Friday, 11 December 2020

Uncanny Christmas Tales – (012) The Girl Who Never Slept

 

I first met Olwen Carmichael on a grey murky day in October when I had been into the village of Upper Oakham to buy some essentials, milk, and bread essentially.

It had been sunny and bright when I left Honeysuckle Cottage that morning, so I decided to walk the two miles into the village and took one of the many paths through the woods.

However, by the time I was leaving the village store with my essential purchases it was raining, and it was that fine drizzly rain that soaked you in an instant and from a distance it gave the illusion of being a mist.

In fact, due to its inherent ability to obscure landmarks it was, to all intents and purposes, a mist.

 

My name is John Gallen, and I am a writer, although no one in the Oakham’s would have heard of me, but under my nom de plume of Neil K Fitzgerald you would be hard pressed to find anyone who had not, for under that name I had written a series of successful thrillers, six in all and a seventh was now well overdue.

I was recently divorced, though not my choice, my darling wife had cheated on me, with my best friend to boot so it couldn’t be avoided, but since the divorce I had struggled with the latest book in the series, it didn’t even have a title yet and I was fast approaching a crucial deadline.

So, I decided the best thing to do was to get away, right away where no one knew me and where there were no distractions.

So, I rented a house in the country, a holiday cottage in fact almost two miles from the nearest neighbour.

As it was out of season, I managed to book it from October to March, though I only planned to stay until I completed the book which I thought I would manage in a month, away from all the everyday distractions of a town, which was why I found myself living in the nauseatingly named Honeysuckle Cottage, which was, as the name might suggest, a pretty little cottage.

It would originally have been a two up two down, but it now had a single-story extension which housed the kitchen, upstairs was a small bedroom and the bathroom, which was equipped with a good old-fashioned man-sized bath, while downstairs in addition to the kitchen there was a sitting room and another bedroom.

 

Well, I had been walking back towards the cottage with my head down to protect my face from the slanting rain and making slow progress on the woodland path in my unsuitable shoes and when I eventually lifted my head up, I didn’t recognise a single tree and was completely disorientated, and as I wasn’t that familiar with the woods, I didn’t recognise anything.

As the rain continued to fall, I was starting to panic when a voice behind me said

“Are you alright?”

I turned around and saw a little creature of indeterminate age in a parka with a fur trimmed hood.

“I am embarrassed to say it, but I appear to be lost” I said

The figure stepped forward and pushed the hood back from her face to reveal a young woman in her mid-twenties who was no more than five foot tall.

“You’re lost?” she asked in disbelief and smiled broadly

“Yes” I said even more embarrassed

“Where were you going?” She asked

“Honeysuckle Cottage” I replied

“Oh, you’re the writer” she said

“Yes” I replied “John Gallen”

“I’m Olwen Carmichael, and we’re neighbours”

“Are we?” I asked

“Yes” She replied “I live in Cherry Tree House, just along the lane from you”

“Well, I am pleased to meet you Olwen”

“Come on, I’m going your way” She said, and she walked with me all the way to the cottage, she wasn’t the chattiest person I had ever met but I rather liked her, nonetheless.

“Here you are, safe home” she said smiling.

“Thank you for rescuing me and for walking me home” I said “Come in for a coffee”

“I can’t I have to be somewhere” she replied

“Another time perhaps” I suggested

“Yes” she agreed and hurried off.

 

A few days later I had to drive into Northchapel to do a more substantial shop to stock the cupboards, I had exhausted the meagre supplies I brought with me when I moved in plus, I needed some more appropriate footwear for the country.

Instead of going in the direction of Upper Oakham I drove the opposite way down the lane which would take me to Lower Oakham, and I drove past Cherry Tree House where my nearest neighbour lived.

It was roughly two miles from my cottage and despite being called a house it was also a cottage, though it was much bigger than mine.

I drove slowly as I passed it and I was surprised to find myself disappointed that there was no sign of life.

Beyond that were another three houses before the lane reached the Northchapel road, one of which was the home of my landlady, or at least the woman I was renting the Cottage from, Sandra Brown, who right on cue came out of her front door and waved.

I slowed down and waved back, and I was about to drive on when she flagged me down.

“How are you settling in?” Sandra said

“Fine” I replied “I’m just going into Northchapel to stock up on groceries”

“I won’t keep you then, but Pop in for tea on the way back” she said

 

With a boot full of Tesco’s finest tinned and dried goods I returned to Upper Oakham and didn’t really feel like stopping for tea with Mrs Brown, but she had invited me, and I thought it would have been rude not to, so I pulled up outside The Villa.

As we sat in her lounge drinking from her best China, I related the story of my getting lost in the woods and being rescued by a young woman called Olwen.

“Oh, she’s my niece” Sandra said with a mixture of pride and a little sadness “I worry about her”

“She seemed very sound when I met her” I said

“Oh, she is but the poor girl is an insomniac, she hasn’t slept properly for four years or so” she said “She only ever cat naps”

“Why is that?” I asked

She was thoughtful for a moment and then she said

“More tea?”

