Chapter 18
EIGHTEEN
As we finished off our simple but delicious lunch and were congratulating ourselves on the syrups, my phone rang. Fishing it out of my pocket, I saw that it was my business partner, Sam.
‘I’m sorry, I have to take this,’ I said, worried. He had promised he would only call if there was an emergency. I ran out to the little room at the end of the Hall, which I had since learned was called the screens passage, and tapped the green button.
‘Hello, Sam?’
‘Hi, Fallon, how’s it going?’
‘I’m having a good time up here, thanks. Is everything all right?’
We chatted for a few minutes, then I returned to the Hall to find Alexander and Theo looking concerned.
‘Nothing to worry about,’ I said, helping them put everything on the tray. ‘Sam just needed my advice on how to hurry up a particular supplier without offending them so badly they refused to work with us again. Luckily, I know them of old, so I think it’ll work out okay.’
‘The thought of work going on in London without you hasn’t stressed you out too much?’ asked Alexander.
‘Not at all. In fact, I feel quite energised by sorting that out. Being away even for this short time has made me feel much better, and working with you has helped me keep a balance. I was more worried about getting bored and stale.’
‘Did you think it would be boring up here?’ asked Theo.
‘Well, I did wonder,’ I said honestly. ‘But I was wrong, wasn’t I? Even when I’m not working, there’s plenty to do – more than I expected – and if there’s a moment to fill, then there’s always Mum.’
But Theo wasn’t to be distracted.
‘But you are going back to London after Christmas? I thought you liked being here with us?’
I glanced at Alexander. I could feel myself on uncertain ground here.
‘I do, of course I do. I love it here. But…’
I trailed off, alarmed by the little boy’s stricken face. This wasn’t part of the plan. Alexander stepped in.
‘Theo, love, Fallon has her home and business down in London. Of course she’ll need to go back to them.’
‘Like Grandpa does?’ asked Theo, his face brightening. ‘Go down to them sometimes, but then come back here?’
‘I’d love to come back,’ I said firmly, which I thought was true but also non-committal. ‘Now, what are you planning to do this afternoon? I think I’m going to go into York. I’m dying to have a look around the Christmas market, I haven’t had time yet.’
‘Can we go, too, Dad?’ asked Theo. ‘They might have the wooden birds for the Christmas tree that they had last year, and I’d love another one to go with the blue tit.’
Alexander looked at me questioningly and I smiled.
‘I’d love some company. I’m going to leave Runcible here, though; shopping isn’t her thing. See you out the front in ten minutes?’
We took the lunch things into the kitchen, then I let my little dog outside briefly, before settling her into her basket and kissing her goodbye on her tufty head.
‘We call it the St Nicholas Fair here,’ said Alexander, as we passed the shops festooned with twinkling lights and approached long rows of sweet wooden chalets, stuffed to the brim with enticing Christmas trinkets and food, a huge Christmas tree watching over proceedings.
‘Dad, I can hear the carousel!’ cried Theo, and we all stopped to listen to the cheery, tinkling music. ‘Oh, can I go on that first?’
‘Why not?’ said his father, and we edged through the crowds to find the golden merry-go-round, resplendent in a pretty shop-lined square, its colourful horses bobbing gracefully.
‘Pity you didn’t sign up for this one,’ I said, as we joined a short queue. ‘It would have been the perfect place to sell your gin.’
Alexander pulled a face.
‘Maybe next year. The Christmas Fayre feels quite big enough for me – for now anyway. Are you going on?’
‘Huh?’
‘The carousel!’
I looked at the glittering ride, its colours, music and nostalgia an enticing invitation.
‘You know, I’ve never been on one?’ I said to Alexander. He frowned. ‘Nope, never.’
‘Well, one of the beauties of having children,’ he replied, ‘is you get to do all sorts of stuff you missed out on the first time, and nobody bats an eyelid. It’s terrific.’
‘Are you going on?’
‘Damn right I am!’
‘Oh, you have to come, too, Fallon!’ said Theo eagerly. ‘It’s not too fast, you won’t feel sick, I promise.’
I smiled at his kindness.
‘Well, in that case I will give it a whirl.’
