Christmas on Midwinter Lane

One

‘A pinch and a punch for the first of the month. Good morning!’

I had answered my phone, having seen it was my best friend, Madi, calling, and despite being in the middle of a mini crisis, I smiled on hearing her cheery voice.

‘A slap and a kick for being so quick,’ I replied. ‘Good morning to you too. Although to be honest, it isn’t such a good morning here.’

‘Oh no. What’s wrong?’ The concern in Madi’s voice was genuine.

‘The heating’s playing up. I’m in the utility room right now and I believe I’ve fixed it temporarily. I checked the boiler and the pilot light was lit, so I googled what, if anything, I could do, and it said to turn the boiler off, wait for thirty seconds and then turn it back on again, so that’s what I did. And, hey presto, the heating burst into life about a minute ago. But according to the internet searches I made, I think that means either the thermostat or the programmer is faulty. Which means I’ll have to call out a heating engineer. And today’s Sunday, so that’s not good either. But hey ho. Such is life.’

‘That’s not good, you’re right,’ Madi agreed. ‘Especially not on your anniversary.’

‘Luckily,’ I said, ‘I have this lovely, thick and cosy dressing gown you bought me last Christmas, to help keep out the freezing cold. But it’s a shame it happened on my anniversary, I agree, and it’s not a great start to my favourite month of the year. Still, …’ I added bleakly. ‘I suppose things could’ve been worse.’

Madi and I were referring to the anniversary of the day I moved into my cottage. Exactly one year ago today, the first of December.

I had grown up in the nearby seaside town of Fairlight Bay and had often admired the row of three cottages that stood on Midwinter Ridge, the group of hills that rose behind the town sheltering it from the worst of the winter winds from the North. As a child, I wondered who had decided to build a row of just three cottages and on such a high and exposed place, away from the town. Dad told me they were farm cottages, rebuilt in the early 1800s to replace the original but much smaller ‘hovels’ that had stood there since the Middle Ages, and that all the land as far as the eye could see had once been part of the extensive and ancient, Midwinter Farm. These days, the farm consisted of a few fields of sheep and cows, some chickens and ducks, and an Elizabethan Farmhouse, that had also replaced the original farmhouse, but that was now far too grand for what was little more than a smallholding.

I never expected to live in one of those cottages myself, and when I was twenty-one, I moved from my parents’ house, and away from Fairlight Bay to pursue a career in London.

When I decided to return to my hometown, as I had always thought of it, I saw one of the cottages up on Midwinter Ridge was on the market, and I immediately made an offer. I moved into the aptly, if somewhat boringly named, Middle Cottage (it being the middle of the row of three) on Midwinter Lane last December. The other cottages being End Cottage, to the left of mine, and Far Cottage, to the right. Oh, how I would’ve loved to meet the person who had decided on those names! I would’ve given them a few tips on using their imagination.

The day I moved in was a bitterly cold day, just like this one, but unlike today, the sun shone and the clear sky was an icy blue. Today the sky was gunmetal-grey and there was no sign of the sun. Although to be fair, it wasn’t due to rise for another ten minutes.

‘I can’t believe you’ve been there for a year,’ Madi added.

‘Neither can I. It’s absolutely flown.’

I clamped my phone between my shoulder and my ear and adjusted my dressing gown, tying the belt tighter to keep out the chill of the December morning air.

The cottage was usually warm and cosy by this time in the morning; the timer being set for the heating to come on at exactly five-thirty each day, including Sundays, when most people I knew had a lie-in. But when I awoke this morning, just before seven, having overslept for the first time in months, my bedroom – and I had correctly assumed, the rest of the cottage, was as cold as the bedrooms in the Ice Hotel in Sweden.

Not that I’d been to the Ice Hotle in Sweden. Or to any hotel made of ice, so I couldn’t say for sure, but Madi and I had watched a documentary about it and how they built it from scratch each year. We had promptly added, ‘spend a night in an Ice Hotel’ to our respective lists of ‘Things I should do before my hair turns grey.’ Our lists were so similar, that we could’ve had just one list. We had both squeezed it in between ‘see the Northern Lights’ and ‘go on a husky drawn sleigh ride’.

Spending the night – and no doubt a fortune – to stay in sub-zero temperatures seemed like a worthwhile and rather thrilling experience when I had added it to my list. Waking up in my own freezing bedroom this morning, was another thing entirely. And not at all thrilling.