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to pry” I said

“It’s ok Mr Gallen” she said “It just makes me sad”

“I understand but please call me John”

She nodded and went all thoughtful again before she said

“Olwen always had a small problem with sleeping after her grandmother died in her sleep when she was 12, but she seemed to grow out of that in time” She paused to take a sip of her tea.

“Then when she was at University her best friend Gina suffered an embolism and died one night. Olwen was absolutely devastated but I think she would have come out the other side had it not been for the Kirby’s”

“The Kirby’s?” I asked

“Yes, they were a family from the village who died in a house fire.

It happened in the early hours as they slept, five of them, it was so tragic.

Olwen knew the family very well and she had even baby sat the children; it was the final straw for her and ever since that night Olwen has had a morbid fear of sleeping”

 

As I arrived home, or at least my temporary home I reflected on how candid Sandra had been, after all she could just have said she suffered from insomnia and left it at that.

I suppose not being honest might have failed to explain her irregular hours and her habit of walking the woods at all hours of the day and night.

I could relate to that in some ways as I was prone to keeping irregular hours myself, but I was pleased Sandra had told me everything as a writer I was naturally nosy but there was something about Olwen that struck a chord with me.

 

I continued to see Olwen walking the lane or one of the many woodland paths, though she never stopped to talk but she did occasionally wave, I did wonder what on earth she did with herself, there must be more to her life than walking the woods.

One day towards the end of October I was in the Upper village on a milk and bread run when I bumped into Sandra again.

“John” she said, “how’s the book going?”

“Hello Sandra, slowly I’m afraid”

“Well, I won’t keep you from it then” she said and laughed

“Don’t worry I need to rest my brain for a bit” I replied “in fact why don’t you pop in later and I will return your hospitality, I have cake”

“Well in that case I would love to”

 

On the way back to the cottage I wasn’t sure if I had given Sandra the wrong impression and my invite might have been misconstrued, she was an attractive woman some ten years my senior but nonetheless attractive, and a ten-year age gap wasn’t unheard of after all.

There was a knock at the door about 3 o’clock that afternoon and when I opened the door, I saw it was Sandra in a grubby Berber jacket, dirty wellies and mud-spattered jeans which put my mind at rest, she was hardly in the mode of dress for a woman who thought she had been invited for a tryst.

“Is it alright if I leave the dog in the porch?” she asked as she slipped off her wellies.

“Bring him in” I said

“Are you sure?” she asked “there is nothing worse than the smell of wet dog”

“Nonsense bring him in” I said

“Come on Skipper” she called, Skipper was an American Cocker Spaniel, very wet, very muddy, and very friendly.

He paused briefly for a stroke and then went straight to the hearth.

I made the tea and took it into the sitting room.

“No china cups I’m afraid” I said

“That’s good I prefer a mug” she responded, and I gave her a look because she had served tea to me on her best china.

“I know” she replied to my unasked question “I blame my mother”

And we both laughed, my mother was like that as well.

As we drank our tea, I found myself quizzing her about Olwen again, the nosy writer again I supposed,

“I see her in the woods or on the Lane a lot” I said

“Yes, she has a lot of time on her hands” Sandra replied

“She can’t hold down a job because she doesn’t sleep regularly and is prone to nodding off from time to time”

It seemed that financially she was set, her house was hers out right and she had an annuity from her parent’s estate which was enough for her to live on, as she led a very modest existence.

“So, what does she do to fill her days?” I asked

“She’s an avid reader” she replied “She’s reading all of yours at the moment”

“Really?” I said

“Olwen is also a bit of a movie buff especially classics” Sandra said “and of course she likes to walk”

I nodded

“It’s silly isn’t it that she feels safer walking the woods in the middle of the night that she does in her own bed”

“It is” I agreed

“She doesn’t eat properly either” she added with a lump in her throat and I thought how wonderful it was to have someone care about you that much.

 

It was Halloween and that time of the day when in my hometown there would be a constant stream of expectant children knocking on the door, however due to the remoteness of the cottage and the foulest weather I had seen for many a day, I wasn’t expecting even one.

So, imagine my surprise when there was indeed a knock at my door and when I opened the door, the sight that greeted me was as fearful a sight as you could imagine on any Halloween night, it was a drowned rat, caked in mud, and looking very sorry for itself.

“Hello Olwen” I said, “what on earth are you doing out in this filthy weather?”

“It wasn’t this bad when I started” she replied

She looked like she had been on manoeuvres with the SAS.

“Come in, come in” I said, “what happened?”

“Don’t laugh” she said “but I fell in a ditch”

“My God you are actually squelching” I said “get your coat and boots off”

I left her and went to get a towel when I came back, she was walking towards the warmth of the fire and she was still squelching.

She stood in front of the fire in her squelchy socks and shivered.

