‘So you’ll be here on the seventeenth?’
‘Most definitely. Darren got the time off work and we’ll have the car ready to go as soon as the kids get home from school. I’m keeping it as a surprise.’
‘They’ll love it here. I mean, it was a bit weird when I first showed up, but now that the village is filled with people, it’s just magical. I’ve never seen anything like it. Yesterday we had a ceremony to officially “open” the Christmas tree, this massive pine they have in the village square. I’ve never seen so much hot chocolate, and people were dancing around it until midnight. My thighs were killing me this morning.’
‘Got to burn off those calories somehow.’
Annie nodded, barely able to believe her own words. ‘I’m going ice-skating this morning. There’s a kind of shallow inlet on the lake which they cordon off so that it can completely freeze over. It’s just … magical. Have I said that already?’
‘Sounds amazing. So, you’re not coming back then?’
Annie’s cheeks flushed. She’d made a phone call that morning and asked for another week off work. She’d planned to hand in her notice, but her gut had prevented her. She couldn’t quite bring herself to pull the plug completely, when everything was still so weird. Even though she was getting used to Stone Spire Hall and Undercastle, she still didn’t feel like she belonged here. And her grandfather’s notes and letters, when she had time to go through them, were only making things stranger.
‘Not for the time being. I’m undecided, to be honest. I mean, I like it here and everything, but, you know, it’s kind of weird.’
‘Like a lottery win? You know, I know a guy who won fifty grand on a scratch card and just stuffed it in the charity box at Tesco. Said it was all about the thrill of the chase, but it kind of took the meaning out of everything when he actually won it.’
Annie chuckled. ‘That’s exactly how it feels. I mean, I don’t deserve any of this. I’ve never done anything special. It’s just too … weird.’
‘Don’t beat yourself up about it. Troy was a turkey, the way he treated you. You earned a bit of good karma.’
Annie shrugged. ‘A bit, maybe, but not an entire lorry load.’
‘Well, don’t turn your nose up at it. And you never know, Troy might just turn up and ruin it.’
Annie felt a shiver of dread. ‘I hope not.’
‘Just play it by ear, eh.’
‘Will do. See you on the seventeenth?’
‘Absolutely. Get the hot chocolates and the fudge ready.’ Julie chuckled. ‘I’m thinking of starving the kids for a couple of days just so they hit the ground running.’
‘I’ll tell the man who runs the fudge shop to double down.’
‘Good plan. Right. I’d better get these guys off to school.’
Annie said goodbye to Julie and hung up. Outside the window, a light snow was falling, the ground already carpeted with a gentle blanket of white. Annie put her phone down on the windowsill—she’d found her Grandfather’s suite to be the only place in the house with decent reception—and went back into his study. There was still half an hour until the breakfast bell would ring, and Annie still had stacks of her grandfather’s old notebooks to read through.
Life in the hall was busy, and as the Lady in Residence—as people kept calling her, despite her insistence not to—there were constant demands on her time. She enjoyed it for the most part, but there was only so much fudge and so many pancakes she could eat, and if she drank any more hot chocolate she’d sprout roots and turn into a cacao tree. As a result, she’d not had nearly the amount of time she would have liked to figure out everything that had inadvertently brought her here.
Glancing up at the clock, she sat down, first picking up the notebooks on the desk which she’d marked with post-it notes.
I tried to call Richard again today. I asked him if he’d consider moving up here and bringing Annie. I think that’s the missing ingredient: a little bit of wide-eyed wonder. Only a child really believes. She’d be able to see it, I’m sure. And then I’d know that everything I’ve worked for all this time was worth it. Of course he said no. And then he said to stop calling. I have to say, it cut like a knife. He was always such a practical boy. I wish he’d open his eyes a little wider sometimes. He’s missing out on so much.
The gentle estrangement between her grandfather and her father was often alluded to, and Annie felt a sense of regret that they hadn’t solved their differences before her father’s unexpected death. From reading her grandfather’s notes, it seemed there had been no big argument, just a gradual parting, a diversion of their lives. Her father had done his best for his family, and her grandfather, as he became more introverted and reclusive, had gradually been cut out of their lives.
However, the appearance of Isabella had done nothing but fill her grandfather with a sense of wonder.
I’d swear they’re out there at night, listening and watching, checking up on her. I see their lights sometimes, out in the woods, but I think they know she’s safe. Her laughter echoes through the halls, bringing joy to every corner of this place, and I can feel the magic in her whenever she smiles. She was our gift from them, and I know to the bottom of my heart that Isabella was my second chance.
