Carole Singer's Christmas (27 page)

‘They’ve been very discreet. What with Dad being a JP and an important part of the village and everything. Things have been getting worse though and Mum said on Friday that enough is enough. She’s going to stay with her sister in Eastbourne until the house and business are–’

‘The house and business?’ Carole interrupted, hardly able to believe what she was hearing.

‘Yes. That’s what I need to talk to you about.’

He stopped the car and only then did Carole see where they were. It was The Manor Court Hotel.

‘W … why have we come here, Sebastian?’

‘You said you didn’t care where we went.’

‘That’s true. But why here?’

‘Carole, my darling. Let’s just go inside and have a drink. Just one drink. Please. I really need to be with someone special this evening and there is no one who is more special to me than you.’

He looked so sad and lost that her heart went out to him. He idolised his parents, particularly his dad and this must have come as a real shock to him. The least she could do was to spend a couple of hours with him over a friendly drink, especially if she really did love him. She’d want to comfort him, wouldn’t she? And she did want to comfort him.

‘Of course, Sebastian,’ she replied.

They went inside, past the huge Christmas tree in the reception, which she remembered hadn’t been there on Thursday when they’d dined here. She couldn’t help but compare it to the tree near the village hall or the ones she’d decorated with Nick and her family at her gran’s; somehow it paled in comparison.

They sat by the window in the strangely empty bar and whilst Sebastian ordered drinks, she stared out into the dark, past the floodlit car park and the ornamental bay trees, past the gardens and the tree-lined drive beyond, into nothing but blackness.

She knew what lay beyond the drive but she found herself wondering what it would feel like not to know and she remembered that that was exactly how she’d felt all those years ago when Sebastian had left her. It was as if she were staring past what her life should have been; what she had expected it to be, into a deep, dark blackness that had terrified her. 

‘I can’t stay in the village,’ Sebastian blurted out.

His words brought her back to the present.

‘What? Why not?’

‘Everyone will be talking about Mum and Dad and I really can’t face it. Besides, once the business is sold, what would I do? I couldn’t face working there, knowing it once belonged to my family.’

‘Can’t you buy it from your dad? Wouldn’t your mum let you keep that anyway?’

He shook his head. ‘No. And ... when I said Mum wants the business sold, what I meant was, she wants to get rid of the debts it’s accrued. There ... there’s no money left. Dad ... Dad’s had a few problems and ... well, there’s nothing left except the house.’

‘Sebastian!’ Carole was truly shocked. ‘What ... what will you do? Where will you go? Back ... back to Australia?’

‘No way! I’ll stay in Sussex. Not sure where yet. East or West but somewhere not too far away from Jutsdown. I’ll get a job at another estate agents or something. I’m not worried about me. I’m worried about Dad. He’s taking it very badly.’

Tears began streaming down his face and he brushed them away with a flick of his hand. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘You ... you must think I’m a real wimp.’

‘No! Far from it. I really feel for you. Truly I do.’ She reached out and squeezed his hand and he held on to hers as if he were frightened to let go.

‘I love you, Carole. I really, truly love you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to make up for all the years we lost. I want us to ... have a family together. I know it’s difficult for you and I know you have feelings for ... Dominic, but tell me honestly. Do you really love him? Do you really want to grow old with him? Do ... do you want to ... make babies with him?’

Carole felt dazed. She was genuinely moved by his words and his tears and the way he was looking at her and ... and she knew one thing for certain. She loved him more than Dominic.

The honest answers were, yes, she did love Dom but not enough. She had somehow never thought about them growing old together. Never thought beyond hoping he’d propose really and now, giving it some serious thought, she knew that she couldn’t see them together in twenty years’ time. And children? Dom was more interested in his career than he’d ever be in raising a family. He’d want kids she assumed although now that she thought about that, she realised they’d never discussed it.

‘Well?’ Sebastian asked.

‘No,’ she replied. ‘No, I don’t love Dom enough.’

He took her other hand in his and pulled her towards him, kissing her, not fiercely and possessively this time but more tenderly. The kiss deepened and his arms slid around her. They were both perched on the edges of their seats and balancing awkwardly. Sebastian eased away from her and he got down on one knee.

