Chapter Thirteen
“How’s it going?” Bart asked, somewhat lamely, because the defeated look on Sarah’s pretty face told him it wasn’t going well.
She gazed at her son as she spoke, twisting a lock of hair around one finger. “There’s some kind of hostel, but they’ve got to check on availability. I’m waiting for a callback.”
“Any news on the house?”
She shook her head.
Bart supposed it was early days: These things took time, and the Pattersons being away didn’t make it easier. “Any idea what caused it?”
Her eyes shot to his, alarmed and defensive. “It wasn’t my fault.”
“I didn’t think it was.”
“I don’t smoke, and I certainly don’t have candles. Not with…” She nodded towards Toby, who was playing with a lorry.
Bart wondered which kind soul had donated it. He said gently, “I don’t want to pry, but are you sure you don’t have any family you can go to?”
Her face tensed. “No.” It was clear she didn’t intend to elaborate.
He tried a different approach. “I’m not sure how these things work, having never rented a property myself, but wouldn’t your landlord have insurance for this kind of thing?”
“For the building and any contents that belong to them, but not for finding me alternative accommodation. I checked.”
“So we’re back to the council?”
She nodded again, chewing on her bottom lip, her eyes downcast.
Penny, I’m going to do it, he thought. “You can stay here for as long as you need to.”
Her head shot up and for the tiniest moment hope flared in her eyes, then the shutters came down. “I can’t afford it.”
“No charge. I’ve got the room and…” He shrugged. “Sorry, it’s not much, I know, but it might be better than a hostel.”
She stared at him expressionlessly for a moment, and he wondered what she was thinking. “I’m sorry about your wife,” she said, taking him by surprise.
“Did you know her?”
“No, Audrey told me.” A small smile. “She likes to chat.”
“She certainly does.”
“I don’t think she meant anything by it.”
“Probably not,” he agreed. Audrey was a gossip, but there was no harm in her. And she’d been the first to offer the girl a roof over her head last night, even if it was a sofa she’d have been sleeping on.
“I can’t pay you,” Sarah repeated, “and I don’t take charity.”
Bart admired her independence and pride, even if he did think it misplaced. “It’s not charity—it’s human decency. It’s helping a neighbour out. It’s doing the right thing.” He pulled a wry face. “And I still reckon it’s better than a hostel.”
A twist of the lips told him Sarah thought so too, but she still didn’t want to impose.
“It’ll only be for a few days,” he carried on. “Until they can find you somewhere proper. But I suspect it mightn’t be until after Christmas.”
“I know.”
Bart had a flash of clarity. “You won’t be spoiling Christmas for me, if that’s what you’re worried about. I’m not going anywhere or doing anything. You won’t be putting me out or inconveniencing me. Besides, I’ve got guests.”
She pulled a face, her nose wrinkling as she thought, and he could see the push and pull of pride versus necessity. “I promise I’ll pay you back.”
“You’ll stay?”
“Yes, please, if you’re sure you don’t mind.” Tears were lurking again, and they tugged at Bart’s heartstrings.
At least she and the boy would be safe and warm here, and well fed.
He’d better get some more food in, because he’d be providing lunch and dinner now, and snacks too.
Bart wanted her to feel as at home as she possibly could, to cook herself a meal if she wanted and not feel like she was in a hotel.
But he was also acutely aware she had nothing until she was allowed back into the house.
She didn’t even have a mobile phone or a purse with her, so no bank card and no money.
Suddenly he felt rather daunted at all the things that needed to be done, and the weight of responsibility lay heavily on his shoulders.
There was something else to consider too, something that wouldn’t go down particularly well with his guests: He’d made Penny a promise that Toby was going to have the best Christmas Bart could give him.
When the front door opened a few minutes later, Bart went into the hall and was surprised to see Mitch, having assumed he’d gone out for the day.
“Just the person I want to speak to,” Bart said, stopping him as he headed for the stairs. “Can I have a word?”
“What about?”
Bart’s gaze strayed to the open doorway to his part of the house, and he gestured to the guest lounge. “Shall we go in here?”
With Mitch’s curious gaze drilling into his back, Bart led the man inside and closed the door. “I’m sorry, but this isn’t going to be the Christmas-free break you were expecting,” he began. “I’ll be putting up a tree and decorations and—aw, hell, I’m going all out for Christmas.”
Mitch wore a perplexed look. “Why? I mean, I’m perfectly happy if you put decorations up, but I thought that was the whole point of this place, that it was a no-Christmas zone?”
“It was, but things have changed. Sarah and her little boy are staying here over the Christmas period and—” Bart stopped abruptly as Mitch let out a groan. Don’t tell me he’s cheesed off about this, Bart prayed.
“Does that mean she’s got nowhere else to go?” Mitch demanded, his expression grim.
Bart gave him a level look. If Mitch was about to remonstrate with him, Bart was going to give him his marching orders right now!
