‘You’re right.’ Blythe rubbed at her forehead where a headache was brewing.
‘You call Seb and Fraser, and I’ll rope in Sarvan and ring round the playground dads. Only the fit ones, mind.’
‘You’re a star, thank you,’ said Blythe.
After five minutes of frantic phone calls they came back together. ‘How’d you get on?’ asked Vicky.
‘Seb and Fraser are both fine. One vegetarian and one vegan. Seb has a brother he’s persuaded to help us out who I am very much hoping is as toned as he is. How about you?’
‘Sarvan’s up for it but it leaves Jassi a bit short at the pub. Only two dads can do it, I’m afraid, because most of them are staying in because their wives are out at the sexy Santa dinner.’
‘Bugger it,’ said Blythe with feeling. All the usual babysitters, like Phyllis, were also on the guest list. ‘That’s only six Santas for twelves tables. Call Owen,’ she said in a rush.
Vicky looked like she’d been hit in the face with a sleigh. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘It’s okay for him to be fixing your odd jobs but it’s not okay for him to help me out?’
‘This is different. This is asking him to be a sexy Santa.’ Vicky looked uncomfortable.
‘Come on. He’s good-looking. I bet he’s pretty toned with the sort of work he does and he’s a good laugh. I’m sure he’d do it. Especially if you asked him.’ Vicky was scowling at her. ‘Please. Or I’ll have to cancel, in which case Leonora will chop me into little pieces.’
‘Fine. But you owe me big time.’ Vicky wagged a finger at Blythe.
‘And ask if he’s got any mates he can bring.’
‘Will do. But if I’m asking Owen, you need to ask Sam.’
*
Blythe texted Steve because she couldn’t face another phone call via his toilet and because he had been in charge of the costumes, what there was of them, and she needed to get hold of them quickly. He’d replied that he’d get his dad to drop them at the hall. There was a moment where Blythe considered asking if his dad was up to the job but she decided against it. She was not looking forward to asking Sam and could predict his response but Vicky was right – she had to at least try. She was going over how best to pitch it as she let herself in the back door of his cottage.
‘Blythe, is that you?’
‘No, it’s the crazy burglar lady. Why?’
‘Because I’ve got a bit of a problem. Can you come here, please?’
He was being very polite and he needed a favour – this was a good start. ‘Of course, Sam. Holly Cross residents always help each other out,’ she said, moving through the downstairs rooms trying to find him. ‘Where are you?’
‘Stairs,’ said Sam.
Blythe walked through the hall and turned to face up the stairs. Sam was standing towards the top, holding onto the banister – he looked perfectly fine. Turpin was sitting a couple of steps down. ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked.
‘It’s Turpin.’
‘He looks okay to me.’
Sam looked a bit embarrassed. ‘He won’t let me come downstairs.’
Blythe smiled. Sam was well over six feet tall and what Phyllis would refer to as a strapping lad. ‘You’re not scared of a little cat. Are you? Just walk past him.’
Sam pursed his lips, gripped the banister and gingerly came down one step and then the next, which was level with Turpin’s head. The cat whipped around and dived on Sam’s bare foot.
‘Ow!’ he yelped and retreated back up the stairs to inspect the damage.
Blythe fell about laughing at the bottom.
‘It’s not funny. He really hurts. He’s scratched my feet.’ Sam waved one as evidence.