I went upstairs and started the bath running and put fresh towels on the rail and went downstairs again.

“Right, you need to get out of those wet things” I said in a fatherly tone

“I’ll be fine I just need to warm up a bit” she said

“Well, you won’t warm up if you’re wearing wet clothes” I said “so do as you’re told; the bath is running”

Olwen tried to protest but I wouldn’t let her

“Throw your wet things on to the landing and I’ll put a change of clothes in the spare room for you”

“Ok Mr Gallen” she said like she was addressing a teacher.

I went downstairs again and turned my attention to my dinner, I tended to only cook from scratch once a week, but I always made more than I needed, and the extra would be frozen and ready to use whenever.

On that particular day I was cooking lamb stew, so I gave it a stir and went to the airing cupboard in the spare room and looked for something that would be suitable for Olwen.

It wasn’t easy choosing from a selection of clothes made for a six-foot-tall, fifteen stone man and find something that would do for a tiny girl barely 5 foot tall and less than seven stone soaking wet.

The only thing I could find was a rugby shirt that was a bit long even on me so it would be like a dress on her and a pair of football sock that would reach her thighs.

I lay them on the bed and picked up the pile of wet clothes and carried them downstairs with me.

Once downstairs I set up the clothes drier in front of the fire and draped her things over it and almost immediately steam started to emanate from her socks.

Her boots were already on the hearth and her coat was draped over the back of a chair.

About half an hour later Olwen appeared in her oversized Harlequins Rugby shirt and black football socks fiddling with her tousled damp hair.

“Do you feel better now?” I asked

“Much better thank you” she replied

“I’m sorry about the wardrobe” I added “it was the best I could do”

“Its fine at least I won’t get cold” she said and laughed

“Well sit yourself down and I’ll get you some food”

“No don’t worry I’m really not hungry” she said, and I gave her a look

“Ok I’ll have a little bit” she said

“A wise decision” I said and went out to the kitchen.

I returned a few minutes later with a steaming bowl on a tray.

“Lamb stew” I said

I thought back to the conversation I had with Sandra about Olwen not eating properly and Olwen’s own statement not half an hour previously when she said

“I’m really not hungry”

Well for someone who wasn’t really hungry she did extremely well to polish off three bowls of Lamb stew.

While we ate, we watched an old Cary Grant movie called “Holiday” and when it was finished, she said 

“Well thank you for looking after me and entertaining me but I’d better change my clothes and get home” Said Olwen

I got up and went to the front door and when I opened it the rain was still coming down like stair rods.

“Just put your coat and boots on and I’ll run you home” I said

“No, you’ve been too kind already” she replied

“I’m not having you getting soaked to the skin again” I insisted

“You’re very bossy” she said with a smile

“I know” I said “That’s probably why I’m divorced”

I drove her the two miles up the lane to her cottage and she thanked me again and got out, but before she closed the door, she said

“Don’t get lost on your way home”

And 0she laughed like it was the funniest thing she’d ever heard in her life.

 

It was a day later when Olwen “popped in” for the first time and for the first of many times over the coming weeks, and we shared a conversation and a drink of coffee across the kitchen table.

The “pop ins” happened at any time of the day or night partly because of her insomnia and in part because I was a writer and kept irregular hours myself.

Sometimes when the muse was with me, I would just carry-on writing until I couldn’t see straight, so I had no set time to go to bed or to get up in the morning.

According to my ex-wife it was one of the things that contributed to the breakup of our marriage.

 

As we moved slowly through November the “pop ins” increased exponentially as we raced headlong towards December and I was disappointed on the days when I didn’t see her.

 

Once we got into December, I was no longer disappointed at her absences as I saw her every day.

It began on the 1st of the month when she helped me to put up the Christmas decorations and as we were hanging the last of the garlands, she said

“I love Christmas decorations”

“Me too” I said “I’ll help you put yours up when we’re done here”    

“No thanks” Olwen replied

“Why not?” I asked

“I never put decorations up at home” she said

“Why not?”

“I don’t know really” she mused “it makes me sad I suppose, it reminds me of a happier time, and I suppose that makes me sad”

“But you love decorations?” I said

“Yes”

“You love these decorations?” I asked

“Yes”

“Do they make you sad? I asked

“No”

“Why not?”

“Because I wasn’t a child in this cottage” she replied

“That’s nuts” I said

“I know” Olwen agreed “what can I say”

 

Anyway, Olwen came to the cottage every day to enjoy the decorations, watch classic Christmas movies and eat my stew, but we had kept most of her visits during normal hours until Christmas Eve.

I was burning the midnight oil because I was stuck on a tricky chapter the first of three chapters which needed to be submitted to my publishers by New Year’s Day.

It was partly Olwen’s fault I had gotten behind, but she was such a pleasant distraction, but to be perfectly honest she had become more of a distraction when she wasn’t there.

 

So, it was just after eleven o’clock on Christmas Eve and I was rewriting the same section for the umpteenth time when Olwen knocked on the door.