Normally, I had showered and dressed long before seven-thirty, but not wanting to leave the warmth of my cosy bed, I had remained curled up beneath the duvet for almost fifteen minutes. The temptation to stay there all morning was strong, but I had places to go, and people to see, so I had no choice but to brave the cold.

I hurried to the utility room half expecting to find the boiler had completely given up the ghost, but thankfully, there still seemed to be life in the old thing, and having discovered how to resolve the problem – albeit temporarily, I had heating once again.

‘It’s great that you managed to get it working,’ Madi said. ‘Things can only get better from here. But you don’t sound like your usual cheery self. Is everything else okay?’

I snuggled my neck into the deep collar of my dressing gown as I removed the phone from beneath my chin and held it in my hand.

‘Apart from the fact that this place is freezing, and polar bears would feel at home here, you mean? I think there’s actually ice on the inside of my windows!’

I laughed as I padded from the small utility room into the kitchen of my bone-tinglingly cold cottage, grateful not only for the cosy dressing gown but also for my furry, slipper boots, shaped like reindeer heads. Each one had hand stitched eyes and a grinning mouth between which there was a plastic nose that lit up with each step I took. Or every move I made if I was sitting down, or sprawled out length-wise on the sofa. I bought them as a present for myself from the Christmas Market in town last year, and I loved them so much that I bought some for Madi, and also for my mum. Madi loved them too. Mum, not so much.

‘Oh!’ Mum had said when she opened her present on Christmas morning. ‘Are these for me?’ And when I nodded in the affirmative, she gave me an odd look, glanced at my dad, who shrugged, and then with a smile as false as Gran’s teeth, added, ‘How lovely.’

Luckily, I had also bought Mum the cardigan I knew she wanted, so it wasn’t a complete disaster. Gran pinched the slippers when neither of us were looking and she’s apparently been wearing them every day since, even in the summer.

I placed my phone on the counter and pressed the speaker icon so that I could continue the conversation with Madi while I filled the kettle. I was dying for a mug of steaming hot coffee, partly to warm up my hands, but mainly because I needed the caffeine rush.

‘Yeah. Apart from that.’ Madi laughed.

I let out a small sigh as I switched on the kettle. ‘Yeah. Everything’s great. Except I overslept, and I think I may have a teensy, weensy hangover. Foolishly, I joined Berry for – to use her exact words, “one quick drink in The Dog and Duck.” Four hours and at least six large red wines later, I can’t remember how I got home. I believe Paul might’ve carried me from his car, but I must’ve got myself to bed … at least I hope I did. I was wearing my PJs when I woke up, and the top was on back to front, so …’ I gave a little shrug even though Madi couldn’t see me, ‘somehow I got undressed.’

Madi gurgled with laughter. She had only met my new friend, Berenice, or Berry, as she liked to be called, a few times, but that was enough for Madi to size her up and agree that Berry was our kind of friend. Paul was Berry’s older brother, and as Madi had said when she met him, he was “Hot as hell and twice as sexy.” He had a girlfriend, though, so that was a bit of a downer, as Madi and I had agreed, but as Madi had also said, “Girlfriends don’t always last.”

‘Maybe Paul undressed you,’ said Madi in a wistful tone. ‘He could undress me anytime. If I wasn’t happily engaged to the love of my life, that is,’ she added hastily. ‘He’s still with his girlfriend, I assume?’

‘Sadly for me, yes. But enough about me. Everything okay with you? This is an early call even by your standards. You usually sleep in on a Sunday.’

Madi and I chatted almost every day, and Madi often called at around eight in the morning, except on a Sunday. Sunday was the one day of the week that she liked to sleep late.

Madi was an early bird and had been for the fifteen years I had known her. I was more of a night owl, although since moving into Middle Cottage, my habits, and my entire life, had changed. These days, I was usually up and about long before the lark had even opened its eyes, let alone started singing.

Not that the tiny hamlet of Midwinter had an abundance of larks. In fact, I had never seen one. Sparrows, magpies, blackbirds, collared doves and, of course, my favourite birds – robins, were plentiful, especially as I had a bird table in my back garden, together with several hanging feeders brimming with seed, suet balls, and so forth.

Swans, geese, ducks, and moorhens were frequent visitors too, often gliding along Midwinter Brook which ran close by the row of three cottages on Midwinter Lane, and was a tributary of Midwinter River. The river was about two miles away and cascaded down one side of Midwinter Ridge, then flowed past Midwinter Farm, before it curved back around the foot of the hills and made its way through Fairlight Glen, a beautiful area of woodland and shrubs. From there the river skirted the town of Fairlight Bay, as it made its way to the sea.