As the ride stopped and the passengers alighted, we stepped up onto the shiny metal platform and chose three brightly painted horses in a row together, so that Theo could go in the middle.
‘Look, Dad, look, Fallon, their names are painted on their necks! Mine is called Lily, but I wish she was called Runcible. What are yours called?’
I looked.
‘Oh! Mine is called Dancer, that’s pretty.’
‘More traditional for reindeer,’ said Alexander, grinning. ‘Mine is called Boniface, which makes me regret not choosing that for you instead of Theo.’
Theo shrieked in horror, and we all laughed. I was feeling quite giddy and we hadn’t even started moving. When we did, it was glorious. The lights on the shops became streaks, punctuated with the happy faces of people waiting for their turn on the merry-go-round. The music jangled cheerfully around me as the golds, reds and greens of the horses reflected off the central mirrors of the ride until I was enveloped in a fairground embrace. All I could see clearly were Theo’s and Alexander’s faces, both wearing huge smiles as they occasionally shouted to each other or to me. I wrapped my arms around the barley twist pole emerging from my horse’s back and hugged it with joy, reluctant to let go as the spinning slowed and the carousel finally came to a stop.
‘Wasn’t that brilliant ?’ said Theo as we climbed off our horses.
‘It certainly was,’ said Alexander. ‘Did you enjoy it?’ he asked, touching my shoulder briefly.
‘I loved it!’ I said. ‘I’m going to make sure I go on one of those whenever I can from now on, to make up for lost time.’
‘They always have one here at Christmas,’ said Theo. ‘So, you’ll have to come back every year.’
I nearly said that we had carousels in London, too, but stopped myself. Instead, I said, ‘Wasn’t there a tree decoration you were looking for? Shall we see if we can find them? And to continue my theme, I’m going to have some candy floss next, if anyone cares to join me?’
We plunged into the crowd and spent the next hour going from stall to stall choosing tree decorations, buying and eating all manner of sweets and biscuits and deliberating over potential presents for our friends and family. I was spilling over with happiness, and might have let myself fall into it completely, had it not been for the mistake that stallholders kept making.
‘Are you getting that for Mum? Ooh, you’d better look away!’
‘Why don’t you check with your mum?’
‘Would Mum like to try something as well?’
It felt rude to correct them, although I did, and it added a certain strain to the afternoon – for me at any rate. Alexander and Theo barely acknowledged it, so I was alone in my awkwardness, not sure if I should make a joke of it or even apologise. Therefore, it was with some relief that Coco’s clear voice cut through the crowds.
‘Theo! Fallon! Alexander!’
She came through to where we were trying to choose between different intricately painted tin stars with lights inside and patterns of holes punched in them. We all hugged.
‘When are we decorating the house, Alexander?’ she asked. ‘And where is this star going to go?’
‘We’ll do it this weekend. The big tree is coming then.’
Coco turned to me.
‘It’s always fun. We all join in and it’s the perfect house for Christmas.’
Alexander decided on a star, then said, ‘I think it’s probably time to head home.’
He nodded at Theo, who I could now see was looking tired.
‘Can I squeeze in too?’ asked Coco.
‘Of course,’ replied Alexander, and we started making our slow way back to the car. We were temporarily distracted by a shop window display when Coco’s phone rang. She walked off a little way to take the brief call, then returned, rolling her eyes.
‘Is everything all right?’ asked Alexander, as they continued walking.
‘It’s Mum,’ said Coco. ‘She and Maurice are going to “drop in” for a few days, which probably means they’ll stay for a month.’
‘It’ll be good to see her,’ said Alexander, then turned to me. ‘She was married to Dad when I was in my late teens, early twenties, so she saw the worst of me and was always brilliant about it.’
‘You were a faultless big brother,’ said Coco, smiling. ‘I was so in awe of you.’
He grinned.
‘You were a pretty nice little sister yourself, even if you did make all my friends admire your Barbies with their new outfits every time they came round.’
Coco giggled.
‘Those poor dolls – thank goodness I didn’t go into fashion!’
‘Why didn’t it work out between Douglas and your mum?’ I asked Coco.
