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Everyone was talking about Ada by the time Bright had made all the appropriate calls and Mary had stopped crying. He’d suggested they go to the cafe for a cup of tea and the place was packed with residents.
“And then all my lights flickered on and off,” Sherry said. “I’ll bet it was about when she went. What time would you
say that was, Dale?”
“It was six-fifteen,” Dale said. “I know, because I’d gotten up to take my pill, and the alarm clock went all funny and then reset itself.”
“My lights flickered too,” Glenda said. “It woke me up. I thought it was an electrical storm.” She shuddered rather theatrically. “It was terribly frightening.”
Lois did a little snort. “I was already up. I like to get up early, not laze around. It’s the best part of the day if you ask me.”
“But did your lights flicker?” Sherry asked.
“They did. Do you suppose it was Ada?” Lois asked. “I don’t like to think of her as a ghost though.”
Dougal snorted. “Bunch of hokey,” he said.
“Do you think her emergency button was working?” Bets asked.
“When my Max died, he used to communicate with me,” Raylene said. “I’d say, is that you, Max? Are you there? And he’d be listening and send me a sign.”
“Poppycock,” Dougal said. “He never listened to a word you said when he was alive, why would he start now when he could finally have some peace and quiet?”
Several people gasped and Raylene’s face fell.
“All right, Dougal, that’s it,” Bright said firmly. He’d had enough of the old bugger. “I think you’ve upset enough peo- ple for one day. I’m going to ask you to leave for now.”
Dougal frowned. “You can’t order me to leave,” he said
indignantly, “I bleeding well live here.”
“Not for much longer if you can’t treat people with a bit of respect,” Bright told him. “There are rules, and you signed a contract when you moved in. Now I suggest you spend twen- ty-four hours having a break from everyone, and maybe offer some apologies to the people you’ve upset.”
“Well, I never,” Dougal said, but he got up from the table and didn’t look anyone in the eye as he left the cafe.
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“Wonderful news,” Janice said, passing him on her way in, “Nat and Andy have had the babies.”
Mary started to cry again. Bright looked at her in concern and she laughed, waving her hands to fan her face.
“Sorry,” she said, “happy tears this time.”
“Don’t be too harsh on Dougal,” Mary said over tea and a muffin. “It’s a hard time of year for him.”
Bright thought Mary was far too nice. “He’s a grumpy old fart.”
“Yes, but he has his reasons.”
Mary told him about Dougal’s wife and daughter Rachel. How he had no way to contact her, or his grandchildren who he had never met. It was sad, Bright had to admit.
“Have you noticed he doesn’t drink?” Mary said. “He gave up after they left. I’ve never seen him touch a drop.” Bright hadn’t really noticed. “He even went over to London years
ago, trying to find them, but no luck. Christmas for him is a sad time. He gets Rachel’s card and it reminds him of what he lost. It makes him extra cantankerous.”
“Even so, he can’t speak to you like that,” Bright said. “He really upset you.”
“It’s okay. Normally I don’t let him get to me. I think I was just feeling a bit overwhelmed by everything, with the lead- up to Christmas. He’s usually not so bad.”
Bloody hell, Bright thought. That could be him in a few years’ time. A grumpy old man who turns into the Christ- mas Grinch and makes people cry. He didn’t want to become Dougal.
But there wasn’t much he could do about the Christmas budget. Andrew had made a few errors over the year with some of the residents’ funeral bills and Bright didn’t want to contact the families to try to get money out of them. It was a bad look for Pacific Palms and it seemed like a crappy thing to do. But that money had to come from somewhere and the only way he could see to recoup the loss was to cut the party budget down.
“Look, about the Christmas party,” he said. Mary looked up at him, hope in her eyes. “Perhaps I could help with some of the prep work?”
Mary gave him a small smile. “Sure, yeah, that would be great. Thanks.” She sounded tired and less bubbly than nor- mal. He felt awful.
“What can I do?”
“Any chance you know how to make a Christmas pud- ding?” He didn’t. “I’ll give you Gran’s recipe. You can’t go wrong.”
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You could. He used Klaus’s kitchen since the hob was bigger than his. Mary had already soaked the fruit in brandy for the last week, so he’d gathered up the rest of the ingredients and after dinner he got to work.
He’d thought Klaus might object, since he was not a fan of Christmas things, but he seemed pleased at the idea of helping. Probably thinking of his ever-expanding stomach.
‘Cream the sugar and butter, then add in the eggs one by one,’ he read. Seemed simple enough.
An hour later, Bright looked around in dismay. Every sur- face was covered in a layer of flour. Blobs of fruit mix covered the splashback, the hob and even the toaster. He’d burnt his hand on the hot calico cloth and his puddings all had strange lumpy bulges. There were three. One hadn’t made it. It sat on the floor in a pile that looked a little like dog vomit.
Still, they smelt quite good, boiling away in their pots. Bright just had to hope he hadn’t stuffed them up. He set to work, cleaning up. Klaus was still sitting on the sofa where he’d been observing the whole time and making helpful comments like ‘Are you sure that’s what the recipe said?’ and ‘Bloody hell, it looks a bit of a dog’s breakfast.’
“Have you fed the cat, Dad?” Bright asked.
“Yes, she had one of those sachet things.” Klaus looked up at him and tilted his head slightly. “Is it Friday then?” he asked.
It actually was, Bright realised with a grin.
CHAPTER 21
It’s very rare to be born on December 25th — Christmas Day is the least likely day of the year to be born, whereas studies suggest that there’s a higher chance of dying on Christmas, the day after Christmas or New Year’s Day than any other single day of the year.