Christmas on Rosemary Lane

‘Surely there’s somewhere. What about that everything-shop on the high street?’ The general-store-cum-post-office, he meant.

‘Ivan,’ Lucy said, shaking her head, ‘how many times have you actually been in there?’

‘Loads,’ he protested, a trace of amusement in his voice.

Lucy smirked. ‘What’s her name, then? The lady who owns it, I mean?’

‘Er …’

‘You don’t know, do you? It’s Irene.’

‘Irene! Yes, of course.’

‘You should remember,’ she teased him. ‘She has a crush on you.’

‘Oh, stop it,’ he exclaimed.

‘How can you forget Irene? She was all overexcited watching you mowing the lawn.’ Lucy was laughing now. ‘D’you feel objectified, when that happens?’

‘You’re being ridiculous.’

‘Okay – so who has the hair salon across the road from her?’

‘What is this?’ he cut in, chuckling now. ‘A who’s who in Burley Bridge quiz?’

‘Yes, and you’re doing terribly!’

‘Anyway,’ he said, quickly changing the subject, ‘do they have to dress up? I mean, is it crucial?’

‘Of course it is! It’s not just the party. There’s the parade through the village to the Christmas tree.’

‘God, it is quite a number,’ he conceded. ‘Wish I was there to help.’

‘Bet you do.’ She laughed hollowly. ‘Just hurry home tonight, will you? I can’t wait to see you, and neither can the kids. They’ll be desperate to show you their outfits – if we can cobble something together in time.’

After finishing the call, Lucy headed upstairs, pulled down the ladder from the hatch in the ceiling and climbed up to the attic. Although there was a lamp, it was still dark and shadowy – so dusty she could feel it in her throat – and the abundance of clutter set her on edge. They had shoved any surplus possessions up here when they’d moved in, and never got around to sorting it all out.

Ivan always launched himself into new hobbies and interests, almost to the point of obsession – which would involve buying all the equipment, materials and accessories. Lucy coughed as she picked her way through the evidence of Ivan’s long-forgotten passions. There were tennis rackets and a defunct rowing machine. She gashed her shin against the sharp corner of a saxophone case.

‘All this stuff,’ she muttered irritably, relieved to find boxes of fabric remnants now. Once a keen crafter, often making her own clothes during her student days, these days she rarely had the time. She pulled out reams of fabric, hoping for inspiration to strike. Marnie could be an elf, Lucy decided, as she unearthed a length of bright green material. Further delving revealed an ancient light brown onesie, which had belonged to Marnie and could possibly be fashioned into a reindeer outfit for Sam. Lucy transported her finds to the box room where her sewing machine was set up.

By the time she set off to pick up the children from school, she had managed to knock up a basic elf’s tunic and cut reindeer antlers from sturdy cardboard, which she had covered in felt and stitched to the onesie hood. Pretty impressive, she decided, considering it had all been thrown together at the last minute.

‘How come dads never have to involve themselves with this kind of stuff?’ Lucy asked with a wry smile at the school gate. There was murmured agreement amongst the mums that men seemed adept at swerving the issue.

‘You mean, Ivan wasn’t beavering away on the sewing machine last night?’ teased Carys, to whom Lucy had grown especially close.

‘He wasn’t here,’ Lucy reminded her. ‘He’ll just get to admire their costumes later – when it’s all over.’

‘Is this his last day at work?’ Carys asked, and Lucy nodded. ‘Bet you can’t wait.’

‘I’m counting the hours,’ she admitted. ‘It’s been a pretty long haul without him …’ Lucy caught herself, and felt guilty for even admitting this. There were still five days to go before Christmas and Ivan had agreed to forget about work until after New Year. It meant almost three weeks together as a family. Carys was a single mum to Amber and Noah – Marnie and Sam’s new best friends – and rarely got a break. Even when her husband had still been in the picture he had barely lifted a finger, apparently. It had been Glen who had nagged for a dog until Carys had crumbled. Of course, they all loved Bramble, their bouncy springer spaniel. But Glen had never once walked him – Bramble immediately became ‘Carys’s dog’ – and all Glen had done was moan about the hair, the mud brought in on paws, the vet’s bills.

