Christmas on Rosemary Lane

Lucy knew what she meant. Ivan had made a similar point: that they would always be ‘newcomers’, and that villages tended to have their own traditions and rituals that were run by a select few. Well, fine, Lucy thought now, glimpsing Marnie and Sam grabbing cupcakes with their new friends in tow. Occasions like this brought the whole village together. As the party ended, and the children headed outside, she felt lucky to be a part of things here.

Despite the steady rain, the parade was a riotous affair as the children had been handed bells to ring as they made their way through the village. Carys had rushed home to fetch Bramble, who now led the procession in his festive red and white fur-trimmed coat. People waved from their windows above the shops. Several shops had opened late and set out tables laden with yet more mince pies and cups of mulled wine ready for the taking. Lucy took a paper cup of wine with thanks and looked around for Ivan. No sign of him yet – but she hadn’t really expected him to come out and join them. He’d be waiting at home, she decided, as she sipped the warm, spicy drink. Hopefully he’d have brought back a decent bottle of red for them to share by the fireside once the children were in bed.

It was almost nine when they finally said their goodbyes and started to make their way home. Spirits were still high, despite the rain. Marnie and Sam clutched the bags of sweets they’d been given at the party as they ran ahead down the wet garden path.

Marnie was first to reach their front door. She rattled the handle impatiently. ‘Mum, it’s locked!’

‘Is it?’ Lucy frowned, quickening her pace. ‘That’s funny. I thought Dad’d be home by now.’

‘Where is he?’ Sam asked, pulling on a wilted antler.

‘He’s probably just delayed,’ she replied as she let them into the house. ‘Maybe something happened at work. Don’t worry. He’ll be back soon.’

‘I want Dad,’ Sam huffed, ill-tempered now as he stomped into the hallway. He unzipped the onesie, stepped out of it and kicked it aside on the floor.

‘So do I,’ muttered Marnie, pushing her damp honey-blonde hair from her face. ‘Why’s he late?’

‘I don’t know, love. I’ll try his phone.’ The children plunged their hands into their bags of sweets as Lucy made the call. ‘Not too many now, Sam,’ she warned as her husband’s voicemail message began: Hey, it’s Ivan. Sorry, can’t take your call right now. Leave me a message and I’ll get right back to you …

She glanced at Sam as he stuffed a handful of jelly snakes into his mouth. No point in trying to limit sweet consumption now, she decided. She wasn’t up to a big debate on the matter, and it was a special occasion after all. Instead, she turned her attention to lighting the log fire in the living room in the hope that it would catch quickly, and cosy up the house. Surely Ivan wouldn’t be too long now … Pushing away a niggle of concern, she herded the children upstairs for their baths, with the promise of hot chocolate once they were tucked up in bed.

Normally, that would have done the trick. Sam adored his bedtime stories, and even at eight, Marnie still regarded them as a treat when she was in the mood for being read to.

‘Mum, Marnie took some of my sweets,’ Sam complained, swinging on his bedroom door handle.

‘No, I didn’t,’ his sister retorted.

‘Yeah, you did! You held my bag for me in the parade. You stole some.’ He ran at her with a half-hearted kick.

‘Ow!’ Marnie screamed, unnecessarily.

‘Sam, stop that,’ Lucy exclaimed.

‘I didn’t do anything.’ His dark eyes radiated annoyance.

‘C’mon now, you two. You’ve just had far too many sweets tonight. This is why I try to get you to eat celery.’

‘I hate celery!’ Sam announced. Lucy’s feeble attempt at a joke had clearly misfired.

‘Stop shouting, Sam. I’m not going to try and force celery on you now.’

‘I hate it more than anything!’

‘Yes, we get the message,’ Lucy muttered, rubbing at her temples, sensing the start of a headache.

Marnie sighed heavily. ‘When can we get a dog, Mummy?’

Lucy looked at her, figuring that the green face paint would take some shifting in the bath. ‘We’ve been through this hundreds of times before, love—’

‘You said we could have one when we moved to the country,’ she added with a frown.

‘I didn’t say definitely. I said we’d consider it.’

‘We’re in the country now,’ Sam announced, perking up instantly. ‘Can we get one please, Mummy?’

‘Life’s a bit busy just now,’ Lucy said firmly, although in truth, she would have welcomed a dog into their family. It was Ivan who kept insisting that they had enough on their plate.

‘Bath’s ready, Sam,’ she said now, to swerve them off the subject. ‘You’re first in tonight.’

‘He’s always first,’ Marnie bleated in the doorway. ‘I don’t want to go in cold water.’

‘It won’t be cold. We’ll put more hot in—’

‘He pees in it,’ she moaned, and Lucy wondered yet again where Ivan had got to. She was more than ready for him to take over tonight. The children were much more compliant for him – willing, helpful, eager to please, the way they were with Rikke too; basically anyone who wasn’t their mother. Mums always seemed to get the raw deal.

‘I don’t pee in the bath,’ Sam muttered.

‘You pooed in it once,’ Marnie crowed from the landing, which was true – but he’d only been two, and there was no need to bring it up now.

‘I didn’t,’ he growled.

‘You did! You pooed!’

‘Josh isn’t allowed to say poo,’ Sam added, referring to a boy in his class.

‘What does he say, then?’ Lucy asked as she folded towels in the bathroom.

‘Chocolate sausage.’

‘You’re kidding,’ she spluttered, at which Marnie guffawed in the doorway. ‘Is that true?’

‘Yeah.’ Lucy handed him a towel as he clambered out of the bath. ‘He has to say, “I need a chocolate sausage, Mummy.” And he has to put up his hand, even at home!’

The children were giggling now, fuelled by copious quantities of refined sugar, and God knows what kinds of chemical compounds went into those neon-bright jelly snakes. While Lucy was grateful they weren’t bickering, she was now clearly visualising the glass of red she would be enjoying soon, whether or not Ivan brought a special bottle home with him. They always had a few in stock, and Friday nights certainly warranted a treat.

Knowing they would be eating later than normal – due to the party and parade – Lucy had planned a quick meal of fresh tuna steaks, seared with olives and peppers. Their weekend evenings were lovely, and she treasured them. They rarely went out, preferring instead to cosy up at home – sometimes sitting out in the garden on warm summer’s nights, and in the colder months cuddling up on the sofa by the fire. She checked the time again – it was nine-forty – and willed Ivan to hurry home.

Sam had sloped off to choose a story now, and Marnie was splashing idly in the bath. ‘Can you try and wash off that face paint please?’ Lucy said.

‘It is off,’ Marnie said, which was clearly untrue. There was some gentle wiping with a flannel – ‘Ow!’ she screamed, as if she were being attacked with nettles – and finally, bath time was over and the finishing post was in sight.

Lucy usually tried to make their bedtime stories exciting, with her children snuggled on either side of her, tucked up in Sam’s bed. However, she might as well have been reading the boiler instruction booklet for all the feeling she was putting into it.

It was her husband Lucy was thinking about on this cold, wet December night. She yearned for him to hurry home and be with her, and to know that everything was all right.

Chapter Seven (#ulink_dd238605-41f8-5370-97cc-2526a76b3c33)

James Halsall was relieved to see the Christmas lights of Burley Bridge glinting in the distance. It had rained steadily the whole drive from Liverpool, and now he just wanted to pull up at his dad’s and be reassured that everything was okay.