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She didn’t want to rubberneck – she wanted to check that Daniel hadn’t fallen off his ladder.
Dashing around the corner of the house, she came to a halt. The ambulance was alongside the Twingo and a paramedic was already speaking to the driver. Crumbs, Seren wouldn’t have thought that a little bump like that would have resulted in the need for medical intervention.
‘I hope he’s OK,’ she said to the person standing next to her.
The woman snorted. ‘Wimp. He says he’s got whiplash. I ask you!’ The elderly woman pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. ‘This is not good for business.’
‘I don’t think the fayre is open to the public yet,’ Seren said, trying to reassure her. Here was someone who could do with a dose of Christmas spirit. The woman looked sour enough to have been chewing lemons, and her voice was cut-glass sharp.
‘I know it’s definitely not open. I haven’t given Mason the word yet,’ the woman said.
Who was Mason and what word was this woman going to give him, Seren wondered as she scanned the crowd who’d gathered to see what was going on.
There was no sign of Daniel.
The woman tutted loudly. ‘I wish they’d get a move on. There’s nothing wrong with the chap.Anyone can see that. He’s probably hoping for compensation. Well, he won’t get any off me!’
Had the woman also been involved in the accident? Seren didn’t think so, but then again, she hadn’t been looking. She’d been too intent on checking that Daniel was OK.
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake!’ the woman exclaimed when the paramedic who’d been treating the driver of the Twingo, helped the elderly gentleman out of the car and into the back of the ambulance. The van driver got into the Twingo, started it up and moved it out of the way, before handing the keys to the paramedic, who returned them to their rightful owner. Then the medic got in the back of the ambulance, closed the door and the ambulance slowly drove away.
‘Is he coming back?’ the woman standing next to her demanded, and Seren wasn’t sure whether the question was aimed at her or not.
‘Um, I don’t know.’
‘Marvellous. That man was my Father Christmas.’ The woman tutted again, then clapped her hands and shouted. ‘Is there anyone here who can play Father Christmas?’ She glared at the onlookers, who were beginning to drift away. ‘Anyone? There must besomeone. The fayre has been advertised as having a Father Christmas,’ she added as though that made any difference. ‘Surelyoneof you can pretend to be a jolly fat man in a red suit?’ She lowered her voice and said to Seren, ‘Oh dear, he was supposed to bring his own suit, too. Now what am I going to do? Mason? Mason! Where is the dratted man when you need him? He was here a minute ago.’ She scanned the parking area, her eyes narrowed, until her attention came to rest on the ladder which was now empty.
‘And where is the damned gardener? He’d better not be shirking.’
‘He was up that ladder the last time I saw him,’ Seren said, helpfully.
‘Where is he now?’ the woman wanted to know, looking at her for the first time.
‘I don’t know,’ Seren began, but the woman barged past her as she spotted someone.
‘There you are, Mason. I’ve been looking for you. We have a problem – we have no Father Christmas. Do you happen to have a suit you can wear?’ The woman smiled, and Seren shuddered. It was like watching a shark grin.
She felt rather sorry for Mason, the chap who had spoken to them when they’d first arrived – no wonder he’d been so irritable when he’d told her about ‘the facilities’. She’d feel the same if she had to put up with a boss like this. Oh, hang on a minute, she did have a manager who was just as obnoxious.
Mason said, ‘Nope. No suit, and I don’t do Father Christmas. You’ll have to find some other poor sod. I’ve got to open the gates.’ He stomped off, leaving the woman glowering after him.
‘I honestly don’t know what I pay him for,’ she said. ‘Right. Plan B.’
‘What’s plan B?’ Seren couldn’t help asking.
‘Iwill have to be Father Christmas.’
Seren spluttered. ‘You?’
‘Yes, me. There’s nothing else for it.’
‘I’ve, erm, got a Santa hat you could borrow, but as for the beard and the rest of it…’ Seren trailed off, trying to suppress a giggle as she imagined this sour woman with her dad’s Father Christmas hat jammed on her head. Then she froze, as a thought occurred to her. ‘The man up the ladder, Daniel, he could play Santa,’ she said slowly. ‘He’s done it before.’
‘Why didn’t you say so? Daniel? Daniel! Where are you, man?’ the woman turned to Seren. ‘I’m Miss Carruthers and I own this place. If you see Daniel please send him to me. I’ll be in the house making a pot of tea.’
‘Not for me, thanks, I’ve got to get back. My dad will be wondering where I am.’
‘The tea isn’t for you, silly girl, it’s forme. I need a cup of Earl Grey to steady my nerves. Please find Daniel for me, and when you do, tell him I wish to speak with him.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’ Seren almost curtsied.
‘Don’t be flippant. This is serious.’ With that, Miss Carruthers stalked off, leaving Seren staring incredulously after her.
