Calling Mrs Christmas Read online

  ‘She could call to tell me that herself.’

  ‘I can’t make you want to see her, Cassie. It’s up to you.’

  ‘OK.’ I relent. ‘I’ll try to get to see her in the next week or so. I promise.’ Gaby still looks doubtful. Then I check my watch, something I do now a dozen times an hour. ‘I’ll have to go. I’m meeting the man from the Fir Play Christmas-tree nursery up at Carter Randall’s house. He’s delivering the trees.’

  ‘How is the millionaire’s Christmas coming along?’

  ‘Very well. Spending money like water.’

  ‘It’s all right for some.’

  ‘The funny thing is that he seems really down-to-earth. Although money is no object, he’s not really flash with it.’

  ‘Apart from the mansion, the ten Mercs and the private jet.’

  I laugh at that. ‘You’d know what I mean if you spent time with him.’

  ‘Ooh.’ Gaby’s eyes widen. ‘Sounds as if you like him, sis. Does Jim need to be worried?’

  ‘No.’ I dismiss the thought with a girly giggle. ‘It’s not like that. But, for a man of his status and power, he’s surprisingly nice to be around.’

  ‘You’d better get up there then. You might see the dark side of him if his Christmas trees aren’t up to scratch.’

  ‘I might see the dark side of the Fir Play man if I’m not there to give him the cash for those humongous trees.’ I grab my bag and kiss Molly and George goodbye.

  ‘Take these mince pies to the millionaire. Tell him that your big sister baked them. I’m inclined to run away with him myself.’

  ‘I saw him before you,’ I tease her. ‘I have first dibs on him.’

  Gaby gives me a big hug. ‘See Mum.’

  ‘I will,’ I say and, before I make myself late, I shoot out of the door.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The size of the lorry actually frightens me, let alone the size of the trees it’s carrying. Did I really order ones so big? Yikes. I took advice from Tim, the Fir Play man, who assured me that they’d be just perfect. I hope he’s right. To me, they look as if they ought to be in shopping malls or something.

  Tim’s lorry comes to a halt in front of Randall Court. ‘Hi, Cassie,’ he says, as he and his burly colleague jump out. ‘Where do you want these buggers?’

  Couldn’t have put it better myself.

  ‘The biggest is staying out here. It goes there in front of the house.’ I point at the prime spot on the lawn where it’s to be fixed. ‘The smaller one,’ and it’s a relative term, ‘is to go in the entrance hall.’

  ‘Right.’ Tim nods to his co-worker. ‘Let’s do it.’

  ‘You’re sure they’re not too big?’ I ask, worried.

  ‘They’ll look great,’ he assures me. ‘Don’t fret yourself, lass.’

  But fret myself I do.

  It’s a bright, winter day but there’s a nip in the air and I’ve taken the precaution of wrapping up against the cold. Which is just as well as I could be here for quite a while.

  I can hardly bring myself to watch as they lift the trees from the lorry with a hoist and swing it towards the chosen spot. As I’m standing there, cringing, racked with anxiety, the front door of the house swings open and two children race out into the drive. They can only be Max and Eve.

  They barrel over towards me. ‘Careful,’ I say to them. ‘Don’t go too close. Come over here and watch it with me.’ I wave them to my side and they run the last few metres.

  I look up to see Carter following them. He’s also wrapped up against the cold in a thick sheepskin jacket over black jeans and a sweater. He’s looking very sharp.

  ‘Hey,’ he says as he approaches. ‘This is looking great.’

  The tree swings giddily in the air until Tim’s mate guides it into position. If all goes to plan, a company that designs ‘conceptual festive lighting’ will be coming along shortly too. They’ll be wiring up the Christmas tree and covering the front of the house in an American-style light show. They told me they are masters at doing this and usually decorate stores or provide the lighting for concerts. Their managing director helped me to trawl through their online catalogue until we found something suitable. Understated is not the look I’ve gone for, but I’m hoping that it will be classy in an over-the-top way too.

  ‘Say hello to Cassie Christmas, kids,’ Carter says to Eve and Max.

  ‘Hello, Mrs Christmas,’ Eve says.

  ‘Cassie is fine,’ I tell her.

  ‘Daddy says that you’re making Christmas for us,’ she lisps shyly.

  ‘I am.’

  ‘This tree is enormous!’ Max says, wide-eyed. He runs round behind me, arms out like a plane.

  ‘Lovely children,’ I say to Carter.

  ‘Thank you.’

  They’re both bright-eyed, polite and articulate. When Eve follows her brother, I lean towards Carter and say, ‘I have everything organised for your trip. We just need to go through a few details.’

  ‘As soon as they put this tree up we can go indoors and have a hot drink,’ Carter says. ‘We’ll go through them while we get warm again. I bet Lapland’s going to be chilly.’

  Minus fifteen, if the forecast is to be believed. ‘Yes,’ I agree. ‘I’ve organised for you all to have Arctic gear when you’re out there.’

  ‘We’ve got some ski stuff too,’ Carter says. ‘We have a place in Gstaad.’

