Page 84 of The Twelve Days of Christian
“Yeah. Even with three legs, he’s going to have the best life.” I know that for sure. “You haven’t said anything, right?”
“Not a word,” he promises, with a smile. “He’s going to be so surprised.”
Malcolm, one half of the lovely semi-retired couple who look after Ollie’s house for him, bustles down the steps towards us, hands extended towards suitcases, ready to help.
“Ello there, Haley! You’re ‘ere at last, me lovely!” he calls out, his voice, with its Devon drawl rising and falling like a gentle countryside melody. “We’ve bin waitin’ for ye all mornin’, we ‘ave!”
The wrinkles on his walnut-brown face deepen in a broad smile as I intercept him with a hug. I suspect he and his wife, Audrey, find the big house too quiet when it’s only the two of them. They fuss over us like family whenever we’re here, and we’ve come to feel like they’re family, too.
“I didn’t expect to see you,” I say, unwinding myself from him. “You’re off to your family for Christmas, aren’t you?”
“Aye, this afternoon, me dear. Just need to load up all the li’l uns’ presents, we do, an’ then we’ll hit the road, sure enough. We wanted to make sure all was sorted ’ere afore we left. An’ to see ye too, of course.”
“Well, now you have, you should get going. You’ll want to be there before dark.” Malcolm and Audrey’s two daughters live down near Torquay. It’s only a couple of hours, but when it’s Saturday, two days out from Christmas, the traffic will be hell. “I’m sure everything will be fine here.”
Malcolm’s bushy brows knit in a frown. “I don’t rightly know, me dear. Not with all that film crewmuckin’ about in there, actin’ like they owns the place. Right bothersome lot, if you asks me. Struttin’ ’round like lords o’ the manor.”
He casts a sour look at the three huge black vans lined up on one side of the driveway, with a small catering trailer parked on the other. I can imagine Malcolm is not at all pleased with bossy production staff, camera operators and sound techs invading the house. It’s only going to get worse when the band’s roadies arrive.
“They’ll be gone before we know it,” Ollie assures him. “They’re on a deadline.”
He grabs a suitcase, whistles for the dogs, who much to my surprise come running, Mularkey smiling in the lead, Tully laughing at her shoulder and Kona racing behind with small barks as if saying, “Hey, wait for me.”
Stepping into Ollie’s house this Christmas is like falling into the pages of a magazine. The last two years, I’ve brought along some decorations, he’s made sure of a tree, we’ve decked out one lounge and the dining room and it’s been nice. But it’s hard to make an impact on a house of this size without considerable amounts of time and money. Ollie might not have the first, but with the second, this year he’s created something breathtaking. Well, an interior designer with a generous budget has.
“You like it?” he asks.
“Of course I do. I love it.” I don’t know where to look. It’s all so overwhelming. And this is only the entranceway. “Did you get lots of visitors through?”
“Hundreds apparently. Made a good amount of money for the village hall society.”
The nearby village of Nether Wickham, struggling with a leaking roof on their community hall, came up with a plan: ask the ownersof stately homes in the area to decorate and open their doors to the public for a couple of weeks before Christmas. A fundraiser for them, and a bonus for us, as our family will spend Christmas surrounded by these amazing decorations.
I stare, mesmerised by the sight. It’s Christmas on steroids, everything supersized. I feel like Alice in Wonderland, shrunk to a tiny speck next to the towering tree, laden with baubles as big as my head. Luckily, it has sturdy branches, enough to support their weight and that of the garlands. Glittering tinsel snakes, they twine around the foliage like an exotic species of full-bodied python in a Christmas-themed jungle.
“We surely did. Visitors pouring in,” a beaming Audrey announces as she joins us in the enormous hallway. Her brown eyes, framed with wrinkles etched by more than sixty years of her cheery personality, sparkle with pride. “My word, so many people there were.”
“Couldn’t have done it without you and Malcolm.” Ollie’s always generous with praise, particularly for these two.
“Oh, it was nothin’ really,” Audrey shrugs. “Even though it meant a bit of extra work, we ’ad a lovely time, we did. I ’ope they do it again next year. Are you nearly ready, my dear?” She looks across at Malcolm.
“I’ll just see our Sam to ’er room, quick as a flash, an’ then we can be off, my love. Won’t take but a moment, it won’t.”
Malcolm reaches for Sam’s suitcase, swinging it with the strength of a much younger man, as he heads for the grand staircase to the second floor.
“You and Christian are down here.” Ollie grabs at my suitcase, heading off to the left. “I’ve given you the one that opens out to the side garden. For the dogs.”
That simple no fuss assumption, Christian and I will share a room, is a relief to my ears after last week’s upset. Ollie really has accepted we’re together. I know he and Christian have talked a lot since, patching up the rift in their friendship that neither ever expected would happen, least of all over me.
“That’s great Ollie. Thank you. It’s perfect.”
Giving the dogs direct access through French doors to the little walled garden will make life so much easier. Especially when one of them is a puppy. Lilian assures me Kona’s toilet-trained, but he’s young, so not reliable at holding on for too long yet.
I spend the next hour unpacking, then grab lunch—Audrey’s left us a hearty beef and barley soup simmering in the kitchen, paired with home-baked bread—before retreating to the safety of the bedroom. It’s busy in the house as the TV crew hustle back and forth, preparing the small ballroom—it’s still crazy that my brother’s house has an actual ballroom—for filming the live segment for a Christmas variety special.
Lying back on the bed, a new book in my hand, I retreat into a fictional world. However, I’m so tired, I eventually put my reading aside, and close my eyes, savouring the peace. Apart from the occasional muffled sound of conversation, and the odd bump and thump from the film crew at work drifting across from the other wing of the house, everything is hushed here in the country.
Exhaustion weighs heavily on me. It’s been a long week. Loreena’s words about the festive season putting pressure on already struggling households have played out in the clinic these past few days. Somany dogs surrendered or abandoned, it’s been a scramble to patch them up and get as many as possible into safe foster homes before the holiday break.
