Page 8 of Escape for Christmas
If Vee or Ricky was unavailable for any reason, or theywere especially busy, Sophie herself stepped in to help with the cleaning or anything else that needed doing. She used a professional laundry service for the sheets and towels, which helped a lot, but she was ready to muck in when needed.
Through her housekeeper she’d met Vee’s husband, Kev, and his friends from the mountain-rescue team. The whole community had opened its arms to this stranger from the south, who was single and naive in the ways of running a guest house in the relative wilds of Cumbria.
Whether by helping Vee, the mountain-rescue team or going to Brody’s ‘party’, Sophie felt she owed it to the community to give a little back, no matter how uncomfortable she might find it.
CHAPTER THREE
‘So I need to finalise the guest list for the do.’ Louise McKenna’s pen was poised ominously over her clipboard.
‘Sure,’ Brody muttered, busy adding a log to the fire in the snug. Harold was snoozing as close to it as he dared. Both he and Brody liked to spend the winter evenings in the smaller room, with its cast-off furniture and shabby rugs that had been relegated from the much larger sitting room, which they saved for when they had guests, although that was rare these days.
Not counting as a guest, Brody’s mother perched on the sofa.
‘I’ve ordered the canapés. I don’t have time to be making them myself, so the caterers will deliver late on the afternoon of the party. I’ve based it on six per person. We have salmon blinis, mini-Yorkshires with beef and horseradish, two vegan options and two sweet ones. How does that sound?’
Sparks flew from the hearth as Brody settled the log on the fire with a poker and a puff of wood-smoke filled the air.
He sat back down in the armchair, trying to give his mother the full attention she deserved, but it was hard tofeign interest in party-planning such as canapé choices. He noticed that his mum looked tired underneath her make-up. At sixty-five, she was still a powerhouse, juggling her role as a director of the McKenna family business with numerous activities and community groups. But she was his mum, and he couldn’t help worry that she was doing too much and needed to ease up a bit.
‘You always sit in your dad’s chair,’ she remarked with a wistful smile. ‘It looks ready to fall apart.’
‘Um, I don’t mind.’ Brody shrugged.
‘You will when you fall through the seat. Why don’t you let me have it re-upholstered for you? I could arrange it in the New Year?’ she offered. ‘Call it a late extra Christmas present?’
A spring creaked as Brody shifted in his seat, which didn’t help his case. The chair was falling apart, although he felt an ache in his chest at the thought of parting with his beloved armchair, even if only temporarily. He felt close to his father, Ralph, when he sat in it.
His mum had been incredible since his dad had died suddenly of a heart attack when Brody was only seventeen, helping to run the business and support so many worthy causes in the village, but he knew it was also for her, because keeping busy was good for Louise and meant she couldn’t wallow.
His father had loved the wingback chair that Brody liked to occupy now. Once Brody had qualified as a vet at twenty-five, his mum had asked him to take on Felltop Farm, preferring to move to a new-build cottage in what she called‘the heart of the action’ in Bannerdale. He now owned the house jointly with her and was gradually paying her off. It had meant he could get on the property ladder, and his mum could have a fresh start, away from a place that was too big for her and filled with too many memories.
‘True,’ he said, seeing the tenderness behind her eyes and that she was trying to do something thoughtful concerning the chair. She might try to manage him too much, yet Brody understood that it was her way of showing she cared. ‘Good idea at some point, butI’llpay.’
‘I was going to treat you,’ she said.
‘No,’ he replied firmly, wanting complete control over the process so that he could steel himself and do it when he felt ready.
‘OK. I know that look. It was the same one your father used to roll out when he was about to dig his heels in with me. As you’re busy, I’ll leave it with you, shall I, and then remind you after Christmas?’
‘Thanks.’ Brody leaned back in the chair, silently hoping it would still feel the same chair when it returned from its makeover.Ifhe ever got round to arranging it.
His mum sighed triumphantly. ‘Wow, that was easier than I thought. I was expecting a battle lasting for months, at least.’
‘I hate to be predictable,’ he said, suspecting the chair saga would go on for months, with a bit of luck.
‘Shame we can’t sort it before the party, but I’ve got a nice chenille throw that will hide it.’
‘The guests won’t come in here, will they?’ Brody wasunable to hide his dismay. ‘I thought this was going to be Harold’s haven.’
‘Harold can go … wherever. We need all the rooms open, for guests to mingle around, and in tip-top shape. Don’t worry, I’ve got a plan,’ she said, tapping the clipboard with her pen. ‘On that note, here’s the schedule for the party day. I’ll come round at lunchtime while you’re at work, with Samira from swimming. She’s a whizz at the decor for these kinds of things.’
Brody listened, knowing he wasn’t required to answer anyway.
‘Your job will be collecting the booze from the wine merchant on your way home from the surgery,’ his mother went on. Brody nodded, just so she’d think he was engaged on the subject. ‘We can keep it in one of the outhouses until it’s time to serve it. You don’t have the fridge space anyway. The caterers are loaning us some glasses and china. They said not to worry if anything gets broken because they’ll bring spares.’
Brody felt his phone buzz against his thigh. It must have slipped between the cushion and the frame of the chair. His fingers itched. He ought to answer it. It might be urgent, because he was on-call this evening.
His mum looked at him sharply. ‘Brody, did you get all that? Are you listening?’
