‘Yes, that’s the one.’
‘And what section are you working in?’
Alison looks at me oddly but bless her, answers. ‘Accounting and payroll.’
My brain is click-click-clacking. ‘Do you have the ingredients?’
‘Not for the chocolates I would normally make. But I could probably gather up the ingredients to make rum truffles.’
‘Enough rum truffles?’
Alison gets up and checks the fridge, then wanders over and opens a drawer which from where I’m sitting I can see is crammed with chocolate. Life goals right there. She turns to face me, a grin as wide as the Avon gorge across her face, and nods.
‘Alison, if you feel well enough and strong enough to help me make the truffles you need, I think I may be able to help you perform a Christmas miracle.’
‘Belle Wilde, you are something else. Will you really?’
‘Of course! I’d love to.’
‘You know what, they’ve been saying awful things about your dad recently in the papers but I don’t believe any of it. He can’t bethatbad, he has to be good at his core to have made you. He must be so, so proud to have you as his daughter. You’re just lovely.’ Alison walks around the table and wraps me in a huge hug. I blink back the tears that suddenly threaten to fall and let myself breathe in the warmth of her embrace.
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
December Twenty-first.
Belle.
As I run down the steps into the basement at Hope House, I cannot keep the smile off my face. This is the sort of Christmas mission I love, the sort I was born for. I just have to hope that today is not the day that Fat Alan has broken his madly unhealthy addiction of sleeping in the dungeon.
I asked Ariana if she minded me asking her client for a favour, but she laughed and gave me some tips. Tips I’m hoping I can ignore. I’ve raced through the cleaning and now I need to get down there. I push open the door and hear his gentle snore fluttering up from his very large body huddled on the two pallets in the corner.
For this next bit, I’m going to have to play a character and not one I’m madly comfortable with. In fact, not one that I would ever,ever,have played if this wasn’t about making Rory’s mum smile today, on her most scary day.
More than a little bit nervous, I walk over to Alan, crouch down and gently rock his shoulder.
‘Alan, Alan,’ I whisper into his ear.
He rolls over a bit and makes a nestling noise. ‘Mmmmm.’
‘Alan, Alan.’ A gentle snore comes from him. I try again. Nothing. This is not working. Ariana’s advice is in my head: be tough with him. He’s here because he likes mean, likes to be told what to do. Shout at him a bit and he’ll be putty in your hands.
I’m not keen. I’ve been hoping to avoid that.
I remember back to my first couple of days on shift when he was waking up and seemed quite fond of my feather duster. I take it out of my cleaning basket and brace myself.
‘Alan, wake up.’ I make my voice steely, commanding and prod him with the tip of it, although how he’s going to feel it through his full-on latex suit is a mystery. ‘Alan!’ I prod him again. His eyes shoot open.
‘Alan.’ I wallop him with the duster. I don’t know if he is smiling, you can’t see facial expressions through the mask but he seems receptive.
‘Alan. I need you to wake up and do as you’re told,’ I bark. This is ridiculous. ‘I need your help.’
Silence.
‘Alan. You are going to wake up, get dressed and take me to Daltons and let me in. I’m going to be ten minutes and you’ll lock up after me. You’re not going to tell anyone I was there and in return I won’t tell anyone about this. Snip snap. Quickly. Do as you are told, right now, right now,’ I shout, my tone as firm as it has ever been.
He jumps to his feet.
