Chapter 33

33

CHRISTMAS EVE

By the following morning the snow is falling so hard that Shelley decides this must be a blizzard. Has she ever been in a blizzard before? Possibly, although you’re pretty much insulated from the weather in London. It doesn’t lash at you in the same raw way as it is now, the snow driving into her frozen face as she hurries towards the hen house.

By the time she’s fed and checked on the hens, and is back at the cottage, everyone is up and gathered just inside the front door, staring out. ‘You’ll need to start digging now if we’re going to have any chance of getting home,’ Frida barks at Roger. But it’s Niall who responds.

‘Frida, we might as well try digging to the centre of the earth for all the good it’ll do. Look how fast it’s falling.’ He hands around mugs of coffee and a hot chocolate for an excitable Theo, who at least seems delighted by the fresh snowfall.

‘Yep, without a doubt,’ Roger agrees. ‘Frida, we’re just going to have to accept this…’ As tempers flare between the Sampsons, Shelley, Lena and Pearl go to confer in the lounge.

‘This is it,’ Shelley announces. ‘We’re all stuck here for Christmas. There’s no way around it, is there?’ She has called Michael’s new mobile already, and assured him, stoically, that they’ll all be fine. But she doesn’t feel fine as she imagines Joel’s reaction.

‘Haven’t you told him yet?’ Pearl asks with a grimace.

‘That he’ll have to manage Christmas Day with the kids and his parents, all by himself?’ Shelley rubs at her face, as if that might erase the terrifying vision of Joel juggling the making of a proper turkey-stock gravy while sautéing sprouts and hoisting out the turkey, stuffing, roast potatoes and pigs in blankets from the oven, all at the correct time. And what about the home-made cranberry sauce that his mother always expects? ‘No, I haven’t dared to call him yet,’ she says, shuddering. ‘I don’t know how he’s going to cope…’

‘He’ll just have to,’ Pearl insists. ‘There’s literally nothing we can do now.’

‘You could dispense instructions over the phone?’ Lena suggests, trying to lighten the mood. ‘Literally talk him through making Christmas dinner, like the emergency services when someone’s having a baby at home?’

Shelley musters a weak smile. ‘Maybe his parents will pitch in. The kids too. They might even peel a potato!’

‘It could even be good for them,’ Lena suggests.

‘Maybe. You do realise my name will be mud, though?’ Shelley wishes she didn’t care about how she’ll be viewed by her own family and in-laws. But she can’t help it. For seventeen years her overriding aim has been to be a good mum, and guilt comes over her now in a wave. But gradually, as snow continues to fall, a sense of acceptance begins to settle over the group. Because really, what other option is there? They can hardly be helicoptered out of here, and there is certainly no sign of a thaw.

Before tackling breakfast, the three women and Niall escape the intensity of the cottage by walking Stan to the lochside. Here, as they stop at the water’s edge, they try to figure out how their somewhat unlikely group might manage Christmas Day together. ‘If it was just us,’ Lena offers, ‘it’d be great.’

‘Y’know, I think it actually would,’ Shelley agrees. ‘And maybe you were right when you said it might be good for them. They’re just going to have to get off their backsides and all pull together for once. And perhaps I’m being unfair on Joel, assuming he won’t be able to cope.’ She bends to ruffle Stan’s soft black and white fur, reminding herself that her husband seems to have changed, since she ran away to Scotland. And that the new improved Joel has been nothing but pleasant on the phone – even offering to pick them up at the airport. It hardly seems possible that this is the man who let her drag a Christmas tree down the street, all by herself. So yes, of course he can roast and carve a turkey and dish up sprouts. ‘It’s funny,’ she continues. ‘When we booked this trip, if I’d thought there was even a chance that I wouldn’t be back home for Christmas, then I’d have said no way?—’

‘And now here we are, trapped together in the frozen wastes,’ Niall remarks with a grin.

‘And actually, it doesn’t feel like a disaster…’ Shelley breaks off, gazing across the loch to the snowy peaks beyond. ‘It feels… okay .’

‘Christmas is only a day, after all,’ Niall offers with a shrug.

She chuckles. ‘Funnily enough, that’s what my husband always says. That I make far too much fuss, wanting everything to be perfect and the house all decorated. But yes, it is only a day. And anyway, there’s nothing we can do to change things.’ She turns to Pearl. ‘But what about Brandon?’

Pearl brushes a fresh flurry of snowflakes from her auburn hair. ‘I’ll miss him. I’ve never had a Christmas without my boy…’ Like Shelley, she’s dreading calling home to break the news. ‘But with Abi there…’ She doesn’t want to say, It wouldn’t be the same anyway. Not like our Christmases have always been. But it’s true. ‘Maybe it’ll be good for them to have the place to themselves,’ she continues. ‘And actually, it’ll be fun to spend it with all of you.’

Lena wraps an arm around her shoulders. ‘All these years we’ve been friends and we’ve never spent Christmas Day together. And look where we are! It couldn’t be any more Christmassy…’ They all fall silent for a moment, taking it all in. Not just the snowy landscape, sparkling now in the weak sunshine, but the realisation that they will definitely be spending Christmas Day together, right here. Then Shelley remembers that the hens’ water bottle might be frozen, and they all make their way back to the cottage, where Niall offers to check it.