I could tell it was her before I opened the door by her unique knock.

“Hey” I said

“Do you mind me popping in on Christmas Eve, I don’t want to upset your artistic flow” she said

“No flow to interrupt at the moment I’m afraid, this chapter is giving me a lot of trouble” I replied

“What is it, writers block?” Olwen asked

“No, I’m not blocked, I’m writing ok, it’s just not very good” I said and laughed

“I could use a break” I lied

 

We sat on the sofa watching an old movie on cable, we chose it because of the title, “The Dream of Olwen”.

About half an hour into it she yawned and rested her head on my shoulder, I assumed it must be one of her infamous cat naps, and half an hour later she was still sleeping.

I could tell by her breathing, even though I couldn’t see her, that she was properly asleep.

So, I placed a cushion on my lap and gently lowered her head onto it.

Her legs were already on the sofa as she had been sitting in that side saddle fashion that girls have.

So, I dragged the edge of the throw from the back of the sofa and draped it over her slender body.

I watched the end of the movie and then switched off the TV.

Olwen was still sleeping so I reached for the A4 note pad I kept on the end table and resting it on the arm of the sofa I began writing and the words flowed from my pen like an inexhaustible stream and after three hours of furious writing I had put the troublesome chapter to bed.

I looked firstly at the sleeping girl with her head on my lap and saw she was still sleeping soundly and then up at the clock which told me it was 6.45am,

Not that the time was relevant, but I desperately needed to pee.

I slowly extricated myself, being careful not to wake Olwen and settled her onto the sofa and then tucked the throw around her.

As soon as I was up, I realised the temperature had dropped so before I went to the loo, I revived the fire in the grate and put some more wood on.

I then partly closed the door; I didn’t want her to wake up in a strange place and panic.

After having a much-needed pee I went into the kitchen to make a drink, which was when there was a knock at the door.

 

I couldn’t imagine who would be knocking on the door at 7 am on Christmas morning, but I opened it anyway and found Olwen’s Aunt Sandra standing there.

“Happy Christmas Sandra” I said

“Happy Christmas John” she responded but without any real conviction.

“Have you seen Olwen?” she asked “I saw her coming this way last night when I was walking the dog”

“I went to the cottage to wish her Happy Christmas and there’s no sign of her and her bed hasn’t been disturbed” she continued pacing the small hallway.

“All the lights are still on but there’s no sign of her and I’m really worried”

“Shhh” I said putting a finger to my lips “Come here Sandra, she’s asleep in the lounge”

She crept to the door and had a glance through gap into the sitting room.

“How long?” she asked

“Over six hours” I replied

“She obviously feels safe with you” Sandra said

“I won’t wake her” I said

“I’m sorry you have been disturbed like this” she added

“Nonsense, I enjoy having a beautiful girl for company at Christmas”

“You think she’s beautiful?” she asked

“Of course, doesn’t everybody?” I asked

Sandra smiled at me and kissed my cheek “Happy Christmas John” she said

“Christmas Dinner is at 3 o’clock”

 

After Sandra had left, I finished my drink and the lack of sleep suddenly caught up with me and I knew I had to sleep.

I didn’t want to leave Olwen to wake up on her own, but I was too tired to sleep in an armchair.

I thought for a moment and then went into the bedroom and got out the spare duvet before returning to the lounge.

I carefully drew back the throw from around her small frail frame and then picked her up.

“Hmmm” she murmured as I held her, then I carefully carried the beautiful featherweight little creature into the bedroom.

I laid her on top of the duvet and covered her with the spare.

I then went out and turned off the lights and locked the front door before returning to the bedroom and gently slipping between the duvets to lay down beside Olwen.

“Hmmm” she murmured as she snuggled in against me, so I put my arm around her and drifted off into a contented sleep.

 

It was remarkable how life can surprise you, when I rented Honeysuckle Cottage it was only ever intended as a short let, but I knew when I woke up in bed next to a smiling Olwen on Christmas morning, I would never leave the village.

The book was well under way now and I could easily have moved back to civilization, but while I had struggled with a particularly troublesome chapter, she had become my muse and my love.

 

Olwen, who had for so long held the world at arm’s length and avoided forming emotional attachments of any kind for fear they might lead to her heart being broken again, never imagined the course events would take after she rescued the panicky man lost in the woods.

She certainly never imagined she would wake up in his bed three months later or that she would have fallen in love with him.

 

When we woke up, we just lay beneath the cosy comforting warmth of the duvet and talked for an hour, all the unsaid things we had wanted to say in the weeks preceding Christmas when we had lost our hearts, before we reluctantly agreed that we needed to move as we couldn’t disappoint Aunt Sandra.

I got up first and showered shaved and dressed then Olwen showered while I warmed up the car.

When she had redressed, I drove her to her house where she finished getting ready and I waited in the house.

