Chapter Twenty-Seven #2
That evening was the last rehearsal in the village hall.
Fiona had said she wanted everyone polished before they were awed by the manor, where they would do a final rehearsal in situ; Harry and Sophie still had a few things to finish before it was ready.
Imogen arrived, braced for another green-related nickname, and when she stepped through the door, she almost did a little twirl to announce herself.
‘Imogen!’ Lucy raced up and wrapped an arm around her, the other clutched to Artichoke so the dog was pressed between their bodies.
‘Hey Lucy. Artichoke.’ She stroked the dog’s head and then, to her utter mortification, realized she was stroking Lucy’s head, too, as she’d seen Dexter do countless times.
‘Dad said I could come and watch. When I got here, old Mr Carsdale said it wasn’t appropriate for young eyes, but Dad said I should ignore him and gave him a glare.’
Imogen’s laugh had a sandpaper edge.
When Lucy released her, May gave her a hug, and Sophie did too, and Imogen wished that these people would stop being so friendly, for God’s sake.
‘I hope it’s OK that I brought Lucy,’ Dexter murmured, when Imogen took her place by his side.
The girl in question was introducing Artichoke to Annie and Jim’s Grinch-performing children, Oscar and Rose, at the front of the room.
‘She wanted to see us before the real thing, and I couldn’t think of a reason to say no. ’
‘It’s fine,’ Imogen said, even though it didn’t feel fine. ‘She wants you to help turn our shells and pine cones into tree decorations, but I said I didn’t know if you’d have time.’
‘I’d love to.’ She looked around the room, taking in the faces that had become so familiar over the last few weeks.
‘At least we’ve rehearsed a bit more since last time.’
She turned sharply to look at him, triumphant when she saw that his cheeks were as pink as hers felt. ‘Why would you bring that up moments before we’re about to do it?’ she whispered fiercely.
He grinned. ‘Do it? I seem to remember that our last rehearsal …’
Imogen pressed a finger to his lips. ‘Do not, Dexter Rivera, finish that sentence. I know what you’re referring to.’ And it hadn’t involved a lot of clothes, and only a cursory attempt to say the right lines.
Dexter kissed her finger, and that simple gesture had such a violent effect on Imogen, it was as though an earthquake was rumbling through her body, shaking her from her moorings. ‘We’ll be amazing,’ he said, his grin turning cheeky. ‘At our scene.’
‘Very fucking amazing.’ Imogen’s reply mirrored her words of a few nights ago, and she saw the moment recognition hit, Dexter’s eyes going wide, then softening to something that looked like—
‘And this, young woman,’ Frank Carsdale intoned, ‘is why I thought it might have been wise for you not to come tonight.’
Imogen dragged her gaze away from Dexter, and found Lucy looking up at them, clutching a sleepy Artichoke, her expression one of such delight that Imogen felt a second earthquake rumble through her.
‘Ready to perform?’ Fiona called.
Imogen thought that, yes, there would be a whole lot of performing tonight, because she needed to look as if she was holding it together, while inside, her thoughts were in chaos.
‘There are lots of things to think about.’ Birdie was at the kitchen table, parcelling up packages of Christmas vegetables for the community kitchen. ‘Mistingham is so different to London, and you’re still young. Would you find it fulfilling enough here?’
‘Is that the only thing you’re worried about?
’ Imogen put two steaming mugs of tea on the table.
She hadn’t been able to keep it from her gran any longer, the dilemma that was splitting her in two.
‘Not that you’ve been living here, happily alone, for years, and now your granddaughter – who hasn’t been in your life for ages – has rocked up unannounced, taken over your spare bedroom and is contemplating whether she might actually want to stay? ’
Birdie smiled, eyes twinkling. ‘Happily alone might be pushing it. I keep busy; I have lots of connections in the village.’
‘You’re knitting Felix a new jumper.’ Imogen pointed at the bundle of wool on a chair. It was pink and silver, pale blue and grass green, and she was already eager to see what design her gran would come up with.
‘Felix is a dear, and so is Harry.’
‘Everyone helps each other here,’ Imogen said. ’It’s not about winning or being the best or the richest, or who is the star at the top of the corporate tree. It’s about who needs help, how we can have fun, how we all make everyone’s lives a little bit better.’
‘They should let you come up with the new village motto.’ Birdie pointed an outlandishly large parsnip at her.
