Trisha Ashley - Twelve Days of Christmas

‘Oh yes, I think he mentioned that.’

‘It’s called Auld Christmas, like the pub name, and it’s about ancient traditions being absorbed into new ones and stuff like that, and how the Twelfth Night Revels celebrate the rebirth of the new year and goes back way before Christianity.’

‘Does it? It sounds like you’re an expert too,’ I said, impressed.

‘Oh, Grandpa’s forever going on about it, and my parents have always brought me to Old Place for Christmas, so it’s just sort of seeped in.’ She looked a bit forlorn suddenly. ‘I wish they could be here this time, too, but I do understand. They could hardly fly back from Antarctica just for the Christmas holidays, could they?’

‘No, but they must be missing you an awful lot.’

‘Oh, they’ll be so into what they’re doing they won’t even remember I exist until they get back!’ She sounded tolerant rather than aggrieved by this. ‘But they did record a DVD wishing me Happy Christmas before they went, a bit like the Queen’s message, though Granny says I can’t have it until Christmas Day.’

‘That’s something to look forward to.’

‘Yes, and I don’t mind them not being here so much now we’re staying with you. Christmas is going to be much more fun! You don’t really mind if we have a proper one, do you?’

‘I suppose not, and it’s starting to sound as if I’ll have enough of Christmas this year to make up for all the ones I’ve missed.’

‘And presents, too. I make all mine and I’ve got a wonky one I practised on you can have,’ she said generously.

I couldn’t imagine what she’d made, but I thanked her anyway. ‘I wasn’t expecting anything — I wasn’t even expecting Christmas, come to that! Mind you, I do have one present already, from my best friend.’

‘What’s she like?’

‘She’s my husband’s younger sister and my opposite in every way: tiny, fair and blue-eyed like he was. . but she doesn’t look like him otherwise.’

‘Was your husband short, then? Uncle Jude is a giant.’

‘He was exactly the same height as me — six foot.’

‘That’s tall enough to be a model, except they’re all skinny.’

‘Well, you know what they say: never trust a skinny cook.’

‘Do they?’ She frowned. ‘Oh, I see: it means you don’t love food.’

‘And won’t eat your own cooking!’

When we’d finished and I’d fixed a paper frill (also from the toffee tin) around the cake, I covered it with a large glass dome I’d spotted in one of the old glazed-fronted cupboards that lined one wall of the huge kitchen, then put it in the larder.

‘Now, perhaps we’d better make some more tea and you could take it through while I start dinner. Could you pop up and see if your Granny’s awake and would like some?’

I’d taken some beef mince out of the freezer as soon as I’d got back earlier and now quickly made a large cottage pie and put it in the oven, then cored baking apples to stuff with dried fruit, brown sugar and cinnamon. There was long-life cream, ice cream and a half-used aerosol can of squirty cream that had come from the lodge with the other perishable food. . and when I counted, there were a total of four and a half aerosol tins of sweetened cream, so it must play a large part in their diet!

Tilda had a tray in bed and the rest of us ate around the big pine table in the kitchen. By the time I’d cleared this away and then gone out for one last check on Lady and to give Merlin a run, I was exhausted.

But I still felt on edge, as if waiting for something — and I realised it was Jude’s daily call! In a peculiar way, I sort of missed the adrenaline rush of crossing swords with him, even if he had managed to provoke me into losing my temper on more than one occasion.

Noël had gone to bed and Jess was in the morning room watching something fuzzy and probably highly unsuitable on the TV, half-glazed with sleep. I sent her upstairs, but she made me promise to come and put her light out on my way up in a few minutes. The child in her was only just beneath the surface: I ended up reading her a bit of The Water Babies from a book we found on one of the shelves, before tucking her up with her teddy bear and saying good night.

Tonight I could only focus on the journal entries for long enough to discover that Gran’s first meeting outside the hospital with N seemed set to become the first of many.

Then my eyes started to close as if weighted with lead and I switched out the light and sank back on the pillows — only to start awake again a moment later, my heart racing, filled with shocked guilt because for the first time in eight years, I had forgotten the anniversary of Alan’s death!

