Chapter 11
ELEVEN
To my surprise, the rest of the day in York went well. Now my mother had got what she wanted, and doubtless thought she could push me into the parts she had agreed to compromise on, she was as happy as anything. We went to the apothecary, which wasn’t as terrifying as it sounded: less medieval medicine and more soothing scents and sympathetic assistants, who were thoroughly starstruck by Mum and eager to help her poor daughter.
‘She’s the most wonderful businesswoman,’ my mother told them. ‘I’m so proud of her. But she does push herself too hard, and you can see the results.’
I silently questioned whether she was remotely proud of me, but submitted myself to being discussed and photographed while I smelled various oils and allowed creams to be rubbed onto the back of my hand. We left after forty-five minutes with three thick cardboard bags full of expensive preparations and went to embark on clothes shopping. I was flagging badly by this time, but Mum swept me along, showing such unprecedented care and interest that instead of my usual approach to buying clothes – try a few things on, get fed up, buy something identical to everything else in my wardrobe and hope for the best where fit is concerned – I came away with some gorgeous items. My favourite was a soft, knitted cream poncho with a loose roll neck, thin enough to wear under coats but warm enough to be worth it. I also had a hat, scarf and gloves and that would have been enough for me, but Mum insisted that I let her buy me a cashmere jumper in a rich emerald green.
‘You don’t have to, Mum,’ I protested, seeing the eyewatering price tag.
‘I know I don’t have to,’ she replied, whipping out her credit card, ‘but have you thought that I might want to? You never let me do these mother-daughter things and I’m enjoying it. I hope you are too.’
I smiled my agreement and decided against reminding her why these bonding moments had never happened before: because she hadn’t been there to participate. I reminded myself that even this, pleasant though it was, was only for her social media. Tiredness washed over me.
‘Mum, I’m going to have to go home soon. Do you have much more to do?’
Thankfully she didn’t, and we met Coco and were soon heading back to Blakeney Hall. By the time we arrived, I had perked up a little, and offered to help Coco prepare dinner. She accepted gladly and soon we were chopping onions and enjoying some cheesy Christmas music on the radio.
‘What do you think about pudding?’ she asked, pulling the lid off a large tin of tomatoes. ‘I was going to make Christmas stollen, but I’ve run out of time by a few hours. There’s ice cream in the freezer, but I’m not sure anyone will want that.’
‘I agree,’ I said. ‘It’s too chilly to enjoy it properly. I really love warm things at this time of year – like hot chocolate. But I suppose you can’t really give that for pudding.’
A glint came into Coco’s eye.
‘Actually, we could, if we dress it up a bit? I know a gorgeous recipe for orange spiced biscuits – if you can take over this pasta sauce and get the bake in the oven, then I could knock them up quickly.’
‘Sure,’ I said, with more confidence than I felt. ‘If you tell me what to do. We should have marshmallows as well – have you got any?’
‘Yes! Oh, but only big ones, no good for floating on hot chocolate.’
‘But perfect for toasting – outside, if there’s anywhere we could have a little fire?’
Coco grinned.
‘Yes, there’s actually one of those special dish things somewhere. I’m sure Dad or Alexander would get it out.’
‘Brilliant! I did an amazing outside party one winter, all this sort of thing. Actually, there’s one more thing we could add…’
I explained to Coco what we would need, and she told me where it all was. I assembled it on the kitchen table, and she had her biscuits out and cooling just as the pasta bake timer pinged.
‘Perfect. We won’t have time to ice them, but that does make them easier to dunk.’
I felt proud carrying in the dish of pasta, even though my contribution to its creation had been minimal. Everyone devoured it, and once they had finished, Coco spoke up.
‘Fallon and I have come up with an idea for a different pudding tonight, and it’s going to be a collaborative effort.’ There were a few ‘oohs’, although Mum looked sceptical. Coco continued, ‘Dad, Alexander, could you get the fire pit working, do you think?’
‘No problem,’ said Alexander, standing up. ‘Theo and I were using it last week. Can he come and help? He’s very good at building up the sticks.’
‘Not this time, I’m afraid,’ I said with a smile. ‘I need him and anyone else who’d like to, to come and do another job.’
Theo glanced at his father, who gave him a nod and a big smile, so while Douglas and Alexander headed off outside, deep in a discussion about kindling, the rest of us repaired to the kitchen, where I had laid out everything we would need.
‘So, we’re going to make some Christmas lanterns to light our way,’ I said. ‘Someone can tie the string onto the jam jars as handles?—’
‘Sounds like a job for me,’ interjected Constance.
