What Happens At Christmas...

‘Yes, I’m Holly.’

‘I’m Diana Edworthy. I live in the cottage with the willow tree, just along the road. I wanted to talk to you about George… your father.’ She was bracing herself against the door frame and Holly could see that she wasn’t too steady on her feet.

Holly remembered the wording of her father’s will. ‘You’re the lady who looked after my father?’ The old lady nodded and Holly moved backwards. ‘Would you like to come in and sit down?’ She glanced back into the kitchen. ‘I’m just making tea, if you’d like a cup.’

‘That would be lovely, my dear. Very kind.’ Mrs Edworthy hobbled into the kitchen and made for a fine carver chair with strong arms. Leaning heavily on them, she lowered herself down and gave a sigh of relief. ‘That’s better. They’re supposed to be giving me a new hip, but goodness only knows when that’ll be.’

Holly dropped a couple of teabags into the pot and poured in the hot water. Then she turned back to Mrs Edworthy, glad of the opportunity to talk to her. ‘I’m so pleased to meet you. The solicitor told me you looked after my father in his last few months.’ She saw a slight nod from the old lady. ‘I can’t thank you enough for doing that. It was really good of you.’

‘It was the very least I could do. He was always so very good to me.’ She raised her eyes. ‘My Wilfred was George’s cousin, and after he died, your dad helped me a lot.’ She shuffled uncomfortably in her seat. ‘And then he went and left me all that money. He didn’t need to do that.’

Holly reached out and touched the old lady’s hand on the table top. ‘He must have been very fond of you. And thank you again. You know the family history, I’m sure. I’ve only just found out about his death so I couldn’t be with him at the end, but it’s comforting for me to know that he was well looked after.’ She poured two mugs of tea. ‘Do you take sugar? I expect there’s some in here somewhere.’

‘Two spoons please, and the sugar’s in the coronation tin.’ Sure enough, Holly found the battered blue and gold tin to be half full. She took two spoonfuls and stirred the mug before passing it across. ‘You must know this place better than me.’

Mrs Edworthy nodded. ‘I certainly know where most things are.’ She picked up her tea and sipped it, even though it was boiling hot. ‘So, Holly, tell me all about you. I was trying to work it out. You must be in your thirties now?’

Holly nodded. ‘Yes, I’m thirty-three.’

‘Thirty-three, right. So, where do you live, what do you do? George and I often wondered that.’

They chatted for half an hour before Mrs Edworthy looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. ‘I must go off home now. Stirling’ll be wondering where I’ve got to. Now, are you quite sure you’ll be able to take him? You see, I’m off tomorrow to my boy’s for Christmas. I would have taken Stirling with me otherwise. He’s such a dear, but Stephen’s house isn’t very big and they’ve got the cat, you see. When Donny told me you’d arrived, I thought that’s perfect.’

Holly was a bit bewildered. She helped Mrs Edworthy to her feet and ensured that her wheelie bag was to hand. ‘Erm, Mrs Edworthy, who’s Stirling?’

The old lady looked up in surprise. ‘Why, he’s your dad’s dog, that’s who he is.’

Stirling the dog was a large, very friendly, black Labrador. As soon as Mrs Edworthy opened the door, he came bouncing out, almost knocking the old lady over in his eagerness to greet them.

‘No, Stirling. Down boy.’ Mrs Edworthy steadied herself against the wall and turned to Holly. ‘He’s ever so friendly, but he’s a youngster, you see. Your dad only got him a year back. He’s little more than a puppy really and he’s got so much energy. I can’t take him for much in the way of walks these days, so it’s just lovely that you’ve come when you did.’ She lowered her voice uncomfortably. ‘And I can’t bend down any more to pick up his… you know, offerings.’ Holly grinned in spite of herself. ‘But you’re young and you’ll be able to take him out all right. There are lots of lovely walks around the village and for a young girl like you, you can be up on the moor in half an hour. Now, let me collect his things for you.’

As the old lady pottered about, fetching the dog’s bed, his food bowl, which inspired considerable interest on the part of the dog, and all the other bits and pieces, Holly’s mind was racing. She knew nothing at all about dogs. The only pet she had had while growing up was a fat old tabby cat, and her only contacts with dogs had been at a few friends’ houses. And she had absolutely no experience of such a big dog. True, he really did look friendly, but what, she wondered, would he be like if he decided he didn’t want to be friendly? There were a lot of teeth in that mouth.

‘Why don’t you take his bed and his bag of food over to your house now, and then you can come back for him in a minute?’ Mrs Edworthy was still producing rubber toys, tennis balls and other bits of canine bric a brac.

