Last Christmas Read online

  Miss Woods sniffed. ‘Well, high time someone else took it over, I say. I don’t think I can stand another year of hearing those bloody elves singing “Wonderful Christmas Time”.’

  ‘I don’t blame you,’ laughed Marianne. ‘You should have tried getting them to rehearse it.’

  ‘Perhaps you could take over?’ suggested Miss Woods. ‘In the old days we used to have a Nativity based on an old Shropshire mystery play, but sadly Diana is too much of a philistine to know what a mystery play is.’

  ‘I don’t dare even think about suggesting it,’ was Marianne’s firm response. No way was she getting embroiled in a feud between the two women. She made her excuses and left, marvelling at the small ways the community of Hope Christmas was pulling together in the crisis. At the butcher’s, three burly farmers who supplied him with their meat were helping gut the shop floor, which had been ruined; at the small Parish Centre next to the church, a notice declared free hot meals for anyone affected by the floods till their kitchens were back in order; and, passing the post office, Marianne noticed Mr Edwards helping load Vera Campion’s worldly belongings into his van.

  ‘Mr Edwards has very kindly offered me lodgings,’ Vera explained pinkly. ‘With the post office closing anyway, I didn’t have anywhere else to go. And at least this way the insurance is going to give me a bit of a breather while I decide what to do next.’

  ‘It’s the least I can do, Vera,’ said Mr Edwards. ‘I can’t have my favourite girl struggling alone now, can I?’

  ‘Oh, Albert.’ Vera blushed bright crimson. Feeling like she was spying on them, Marianne went on her way.

  By the time she’d reached the dentist’s, conveniently placed at the top end of the village so it had escaped the flood, Marianne felt as though she’d said hello to half the inhabitants of Hope Christmas. As she went to sit down in the waiting area, she spotted Ralph Nicholas.

  ‘Ah, my dear, how are you?’ he said warmly. ‘Didn’t lose too much in the flood?’

  ‘No, I was incredibly lucky,’ said Marianne. ‘I feel so sorry for everyone who’s been affected.’

  ‘It’s going to take a long time for the village to recover, it’s true,’ said Ralph, ‘but every cloud has a silver lining, I generally find.’

  ‘Oh?’

  The receptionist called Ralph’s name. Tapping his nose, he smiled at Marianne and said, ‘I’d take a look at page 43 in this month’s Happy Homes if I were you.’ And with that he was gone.

  Marianne saw the magazine on the table. Idly she picked it up and it fell conveniently open at page 43.

  Fed up with the commercialisation of Christmas? Longing for a return to simpler days? Then enter our competition to find the Nation’s best Nativity. A prize of £10,000 to the community or school that puts in the best suggestion.

  Marianne laughed out loud. Perhaps she should suggest it to Diana Carew. She could only imagine how well that would go down.

  ‘Can you explain to me what all this is about?’ Cat hadn’t confronted Melanie with the evidence of her misdoings straightaway. She’d been so shocked by what she’d found and had needed time to mull it over. Besides, the last thing she wanted to do was accuse her daughter unnecessarily. Maybe, as Noel had pointed out to her, there might be some rational explanation. It could just be a schoolgirl prank that had got out of hand. Perhaps. After a long chat over a coffee with Regina, she’d decided to tackle the problem head on. So, with the rest of her offspring in bed and Noel away in Hope Christmas, trying to sort out the disaster that was the eco town, now seemed as good a time as any.

  ‘Where did you get this?’ Mel blushed a furious red and snatched the offending bits of paper out of her mother’s hands.

  ‘Your charming friend Juliette left an offensive message on my blog, and sent you some nasty comments on your MSN account,’ said Cat. ‘She told me you’d written some stuff about her on your Bebo page. I couldn’t believe it when I found this. What on earth are you playing at? I didn’t even know you knew language like that. After all the things I’ve told you about being careful about what you say online.’

  ‘She deserved it.’ Melanie looked mutinous.

  ‘What did she do?’ said Cat. ‘It must have been pretty bad for you to have written all this stuff. Come on, Mel, this isn’t like you. What’s going on?’

  Mel said nothing for a moment and then she burst out: ‘It’s all your fault!’