Holding out the ring he’d offered her twice before he said, ‘Carole Ann Singer, will you please do me the greatest honour and say that you’ll be my wife? I promise to cherish you and love you and make love to you every day from this day forth until death us do part. Please say yes, Carole, and make me the happiest man on earth.’

And without being absolutely sure of what she was doing, she nodded her head.

‘Third time lucky,’ Sebastian said, pulling her into his arms and kissing her passionately.

When he released her, he looked deep into her eyes. ‘Now let’s get a room and really make up for lost time.’

***

Carole spent the early hours of Sunday in a state of bewilderment.

She wasn’t completely certain what had happened in the bar at The Manor Court Hotel last night other than Sebastian had proposed and apparently, she’d accepted.

She was certain that he’d said his parents were divorcing. She also knew he’d said he would be moving to somewhere nearby. On that basis, as his wife, she’d no doubt be going with him although that hadn’t occurred to her last night.

She was also absolutely certain that she decided she loved Sebastian more than Dom. That meant she’d have to tell Dom it was over. How she was going to do that when he was in London with his mother and chickenpox – she had no idea – although to Carole’s mind they were one and the same thing. At least she’d made a decision. She should be thankful for that.

And yet, when Seb had said those immortal words, “Now let’s get a room” it was as if she’d been snapped out of a deep trance.

‘No,’ she’d said. ‘I’m sorry, Sebastian but I can’t. Not tonight. I simply can’t. Not until I’ve told Dom. And I’m not sure when that will be. I don’t want to tell him whilst he’s ill.’

Sebastian was less than pleased, of course, but even he knew when he was beating a bush with no chance of bagging a bird. He’d reluctantly said that he understood and was prepared to wait. For a few more days.

‘Christmas Eve,’ he’d said, ‘That gives you plenty of time to tell him. Then after the performance of A Christmas Carol, you and I will come back here and spend the night. All night. In bed. Together. After that, we can do whatever you want. Spend Christmas Day with your family or whatever but on Christmas Eve, I want you to spend the night with me. I want you to be mine again. Really mine. Is that agreed?’

She had looked into his eyes and was sure she’d seen love.

‘Yes,’ she’d said. ‘That’s agreed.’

Now she wasn’t quite so sure.

They’d stayed for a few more drinks. He’d tried to talk her into staying the night – again. She’d refused. He’d driven her back to her gran’s and they’d kissed goodnight. She’d got out of the car and crept into the cottage. It was late and everyone was in bed. She wasn’t sure what time it was and she didn’t look at the clock; she just went upstairs, got undressed and fell into bed.

And for someone who had just got engaged to the man she’d loved for more than thirteen years, and was about to change her name from Carole Singer to Mrs Carole Jarvis, she didn’t feel anywhere near as happy as she thought she would.

On Sunday morning, having tossed and turned all night, trying to get her head around what she was doing, she left the house early and went for a long walk across the fields in the bitterly cold air, well before the sun was up. She kept on walking in a large semi-circle until she reached her childhood home on the other side of the village at least two hours later.

The Victorian villa looked much the same as it had all those years ago: more than twenty now, when she’d walked through that door with her mother just weeks after her father’s death, never to return.

As she stood before the row of metal railings and the gate, which always squeaked no matter how often her dad oiled its giant hinges, she thought of Christmases past. Of the holly wreath the gate had proudly borne and the rows of multi-coloured twinkling lights entwined along the railings. Of the wreath made of thick, dried orange slices, cinnamon sticks, pine cones, holly and chestnuts, tied with a full red ribbon to the blue painted front door.

Of the joy to be found inside: the eight-foot Christmas tree, decorated so that not a single branch was bare; the multitude of presents underneath it; the marble fireplace strewn with pine boughs, cones and cinnamon sticks. The ornate black iron fire basket that could hold a Yule log big enough to burn all night, as all Yule logs should, to ensure good luck for the coming year.