“I suspected as much,” Mitch said. “Is there anything I can do to help? My offer still stands.”
Bart hurriedly got off his high horse. “Bless you, but that won’t be necessary. The room isn’t being used anyway, and I’m sure I can stretch to a few breakfasts.” It would be considerably more than breakfasts, but Mitch didn’t need to concern himself with that.
Mitch’s eyes bored into his. “You’ll let me know if there is anything, won’t you?” he insisted.
“I will.” Pleased Mitch had taken it so well, Bart heaved a sigh of relief. One down, one to go. But when he thought about telling Eloise, he had a stone in the pit of his stomach as he considered the possibility she mightn’t be nearly as accommodating.
In fact, considering what Bart was planning, he wouldn’t be at all surprised if she left.
Eloise was sitting in her usual chair in her room, her book in her hand.
She wasn’t reading it, though. She was gazing absently out of the window, having seen Mitch’s motorbike pull into the drive a few minutes ago, its tyres sending up little sprays of slush.
Bart was right, the snow was melting fast.
She was about to resume reading and wondering what she should do about lunch when there was a knock at the door.
It was Bart. “Um, I’ve got an announcement,” he said.
Eloise raised her eyebrows. He sounded serious, and she hoped there wasn’t a problem.
“It’s about Sarah and Toby.” He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, but they’ll be staying here over Christmas. Probably until after the New Year.”
Was that all? Eloise didn’t mind. Guest houses weren’t usually adult-only places, and she’d never considered whether there would be children or not when she’d phoned Sea View to book a room.
Besides, she mightn’t be here for much longer, and if she decided to leave tomorrow (weather permitting), Sarah and Toby’s presence wouldn’t affect her anyway.
Bart was talking. “…Christmas tree and some decorations. At least make a bit of an effort for the little lad. And I’ll be cooking a traditional roast turkey on Christmas Day, because that’s part of it, isn’t it?”
“Pardon?” She’d clearly missed a vital piece of information while she’d been thinking about families in guest houses and the possibility of her imminent departure.
He frowned. “I know it isn’t ideal and I completely understand if you want to leave, but with Sarah and Toby here, I can’t simply stand by and ignore Christmas. I just can’t.” He lifted his chin, his gaze defiant.
Eloise took a couple of seconds to process what he’d been saying. “Sarah’s staying here until after the New Year, and you’re going to put up a tree and cook Christmas lunch?” she clarified.
“Yes. Kind of.”
“What do you mean kind of?”
“I want to make this a Christmas to remember, for all the right reasons.”
“It’s going to take more than a tree and a glorified roast dinner,” she snorted.
“I’m hoping to do a bit more than that.”
Eloise narrowed her eyes. “Such as?”
Bart drew himself up to his full height.
Standing tall, he said, “I’m going to decorate the whole house; I’m going to buy lots of Christmas food; I’m going to have Christmas cartoons on the telly and presents under the tree, and I’m going to make sure that poor little boy and his mother don’t miss out on anything. ”
“I see.” Eloise pressed her lips together and huffed out a sigh.
Bart seemed to deflate. “I can make you a spot of lunch before you leave, if you like. It’s the least I can do.”
Eloise tilted her head back and looked up at the ceiling. She could leave as soon as the snow melted and return to her solitary house and her solitary non-Christmas—or she could stay here and make herself useful. “You’re assuming a lot there, Bart. I’m not going anywhere.”
“But you don’t like Christmas!” His expression reflected his puzzlement. “Why would you stay?”
“To help.”
Once more Bart drew himself up. “I don’t need help—” he began, then subsided. “Actually, Sarah might appreciate having another woman around,” he admitted.
Eloise was adamant. “Good, that’s settled. Now, what’s for lunch?”
Bart blinked, then a flash of relief appeared on his face, quickly smothered. “Um, how about some hearty vegetable soup?”
“Sounds lovely. Shall I help you make it?”
He looked appalled. “You’re a guest. I don’t expect you to cook. Anyway, the cooking has always been my department.”
“What did Penny do?”
“She was the organiser. She was good at that.”
“So am I. You go make the soup; I’ll check in with Sarah. And after lunch, we’re going shopping.”
“We are?” Bart didn’t seem enthused at the prospect.
“That girl needs some clothes, and so does Toby.”
“She’s worried about money, about paying for stuff. Her phone and purse are still at the house, but between me and you, I don’t think she’s got two pennies to rub together.”
“I have,” Eloise said cheerfully. “I’m not rich, so don’t start getting any ideas, but I think I can treat her and Toby to a couple of changes of clothes.
” And more, she thought, but didn’t say.
After all, she didn’t have much else to spend her money on, and the thought of Toby’s Christmas being as miserable as some of the Christmases she’d experienced when she was a child made her feel incredibly sad.
If Bart could put his dislike of Christmas aside to help this little family, then so could she.