Page 41 of It Always Snows on Mistletoe Square
He looks up at me with a pair of wise eyes that I feel have seen more than people probably give him credit for. I go over and kneel down next to his chair so I can fuss him. He gives me a welcoming lick on my hand.
‘This is a funny situation we find ourselves in here, don’t you think?’ I ask him as I rub his head. From my limited knowledge of dogs, Alvie doesn’t actually seem that old, and I wonder how long Estelle has had him. Other than for company, why would someone of her age take on a young dog in what she must know are her twilight years? Estelle is incapable of walking very far, even with her cane. Angela seems to take Alvie for most of his walks as far as I know. ‘You seem to be all right with Estelle’s strange stories, though, don’t you?’ The little dog rolls over on his back so I can tickle his tummy. ‘I guess I’m going to have to get used to them too, if I want to make a success of this job.’
After dinner, I insist on helping Angela clear away and then we settle down to wait for Ben to arrive, and for Estelle’s next story. The chairs have been left, I notice, in the same position as last night – two either side of the fire.
I look at the tree and wonder which of the many decorations would be next on our journey through this house’s history.
‘There’s more cloud out there tonight,’ I say, glancing out of the window as we wait for Ben. ‘Are you sure the moon will be able to shine through the window onto the tree?’
‘It will find a way,’ Estelle says with confidence. ‘It always does.’
There’s a knock at the door, which Angela answers, and then she and Ben come through into the sitting room.
‘Hey,’ he says, smiling at us. ‘I hope I’m not late, am I? My apologies if I am, but I’ve had a heck of a day.’
‘Not at all.’ Estelle pats the seat next to her. ‘Right on time as always.’
‘We’re just about to have some after-dinner coffee,’ Angela says. ‘Would you like a cup, Ben?’
Ben glances warily at me. ‘Er, okay, yes. Thank you.’
Angela, wearing a long kaftan-style dress tonight straight from the 1970s, fetches the coffee while Ben tells us about his day.
‘Bit dull really,’ he says, warming his hands in front of the fire. ‘A few meetings and lots of paperwork. But it was the three hours I spent trying to get my heating fixed that was the killer. This fire tonight is very welcome, I can tell you.’
‘What’s the problem?’ I ask. ‘Have you got it fixed now?’
‘Nope, it seems my very old boiler has finally decided to retire. It had to wait until I moved in, didn’t it?’
‘You’re without heat in December?’ Estelle asks. She glances at Angela as she comes through the door carrying a tray filled with cups of coffee. ‘We can’t have that, can we, Angela?’
‘Definitely not. Ben, you can’t be without heat and hot water at this time of the year. The winters aren’t as cold as some I can remember.’ Again, Estelle and Angela exchange a knowing glance. ‘But it’s cold enough.’
‘Why don’t you come and stay with us until you get it fixed?’ Estelle offers. ‘We have plenty of room here as you can see.’
‘Gosh,’ Ben says, looking surprised. ‘That’s very kind, but I couldn’t intrude on you like that. I’ll be fine. I’ll just need to wrap up a little warmer, that’s all. I can meet any clients in a coffee shop for the time being. The plumber said it wouldn’t take long for him to source a new boiler. They say cold showers are good for you, don’t they?’
‘Nonsense, it would be our pleasure,’ Estelle insists. ‘We haven’t had guests here for … well, for a very long time.’
I clear my throat.
‘Except for you of course, dear Elle. But like I said yesterday, I consider you family now. Ben, it would be our absolute pleasure to have you here with us. Wouldn’t it, Angela?’
‘Absolutely.’ Angela nods.
‘Well, if you really don’t mind … ’ Ben still looks unsure. ‘I’m sure it would only be for the odd night.’
‘I’ll go and make a bed up for you right after Estelle’s story,’ Angela says, looking pleased. She glances at the clock on the mantelpiece. ‘We need to get ready – it’s almost time.’
Angela sits down in the chair next to me, and we wait for the clock to strike eight. Right on cue, as I hear the chimes, the moon appears from behind the thick bank of cloud it’s been stuck behind all night. Immediately, it shines down through the glass, and tonight its rays land on a tree decoration that hangs from the branches by a purple-white-and-green-striped ribbon. The beam illuminates the matching coloured jewels that hang from the ribbon, so they sparkle and glisten like fine gems.
‘Tonight,’ Estelle says, looking proudly at the decoration. ‘I would like to share with you a story from December 1918 that involves the brooch you see hanging before you, which belonged, I’m extremely proud to say, to my mother.’
Twelve
MistletoeSquare,London
14 December 1918
