The Reluctant Elf (Kindle Single) (8 page)

Of course, it’s Christmas Eve. I have a stocking for Mabel too, easily portable gifts that I’ve carefully chosen over the past few months in anticipation of our visit. Father Christmas is leaving her big gifts at home for when we return.

But I haven’t the faintest idea where Aunt Kate might have stashed the twins’ stockings. There weren’t any in the boxes of ornaments we found.

I can’t even give him a pair of my socks. They wouldn’t be big enough.

‘I’ll just get them for you. Be right back!’

‘You can leave them in Prunella’s room. Thank you.’

Upstairs I tear through all of Aunt Kate’s drawers but there isn’t even a leftover sock of Ivan’s, let alone any Christmas stockings.

So I don’t really have any choice in the matter.

‘Danny?’ I call sweetly into the parlour. ‘Can I see you out here for a minute, please?’

We throw ourselves, exhausted, on the sofas after everyone has retired to their rooms and Mabel is in bed. She wasn’t at all disappointed that the twins turned their noses up at the peanut butter. We gorged on the sweet and savoury sandwiches. The poor thing is probably upstairs now on a sugar high, trying to fall asleep so that Father Christmas can come.

Music drifts quietly from the record player in the corner. Aunt Kate’s collection of classical music and operatic favourites fill an entire library shelf, giving us all the Callas, Carrera and Pavarotti we could want.

‘That went okay, considering,’ Danny says, rubbing his bare legs. He’ll have a cold drive home without his socks.

‘It could hardly have gone worse! It’s probably wrong to hate children, right?’

‘Not those children. They deserve a slap. Along with their parents.’

‘You did very well with them though. You’ve got a knack with kids.’

‘It helps to have your own.’

‘You miss her.’

He nods. ‘I think about her all the time. I’d move to America if I could, but that’s not realistic. Without a way to work there legally, it would be a precarious way to live. I want to be a more stable influence in Phoebe’s life, not a less stable one. It has to stay like this for a while, but now that she’s getting older, she’ll soon get to stay with me during her holidays.’

The joy in his face makes me grin too.

‘What about Mabel’s father?’ he asks. ‘Is he in the picture?’

‘No, he erased himself when I fell pregnant.’ I give him the short answer. After all I’ve known him for less than forty-eight hours, even if it feels a lot longer than that.

‘We’ve been okay, Mabel and I. We had my parents until three years ago, and Celine.’

‘Ah the mythical Celine you keep mentioning. She does sound incredible.’

‘She is. She’s part of our family.’

He watches me from beneath his mop of hair. ‘You say that, but can anyone you’re paying really be part of the family? I don’t mean to say that you don’t love her, but at the end of the day she is your employee. If something went wrong you could fire her. You can’t do that with family. You’re stuck with them through thick and thin, whether or not you want to be.’

‘I’m sure it started out as a financial arrangement with my parents but she’s been with us since I was small, so she is part of my family.’

‘Even though you pay her to cook and clean for you so you don’t have to do it.’

I don’t like his tone one bit. ‘I’m not some spoilt silly rich woman you know. If you must know, we actually have very little extra money. Celine lives rent-free and we pay her a stipend.’

But that doesn’t make it sound any better. What I mean is that, because she’s part of the family, we all take care of each other.

Why am I being so defensive anyway? It doesn’t matter what Danny thinks of us.

‘You can go home now,’ I say, pushing the discomfort from my mind. ‘Can you be back by eight for breakfast?’

‘You’re the boss.’

‘I didn’t mean—’

‘Good night, Lottie.’

He crosses the room in just a few seconds until he’s towering over me.

‘Happy Christmas.’ He leans down and kisses my cheek, and I feel the warmth of his lips long after he’s left for home.

Chapter Ten

Sleep doesn’t come easily and it’s not because I’m waiting for Father Christmas. I’ve got visions of Danny dancing in my head. Something about his vulnerability when he talks about his daughter tugs at my heart in a way it hasn’t been tugged in years. So it’s a shame that he thinks I’m a self-centred Londoner who exploits my “help”.

And even if it has started to seem like we’re just two friends together in this charade, the fact remains that he’s drawing a salary to be here.

It’s just past six a.m. when I finally admit defeat. Sleeplessness has won. Mabel stirs when I crawl out from under the duvet. I freeze. There’s no way she’ll go back to sleep this morning, not with a stocking full of presents waiting for her at the foot of our bed.

