Emily crawled out of bed to the sound of knocking. Throwing a dressing gown around her shoulders, she staggered downstairs, aware it was still dark outside. The knocking continued at a frenzied pace until Emily called out, ‘All right, I’m coming!’
Steeling herself for an argument with Nathan, who had perhaps come to tell her that the roof needed immediate replacement, or her hallway was required to store a crane, or even that he had decided overnight to level the three holiday lets and erect a block of flats in their place and that a wrecking ball was waiting right outside … she was somewhat surprised to find Veronica standing on her doorstep, holding two overflowing supermarket bags in her hands.
‘What time do you call this?’ Emily asked, wondering if she’d drunk more wine than she realised, or whether she was just exhausted.
‘Six,’ Veronica said. ‘Just like you told me. I got the stuff. Come on, let me in. It’s freezing out here.’
As Emily stepped back to let Veronica in, she frowned. ‘What stuff?’
‘The cooking stuff. You said we need to make ten chocolate logs for the cake stand.’
‘Oh, right.’
‘Starting at six. It says it on your schedule.’
‘The one I wrote in pencil?’
Veronica shrugged. ‘Yeah. I mean, you wrote seven, but I thought we need to get started so I rubbed it out and wrote six.’
‘Oh, right.’
‘You don’t mind?’
‘Well, no. It was very … productive of you.’
Veronica beamed. ‘Thanks. God, it’s colder in here than it is outside. Why don’t you put the heating on?’
Emily gave a tired nod. ‘Sure.’ She didn’t yet feel awake enough to notice.
‘Are you ready to get started?’
Emily nodded again. ‘I might take a quick shower first.’
‘No probs. I’ll get started on the log mix. Mind if I put these down? They weigh a ton.’
Emily shook her head.
‘Thanks. Oh, and I got this.’ Veronica reached into one of the bags and pulled out a Christmas hat, which she perched on top of the knitting needles sticking out of the top of her hair. Emily wondered absently how Veronica managed to get up early enough to set her hair into such an intricate tower of delight. Then, as Veronica gave an extravagant yawn, Emily realised the girl had probably been up all night.
‘Might take a nap in a bit, if that’s okay,’ Veronica said.
Emily nodded. ‘You and me both.’
Two hours later, with the ten chocolate logs in varied stages of construction, Veronica was snoozing on the sofa while Emily made some phone calls in the kitchen. Everything was going well. The snow was threatening to derail everything, of course, but Alan had got his plow working and had managed to clear a way through to the duel carriageway exit a couple of miles distant, where, by some miracle, the snow had all melted off. Cottonwood, it appeared, was situated in a bit of a microclimate cold pocket, but that could work to their advantage.
With the roads in one direction cleared, and Garry Timpson, owner of Fingles, the farm adjacent to Rowe Farm, providing a free shuttle service in the back of his Land Rover up to the bus stop by the duel carriageway, people were able to get in without having to drive through the danger end of the village. It was still early, of course, but so far there had been no sign of Nathan Trower.
Not that Emily intended to keep their rebellion a secret. Sooner or later all would be revealed, but she hoped not until the snowball of goodwill had reached an unstoppable stage. And with only a couple of stalls currently onsite, they weren’t quite at that stage just yet.
Elaine’s contacts had come good. Several local food stall services had been bookable even at such a late date, as had a mobile disco-karaoke company. Planning the carnival to go over Sunday-Monday had proved a stroke of genius, because several services busy on Saturday were freed up on the adjacent days. Emily had even managed to book a Christmas songs covers band called Sweet Slade Crosby for the Monday night. Veronica, too, had made a call, and had a “mate” who was apparently a “magician” and would be happy to do a free hour show in exchange for a few beers and a picture in the local paper.
The council had also come up trumps, not only granting permission to hold the event but allowing an alcohol sales license for the two days, and a noise curfew of midnight.
All without the head of the invisible parish council finding out.
‘So it’s going well?’ Karen asked.