  ‘My fault? Why on earth is it my fault?’ Honestly, the logic of children.

  ‘Why did you have to write on the bloody blog about my training bra?’

  ‘What’s that got to do with anything?’ Months ago, Cat had written a jolly little piece about the traumas of dealing with preteens and, in this specific instance, the sheer embarrassment for Mel engendered by buying her first training bra. The Happy Homemaker blog was peppered with such stories of domestic life, it was one of the reasons people seemed to like it. But Cat had always been very careful not to mention her children by name—Mel’s moniker on the blog was the Mean Teen (James was the Token Boy, Paige the Drama Queen and Ruby the Wild Child).

  ‘Juliette’s mum reads your blog all the time,’ said Mel. ‘All my friends’ mums do. And then Juliette read it too, and printed it off and showed everyone in the class. It was so humiliating.’

  Cat felt a cold bucket of water wash over her. Never in a million years had it occurred to her that one of Mel’s friends might read the Happy Homemaker and make the connection with her. ‘I am so, so sorry, Mel. Really, truly I am. I never ever meant for this to happen. But you should have said.’

  ‘I didn’t know what to say,’ said Mel. ‘I was too angry.’

  ‘You do know that this,’ Cat pointed to the paperwork in Mel’s hand, ‘isn’t the way to deal with it though, don’t you?’

  ‘I suppose,’ said Mel sulkily.

  ‘So, what we’re going to do is ring Juliette’s mum up and you are going to go round there and apologise.’

  ‘Do I have to?’ Mel looked horrified.

  ‘Yes,sweetheart,I’m afraid you do,’said Cat.‘It was wrong of me to mention the training bra on the blog, and I am very very sorry. But I will not tolerate a child of mine behaving like this. Got it?’

  ‘Got it,’ mumbled Mel.

  ‘Now give us a hug, and we’ll say no more about it,’ said Cat. She kissed her daughter on the top of her head. ‘And can you forgive your old mum? Sometimes grown-ups get it wrong too.’

  ‘I suppose,’ said Mel and slunk off up to her room to do whatever it was she did there when she was having an emotional crisis.

  Cat went down to the kitchen and poured herself a large glass of red. Bloody hell. How could she have been so stupid? Cat had tossed off that little blog piece in a moment of light frivolity, never thinking for one moment about the repercussions for Mel. It was a lesson to her to be a bit more careful on the blog from now on. If indeed she should even carry it on. Somehow Cat felt she’d reached a turning point. The Happy Homemaker was starting to ruin her home life. She had a feeling that the days of her alter ego were numbered.

  Noel was attending a bad-tempered meeting at Hopesay Manor. He’d come up to Hope Christmas the night before, but thanks to the flooding hadn’t been able to stay in the cheerful pub he favoured. Instead he and Matt had been holed up in a faceless Travelodge on the outskirts of Ludlow where, remarkably, there was no evidence of flooding at all.

  They’d gone to visit the building site first thing, and even Matt had been shocked by the devastation. The pumps had been utilised and the worst of the water had gone but the grey-brown sludge that had been left behind needed to be cleaned out, and the stench was foul. A couple of dead sheep had been swept down the valley, their corpses left in the mud. Noel, having taken numerous photographs and measurements, couldn’t imagine how anyone could conceive that this was still a viable concern.

  Luke Nicholas apparently could.

  ‘I’m sure this is a problem we can resolve,’ he was saying smoothly, se
veral shareholders having expressed concern about the company’s liabilities.‘Our investors are really keen to carry on with the project, and accept that this is a little local problem that can easily be sorted out.’

  ‘You’ve built on a flood plain!’ Noel said in exasperation. ‘Your little local problem will be repeated if you don’t do something to sort it out.’

  ‘I think we have a solution to that,’ Luke turned to Matt, ‘don’t we?’

  ‘There is a way, if we divert the river away from the eco town, that, should the situation arise again—which let’s face it is extremely unlikely, there hasn’t been a flood this severe in over a hundred years—the village will be safe. I don’t see why we can’t proceed as normal.’