It was the first time I had been in there and it had an almost museum feel to it, no wonder she was always wandering, then we left the car outside Olwen’s house and prepared to walk the hundred yards or so to Aunt Sandra’s when it began to snow.

“This is the best Christmas ever” she said and took hold of my hand

“It’s a perfect Christmas” I concurred and kissed her

 

The moment we walked in through the front door of the Villa I realised the wisdom of leaving the car at Olwen’s because I would not be using it anymore that day as Uncle Norman thrust a cocktail of gargantuan proportions and indeterminate strength into my hand and I had no reason to suppose it wasn’t to be the first of many.

Oh, I almost forgot I finally decided on the title for the latest book.

“The Girl Who Never Slept”

Snippets of Downshire Life – Christingle

The Finchbottom Vale nestles comfortably between the Ancient Dancingdean Forest to the south and the rolling Pepperstock Hills in the north, and to the east 15 miles inland from Sharpington-By-Sea, equidistant between the seaside resort and Pepperstock Green was the rambling village of Brookley and at its heart were the churches of St Lucy and St Mildred’s and the Vicar of St Lucy’s was Reverend Ashleigh Bell, and the third weekend of advent was a test of endurance, which she called her “Miracle Marathon”,

St Lucy’s Day on Friday, The Carol Concert on Saturday night, the Sunday Service with the lighting of the third candle of advent, followed by Christingle in the afternoon, but on the Second Sunday of Advent all was not well.

 

On Sunday Morning Chris Baker awoke alone in his bed and judging by the content of a telephone conversation with his wife Linda, it seemed more than likely to be a permanent arrangement, and when he awoke that morning with images of Libby Barr in his head it seemed to him to be quite poignant.

 

Having completed his ablutions he walked down to the church with his Aunts Amy and Ruth, as usual, and he was surprised to see Libby outside St Lucy’s church engaged in conversation with Ashleigh Bell, the Vicar, and a young man that he didn’t know.

The last time he spoke to her she was away from the village for some family emergency, he didn’t know all the details, she was new to the village and he was still getting to know her.

“It’s just one thing after another” Ashleigh was saying

“It’s St Lucy’s day on Friday and next weekend we have the Third Advent Service, the Carol Concert and Christingle”

“What’s the matter? Is life testing your patience Vicar?”

Chris asked cheerfully

“No, it’s testing my faith,” she snapped without humour and went inside.

“Now look what you’ve done” Aunt Amy said and followed in the Vicars footsteps.

Aunt Ruth just looked at him and tutted and then followed her sister

“I think I’ll go back to bed,” he said to Libby, who blushed, almost as if she knew the contents of his dreams.

“What was the Vicar saying anyway?” he added

“The heating system has packed up” Libby replied

“Oh great” he said

There was a bit of an awkward silence and then he said

“Anyway, what are you doing here? I thought you were away on family business”

“I am… I mean… I was, I brought it with me instead” she said and then almost as an after thought

“Oh, by the way this is my brother Steven”

Steven was as different from Libby as it was possible to get.

He was the fat to her thin, the short to her tall, and the busty to her flat.

But in one obvious way there was no difference at all he had the same friendly open face, and Chris shook his hand warmly.

“Steven stayed at mine last night” she added

“So, you’re the family business?”

“Yes, pitiful isn’t it?” He replied and laughed

 

As we came out the church Libby said

“I rather enjoyed that, she gives a good sermon, even if it was a bit chilly in there”

“Come on over to the Fiddlers and I’ll buy you both lunch” he suggested “That’ll warm you up”

 

At the Fiddlers Elbow, the conversation turned back to the Vicar.

“I wouldn’t want you to get the wrong idea, it was very out of character” he said in defense of Ashleigh

“It’s just such a busy time for her”

“Don’t worry” Libby said, “I wasn’t offended, and I like Ashleigh”

“Good” Chris said, “It’s not like her to snap like that, the plumbing problem must really be bothering her”

“I thought the same thing” Libby said and added

“Anyway, Steve and I have been talking”

“What about?” He asked

“The plumbing” she said

“I didn’t know that was your area of expertise” Chris said

“I thought you were property magnates”

“Kind of” Steve replied and laughed

“We buy old houses and do them up, either for sale of let” he said

“But as part of the process we strip out and salvage a lot of stuff”

“So, what did you have in mind?” Chris asked

“Well, it’s not a complicated system,” Steven interjected “We could easily patch it up in the short term, to get them through Christmas, replace a few pipes and put in a better pump, and then we could look at a more permanent solution in the New Year, probably replace the whole thing”  

“They don’t have much money though” Chris added

“Not an issue” Libby said, “we know people who know people, and Steve and I can do the fitting”

“But I thought you were a “suit”” he said to Libby 

“I am” she replied proudly “but I had to do a lot of grafting before I got the suit”

“Are you sure we can do it?” he asked

“We?” Libby said

“Mr. Solicitor is going to get his hands dirty?” she asked disdainfully

“How do you think I managed to fund my education?” he retorted and they both nodded.

