Christmas with her Boss

‘I don’t believe I’ve fired you.’

‘So you haven’t,’ she said. ‘And Christmas miracles happen. Okay, I’ll take you over to Mickey’s and I will try and get you in touch with New York but let’s not go anywhere until we’ve had some of Letty’s mango trifle. You have made me mango trifle, haven’t you, Grandma?’

‘Of course.’

‘Then what are we waiting for?’ she demanded, and she grabbed her bag, manoeuvred her way through her dog pack and headed inside. ‘Trifle, yay.’ Then she paused. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, sir,’ she said, looking back. ‘I mean…William. Do you want your mango trifle in your room? Do you want me to take you straight there?’

‘Um…no,’ he said weakly.

‘That’s a shame,’ she said. ‘If you’re sitting at the kitchen table you’ll want seconds. There’s less for us that way, but if you’re sure…Lead the way, Grandma. Let’s go.’

Chapter Three

AN HOUR later, fortified with a supper of huge ham sandwiches and a mango trifle which seemed to have stunned William, they were in the car again, heading for Mickey’s. It was almost eleven but Meg knew enough of Mickey to believe he’d still be awake, Net surfing.

This was the only option for her boss to contact home. It had to work.

Who did he have waiting for him in New York? He wasn’t saying, and she wasn’t asking. They drove in silence.

She pulled up outside a farmhouse a lot less startling than Letty’s. Instead of knocking, though, while William watched from the car, she tossed gravel at the lit end window.

Mickey hauled up the window. ‘Bruce?’

That one word deflected her thoughts from her own problems. Once upon a time, Mickey would have expected Scott, Meg thought bleakly. The kids were the same age and they lived barely two miles apart. Four years ago, their bikes had practically created a rut in the road between.

But the rut had long been repaired. Tonight Scott had been too tired to come with them. He was always tired. He’d hardly touched his supper. His school work was slipping; he was simply uninterested. There were problems apart from his physical ones, she thought. In the New Year she’d have to talk to his doctors again about depression.

But how could she sort depression for a kid facing what Scott was facing? How long before he could ride a bike again? He believed he never could.

She hadn’t accepted it, though. She’d fight it every inch of the way. But that meant staying employed so she could pay the bills. It also meant being nice to her boss over Christmas, or as nice as she could. Which meant throwing stones at a neighbour’s window three days before Christmas.

‘Bruce?’ Mickey called again and she hauled her attention back to here and now. ‘It’s Meg,’ she called to the kid at the window.

‘Meg?’ Mickey sounded pleased, and she liked that. She liked coming home. She liked it that every person in the tiny shopping town of Tandaroit East knew her, and she could go into every house in the district and find people she knew.

‘The phones are out and I have a guest here who needs to contact New York,’ she said. ‘Scotty…Scott said you have Skype.’

‘Hey, I do,’ Mickey said, sounding inordinately pleased. ‘I’ve never used it for New York, though. I don’t know anyone there.’

‘Would it be all right if Mr McMaster used it?’

‘William,’ said William.

‘Hi, Will.’ Mickey was clearly delighted to have company.

‘Are your parents asleep?’ Meg asked.

‘Dad is. He’s gotta milk at five. But Mum’s making mince pies. You want me to tell her you’re here?’

‘Yes, please,’ Meg said thankfully. ‘I don’t want to be caught creeping round the place at night without your parents knowing.’

‘Yeah,’ Mickey said in a laughing voice that said such an action had indeed been indulged in on more than one occasion before now.

And Meg thought sadly of how much of a normal kid’s life Scotty was missing.

So her boss used Skype while Meg helped Mickey’s mum scoop mincemeat into pastry shells. Jenny wasn’t much older than Meg, but while Meg had gone to university and then to a career, Jenny had married her childhood sweetheart at seventeen and had Mickey nine months later.

She could have done the same, Meg thought, feeling nostalgic and a bit jealous as she took in the cosy farm kitchen, the muddle of Christmas baking, the detritus of a farming family, with twin girls of nine as well as Mickey.

‘This place looks gorgeous,’ Meg said, sitting on an ancient kitchen chair and scooping mincemeat.

‘Nope,’ Jenny said and grinned. ‘Gorgeous is what’s up in Mickey’s room right now.’ Jenny had been introduced before Mickey had taken William off to link him with the other side of the world, and Meg could see her friend adding two and two and making seventeen.

‘You mean my boss.’

‘I mean the man you’ve brought home for Christmas. Yum. I’ve seen him in the gossip rags and he’s even more gorgeous in the flesh. He’s a squillionaire. He’s your boss. And you’ve got him for Christmas.’

‘You can have him if you want him,’ Meg said morosely. ‘He might be happier here. You have a computer.’

‘Yeah, and I have twins and Ian’s extended family arriving tomorrow to stay for a week. There’ll be eight kids in the house. Heaven help us.’ But she was smiling as she said it and Meg thought, even though she had never understood Jenny’s decision to marry and make a home so early, maybe…just maybe it made sense.

‘You’re not getting clucky,’ Jenny demanded, following her gaze, and Meg realised she was staring at a pile of paper chains at the far end of the table. She remembered making them as a kid.

‘I have spare paper,’ Jenny said happily. ‘You can help your boss make paper chains. Very bonding.’

‘Very funny.’

‘No, I think it’s lovely,’ Jenny said, getting serious. ‘To have him here for Christmas…Oooh, Meg. But does he have a girlfriend?’

‘I have no idea.’

‘No idea?’

‘Well, I’m his PA and I haven’t been told to send flowers to anyone lately. But he was desperate to use the phone.’

‘So who’s he ringing?’

‘I have no idea.’

‘I’ll ask Mickey.’

But Mickey, who wandered into the kitchen two minutes later, was no help at all.

‘Yeah, he’s talking but I put my headset on and left him to it. Nah, I didn’t hear who to. Mum, you reckon it’s too late to put another CD on my Christmas list? I’ve just found this sick new band…’

‘Forget it,’ his mother said. ‘Santa asked for a list a month ago and you couldn’t think of anything except a farm bike, which you know we can’t afford. So what are you giving William for Christmas, Meg, love?’

Uh-oh. Here was yet another problem she hadn’t thought through.