His notes talked often of lights in the woods, of supposed fairies and elves. Annie, brought up on her dad’s practicality, was aware such things were a load of rubbish. Part of her thought that her grandfather’s insistence that they were real was sweet, another part that it was weird. From what she’d heard from the residents of Undercastle, her grandfather had been kind and gentle, but also slightly off his rocker.
She was just about to open another notebook when the bell rang, calling her for breakfast.
Downstairs, Mr. Fairbrother was in position with his paper over his knees as usual, a bacon and egg sandwich and a coffee on a tray in front of him. To Annie’s surprise, for the first time the fourth place was laid up for breakfast, and as she sat down, she heard voices on the stairs to the kitchens.
‘There’s no need to skip up the stairs, dear. You might drop something.’
Mrs. Growell, as stern as ever, came into view. Behind her came Isabella, carrying a tray in one hand and a teapot by the handle in the other. She appeared to be playing a game of hopscotch up the stairs, while somehow avoiding spilling anything. As they reached the table, Isabella gave Annie a wide grin.
‘Good morning, Mistress … Annie,’ Mrs. Growell said, then set down a bowl in front of Annie, followed by a small jug of milk. ‘As requested … Coco Pops.’
Annie grinned. ‘Fantastic.’
Mrs. Growell gave Annie a stony-faced stare. ‘May I politely request that you endeavour to challenge my culinary skills a little more in future?’
‘I’d be delighted to see how they tasted homemade….’
‘Such a trivial breakfast. With so many options may I ask of what is the appeal of something so simplistic?’
‘Dad wouldn’t let us have anything with a high sugar content,’ Annie said, as Isabella, also sporting a bowl of Coco Pops, along with a chopped apple and a bowl of yoghurt, sat down beside her, grinning wildly like a child at a birthday party. She leaned against Annie and gave her shoulder a nudge before chuckling quietly to herself.
‘Appropriate,’ Mrs. Growell said tersely. ‘It sounds like your father was a firm and well ordered man.’
‘No doubt why he fell out with the master,’ Mr. Fairbrother quipped, then quickly buried his head behind his newspaper as Mrs. Growell’s fearsome eyes turned on him.
‘Dad was pretty strict about what we ate,’ Annie said. ‘Although as a result I have nearly perfect teeth.’ She gave Mrs. Growell a wide grin, winning a giggle from Isabella. ‘However, I did attempt to destroy them with ice-cream during my divorce.’
Mrs. Growell had no smile to drop, but she gave a thoughtful nod. ‘Unfortunate,’ she said, before lowering herself neatly into her seat, throwing Isabella a stern, motherly glance as the girl rocked back on her chair, before nearly falling off and having to grab Mr. Fairbrother’s arm to steady herself.
‘That looks nice,’ Annie said, peering across the table at Mrs. Growell’s single slice of toast, a nub of butter gradually melting in the exact centre.
Mrs. Growell gave a tense nod, then picked up her knife and began to spread the butter in gentle, rhythmic strokes. Mr. Fairbrother took it upon himself to pour tea into cups, while Isabella catapulted a stray Coco Pop from her tray into Annie’s bowl with a flick of her knife, giving Annie a shy grin. The scowl from Mrs. Growell wasn’t quite as harsh as Annie might have received, but Isabella’s smile momentarily dropped, before returning as soon as Mrs. Growell looked away.
‘What’s on today’s schedule?’ Mr. Fairbrother asked, putting his paper down and taking a sip of tea. ‘Looks like the snow’s in for the day, so I’ll be busy clearing that path I imagine.’
‘I planned to give the kitchen floor a deep clean,’ Mrs. Growell said.
As usual, Isabella said nothing, but watched Annie with a twinkle of amusement in her eyes.
Annie couldn’t help but smile. ‘There’s an, um, fudge pie competition this afternoon that I’ve been asked to, er, judge.’
Mr. Fairbrother chuckled. ‘A what?’
‘The contestants get an hour to make the most creative pie using only fudge and other confectionary,’ Annie said. ‘The winner will get the inaugural Fudge Pie Trophy, and then the entries will get auctioned off, with the money going to charity.’
‘Ha!’ Isabella cried, clapping her hands together.
‘Manners, dear,’ Mrs. Growell said, giving the girl a stern look.
‘What happens to all the, um, trimmings and stuff?’ Mr. Fairbrother said with a sheepish glance.
Annie grimaced. ‘The judges—who are basically me, Frank and Diana—are required to clean up.’
‘Well, bring me back a doggy bag,’ Mr. Fairbrother said with a wink. ‘Me and Marge’ll go halves down in the kitchen.’