More shockingly still, he had never once set foot in the children’s school, figuring that ‘We don’t need two of us to go to a parents’ meeting.’ Thank God Ivan wasn’t like that. When he was around, he wanted to do stuff with his children. Holed up in the shed, he and the kids had already constructed a rather wonky-looking wooden farm, an easel for Marnie and almost completed a birdhouse. The kids loved nothing more than time spent with their dad over spirit levels and pots of paint. Lucy hardly ever ventured into the shed. It was their domain, and she was happy to leave it that way.

The school doors opened and the children surged out. ‘See you at the party,’ Carys said as her own kids ran towards her. ‘Hope they like their costumes!’

‘They’ll have no choice,’ Lucy said with a laugh as Marnie and Sam appeared in the playground. As they set off for home, she described the outfits she’d made. Naturally, the children insisted on pulling them on the minute they were back.

‘I love it, Mum!’ Marnie enthused, posing for a picture as Lucy whipped out her phone.

‘Can we go to the party now?’ Sam demanded, clattering about the kitchen in the onesie.

‘It doesn’t start till half-six,’ Lucy said. ‘You need dinner first.’

‘But I’m not hungry,’ he retorted, ‘and there’ll be cakes and sweets at the party. Noah said—’

‘You can’t just have sweets and cakes, love.’

‘Why not?’

‘’Cause all your teeth’ll fall out,’ Marnie retorted, slipping into the wise older sister role she so enjoyed.

‘Don’t care,’ Sam huffed.

‘Yeah, who needs teeth?’ Lucy agreed with a smile. ‘We could just gum our food—’

‘Will Daddy see our costumes?’ Sam wanted to know as she put on a pan of pasta.

‘Yes, of course,’ Lucy replied, ‘when you come home. If he’s back in time, he might even come out and join us on the parade.’

‘Hurrah!’ Sam yelled, antlers bobbing.

She looked at her children, aware that it wasn’t just the party and parade they were delighted about. It was the fact that Ivan would soon be home. Never mind Lucy’s costume-making skills. As far as Marnie and Sam were concerned, nothing could compete with seeing Daddy on a Friday night.

Pesto pasta was shovelled down hastily, and Lucy managed to unearth some queasily coloured lime green face paint to complete Marnie’s incarnation as an elf. By the time they set off, the village was already milling with children dressed up and making their way to the party. There were Santas and snow queens and a plum pudding on legs, all hurrying along in the fine rain. As they entered the village hall, Lucy looked around in amazement at a sparkling scene of Christmas trees, model polar bears and stacks of presents. The entire building had been turned into a grotto. Festive music filled the hall as a strident woman wearing tartan trousers and a Christmas jumper – whom Lucy recognised as the school’s deputy head – called the excitable children to heel. Clearly in charge of the games, she soon had some kind of dance competition on the go as Lucy found Carys at the trestle table.

‘This is pretty impressive,’ she said, helping herself to a mince pie. ‘Is there always this much food?’

Carys nodded. The table was crammed with plates of cakes and cookies and dishes of foil-wrapped sweets. ‘Some people around here have the whole home baking thing wrapped up. It’s kind of competitive. No one says so, of course, but there’s something shameful about being the one who brought the unwanted ginger cake and brandy snaps.’

Lucy laughed. ‘I didn’t bring anything. I didn’t realise—’

‘It’ll have been noted,’ Carys teased her, ‘but you’ll be excused, seeing as you’re new.’

‘Am I still new?’

Carys smiled. ‘We’re still new and we’ve been here for five years. What I mean is, the real villagers are the ones who were born here and you and me will never be one of those.’