Pearl finds herself watching as he marches away through the freshly formed layer of white. ‘He’s great, isn’t he?’ Shelley remarks, catching her friend’s eye.

Pearl nods. ‘Yeah. He really is.’

‘And you two seem to be getting on well,’ Lena suggests with a smile.

Pearl chuckles, shrugging off the suggestion that there might be a spark between them. ‘He’s just a nice guy. Down to earth. A decent man…’

‘Single, right?’ Lena asks.

‘Yes, his wife left him this time last year. Took his kids over to live in France.’

‘Wow,’ Shelley murmurs.

‘So he’s not a big fan of Christmas,’ Pearl adds. ‘Not now anyway.’

‘I wonder how he feels about spending it with us?’ Lena muses as they head back indoors and start to prepare breakfast. Busying away in the kitchen, they are already working instinctively. Shelley is main cook, Pearl the sous-chef and Lena the table setter and Director-in-Chief of toast, ensuring that a steady supply is produced. And breakfast today is a reasonably jolly affair, despite Frida declaring that ‘it’s a complete disaster’ as she reaches for Michael’s home-made plum jam. But there’s a resignedness to her tone now. And when Niall reminds her that they have everything they need here, she doesn’t disagree.

‘Most importantly, we have wine,’ Shelley announces.

‘And plenty of food,’ Niall adds. ‘We won’t have to drill holes through the ice and fish in the loch…’

‘…Or eat each other,’ Lena says with a grin.

‘But what if we eat all the food?’ Theo blurts out. ‘Will we have to kill the hens?’

‘Of course not,’ Pearl exclaims.

‘The woodshed freezer’s practically full,’ Lena assures him.

‘Oh, more hedgerow berry crumble?’ Frida groans, and Roger pats her hand as if placating a child.

‘The crumble’s excellent, darling.’

‘But a bit of variety would be nice…’

‘Well, how about we build a fire down by the loch later, and we can cook sausages?’ Niall suggests.

‘Great idea!’ Pearl enthuses.

‘But what about Christmas Day?’ Frida asks, forehead furrowed now. ‘We don’t have a turkey, do we?’

‘We’ll just have to improvise,’ Shelley says firmly.

She’s not exactly sure what she means by this, and perhaps, if this goes on for days – or even weeks – they’ll be resorting to fish fingers garnished with sweetcorn kernels after all. But it’ll be okay, she decides, trying to dampen down a flurry of nerves as she steps outside to call home. It’s not your fault, she reminds herself. You didn’t cause the snowfall.

‘Joel?’ she starts when he answers. ‘It’s not good news, I’m afraid…’ Her chest seems to tighten as she awaits his reaction.

‘You mean you’re definitely snowed in?’

‘Yep, totally. There’s no chance of getting out of here, I’m afraid. So we can’t catch that flight.’

She senses him absorbing this new information. ‘Oh, darling,’ he murmurs. ‘You poor things.’

This catches her by surprise. She hadn’t expected sympathy – even from the new Joel. ‘I do feel kind of stupid,’ she adds.

‘Don’t worry,’ he says firmly. ‘I’m gutted, of course I am. I can’t believe we’re not going to be together tomorrow. But as long as you’re all warm and safe, that’s all that matters.’

‘We are,’ she says. ‘We’ll be okay. But I’ll miss you all…’

‘We’ll miss you so much,’ he exclaims. ‘But it’s not your fault…’ Her gaze skims the line of fence posts jutting from the snow-smothered field. She’s relieved of course. But something about his stoical tone stirs a pool of uneasiness in the pit of her stomach. She shrugs off the feeling, reminding herself that this is what she’s always wanted. For Joel to be a willing participant in the family, rather than acting as if it’s a terrible party he’s been forced to attend.

He hands her over to Fin and then Martha. Their chats are brief but at least they are cordial. ‘We’ll miss you, Mum,’ Martha says. ‘It won’t be the same here without you.’

Shelley’s heart seems to twist. ‘Oh, darling. I’ll miss you too. I’m so sorry it’s turned out like this…’

‘It’s all right.’ Her daughter’s voice wavers. Her headstrong daughter who has barely given Shelley the time of day these past few months sounds genuinely upset. Shelley rubs away sudden tears as they finish the call, reassured that at least Christmas will still happen back at home, even without her being a part of it. To think she was so worried about them fending for themselves. New Year’s resolution number one, she decides, is to stop fussing and worrying because her family is wonderful. She’s been far too critical lately, and too quick to rise to small misdemeanours.

And resolution number two? To be grateful for what she has. Because Shelley has a husband and children who love her and the best friends in the world.

What more could she possibly want?

So Joel is going to have to manage Christmas alone, with intense hostility pervading the house. Brilliant. Just brilliant. Whatever happened to goodwill towards all men? Frankly, it’s a nightmare. He doesn’t even know where to start with the raft of issues he’s been left to deal with here.