‘Great. Then we need to mix together this big bag of coarse salt with some of this white biodegradable glitter and put some in the bottom of each jar to make them look snowy – Theo, I thought you’d be good at that.’
‘Okay,’ he said, nodding.
‘And Mum, when each jar is ready, can you light a tealight and nestle it into the salt with tongs?’
‘Certainly,’ she said, no doubt relieved to be given a clean job that wouldn’t risk her manicure.
‘Coco is going to make some hot chocolate and I’ll take out the biscuits and marshmallows.’
Everyone got busy and I went outside to find Douglas and Alexander presiding over a fire that was already burning merrily. They had arranged some garden chairs and benches so that everyone had somewhere to sit, and found a couple of chunks of log to serve as tables.
‘Can I throw some of this on?’ I asked, holding out a bag that had been slung over my shoulder. ‘It’s cinnamon sticks and some citrus peel that Coco dried out a bit in the oven while we were eating. It should smell lovely.’
As we added the seasonal scraps to the fire, the others emerged from the house and walked slowly towards us, their lanterns casting a sparkling, ethereal glow. Soon we were all gathered around the fire’s warmth, mugs beside us as we darted our marshmallows in and out of the fire on their skewers. As I glanced round the content faces and took in the perfect wintery scene, I also realised that not one of us had taken out our phones to capture this eminently Instagrammable moment; we were simply enjoying it.
The next morning, I rose early again and took Runcible out for her walk, much more comfortable in my new, warm clothes than I had been yesterday. This time we walked right up to the back of the gardens, where they edged the bleak moors, and I stood for a while staring out over them while Runcible nosed around in the frosty undergrowth. I could see why great romances had been set in these atmospheric surroundings, but the wuthering of the wind didn’t do much for me and I turned to go back, calling to my little dog to join me. Unusually for her, she didn’t run straight back to me, but darted towards a scraggy hedge and yapped.
‘What have you found?’ I asked her, going over. To my surprise, a familiar face peered out at me, wearing a very serious expression.
‘Theo, what are you doing here?’
‘Sssh, I’m watching for birds.’
‘Sorry,’ I whispered, crouching down and peering into his hiding place, which gave a wide vista of the moors. ‘What are you hoping to see?’
He took out a small book and showed me a couple of pages.
‘I’ve never seen waxwings here, because they don’t come every year. That’s what I’m really keen on. And I love birds of prey. There’s a pair of merlins I’ve seen once or twice, and I’d like to see them again. I’ve seen masses of fieldfares and redwings, of course. Look, there are some now.’
He pointed towards some small brown birds flying past and lifted a camera.
‘Got them. The light’s good at this time, although you wouldn’t think it, would you?’
I made a noncommittal sound and half nodded, half shook my head, having no idea about light or birds, but knowing that my feet were getting extremely cold.
‘How long have you been out here?’ I asked him, stamping hard to try and get some circulation going.
‘About an hour,’ he said. ‘Look, I’ve got my sleeping bag, so I’m fine.’ I hadn’t noticed that his lower half was swathed in the thick bag. ‘I think I’d like some breakfast now, though.’
‘So would I and so would Runcible. Shall we go back up to the house?’
He nodded and wriggled deftly out of the bag and the hedge, until he was standing beside me, patting Runcible who hadn’t fancied squeezing into the bush but greeted him now with enthusiasm. We turned for the house.
‘You know a lot about birds,’ I said. ‘Have you always been interested in them?’
He looked up at me, his eyes shining.
‘Oh yes, always. When Mum…’ He hesitated. ‘Before Mum…’ He fell silent and stared at the ground.
‘Did your mum like watching birds too?’ I asked gently.
‘Oh no, she thought it was very boring,’ he said, finding his words again. ‘She wanted me to do sports and be on teams, but I hated that. Dad lets me go out as much as I like, when I’m not at school or, you know, doing school stuff.’
‘Do you do school stuff at home sometimes instead of going in?’
‘Sometimes. Some days I just can’t go. I think it’ll be okay, but when we get to the gate I just can’t, and Dad has to bring me home. He’s at home a lot. I’m glad he’s not a surgeon anymore – he was away a lot then.’
I was awash with information and didn’t know what to do with it. I’m not used to talking to children and who knew if I should be urging him to go to school or commiserating about his mother? I was bound to get it wrong, but I knew I should probably say something.
‘My mother wasn’t around much when I was young, so I loved going to school. It felt like a safe place. I guess it feels the opposite for you.’