Well, he had been feeling rather guilty about his earlier flippancy with the Vicar, so it was with the most selfish of motives that he suggested they go and make her day.

 

Ashleigh Bell burst into tears when Libby and Steven put their proposal to her.

“It’s divine providence” Ashleigh sobbed as she hugged them both “I prayed for a solution and here you are”

She was so overcome she fainted away in Libby’s long gangly arms.

Steven and Chris made a tactical withdrawal and Libby stayed with Ashleigh for a while afterwards, and they took a walk around the village green and got to know each other.

He was also from Northchapel like Libby, but he was still living there until he sold his house.

His marriage had just ended badly, and he just wanted to off load the house and draw a line under an unhappy episode in his life.

“I wouldn’t mind living here” Steven said “first impressions and all that”

“I wouldn’t live anywhere else” Chris admitted “but houses don’t come up for sale here very often”

“I can understand why”

 

When Libby finally reappeared, it was clear that she had been crying as well.

“Is everything ok?” Steven asked “She was really overcome”

“Yes, but she also has a fever from spending so much time in that draughty old church with no heating on” Libby said “I’ve put her to bed”

“Will she be alright on her own?” Chris asked

“I’m going to pop back in a little while” Libby said

“I don’t mind keeping you company” her brother said, and Chris concurred

“Me too”

Libby smiled at the pair and she was a little quiet for the rest of the afternoon.

 

When Chris went home later in the day, he reflected that it had been a bit of an eventful day for a Sunday.

And if Sunday had been an eventful day then it merely heralded the beginning of an even more eventful week to come.

 

On Monday morning Chris was summoned from his bed early by Libby and Stephen Barr to start working on St Lucy’s plumbing and they had a productive morning.

Just before midday he and Libby were cleaning up downstairs when then heard Stephen call

“Libby! Chris!”

Libby set off at a sprint in the direction of the call, with Chris hot on her heels, and as she got close, she shouted

“What’s going on?”

And when she got closer, she found her brother with the Vicar in his arms.

“Oh God what’s she doing here?” she snapped “She’s supposed to be at the Vicarage in bed”

“Well let’s get her back there then” Stephen said

“I don’t want to go” the Vicar protested

“Well, you’re going” Stephen said “so hush”

“You’re so bossy” Ashleigh said before she faded away again

 

While they returned the errant Vicar back to her home Chris carried on with his previous task until Libby returned but Stephen kept vigil, and then they all took it in turns to sit with her for the next 48 hours, although Stephen did the lions share, with her Verger, Brenda, taking the evening shift, but any time Stephen lost during the day he made up in the evening.

 

By the end of Tuesday old the dodgy pipework was out and by

Ten o’clock that night all the new ones were in, which meant that on Wednesday they just had to service the boiler and install the new pumps.

With Stephen giving so much of his time looking after the Vicar it meant that Chris and Libby spent an increasing amount of time together including lunch and dinner at the pub and Tuesday evening was no exception.

 

They were sitting in the Fiddlers Elbow, having just finished eating dinner when she said

“I hope you don’t mind me asking but… and I don’t want you to think I’m quizzing you… but…”

“But what?” he quizzed

“About you and Linda”

“What about me and Linda?” he asked knowing full well what she wanted to know

“Oh, it doesn’t matter” she said and took a drink

“We’re divorcing” he replied, “She doesn’t want to come back, and I don’t want her back, so it’s time to move on”

“I’m sorry,” she said inadequately

“I’m not” Chris said “it was never going to work”

“What went wrong?”

“Everything was wrong, I wasn’t ambitious enough for her, I’ve found my niche and I’m happy, but that wasn’t enough for her, plus she didn’t like village life, and I don’t like the city, it was never going to work” he said “Look what we’re doing at the church, do you think if Ashleigh’s parish was in Abbottsford or Northchapel that the community would rally round like Brookely has”

“No, I don’t” she agreed “Brookely is a special place, that’s why I love it here so much”

“Me too” he agreed

 

The Vicar was confined to the Vicarage until Wednesday, and it was lunchtime when Stephen walked the Vicar slowly across to the church.

Libby was by the door when they arrived and after embracing Ashleigh, she said

“You’re just in time, we’re about to fire up the boiler”

“Time for a quick prayer then” she said and walked slowly down the aisle, but she only got halfway before she had to use one hand to support her weight on the pew, so Stephen rushed to help her and as Chris joined Libby, they exchanged a look.

 

After a brief prayer Stephen helped Ashleigh down the stairs to the room where the boiler was housed, Chris had already carried a chair down, so the Vicar could sit and have a Grandstand seat.

“I’m alright standing” she said, and Stephen gave her a look, so she sat, and Stephen stood beside her.

“Ok light the pilot light” Libby said as she fiddled with the control panel

“Done” Chris said

“Here goes!” Libby announced, and Ashleigh took hold of Stephens’s hand and after a few moments of anti-climax the boiler roared into life.

