The day of the Christmas Fayre dawned sunny but extremely cold, so taking Runcible out for her morning walk was brief but beautiful. We hurried back through the kitchen door to find Coco putting the final touches to breakfast.
‘It looks lovely out there,’ she said, piling hot, golden toast onto a plate. ‘But it’ll snow soon, I’m sure.’
I picked up a tray to carry through to the Buttery.
‘Don’t say that. The Citroën is good for driving around in decent weather, but it wouldn’t make it through snow, especially on some of these roads.’
‘You’ll be all right,’ said Constance, standing up to help as we entered the room. ‘If I know this weather, snow won’t come until later tonight. The Christmas Fayre finishes at eight, doesn’t it?’
‘That’s right,’ said Alexander, his hand brushing mine and sending off the usual fireworks as he took the tray from me. ‘All we’ll have to do is shut up shop and drive home – we should be fine.’
‘I still don’t see why I can’t stay until the end,’ said Theo. ‘It’s not that late.’
‘I know,’ replied Alexander, ‘but you’ll be bored silly by then, I promise. Far better to come chugging off with Fallon and me this morning and leave us with all the hard work later.’
‘And anyway,’ added Coco, ‘I’ve got a special job for us to do later. That Christmas cake won’t ice itself, you know.’
‘Can we?’ asked Theo, turning shining eyes to her, all thoughts of late nights forgotten. ‘And can Runcible help?’
‘Of course she can,’ replied Coco. ‘She can leave little paw prints across the icing, like one of Santa’s reindeer.’
‘Doesn’t sound very hygienic,’ said Mum, and we all swivelled our eyes towards her, disappointed, until a mischievous smile broke out on her face. ‘But maybe I’ll help you bath her first, and then it will be fine.’
‘And I will take the photos!’ added Estelle. ‘You can’t leave that one off your Instagram grid, Jacqueline, although Runcible in the bath will steal the limelight.’
Mum smiled.
‘I’ll concede to sharing it, just this once, and only because it’s Runcible.’
I could hardly believe the work that Christmas magic had done. Mum finally falling in love with my quirky little dog was even more unlikely than me allowing my maternal side, previously assumed non-existent, to come out, but both had happened and both unfolded utterly naturally. Or maybe it was these Knight men, I thought, letting my gaze wander over Alexander before moving to Theo and then Douglas. They had such warmth, such acceptance, such clear-sightedness about life and it felt like finally coming home. I doubted that Mum and I would ever have repaired our relationship without them, let alone found our own happy endings.
After breakfast, Alexander and I headed to the outbuilding for our final checks on the Citroën and its contents. Slipping his arm around my shoulder and pulling me close to him, Alexander said, ‘I could never have done this without you. Do you think the Christmas Fayre will go well?’
‘It will be fantastic,’ I said, with confidence. ‘It’s the perfect place to launch your brand, and remember, you were the one who came up with the idea originally.’
‘I know, but even with Hetty’s help, we’d never have been brave or innovative enough to do everything you have – buy the van, get all that publicity going.’
‘It’s my job,’ I said simply. ‘But I have to say that doing it here, with you, hasn’t been much like work, and the perks are somewhat unexpected.’
He bent his head to kiss me, only interrupted by an amused young voice.
‘Dad, Fallon, I’m going to have to cover Runcible’s eyes.’
It was Theo, of course, carrying my little dog and beaming from ear to ear. Alexander and I held out our arms and they joined us in a warm embrace.
‘Are we going soon?’ asked Theo, wriggling free. ‘Coco said it must be nearly time.’
‘It is,’ I said, reaching out for Runcible. ‘I’ll just go and make sure this one’s comfortable and then we can be off. Why don’t you meet me at the front of the house?’
Five minutes later, Runcible happily installed in her bed in the kitchen, the chugging of the Citroën’s engine rose in the distance. As I stepped out of the front door, it came around the corner, Theo waving excitedly. The decals looked fresh and inviting, the paintwork and chrome gleamed, and with such ahandsome proprietor and delicious product, I didn’t see how the business could fail.
‘Budge up,’ I said, climbing into the front, and we were off, driving sedately through the beautiful, bleak countryside, Christmas songs playing on the radio for us to sing along with loudly. Just over half an hour later, we pulled up outside the red brick Victorian town hall, its elegant, spired clock tower and arched windows making it look almost like a church. We were greeted warmly by one of the organisers and shown where to park: prime position by the wooden double doors to catch everyone coming in and out. Our set up was the easiest of all, as we only needed to check our water and electricity, turn on the fairy lights and drop the hatch.
‘Let’s go and see inside before the Christmas Fayre starts,’ suggested Alexander. ‘Then when the others come, Theo, you’ll know exactly what you want to show them.’
I was surprised to find that the interior of the hall was imposing and had clearly been expensive to create. The floor was covered in small tiles, creating a geometric pattern in terracotta, green, yellow and white and at the far end stood a wide wooden stage, flanked by heavy red velvet curtains. The walls were oak panelled, and the magnificently carved ceiling was also oak. The large, latticed windows let the winter sun pour in, and the whole place was buzzing with people putting the finishing touches to their stalls. An array of goods was on offer, all locally made, and ranged from professional chutneys and jams to adorable hand-knitted dolls. Christmas carols played through speakers and delicious smells wafted through the air: baking from the kitchen, which was open and providing cream teas; festive spices from a nearby stall selling homemade candles; orange and clove from natural decorations covering a nearby tree; and fresh wood from a stall where a smiling man carved intricate Nativity figures and sweet animals. His wife, holding the hand of an adorable toddlerwith the same mop of curly dark hair as his father and the gentle face of his mother, watched as he worked. This, of course, was where Theo was immediately drawn. Alexander and I followed him.
‘I like your animals,’ he said to the man. ‘Do you do birds as well?’