There were partridges, too. Sadly, not in pear trees – which would be lovely at this time of the year – but scurrying across the fields that surrounded the cottages, and weaving in and out of the hedgerows that were bursting with winter berries, separating the cottages and the fields.

Sheep and cows grazed in those fields in summer; the grass strewn with wild flowers loved by butterflies, birds, and bees, but this time of year, the cows were in their sheds, and although the sheep remained outside for most of the winter except for when the fields were sodden, or the weather was too grim, they preferred to be closer to the farmhouse down in the valley on the other side of Midwinter Ridge rather than up on the exposed hills.

The hills that formed Midwinter Ridge were also known locally as the fire hills. This was because of the proliferation of wild gorse bushes that grew on the sides of the hills facing the sea. In the spring, when the gorse bushes were covered in a blanket of yellow-gold blooms, the hills gave the appearance of being on fire.

‘All good here, thanks,’ said Madi. ‘And nothing much to report, apart from that the weather’s naff, so I’m going to have a lazy day by the fire. What about you? Got any exciting plans for the day? I just wanted to be the first one to wish you a jolly December. And speaking of jolly, how are the two grinches?’

Madi meant my two neighbours, Adele, and Marcus, who lived in the cottages either side of mine. When I moved into Middle Cottage last December, not only had my neighbours kept themselves to themselves, they hadn’t put up any decorations – at least, none that I could see. Both Madi and I adored Christmas, although me more so than Madi, so the lack of decorations was an afront to our senses and we’d been discussing it ever since.

My boxes of Christmas decorations, of which there were a lot – and I do mean, A LOT – had been the first boxes I had unpacked … after the box labelled ‘kitchen essentials’, that is. That box held my kettle, my matching jars containing coffee, teabags, and sugar, another jar brimming with homemade Christmas cookies, and a cooler bag with a three-litre plastic bottle of milk.

Between making the removal team copious cups of coffee and tea, I began putting up my decorations. The removal men even helped. And they complimented me on my delicious Christmas cookies, too.

Once my boxes were unpacked and I had settled in, I had popped round to each cottage to introduce myself but neither neighbour had given me a warm welcome and neither of them had invited me in. Nor had they given me their names, which Madi said was particularly unfriendly.

‘Perhaps I caught them both at a bad time,’ I had proffered in their defence that day. ‘The woman did say she was on the phone, although she didn’t have one in her hand when she answered the door. The man just said, “No thanks to whatever it is you’re selling”, and closed the door in my face.’

‘Perhaps you did,’ Madi had said, sounding unconvinced. ‘But they didn’t have to be rude.’

I had tried again but neither neighbour had answered their door, and I had posted Christmas cards through their letterboxes the week before Christmas, but hadn’t received cards from them in return.

‘Some people don’t send cards these days,’ I told Madi, trying to hide my disappointment. ‘They give to charity instead.’ I had decided to give my neighbours the benefit of the doubt. I was sure they had probably done that.

Madi, however, was not convinced.

‘I think you’re being kind,’ she said. ‘There aren’t any postal costs involved in dropping a card through a neighbour’s letterbox, so saving that expense doesn’t stack up in my opinion. And buying a pack of charity cards doesn’t cost much, and is also giving money to charity, so that’s a win-win.’

I couldn’t argue with that logic, which made the disappointment greater.

‘I think they might just be unfriendly people,’ Madi said at New Year, when the neighbours hadn’t responded to my invitation to my small, New Year’s Eve party. Madi, together with her fiancé, Tristan, had driven all the way from their relatively new home in Somerset to be there, and was not impressed that the neighbours couldn’t even be bothered to walk down the length of their garden paths.

By Easter, I was beginning to agree with Madi and had almost resigned myself to the fact that the neighbours and I would never be friends – just neighbours. Almost. But I wasn’t quite ready to give up hope, and I’ve always been an optimist.

And then the miracle of spring happened, and it wasn’t just the flowers that burst into life.

warm May morning, when I was planting flowers in my front garden and I glanced up and spotted Adele watching me from the sitting room of Far Cottage, I smiled and waved and was about to look away when I got the surprise of my life. Adele waved back. Not only that, the woman actually smiled.

As if this was contagious, later that same week, Marcus, who lived in End Cottage, also reciprocated my cheery wave. This time it was me who was looking out of my sitting room window and Marcus was marching up his path towards his front door. For some reason, he glanced towards Middle Cottage, perhaps to admire the new window boxes brimming with fragrant flowers that I had planted, and the pots of varying shapes, sizes and bright colours lining the path to my own front door, and instead of quickly averting his gaze as he usually did, he waved and smiled. It was a quick wave and a brief smile but it filled me with joy and I jumped up and down with delight, and then called Madi to tell her the news.

