Snow had started to fall on the night of the carol concert, and by Christmas Eve morning the cottage was covered in it. Though Connell had said goodbye, it turned out that he wouldn’t be leaving after all. ‘Can you believe this?’ he announced, pulling off his snow-speckled black jacket as he re-entered the cottage. ‘The village is snowed in. We’re cut off!’
‘Really?’ Lucy was astounded. ‘I don’t think that’s happened here for years. Are you sure all the roads are closed?’
‘At the moment, yes, but hopefully they’ll clear them pretty soon. I’ve had to leave my car outside the pub. Couldn’t manage to turn back.’ She handed him a coffee which he sipped distractedly, then plonked the mug on the windowsill.
‘Well, there’s not much you can do at the moment,’ she added.
He exhaled loudly. ‘But I have to get back today. It’s really important. They’ll grit the roads, won’t they?’
‘At some point, yes,’ she said, trying to convey optimism. She sympathised; of course Connell wanted to get home to Nottingham for Christmas Day rather than being trapped with her and her family. But right now, there was nothing anyone could do. ‘I’m sorry you’re stuck here,’ Lucy said, ‘but why not enjoy it for now? The kids have sledges, and I’m sure we can get hold of a couple of spares.’
‘Uh … no thanks,’ Connell said quickly, as if she had suggested abseiling. ‘I just need to focus on getting out of here.’ As if he was planning to stare the snow into submission. So Lucy, the children and her parents set off without him – the aunts had also decided to stay at home – and they met up with a whole bunch of villagers who were already whizzing down the slopes, whooping and screaming, hats and gloves flashing brightly against the white. The sky was a clear unblemished blue, the sun shining brightly. It seemed as if the whole village had come out to play. With a twinge, Lucy realised she was missing James and wished he was here too, with Spike. They would love this. At least he’d texted, and she had replied immediately. She wondered if, after her ‘moment’ with Connell last month, she’d been unwittingly creating a little distance from James, even though it made no sense to do so. Whatever had happened, they’d been seeing less of each other recently and she felt a little hurt that he hadn’t told her he’d be taking Kenny to Liverpool for Christmas.
Lucy’s boots crunched into the snow as she dragged a sledge up the hill. Marnie and Sam were already scooting downwards at top speed, her parents cheering from the bottom of the slope, Tilly running in excited circles.
This was what Christmas was about, Lucy decided, sitting gingerly on her own sledge, unprepared for Jodie rushing over and giving her a firm shove. What a pity Connell was missing this, she thought fleetingly – then she wasn’t thinking about anything at all because she had gathered speed and was whizzing so fast that she felt as though she might take off. Lucy yelped with joy, feeling like a child herself as the cold air rushed past her face. She swooped over bumps and dips, coming to a juddering halt as she rammed the heels of her flat boots into the snow as a primitive brake.
Two hours went by, before Lucy finally decided that her stoic parents looked freezing, and they all headed back home, with the addition of Amber and Noah, who had begged to come over when they’d heard that pancakes were promised. As they all warmed themselves in the kitchen, Lucy whipped up a batch of batter and fried numerous pancakes, two pans on the go simultaneously to minimise waiting time for the hungry kids.
The mood dipped a little when Aunt Elspeth produced the mountainous panettone she’d brought, and none of the children seemed particularly interested in eating it. ‘Try a bit,’ she urged Sam, rather sharply.
‘I’ve had it before,’ he announced. ‘It’s just bread.’
‘No, it’s a cake, Sam.’
Keen to avoid an endless it’s-bread-no-it’s-cake loop, Lucy called out, ‘Who’d like hot chocolate?’
‘We’ve got marshmallows!’ Marnie reminded her, delving into a cupboard. ‘Pink and white ones.’
‘And Flakes,’ Lucy added, ‘to sprinkle on top.’
‘And squirty cream!’ Sam yelled, diving for the fridge, while Aunt Elspeth looked on with mild disapproval, as if the shunning of her panettone came under the banner of bad manners, which must surely be Lucy’s fault for not raising him properly. Lucy’s slight fear of her eldest aunt had clearly never quite gone away.
‘This year it’s the panettone,’ Aunt Elspeth said dryly. ‘Last year it was the glazed camembert.’
Lucy was tempted to hand her a pen and paper and say, ‘Would you like to list more foods my children won’t eat?’ But instead, she busied herself by topping up the adults’ mugs as the children tucked into the hot chocolates before charging out to the garden to play in the snow.
When Connell reappeared, accepting a steaming mug from Lucy, he sank wearily onto a kitchen chair. ‘So it looks like I definitely won’t be going home for Christmas.’
‘Oh, I am sorry,’ Lucy said. ‘Who were you planning to have it with?’
‘Just … just friends,’ he said vaguely. ‘It’s more …’ He sighed. ‘That feeling of being cut off from civilisation, you know?’
It’s hardly the Arctic Circle, she wanted to say. It’s a village that has pretty much everything. ‘I know it’s frustrating,’ she said, ‘but we’ll have a lovely time here. You’re welcome to spend it with us, of course.’
‘Christ, that’s going to go down well!’
He seemed to catch himself then, and at the moment she knew there was someone waiting at home, someone who would be terribly disappointed by his absence. ‘You said you were planning to spend it with friends?’ she prompted him gently.
He sighed and nodded. ‘Well … a friend, actually. It’s all pretty new. She’s only just moved into my place.’
She studied his face, which had barely changed at all since the time when she’d first known him. He still had the air of a hapless student, trying to figure out a tricky situation with a girl. ‘Your first Christmas together, then,’ she remarked, and he nodded.
‘It was supposed to be, yes.’
