What Happens At Christmas.... T Williams A
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was freezing cold. She came back downstairs, went across to the window and looked out over the back garden. Dawn wouldn’t be for another hour, but it was not totally dark out there. The moon had disappeared, but there was still enough light from the stars for her to be able to distinguish shapes of bushes and trees in the garden. Closer to her, Greta the Porsche was sparkling with frost, the starlight reflecting in the host of ice crystals that covered all the horizontal surfaces. As Holly looked out, she ran her fingers across the inside of the glass. She wasn’t surprised to see them come away with a thin layer of ice on them. She went back over to the stove and packed another couple of logs into it.
‘I’d give my eye teeth for a cup of tea.’ She gazed wistfully at the electric kettle on the worktop, idly wondering to herself what eye teeth were. Stirling was standing beside his basket, unsure whether he should be gearing up for a walk or whether he would be told to go back to bed. Holly gave a little smile as she saw that he had somehow collected her father’s old jumper and brought it downstairs. A grey sleeve was hanging over the side of the basket. She stared at it for a few seconds before taking a deep breath and deciding she had better take the dog for a walk. He was delighted.
Outside, with a clear sky, it was absolutely freezing, but the lack of clouds and the lack of street lighting meant that she had an amazingly clear view of the stars. Even an astronomical novice such as she was could see the Milky Way and a brighter star, maybe a planet, just above the hills that formed the horizon. The view, as much as the cold, was breath-taking. She pulled her woolly hat down over her ears, blessing the instinct that had made her pack it along with what Julia called her Doctor Who scarf. She wrapped this round her neck three times and followed the dog, who was much more familiar with the surroundings than she was. She spared a though for Julia and her date the previous night. She was a very good-looking girl, intelligent and witty, but she had an uncanny knack of picking the wrong type of man. They had known each other since childhood and Julia’s past was littered with weirdoes, nutters and, in at least one case, psychopaths. Holly resolved to phone her later on to see how the opera and its sequel had gone.
Stirling led her up a track alongside the stream. Holly was finding by this time that she could see just about enough to be able to pick her way behind him without too much difficulty, although icy patches had her slipping and sliding from time to time. They crossed over the water by means of an extremely slippery wooden bridge before the path started to slope steeply upwards between drystone walls. She followed the dog, hoping that her boots wouldn’t get ruined in the process. Apart from these, all the other shoes she had brought with her were smart, but fairly flimsy. With hindsight, Tods and Prada were not really the most sensible choice for a village dweller with a dog to walk. She added shoes to her mental shopping list alongside candles, matches and dog biscuits like the ones Jack from next door had.
By the time the path reached open moorland, Holly had very definitely warmed up. This was, she reflected, just about the furthest she had walked for months and she was perspiring freely. It was also getting lighter. A glance at the sky showed her that the stars had all but disappeared, but an orange glow from the east told her the sun would be up before too long. They reached a wooden stile. The dog stopped at the barrier and gave her a questioning look. Holly was still wondering how to get him over the series of wooden steps when he started scratching the wooden fencing with his front paws. Only then did she realise that by lifting a vertical strut, a gap emerged that he could get through. Presumably he and her father had walked up here on many occasions.
It was well after eight o’clock and the sky light enough for her to be able to distinguish car number plates by the time they got back home. She was boiling by now after all the exercise and had unwrapped the scarf from around her neck. She noticed that there were lights on in the house next door and she spared a thought for Jack the neighbour, as she had done quite a few times since the previous evening. She wondered if he was somebody who had chosen to drop out of the rat race and look for a more laidback lifestyle in the wilds of the country. Although he worked as a woodsman, or so she assumed, his accent was well-educated, although nowhere near as plummy as Justin’s. Certainly, his choice of reading matter would appear to back up that hypothesis. Why he should have chosen to take refuge in the depths of rural Devon was something she hoped to discover as she got to know him better. And she was beginning to think that she would rather like to get to know him better.
She was just inserting her key into the door lock when she heard a tapping noise. It was coming from Jack’s front window on the other side of the garden wall. Seconds later, it opened.
‘Good morning. Fancy a cup of tea?’ Her spirits soared.
‘Jack, you say the nicest things. That would be fantastic. Just let me dump the dog.’
‘Bring him in. I’ll make him some breakfast too.’
Inside his kitchen, it was warm, dry and bright. Holly found herself blinking as she came in from the darkness outside. Stirling rushed past her to say hello to Jack and then settled down by the radiator with one of his special biscuits.
‘Come in, Holly.’ Jack had cleared the table since last night and there was now a blue and white check tablecloth on there, along with two plates, two mugs and a selection of cutlery. Clearly, he had been planning this. He shook his head apologetically. ‘I’m not very good at breakfasts to be honest. I haven’t got any juice and I’ve just looked in the cereal packet and decided what’s in there is more suitable for the mice, assuming they haven’t already been in there.’ He shook his head ruefully. ‘There are some rather suspicious looking little black bits in there, I’m afraid. Anyway, if you’re up for toast, butter and jam, there’s plenty of that and it’s guaranteed mouse-free. And I can offer you tea or coffee.’
‘Tea would be perfect, please.’ As Holly pulled off her hat, she could feel her sweaty hair sticking to her head. As she removed her jacket, she realised she was still wearing her pyjamas and no underwear. Suddenly this felt somehow improper in a strange man’s house. She was also very conscious of the fact that she hadn’t washed, nor had she even cleaned her teeth. She took a deep breath and sat down on the far side of the table.
He filled a bowl with water and set it down on the floor for the dog. Stirling wasted no time in slurping up half of it, splashing water all over the floor as he did so. Holly caught Jack’s eye. ‘Sorry about that. He’s a very messy drinker.’
‘That’s one thing about three-hundred-year-old stone floors; you can do what you like to them and it doesn’t matter. So, what sort of night did you have? At least you didn’t freeze to death.’ He looked at her critically. ‘You certainly don’t look cold now though. Has Stirling had you up on the moor?’
She nodded as she reached up and wiped her forehead. After the cold outside, she could feel her cheeks burning. As she did so, she spotted a stripy blue and white pyjama sleeve, not dissimilar to the colour of Jack’s tablecloth, sticking out of the wrist of her jumper. She felt her cheeks glow even redder as she hastily tucked it out of sight. ‘I’m sorry. I must look a terrible mess.’
‘Not from where I’m standing.’ He turned away and busied himself making tea and toast.
She decided to take advantage of his friendship with her father to find out more about his life. ‘Jack, you said you and my dad saw a lot of each other. Can you tell me anything about him?’
‘What sort of thing?’ Jack brought over the first slices of toast. ‘Here, dig in while they’re hot.’
Holly did as she was told. The greengage jam looked good, so she picked it up. The lid remained firmly closed, in spite of her best efforts. Jack reached down, took the pot from her grasp and twisted it open. As he handed it back to her, their fingers touched and she felt an unexpected thrill. Funny, she thought to herself, and he’s not even my type. She cleared her throat before replying.
‘I presume you know that he and I weren’t in contact.’ Jack nodded. ‘So, you see, as a result I really know so very little about him. A few people have told me he was a very nice man, but what sort of man was he? Was he into hunting, shooting and fishing? Did he paint pictures, write books?’ As she asked, Holly was tempted to ask Jack about his own background and interests,