Holly did as instructed, all the while wondering just how on earth she was going to cope with looking after a huge great animal like Stirling. She did, however, concede that Stirling was a rather fine name, particularly for somebody like herself with an interest in classic sports cars. She dumped the stuff in the kitchen and returned for the dog. Mrs Edworthy was just dropping the last toy into a big bag. When Stirling spotted Holly, he insisted on standing up on his hind legs and making a fuss of her. As he did so, his claws scratched some serious marks across her very expensive Marc Jacobs belt, but she gritted her teeth and smiled at him. ‘Good dog, Stirling.’

Mrs Edworthy looked up with a smile. ‘You’ll love him. I’ll be sorry to lose him, to tell the truth, but it’s so much better for him to be with somebody younger and more active.’ Holly didn’t have the heart to tell her that there was no way she would be able to look after a big dog in her London flat – apart from the fact that she was at work nine or ten hours a day most days. Anyway, for the moment she just had to grin and bear it.

Before leaving with her unwanted house guest, she managed to find out how often the dog needed to eat, how much and what his meals consisted of, as well as how often he needed to do what Mrs Edworthy euphemistically described as ‘his business’. At last she ran out of questions so she headed for the door. She hesitated, her hand on the door handle.

‘What about a lead? Do I need to put him on a lead?’

‘Oh, dearie me, his lead. I’d clean forgotten. Here it is.’ Mrs Edworthy unhooked a piece of rope from the back of the door and handed it to Holly. The effect upon the dog was electric. He gave a strangled whine of delight and jumped up against Holly, sending her crashing backwards into the door. Mrs Edworthy looked on sympathetically. ‘He gets very excited when he knows he’s going for a walk. Now, you only need to put him on the lead when you’re on the road. Otherwise, just let him run around. Your dad trained him well and he’ll always come back to you. And, best of all, he doesn’t chase sheep.’

Whether or not the dog chased sheep was the least of Holly’s problems at the moment. First, she had to work out the basics of cohabitation with him. She reflected that Stirling would be the very first male with whom she had ever cohabited. In fact, she had studiously avoided any serious relationships up till now, preferring her independence. Now the arrival of seventy pounds of not very sweet-smelling bone and muscle promised to be a serious challenge. But, anyway, for now the die was cast, and she had to make the best of it.

She clipped the rope lead to the dog’s collar, said goodbye to Mrs Edworthy, turned the door handle and then found herself propelled along the road so fast, she almost fell on her face. This time she had chosen more sensible shoes, although they were Kurt Geiger and hadn’t been cheap, and she heard an ominous scratching sound as the dog tugged her past a bush; ironically, a holly bush. Fortunately, seconds later, Stirling screeched to a halt and cocked his leg against a tree in long, leisurely fashion and Holly had time to collect herself, take a firmer grip on the lead and then march him along to Brook Cottage. As her first experience of dog walking, it was not auspicious.

It was immediately apparent that he knew his way around the house and that he instantly recognised it as his home. He set off on a tour of inspection, nostrils flared, that took him through every room downstairs. He hesitated before venturing upstairs, so Holly decided to try imposing a bit of discipline. As he placed a large paw on the first step, she put on her sternest voice and gave him his orders. ‘No, Stirling! Not upstairs!’ She was heartened, and surprised, to see him step back and turn away from the staircase. As her first experience of dog training, it was at least slightly more auspicious than the dog walking.

She placed his big wicker basket on the flagstones to one side of the fireplace, where she thought she could see marks on the floor made by a basket. No sooner was it down than the dog climbed into it and flopped down, his chin resting on the edge, his huge brown eyes trained on her every move. Feeling rather self-conscious, she set about emptying the bag of toys and filling his water bowl. She placed it on the floor near the back door and waved at him. ‘Water?’ He gave no sign of interest. She placed his empty food bowl beside it and that got him excited enough to sit upright but, once he had established that it was empty, he slumped back down again. She went over to the sink and washed her hands, still very apprehensive about her ability to take care of an animal that probably weighed at least half what she did.

She was just washing Mrs Edworthy’s teacup when her phone rang. It was Julia.

‘Hi, Jules, how’s things?’

‘I’m fine. Scott’s asked me to go to the opera with him tonight.’ Scott was Julia’s latest and very recent conquest. Holly had yet to meet him, but she definitely got the impression that her friend was rather keen on him.

‘The opera? That sounds exciting. What’re you going to see?’

‘La Traviata, the inside of a couple of glasses of champagne, and his bedroom ceiling hopefully. Not necessarily in that order. What about you?’

Holly proceeded to tell Julia all about her unexpected guest. If she had been expecting sympathy, she didn’t get it.

‘I knew you’d settle down with some big hunky male one of these days. Two legs, four legs, who cares?’

‘Somehow, I don’t think this particular relationship is going to stand the test of time.’

‘So what’s new, Miss Three-dates-and-you’re-out?’

‘I’m not quite that bad.’