  ‘Apart from being contrary to government guidelines, which clearly state you shouldn’t do anything to create flooding elsewhere, which diverting the river is highly likely to do. This is mad,’ said Noel. Several shareholders seemed to agree, but they were overruled by Luke’s suave assurances that everything would be done to meet government requirements, and that in the end all would be well. Noel left the meeting feeling more disgruntled than ever. How could he carry on working like this? It was sapping all his strength and integrity.

  He left the meeting in an angry mood and walked out of the office buildings on the edge of the estate where the Nicholas family organised their day-to-day business, passing as he did so the small tumbledown cottages that he had hoped to persuade GRB to invest in.

  ‘Now they’d make proper sustainable housing, don’t you think?’ Ralph Nicholas was striding towards him with his grey wolfhound following on behind.

  ‘I said as much the first time I came here,’ said Noel gloomily, ‘but no one wants to listen to me.’

  ‘I’ll listen,’ said Ralph. ‘Here, take my card. Show me some decent plans, and who knows? Maybe I can persuade my daft grandson and his cronies to change their minds.’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Noel, ‘but I doubt you’ll get anyone at GRB to see sense.’

  ‘You know,’ said Ralph Nicholas, ‘it’s a big wide world out there. I could use a decent engineer if you ever thought about decamping to the country.’

  Noel looked at him incredulously. ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘Never been more serious,’ said Ralph. ‘This isn’t my only property in the area. And I’d like to invest in decent homes for the people who live round here. Particularly after the flood. Would you be interested?’

  ‘I’d come like a shot, but I doubt I could get my wife to move,’ said Noel. ‘She’s a real townie.’

  ‘Pity,’ said Ralph. ‘But if you ever change your mind…’

  ‘You’ll be the first to know,’ said Noel. It was so tempting. He’d love to come up here, buy that fantasy farmhouse and start again. It would be a much better life for the kids too. Noel wasn’t keen on the thought of James in particular going to the local comp, where stabbings seemed to be the norm. But how could he ever persuade Cat to leave the bright lights and big city? It was never going to happen and he knew it.

  Gabriel poured the last bit of earth onto Benjy’s grave, and placed the small wooden cross Stephen had made on top of the mound of earth. Stephen had insisted they bury Benjy in the garden, so ‘he would feel at home’.

  Stephen stepped forward, looking a little self-conscious in front of his cousins and aunt, whom he’d insisted on coming. Gabriel had thought about asking Marianne too, but as he still hadn’t divulged the nature of his relationship with her to his son, he decided in the end that it might spell trouble.

  ‘To Benjy,’ read Stephen. ‘You always came when I threw you sticks. You were always up to tricks. You were my friend and we had fun. Now it seems your days are run. I’ll always miss you.’

  He wiped a tear away from his eye, and Nathan giggled. Pippa punched him in the ribs and he shut up. Then, one by one, the children solemnly put a handful of earth on Benjy’s grave.

  ‘Do you think dogs go to heaven?’ Stephen asked.

  ‘Of course they do,’ said Pippa, giving him a hug. ‘There’s a special doggie heaven where they get to chase sticks, and hide bones, and munch on treats every day. Isn’t that right, Daddy?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ said Gabriel. He was relieved to see that, for the moment, Stephen was happy enough with that explanation. But later, when he was tucking his son up in bed, Stephen said to him sadly, ‘Why do so many sad things happen? First Mummy left and now Benjy’s died. Do you think it’s my fault? Maybe I’m too naughty.’

  ‘Oh, Stephen,’ Gabriel gave his son a hug. ‘Of course it’s not your fault. Who told you that?’

  ‘Nathan,’ said Stephen.

  ‘Well, I shall box Nathan’s ears next time I see him,’ said Gabriel. ‘Don’t you ever listen to such nonsense again.’

  ‘Why did Mummy leave then?’ said Stephen.

  ‘Mummy’s very sick,’ said Gabriel. ‘It makes her sad sometimes and she can’t help it. I wanted to help her, but I couldn’t either. Sometimes sad things just happen. But good things happen too.’

  ‘Like what?’ said Stephen.

  ‘Like I saw Shaun today and he’s growing into a fine big sheep and it will be time to shear him soon,’ said Gabriel.

  They’d christened the sheep they’d rescued Shaun, and let him out on the hills when he’d grown strong enough. Gabriel often spotted him on account of his black tail.

