Page 78 of Christmas Every Day


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‘The house isn’t very tidy.’

I burst out laughing at that until Frances, realising who she was talking to, had to crack a smile.

We settled in her conservatory, the French doors flung open to allow the summery air in, although Frances still huddled under a thick woollen blanket. We talked about this and that while we ate, I asked if she had known my grandmother, but she said she had only moved to the forest ten years ago, and Charlotte Meadows had already been something of a recluse by then.

She told me stories about Big Mike, the years they’d spent travelling the world. Her job as a teacher, all the way from private schools in Hong Kong through to mud-shacks in Uganda. I told her about my own failed attempts to further my education, which she dismissed as simply not having found the right path yet.

‘What are you going to do once the house is finished?’

‘I don’t think I can see that far into the future.’ I shrugged.

She sniffed. ‘You can’t keep running forever.’

‘Running from what?’ I put my plate down on the side table.

‘Your true self. It’s worth a little thought, isn’t it? What do you love? Where do your passions lie? What are you good at? Who are you, Jenny, and why are you here?’

‘Wow.’ I rubbed my face. ‘Are you trying to put me off coming over again? Truthfully, I have no idea who I am. That’s why I’m living in a derelict germ-pit in the middle of nowhere, hoping that as I sort through the mess and the muddle, I might find myself in the process.’

She sat back, nodding. ‘Well, keep looking. You’ll get there.’

Not long after that, she sent me off to make coffee, and when I returned she had fallen asleep, which was what I’d been waiting for. I spent the next two hours cleaning up Frances’ kitchen, scrubbing her bathroom and changing her bed. I swept the wooden floors and hung sheets to blow on the washing line, making a fresh pot of coffee just as she woke up.

‘Ah, thank you, Jenny. I fear I may have dozed off for a moment there.’

‘I took the liberty of giving things a quick once-over while you rested. I hope that’s okay.’

She scowled at me. ‘No. It is not okay. But if you happen to be adrift next Saturday, you may share your lunch with me again.’

‘I’ll look forward to it.’

Although Frances couldn’t look forward to Ellen, Sarah, Ashley, Lucille and Jamie calling in the rest of the week, because I wasn’t going to tell her. She’d figure it out soon enough.

* * *

Sunday afternoon, I helped a young couple who’d responded to my Freecycle ad carry out several small pieces of furniture to their car. I nearly dropped the glass side table when I saw the Mini had returned. Almost dying from curiosity, I hastily loaded the table into the couple’s boot and tiptoed back past Mack’s kitchen window, feigning a casual glance inside.

Two mugs sat on the draining board.

Heart pounding, I scanned the room. A red and green handbag hung off the back of a chair.

For a brief moment, I hated that handbag.

Then I remembered that Mack loved his wife, 'til death did them part, and as Mack’s friend I was, of course, supposed to be happy for him.

Still, itwasan ugly bag. Pretentious. Too small to be of any genuine use. Hardly designed for forest life. I stomped on past and kept on stomping until I reached the Common. Then, realising I hadn’t brought my own sensible weatherproof bag, which also happened to contain my purse, I stomped back. After spending a while pricing up lamps for the car boot sale, while pretending not to be straining my ears towards next door, I turned some music up, loud, and logged into the Squash Harris website.

There were three comments.

One, from Sarah, quoting how much Edison loved it. She’d also shared the link on Facebook and a couple of people had responded.

They loved the comic. One of them asked when the next edition would be posted.

I nearly forgot all about the blood-red, bile-green handbag.

A few more messages and it would be ready to show Dawson.

I had another go at carefully unpeeling the notebooks, still crisping in the airing cupboard. The outer two thirds were dry, but I wasn’t going to risk opening them until they were completely ready.