  Of course. Why wouldn’t you?

  ‘Then I’d plan on taking it with you.’

  ‘Perhaps you can help the children to pack. Maybe me too. I normally travel light, but I may need more this time.’

  I make a mental note to add ‘packing’ to my list of to-dos in my pad.

  Eventually, the tree is in its intended place, secured and held upright by retaining wires. It looks truly fantastic. Lying on the truck bed, it might have seemed gigantic, but it blends in perfectly here.

  ‘Kids,’ Carter says, ‘what do you think?’

  They both come to admire the splendid fir. ‘It’s lovely,’ Eve says, in awe.

  ‘Will it have lights?’

  ‘Lots of them,’ I assure Max. But the lighting company is in charge of that, thankfully. Some jobs, I’ve quickly realised, are far too big for me to handle by myself and I have to let the experts take control.

  As the Fir Play men struggle to take the smaller tree into the entrance hall of the house, with perfect timing the people who are doing the lights turn up. Carter and I run through the plan with them and I’m pleased that they definitely seem to be Men Who Know What They’re Doing. This is the first time that Carter has seen my vision for his house and garden, but he seems enthralled.

  The front of the house is to be strung with a cascade of white lights that will go through a range of settings. The back garden is getting a similar treatment. I’ve organised for the existing trees to be strung with white lights, as well as a temporary pergola to be installed and also covered with lights. Ashridge Forest is famous for its deer and, as a slightly tongue-in-cheek homage to them, I’ve arranged for a group of deer-shaped sculptures to be sited as if they are just emerging from the woods. Tacky? Possibly. I think I’ve lost all reason on this brief. If Carter hates it when it’s done, then we’ll just whip it all out again.

  ‘Shall we say hello to the tree?’ I suggest. It seems only right to make a little ceremony of it. My sister’s always doing this kind of thing for Molly and George, so I guess it’s rubbed off on me over the years. ‘Let’s all hold hands.’

  Eve and Max join hands and then, not quite as I’d imagined, Carter takes mine in his. The electricity that shoots through me is as sudden as it is unexpected.

  He laughs uncomfortably. Perhaps he felt it too.

  ‘Static,’ I say pathetically. ‘It’s the cold air.’

  ‘Oh,’ he says, a smile on his lips. ‘Is that what it is?’

  ‘Come on,’ I say. ‘Let’s make the tree happy it’s here.’

  So I lead them in a dance round the tree, ski
pping and running. It’s also helping to warm us up. Then I start to sing ‘O, Christmas Tree’ and they all join in.

  When we’re done and the tree is thoroughly welcomed, we’re laughing and breathless.

  ‘Let’s go inside,’ Carter says. ‘I don’t know about you, but I think we need a treat.’

  ‘Yay!’ the children chorus.

  I glance back at the beautiful tree as we head towards the house and wonder if I’ll be allowed to bring George and Molly up here for a glimpse of the lights when they’re finished. They’d love it too.

  We go in through the kitchen door and it’s another Homes & Gardens-magazine-style room, all white cupboards and grey-granite surfaces. You could eat your dinner off the floor, it’s so sparkly clean. Hettie is at the large, stainless-steel range cooker. ‘Oh my,’ she says. ‘Look at those rosy cheeks. I’ve never seen the like.’

  ‘Hettie, put some hot chocolate on for us all,’ Carter says. ‘Lots of whipped cream and extra marshmallows.’

  ‘Hurrah!’ the children shout.

  Despite me having the slight feeling that I’m in a Famous Five story, they’re great kids and I’m not surprised that Tamara and Carter are having a hard time being away from them. Surreptitiously, I glance at my watch. Wow. Is it so late? I should be packing up and getting down to the social club to see how Jim and the boys are getting on, not sitting here being indulged with hot chocolate.

  This would be a good time to make my excuses and leave. But, to be honest, I don’t want to. I very badly want hot chocolate and whipped cream and extra marshmallows. So, instead, I join Carter and the children, and we sit round the kitchen table while Hettie whips up our drinks.

  ‘Guess what, guys,’ Carter says. ‘Cassie Christmas has organised a holiday for us.’

  Max gasps. In unison, the children swivel their eyes to me. ‘Really?’

  I nod.

  ‘It’s going to be fantastic,’ Carter continues. ‘I’m not telling you where we’re going. It’s a surprise, but it will be brilliant fun.’

  Max claps his hands in excitement.

  ‘Will Mummy come too?’ Eve asks softly.

  Carter’s face falls slightly and I notice the bleakness in his expression. ‘No,’ he says. ‘Mummy’s a little bit busy, sweetheart. This is a special trip for just you two and Daddy.’ Then he turns to me. ‘And Cassie will be coming with us.’

  I rock back in my seat. ‘Me?’

  He frowns. ‘You’re coming too. Aren’t you?’

  ‘I… er… well… er… I hadn’t planned to.’

  ‘Oh, but you must,’ Carter insists. ‘Otherwise you’d have to organise a nanny for us and it would be someone we don’t know. That would be tedious. I know that I can trust you.’ He turns to Eve and Max. ‘You’d like Cassie to come with us, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘Yes!’ they both cry out.