However, a glimmer of positivity has cut through the gloom. In fact, Shelley being trapped up in Scotland is something of a Christmas miracle because yesterday, despite his promises, the glazier didn’t turn up. Glaring at the cracked window, Joel left several panicky messages, his anger mounting as the man failed to respond. He tried other glaziers, to no avail, and was starting to fear that he’d have to figure out how to replace the glass himself. Christ, he can barely hang a picture without injuring himself! Could he lie and say that some passing vandal had lobbed a brick at it? But now, minutes after Shelley has finished the call, there’s a sharp rap on the door and Joel runs to it, overcome with relief when he sees the glazier standing there. ‘You’re here, finally!’ he announces.

‘Yeah, sorry about yesterday.’ The man scratches his meaty forehead, seemingly unconcerned by the anguish he’s caused. ‘Ended up having a bit of an impromptu Christmas lunch with the team.’

‘Team? What team?’ Joel barks. He has already decided not to offer him coffee or tea.

‘Just colleagues.’ He shrugs.

‘Oh, a glaziers’ Christmas party,’ Joel sneers. ‘Hope it was smashing.’ The joke falls flat. In fact, he doesn’t care about the tradesman’s social engagements. All he wants is for him to fix the living room window and stop sniggering at the state of their Christmas tree. Yesterday Joel made a zillion calls in an attempt to locate a replacement. There were none left; not a single fir or spruce or whatever they are – he’s not good on tree varieties. So on top of fretting madly about the window and his love bite and daubing on toothpaste – hadn’t that worked in 1988? – he’s had to fix the cracked tree with brown parcel tape and prop it back up in its pot. ‘Come a cropper, did it?’ The man smirks.

‘It had a small accident, yes.’ Joel watches in a supervisory role as, finally, the glazier turns his attentions to replacing the broken glass. Job completed, he tots up the bill and announces that he’d appreciate payment right now, if that’s okay – Visa or Mastercard will do.

As soon as he has cleared off, Joel glowers at a succession of delightfully festive emails he’s received this morning.

Hi! I will be right on point, is the gist of these things. You visit 18+ sites. Your devices are compromised and I have seen you pleasuring yourself. Don’t worry we all do it! But I created a double screen video (you have good taste lol) and I can access your contact lists on email mobile socials etc. Unless you pay 3000 $ in bitcoin I will share masturbatory video to all on your list including mother. Amount: 0.28 BTC (approximately).

Joel isn’t an idiot. He knows it’s a scam and even before his laptop was stolen, he never did anything of that persuasion at home. Instead he’s been bottling up his sexual tension like a demijohn of home-made wine until he’s round at Carmel’s and the great uncorking happens. Carmel who, incidentally, seems to be blanking his messages at the moment. But still, he is unnerved by these emails, and now his kids – his own flesh and blood – are acting like bitcoin scammers after everything he’s done for them. Firstly, there was no helping to clear up after their house-wrecking party. Now Fin is hinting that he’d like to go on a ruinously expensive school trip to Rome and is he okay with that? Of more immediate concern is the fact that neither he nor Martha have lifted a finger to get ready for Joel’s parents arriving tomorrow, and are clearly not planning to do anything he asks, possibly ever again.

‘Just popping out,’ he calls upstairs, to zero response. He’s picked up the butcher’s order already – it was like lugging a bison in a cardboard box down the street – but he still has to figure out how to replace Shelley’s granny’s smashed antique baubles ( and explain where they’ve gone), and buy paper to wrap not only those last remaining gifts, but also the ones that were all torn open at the party. And Shelley’s present! He can’t just hand her the Superdrug voucher. At the very least, he’ll have to buy her a box of chocolates too. As he marches to the shops he remembers that he’s also supposed to have delivered the neighbours’ Christmas cards. But sod them. What have they ever done for him? Insisted that he’d taken in a parcel for them when he hadn’t.

And now, in the distance, he registers a woman in a pink padded jacket whose neutral expression seems to flash to one of anger as she spots him. ‘Hello!’ he says brightly, realising she’s vaguely familiar but he can’t place her face.

‘You’re Fin’s dad, right?’ she snaps.

‘What?’ Joel backs away from this madwoman.

‘Leaving the kids alone to run riot in your house!’

‘Erm, I’m sorry, I’m not sure who you?—’

‘I’m Ajay’s mum. He’s fourteen, you know. He could’ve had alcohol poisoning thanks to you. You think it’s fine, do you? Supplying alcohol to minors?’

‘I didn’t supply it,’ he protests. ‘They brought it when I was out. I didn’t realise?—’

‘Does Shelley know about this?’

‘Yes. No. I don’t know!’ What is the correct answer here?

‘Well, you should be ashamed of yourself!’ Off she stomps, leaving Joel glancing around nervously as if the police, or a team of Ajay’s fierce uncles, might be closing in.

At least there is wrapping paper and Sellotape – his nemesis – at the corner shop, plus a decent-looking box of chocolates that he’s sure Shelley will appreciate. Back home, he gets stuck into the wrapping. The Sellotape only attacks him twice and at least the window’s been fixed, and the tree, after a fashion.

You can do this, Joel tells himself. All he needs now is for that damn love bite to fade and everything will be all right.