Page 25 of A Not So Quiet Christmas
Chapter 18
Cup of coffee in one hand, I covered my mouth with the other as I yawned for the umpteenth time. I didn’t have the energy to take Frank out for a walk and sauntering over to the back door, I let him out into the rear garden instead. After the excitement of Clarabelle’s visit, my embarrassment over the whole affair had refused to let me sleep, leaving me tossing and turning for most of the previous night. I couldn’t believe I’d humiliated myself for a second time. What was meant to be a quiet Christmas break was turning into anything but.
I took in the cloven-footed hoof prints ruining what hadn’t been much of a lawn to begin with and cringed that I’d thought a cow was about to break into the house. I could still hear the baseless panic in my voice when I phoned Oliver claiming there was an intruder in the garden. I felt myself blush as I pictured him turning up to find me ready to defend myself with Aunt Lillian’s fireside poker. Despite his reassurances that I wasn’t the first of Clarabelle’s victims, the man must have thought me an absolute moron. I sighed, knowing I was, no doubt, the talk of the village – again. Yet another reason for delaying Frank’s morning constitutional.
The dog pootled back into the kitchen, while I dug his food out of the cupboard and poured some into his bowl. Setting it down on the floor, I couldn’t help but scoff as he dove straight in. “At least one of us still has an appetite. Eh, Frank?”
My heart sank even further at the sound of someone knocking at the front door. “Great,” I said. I let my head drop to my chest for a second, before straightening back up again. “Another unwanted visitor.”
Leaving Frank to his breakfast, I dragged my feet as I headed out into the hall. I was unsure what to think when I answered the door to find Jason smiling back at me.
“Merry Christmas,” he said. His smile broadened as he held out a box of chocolates, complete with a silver tinsel bow wrapped around them. “For you.”
Narrowing my eyes, I stared at the offering, not sure what I’d done to deserve it.
“They’re to say thank you,” Jason said. “For telling us about Clarabelle last night.”
“Clarabelle’s yours?” I asked, as he shoved the chocolates into my hand.
“She certainly is. We own a dairy farm just outside the village. We couldn’t believe it when Oliver called to say she’d got out again,” he carried on. “That’s the second time this month. Honestly, we should have called that one Houdini, not Clarabelle.”
“So the chap with the rope? He’s your…?”
“Brother,” Jason said. “You’ll probably know him as Barrowboy, on account of his job with mountain rescue.”
I tried and failed to see the connection.
“You know? Because he’s the one lowered down with the harness and stuff.”
I still didn’t get it.
“Anyway, it’s his farm really. I just help out.”
I struggled to reconcile the fact that Jason and Barrowboy were so closely related; you couldn’t get two different personalities if you tried. Whereas one of them was friendly and weirdly charming, the other was grumpy and distant. “Well, thank you,” I said of the chocolates. “To both of you.”
“No worries.”
Jason’s expression suddenly turned serious and as he redirected his attention to the neighbouring properties, I wondered what was wrong.
“I thought you were here for Christmas?” he asked.
“I am,” I replied.
“It doesn’t look like it,” Jason said, appearing genuinely confused. “Where are all your decorations? Everyone else has them up by now.” He nodded to the window. “There’s not even a tree. Lillian always had a tree.”
“I didn’t think to get one,” I replied.
“Why not?” He shook his head at my failure.
If truth be known, I’d chosen to do without. Planning my new venture, losing myself in crap TV and reading a good book or two didn’t call for all the festive razzmatazz. “I suppose it didn’t seem like a priority.”
“I thought it was just me and Barrowboy that didn’t bother.” Jason’s expression brightened again. “We used to. When Mum and Dad were alive. We’d pin strings to the wall to hang cards on, and drink home-made eggnog. Mum made the best Christmas cake. I can still see her now, feeding it with brandy.” He chuckled at the memory. “Talk about it packing a punch.” His smile faded. “Christmas hasn’t been the same since they passed.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said. While I was happy to forego all the merriment and enjoy a quiet Christmas, Jason seemed the kind of chap who really enjoyed honouring the festivities. In fact, I readily pictured him giving Jules a run for her money given the chance. Unlike his brother, I realised, who I doubted let his hair down at any time of year.
“It’s just one of those things,” Jason said. “Barrowboy’s too busy with the farm and I can’t be trusted. Knowing me, if I even tried to cook a Christmas dinner, I’d burn the house down. It’s safer to do without. And like my brother says, why go to all that fuss just for one day?”
“Why, indeed?” I said. Wondering if I had more in common with Barrowboy than I wanted to admit, I felt tempted to rush out and buy the biggest turkey I could find just to prove we were different.
