CHAPTER TWO – SYLVIE
Julian bent over the guttering, stretching for the string of lights that had gotten away from him. One foot was in the gutter while the other was on the very top of the ladder that I was footing with the confidence of a bonfire in a rainstorm.
That was to say none at all.
He was balancing very precariously, and it hadn’t escaped me that I was the one in charge of this ladder.
I was going to kill my sister.
Not to mention that it was bloody cold. It was midday and about two degrees outside, and my nose was so frozen that I wasn’t even sure it was still on my face.
Yet here I was, cold and tired, footing the ladder for my almost-brother-in-law while my sister went over the wedding cake with Nana for what I’d been assured by Julian was the fourth time this week.
Nana was a force in the kitchen.
I wasn’t sure she needed Hazel’s input at this point.
“You’ve almost got it!” Gramps shouted. “Little to the left, son!”
Ah, yes.
Then there was the ‘supervisor.’ Sitting in a deckchair under a blanket, with a hot water bottle stuffed up his jumper and two pairs of gloves on while he cradled a mug of hot chocolate.
The only way he could be any warmer was if he was wearing a bloody balaclava.
“I’m… just… almost…” Julian huffed. His foot slipped on the gutter and there was a small cracking noise.
I jumped, almost letting go of the ladder, and Julian moved as quickly as he could to get back to the top rung where he was supposedly safe.
“Have you broken my gutter, you fool?” Gramps demanded.
Julian leant over to peer at the damage. “No. The bracket needs bending back in place. Honestly, Gramps, this is a crazy number of lights. Have you been watching National Lampoons again?”
“He has a point,” I said, turning my head to look at my grandfather. “This is even more than last year, and the lawn lights aren’t even out yet. The astronauts on the Space Station will be able to see the house as they pass over.”
“If they aren’t blinded by it, there isn’t enough lights,” he sniffed in response. “Did you get them back?”
“Yes, I have them,” Julian replied, shaking the string. “But when this one is done, I’m taking a break. I’ve been here for two hours, and my balls are going to freeze off.”
“And I’m hungry,” I interjected before Gramps could argue. “There’s still three weeks until Christmas. The town lights don’t even get turned on until tomorrow.”
“I’ll do the lawn display after lunch.” Julian finished hooking the lights in place, leaving only a little bit of the wire hanging out, and slowly traversed his way down the ladder until I was comfortable enough to take my foot off the bottom rung and step aside.
Gramps grumbled something—presumably about millennials, as per his go to—but helped Julian collapse the ladder and lean it back against the side of the house. “I hope you brought lunch like Hazel said she would.”
Julian glanced at me with a twinkle in his eye. “Oh, no. We forgot.”
“I’m disowning you both.”
He laughed, opening the front door for Gramps. “We brought lunch, don’t worry. Hazel did almost forget, though.”
“Liar!” My sister appeared in the kitchen doorway, folding her arms across her chest, and stared at us. “I did not forget.”
“You forgot,” I said blithely, unwinding my scarf from around my neck. “What is for lunch?”
Hazel blinked, pushing her highlighted caramel hair behind her ear. “Uh… Julian?”
He chuckled while he unzipped his coat. “She isn’t lying. She didn’t forget. She simply assigned me to the task when she couldn’t decide what to get.”
I pressed my lips together and looked at my little sister. What a load of bullshit.
Gramps was right. Julian was a simp.
“Well, you weren’t supposed to rat me out,” she huffed, folding her arms across her chest. “Now I’m glad I ate your sandwich.”
“You ate my sandwich?”
“She didn’t eat your sandwich,” Nana called. “Will you come and get your food before the pig does?”
I paused.
The pig?
“The pig?” I questioned, filing into the kitchen after everyone else. “Why would a pig—”
Ah.
The pig.
The pig.
The one that had held me up last night.
It was standing in the middle of the kitchen.
“Oh,” I said flatly.
“This is Beatrix Trotter,” Nana said brightly, bending down to feed Beatrix bloody Trotter a carrot stick.
The little pink and black pig munched it down with the table manners of a nine-month-old baby eating spaghetti Bolognese for the first time.
“Nana, I’ve told you! You can’t feed farm animals from the kitchen! It’s illegal!” Hazel took the remaining carrot sticks from her.
“Really? That’s the issue here? Not that there’s a bloody pig in the kitchen?” I asked, looking around. “Surely that’s unsanitary.”
“Pigs are surprisingly clean animals, and I’ll thank you to keep your dirty insults to yourself. You might upset Beatrix.” Nana sniffed.