She smiled, trying to lift him out of his gloom. ‘I’m sure she’ll forgive you. I mean, you can’t help the snow. And, as I said, you’re very welcome to spend the day with us – if you can stand us.’
He glanced dolefully out of the window, then back at her. ‘Of course I can. That’s very kind of you.’
‘Honestly, we’d love to have you here with us.’ But before she turned away to clear the plates and scraps of pancake the kids had left in their wake, she caught Connell’s bleak expression. And she guessed it would take more than a hot chocolate to put a smile back on his face.
Christmas Day dawned, and Lucy saw that yet more snow had fallen when she got up at six. The children were already up and highly charged, tearing open their stockings, and a couple of hours later everyone had drifted into the kitchen, looking expectant as if waiting for the magic to begin.
Lucy had never been good at asking for help. But today she’d decided that, as everyone had bowled up here, they could all take part – including the children, who were tasked with setting the table and prepping smoked salmon starters, and her father, who willingly grabbed a peeler and set to work on a mound of potatoes.
Lucy’s mother, who never caught ‘any of these peculiar viruses’ – who didn’t have time to be ill – was in bed, stricken down with flu.
‘We could have done this last night,’ her dad said cheerfully, ‘after those cocktails we had. It would have been quite fun, attacking 200 sprouts and putting little crosses on their bottoms.’
‘No need for that, Paddy,’ muttered Aunt Elspeth, who was prepping the turkey in some mysterious way, tying it up tightly with string as if preparing to send it overseas, while Aunt Flora, the precious one, was making terribly hard work of chopping carrots.
‘So much food,’ Aunt Elspeth exclaimed. ‘I hope none of it’s wasted. I don’t know what Anna was thinking, bringing that huge Stilton wheel.’
‘I’m sure we’ll get through it,’ Lucy said cheerfully.
‘There’ll be loads of leftovers,’ she lamented, as Lucy thrust a glass of Prosecco into her hand.
‘We haven’t even had Christmas dinner,’ she remarked. ‘Let’s not worry about the leftovers yet.’
‘Couldn’t this have all been done last night, like Paddy said?’ Christ, would Aunt Elspeth ever stop moaning?
‘Mum doesn’t believe in it,’ Lucy informed her, as if prepping ahead were a kind of religion. ‘She thinks the vegetables lose their taste. “If they were meant to lie about soaking,” she always says, “they’d have grown in water, like seaweed.”’
Her father spluttered with laughter. Despite the hectic scene, the mood was high, and Lucy swung around happily at the sound of Connell arriving.
‘Hey, Connell,’ she said. ‘Are you any good at gravy? We might need you to help out.’
‘Have you looked outside this morning?’ he said, frowning.
‘Yes – there’s even more snow.’ She shrugged. She loved it and refused to apologise for it.
He inhaled deeply, as if trying to bolster himself. ‘So, what would you like me to do?’
‘The gravy? I’m sorry to thrust a job at you right away. It’s just, there’s an awful lot to do.’
‘Gravy’s not quite my forte,’ he said apologetically.
‘Okay. Could you peel the parsnips?’
‘Um …’ He looked rather reticent about this too. Surely a man who could create intricate stained glass was capable of cutting up small root vegetables? She handed him a knife, feeling quite the project manager now as she hurried upstairs with a cup of tea and toast for her mother who was sitting up amidst a sea of crumpled tissues.
‘Oh, Mum. Poor you. Today of all days.’
‘Never mind, love. You all have fun.’ She blew her nose noisily. ‘Was that Connell I heard?’
Lucy laughed. ‘It was, Mum. Your hearing’s as keen as ever.’
‘He’s stuck here then, because of the snow?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Hmm.’ Lucy could sense her mother mulling over this state of affairs. ‘He might be around for quite a long time, then.’
‘I very much doubt it,’ Lucy said briskly, making for the door now. ‘He’s not at all happy to be here, you know. If he could dig himself out with a teaspoon, he would.’
Occasionally, when Lucy still worked at Claudine, they would have away-days. These would usually involve some kind of team-building enterprises like building go-karts or making a short documentary about the history of the bra. But nothing she had ever done demonstrated the brilliance of the teamwork today, in her own kitchen, in which everyone had played a part – even Aunt Flora, with her feeble carrot chopping, and even Connell who had grudgingly sliced up a grand total of three parsnips before hitting the wine.
They all ate until they could barely move, but somehow they still managed Christmas pudding with brandy sauce, which was also shunned by Sam (take note, Aunt Elspeth!). As dictated by both aunts, everyone – even a reluctant Connell – was rounded up to watch the Queen’s speech, and once that was done there were shouty board games of a less serious nature than those usually favoured by Elspeth.
They all flopped out in front of It’s a Wonderful Life, with Lucy’s father snoring softly in his Christmas jumper, and Aunt Flora guarding the wooden box of Turkish delight, even though no one else wanted any. Even Anna had managed to rouse herself and join the party downstairs.
And as the day drew to an end, with Tilly making off with a mince pie before anyone could grab it off her, Lucy poured herself a large glass of wine and stood at the open back door, looking out on her snow-covered garden. The broken shed was still thickly covered, the snow on the lawn kicked up by the children, but softening now as flakes still fell, light and gentle, slowly covering their tracks.
It had been a wonderful Christmas. Everyone said so as they got ready to leave three days later, by which point pretty much all of the leftovers had been eaten, and Aunt Elspeth had reminded Lucy about seventeen times that the Stilton wheel would make excellent soup.
‘Cheese soup?’ Marnie cried out in horror. Aunt Elspeth glanced over, no doubt adding yet another item to the list of Things Lucy’s Children Won’t Eat. But nothing – not even a sour-faced relative – could spoil this Christmas, possibly Lucy’s last Christmas in Rosemary Lane.