Page 70 of It Always Snows on Mistletoe Square
Estelle is just coming through the door as we arrive in the hallway. This is a slightly older Estelle than we met in the previous story – she must be what? I do a quick bit of maths in my head, but Estelle answers my question before my mind can compute the answer.
‘I’m forty-four,’ she says.
‘You look fab, Estelle,’ Angela says approvingly. ‘Fab and groovy! Just like I remember you.’
This new Estelle still has long dark hair, which partly cascades down her back and is partly pulled up high on her head, but I notice an odd grey hair just beginning to mix with others. She’s wearing green trousers that taper in at the ankle, a mustard-yellow polo-neck sweater and a burgundy tweed winter coat with big buttons, and burgundy leather ankle-length boots.
‘You look great,’ I say. ‘Very on trend!’
My Estelle grimaces.
‘And you have a little dog too!’ I exclaim, looking at the little dog she’s unhooking from its lead.
‘That’s Dylan, a very distant relative of Alvie,’ Estelle says, smiling at the small furry dog by her younger self’s ankles.
Alvie, sitting high up in Estelle’s arms, looks down at the dog and growls.
Dylan looks up at Alvie and growls too.
‘Can he see Alvie?’ Ben asks in surprise
‘Possibly,’ Estelle says quickly. ‘You know Dylan was named after a chap I met when I was in New York. Very good with his guitar was Bob. We had some great singsongs in his apartment with his friends.’
‘Wait, you knew Bob Dylan?’ I ask, forgetting all about the two dogs for a moment.
‘Yes, before he was famous, though. Nice chap. I had a lot of time for him.’
I gaze in awe at Estelle. There was so much more to her than I first realised. What a very varied life she’d led.
‘Shush, Dylan,’ the young Estelle says. ‘What are you growling at?’
A slight young man wearing a white cotton polo-neck, tight black drainpipe trousers and a black knitted cardigan comes skipping down the stairs. ‘Good evening, Estelle,’ he calls, as he grabs a dogtooth-check coat from a stand in the hall. ‘Did you have a good Christmas?’
‘Yes, thank you, Christian. It was quiet, but I like it that way. How about you?’
‘Yeah, not bad. But one day with the oldies is enough for me these days. I like my independence too much. I’m glad to be back in London catching up with my mates tonight.’
‘Well, enjoy yourself. You’re only young once.’
‘Ah, you’re not that old yet, Estelle. Why don’t you come with me? We’re just going to a coffee shop to hang out. You’d be more than welcome.’
‘That’s very kind of you, but you don’t want an old bird like me cramping your style. You go and have fun.’
‘If you’re sure?’ Christian says, raising his eyebrows.
Estelle nods. ‘I am.’
‘Righty-ho. I’ll be off then!’ Christian salutes Estelle and heads towards the door.
‘Christian, be careful later, won’t you?’ Estelle says. ‘The weather forecast is predicting some heavy snow. There might not be taxicabs when you return home if it’s very bad.’
‘Heavy snow in London?’ Christian scoffs. ‘I’m from up North; any snow you might get here is just a sprinkling compared to what we get up on the hills. Don’t worry, I’ll be absolutely fine. It would have to snow for days here to affect me.’
‘All right, but still be careful, won’t you?’ Estelle says with a knowing look. ‘I worry about all my tenants, but especially you, Christian, as you well know … ’
‘I know,’ Christian says solemnly. ‘I get it and I’ll be careful, I promise!’ He blows Estelle a kiss. ‘Now, have a good evening. I know I shall!’
Estelle smiles as Christian exits through the front door. Then she sighs as she looks towards the sitting room. ‘Just the two of us again, Dylan,’ she says, picking up the little dog and giving him a hug. ‘I hope there’s something good on the television tonight. If not, I shall pick up my novel again. I’m very much enjoying this new author, P.D. James.’