‘The lifestyle didn’t suit Mum at all,’ said Coco. ‘She hated going back and forth to London all the time and didn’t enjoy the social scene there at all. And she was never comfortable living in Blakeney Hall. When they separated, we moved to a little chocolate box cottage, all uneven walls and beams you bump your head on, and she was much happier. She’s still there, with Maurice now.’
‘That’s it in a nutshell,’ said Alexander, as we entered the car park. ‘Ironic though, given…’ He broke off. ‘What floor was the car on?’
As we went to look for it, I was dying to know what he had been going to say. I looked at Coco with her long, lilac hair, piercings and exquisitely pretty face and tried to imagine what her mother would be like. Very different from Jacqueline, of that I was sure.
‘I hope Mum’s nose isn’t put out of joint too badly,’ I said, as we pulled out of the garage. ‘She’s not very good when it comes to confronting anyone’s past, including her own.’
‘Well, Mum’s a huge fan of Mayfair Mews , if you think that might help? She’s dying to meet Jacqueline, which is another reason I think her “few days” are more likely to be a month.’
We all laughed.
‘It will help,’ I said, although privately I thought it might take more than that to mollify Mum. I comforted myself with the image I had produced in my head of Coco’s mother: a plump, homely lady of a certain age, glued to her soap operas, living with her cats and Maurice in rural bliss. It didn’t seem likely that I would have to referee a Dynasty-style diva war and I relaxed and joined in the chatter as we drove home.
We got back to Blakeney Hall just after five and found Mum, Douglas and Constance having tea in the Hall.
‘Do join us,’ said Douglas, standing up and ushering everyone into seats. ‘We brought back some Fat Rascals from our little trip.’
I was taken aback, particularly when the others all made various expressions of delight. Alexander must have seen my face.
‘Fallon, have you ever had a Fat Rascal?’
‘Er…’ I replied.
‘They do sound horrible, don’t they?’ said Mum. ‘But I can confirm that they are delicious.’ She twinkled at Douglas like a schoolgirl, and he smiled soppily back. She turned to me again. ‘I could only manage half of one, of course.’
She patted her flat stomach complacently. Alexander continued, ‘Fat Rascals are traditional up here. They’re cakes made with pastry offcuts, sugar and dried fruit and flavoured with winter spices – cinnamon and so on. Would you like to try one?’
‘Yes, please, they sound amazing,’ I said, and was handed a plate with an enormous bun on it. I could see why Mum had only eaten half; a normal meal for her was smaller than this bun. But I tucked in with relish, hungry from my busy day.
‘Dad, has Mum been in touch?’ asked Coco, between mouthfuls.
Douglas glanced at my mother before replying.
‘Yes, she has. She and Maurice will be here any moment, I think. I hope she doesn’t disapprove too much of these shop-bought cakes.’
‘With any luck, she’ll knock out some of her own,’ said Coco. She turned to me. ‘Mum’s Fat Rascals are the best I’ve ever tasted, but that’s true of all her baking.’
I glanced over at Mum, who was sipping her tea and looking remarkably calm. I suppose she had come to the same conclusion as me: Coco’s homely-sounding mother wasn’t much of a threat. It was then that there was a loud knock on the door.
‘She’s here!’ exclaimed Coco, and ran out, followed at a more stately pace by Douglas. In a minute or two they returned, with a friendly-looking man and a woman with neatly coiffed blonde hair, merry eyes and a wide smile. I recognised her instantly.
‘Estelle Knight!’
I turned to Mum, who had blurted out the name. It was very unlike her to do something so gauche, and I could see that she was shaken. For this was no dowdy homemaker who had walked through the door, but Estelle Knight, doyenne of the most popular baking show in the country: Bake for Britain .
‘Jacqueline Honeywood!’ Estelle returned, and went over to Mum, who hastily put down her cup and stood up. As she held out her hand, Estelle bypassed it and went in for a hug. Mum was used to being embraced by overkeen fans, although she didn’t enjoy it, so took this sudden physical contact in her stride, patting Estelle’s back before delicately extricating herself.
‘Can I pour you a cup of tea?’ Douglas asked.
