Page 18 of Home This Christmas

FOURTEEN

‘Ruby, welcome!’ Will kisses me on both cheeks as I arrive at his beautiful home. He ushers me inside, and I take in the scent of his expensive cologne. He is dressed in a pink shirt, sleeves rolled up, and navy jeans.

I hand him the bottle of red wine – the best from the limited choice at the high street food store, along with the cheesecake, and he thanks me warmly.

‘Great choice,’ he says. ‘I forgot to defrost a dessert, so was thinking about cheese and crackers,’ he tells me, which makes me feel better.

Inside, the guests are assembled on sofas surrounding the roaring log fire. The neighbour who was at the restaurant is accompanied by her husband this evening, and introductions are made.

‘So how are you enjoying being back in Brindleford?’ asks Henry as we move into the kitchen and are seated at the large dining table.

I ponder his question a minute before I answer. ‘To my surprise I have rather enjoyed being back here – at least some aspects of it.’

‘Any in particular?’ Will asks with a cheeky wink.

Maybe I ought to ramp up the flirting a little. It might distract me from Nathan, and I do find Will attractive, there’s no doubting it.

‘Visiting the church and the village hall brought back lots of memories…’ I sip the deep, rich wine Will had served.

‘Oh, and the toy shop was a particular highlight. It’s nice to see that some things never change.

I am hoping to pop into the library before I leave as that holds lots of childhood memories for me too. ’

I glance at Will, who swirls his drink around in his glass and avoids eye contact, his playful smile seemingly vanished.

‘So have you seen any old familiar faces?’ Henry asks.

‘One or two. I was happy to run into Marilyn from the church.’

I tell Henry about seventy-year-old Marilyn buying a sledge and heading for the hills, and they all laugh.

‘She sounds inspirational. Shall I get you one, Dad?’ Will teases.

‘No bloomin’ chance.’ Henry shakes his head. ‘I have managed to get to eighty years of age without breaking any bones; I don’t want to risk it now.’ He chuckles.

The dinner feels relaxed, with garlic bread and salad on the table. Will tells us to help ourselves as he brings a piping lasagne out of the oven. It really is quite delicious, and when I tell Will, he is very pleased with himself.

‘I can relax now.’ He grins. ‘It may be a simple thing, but a perfect lasagne is hard to nail.’

‘I never said it was perfect,’ I tease, before taking a sip of my wine.

When dinner is over, Will brings out the cheesecake I bought and talk turns to our respective careers.

I learn that Will’s guests are retired teachers and enjoying exploring Britain in their camper van.

After asking me about my TV career, I decide it’s time to approach the subject of Will’s latest venture.

‘It would appear everyone in the village seems to know you.’ I turn to Will. ‘Or at least your building work.’

‘Been talking about me, have you?’ he says, with that cheeky grin.

‘Actually, it was Marilyn who mentioned it…’ I reply.

‘Oh most people in the area know who I am,’ he says. ‘A few of the other villages around here have at least a dozen of our sustainable houses. As I said, it’s a really good opportunity for the next generation,’ he states proudly.

‘Although it seems a lot of them move away for work,’ I remind him. ‘There isn’t much opportunity for employment in the small villages. So I wondered whether some of the houses are bought up as holiday homes…’

‘Not usually.’ Will’s jaw tightens slightly. ‘Besides, some locals are happy to commute to nearby towns for work; but yes, some do move out of the area. At least with affordable housing it gives them a choice.’ He shrugs.

A fair point, I guess. Some people do like to remain in the place they were raised in. After all, I would probably have done the same, had it not been for my fierce ambition to pursue a career in the media.

‘And Penny is a local girl. Thank goodness she set up that bakery,’ he adds, polishing off the last of his cheesecake and making appreciative noises.

‘Right, anyone for coffee?’ Will stands and I offer to help.

‘Not for me, lad, but I’ll have a whisky nightcap I think. Might help me to nod off; my back’s been playing up a bit today.’ Henry winces theatrically as he rubs at it.

‘It’s a good job I’m driving him back when he leaves,’ Will tells me in the kitchen as he busies himself with the coffee machine. ‘I had not realised how old he was getting. I do worry about him sometimes.’

‘I know what you mean. We think our parents will stay the same forever.’ I think of my own mum, who at the moment is fiercely independent. That won’t always be the case, though, and I try not to think about it. ‘So, you are driving Henry back to London?’

‘I am. I’ll get the train back here. I have been trying to persuade Dad to move in with me for years, but he is having none of it,’ he reveals, as the coffee machine hisses.

I ask him which coffee cups to use, before setting them down on the counter. I am about to suggest I drive Henry home, recalling the journey here not being too bad, when Will reminds me that he will be staying on here for another week.

‘But at least he will be here for Christmas and New Year. We have a few things planned – including a New Year’s Eve party.’

‘That sounds nice.’ I smile, thinking it sweet how Will likes to look after his father.

Could he really be the type of man to be happy to buy the land that is the site of a library and children’s play area?

I am about to broach the subject again, when Will picks up the tray of coffees and carries it through to the lounge.

Talk turns to everyone’s plans for Christmas Day, and before I know it, it’s time to leave. It seems I have missed the chance to do any more digging about the library.

‘Thank you for a lovely evening,’ I tell Will as he helps me on with my coat. A glance at my watch tells me that the grumpy taxi driver who drove me here will be outside in exactly one minute, and I get the feeling he will be punctual.

At the front door, we stand facing each other for a second, and I can feel Will’s masculine presence.

He kisses me on both cheeks and thanks me for coming.

