‘Well done, darling; you did quite well for someone who’s not really a public speaker,’ her mother chimed in. Lottie ignored the barbed comment and ushered her into the snug.
When everyone was assembled, she clapped her hands and took in a lungful of air. ‘Nana has arranged Christmas at Henbourne Manor this year, like she does every year. Everything is planned, the food is ordered, the decorations are down from the loft, she’s even got the Christmas tree. In a few weeks the home she treasured will likely be sold and that will be it.’ Lottie found she was waving her hands about as she spoke. ‘No more family Christmases to share and remember. I think we should have a big family Christmas at Henbourne Manor, one last time. For Nana – like she would have wanted. What do you all say?’ There was a long pause. Lottie bit her lip while she waited.
‘That’s all very lovely, but I think we’ve had quite enough Christmases to remember, thank you,’ said Nicola. ‘We’ll likely be in the Caribbean enjoying five-star all-inclusive,’ she added, to nobody in particular.
‘It’s all paid for, and I’ll cook,’ said Lottie, trying hard not to sound as desperate as she felt. She searched their faces for an ally.
Uncle Daniel’s head jolted up. ‘Actually, I think Lottie has a good point. Mum was expecting us all to come, so I doubt any of us have made alternative arrangements. And who doesn’t like a free Christmas?’ Lottie had appealed to his thrifty side. Nicola was looking like she might be about to peck him to pieces as he turned his attention to her. ‘All the best five-star resorts will already be booked up.’ Nicola appeared to contemplate this information.
‘I think that’s a lovely idea,’ said Zach. He’d always been supportive of his little sister. ‘I’m in.’ He turned to Angie.‘Mum, you’ll join us and spend Christmas with your granddaughter?’
Angie’s cheek twitched. ‘As long as you both guarantee that I don’t have to cook. And that nobody refers to me as a grandmother.’
‘Absolutely,’ said Lottie. She knew she was guilty of teasing her mother about being a grandparent. She could probably manage not to mention it for a few days if she really had to.
‘I didn’t think we’d be doing anything else, Button,’ said Great Uncle Bernard, wheeling himself over, leaving a trail of people hopping in his wake.
‘Thanks, Uncle Bernie,’ said Lottie, giving him a wink. ‘We’re all agreed then?’ Lottie asked, wanting to seal the deal. ‘One last family Christmas at Henbourne Manor.’
Chapter Two
Christmas Eve
Christmas Eve dawned and Lottie pulled on her tatty old dressing gown and slid her feet into her batteredStar Warsslippers, silently hoping Santa might bring her some replacements. She padded down to the kitchen, yawning as she went. She scanned the room for any signs of the Duchess, but all was quiet. The Duchess was Nana’s aptly named cat. She was a seal-point Persian from a long pedigree line and seemed well aware of her heritage. She had been out of sorts since Nana died, which Lottie could relate to.
Lottie unbolted the back door. ‘Duchess!’ she yelled into the gardens, and quickly shut the door again as an icy draught whipped around her. The Duchess had her own door, as was befitting her status, but it was a cat flap via the garages and the utility room. This, it appeared, was not as the cat would have liked, so she was frequently to be heard pawing at the back door demanding a member of her staff promptly open it.
Lottie wrapped the dressing gown more tightly around her, rubbed at a chocolate smudge on the front and flickedthe switch on the kettle. She slumped onto one of the many kitchen chairs and felt the cool wood touch her calves. The kitchen was vast, draughty and old, like the rest of the manor house, but it was home to Lottie.
It was the house her mother had returned to, with her and Zach in tow, every time she’d had another relationship slide spectacularly down the drain (as they so often did). Angie would pack up, often in the dead of night, throwing clothes into much-used suitcases and drag the children back to Henbourne on the Hill to seek solace and a place to lick her wounds. Nana always welcomed the children, but Lottie had slowly become aware of how Nana appeared to admonish her mother a little more strongly each time she returned.
When Zach went off to university at eighteen, and Angie was set on following her latest beau to France, Nana had suggested that Lottie move in with her to give her some stability while she studied for her exams. The next few years had firmly cemented Henbourne Manor as Lottie’s home.
She hated the comparison, but like her mother she, too, had returned there each time a relationship had failed, the latest being a real low point in her life. Her relationship with Anthony had been crumbling for a while, but it had spectacularly imploded when she’d called into his office to surprise him with fish and chips and Prosecco when he was, yet again, working late. But it was Lottie who got the surprise when she found him in flagrante with some woman in full lawyer wig and gown. She had momentarily thought it was a strippagram before the harsh realisation had struck her and she’d dropped her chips.