I climbed out of bed and fetched his photograph in its travelling frame from the top of the washstand: and that’s how I fell asleep, holding onto my lost love, my face wet with tears.

I was up much earlier than everyone else, seeing to Merlin and double-rugging Lady, as Becca had suggested doing if it got really cold, before letting her and Billy out into the snowy paddock.

It was bitterly icy out there and the wind felt as if it was coming straight off the tundra so, after hanging the haynet on the fence and breaking the ice in the water trough, I was glad to go back in and thaw out. Mucking out would have to wait for later.

By now I’d found a note about the care of Billy, which had come adrift from its place in the file and been pushed into the pocket at the back. However, apart from feeding him some of the goat biscuit things every day, which I had been doing anyway, he seemed to eat much the same as Lady. At the bottom of the typed page, Jude had written: If Billy gets ill and goes off his food, tempt him with toast and treacle.

Was he serious?

I got the defrosted ham out of the larder and boiled it, pouring away the water. Then I smeared it with honey and mustard, stuck it with cloves, and put it in to bake.

By the time I’d followed this up by making a blancmange and a quick chocolate cake from a favourite recipe, Noël and Jess had appeared. Tilda was, as I expected, still shaken, bruised and stiff, though she’d apparently announced her intention of coming down later.

When I asked them what they would like for breakfast, Jess said, ‘A bacon and egg McMuffin, if you really want to know.’

‘There are muffins in the freezer, you could have a Holly Muffin instead, if that would do?’

In fact, we all had bacon and egg-filled muffins, including Tilda, though Jess took hers up on a tray along with toast, marmalade, butter and a little fat pot of tea.

Apparently she usually eats a hearty breakfast, though if she got through that lot, then she must eat her own body weight every day, since she’s the size of a sparrow!

Fortified by that, Noël and Jess were all set for an expedition to the attic to fetch down the Christmas decorations.

‘There are only two days to go before Christmas, so there’s no time to waste,’ Noël said. They wanted me to go with them, which in my new spirit of drifting with the seasonal flow I agreed to do, just as soon as I’d cleared the breakfast things.

Jess was dispatched to collect her granny’s breakfast tray and tell her where we were going to be, in case she thought we’d deserted her. I was just checking the ham when there was a hammering at the back door.

George must have snowploughed up the drive again, for the tractor with the heavy blade on the front was on the other side of the gate and, to judge from the footsteps across the snowy cobbles, he’d already made a couple of trips to and fro. There was a large holdall and a suitcase at his feet, and he was holding an assortment of other stuff, including a lot of greenery.

He gave me his attractive grin over the top of it, his healthy pink face glowing under its shock of white-gold hair and his sky-blue eyes bright.

‘Morning! Met the postie in the village and thought I’d save him the trouble of bringing your mail up, seeing I was coming anyway. I’ve brought the old folks’, too, though theirs mostly looks like Christmas cards.’

‘That’s kind of you.’

‘If you take that?’ he suggested and I relieved him of a large bundle held together with red elastic bands, two parcels, a hyacinth in a pot and the bunch of holly and mistletoe.

‘Henry sent you the hyacinth, and the holly and bit of mistletoe are from me. I’ll cut some more and drop it off in the porch later.’

‘Oh — how kind of you both,’ I said, gingerly holding the prickly bouquet and trying not to drop anything. ‘And the bags. .?’

He picked them up and heaved them over the threshold.

‘Becca’s. I cleared as far as New Place and she called to me and asked if I’d drop them off.’

‘She did?’

I supposed it made sense, when I came to think about it, since if it carried on snowing she might have to walk up through the snow on Christmas Day. She did seem to need an awful lot of stuff for one night, though!

‘We’ve just finished breakfast — why don’t you come in and have a cup of tea?’

‘Nay, I haven’t time, but I’ll carry Becca’s bags through for you if you like, one of them’s heavy.’ He stamped the snow off his boots and came in, shutting the door behind him.