To my surprise, Theo reached out and took my gloved hand in his, squeezing it.
‘You understand,’ he said.
I wasn’t sure I did, but we had reached the kitchen door, which I pushed open with not a little relief, to find Coco inside presiding over various pans and bowls.
‘Come in and shut that door, it’s freezing. I’m just about to serve breakfast, so go through now. Oh, and if Runcible stays, I’ve got something special for her.’
She put down a bowl that my little dog fell on eagerly and, needing no further encouragement, Theo and I took off our coats and headed to the Buttery.
After breakfast, I met Alexander in the study again to continue our work. I was pleased with the costings I had drawn up and wanted to show him some of the vans I had found that would be available at short notice. He was easy to work with, decisive and efficient, and after an hour or so we had made excellent progress. Offering to make coffee, he disappeared to the kitchen, while I sent a final email.
‘Here you go,’ he said, coming back in. ‘Coffee and some amazing millionaire’s shortbread that Coco made. I had to fight Constance for it, so I hope you like it.’
‘One of my favourites,’ I said truthfully, taking the proffered plate and mug and sitting back in my chair. ‘Thank you. I must say, Coco turning up seems like some kind of Christmas miracle.’
‘I agree. She gives me and Dad plenty of things to worry about, but her culinary skills are not one of them.’
We ate in silence for a moment, and I was just about to brief him on sign writers for the side of the van, when Alexander spoke, in what seemed to me a determinedly casual tone.
‘I saw you with Theo this morning in the garden. He seems to have taken to you.’
‘Oh, er, yes, maybe. We were talking about birds and school.’
He frowned.
‘I don’t know what to do about school. He’s officially become a “school refuser”, but nobody – including him – seems to know why, beyond some vague suggestion of “anxiety” from the school, which doesn’t seem to merit much in the way of follow up. Between us and some kind friends, we’ve managed to keep him going here, but it’s not a long-term solution, especially if my business picks up. But it’s not just that. I want him to make friends and be with children his own age. He gravitates towards adults – me, Dad, Constance and now, apparently, you – and I wonder if it’s the best thing for him.’
I was growing uncomfortable with the conversation. How was I supposed to know what was best for a small boy? I felt totally underqualified to make any comment, so I just shrugged.
‘I don’t know, I’m sorry.’
‘That’s all right, I’m sorry for bringing it up. I just want to help my son, and I thought he might be opening up to you. Forget I said anything. Shall we look at those decals again?’
I reached for my laptop, then hesitated. Reluctant as I was to get involved, I had had one idea which had just popped into my head and seemed unfair to withhold.
‘Alexander, I don’t know if this might help a little, but Theo was telling me how much he loves birds. I have a client who lives not far from here – a client I became quite friendly with when she lived in London – and she runs a bird rescue place. He could lend a hand there. It might help a little in terms of friends as they have a daughter who’s a similar age, and, if he liked it, it could be a way to get him out of the house, give him something else to focus on. I don’t know…’ I petered out and shrugged again, embarrassed now in case Alexander thought I saw myself as some kind of Mary Poppins figure, magically solving children’s problems. But his face lit up.
‘Fallon, I think that’s a great idea. Do you think your friend would be open to him coming over?’
‘I can give her a call, but I don’t see why not. She used to work at London Zoo and always talks about getting children involved in conservation. I can ask her anyway.’
‘I’d be very grateful. I know I said before that I don’t need any help looking after Theo, but this could make a difference. Better than a casserole.’
I looked up and his lopsided smile made my stomach flip over. This wasn’t going at all how I had planned. I put on my most brisk and business-like voice.
‘I don’t do casseroles or kids, but coming up with ideas is my job. Don’t worry, I’m not going to don a flowery apron and start making myself indispensable – I’ll charge you for my help if that makes you feel better?’
I had spoken more harshly than I intended, and it was Alexander’s turn to look embarrassed.
‘Sorry, I wasn’t trying to suggest…well, you know, that you were anything like Annabel, or that your motives were – I don’t know – anything other than kind. Sorry.’
This was teeth-clenchingly awkward, but I didn’t know how to backtrack. So, in true Jacqueline Honeywood style, I ploughed on.
‘No problem. Shall we finish this up and I’ll go and ring Sadie before lunch?’
He agreed heartily and soon we were back on solid ground in a place which made me wholly more comfortable than talk of children and domesticity: scrolling through an Excel spreadsheet, which asked nothing of your emotions.