‘I know it’s hardly big news,’ I had said, ‘but I finally feel as if they’ve accepted me. And maybe, in a couple of years, all three of us might even become friends.’

I was joking of course. I was determined to find out their names by the end of May, and to have held a conversation, however short, with at least one of them, but preferably both, by the end of June.

I had got my wish. The warmer weather had brought both my neighbours out into their gardens and although the fences, bushes and trees in the back gardens were far too tall for any of us to see one another, the hedges dividing the front gardens were only a couple of feet high and I took every opportunity to pop outside and chat if either neighbour ventured out.

By the first week of July, I not only knew my neighbours’ names were Adele and Marcus, I had also discovered Adele worked in a bakery and adjoining café in Fairlight Bay, called Fairlight Bakes, and Marcus owned his own business, also in Fairlight Bay. At that stage, I had yet to ascertain what his business was as he hadn’t elaborated, but I thought it might involve working outdoors because we had been briefly discussing the weather one morning when it looked as if it was about to pour with rain, and Marcus had said that he hoped it wouldn’t as he had a big job on and he’d rather it wasn’t rained off.

When I invited them both to a small, summer BBQ in August, I had high hopes of them attending. Sadly, neither had.

‘Small steps,’ I had said to Madi.

‘Why bother?’ Madi had replied, she and Tristan having yet again driven hundreds of miles from Somerset for that BBQ – and to spend the Bank Holiday weekend with me. ‘I know you think everyone should get on with everyone else and we should all be friends with our neighbours, but some people just like to live their lives on their own terms and keep themselves to themselves.’

I could understand that some people liked their privacy but surely it was better to chat to one’s neighbours and at the very least, to pass the time of day with them rather than to ignore them and refuse their hospitality?

I had hoped Adele and Marcus would join me at the Horrible Halloween Hop, the annual dance held in Fairlight Bay on the Saturday night closest to Halloween. I had mentioned it to each of them several times throughout September and October but they had both changed the subject or each said they’d think about it, in a way that made me certain they had no intention of doing any such thing.

‘I’m worried they may be lonely,’ I told Madi.

‘Why? Just because they both appear to live on their own? You live alone, but you’re not lonely, are you?’

‘No. But I’ve got friends and my family.’

Madi had tutted. ‘And so have they. You told me yourself that you’ve seen people come and go to both cottages over the months you’ve lived there. Perhaps their lives are full enough and they don’t feel the need to be friends with you. Even though it’s their loss because you’re so lovely, of course.’

I had laughed at that. ‘She adds hastily. Hmm. I know you’re probably right and yet … I don’t know why and I can’t really explain it but … they both seem sad somehow. And the weird thing is, they both smile and say hello to me now, and they’ll even stop and chat, but they won’t smile and say hello to one another and I haven’t seen them exchange one word. That’s odd, isn’t it? They’ve both lived on Midwinter Lane for years, so they’ve both told me.’

‘Yes,’ Madi agreed. ‘That is strange. Perhaps they had a row or something. Or perhaps they dated once and didn’t hit it off. You said they’re around the same age, didn’t you?’

‘Yes. Although I don’t know for sure because I haven’t asked their ages and they haven’t offered to tell me, but I don’t think they’re that much older than us. I would say they’re both in their early forties. I asked Adele about it a few weeks ago. Not about their ages. About why they don’t seem to acknowledge one another. She almost bit my head off. “I don’t want to talk about that”, was all she would say, and the look she gave me could’ve turned me to ice.’

‘Yep. That definitely sounds as if they’ve fallen out. You’ll have to find out why, won’t you?’

‘Absolutely,’ I had agreed.

‘Although the most worrying thing you said was that they’re not much older than us,’ Madi added. ‘How did we get to be thirty-six so quickly?’

‘I have no idea. I still feel like twenty-one. Unfortunately, I don’t look that age.’

‘Tell me about it,’ Madi said with a sigh.

By November, nothing much had changed with my neighbours, as I had told Madi when she asked for an update.

‘They might’ve also ignored my invitation to join me for the Big Bonfire Night in Fairlight Bay, but things will be different this Christmas. This Christmas, we’ll all be friends at the very least.’

‘I admire your optimism,’ Madi had said. ‘And your staying power. I’d have told them to stuff it by now.’

