‘Not quite, they were a present from a client. She has a rabbit called Earl Grey, appropriately enough.’
‘Earl Grey … it makes a change from Peter, I suppose. The mince pies look lovely, but if you don’t mind, I’ll take one home for tomorrow, because I don’t want to spoil my dinner.’ His mother sipped her tea. ‘Not bad.’
‘Thanks.’
She peered around the room over the top of her cup. ‘You know, this is a big place for you to rattle around in on your own.’
‘I’m not on my own – I have Harold,’ Brody insisted wearily, having heard similar comments before and knowing where this was going. ‘And to be fair, you did suggest that I should live here instead of you, Mum.’ He bit into a mince pie to avoid meeting her eye.
‘That was when I thought there’d be you and a family in it,’ his mother said, then smiled. ‘But let’s hope that might be going to change in the not-too-distant future.’
Brody choked, then coughed.
‘Are you OK?’
‘J-just the mince-pie crumbs,’ he said, gulping his tea. He rested his plate on the table. ‘I’ve been thinking …’ he said, jumping in to change the subject before she could press him any further. ‘I don’t think you and Samira should take on the job of decorating this place for the party on your own. I want to help.’
‘Youdo?’ Louise sounded surprised at his sudden enthusiasm.
‘Yes, it’s not fair on you, and I ought to take responsibility for my own house. Gather some greenery. Light the fires. Hang some tinsel.’
She laughed. ‘That’s very noble of you. The greenery would be great, thanks. And if you can keep Harold under some vestige of control, that would help.’
At the mention of his name, Harold opened one eye, butimmediately closed it again. He wasn’t a fan of mince pies unless they had actual mince in them.
‘I’ll leave the surgery early and come home to join you,’ Brody said, crossing his heart. ‘Promise.’
‘Thank you, that would be much appreciated.’
She finished her tea and got up. Brody followed her into the hall, Harold trotting after them, his paws clattering on the stone flags.
‘I see he’s making sure I’m really off the premises,’ she said, with a stern glare for their canine security man, and a peck on the cheek for Brody.
‘Harold just wants to say goodbye properly,’ Brody lied, knowing that the Labrador recognised he’d be able to go outside with Brody as soon their visitor had left and was eager for his evening walk.
‘Hmm …’ She zipped up her puffer coat and collected her scarf from Brody. ‘Oh, I almost forgot to mention, I saw Sophie in the village this morning. I had a few words with her while we were queuing in the bakery. She was buying a load of croissants for her guests. She told me she’d been to see you or, rather, her cats had.’
‘Yes, it was their annual check-up today.’ He shrugged on his old Barbour and a pair of muddy Hunters from inside the porch, deciding that leaving himself would be the only way to get his mother out.
‘Hmm, she’s a nice girl. Pretty in an English-rose way, and very polite, but also, don’t you think, a little bitodd?’
Brody decided it was best just to grunt in agreement, even though ‘pretty in an English-rose way’ implied thatSophie was some kind of delicate flower, which she very much wasn’t. On the contrary, he admired the spark in her green eyes and the courage she’d shown in moving to the Lakes to start a new business. There was surely some story behind that, but he never felt like it was his place to ask.
‘“Odd” in what way?’ he asked, even though the comment had rankled with him.
‘Well, I asked her if she was looking forward to Christmas, and you’d think I’d asked her if she was looking forward to the dentist’s. Her face was an absolute picture. Then I remembered she’s the one who’s been advertising the anti-Christmas holiday …’
Brody’s heart sank. ‘It’s not exactly anti-Christmas. I think it’s more of an alternative Christmas. From what I’ve heard,’ he added. He didn’t want his mother to know that he’d leapt to Sophie’s defence, in case she read too much into it, but he’d also corrected one of the local hoteliers who had sneered about Sophie down the pub the other day.
‘Whatever it’s called,’ his mum said. ‘Imagine being so against the festive season that you want to spend it with a bunch of strangers who can’t stand to see other people enjoying themselves. It really is so sad. I wonder what’s happened to that girl to make her so hostile to it all?’
‘I’ve no idea, Mum. She didn’t tell me about her tragic past, as you imagine it, while I was sticking a thermometer up her cats’ bums this morning.’
‘Brody!’ Louise cried. ‘Do you have to be quite so graphic?’
He grinned, thrilled that his shock tactic had worked. ‘Sorry.’
Harold let out a low woof, which Brody knew meant: hurry up and get rid of her, so I can go out for my evening walk.
