Sometimes you have to quit while you’re ahead. With this lot, the only way it can go from here is further downhill. So I let it drop and move on. ‘So, days out … there’s a really nice “chop your own Christmas tree” place not far way, with a Winter Wonderland, a snow machine, and LIVE REINDEER! How cool is that?’ I admit I’m totally out of my comfort zone here even saying the word, but if they go for it I’ll just have to make my excuses – throw up on the way to the car or something.
I’m leaving it to Libby to take it from here. For anyone other than me reindeer have to be exceptionally cute and very shaggy, so I’m really not expecting to hear a mass groan.
Tom’s first. ‘Reindeer …? Seriously …? Surely,NOT AGAIN?’
Tarkie’s jumping up and down. ‘Yawnsville! Yawnsville! Yawnsville!’
Tiff pulls a face. ‘But reindeer don’t do anything, they’re astonishingly non-interactive and disappointing, I already exploded the myth when I did my vlog from Lapland. Whoever wrote that song that makes them sound like they have individual personalities was giving a misrepresentation of the species as found in festive captivity.’
Tansy’s in again. ‘What about reindeer rights, and animal welfare?’
Libby’s joining in too. ‘More trees? Don’t we have enough?’ She’s frowning too. ‘Solomon, Scout and Sailor have done Lapland every year since the cradle, they were trekking in Bolivia and Peru all last December, they’ve Christmassed in Australia, Vietnam, New York and Cuba, it’s going to be hard to find something fresh to top that lot.’
My heart is plummeting faster than a high speed lift. With three even more cynical, demanding and miserable children due tomorrow, what chance do a few almost-jolly adults stand against this band of fun-suckers?
‘How about a visit to the donkey sanctuary?’ I’m fighting off the objections before they make them. ‘Donkeys have bags of personality and it’s a rescue so they should be well looked after.’ I’m slightly talking out of my bum here, the only donkey I personally have experience of is Eeyore.
Tom’s eyes are up in his hood again. ‘Andhoware donkeys festive?’
I’ve got him there and I’m going for it. ‘RememberLittle Donkey, little donkey on a dusty road … sing out those stars tonight with your precious load … Bethlehem, Bethlehem?’
Tom looks bemused. ‘Why’s she sayingeverything twice?’
At least Tarkie gets it. ‘We sing that one. My best song from school is the one about jet planes flying through the air to be refuelled …’ He wrinkles his nose as he thinks about it. ‘Can we go back to the airport again?’ He’s upping the pressure. ‘That’s where Santa will come in to land, we need to be there.’
As this is the first shout-out Santa’s had, I’m not letting it go. ‘I reckon Santa might actually land his sleigh on the lawn here.’ The thought of a lawn full of sleigh and reindeer in front of the castle is bringing me out in goosebumps and for all the wrong reasons. I banish the thought before I have to run off to be sick.
Tarkie’s picking it up. ‘Yeah, or he might land on the roof … or even on the beach.’
Tansy joins in. ‘In that case, forget the airport, let’s go straight back to the cinema.’
Tiff’s frowning too. ‘If there’s a snow machine can we go skiing?’
‘Or snowboarding?’ Tom sits up. ‘There must be a snowdome, let’s go there.’
If he really wants to freeze his butt off balancing on planks of wood he could just try waterskiing. Just saying. Only not out loud.
‘M-u-u-u-m …’ Tom’s upping his whine. ‘Find us a ski slopethenwe’ll smile for your selfies.’
Libby’s as oblivious to Tom as she is to the marshmallow heaps and squirty cream exploding across the island unit. But she’s taking some control, because she’s banging a spoon on the granite. ‘That’s settled then, as soon as the Twig – I mean the Edmunsons get here tomorrow we’ll all go to the donkey sanctuary.’
I’ve been so busy watching them demolishing the toppings, I’ve barely noticed that the French window was opening or that there’s a guy walking across the kitchen towards us.
‘A donkey sanctuary, that sounds like fun.’
He sounds at home enough to belong here, so I’m working through the possibilities of who he is. Even without the rather smart Barbour padded jacket which is so new it’s actually still got its tags on, he’s much too young for Keef’s gang so he has to be a friend of Bill’s.
Libby’s on this too. ‘Are you staff? It’s just we haven’t seen many around today and we might need more logs bringing in.’
He’s got an easy smile, and it breaks across his face now as he laughs. ‘No, I don’t work here, I’ve just arrived. I met someone called Bill Markham outside, he told me to come on in.’
So that’sallmy theories scuppered. Which leaves me evaluating the way his boy next door grin lights up all the way to his eyes when he smiles and his nicely cut browny blond hair. His long legs in denim, the flash of a soft checked shirt. Thumbs looped through his belt loops. And some very new wellies, also with hanging tags. By which time, I have to be honest about my first-glance summing up … if this combo lived next door, and you were in the market in the way, say, Miranda is … you would not think twice about vaulting the garden fence.
Libby’s looking puzzled. What’s more, she’s paying the rent here, she’s way more invested than me. ‘So, if you don’t work here and you’re not with Bill, then who the hellareyou?’
He seems completely unbothered by his lack of provenance. In fact he’s laughing even more. ‘I’m Miles Bentley, here to spend Christmas with my father.’ He gives a cough. ‘He didn’t actually mention there would be other people here. So if you don’t mind me returning the question,who are YOU?’
For once Libby’s silky calm cracks, but her snap sails straight past Mr Bentley. ‘For goodness sakes, Tom, you’re indoors, take your damned hood down.’
