Monday
16th December
14.
Everybody’s having fun …
After my first five quiet days at the castle, with eight more guests arriving, things were bound to change. First the luggage came in – obviously that was a job for the surfies before they left for Sunday quiz night at the Hungry Shark. Luckily they seem to be as enthusiastic about photo opportunities as they are about everything else in life, and no one queried getting snapped lugging Libby’s humungous cases through the door, up the very picturesque staircase, and at many points between. But it went downhill from there onwards. With six children, all unhappy for their own – very real, very individual – reasons, and allveryvocal, the volume of complaining was off the scale.
When we finally moved on to that tea I’d been talking about for so long, Libby lasted for approximately two sips before she caved in to the kids’ nagging. I nipped into Bill’s bedroom for two seconds’ research, and a nanosecond later she dragged her lot off to the Fun Palace at the Crab and Pilchard down in St Aidan.
If you can believe the website blurb and the GIFs, they were heading for wifi, turkey nuggets and ball cage play, all watched over by a mechanical Santa, his present-laden sleigh, and eight animated flying reindeer. I pause for a momentary flash-back shudder as I think about that. With staff dressed as Santa’s helpers, piped Christmas music, two for one on Festive cocktails,andone of those trees where the deccies change colour in gorgeous bands going downwards – an idea that I have completely failed to sell toDanielsthree Christmases running – well, what’s not to like? I was almost sad to be staying home.
Who knows what thoseparticularkids will make of it. I get the feeling they’ve always had ‘the best’ in unlimited quantities, which is probably why they’re particularly hard to please. I mean, they came to a castle on the beach and there wasn’t one good thing they found to say about it. Worse still, they couldn’t wait to leave again. It isn’t exactly promising for the next two weeks for the rest of us either.
But the good part was, with the ‘critical moaners in crisis’ out of the way Fliss and I managed to separate Oscar from his telegraph pole for long enough for us all to enjoy cheese on toast in front of the fire, and be supremely pleased there were no carpets to scrape the molten cheddar off. Then we all crept off to bed, leaving Miranda and Ambie still waving their glasses around in the hot tub.
After our early night, Merwyn and I were up and out for our walk along the beach early enough to see the dawn spread luminous grey and pink tinges across the clouds above the darkness of the sea as the wind blew our faces off. When we walked back towards the castle, the castellations of the towers were silhouetted against the orange sunrise. We were hoping we’d have the kitchen to ourselves when we got back, but Harriet had woken Fliss and Oscar. They all staggered down in their pyjamas and they’re sitting at the table now looking like the walking dead. Except for Harriet who’s hurling her breakfast fruit at the French window from her high chair, in between bouts of burying her hands in what looks suspiciously like porridge.
I try not to think how we’ll get that out of the cracks between the broad polished floorboards, hand Fliss a coffee, and join them at the long table. ‘Are you okay?’ She obviously isn’t. Oscar used to be so upbeat and rosy, but as Fliss manages to joke, the morning his baby sister arrived he turned into the honey monster from hell.
She blinks at me. ‘I’m hanging on, it’ll be better once Rob gets here.’ Which is her state for most days, not helped by his late working. He’s in construction, so the good part is the whole industry shuts down for two weeks over Christmas. The sad part is, that’s not until the Friday before Christmas – in exhausted-mother time, it’s light years away. And we both know with the trust issues she’s had with him lately, a week of him in London and her so far away here could possibly send her round the bend. It was bad enough when he was coming home every night. Him not physically checking in for so long is going to be a total head fuck for her.
‘We’ll help if we can.’ That’s actually bollocks. When it comes to mum-support I’ve turned out to be rubbish because I have no clue what to do. When Bill foisted Harriet onto me when they’d just arrived, my first thought was to pass her on before I dropped her. My best bet is always to talk about something else. And much as I know Fliss will be bursting to discuss Rob, we’re always careful not to talk in front of the children. So I opt for neutral but useful. ‘So, any ideas for the Christmas tree in here? That’s my next job. And as I said last night, I’m making my own decorations.’ She won’t mind me reminding her, baby brain’s a terrible thing, we both know she’ll have forgotten.
Fliss opens her eyes again and takes a sip of coffee. ‘Well, if it’s the kitchen tree something edible would be good.’
I’m grinning at her. ‘Thanks for that stroke of genius. We’ll have hanging marshmallows!’
She dips a toast finger in Oscar’s egg and nudges him. ‘Or maybe not marshmallows, Oscar inhales them, don’t you? Ten minutes, and there wouldn’t be any left and he’d most likely demolish the tree at the same time.’ The sad thing is, she’s not exaggerating.
‘So whatdon’tyou like, Oscar?’
Fliss is thinking. ‘He hates pineapple, and he’s not keen on lettuce. Everything else, he devours.’
I’m trying to visualise branches draped with soggy pineapple rings and shredded cos lamella, then I have a really mean thought. ‘How about gingerbread stars made with extra strong ginger? He won’t try more than one of those will he?’
Fliss’s eyes light up. ‘That’s a great plan – ginger’s another thing he’s not keen on. We got a warning letter from nursery the other week because he threw his shoe at the St Nikolaus celebration and spat his ginger cake at the class.’
‘Poor Oscar, that was a bit harsh.’ It’s not his first warning letter either.
‘Why not have ginger starsandgingerbread men?’
I’m nodding. ‘Gingerbread men will looksocool. There’s only one problem, I’ve never actually done them before.’
Fliss is staring at me like I’m silly. ‘You made shortbread heart favours for three hundred when we got married, gingerbread can’t bethatdifferent.’
Rob and Fliss’s wedding was something else. His parents are farmers, the family is huge and they insisted on inviting the whole county to a massive marquee in their own meadow. And it’s true, I could make shortbreads for England. I smile whenever I think about us in her kitchen, baking trays full of heart biscuits, two days before they got married. How blissful those days were for her compared to now. On every level.
‘As soon as Bill gets up, I’ll nip in and find a gingerbread recipe, then I’ll fly into St Aidan and get the ingredients.’
Fliss looks up. ‘It’s fine, he already left, we saw him drive off from upstairs. Oscar recognised the sound of the Land Rover.’
Which is great news. Not that I’ve swapped sides, but I tipped him the wink last night that more of those cranberry swirls might smooth his path with Libby’s lot. I mean, they mademyday better, I’m damn sure I wouldn’t have made it through yesterday without them. Fingers crossed he’s out now, picking them up from whichever gifted and talented surfer bakes them.
St Aidan isn’t far by car, but by the time I’ve parked, then wandered around the aisles, and picked up candy canes and other bits too, it’s all taken far longer than I planned. By the time I’m back, the good news is there’s the pile of warm buns I hinted at, and the less good news is that Fliss has gone. But Libby and her kids are all arriving instead.
Libby’s darting around, peering into the courtyard. ‘I haven’t seen anyone, where are all the workers today?’