Madi and I had been neighbours, and that was how we had met when we were both twenty-one. We both rented small studio flats in the same low-rise block in Bromley in Kent – cheaper than living in London but still easily commutable to the City where we both worked, oddly enough, as we had quickly discovered, in high-rise office buildings next door to one another. We soon became friends and over the years we shared highs and lows, heartaches and new loves, career wins and losses, and everything in between.

We were more like sisters than best friends by the time we moved from the tiny studio flats we had rented to a large, two-bedroom flat a short distance along the road, which we had bought together. Like so many others around our age, neither of us could ever have afforded to buy a place on our own. Property in and around London had always been expensive, but together we each managed to get a foot on the first rung of the property ladder.

Madi had worked her way up the corporate ladder to become an executive assistant to a high-flying executive in a leading global technology, consulting and research company.

Two years ago, she had gone on a date with her boss, who subsequently decided he no longer wanted to fly-high in the City but wanted to move down to Somerset and start his own cider-making business instead. He told Madi about his dream, and, as Madi had always wanted to live in the countryside, when Tristan asked her to go with him, she had instantly said yes.

I had worked in the Human Resources department of one of the world’s largest international banks and had also worked my way up towards the glass ceiling that still existed in that bank, but before I could break through, technology had taken over. The bank had revamped many of its HR services, making much of it digital, meaning there were fewer jobs for humans. I was assured my position was secure, but when the bank asked for voluntary redundancies, I stepped forward. I had been considering a change for a while and with Madi moving to Somerset, I decided it was time to make my own break from the City to the countryside.

Madi and Tristan had told me that Madi would keep her share in the flat so that I wouldn’t need to sell up and move elsewhere, but I had already made up my mind to do so, and the flat was sold and the profits shared equally.

I had chosen to move to Sussex, not Somerset. It was where my family lived. But I must admit, the urge to join Madi in the West Country, and possibly live close to her and Tristan, was strong.

Until my mum suggested that Madi and Tristan might not want their single friend tagging along as they embarked on their new adventure. I believe Mum had said it with the best of intentions, but her words hit home and although I knew Madi would miss me as much as I would miss her, I decided I should give them some space.

It was only later that I realised Mum was slightly hurt by my wanting to move to Somerset to be close to my best friend rather than move back to Sussex to be close to my family.

That was a bit of a surprise. Mum had never shown any great desire for me to live close by, before. I think she was pleased when I moved to London at the age of twenty-one. I had returned to Fairlight Bay for a few weekend visits throughout the year and Mum, as well as Dad and Gran, had always said they had missed me while I was away. Yet as Sunday evening drew near, Mum frequently checked her watch and said she didn’t want me to get stuck in traffic, and that I shouldn’t leave my departure until late, as most road accidents occurred after dark. I wasn’t sure if that was true. I kept meaning to look it up, but I’m not really sure I wanted to know.

On the whole, I’m glad I decided to come home to Fairlight Bay. Gran was getting on in years, and now lived in a home on the outskirts of town, but she went to my parents for Sunday lunch every weekend, so time spent with her was precious.

And I loved living near the sea again. The sea was the main thing I missed when I lived in Bromley. Apart from my family, of course.

I had been able to purchase Middle Cottage on Midwinter Lane outright and still had money to spare. I wasn’t sure then what I wanted to do once I had moved but I knew I would want to work, and would need to do so, because at the age of thirty-five, as I was then, retirement – even early retirement – was a long way off.

I also knew I would have to do something I loved. The idea of starting my own business was inspired by Tristan and his cider.

‘I want to spend the rest of my working life doing something I love,’ he had told me when I’d asked him why he’d chosen that. ‘I love apples. I love cider. I love making things and working with my hands. I love the outdoors. And I’ve loved Somerset since I was a kid. I saw the farm and apple orchards close to where I’d holidayed every year with my parents as a kid, were up for sale and I just knew that was it,’ he had explained.

I had hoped I would have a similar epiphany but when I had moved to Middle Cottage, I still had no idea of what I wanted to do with my life.

Since Madi and I had moved out of the flat we had shared for years and gone our separate ways, so many things had changed. Having been neighbours long before that, we still hadn’t adjusted to living so far away from one another. Yet one thing that hadn’t changed, was our friendship. We may now be hundreds of miles apart but we texted, phoned or video called each other constantly. Sometimes even when neither of us had anything particular to say. Just like today.

I sipped the coffee I had made and luxuriated in its warmth, my fingers entwined around the mug.