Finding out that Anthony was a rat had hurt her, buther trusting heart had been damaged far worse a long time ago and she really didn’t have time for moping. It was Christmas Eve and she had too many other things to think about. She made herself a pot of tea using a scoop of loose tea – as Nana had always done – and settled herself down with the back of an old envelope to make a list. She felt like she’d been getting ready for Christmas for days, but there was still so much to do. Her hasty invitation at the wake was coming back to sink its teeth into her backside.
When the list covered both sides of the old envelope, she started to panic. There was just her, and she had – she checked the clock – five hours until they started arriving. A creak upstairs reminded her that she wasn’t completely on her own; there was Great Uncle Bernard, her late grandfather’s brother, but he relied on his wheelchair more often than not these days so she didn’t hold out much hope of any assistance there. She wandered through to the utility room, feeling the temperature drop, and opened the washing machine. She’d hang this lot out, have a shower and then tackle the biggest task on the list – making up all the beds for the umpteen family members who would be descending.
Lottie slid her feet into Nana’s old wellies. It wasn’t the most fashionable of looks, but there weren’t any neighbours for a mile so it was fine. She braved the bitterly cold weather, juggling the full laundry basket with the door whilst the wind whipped up the old dressing gown. It had been chucking it down with rain all night and the ground was soggy underfoot. It was a bit of a march round to the side garden where the washing line and prop were. She noticed the old gate at the bottom was swinging open and made a mental note to add it to her growing to-do list.She hung up the washing as fast as she could; she wanted to spend as little time as possible with Great Uncle Bernard’s smalls. A muffled yowl was carried on the wind and she paused to listen, a very large pair of Bernard’s greying pants in her hands.
‘Duchess?’ she called, and was surprised to hear a bark in reply. The old gate banged back against the wall. She turned to see the Duchess come charging into the garden, closely followed by a small scruffy dog. Lottie had to think quickly. Either run and open the back door for the cat and risk falling over on the wet ground, or scoop her up in Great Uncle Bernard’s pants – they were certainly big enough for the job. Lottie opened the pants wide and stepped into the cat’s path. Duchess was taken unawares and was quickly wrapped in the pants as the small brown dog charged towards them. Lottie was expecting it to come to a halt, but it didn’t. It took a leap and tried to join the Duchess in Lottie’s arms.
‘Whoa!’ she yelled, as the dog effectively drop kicked her in the stomach, sending her toppling backwards to land with an audible squelch. She hung on to the cat, keen to protect her from the monstrous canine who was now jumping up and down on Lottie like she was a trampoline. ‘Shoo!’ she said as she writhed about in the mud. The Duchess began to yowl her protest at an ear-bleeding pitch.
‘Are you all right?’ asked a man’s voice above her. For a second it reminded her of someone.
‘Fine. Thanks,’ she said automatically, although she blatantly wasn’t – lying there covered in mud, with her Grumpy Cat pyjamas on display and an even grumpier cat hissing in her arms. She scrabbled onto an elbow to get a look at the intruder, but he had his hood up andwas already racing after the muddy little dog as it darted back down the garden.
‘Sorry!’ yelled the man, as he and the dog disappeared.
‘Well really,’ said Lottie, quite put out. The Duchess emitted a low growl of agreement.
After a hot shower, things looked a little better. She had even managed to bath the Duchess, who was used to the procedure – and unlike most cats, tolerated it – and who was now enjoying a light blow-dry on Lottie’s bed. Lottie switched off the hair dryer and gave the fluffy cat a stroke. ‘You’ll do,’ she said. ‘And that’s another thing I can tick off my list.’ The cat glared at Lottie with her bright blue eyes. ‘No, pamper time is over. I have work to do.’ The Duchess swished her tail in reply. ‘If you could avoid being chased by dirty little dogs that would be a help.’
Lottie went on to her next task. She popped a little blue cleaning block in the toilet and gave the bathroom a once-over. It looked fine; no sign of muddy cat anywhere.
Lottie spent the next hour making beds up as fast as was humanly possible. There was a shortage of duvets, but they had plenty of blankets – you had to in a draughty house like Henbourne Manor. It would be first come, first served on the bedroom front. Lottie had left Nana’s room untouched – she couldn’t bear to think of someone else sleeping in there just yet – but with five other bedrooms and a box room that wasn’t an issue.
