Page 14 of The Mistletoe Bride and Other Haunting Tales

‘Gaston,’ said the headteacher. ‘You have something to say?’

Gaston remembered the piece of paper – Mme Martin had suggested he should write something down rather than rely on memory – and quickly pulled it from the pocket of his hand-me-down trousers.

‘I am very grateful to everyone. My teachers helped me to study and, because of that, I was able to win this scholarship. I will do my best to make everyone in the Three Villages proud.’

He bit his bottom lip, folded the piece of paper and twisted it in his fingers.

‘Well done,’ said the headteacher, leading the round of applause.

Gaston returned to his seat, trying not to catch his mother’s eye. There were more prizes for each of the classes and a special gift for Mme Denis who was going to live with her sister in Quibéron.

When the ceremony was over, everyone lingered in the hall and Gaston had to endure the adults coming to congratulate him. He never knew what to say, so he smiled and nodded and mouthed thank you over and again. The men shook his hand or clapped him on the back. The women hugged him and said how he was growing.

Finally, he realised that the only people he hadn’t seen were his own parents.

‘They left,’ said Régis. ‘They asked Maman if you could come home with me. Said they’d fetch you later.’

‘Oh.’

Gaston wasn’t sure if he was disappointed or relieved. It was nothing new, but he thought today might be different.

‘Oh,’ he said again. ‘All right.’

The journey to Régis’s farm took a little over an hour in an old-fashioned trap pulled by two farm horses.

The boys sat on the second bench, behind Régis’s parents. Monsieur and Mme Hélias were talking in low voices and the hooves of the horses and the clinker rattled loud in the crisp November air. Even so, Gaston caught some of the conversation, fragments about a ceremony due to take place tomorrow in which Régis’s father, he gathered, had an important part to play.

He glanced at Régis.

‘The Feast of St Colomban,’ Régis whispered.

Gaston hadn’t heard of it, but he nodded all the same. ‘Are you going?’

‘Not until I’m fourteen, though Papa says I can help with the bonfire tomorrow night.’

‘Régis,’ his father said sharply. ‘Enough.’

‘I wasn’t saying anything out of turn, I was just . . .’

Monsieur Hélias glanced over his shoulder at Gaston. ‘It is not for everyone.’

Gaston flushed. He knew what people thought of his family, how they tattled about them.

Régis’s mother put her hand on her husband’s arm.

‘Joseph,’ she murmured.

From the set of his shoulders, Gaston realised Régis’s father was still angry, but he said nothing more. He clicked the reins and the trap jerked forward. Régis looked sideways at Gaston and shrugged, as if to apologise.

The rest of the journey passed in silence.

Gaston’s parents didn’t come.

After waiting up until nine o’clock, Monsieur and Mme Hélias finally went to bed, leaving the boys sitting by the fire and telling them not to be too late. The only sound was the ticking of the kitchen clock and the floorboards creaking upstairs. As soon as the house was quiet, Régis put down his book and gestured for Gaston to follow him.

‘Come on,’ he said in a whisper. ‘I’ll show you.’

‘But if my . . .’