‘Oh, Alexander, that is a setback. Can I help in any way? How much is there left to do?’
Alexander sighed deeply and raked his hands through his thick hair.
‘Too much, far too much for me to manage without Hetty. The actual product is fine, I’ve distilled and bottled that, but I still need to do the publicity, labelling, setting up a stall…I’ll have to manage somehow, but it won’t be the launch I had in mind, and it was such a golden opportunity.’
I stared bleakly at my plate as the conversation continued around me – Douglas, Mum and even Theo trying to suggest ideas. I already had about five I could action quickly and that would be successful; this was my job, after all. But with visions of the last six months of stress whirling around my exhausted brain, I couldn’t organise my mouth to speak the words I should:I’ll help. Instead, I just sat silently, uselessly, praying that someone else would come up with a proper solution. Then, my mother piped up:
‘This is ridiculous, none of us has the first idea about any of this. Fallon will help, of course. She knows what she’s doing with this sort of thing.’
I used to write down compliments my mum had given me in my diary, treasuring each one as they were so scarce. But as I grew up, they became basically non-existent, the diary was lost during a house move and I learned to rely on my own inner voice to give myself credit where it was due (and sometimes where it wasn’t). So, when my head snapped up, it was more in surprise at my mum’s approval than in horror at the suggestion I should help. Alexander didn’t see it that way.
‘Absolutely not. Fallon is here as a guest and to get some rest. I won’t hear of it.’
‘Nonsense,’ said Mum, in a voice that meant business. ‘Of course she’ll help, won’t you?’
I was wishing vehemently now that I hadn’t had that gin and tonic. My head started buzzing and there was a telltale pinprick of pain behind my left eye, foretelling one of the crushing headaches that had been hounding me over the last year. I opened my mouth to speak, but was stopped by Alexander who had not, to be fair to him, ever had experience of arguing with my mother.
‘No. It’s fine. It’s not the end of the world. I’ll probably just drop it for now and then find somewhere else to take it when Hetty’s back…’
‘But Christmas was the perfect…’ started Douglas, tailing off when he saw the look on his son’s face and laying a hand over Mum’s. Silence fell again. I was desperate now to get some of my pain medication before I was stuck with a bad headache, but through the fuzziness I knew what else I had to do.
‘Look, it’s fine, of course I’ll help. I really, really don’t mind. Maybe it will do me good, keep me ticking over or something. It sounds like you’re already well on the way, and it’s not likesome investment bank do at the National Gallery. Much more manageable?—’
‘Right, then that’s settled,’ said Mum. ‘It was obviously the best idea.’
‘It’s a super idea,’ said Douglas. ‘As long as you’re sure, Fallon?’
A scimitar stroke of pain shot through my head, and I clenched my teeth.
‘I would be hugely grateful,’ said Alexander stiffly. ‘This company does mean a great deal to me.’
‘I’m absolutely sure,’ I said, not really caring, now, one way or the other. ‘Christmas events are my favourites. I’ll be glad to get started tomorrow. Er, would you all excuse me? I just need to pop upstairs.’
I pushed my chair back and moved as smoothly and quickly as I could up to my bedroom, Runcible trotting after me, where I took some painkillers and pressed my head against one of the cold windows, staring out into the darkness. A tear of exhaustion and pain ran down my cheek. I hoped I hadn’t made a colossal mistake.
SIX
I slept deeply that night and when I woke up, the headache had all but gone, although I still had that unpleasant, foggy feeling I get left with. The best thing for it was a blast of fresh air, and, looking out of the window at the steely moors, I could imagine that fresh was what it would be. I pulled on several layers of warm clothing and went down the huge oak staircase. Douglas was in the large entrance hallway with the door open, collecting some newspapers that had been left on the step.
‘Good morning, Fallon, I hope you slept well? You must think me terribly old-fashioned still having my papers delivered, but I can’t seem to shake the habit. Alexander thinks I’m mad – he reads everything on his tablet.’
‘I totally get it. I always buy magazines rather than reading them online. It’s fairly harmless, as vices go.’
He smiled.
‘Well, quite. Are you coming to get breakfast?’
‘Actually, I was wondering whether I could get something in the village? I could do with a walk.’
‘Yes, absolutely. Lingfoss is surprisingly well-resourced for such a tiny place. There’s a little café which will be open at thistime and won’t mind the dog, just head out of here, turn right and keep going, you can’t miss it.’
I nodded my thanks and reached for my coat.
‘Fallon, I also want to thank you for offering to help Alexander with the Christmas Fayre. It was a tremendous blow to him, Hetty going away like that. I don’t know how much Jacqueline has told you, but he’s not had an easy time of it over the past few years. This new venture is doing him good already, but if the launch goes well, it could be the start of a desperately needed new chapter.’
‘I’m glad to help. I’m sorry I was lukewarm last night; I was brewing a headache. I’m sure it will all go well.’
We bade each other goodbye, and I set off to the village, Runcible tucked into my coat. There was a delicious smell of woodsmoke in the air, but the wind was biting, and although my top half stayed reasonably warm, by the time I got there, my legs were tingling with cold and my ears painful; I would need some warmer clothes if I was going to be outside much while I was here. As Douglas had said I would, I spotted the café easily, a charming, whitewashed cottage with a tiled roof and two fat bay windows with wooden frames and small panes of glass, some with round ‘bullseyes’ in them. Both were abundantly decorated with fat swags of holly and ivy, which were hung with dozens of red and gold baubles and had twinkling fairy lights strung through them. They flanked a deep porch with a paned wooden door; when I pushed it open, I was gratified by the light ‘ting’ of the bell above me and the baking-scented steamy warmth that enveloped me. The inside of the café was as beautifully decorated as the windows, with a tall tree in one corner, smothered in decorations, a pile of wrapped presents beneath it and more greenery, tinsel and fairy lights hanging from the walls and above the doors. Even in my fragile state I felt the warmth ofChristmas cheer wash over me. A tall, slender, smiling woman in a pale-yellow apron came round from behind the counter.