‘I will not lower myself to eat table scraps from some fudge competition,’ Mrs. Growell snapped, even as Isabella grinned and patted her on the shoulder.
‘Ah, come on,’ Mr. Fairbrother said. ‘Might sweeten you up a bit.’
The fudge pie competition proved as interesting and stomach-filling as Annie had expected, but barely was she able to sit down before she was required to attend the first banquet dinner of the year at the village’s only hotel, Winter Sky Lodge. Having forgotten to tell Mrs. Growell she would be out for dinner, she made a quick phone call to the house, where she received a stern, ‘I would appreciate advance notice in future,’ for her troubles. Feeling a little guilty, she nevertheless enjoyed the meal, up until she was asked rather abruptly to make a speech to the assembled customers. Having drank too much wine, she bumbled her way through it, finishing with a hearty, ‘Merry Christmas!’ which brought cheers and raised glasses.
Afterwards, she felt too excited to go straight back to the hall, even though Mr. Fairbrother had promised to come out and pick her up any time she called. With a light snow falling and Undercastle glittering with Christmas lights, the cobblestone streets and stonewalled houses took on a magical, otherworldly quality. Annie wandered from one end of the village to the other, marvelling at the Christmas trees shining from inside lattice windows, listening to the tinkle of Christmas music. She sighed at the sight of a young couple sitting on a bench in the snow, their heads leaning against each other, their hands entwined. She smiled at a couple of children—who probably should have been in bed by now—chasing each other through the snow while their mothers called for order. Christmas had come, and with it her life and fortunes had overturned. She had fallen down an abyss and emerged into a magical world, somehow landing on her feet.
She headed back through the village, planning to use the payphone in the station, because one of Undercastle’s quirks was to have no cellular connection. In her grandfather’s notebooks Annie had found a paragraph complaining about the invasion of mobile phones to every part of life, and how he had hoped Undercastle might have been free from such a plague. While it made life a fraction more awkward than Annie would have liked, nevertheless a late night visit to the pretty train station, illuminated with Christmas light and glittering under a blanket of snow, was of no great concern. During the day Bill kept a vat of hot chocolate warm over a stove ready to greet the incoming passengers, and there was likely some left over.
Gentle background music greeted her as she climbed the steps on to the platform. The snow had fallen over the tracks but left most of the platform free. Christmas lights were strung along the edge of the overhanging roof, fed through the wrought iron decorative fixtures, lending the platform a calm and warmth that defied the falling snow and the chill in the air. The train had recently departed for its final evening trip to Penrith, taking the last group of day trippers home.
The payphone was at the platform’s far end. Annie walked along the tiles, her hands in her pockets, humming to herself. The payphone was just up ahead, but as she passed the final pillar before reaching it, she let out a little gasp.
A man was lying on a bench next to the wall, a small bag tucked under his head and a thick duffel coat draped over him.
Annie was about to go back to the station office to call whoever was on duty when the man shifted, turning over. He looked to be about forty, and wasn’t the ragamuffin she had initially expected. He wore nice shoes—if inappropriate for winter—and his hair was neatly cut. He had a kind, peaceful face, and looked like a teacher or a social worker. Annie found herself leaning over him, frowning, as he suddenly opened his eyes.
Annie gasped again and jumped back as the man sat up. She retreated a few steps, nearly slipped off the platform edge, and only recovered with an awkward, embarrassing flail of the arms. As she stumbled forwards again, narrowly avoiding the pillar, the man twisted around on the seat and pulled the coat over his shoulders.
‘I’m sorry to have startled you,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid I missed the last train, and had nowhere else to sleep. I … couldn’t afford to stay at the hotel, but I imagine it’s fully booked anyway.’
As he adjusted his clothing, Annie noticed a patch on the elbow of his sweater, and a tear on the lining of his coat that had been sewn up with awkward, unskilled stitches. She almost smiled; she’d had to do the same to a couple of her own jackets. Unable to help herself, she glanced at his hands, looking for any sign of a ring, but to her disappointment he was wearing gloves.
‘You shouldn’t stay out here,’ she said. ‘It’ll get much colder yet.’
The man smiled and patted a stomach that looked lean beneath his sweater. ‘Don’t worry, I have plenty of winter protection.’
Annie doubted it from the narrow angles of his face. ‘I’ll call the station master. At least you could sit inside.’
‘It’s all right. The first departure is at six, and it’s what … eleven now?’
Annie glanced up at the clock on the station wall. ‘Twenty past. You can’t stay out here for the next seven hours. You’ll freeze.’