Gramps shook his head, walked past her to the spread of goodies from the Castleton Bakery, and grabbed a plate.
Fine. Whatever.
“But what’s it doing here?” I questioned.
“She. It is a she.”
“That doesn’t answer my question!”
“Here we go,” Hazel muttered, giving Julian a plate with his still-wrapped sandwich on. “Don’t worry. It didn’t touch anything else. I kept it separate.”
“Thanks, honey.” He kissed her cheek and took it off to the side.
Of course. He had a severe gluten intolerance. That was the reason their entire wedding menu was gluten-free, and it’d taken me surprisingly long to find a caterer who could stick to such strict parameters.
But that wasn’t the point here.
The pig was the point.
“Nana, the pig! How did it get here and why was it running around the roads last night when I was on my way here?” I demanded.
Nana clasped her hand to her chest, then picked up what I was now sure was a miniature pig.
At least I hoped it was a miniature pig. I didn’t fancy a fully-grown pig snorting its way through what was technically my house.
“Beatrix, did you get out again? I’ve told you about that!” Nana scolded her.
Gramps sighed into his sandwich as my sister and Julian edged away from the kitchen.
“Your sandwich is still on the right,” Hazel whispered, slipping past me.
“I told you the cat flap was a bad idea,” Gramps grumbled, following my sister out. “At least without setting the app up.”
“I can’t work that blasted thing,” Nana said, going after him. “I tried logging in, but it wouldn’t accept my name.”
“Did you make an account?” I questioned, sitting in the armchair by the undecorated Christmas tree.
“For what?”
“The cat flap app.”
“No,” Julian said. “I offered, but she thought I’d drop her phone. In all honesty, I’m surprised that dinosaur can handle any apps at all, and it definitely wouldn’t break even if I did drop it.”
That sounded like my grandmother.
For all Gramps’ bleating about the younger generations, she was the one who struggled with modern technology. He happened to be utterly fascinated by it.
Like a cat in front of a fish tank kind of fascinated.
Loved it, but not enough to do anything about it, mind you. Hence his own dinosaur phone.
I sighed. “I’ll figure it out,” I told her.
“Although I’m not sure how I feel about a pig in the kitchen.
Aside from the legalities of feeding farm animals from your house, it is unsanitary.
And you’re technically supposed to notify your landlord of any pets,” I added with a look in Nana’s direction.
She deliberately avoided my gaze.
Imagine that.
“Thank you,” Hazel muttered, picking a big slice of tomato out of her sandwich.
“And pigs aren’t gluten-free,” Gramps interjected brightly.
Julian’s lips twitched. “As long as Beatrix didn’t touch my sandwich, we’re fine.”
“Beatrix wouldn’t touch anyone’s sandwich!” Nana insisted as the pig in question trotted into the living room and dropped to lie down in front of the fire.
We all looked at her.
Except Nana.
Who continued eating her pork sandwich like it was no big deal.
I wasn’t going to be the one who pointed out that she was eating one of Beatrix Trotter’s friends, that was for sure.
I drew in a deep breath before slowly letting it out and looked at Hazel. “Shall we get to the wedding stuff when we’re done?”
She jerked her head in a nodding motion. “Please. I have a few things to go over.”
Of course, she did.
It was a good thing I was used to dealing with bridezillas, because she was most certainly on the brink of transformation.
***
“The demolition date is definitely confirmed for January twenty-first?” I asked Kim, the council worker who oversaw organising the venue.
She nodded. “Yes, I confirmed with the contractors this morning. We wouldn’t have licensed it if it weren’t.”
“Thanks.” I jotted that down. “Can I get that in writing, signed and dated today, from both you and the contractor?”
“Shouldn’t be an issue. I can email you when we’re done here.”
“Thank you. Sorry. I’ve watched Friends far too many times to be completely happy with this situation.”
She laughed. “As a Friends lover myself, I completely understand. It’s such a shame they condemned the old town hall.” Beth looked around at the old building with ornately carved ceilings, a sad smile curving her lips. “It’s not even as though it needs to be torn down.”
“Yes, well, money talks,” I replied, following her gaze with my own. “It was only a matter of time before property like this was sold out to developers.”
Kim made a non-committal noise and met my gaze. “Well, that’s the way the cookie crumbles,” she said evasively. “Fortunately, you booked it before the sale went through and Mr. Warner’s cheque cleared just in time.”
“I believe the cheque arrived with a minor threat to sue if they cancelled after the contract was signed.”
Minor was an understatement.
Hazel had wanted to get married here for as long as I could remember.