Page 23 of A Brambleberry Manor Christmas
‘Yeah.’ He looks down at his hands. ‘They erect this massivemodel of a goat and the whole nation watches to see if it will survive thefestive season intact. But someone always succeeds in burning the thing down.’
‘Weird.’
‘Very,’ he says, still not quite looking me in the eye. ‘Butnot half as weird as the Catalonians.’
‘Oh?’
‘Every Christmas, they make models of people pulling theirpants down and doing what comes naturally.’
He says it with a straight face, as if he’s telling me thatthey decorate Christmas trees, and for a second, I wonder if he’s joking.
‘They don’t really.’ I eye him uncertainly.
‘Yeah, they do.’ His eyes flick up to mine and he grins.
‘You mean pooing? What on earth for?’
He shrugs. ‘It’s a symbol of fertility, apparently. EvenLady Gaga and Donald Trump have been immortalised with their pants down,dropping a big yule log.’
I laugh. ‘Bummer for them.’
‘Exactly.’
‘You’re a mine of information, Fergus.’
‘Yeah. Mostly useless,’ he murmurs.
‘So are you enjoying yourself? It must be nice meeting upwith old friends after all this time.’
He looks down again, staring wistfully into his coffee. ‘Ialmost didn’t come. I don’t know. Sometimes revisiting the past can be…difficult.You don’t know how you’re going to feel.’ He looks up. ‘But actually, I’mhaving not too shabby a time.’
‘Christmas fayres notwithstanding, of course.’
‘Obviously.’ He smiles – a really warm, eye-crinkling smile.Then he tucks his newspaper under his arm and stands up. ‘I should go. But itwas good talking to you.’
‘You, too.’ I smile up at him.
‘Better not keep you from your work. Or we’ll be having atake-away tonight.’
‘Is that what you’re secretly hoping for?’ I joke.
‘Definitely not.’ His dark eyes twinkle shyly behind hisglasses. ‘If the food is as good as last night, we’re in for another treat.’ Heraises a hand and goes out. And I’m left with a lovely warm feeling inside.People like Fergus light up rooms in a quiet, modest way, but the effect can bejust as dazzling…
*****
When Flo arrives half an hour later, I’m busy making thedessert.
I peer at her. ‘Everything okay?’
‘Fine.’ She sounds a little defensive and I look at hercuriously. Her eyes seem more puffy than usual today.
‘Did you get it checked out?’
She looks puzzled for a second.
‘The mole? At the doctor’s?’ I prompt.
‘Oh. Yes. Yes, I did. It’s fine.’
