‘A crane?’ Leonora scanned all the faces. ‘We can’t have a crane in the middle of our Christmas display!’ Her voice was escalating.
‘Sorry, love. But if you want the van moved there is not a lot else for it. That’s assuming we can find one and an operator on Christmas Eve.’
Blythe gave up trying to keep her umbrella over Leonora as she paced up and down and went to stand next to Vicky. ‘Did I hear right?’ asked Blythe. ‘Did he say he swerved to miss a jogger?’ She was scanning the green.
‘Yep. You don’t think…’
‘I do,’ said Blythe, and they both turned to look at Sam’s cottage. A blind moved in the front window. ‘You try and keep Leonora calm while I sort out Sam Ashton.’
‘Keep her calm? How? Look at her. She’s crosser than a frog in a Christmas stocking,’ said Vicky, but Blythe was already striding across the road.
*
Blythe knocked at the cottage. Sam opened the door looking like he’d taken a shower fully clothed. ‘I understand you were involved in the accident. Are you okay?’ she asked, as she scanned him over. He rubbed his hair with a towel, giving it a sexy tousled quality. His wet top clung to his frame, which appeared far more muscly than she remembered from the sexy Santa night. His sturdy thighs glistened…
‘I’m fine. Nobody was hurt thankfully. The guy was hurtling down the hill and I was running in the road trying to avoid the puddles when there was an almighty bang. But thank goodness it was loud or I might not have heard it as I had my earbuds in. He swerved and I dived out of the way. Couple of scratches.’ He pointed to his upper thigh. ‘Otherwise a lucky escape.’
The pause made her drag her eyes back up to his face. ‘Try not to feel too bad about it.’
Sam looked confused. ‘Bad about what?’
‘The state of the green. That van has pretty much wrecked our chances of winning the competition. And it was partly your fault.’
‘How do you work that out?’ He stopped his hair drying.
‘Because the driver swerved to avoidyouand did that!’ She pointed forcefully across the street where Leonora was still waving her arms surrounded by a group of sullen-looking villagers.
‘Look, I’m sorry, but I’m not going to get upset about a few Christmas decs being trashed. Why does everyone around here get worked up about something so silly?’
His derision of the effort the village went to assillymade her blood boil. ‘Haven’t you worked it out yet? Holly Cross isn’t about Christmas.’ Sam glanced past her at the green. ‘Well, it is partly,’ she conceded crossly. ‘But what it’sreallyabout is community. It’s the people. Christmas is just an excuse. It gives them a purpose to get together, to support each other and create something special that benefits others. It’s the people who make Holly Cross,notChristmas. Without the festivities this village would be very different. What Norman makes in December subsidises his business for the coming year. How else would a little village bakery survive? The sisters from Rock Cottage spend all year knitting and embroidering things, either as decorations or to sell at the Christmas fayre, which keeps them busy and gives them a purpose. And Leonora threw herself into all this after her husband died suddenly. It’s helped her deal with the shock and the grief.
So yes, I know you think it’ssillyand you don’t care and that’s fine, but other people do. I care about Holly Cross becauseIcare about the people and if that makes me silly then I’m fine with that.’ She was done with Sam Ashton. She turned around and went to see what she could do to help.
*
Blythe realised she’d well and truly killed any possible chance of a reconciliation with Sam, but she felt some things were more important and she’d had to speak her mind. After twenty minutes of milling around the green in the rain, with Leonora picking up broken lights and muttering to herself, and no sign of a recovery vehicle, Blythe decided someone needed to take charge.
She and Vicky rounded up the bedraggled bunch of helpers and Blythe hopped up onto a bench and waved her brolly to get everyone’s attention. ‘I don’t think we’re making any real progress and we’re all cold and wet so I suggest—’
‘We can’t give up,’ came Leonora’s considerably deflated voice. There was disgruntled muttering from the crowd.
‘I’m not suggesting we do,’ said Blythe. ‘I think we should all go home, get warm and changed into dry clothes and meet at the hall to work out what we can salvage and how best to present what we have to the judges.’
‘Good idea!’ shouted Vicky. ‘And we need to think about all the punters who will be planning on coming tonight.’
‘They’re more important than the judges. We can’t let them down,’ said someone and there were mumbles of agreement.
‘Shall we meet back at the hall in one hour?’ Blythe scanned the faces and her eyes rested on Leonora who eventually nodded. ‘Okay. Two o’clock in the hall – bring ideas, solutions and enthusiasm.’
The disheartened crowd murmured their agreement and dispersed.Oh well,thought Blythe, it wasn’t quite the rousing response she’d hoped for but the people of Holly Cross had put in too much effort to let this ruin things. And whilst their hopes of winning were now thinner than her mum’s gravy, they had an obligation to visitors to make their trip worthwhile and spread some Christmas cheer, and that was what Holly Cross was all about.
*
Greg was coming out of the shower, having finished work early, when Blythe arrived home, so she sent him off to buy as many strings of outdoor lights as he could lay his hands on. He also pledged to round up as many additional volunteers as he could on his way back. She felt instantly revived after a hot shower and a change of clothes and she hoped the other committee members felt the same.
It was still raining when she walked back through the village. The deep tyre tracks gouged across the green were filling up with water. If they weren’t careful they’d have people stuck in a quagmire. She called by the village stores en route to buy pop and biscuits to give everyone a much-needed sugar boost and she walked into the village hall ready to lead them into battle.
Members of the HCCC were first to arrive, closely followed by a steady stream of villagers all keen to lend a hand. There was no sign of Leonora so Blythe grabbed the flip chart and made some notes. When the hall was half full Blythe stood next to the flip chart and gave it a tap. She surveyed the many faces and found Greg’s. ‘Thank you,’ she mouthed.