‘Well, you try counting them.’ Julia then proceeded to reel off the last half dozen men Holly had been out with. Grudgingly, Holly had to admit that her friend might have a point. None of them had lasted more than a few dates before Holly had been taking giant steps in the opposite direction. She had often tried to work out just why she had this aversion to serious commitment. Somehow she had a feeling her mother and father’s split might have more than a little to do with it. That, and the fact that most of the boys she had dated up to now had turned out to be remarkably superficial and pretty stupid. She heard the triumph in Julia’s voice. ‘What is it about you and relationships?’

‘It’ll happen, Jules. I just wasn’t expecting the next one to be a big hairy thing with bad breath.’

‘Are you talking about that Irish boy, Finn or Findlay or whatever his name was?’

‘No, I’m talking about this hairy monster here.’ She turned towards the dog, or rather, to where the dog had been. The basket was empty. ‘Jules, I’d better call you back. Stirling’s disappeared. I’d just better go and see where he is. There’s a grand’s worth of shoes on the floor upstairs. If he decides to start chewing them, this relationship might just stop before it’s begun.’

She dropped the phone down on the table and hunted for the dog. It didn’t take long. She found him upstairs in her father’s bedroom. She was about to give him a rocket when she saw what he was doing. He had somehow found an old jumper belonging to her dad and had rolled himself into it. He was lying on it, his head on his paws, a woollen sleeve across his front legs, his eyes staring mournfully up at her. Immediately, her irritation left her and she knelt on the floor beside him.

‘You know who that belonged to, don’t you?’ The very tip of his tail began to wag uncertainly. ‘That was your dad’s jumper. My dad’s jumper.’ Her voice gave her away. She was feeling in her pocket for a tissue when she felt a touch on her leg. Stirling had crawled across the floor to her and laid a large, heavy paw on her thigh, as much as to say, ‘I understand, and I share your pain.’ She found herself stroking his head as she snuffled to herself. Somehow, the presence of the dog was very comforting. He had, after all, belonged to her dad. He had loved the young dog just as he had loved her, and he had left them both all alone. She hugged the dog to her and cried some more.

After a good while, she glanced out of the window. It was five o’clock and it was now pitch dark outside. Mrs Edworthy hadn’t specified when Stirling had last done his ‘business’, so, for safety’s sake, she decided to take him for a walk around the village. It was bitterly cold by now and she didn’t see another soul, unless you counted a black cat who took off like a thunderbolt as soon as it glimpsed the dog. Stirling gave token chase for a few feet and then returned to Holly’s side when she called. She was impressed.

Holly decided to go to the pub for a meal that night. Following Mrs Edworthy’s instructions, she fed the dog before she went out and made sure that his water bowl was full. She even left the television on for him. It was a documentary about Arctic wolves, which struck her as particularly appropriate.

The pub was called the Five Bells. It was set back from the village green and approached across a patio area that would most probably have been delightful on a warm summer evening. On a freezing midwinter evening on the other hand, it was far from inviting. Holly headed for the front door and pushed it open with her shoulder. A smell of wood smoke and blessed warmth greeted her. The ceilings were terribly low and she found herself ducking as she passed under some of the dark timber beams. There was a restaurant area to the left, while a sign to the right pointed to the bar. She chose the bar.

It proved to be a good choice. There was a fine fire blazing in a huge granite fireplace, even bigger than the one in her dad’s kitchen. The room was warm and cosy and there were a couple of spare tables. She dumped her jacket on the one nearest to the fire and went over to the bar. The carpet was predominantly red, with a complex pattern, no doubt designed to hide stains. The bar itself was made of the same dark wood as the beams and it looked as if it had been there for centuries. A row of taps and beer engines along the counter indicated how many beers they had on draught. Not really a beer drinker, Holly avoided the Dartmoor Jail Ale and the ice cold super strength lager and asked the barmaid for a glass of white wine and the menu.

She returned to her table and sat down. After a mouthful of wine, she raised her eyes and surveyed the other customers in there with her. A group of men drinking pints over at one end of the bar looked and sounded like locals, while three tables were occupied by couples, presumably out for a romantic evening. It was, after all, a Friday night. The landlord had made a lazy effort at celebrating Christmas by wrapping some tinsel round the horns of a stag, whose glass eyes stared out blindly from his moth-eaten face hanging over the middle of the fireplace. A token bunch of mistletoe suspended at the far end of the room was low enough to graze the heads of most people who walked past.

Holly checked the menu, looking for something light like Parma ham or some sushi, but most of the food on offer was traditional rural English; pies, pasties and sausage and mash. After a few minutes’ thought, she decided to go for River Teign mussels. After placing her order, she sat down to reflect on the day and wonder whether the dog was chewing up anything of value in her absence. She had had a long drive that morning and an emotionally wearing afternoon and, before long, she felt her eyelids droop. As her chin touched her chest, she jerked her head up guiltily and glanced round to see if she was being observed.

She was.