‘Anyway,’ Imogen grinned, ‘I don’t think I could get bored here. There’s always something going on. Mistletoe thieves or Snow Show rehearsals, storytelling and musty cellars with pigeons trapped inside. Ice rinks, walks on the beach …’
‘Daily specials at the bakery.’ Birdie raised her eyebrows and waggled a sprout tree.
‘Gran! Is that … are you trying to be phallic with your sprout tree?’
‘It’s got a big stick, little baubles.’ She looked at it thoughtfully.
‘Oh my God.’ Imogen covered her eyes.
‘Being serious for a moment,’ Birdie said, and Imogen took her hand away.
‘Your relationship with your mother is none of my business, and I don’t want to talk ill of Stella, but I firmly believe that people should live how they want to, without undue influence from anyone else.
Guidance and advice can be helpful, but it should be a light touch, and I think we can both agree that your mother’s touch isn’t the lightest.’
‘We can.’ Imogen took a fortifying sip of tea. She’d made it too strong, but didn’t want to interrupt her gran’s speech by getting more milk.
‘So I have been reluctant – although maybe I’ve gone too far in the other direction – to tell you how much I love having you here.
Not just because it’s nice to have someone younger in the house, and because you’re willing to deliver my parcels.
I have loved getting to know you again, seeing how kind you are, how eager you are to get involved and help others, despite everything you’ve been dealing with recently. ’
‘Gran.’ Imogen was going to cry if she wasn’t careful.
‘So I don’t want to pressure you, or make you feel as if you need to stay because of me.
But if, after you’ve thought everything through, you would like to do it for yourself, then I can’t think of anyone else who fits here better, who the other villagers have taken to so quickly.
If you think you could be happy here, then I would love that. ’
‘You would?’
‘We could paint your bedroom, bring it up to date, squeeze a double bed in. It’s on the other side of the stairs to my room and I wear ear plugs at night so—’
‘Don’t point another vegetable at me!’ But it was too late; Birdie was waggling a giant carrot in her direction.
‘You could have Dexter here for sleepovers.’
Imogen cringed all the way to her toes. ‘I’m thirty-one.’
‘Then I won’t need to worry about you.’ There was a twinkle in Birdie’s eye. ‘He’s a lovely boy.’
‘He’s thirty-four.’
‘Still a baby.’
Imogen groaned. ‘Winnie mentioned that they might be looking for someone to manage the community hub.’
‘A role that you would be ideal for. Though it’s not as glamorous or heart-pounding as your London job; all those rich lawyers and high stakes.’
Imogen thought of how, in London, every party required a new dress and shoes, because God forbid she would be seen in the same outfit within a twelve-month cycle.
The handbags, the expensive dinners out, treating herself to a latte on the way to work for four pounds a time.
The posh hot chocolates they’d got at Two Scoops had been less than that, and had come with syrup, cream and marshmallows.
‘My part has never been high stakes,’ she said.
‘Meeting minutes are incredibly tedious, and the photocopier is a thorn in my side. I often run out of staples and I’m sure someone steals all mine, which is stressful when I need to print bundles of reports.
How’s that for glamour?’ All the things she had spent so much time fretting about, wanting to get right.
She sighed. ‘But, being serious for a moment. Can you really not get same-day deliveries out here?’
Birdie bopped her on the nose with a bunch of kale.
‘What thing can possibly be so important that you need it the same day? That would be a good habit to get out of.’
‘You’re probably right.’
‘You still have time to decide, Imogen, and it’s not something that can be rushed: what you want your life to look like.
All we need to think about now is Christmas.
We could have it here, just the two of us, but we’ve also been invited to Harry and Sophie’s.
We can contribute whatever they need, food-wise, and when it comes to Christmas Day, the more the merrier, don’t you think? ’
‘I agree,’ Imogen said, but she could barely concentrate on anything except the back-and-forth inside her head.
Return to London and follow her head (and obey her mother), or take a chance on Mistingham, so different from a big city, but with a whole lot to recommend it, even though Dexter wanted her for an amazing time, not a long time?
There was a commotion outside, shouts and squeals beyond the kitchen window, and she got up, walked to the front door and yanked it open. She gasped.
Thick, fat snowflakes were drifting in a leisurely dance towards the ground, the pavement was turning white, and she was hit with the crisp, cold scent of snow. Without even stopping to put on her coat, Imogen stepped out into the winter wonderland.