‘I’m nipping into town once I’ve showered and dressed,’ I said. ‘And I’m having lunch with the family. But I need to wait for the water to heat up first. After that, it’s back here to finish putting up the rest of the Christmas decorations outside, which will cheer me up, and the official lighting switch on will be happening as soon as that’s done, later today. The two grinches are fine. But they did both give me odd looks when I started putting up my outdoor decorations on Friday. Last year, I couldn’t even get a smile out of either of them, let alone a ‘Merry Christmas’, or any other holiday greeting they might prefer. This Christmas, I’m determined they’ll not only exchange cheery festive greetings, they’ll put up some decorations and they’ll join in the fun.’

‘Good luck with that,’ Madi said. ‘We’re putting our decorations up today. If I can summon up the energy to get off the sofa, that is. I’ll send you some photos when we’re done and you send me some of yours. I wish we could get together this Christmas, but you’re still coming down here for New Year, aren’t you?’

‘Definitely. I’m looking forward to it.’

‘But not as much as you’re looking forward to Christmas, right?’

I sniggered. ‘I can’t help it if I love Christmas. And it’s just as well I do. If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have started my own business selling Christmas decorations.’

That idea had come to me last Christmas after mulling over what Tristan had told me about his own business venture. Luckily for me, not only was he good with his hands, Tristan was a whizz with technology, and he had set up a website for me when I had gone to stay at Apple Orchard Farm for a few days in January.

With Madi’s help, the three of us had decided on a name, and Midwinter Cottage Decorations was born. That sounded better than Middle Cottage and I considered changing the name of my own home to Midwinter Cottage, but that would entail making a request to the local authority and paying a fee, and if they approved my request, notifying the Royal Mail and then my bank, doctor, dentist, etc., so I put that notion to one side.

Tristan, Madi and I had organised some advertising on social media, for my new business, and within a matter of days, orders began to trickle in, picking up pace when I added Valentine decorations at the end of January, and Easter decorations in March.

In April, I had also rented a stall at the Fairlight Bay Market which was held every Thursday throughout the year. People visited from far and wide and word soon spread of my Midwinter Cottage range of gorgeous and often quirky decorations, most of which were handmade either by me, or by people I had met while shopping at various other craft markets and fairs.

I added more seasonal decorations, like summer bunting, autumn wreaths, and spooky items for Halloween, and by the end of November, my business was booming. So much so that I was now thinking of taking on some extra help.

‘That’s true,’ said Madi, as I finished my coffee and walked back to the sink. ‘Who would’ve believed when we first met that both of us would one day leave London for good and be running our own businesses? Well, in my case, jointly running a business with my fiancé.’

‘Not me. I thought I’d be head of HR one day. But I’m so glad I’m not. We’re both much happier now than we ever were working for others, aren’t we?’

‘Definitely. But I do wish we lived closer to one another. I miss you so much.’

‘Same here,’ I said, turning on the tap to rinse out my mug before I put it in the dishwasher. ‘Arggh! Oh hell! Now I’ve soaked myself. This stupid tap thinks it’s a shower. minute it’s working fine, the next it’s spraying water everywhere.’

Madi laughed. ‘Haven’t you got that fixed? I thought you had a plumber booked for last week.’

We usually chatted most days but the past week had been hectic for both of us and we’d only spoken briefly once or twice.

‘Yeah. So did I. It seemed he thought otherwise. I tried calling him several times after he missed the appointment but all I got was his voicemail. I left polite messages at first, but after the fifth call I sort of lost it and I left him a slightly snarky message. Now I think he’s blocked my calls. All I get is a message saying, “The person you’re trying to reach is unavailable”. I’ll have to find another one, but plumbers, it seems, are rarer than Santa’s magic dust.’

‘Santa’s magic dust?’

‘The stuff that makes the reindeer fly.’

‘Of course. Silly me. Couldn’t the heating engineer you need to fix your boiler, sort out the plumbing too? I know not all plumbers can deal with central heating but I think all central heating engineers can deal with plumbing. Although I may be wrong. Tristan deals with all that.’

‘I suppose so. I’ll have to do another search online and see what I can find.’

Madi laughed again. ‘Or you could ask your neighbours. And you could get them to help with your decorations too. That should get them in the Christmas spirit. I’d better let you go and find your plumber slash heating engineer. Call me later with an update.’

‘Will do,’ I said, dabbing at my saturated dressing gown with reams of kitchen paper towel. ‘I’m already wet, so I might as well go and have my shower. The water should be warming up by now. Give my love to Tristan.’