Page 53 of It Always Snows on Mistletoe Square
‘No,’ Estelle says defiantly, sticking out her chin. ‘Respectfully, Father, I disagree. Your heart will always tell youeverythingyou need to know.’
Father and daughter glare at each other for a few seconds, neither of them giving an inch.
‘In answer to your previous question, Estelle,’ Stephen says eventually. ‘I’m sure when the time comes this evening, I will be listening along with my fellow guests. Do you wish to listen with us?’
Estelle nods.
‘Then you may enter the sitting room then and then only. Actually,’ he says, as a thought occurs to him. ‘Jack Tannon will be here tonight. Perhaps I should see if he would like his son to accompany him? I hear Teddy is following in his father’s footsteps and is hoping to do a law degree. The two of you might find you have things in common … ’
Estelle stares at her father – a long, cold stare that is not lost on Stephen. ‘Perhaps we will,’ she says eventually, in possibly the politest voice I’ve ever heard. ‘I will look forward to making his acquaintance. Now I will leave you to your newspaper.’
Estelle stands, turns and walks slowly out of the room, while Stephen gives his newspaper a little shake, then settles down to read it.
‘Come,’ Angela says, gesturing for us to follow the young Estelle out of the room. ‘Estelle?’ She frowns. ‘Estelle!’
Our Estelle jumps from where she’s been standing over her father, glaring at him in much the same way as her younger self just had.
‘We need to go,’ Angela reminds her. ‘The next part of this story?’
‘Apologies,’ a slightly dazed Estelle says. ‘Yes, of course. To the kitchen.’
Estelle and Angela lead us along the hall towards the old kitchen and scullery.
‘The beautiful floor tiles have gone!’ I say as we pass through the hall and I look down at the green linoleum flooring under my feet. ‘What a shame. I thought the ones in your house were the originals, Estelle.’
‘They are,’ Estelle says, not looking down at the floor, but at the departing figure of her younger self. ‘They were just covered by this dreadful linoleum – all the rage back then. The tiles are still there underneath. They reappear again … in the nineties, I think?’
‘Good,’ I say as I follow the others down the hall. ‘It would have been a shame to lose them.’
In addition to linoleum flooring, the hall also has a small table at the bottom of the stairs, and sitting on top of it a black Bakelite telephone. The stairs, which before were polished wood, now have a narrow, brown, patterned carpet running up the centre of them, held in place by stair-rods.
As we arrive once more down in the kitchen, I notice how much it has changed since we were last here in 1842. The 1930s have provided the kitchen with a few freestanding units painted in cream and green, that hold utensils and cooking ingredients. The big black range has gone, and has been replaced with an upright white enamel cooker that looks much more like our modern-day cookers, with gas hobs, a grill and an oven. There are various gadgets that are beginning to look more familiar on the work surfaces, such as a very basic toaster, and in the middle of all this is still a scrubbed wooden table at which a young girl, who looks a little older than the young Estelle, sits writing in a hardback book. Occasionally she gets up and checks the shelves in a large pantry at the end of the room.
‘Estelle,’ she says, looking up as the young Estelle walks into the room. ‘How pretty you look tonight.’
‘Thank you, Holly.’ Estelle attempts a smile. ‘Father has one of his … gatherings this evening, so I have to make an effort. What are you up to?’
‘I’m attempting to plan the menus for the next week,’ Holly says, gesturing at the book. She sighs. ‘I’m sure my mother was so much better at this than me.’
‘Perhaps,’ Estelle says, perching on the edge of the table. ‘You’re doing a fine job, though. Ivy would have been so proud of both you and Rudy.’
‘Thank you, Estelle. I do hope so.’
‘You know Mother has never forgiven herself for Ivy getting sick,’ Estelle continues with a solemn expression. ‘She still talks about it now.’
Holly shakes her head. ‘I wish she wouldn’t blame herself. My aunt Mary always said that Mother would have likely caught it anyway after your mother did, so that outing didn’t really make any difference to what happened.’
‘Possibly,’ Estelle says, not sounding entirely convinced.
‘It’s just such a shame that nasty bout of flu has affected your mother’s poor health ever since, though.’
Estelle nods. ‘Sadly, I don’t think she’ll ever recover now. She’s going to be like this for ever, just because of a silly virus.’
Holly nods sympathetically.
‘But we were very lucky to have had your aunt Mary step in and look after us, and now you and Rudy have continued the family tradition.’
‘We try, but I don’t think we’re quite up to my mother and my aunt’s standards just yet.’