Emily, who hadn’t been able to resist a quick personal call in the midst of the maelstrom of business, nodded. ‘So far, so good. The locals have been fantastic. You can tell they really wanted their Christmas back, and they’ve thrown themselves into it.’
‘They needed a catalyst. You must be very proud.’
Emily shook her head. ‘I didn’t do much really. I just gave them a nudge in the right direction.’
‘Come on, I know you better than that. Are you starting to realise yet?’
‘Realise what?’
‘That you can exist out of your grandmother’s shadow. That, despite what you always say, you’re capable of doing whatever you want.’
‘I wouldn’t go that far. It has been a good distraction, though. It’s been nice to have something to take my mind off everything else.’
‘Well, I’m pleased for you. I can’t wait to see what you’ve achieved.’
‘You’ll come down?’
‘David and his dad are out putting the chains on the mini-bus as we speak. We’re bringing the whole clan down.’
‘That’ll be great.’
‘Will it? You’d better have plenty of food. They’re like locusts, eating their way through everything.’
‘I’ll be prepared.’
‘Great.’ Karen sighed. ‘Oh no, bad news. The future M-I-L just got the Twister out. Looks like I’ve got to go.’
They both hung up. After a hot morning in the kitchen, Emily fancied a walk, so she checked in on Veronica, informing the dozing girl of her decision and receiving a grunt in response, before heading out into the snow.
It had been snowing steadily all night and was now fifteen centimetres deep in places. Emily was unable to hide a squee feeling at the sight of it, having grown up in Birchtide, which never seemed to get much snow even if it was dumping in neighbouring villages. As she headed up the road in the direction of the village hall she passed Alan on his tractor with the plow shovel attached and gave him a wave. Alan had cleared the centre of the roads, but the snow had to go somewhere, so great mounds now lined the streets, much to the delight of several groups of children who were out battering each other with snowballs or building immense, wonky snowmen. With a wry smile, Emily wondered if there was a rule against that, too.
Passing Veronica’s place, she saw what had apparently kept the girl up all night—a delightful pattern of fairy lights had been hung from garden trellises to spell out Merry Christmas Everyone. In a moment of red-cheeked coyness, Veronica had confessed that Peter, out walking Rudolph, had offered to help, so she had stretched it out as long as possible, before the pair of them had retired to a table in front of her coffee machine ‘to talk about books and stuff.’ By the time they were done, there ‘weren’t no point going to bed then, was there?’, to which Emily had just laughed and told Veronica to go and take a nap.
Currently switched off, the lights would look beautiful later when they came on, as would those of several other properties, the defiance of Trower’s laws apparently having a liberating effect on several locals. Emily just hoped it didn’t all come back to slap her in the face. However, she did have a contingency plan up her sleeve, and she was anticipating her next meeting with Trower with great excitement.
Up in the village hall’s car park, several local men were erecting a wooden gate across the entrance with “Christmas Carnival” written over the top. Others were clearing away the snow, or hanging fairy lights over the front of the hall. The huge pine to the left of the entrance had been cleared of vines and creepers, and a couple of ladders lay on the ground nearby. Just as she arrived, the council van pulled in, and Jack wound down a window.
‘Morning,’ he said. ‘Looking good up here.’
‘Thanks for coming,’ Emily said.
‘Got the gear in the van,’ Jack said. ‘We’re going to unload up here, where me and Graham will take care of the tree and the generators. Leon’s going to go park down outside yours, give the impression we’re hard at work if that mate of yours shows up.’
‘Sounds perfect.’
Jack gave her a thumbs-up, then bumped the van carefully through the snow and parked in a corner. Emily headed inside to see what was going on.
Beside the stage at one end of the village hall, Mrs. Taylor was directing a group of other older people loaded down with tinsel, paper chains, and fairy lights. A small plastic tree stood in one corner, surrounded by fake Christmas presents. A couple of local kids were wiping the dust off with towels, while a couple more sat in a corner, wrapping other generic cardboard boxes with colourful paper.