But she swallows in her sleep and turns over with a sigh. I don’t risk kissing her.

‘I love you, Mabel,’ I whisper instead.

When I see the black shoes in the hallway, I have to laugh. Rupert has taken me up on my offer to polish them. But my smile turns to a frown as I bend to pick them up.

Oh no. Please say he hasn’t. Tentatively I give them a sniff.

He has.

Mingus has weed in Rupert’s lace-ups.

That damn cat!

How does one clean cat wee out of leather shoes? Even Martha Stewart would struggle with that one.

Rupert won’t appreciate wet shoes so I can’t wash them. But I’ve got to get the smell out somehow.

I rush to the basement looking for anything that might help. Bleach? No, can’t get them wet. Soap powder could help soak up the wee, at least. But would that leave a white residue? Then he’d think I’d been doing lines on his insoles. And if his feet became sweaty he might end up with bubbles in his shoes.

My gaze falls upon a bottle of Febreeze on the shelf above the washer. Ah, the miracle spray, saviour of many a morning-after-curry W.C. and student who hasn’t got around to washing his clothes.

Blotting a cloth inside each shoe first, I soak up as much of Mingus as possible before giving each one a blast.

It seems to be working, although Rupert’s shoes now smell of Febreeze.

I take them into the kitchen and give them the polish he wanted in the first place.

Now they smell of shoe polish and air freshener. He’s definitely going to be suspicious of that, but it’s better than the alternative.

Mingus rubs against my leg, purring like he hasn’t just urinated in our guest’s brogues.

‘Bad cat!’

He looks perfectly innocent.

‘Oh I suppose now you think I ought to feed you? For that little stunt, you’re getting chicken for breakfast.’

He sniffs at the dish and turns away. His disdain is absolute.

Damn cat.

As I’m putting the rest of his food packets away I see Aunt Kate’s spice cabinet. Which makes me wonder…

Twenty minutes later, Rupert’s shoes smell deliciously of cloves, and faintly of shoe polish. He’ll waft Christmas cake with every step today. Happy Christmas, Rupert.

I creep back upstairs to see if Mabel is awake.

‘Good morning, Mummy,’ she says when I open the door. She has her stocking clasped to her chest.

‘Happy Christmas, Mabel! I see Father Christmas was here.’

‘You didn’t wake up either when he came in?’

Solemnly I shake my head. ‘I didn’t see him.’

‘I wonder how he always sneaks past us? He must be very quiet.’

‘Would you like to open your presents? Remember, the ones from me are at home, and I bet Father Christmas left the big presents there too, so that we don’t have to carry them back on the train.’

‘He’s very considerate. Is Danny awake yet?’

‘He doesn’t sleep here, honey. He has his own house, remember?’

‘But he could sleep here if he wanted to, right? That would be all right with you, wouldn’t it?’

What is she asking? ‘You like Danny, don’t you?’

‘Oh he is a good egg. I like him very much… do you like him, Mummy?’

‘Of course I do. He’s a very nice man, and he’s helping us a lot, isn’t he?’

‘Oh Mummy.’ She rolls her eyes. ‘I don’t mean do you like him. I mean do you
like
him. Because he likes you.’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘Because he told me,’ she says as a small green parcel at the top of the stocking grabs her attention. ‘Should I open this one first?’

I can’t pump my seven-year-old for information, much as I want to ask her exactly what Danny has said.

We keep our squeals to a minimum as Mabel tears through her stocking. Since we’re not sure when the twins will get to open their gifts, we make a pact to keep her early morning bonanza a secret until later. Hopefully that’ll avoid a double tantrum if they’re made to wait until after lunch.

‘I’ll just go have a quick bath while everyone is still asleep, okay? Danny’ll be here soon.’

‘Okay, Mummy, I’ll go find Mingus. I think he might like to play with this.’

Of all the gifts I’ve carefully chosen over the past six months, gifts I was really excited about, like the silver charm bracelet and wild animal stencil art box and LEGO Architecture Big Ben, it’s the pencil with googly eyes and blue feather hair that she loves most.

Next year Father Christmas is shopping at Poundland.

‘Mingus should have a Christmas too,’ she continues, bouncing off the bed.