For a second, I wonder whether he is about to move in for a kiss on the lips, when a beam of light slides along the gravel driveway as my taxi arrives.

‘Thanks again,’ I say before walking to the awaiting car. I feel a strange sense of relief and disappointment at the arrival of the driver.

Will follows me and opens the door for me. ‘I hope I can see you again before you leave,’ he says as he leans in close.

‘I’d like that.’

I hear my driver cough, so we say our final goodbyes and set off back for Brindleford, my mind in a turmoil. Wasn’t I supposed to ask Will directly about his plans? Yet there I was having a perfectly lovely evening, and not pressing Will about his plans, even when we were alone in the kitchen.

I tell myself that it wasn’t really the place to be having that type of discussion, and that I will ask him directly about it next time we meet. In the meantime, I have the small matter of telling Marilyn that I have managed to find out absolutely nothing.

‘So how did it go at Will’s dinner party?’ Marilyn asks the next morning.

She has called in for coffee at the hotel, whilst her husband is hosting a wedding rehearsal with a couple from the village. I can’t think of anything more romantic than a Christmas wedding – it’s a shame I won’t be here to see it.

Today, Marilyn is wearing large, red-rimmed glasses and a rather fetching purple faux-fur coat. Her short hair has been trimmed and with her red lipstick, she reminds me a little of Prue Leith.

‘I’m so sorry, Marilyn, I never really found out much,’ I tell her truthfully.

I hadn’t realised just how much I might enjoy getting involved with the villagers and their problems. ‘I feel like I have let you down, but it never really seemed like the place to discuss his business affairs. He had other guests, and it was all rather jovial and Christmassy.’

‘Oh well, never mind. I suppose the deal is already done.’ She sighs, draining her coffee. ‘These things usually are, even before they come to the public’s attention. That doesn’t mean we will not fight for our library, though,’ she says with conviction.

‘I promise I will speak to him again. Although I’m not sure what good it will do, as I will be on my way home before I know it.’

‘What will be will be, although as I said, not without a fight, don’t you worry. Anyway, I take it you will be joining us for the nativity later?’ she asks.

‘The nativity is this evening?’

‘It is. It is one of the things I look forward to the most at Christmas.’

‘Oh, me too. Yes, I would love to come along, it was always such a joy.’

‘No donkeys these days, though’ – she winks – ‘apart from children wearing outfits.’

We reminisce about the time a donkey defecated on the floor and both roar with laughter.

‘Well, at least the children won’t do that. Or I hope not.’ She nudges me, and I crease up with laughter once more.

‘Anyway, don’t worry about not finding out much. In all honesty, there is not much you could have done anyway.’ She sighs.

‘But I at least have to try,’ I tell her as we finish our coffee.

‘In fact, I know someone at a regional TV station in Leeds. I heard from Sienna that Amanda Lewis is currently covering some local news stories there. Maybe they could come and film the story, if you could get together some protestors.’ My mind is working overtime.

‘That’s how we’ll find out for sure. And you know, the council have a duty to tell the public of future house builds in the area. ’

I feel a little torn as Will is quickly becoming a friend, but once village libraries start being demolished for new houses, who knows where it will end?

‘That’s a wonderful idea,’ she says, placing her coffee cup down. ‘Do you really think you could help?’

‘I will if I can,’ I promise.

‘And I will get a petition started on social media if you like. I don’t know why I hadn’t thought of it before now, but then the council have been very cagey about actually making an announcement…’ she tells me.

‘Surely, they must reveal proposed building plans to the public, though?’

‘Oh they do. But we don’t have a local free paper anymore, which is probably a calculated move to keep us in the dark about everything.

’ She taps the side of her nose. ‘They probably taped the planning proposals to a lamp post in the dead of night or something, to cover themselves. Or maybe it was overlooked, who knows? What I do know is, we cannot lose our library. Especially as they think it is under-used, which is complete nonsense.’ She shakes her head.

‘The library isn’t just for borrowing books; it hosts so many events, including craft clubs, after-school Lego club, and many other activities in the school holidays… ’ she explains.

I think of the café with the book corner that is charming, but hardly big enough for activities during the school holidays. The more I hear of how the library plays a part in the community, the more outraged I become.

‘I will get Gerard to talk to the congregation on Sunday, although the flock is getting rather small, I hate to say.’ Marilyn sighs.

‘We have our regulars, and one or two curious young families, who have bought houses in the village, but they never seem to return. I’ve told Gerard that maybe we need to install a coffee machine.

His sermons can’t be that bad, surely?’ She laughs.

‘No, of course they aren’t,’ I reassure her, recalling Gerard’s rather animated and lively sermons, often involving role play with unsuspecting members of the congregation.

He once chose me – and I’ve never understood why – to play Jezebel, a biblical harlot, when I was seventeen years old.

Maybe he had got wind of my evening away with Nathan at the Premier Inn.

‘A coffee machine might not be a bad idea,’ I say, only half joking. ‘Anyway, I am sure the parishioners will rally the rest of the villagers. And I promise to hear it straight from the horse’s mouth exactly what is going on.’

‘Wonderful. Perhaps you’ve been sent to us for a reason.’ Marilyn looks heavenward as she speaks.

‘Well, I don’t know about that, and I can’t make any promises.’ I smile. ‘But of course, I will do my best. To help.’

‘I appreciate it. Right, well, I must be off.’ Marilyn stands up. ‘I have a bit of admin to do for the church. Being a vicar’s wife is not all drinking tea and baking cakes.’ She winks. ‘Bye for now.’