‘We haven’t got a tree yet.’ I think it’s a moot point to make.
‘Didn’t I tell you? The Hot Mayor is sending us one.’
‘Is he? That’s very kind.’ I confess that I haven’t given Matt Eastman much thought as I’ve been so busy, so it’s nice to know that he’s still thinking of us.
‘It’s coming in a couple of days. So we should get some decorations.’ I must still look reluctant as she adds, ‘I’ll treat us to a coffee and some cake as you’re being so brave.’
‘After lunch?’
‘Yeah. I’ve got a lentil shepherd’s pie for the hungry hordes today.’
‘Sounds good. It’ll warm them up.’
‘Should I put some drugs in it?’
‘As tempting as it is, it might be ever so slightly illegal,’ I say.
‘Ah. There is always that.’
‘You love them all really.’
‘I do. It’s just that some days they test us more than others.’
‘They do, indeed.’ And we go into my caravan so that Bev can fill me in on the preparations for the open day.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
When lunch is over we take Bev’s car into town. While she drives I look out at the rolling fields, beautifully stark in their winter garb. In town we find another Baby Jesus in the Oxfam shop. It’s probably a bit more boss-eyed and moth-eaten than a Messiah should be, but it’s big and only costs four pounds. The plastic doll has also got blonde hair and a pink romper suit but, once it’s well-swaddled and viewed from a distance, Bev assures me it will be fine. Frankly, I’m still in mourning for my expensive and realistic baby that the alpacas munched and it’s hard to view any replacement as adequate.
Doll bought and bagged, we go into B&Q and load up a cart with Christmas lights. I prefer the tasteful and understated white but Bev – my trusted companion and self-appointed style advisor – is having none of it. We get the most colourful ones on display. Hundreds of them. All with variable flashing options. This is going to be a nativity crossed with Blackpool illuminations.
‘I’ll get in touch with the Hot Mayor,’ Bev says. ‘Find out when the tree is coming.’
‘It’ll need to be about twenty feet tall to take all these flipping lights.’
‘I’ll tell him that,’ she jokes. ‘Go big or go home.’
When we’re spent up, we load up the car and then head to a little café for a recuperative cup of tea and a slice of lemon drizzle – things that will put everything in the world to rights. We sit in the window, too, which always seems like an extra treat.
We both make appreciative noises as we enjoy our refreshment.
‘So?’ Bev asks between sips. ‘How’s Widow Twanky?’
‘He’s the villain,’ I remind her. ‘Nebuchadnezzar!’ I try to mimic Shelby’s villain voice, but don’t quite do it justice.
‘Ah. We should have an outing to go and see him do his thang.’ Bev picks all the crumbs from her plate with her fingertip. ‘The kids would love that.’
‘Would they? I haven’t been to a panto since I was about four and I hated it then. My mum took me and I cried all the way through it.’
‘They’ve got better since then,’ Bev assures me.
She’s probably right. The early press reviews are great and Shelby, surprisingly, seems to be really enjoying it. I’m still not convinced it’s for our kids, though. ‘They’re struggling enough with all the fuss of Christmas. Wouldn’t it be too much of a trial to drag them en masse to Birmingham? Besides, I’m sure some of our teenagers would think it “totally” uncool to go to a panto.’
‘Maybe,’ Bev agrees. ‘Perhaps something local, a bit more low-key just for the littlies? I’ll see what there is. Surely you’ll go to Brum to see Shelby’s production, though?’
‘Shelby hasn’t mentioned it. But then he’s been so engrossed that he probably hasn’t thought of it.’ Neither had I, if I’m truthful. Our worlds have always been kept firmly apart until now.
My friend frowns at me. ‘Is everything OK between you?’
‘Yes.’ I nod, maybe too vigorously. ‘I’m sure it is.’
‘Hmm.’ Bev doesn’t look convinced. ‘When did you last see him?’
‘Over a week ago now,’ I have to admit. ‘He’s hoping to come home on Sunday though.’
‘So he should. Love by Skype isn’t quite the same.’
‘No.’ Never a truer word spoken. ‘It’s the official opening night next week, so it’s only going to get worse from here on in.’
Bev’s frown deepens.
‘It is just a temporary thing,’ I assure her. ‘After Christmas, everything will be back to normal.’
But Bev doesn’t realise that I have my fingers crossed when I say that.
After we’ve finished in town, we take our booty back to the farm. It’s dark early in the day now and all the lights are on – a welcoming sight. Bev drops me off and parks the car while I shut the gate. All the students will have gone home now, their tasks finished for the day.
Alan comes out of the barn and they hug each other as if they haven’t seen each other for months. I get a little pang of loneliness.
‘I’ve seen kids off,’ Alan says. ‘And fed animals.’
‘Thanks, that’s very kind. Saves me a job.’
Alan nods.
‘Were the kids OK this afternoon?’ I ask.
‘Depends what you mean by OK? No one died.’
That’s good enough for me. Some days you have to be grateful for small mercies and hope that tomorrow will be better.
‘Come on, lover,’ Bev says. ‘Take me home and ravish me.’
‘Can we have us tea first?’ Alan asks. ‘I’m starving.’
‘I’d never expect you to lurrrrve on an empty stomach,’ she purrs.
In reality she’ll be on her sofa watching Flinton’s Farm with a cup of tea. Perhaps I should start watching it. I can get it on my phone. That would be a surefire way of seeing Shelby every day. Though, as Lucas bans it in our humble abode, I’d have to watch it in secret.
I say goodnight to Alan and Bev, then do a quick tour of the animals. They’re all happy to settle down early and most are already curled up, comfy in their straw. Oh, for the life of a pampered animal. Mind you, it wasn’t always thus for our charges so they deserve a bit of love and TLC.
When I’m done, I head to the caravan. The lights are blazing out and the kitchen window is steamed up. The second I’m through the door, the dogs go into a barking frenzy and hurl themselves at me and I fuss them while saying ‘Inside voices, doggies. Inside voices.’
Lucas is at the stove stirring a pot. The raising of one eyebrow is his more muted response to my homecoming.
‘Hey,’ I say.
‘Successful trip into town?’
I hold up my plastic saviour of mankind. ‘New Baby Jesus.’
‘Cool,’ he says. ‘It looks a bit creepy though.’
‘It’s a doll. They’re all creepy.’