Of course it’s a bad idea, terrible. Because the more time we spend together the harder it’s going to be to say goodbye. But like addicts, we spend the next few days in each other’s pockets.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Wednesday 14th December, Kendric House.
Raff is no help with menu research but he takes care of everything else.
Yesterday, he went out with Evan to Darling wood and selected a Christmas tree to put in the kitchen. He also took pictures to make Christmas cards. Pictures of the holly bushes, the pine trees, cedar fronds, and close ups of the best mosaics that Alex restored. Llewellyn helped photoshop the images for the cards.
The clean-up of the west wing and the upper floors is a huge job. All able bodies take part, including a lot of teenagers from the village. How can one house have so much rubbish? Mouldy panels have to be stripped, limescale encrusted pipes and plumbing have to be removed and most of the walls has to be replastered. volunteers walk out with threadbare carpets, disintegrating curtains, broken lanterns and torn wall paper. The process is slow because of Alex and the conservation expert Evan has invited. They check every item to decide if it has historical significance, and if it can be restored or should be dumped.
Needless to say, the teenagers are all in favour of dumping because they’re looking forward to a massive bonfire, so Alex and Evan both have to keep a very close eye on them.
Watson is conspicuous by his non-cooperation. For two days he goes out early morning and doesn’t come back until after dark when the work has stopped.
And me? After insisting they give me something to do, Evan put me in charge of the teenagers. It takes half an hour to prove that I’m useless. They run rings around me. Alex catches them dragging out a framed portrait and a vintage writing desk to the burning pit. Raff takes over; he doesn’t shout or scold, but he has a way that gets respect. After that they follow him around competing for his approval.
I retreat to the kitchen and make hot drinks for the workers, experiment with baking shortbread biscuits and look up recipes for the Christmas dinner. All things I enjoy a lot more. I also enjoy the fact that in the kitchen, away from the crowd of workers, Raff knows where to find me. He keeps popping in for glasses of water, cups of tea and any kind of reason to snatch a moment with me, share a joke or help me. When Rhys, Evan’s deaf nephew comes home from his boarding school, he stays in the kitchen with Henrietta decorating the Christmas tree.
When I get to The Glyn, I find Vanessa and Shirley making Christmas wreathes and table settings out of pine cones and springs of holly that Raff collected from the woods.
Christmas fever has gripped everyone in the Squad even though it’s meant to be a secret. Now that Kendric House is closed to the public, the Squad can’t come over for tea. So, they’ve poured all their determination into the promise of Christmas.
Even Jack understands the danger. “No one wants your kind hosts to lose their house. I can wait to speak to Mr Kendric.”
His hope is the hardest thing for me to bear. I even ask Raff, “Is there really no way we could bring him to live at Kendric House?”
“And who would look after him?”
He gives me a moment to try to answer before he continues. “He needs specialist equipment, a qualified nurse on duty. Believe me I have thought about it myself over and over, from every angle.”
But even Raff can’t bring himself to tell Jack the bad news. “Don’t ruin his Christmas. He will see it can’t be done, Jack is no fool, he already understands the legal issues and the threat to the house. In time he will also understand the logistical implications of housing someone who needs more support than the house can offer.”
Haneen had said something very similar when I told her about it. “Let the axe fall by degrees. Give him time to accept it.”
So, I visit with the Squad, take them little cakes I baked at home, we sit and chat and joke, but mostly I watch for any glimpse of Raff.
He, too, contrives to keep popping into the games lounge and sit with us. Just knowing he’s close makes everything more fun. I laugh more, my heart is lighter, and it feels like I can do anything. Even a Christmas dinner.
Philomena hates turkey and asks for chicken instead. Gething wants goose, and Bill doesn’t care about the meat but he wants lots of bread sauce. And everyone wants real roasties. That’s roast potatoes, they inform me, with crispy outsideand fluffy inside. Vanessa makes only one request, interesting vegetables because all the vegetables cooked at The Glyn come out soggy and grey.
Shirley too has only one request. Lots of real sage and onion stuffing.
DeNiro’s only request is cranberry and apple sauce to off-set (his word) the rich meat.
Then they all realise how many requests they’ve racked up and tell me not to worry, and that anything I make will be wonderful.
“You know,” I tell Raff as we walk out to the car park later. “It’s clear they hate the catering at The Glyn. They’ve been craving things without a hope of ever getting them.”
We get into my car, this time Raff driving. It’s quite a thrill to watch him push the seat as far back as it’ll go, then adjust the mirrors. My little Feat fits around him like a glove, who’d have thought it.
Raff, throws an arm over the back of the seat and twists around to look over his shoulder while reversing out of the car park. Quickly, I drag my eyes away and pretend to make notes on my phone.
“When we are stuck somewhere with bad catering,” he says, continuing the earlier conversation. “We just resolve never to eat there again. They can’t. They’re stuck there forever.”
He gives me a quick glance. “Now you understand why I wanted them to have this special Christmas dinner.”
Yes I do. I understand. I understand him perfectly. Because just like the Fiat 500, my own life seems to have wrapped itself around him and fits him like a glove.