“Thank you, God,” Ashleigh said and began to cry, so Stephen knelt down to comfort her and the other two made themselves scarce.

 

While Stephen was comforting the Vicar, Chris and Libby were checking the radiators and pipework to make sure the heat was circulating around the system,

They had just completed their examination as Stephen was helping a clearly exhausted Ashleigh up the steps.

“Is everything ok?” she asked weekly

“It is” Libby confirmed “but we’ll have to leave it running at maximum in order to penetrate the chill”

“Ok” she responded but Stephen interrupted

“I’ll explain it to her later, when she can take it in”

And with that he shepherded her away and back to the Vicarage to settle her down.

“He’s very protective of her, isn’t he?” Chris said

“Yes, he is” she agreed

 

 

Libby was just leaving her house when her brother returned from the vicarage,

“Hi Honey, is she ok?”

“I put her to bed and she’s sleeping soundly”

“Will she be ok for Friday?” she asked

“I don’t know, we’ll know better tomorrow” he said, and she nodded before saying

“I’m going into the office to catch up a bit, are you coming?”

“No, I’m going to stick around the village through the weekend if that’s ok” he said “there’s plenty I can do with my laptop”

“I thought you probably would, stay as long as you like” she replied and kissed his cheek “I’ll see you later”

 

Chris Baker also had to go into his office to catch up on correspondence, which kept him tied up late into the evening, which was when his phone interrupted him.

“Chris Baker” he said

“Hi Chris, its Lib”

“Oh hello, this is a nice surprise” he said

“Are you still at the office?”

“I am” she replied

“Me too” He said looking at his watch “I appear to have lost track of the time”

“I know the feeling” she said “Do you want to meet and eat”

“Love to, just say where?”

“As soon as, and your choice” she replied

“La Florenza” he suggested

“Perfect, that’s my favourite” Libby said

“I know” he said “I’ll see you there”

 

They had an enjoyable meal together in Purplemere before they went their separate ways, they didn’t see each other the next day, due to work commitments, in fact they didn’t meet up again until Friday afternoon, which was St Lucy’s Day, a big day in the Village and an important one in the County.

St Lucy was the Patron Saint of Downshire and as a result there were numerous churches in the County bearing her name and it a special day for those churches and the communities they served.

It all began once the darkness had fully descended with a multidenominational service of celebration and then after the church service, a parade of school children from St Lucy’s and St Hilda’s schools process through the village carrying their Lucy lights and then they throw them onto the bonfire to light the Lucy fire on the village green.

It’s all very pagan and a Swedish tradition originally, a mixture of the Christian and the pagan really, it is believed that St Lucy’s light can lengthen the days of winter.

The St Lucy’s day festival was always well attended as it’s such a unique event in the church calendar.

Christians from churches far and wide attended the service and a healthy crowd both church and secular turned out for the parade and the bonfire.

 

Libby and Chris met at the church; she was downstairs checking the boiler when Chris got down there.

“Hi Lib” he said

“I wondered when you were going to get here” she said and smiled

“I know but the demands on a Legal Eagles time are infinite” he replied pompously

“Well, if it’s not beneath a paragon of Law like yourself, you can help me check for airlocks”

“Yes’m” he replied tugging the forelock

 

They didn’t see each other much once the service started, Libby was on escort duty with the parade of school children while Chris was guardian of the bonfire.

 

But they did manage to rendezvous at the pub for Bacon butties and a Beer, but he could only stay for one as he was taking his Aunts, Amy, and Ruth to Tipton the next day for a family party for their sisters Megan’s 70th birthday and they had to leave early.

 

The family event, being an all-day affair, meant that he missed the Carol Concert on Saturday night and the lighting of the third candle of advent at the Sunday Service, but more important than that he missed Libby.

Over the weeks, and that one in particular he had grown very fond of Libby, but he didn’t realise just how much until he went to Tipton.

 

As soon as he returned to Brookley he delivered his Aunts to the Church and parked the car outside his house and went in to freshen up before heading to St Lucy’s himself and Libby was there to greet him at the door

“When I saw Ruth and Amy, I didn’t think you’d be far behind them” she said and smiled him a dazzling smile

“And there’s me thinking you’d been pining by the door all morning” he said and then she hugged him, a prolonged comfortable hug

“I hope you don’t greet everyone like that” he said when she released him, and she blushed

“Well, are you coming in or not?” she blustered, and he smiled      

 

After the morning service he took her for a leisurely lunch at the Fiddlers Elbow and then it was back to St Lucy’s for the Christingle Service which had become ingrained in Anglican worship though it has its origins in Eastern Europe and the Christingle Service is a Service of candle lights where very many years ago people gathered in the street, sang carols, and collected gifts to help the less fortunate in the community.

It is a beautiful candle lit service of hymns, carols, recitations, and bible readings, but Christingle goes beyond a candlelight service and it tells a story.