  ‘Oh, yes, that’s good,’ said Stephen sleepily. ‘But I think it would be really good if Mummy came back.’

  ‘That may not happen,’ said Gabriel, and hesitated. Was now the moment to mention Marianne?

  ‘But it might,’ continued Stephen. ‘I shall make a wish on a star tonight and every night for Mummy to come back home.’

  Now was evidently not the time. Gabriel drew the curtains with a heavy heart and kissed his son goodnight. How was he going to prevent Stephen from facing heartbreak all over again?

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Cat was in a lunchtime meeting, discussing the layout of the Christmas edition over sandwiches and sparkling water. The plan was to announce the winner of the Nativity competition the first week in December and to print the article about the Nativity in the January issue.

  ‘Come on, people, I’ve got a really good vibe about this,’ Bev was saying as they pored over layouts.

  Even Cat had to admit, unenthusiastic as she felt about Christmas given that it was the middle of July (and she still had the summer holidays to get through without a family holiday as their finances were so stretched), that it was looking good.

  The phone in the meeting room rang and Bev picked it up, ‘Yes, she’s here,’ she said. ‘Cat, it’s for you.’

  Cat picked up the phone. ‘Hello, Catherine Tinsall here,’ she said.

  ‘Mrs Tinsall? Staff Nurse Tully from Homerton Hospital here. No need to be alarmed but I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news,’ said the impersonal voice at the other end of the phone. ‘Your mother’s had a fall and is in hospital.’

  Cat felt the colour drain from her face. She felt dizzy and sick. She sat down and asked, ‘Is it serious?’

  ‘We don’t know yet,’ said the woman on the other end, ‘but she is very distressed and asking for you.’

  ‘Of course, I’ll be there right away,’ said Cat. She put the phone down, and turned to Bev. ‘I’m really sorry, but I’m going to have to go. My mother’s in hospital.’

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ said Bev, putting a sympathetic arm on her shoulder. ‘Yes, off you go, scoot.’

  Cat ran to get her things and rushed out of the building, ringing Regina to ask her if she’d mind picking the kids up as an emergency. She had no idea how long she’d be.

  By the time she got to the hospital, Mum was asleep. Her face was bruised, and her ribs were cracked but otherwise the cheerful doctor, who looked about ten, declared her to be fit as a fiddle.

  ‘Though, of course, with her medical condition being what it is,’ he continued, ‘she’s very unlikely to be a
ble to continue in her own home. You’re going to have to consider an alternative.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ So far no one had actually told her what was wrong with her mother, only that they were waiting for the test results.

  ‘Well, as I’m sure you are aware, the fact that your mother is suffering from dementia is probably one of the reasons she fell.’

  ‘It’s definite then?’Cat’s voice came out in a squeak.‘Mum has Alzheimer’s?’

  The doctor looked stricken. He was obviously quite junior and not used to having to break this kind of news.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ he said. ‘I assumed you knew.’

  ‘Suspected,’ said Cat, ‘but no one’s told us for definite. We hadn’t had any test results.’

  ‘Well,technically, there are no tests to diagnose Alzheimer’s,’ said the doctor. ‘It’s more a case of ruling things out. The MRI scan shows your mother has suffered from one or two TIAs but her other symptoms clearly point to Alzheimer’s. I wish I could have something more positive to say.’

  ‘It’s all right, Doctor,’ said Cat. ‘In a way it’s a relief. At least we know now.’

  And now the axe had fallen, she could start planning for the future. She shivered at the thought.

  ‘What do you think will happen now?’ she asked.

  ‘It depends how quickly the disease progresses,’ said the doctor. ‘Realistically, you are going to have to brace yourself for more of this kind of thing. The memory loss and mood changes are likely to get worse, and your mother will be less and less able to manage. I’m so sorry, but it can only go downhill from here.’

  Marianne was feeling rather nervous. At Diana Carew’s insistence, she’d been dragged into the first meeting of the year for the Village Nativity. Quite why they needed to get on with it in July, she wasn’t clear, but Diana had been most insistent that the sooner they started the better.

  ‘Christmas will soon be upon us, you know,’ said Diana, ‘and, with all the chaos this year, we can’t afford to get behind.’