The man smiled again. ‘It’s okay. I really don’t mind.’
Annie watched him, then realised he was doing the same to her, and quickly looked away. How much wine did I drink?
‘Sorry,’ she muttered. ‘I didn’t mean to stare. I drank a bit too much and you’re blurring a little bit.’
‘I’m the one in the middle,’ he said.
‘Did you just come for a day trip?’ Annie asked, then internally scolded herself for hunting ways to continue their conversation when she should be getting the man out of the cold. ‘Sorry, look, come with me. There’ll be a heater on inside. I don’t think the station master will mind us sitting in the waiting room.’ Us? What am I thinking?
‘Well, if you insist, but I don’t mind.’
Annie forced herself to turn away, and led the stranger back along the platform. She knew he was following from the soft tap of his shoes on the tiles. The waiting room was halfway along, but the light was off. Annie went inside and switched on the light, then turned on the heater in the corner. As the man came in and sat down on a bench by the wall, he rubbed his hands together.
‘It’ll warm up in a minute,’ Annie said.
‘Sorry, I didn’t realise this room was open,’ said the man. Then, with a smile, he added, ‘To answer your question, I’m not really sure how long I was coming for. I just needed to see the place, to pay my respects. Are you staying here, or are you working?’
‘I’m … ah, both really,’ Annie said, intrigued by his choice of words. ‘I’m kind of working here, and staying at the same time.’
‘In one of the shops?’
Annie shrugged. ‘Uh, general maintenance, I suppose you’d say.’
‘Well, it’s a beautiful place.’ He gave a little sigh. ‘I can see why people might want to stay. Sorry, my name’s Ray. Raymond Burns.’ He gave a little chuckle. ‘Say it fast.’
‘Ray … oh.’
Ray smiled. ‘Yeah. My school friends loved it. But, you know, kids are kids. Lad in my class was called William Tinkerbottom, so he took most of what I might have got otherwise.’
‘I see. Ah, my name’s Annie.’
Ray put out a hand. ‘Well, it’s nice to meet you Annie, on this cold, dark night.’
She took his hand. His palm was cold but soft, his fingers gentle. He ducked his head in a little bow as he squeezed her hand, then let go.
‘You make yourself comfortable, and I’ll go and see if there’s anything to drink in the station building,’ Annie said. ‘I know the station master usually makes a pot of hot chocolate during the day.’
‘Sure, thanks. That would be nice.’
Annie smiled, then turned and went through a door to the station concourse. The station master’s room was a little further along, and after explaining to the man on night duty what she wanted, she was able to make a couple of cups of hot chocolate from what had been left over during the day. Worried that Ray might not have eaten, she popped a couple of marshmallows on the side of the saucer, then headed back to the waiting room.
Ray … it was an old-fashioned name that was now back in vogue, as name cycles turned, she thought. Not so dissimilar to her own name really. Ray Burns … it was a little cringeworthy but Raymond was fine. She wondered who he was. He seemed friendly, had a nice smile.
Annie … what’s going on?
She stopped by the door to the waiting room, wondering if she ought to plan what she was going to say.
Don’t be ridiculous. He’s just a guy I met on a station platform.
In the aftermath of her divorce from Troy, Julie had suggested all manner of options to get Annie’s love life back on track, from singles apps to bizarre speed dating events, but the emotional fallout had left Annie too scared to consider anything. And surviving the sheer poverty that the divorce settlement had plunged her into had taken up whatever energy was left. Troy had set out to rip out her soul, and had managed it rather well, leaving Annie like a smoking bomb crater. However, the unforeseen circumstances that had brought her to this train station in the middle of nowhere had gone some way to refilling the crater of her life and had even planted a few flowers. Perhaps it was time.
And after all, it doesn’t look like he’s with anyone. Otherwise, what would he be doing here on his own?
Finally deciding to at least try to keep the conversation going a little longer, Annie steeled herself and pushed through the doors.
At the sight of Ray, she stopped.
He lay stretched out on one of the benches, his jacket pulled over him like a blanket, his eyes closed, a gentle smile on his face.
Annie let out a sigh. He looked so peaceful, so she couldn’t wake him. After a moment’s thought, she set down the hot chocolate near his head, but just far enough away that he wouldn’t knock it if he woke suddenly. Then, as an afterthought, she put her own marshmallows alongside his. He probably needed the energy.
Then, giving the sleeping man a brief, regretful smile, she switched off the light and went out, taking her own cup back to the station master’s office, before hurrying off to call Mr. Fairbrother.
After all, it was getting late.