She recalled the smells emanating from the kitchen where she and her mum made the Christmas cake, stirring it three times and making a wish. The Christmas puddings, mince pies and sausage rolls. The pickled onions made using her great, great, grandmother’s recipe for pickling spices. The baked hams, cooked slowly in the oven with cloves and honey, mustard and cider. The mulled wine: cups of which were offered to all-comers to the house, including the postman who had finished his round, whistling a merry tune on many occasion.

The house seemed to come alive before her eyes and she was again in the sitting room, playing games and tearing excitedly at the beautifully wrapped presents, singing carols and sitting on her father’s knee on Christmas Eve as he read A Christmas Carol to her and they drank hot chocolate.

‘It’s for sale,’ said a voice close by.

Startled, she turned to see a man she didn’t recognise.

‘Oh!’ she said, trying to regain her composure. ‘Sorry, you gave me quite a fright. I was miles away.’

‘I do apologise, my dear. I didn’t mean to. I thought you were admiring her. She is a beautiful house.’

Carole blinked several times. The man referred to the house as a ‘she’ just like her dad had always done.

‘She is. I used to live here as a child.’

‘Really? I’m from the agents handling the sale. She’s just come on the market but she does need rather a lot of work. An elderly gentleman lived here for almost twenty years and I don’t believe he’s updated her since he moved in. She’s selling for a reasonable price and has great potential. Here’s my card. I’m Jacob Marley, of Marley and Scrooge estate agents. And yes, my dear, I’ve heard all the jokes about our names, although my partner is Edward Scrooge, not Ebenezer, so I suppose that’s one small blessing!’

‘I know about names and jokes. I’m Carole Singer. I’m pleased to meet you, Mr Marley.’

He smiled warmly. ‘I was supposed to be meeting a couple from London here early this morning but the wife has gone into labour earlier than expected and they’ve just called to cancel. Would you like to look inside? I may as well go in anyway whilst I’m here, to check everything is secure, so I’d be happy to have the company.’

 She eyed him cautiously for just one second but quickly dismissed the notion that he could be a mass murderer, although she knew such things had happened. But if the same person had owned the house for almost twenty years without updating her, that meant parts of her may be as they were when a fifteen-year old Carole and her mother had left.

‘Yes please,’ she replied. ‘I’d love to look inside.’

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

‘Where on earth have you been, Carole? We’ve been worried sick?’ Sarah said when Carole returned to the cottage late on Sunday afternoon.

‘Why?’ Carole asked, rather surprised by her mum’s outburst. ‘I left you a note.’

‘Yes, but all it said was something like ‘Gone out, not sure when I’ll be back’. We had no idea where. Have you been with Sebastian?’

It was only then that Carole spotted Nick hovering in the background. She wasn’t ready to face him and the fact that he was here now, made her angry.

‘Mum, for heaven’s sake. I’m a grown woman. I told you I’d gone out and I told you I’d be back. Let’s face it, that’s more information of my whereabouts than you’ve had for many, many years. And now I’m going out again and I’m not sure when I’ll be back.’

She turned and slammed the door behind her, running up the lane as fast as she could. She knew she shouldn’t have reacted like that but she’d had such an emotional and bewildering day. Now, all she wanted was time to think. Time to plan. She certainly didn’t want to have to talk to Nick.

She wondered where she could go to be alone and as if providence were shining down on her, she saw Bert Threadgold leaving the village hall and locking the door behind him.

‘Hello Mr Threadgold,’ she called out.

‘Hello Carole, dear. How are you? We missed you at rehearsals ... and Sebastian.’

‘Oh! I have no idea where he was. Um … I don’t suppose I could ask a favour, could I? I’m going to be rather busy for most of this coming week and I’m not sure how long I’ll be able to spend on the remaining scenery. I couldn’t ask you to leave me the key so that I can get on with it now, could I? I’ll drop it back to you on my way home, I promise.’

He hesitated for a moment before smiling and handing it over.

‘I don’t see why not,’ he replied, ‘and don’t worry about dropping it off to me later. Nick needs it first thing to come in and shift some things around so I was going to drop it in to him anyway. He’s always at Mitsy’s cottage first thing in the morning so you can give it to him, and save me the trouble. Goodnight dear.’