A story is told with the symbolic use of the following items:
An orange representing the world.
A red ribbon tied around the orange to symbolize the blood of Jesus shed for his people.
Toothpicks decorated with dried fruits and sweets are placed at the four corners of the orange representing all the people of the world.
A lighted candle in the centre of the orange represents the gift of the light of Christ to the world.

Firstly, the children make the Christingle lights in Sunday school, and then they carry them proudly in procession into the church where they are lit for the service.

 

It was a very popular family service and was well attended but as soon as the children began to file in with their lighted candles Chris took Libby by the elbow and steered her down the steps.

“We don’t need to check the boiler, I did it already” she protested “and we’re missing the Christingle”

“We’re not here to check the boiler” he said at the bottom of the stairs

“I’m here to check out a Property Magnate I’m rather partial to”

“Oh, really I’ll be sure to let Stephen know” she teased

“I don’t think he’d want me to do this to him” he said and kissed her tenderly

“My mother warned me about you Legal Eagle’s and now I know she was right” Libby said and kissed him in earnest and with real passion

“Wow” he said “you just made Chris tingle”

 

Snippets of Downshire Life – Christmas Jumper Day

Brassington is a large sprawling village nestled in the wooded hills on the southern edge of the Dancingdean Forest in the south east corner of Downshire and in one a row of terraced Victorian Cottages lived Craig Hooper, a Detective Sgt in the Downshire Constabulary, and he lived next door to divorcee sisters Chrissy Holdack and Carol Hutchins.

They were all in their mid to late thirties and with no romantic attachments, so they got on very well.

 

It was mid-December and Craig had just come off a week of late nights as part of a major crime task force and was exhausted when he got back to the cottage at 6am.

His first step was a hot shower, followed by breakfast and bed, however when he finished, he was annoyingly wide awake.

So he pottered around for a couple of hours tidying up then he sat down in front of the TV with a coffee mid-morning and started watching Alistair Sim in “Scrooge”, one of his favourite Christmas movies, but he lasted no more than 10 minutes before the long blinks set in and he spent the rest of the day sleeping on the couch in a sound sleep until he was woken from that long afternoons snoozing when he heard the sound of the doorbell.

 

The bell continued to ring as he made his way up the hall and when he opened the front door, he found a slightly inebriated Chrissy Holdack leaning against the doorframe.

“Craig, thank God” she slurred, “I’m locked out, and in distress”

“Come in and tell me how I can help” he said

“Well, the trouble is I’m locked out” she said “and Carol won’t be back for at least two hours” 

“Could I be a nuisance and stay here until she gets home?” she pleaded “I’ll be no trouble, I promise”

“Yes of course, what are neighbours for”

“You are my saviour” she declared

“Come on then party girl, let’s get your coat off” he suggested but this proved to be more of an effort than he imagined, but they managed it in the end and when they had she adjusted her skirt and straightened her brightly coloured Christmas Jumper.

And Craig took a moment to admire the way she filled a sweater, and she had a very curvaceous figure, and the undulations were very pleasing on the eye, and it was not the first time he had pleased his eye on her curves. 

“Thank you, kind sir,” she said as she almost fell onto the hall table.

Craig caught her just in time and sat her on a chair in the hall while he pulled her boots off revealing her festive tights with Christmas parcel motifs.

“Come in the kitchen and I’ll put the kettle on” he said

“Wine will do” she suggested and fell against the wall giggling.

“Coffee would be safer I think” he replied

 

After a couple of cups of coffee Chrissy had sobered considerably as she told him all about her office Christmas lunch and how much she had enjoyed it.

“Well, I could tell how much you enjoyed it by the way you fell through the front door” he said

“Cheeky” she said and giggled

“Do you want another cup?” he asked, and Chrissy checked her watch before replying

“Yes please, but I need a pee first”

“Ok, I’ll take it through to the lounge” Craig said, and he was sitting on the sofa when she tottered into the lounge, make up repaired, outfit perfect, and holding a sprig of mistletoe in one hand

“Look what I have found,” she said, and he hadn’t a clue where she found it because he didn’t have any in the house, so she must have had in her bag or coat pocket.

But it was immaterial because while he was musing, she had reached him, and she raised it above her head.  

So, he puckered up and gave her a Christmas kiss but as his lips touched hers it was clear that she had an entirely different type of kiss in mind, which took him completely by surprise, so in the spirit of the season and just to be neighbourly he responded in kind and the upshot of her mistletoe ambush was that her festive sweater spent the night of Christmas Jumper Day on his bedroom floor.

 


Thursday, 10 December 2020

SANTA CLAUS IS A VERY JOLLY CHAP

 

Santa Claus is a very jolly chap

And not just because he’s festive

His jollity stems from knowledge

Of where the naughty girls live

THE BERMUDA TRIANGLE GOT BORED

 

The Bermuda Triangle got bored

Of warm weather over the years

So it relocated to Lapland and now 

Santa Claus has disappeared