
She hoped they’d succeeded so far, and it amazed her that three strangers had come together to make such a thing happen.
She felt quite proud of what they’d achieved, and she wouldn’t have wanted to miss this for the world.
Maybe next year she should consider doing something for other people, instead of hiding and hoping it would all go away.
When she got home, she’d look into what charities she could help with; preferably ones to do with children.
There was bound to be something in Northampton that she could get stuck into.
But although the prospect of volunteering at a charity filled her with quiet hope, the thought of going home didn’t.
She imagined her house, cold, lifeless, and unadorned with any Christmas cheer whatsoever, and it made her feel incredibly sad.
And how much of that sadness was due to leaving Bart wasn’t something she wanted to think about right now.
With the last present finally opened (and there had been quite a few of them), Eloise was relieved to see there was nothing left under the tree.
She’d deliberately not bought the adults any gifts, not wanting to embarrass anyone, and it appeared the others had felt the same.
She had, however, bought a couple of additional goodies to eat and drink to supplement Bart’s already bulging fridge and cupboards.
With the most important part done and dusted, the rest of Christmas Day would be spent eating, drinking, watching TV, and playing with Toby and his toys.
She would finish her tea, then ask Bart if he’d like help with breakfast. Bart had planned Eggs Royale, which was apparently a bit like Eggs Benedict but with smoked salmon instead of ham.
He would undoubtedly say no, and she wouldn’t push it, but she would insist he accept her help in preparing Christmas lunch.
This might be his house, but it wasn’t fair for him to cook a three-course meal from scratch all by himself!
By the time lunch was ready to be served, everyone was hungry again, despite the lovely breakfast. Everyone (by that, Eloise meant herself) was also flagging.
The early start and Toby’s relentless energy had tired her out, so lunch and a flop in front of the telly would do them all good, and would give them a chance to recharge their batteries.
She might even have a little nap. Whether she did or didn’t would very much depend on how interesting the King’s speech was.
Before that though, as soon as she got five minutes to herself, she needed to reply to Hannah’s message.
It had come through earlier, wishing her a Merry Christmas and asking how she was spending the day, but Eloise hadn’t had a chance to reply.
Smiling, she imagined the expression on her friend’s face when she read it, because Eloise had so much to tell her.
Drat! With everything going on, she realised she’d forgotten to send the postcard she’d bought at Midcombe Manor. Never mind, she wouldn’t have been able to fit all her news on it anyway.
Eloise surveyed the pots bubbling on the stove, as Bart gingerly removed a golden-skinned turkey from the oven. It was huge, and she suspected it would make a reappearance for several more meals to come.
“I’ve set the table,” Sarah announced. “What’s next?”
Bart said, “There’s a box of crackers in the pantry; you could put those out, and the cranberry sauce should be cool enough to decant into a bowl.”
The man had made his own cranberry sauce!
Eloise was in awe. Who did that? She certainly didn’t.
Mind you, she’d never cooked a turkey, so cranberry sauce had never been warranted.
But none of her friends or colleagues had ever mentioned making their own.
And he’d made the stuffing. When he’d asked if she’d like to help him make it, she’d expected to open a packet and add boiling water.
Oh no. Not Bart. He’d used real breadcrumbs.
His job had been to chop and mix the ingredients, and hers had been to roll the mixture into balls, which she’d found rather satisfying.
They were in the oven right now, along with roast potatoes, honey-glazed parsnips, and pigs in blankets. On the stovetop were pots filled with vibrant green cabbage, batons of carrot, sweet garden peas, and florets of broccoli and cauliflower.