  ‘Oh, do come, Cassie,’ Eve pleads. ‘I want you to.’

  ‘Well…’ Now what do I say?

  ‘There’s plenty of space on the jet,’ Carter slips in. ‘What else would you need?’

  ‘I don’t have any cold-weather gear.’

  ‘Get yourself some,’ Carter instructs. ‘Go down to the Snow + Rock shop at the Snow Centre in Hemel Hempstead. We have an account there. Put whatever you need on it.’ I’ll get Georgina to tell them you’re coming.’

  As simple as that.

  Oh, my goodness. I never dreamed in a million years that I’d be going along on this trip too. As far as I was concerned, that wasn’t even in the brief. But what can I do? If he wants me there, can I turn him down? I’m up to my eyeballs in wrapping and tree dressing and events and card writing and baking and flower arranging. How will I find time to swan off with Carter and the children, even if it’s only for a few days? What will Jim say? Could he possibly hold the fort for me with Gaby’s help?

  I bite my lip, mind churning. I know that I should say no. Of course I should. I must fix Carter up with some nubile Nordic nanny – who would no doubt be six foot tall, naturally blonde and have tits like nuclear warheads. I should make all the arrangements and happily wave the family goodbye at the airport. But this is the trip of a lifetime. I should know because I’ve booked every single element of it. It will be fantastic beyond belief. Lavish beyond my wildest dreams. Luxury a-go-go. I’ll never get the chance to do this ever again and, here it is, being handed to me on a plate. What on earth should I do?

  Hettie delivers a tray of mugs brimming over with whipped cream, topped with a mountain of marshmallows and chocolate shavings. There’s a plate of freshly made cookies too. Everything in Carter’s life is excessive, it seems.

  ‘Well,’ Carter says as he takes a biscuit from the plate. ‘Are you coming with us, Cassie Christmas? I’d really like you to.’

  My heart is pounding just thinking about it. I should talk to Jim first to see how he feels about it. That’s what I should do. But then I know in my heart that I couldn’t miss it for the world. And, though everything in my brain is saying that I should think this through more carefully, my mouths opens and out pops ‘Yes.’

  The children shout out happily.

  Carter lifts his mug of hot chocolate and clinks it against mine. ‘You won’t regret this,’ he says. ‘We’ll have a great time.’

  With a wide grin, I lift my hot chocolate to my lips. I’ll drink to that. Ohmigod. I’m going to Lapland. On a private jet. It’s going to be flipping fantastic!

  Now all I have to do is tell Jim.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The Boxley Social Club was more than a little shabby round the edges. The window frames were mostly rotten and the front doors could have done with a fresh coat of paint.

  Jim sat outside it in the car, with Smudge and Rozzer in the back. As Cassie had instructed, they’d both been washed and scrubbed at the flat before coming down here. He had to admit, they did both smell a lot fresher. There was an aroma of Original Source Tea Tree and Mint shower gel around them, rather than stale chip fat and despair. Both had washed their hair and it was combed down flat more in the style of elves rather than spiky in the modern style of One Direction.

  The lads, it was fair to say, looked glum. Jim didn’t think they quite realised what they had signed up for when they’d agreed to be elves.

  Mind you, he wasn’t that enthralled at being Santa – particularly not for a load of pissed pensioners. He knew from experience of previous volunteer work what these oldies could be like when there was a whiff of gin about. Jim turned round in his seat.

  ‘Right,’ he said. ‘Little elven pep talk, if you don’t mind, lads. The only C-word that elves use is Christmas. Neither do they use any words beginning with F – unless it’s festive. Got me?’

  The lads nodded, the bells on their green felt hats jingling. They both looked glummer than ever, but they said in unison, ‘Yes, Jim.’

  ‘Elves don’t put their hands down the front of their pants and hold onto their crotches.’

  Sheepishly, they both took their hands out of their bright-red, baggy trousers.

  ‘You’re not in the unit now.’

  ‘No, Jim.’

  ‘And remember to refer to me as Santa at all times.’

  ‘Yes, Jim.’

  Beneath the uncertainty, he could tell that there was now an underlying level of terror.

  ‘It’ll be fine,’ he assured them.

  Jim could understand their being scared. He wasn’t keen to be seen in his Santa outfit and he was damn sure two cool teenage dudes wouldn’t want to be seen dead in those green-and-red polyester elf suits, which were pretty diabolical. To be honest, it was weird enough for him to see them out of their prison-issue tracksuits, let alone dressed as elves.

  ‘We’ve got to hand out some presents to the old folk. Give out some cups of tea and mince pies. Job done. What can go wrong?’ Jim put on his beard. ‘Can you give me a hand with the pillow for my tummy when we get out of the car?’

  They both nodded.

&nb
sp; ‘Ready?’

  ‘Yes, Jim… Santa,’ they both said.

  All three of them got out and stood in the chilly car park. The tarmac was badly pot-holed and the whole thing needed resurfacing. Smudge and Rozzer pushed and shoved until the pillow was firmly in place.