‘Yes, please, Maurice and I are parched,’ she replied in her strong Yorkshire accent, so familiar from hearing her console contestants over sunken soufflés, or berate them gently for careless crème Anglaise.
She beckoned him over and introduced him to Mum and then to me, before we all sat down again, and Douglas refreshed our cups from the enormous Brown Betty teapot.
‘I’m sure Coco has told you how excited I am to meet you, Jacqueline,’ said Estelle, reaching for a Fat Rascal and biting into it with no evidence of distaste at its commercial pedigree. ‘I’m a big fan of Mayfair Mews , always have been. I hope you’re going to share some of the show’s secrets with me.’
‘Of course,’ said Mum politely. This is something she is often asked to do, and she has a stock list of ‘secrets’ that she reveals. ‘I’m afraid I’m no baker, but I have also enjoyed Bake for Britain .’
‘You must come on one of the charity celebrity ones!’ said Estelle. ‘Do say you will, it would be grand.’
I could no more imagine Mum baking on TV than I could see her living in the jungle for three weeks on a diet of caterpillars, which she has turned down more than once. But she wasn’t about to make herself look like the bad guy. There were other people who could take the blame.
‘That sounds super, but all those sorts of requests must go through my agent, I’m afraid.’
Estelle nodded, but I wondered just how long it would take Mum to get her phone out and text Mags to put her on the alert.
‘I’ll get the show to get in touch,’ she said. ‘And maybe in the meantime I could get you ahead a little? I’m happy to give you some lessons while I’m here. And we have so much to talk about! Coco told me that you and Douglas are engaged, congratulations! I’m sure you’ll make a much better hash of it than I did. Poor Douglas, he had to drag me to London, I was much happier up here in the kitchen. But I love a wedding. I can’t wait to chat to you all about it. Ooh, maybe I could make the cake, do say you’ll let me! And did you know Maurice is a hairdresser? He’d do all the coiffing, wouldn’t you, dear?’
Maurice nodded enthusiastically, but then Douglas spoke up, thank goodness. I might have helped out, but I was too busy trying to stifle my giggles behind my teacup at the worsening look of horror on my mother’s face. No one had touched her hair other than her own hairdresser, Linda, for nearly thirty years.
‘Estelle, give us a chance,’ he said. ‘We’ve barely been engaged forty-eight hours. What’s happened at the house anyway? It’s always good to see you – both – but what has precipitated this sudden visit?’
As she started explaining, Alexander, Coco and I all stood up and reached for the teapot. Coco got there first.
‘It’s empty,’ she said. ‘I thought I’d get a top up.’
‘Me too,’ Alexander and I replied together, and we all grinned.
‘Come on,’ said Coco, ‘let’s go and sort it out.’
We scuttled off to the kitchen like naughty children and shut the door behind us before dissolving into laughter.
‘Oh, my goodness, my mother’s face !’ I said. ‘Sorry, Coco, Estelle is lovely, but Mum looked like a trapped rabbit! Why didn’t either of you tell us who your mother was?’
Alexander and Coco looked at each other, grinning.
‘Sorry, Fallon,’ said Coco, ‘we couldn’t resist the surprise. And anyway, you know what it’s like having a famous parent, there’s no good time to casually mention it.’
‘It was a good surprise,’ I agreed, ‘but I thought you said she liked a quiet domestic life?’
‘That is true,’ said Coco, filling the kettle. ‘ Bake for Britain is filmed up here and she goes home every night. She does do the odd appearance or event in London, but they’re few and far between. She prefers opening country shows and judging local cake competitions. She’s been a genius at working out balance for herself that way.’
‘Let’s get this tea in before it stews,’ said Alexander. ‘I guess your mum and Maurice’s arrival means we’d better get on with the Christmas decorations?’
‘You bet,’ said Coco, then turned to me. ‘They love Christmas a bit too much, those two. Just you wait, she’ll have you teetering on a stepladder hanging tinsel swags before you know what’s happened.’
I smiled as I followed them back to the Hall. Despite Mum’s nose being put out of joint, I couldn’t help feeling that Estelle and Maurice had brought a great deal of fun with them.