Page 9 of Christmas at the Home Farm Vets
‘Please tell me you haven’t come all this way because of me?’ Heather drew a cardigan around her shoulders as Erin settled on the edge of the bed.
‘I was worried, Mum, I didn’t know what was happening when you didn’t reply.’ Erin wiped away rare tears before her mum noticed; sitting beside her, the concern this morning and then the hasty decision to accept Oli’s offer felt out of proportion now.
‘I’m sorry to have worried you, love, but you can’t be rushing back every time I forget to charge my phone. There’s your studies to think of, and then the cost. I really don’t want you spending money on me. How did you get here anyway? The train must’ve taken hours.’
‘A friend brought me, in a car.’ Erin jumped in before her mum could list any more reasons why she shouldn’t have come. And she still wasn’t used to the idea of describing Oli as a friend. He was a stranger in so many ways, and yet.
‘Carys? Where is she then, let’s go and say hello. I’d love to meet her after all you’ve told me.’ Heather, her own curls already turning grey at forty, pushed the duvet aside. ‘Give me ten minutes and I’ll be down.’
‘It’s not Carys.’ Erin’s face was pink; she was aware her voice wasn’t conveying the nonchalance for which she was aiming. ‘It’s someone else.’
‘Well, I still want to meet this guardian angel and thank them for bringing my wonderful daughter all the way home from Cambridge.’
‘We’re not staying long.’ Erin got up and edged towards the door. ‘Don’t get carried away, okay? He’s just a friend.’
‘He, is it? Well.’
Downstairs she found herself a bemused spectator as her nan bustled about, popping into the living room to ask Oli how he drank his tea, did he like sugar or not, and how many mince pies could he manage after a long drive like that? Erin perched on the sofa, listening to her grandad sharing the delights of his vegetable garden, offering to show Oli the sprouts he was growing for Christmas and the potatoes he’d safely stored in his shed for winter.
The Christmas decorations were already up, because Joyce liked to be ahead of the curve when it came to chores. A red, green and white paper chain hung across the chimney breast, dangling in front of a round mirror in the centre. The ancient artificial tree they’d had since Erin was small shimmered in a corner and one half of a low sideboard was laden with mini Christmas trees in various seasonal shades. A pair of matching biscuit tins with Santa balanced on top were sat either side of an old wooden advent calendar, and she felt a rush of homesickness as she wondered who’d be opening it in her absence.
She was thinking of Christmas Day, and the usual rhythms and routines of home she found so comforting. The early morning start so her nan could get the turkey in the oven, Joyce and Bill grumbling, getting in each other’s way as he peeled potatoes for roasting. The radio blaring Christmas classics in the kitchen while a brass band played carols on a record player in the living room. All so soothing and familiar, and a million miles away from the new life in Cambridge she was still trying to forge.
‘You’re stayin’ for your tea?’ Joyce glanced at Erin as she set a tray down on Bill’s lap. ‘It’s your grandad’s stew an’ I’ve told ’im that many times about the carrots, but does he listen? Make yourself useful, Bill, an’ ’old this whilst Erin gives Oli a cup an’ a mince pie.’
‘Where’s mine?’ Bill winked at Erin, and she grinned. At least some things never changed.
‘You’ve already ’ad two, Bill Johnson, an’ you don’t want the doctor after you again if your cholesterol goes back up.’
Erin stood, even more flummoxed to see her nan using a teapot in honour of their guest. She poured Oli a mug and handed it to him with a mince pie. She poured her own tea and took a mince pie too; she was hungry, and no one made mince pies like her nan. Maybe she could scrounge a few and take them back to Catz to keep her going until the end of term.
‘These are amazing.’ Oli tried to catch the crumbs falling to his lap and missed, grinning when he caught Erin’s eye. ‘By far the best I’ve ever had.’
‘Go on with you, lad, you’re just sayin’ that.’ Joyce, perched on the arm of Bill’s chair, beamed delightedly. Erin smothered a smile as she heard him muttering about it breaking under her weight. Their banter was the backdrop of her life, and she missed it; she couldn’t imagine one without the other.
‘No seriously, I mean it.’ Oli raised a helpless shoulder as Joyce dropped another on his plate. ‘We usually have Christmas cake instead. My parents aren’t together anymore and they both travel for work, so my sister and I split the holidays between them.’
Heather appeared and in better light Erin saw how pale she was, and forced away a spike of worry. She’d be home next week for Christmas and then at least she could help out in between studying, which was a comfort. Heather also thanked Oli for his kindness in driving Erin home and he brushed it off again, assuring them it was a pleasure, and he’d had no plans he couldn’t change.
Once the mince pies were devoured and Oli was asking Heather about her work in the florists, Joyce suggested that Erin and Oli eat on their knees in here, seeing as the three of them had already had their tea. Erin cringed, imagining that he’d probably never eaten on his knees in his life, but Oli was quickly agreeing.
‘Thank you for including me, it’s very kind. The meals at Catz are great, aren’t they, Erin, but I can’t remember the last time I had something homemade.’
‘Then get yourself round a plate of Bill’s stew.’ Joyce clambered to her feet and Erin was following.
‘I’ll sort it out, Nan, you sit down. You’re not running around after us.’
Once she and Oli had seen off platefuls of delicious stew with dumplings and hunks of crusty bread and butter, plus a generous dollop of Bill’s homemade pickled red cabbage, there was another minor battle when Joyce and Heather discovered that Oli was planning to stay in a hotel before the drive back to Cambridge tomorrow.
‘I won’t hear another word about it.’ Heather fixed Erin with a look that said she meant it when Erin tried to protest again. ‘You can have Erin’s room.’
‘Absolutely not.’ Oli laughed awkwardly, his gaze catching Erin’s, and she flushed at the thought of him sleeping in her bed. ‘Sorry, I meant that I’d love to stay if you’ll have me but I’m very happy to sleep on the sofa. I really don’t want Erin to give up her room for me.’
‘Are you sure?’ Heather looked doubtfully at the beige couch. ‘I don’t know if it’s long enough for you. Mum, don’t we still have that camp bed in the loft?’
‘Aye, but it’ll be damp. I reckon the couch will do if Oli doesn’t mind?’ Joyce gave him a beady glance.
‘Not in the least.’ He flashed Erin that grin she found so perturbing, and even her nan seemed to be having a moment. ‘I’m very grateful for your hospitality.’