Mingus should have a kick in the backside.

I creep to the bathroom. Every extra minute that Rupert’s family stays behind closed doors is precious. I don’t know how Aunt Kate does this for a living.

Flushing the loo, I go to wash my hands.

That’s when I hear a rattling in the floor.

Oh no. I forgot to wait the five minutes prescribed by Cook.

Turning slowly, I see the grate over the drain in the middle of the tile floor begin to vibrate.

Grrrrrrrrrrr, grrrrrrrrrrr, grrrrrrrrrrr… burp!

The grate lifts at one end, releasing a big turd that shoots across the floor, skidding to a stop next to the claw foot of the tub.

Not my turd, incidentally.

Water starts bubbling up behind it, covering the floor with a selection of our guests’ leavings.

Good god, that is disgusting, and I speak as a mother familiar with infant bowel movements. I’ll have to get Danny to bolt the drain to the floor to prevent any more faecal launches.

Scooping the offending waste into the toilet, I mentally draft the polite wording to make little signs above each sink. I can only imagine Prunella’s reaction at having a poo launch itself at her from across the room.

Danny is already in the kitchen when I come down after my bath.

‘Happy Christmas!’ he says. He’s wearing green and grey striped socks with his breeches.

‘You’re looking very festive.’

‘Yeah, well these were the only other knee-length socks I have.’

‘I’m sorry I gave your others away.’

‘Don’t mention it. I can buy a new pair with the £1,000 you’re paying me.’

 I feel uncomfortable at the mention of the money.

Stop it, Lottie. It’s simply a financial transaction. There’s nothing to feel uncomfortable about. Even if I am starting to wish that money wasn’t part of the equation.

‘Look what the ladies left for us.’ He lifts the edge of the tea towel covering an assortment of oddly shaped eggs. No two are the same.

‘That’s scrambled eggs for everyone then.’

‘Speaking of which, what else is on the menu today?’ he asks.

I can’t tell if he’s also ill at ease about last night.

‘There’s that beautiful beef in the fridge. I thought we could do that with potatoes and vegetables. And we’ve got the Christmas pudding for dessert. If we feed them enough we may not have to make peanut butter sandwiches again tonight. Should we make lunch a little later, say around four?’

‘As long as the children won’t have to wait until afterwards to open their presents. That’s cruel and unusual punishment.’

But we don’t need to fear for the twins’ feelings. I can hear them both screaming blue murder as they run down the stairs. Of course Prunella and Hugo won’t make them wait. That would require some actual parenting, and neither seems keen to fill that position.

Rupert appears not long after his niece and nephew.

‘Happy Christmas, did you sleep well?’ Danny asks.

‘Until the banshees woke, yes, thanks. Happy Christmas to you both. Is breakfast on the schedule this morning?’

‘Absolutely!’ I say. ‘If you’d like to go in to the dining room, the table is set, so sit anywhere you’d like. I can bring in coffee or tea?’

‘Coffee, please.’

‘And would you like eggs? Beans? Bacon and toast?’

‘Yes, I’ll have two soft boiled eggs please.’

Somehow I just knew he’d say that.

Hugo and Prunella come into the dining room together just as I’m serving Rupert his breakfast. It seems to be the one meal that Danny does actually know how to cook. If only we can convince our guests that the Victorians ate only fry-ups.

I’m not sure why I’m so surprised by Hugo and Prunella’s joint appearance. After all, they are married to each other. It’s inevitable that their paths will cross occasionally, like two weather systems conspiring to make a cyclone.

‘Beautiful day!’ Hugo says, peering out the window at the bright blue sky. ‘What’s on the agenda before lunch?’

He looks at me.

Rupert looks at me.

Even Prunella deigns to look at me.

Is it my job to entertain them as well as to feed, bathe and rest them? ‘I’m afraid I’m not really from around here, so...’

‘There are a few nice walks that run close to the house,’ Danny says as he brings in a pot of tea. He looks perfectly comfortable in the house now, like he lives here all the time.

‘If you wanted to go for a walk after breakfast, I’ll be happy to take you. It is a beautiful day. Lottie, would you like to come too?’

‘Yes, Lottie, please do,’ says Hugo.

‘Oh no, thanks, you go ahead. I’ll need to do some cleaning before lunch. Do take Mabel though, Danny, if you don’t mind looking after her.’