‘Looks brilliant,’ Emily said to the towering Mrs. Taylor, who was giraffe-like as she leaned over from the stage above. ‘You’ve done a great job.’
Mrs. Taylor took a deep breath and smiled. ‘It’s so liberating,’ she said. ‘I can feel Christmas in the air again at long last. What a wonderful event this is going to be.’ Her smile dropped. ‘Have you had any trouble yet from yours truly? He’s been notable by his absence.’
Emily shook her head. ‘Not yet. I’m going to visit him later. I don’t think there’s any point in this being a secret.’
‘If you want some moral support, just ask. We can follow you with a full phalanx of pitchforks if necessary.’
Emily laughed. ‘I don’t think that will be necessary. This was my idea though, so I should be the one who visits him.’
‘As you wish. And don’t forget to give him my card.’
Emily patted the pocket of her jacket. After a private discussion following the end of the meeting, Mrs. Taylor had given her a business card. ‘I’m officially retired, but I’d be prepared to make an exception,’ she had told Emily.
Emily shook her head. ‘I won’t forget,’ she said.
‘I hope it goes well.’
‘Me too.’
Emily thanked Mrs. Taylor again, then headed back outside. She was on her way back to the holiday let when a man came bustling up through the snow. He wore a leather jacket and carried a motorcycle helmet under one arm.
‘Ms. Wilson?’ he asked. ‘I’ve heard you’re in charge.’
‘Yes, that’s me.’
The man stuck out a hand. ‘Ted Billingham. Reverend, Cottonwood Parish Church. I hear you’re reincarnating the Christmas carnival.’
‘Um, yes. You’re the local reverend? You, um—’
‘Don’t look much like a priest?’ Billingham laughed. ‘Nope. In these conditions I don’t look much like a biker either. Looks can be deceiving and all that. In lieu of all these goings on, I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind a church service done on the Sunday morning. Plus, do you think you’ve got a spot on the itinerary for the local caroler group?’
‘Oh, that would be great. I wasn’t even aware there was one.’
Billingham rolled his eyes. ‘That tyrant Saul slapped us with a noise restriction notice, but like good Philistines we’ve continued to practice in secret. Well, not quite, but in Fitton, just across the valley there. We’d be delighted to make a triumphant return now the walls of Jericho appear to have fallen.’
‘That would be just great. I’ll pencil you into the schedule. Thanks.’
‘Nice. Right, off to take advantage of these conditions and do some terrifically dangerous turns in the snow. Godspeed, young lady.’
He gave Emily a military salute before rushing off to a powerful Honda road bike leaning nearby, its shiny chassis spotted with snow.
‘You’ve met the vicar, then?’ came a voice to Emily’s left, and she turned to find Kelly Chambers beside her, a plastic snow shovel in hand, a bobble hat pulled down over her head.
‘Interesting chap,’ Emily said.
‘He used to be a local heartthrob,’ Kelly said with a smile. ‘In his youth he rode in motorcycle grand prix and even presented a cable television show about motorbikes before abruptly finding God. Until Trower shut down most of the church services for ridiculous arbitrary reasons, Cottonwood was probably the only parish in the country where church attendance was on the rise.’
Emily smiled. ‘I would probably go if I lived here.’
‘He certainly makes it interesting. Anyway, how is everything going?’
‘Good, by the look of things.’
‘No sign of the Dark Lord yet?’
Emily winced. ‘Not yet.’
‘He won’t let this go, you know that, don’t you? If you want some moral support—’
Emily lifted a hand. ‘Pitchforks at the ready, right?’
‘You’ve got it.’
Kelly wished Emily well and headed off to her snow clearing duty. Emily glanced at her watch, finding it was still not yet ten o’clock. It was probably best to get her confrontation with Nathan out of the way.
‘Right, Emily,’ she said to herself with a determined grimace. ‘Time to put your head back into the lion’s mouth.’