Page 8 of Mistletoe and Mulled Wine at the Christmas Campervan

At Cove Cottage, Embleton

Saturday 23rd October

From 6 p.m.

I’d love to see you there!

Please RSVP

Chapter Five

Guests were due in five, oh yes, five minutes!

It had been an afternoon of bunting hanging, fairy-light stringing, pizza dough balling and tomato paste stirring. All the while, singing along to some classic 80s rock courtesy of Jack’s iPhone, including a blast of Bon Jovi’s ‘Living on a Prayer’ with some improvised air guitar from them both, accompanied by a cheeky glass of prosecco – just the one, as it was going to be a long night yet. The sky had bubbled up with grey cloud in the last hour, but the late-October evening was thankfully looking to be balmy. Fingers crossed, it would stay dry.

Some of the villagers had even pitched in to help, with Cathy’s husband (from the village stores) bringing around a tall ladder and helping to fix a strand of lightbulbs from the cottage eaves across to the horsebox roof. Helen and her two children had arrived mid-afternoon with two carved-out pumpkins they’d made to add a little autumn cheer to the proceedings. Lucy put them in pride of place; one on the pizza counter hatch, the other by the front door of the cottage to greet everyone. Tealights were scattered and ready to be lit as soon as dusk fell.

Lucy hadn’t wanted to offend any of her neighbours so had posted a little handwritten invitation through every letterbox in her street. Well, it was one way of getting to know people! She’d also invited various other locals she’d got to know since moving in, including of course all the Book Club members. Whilst being a friendly gesture, she also hoped it might help to avoid any complaints about noise. Being a relative newbie to the village, Lucy really didn’t want to upset anyone. And, with her cottage being so small, and the food and drink being served outside from the pizza horsebox and the campervan, the event was bound to spill out onto the flagstone pavement of the street.

The pizza oven was loaded with logs and heating up nicely, as bottles of prosecco, local ales and Italian lagers were cooling in the fridges of Ruby the campervan. Back-up drinks supplies were resting on ice in plastic horse troughs – borrowed from and brainwave of Sarah from the Book Club, who as well as being an avid reader, also kept two ponies. Genius.

Lucy had set out jam-jar posies of flowers next to coloured glass tealight holders on the gathering of put-me-up tables; white village-shop-bought carnations mixed with clusters of small pale-pink roses, picked from the prolific climbing rosebush that was still giving a last blast of autumn blooms in her back garden.

‘Right, that’s Ruby all set. Are you ready over there?’ Jack called from his parking spot beside the cottage. He was stood inside the converted bar area of his pride and joy, the buffed and gleaming Chianti Red Westfalia T2 VW Campervan. Two trays of flute glasses were lined up on the chrome counter with a measure of limoncello in each, ready to top with the chilled prosecco as a welcome Limoncello Fizz Cocktail. An Italian-themed touch guaranteed to start proceedings with a sparkle.

‘Think so.’ Lucy’s smile felt a little tight. She was anxious for it all to go off well. It was her chance to showcase All Fired Up to her community and to her family and friends, as well as making it a big thank-you to everyone. She so wanted her guests to have a really good evening. And she knew that her pizzas and her hosting needed to be tip-top.

‘You’ll be fine,’ Jack said reassuringly, spotting her nervousness. ‘Remember, everyone here this evening is a friend.’

‘Yeah, that’s true.’ That did help put things into perspective. ‘And thanks for all your help here too.’

A toot sounded from the street as a dark-blue hatchback turned the corner, announcing the first arrivals. It was Lucy’s brother Olly along with partner Alice, and toddler Freddie. Her nephew, who after being let out of his car seat, was looking extremely serious as he concentrated on carrying a box of thank-you chocolates across to ‘Annie Lucy’. Bless him, he struggled to say ‘Auntie’.

‘Oh, thank you, Freddie.’ Lucy stepped forward to give him a big hug. ‘Now they look rather scrumptious.’

‘Freddie have one?’ He looked up with a cheeky smile.

‘It’s a gift, Freddie. They’re not yours,’ his dad interjected.

‘Hah, having to hold all that chocolate is far too tempting, bless him,’ Lucy couldn’t help but grin. ‘Of course. We’ll open them in a minute, shall we, and share them out?’

The little boy’s smile grew wide and he nodded.

‘And there’s lots of delicious pizza coming soon too,’ Lucy added.

Daisy trotted up to greet her favourite little pal. The Dachshund was dressed in a cute orange jumper designed to look like a pumpkin, though her long sleek figure stretched it out to appear more like a small marrow. Oh well, you can but try to be seasonally attired.

‘Daisy!’ Freddie was as delighted as she was to be meeting up again, and there were licks and hugs aplenty.

Just two minutes later, and hot on their heels, came Lucy’s mum, Sofia, who’d driven the twenty miles from her hometown of Rothbury, bringing Lucy’s grandmother ‘Nonna’ with her. Nonna had offered to help with some baking, and got out of the car proudly bearing her family-favourite Chocolate Mousse Cake. A large Italian-style chocolate mousse-topped sponge, decorated beautifully with strawberries, raspberries and chocolate curls. A real party showpiece of a cake. Now that was guaranteed to go down a treat with the guests a little later.

‘Aw, thank you so much, Nonna. That looks divine.’ Lucy took the cocoa-and-cream laden delight from her grandmother’s slightly wobbly hands.

‘You’re very welcome, pet. There’s another one in the car too. I hear you’re expecting quite a crowd … And ooh, doesn’t this all look so very pretty here.’

It was the first time the old lady had seen Lucy’s pizza horsebox up and running. Its fairy lights twinkled welcomingly along the hatch front. The Italian-flag bunting was hoisted, and a mouth-watering selection of pizza toppings were lined up on the wooden shelf inside. Set out on the countertop were two recycled kilo-sized ‘San Marzano’ tomato tins that had been filled with red-checked napkin-wrapped cutlery, alongside a large jug of fresh basil, and – of course – Papa’s old and much-treasured pepper mill from his restaurant days in pride of place.

The tiniest hint of a tear crowded Nonna’s eyes as she said, ‘Oh, Lucy, it looks wonderful, pet. Papa would have been so proud of you.’