Last Christmas (16 page)

Gabriel walked into the throng of men standing in a field on the outskirts of the village, feeling sick to his boots. It was only his feelings of guilt about Stephen that had led him to enter at the last minute. Gabriel had never been much of a sportsman, and had always hated the rough and tumble of the Monday Muddle. Until last year, he hadn’t entered for at least a decade and, much as he liked Dan and his cronies, he wasn’t looking forward to the inevitable ribbing he was going to get when he made a tit of himself as usual. Worse still, Stephen seemed convinced that he was going to be a hero. The thought of failing his son was worse than taking part. And yet, despite his anxiety, he couldn’t also help feeling inspired by the fact that Marianne had said she would be cheering for him. She was so uncomplicated, and spending half an hour with her in Pippa’s crowded kitchen had been incredibly soothing.

Gabriel glanced round him. The field was full of gossiping villagers who were wandering through all the craft stalls and, by the looks of things, buying plenty. He could see Pippa doing a roaring trade in home-made chutney, while the local butcher in the stall next to her was nearly sold out of hot dogs already. There were the usual Monday Muddle regulars, plus a few first-timers (village rules stated at eighteen, ‘when a lad can buy his first pint’, every boy in
the village was eligible to enter). There weren’t too many newbies this year, but Gabriel spotted one or two youngsters he knew as the sons of various acquaintances. He was pleased to note that most of them looked sicker than he felt. The Monday Muddle also attracted people from neighbouring villages, plus the odd rambler who’d been staying in town over the bank holiday weekend and been persuaded when in his cups to take part.

The field was crowded with well-wishers and supporters. Gabriel glanced over at Pippa’s stall again and got a welcome boost from the sight of Marianne, who grinned and gave him the thumbs up. Only five minutes to go till he met his doom. Stephen and his friends had taken prime position on the stone wall at the edge of the field, and Ralph Nicholas was striding across the grass bearing the ancient leather football that, legend had it, had been used in the Monday Muddle for the previous two hundred years. The sun was shining, which made a pleasant change from the weeks of rain, but there was still a nip in the air. Mind you, he wouldn’t be feeling that once they all got going.

‘Fancy a dram?’ Dan came up with a half bottle of Scotch. It was
de rigeur
to have something to keep the cold away before the great event.

‘Why not?’ said Gabriel. ‘I may need something to numb the pain when you bring me crashing to the floor.’

‘No hard feelings, mate,’ said Dan grinning. ‘Hey up, I think we might be ready for the off.’

They looked up to see Ralph Nicholas standing on an old crate and addressing the throng.

‘Welcome one and all to this year’s Monday Muddle. Right, you all know the rules—’

‘There are no rules,’ roared back the crowd in a well-worn response.

‘When I blow my whistle, the ball will be kicked into the
crowd and then it’s every man for himself, and first one to bring it home via the usual route will be declared King of the Muddle.’

A hush descended. Gabriel swallowed hard. Why was he doing this, why?

The whistle blew. The ball flew high in the sky and disappeared into the middle of the scrum. Gabriel hovered around the edges while there was the usual toing and froing and head-stamping, before finally a newcomer from a neighbouring village emerged with the traditional shout of ‘Mu-dd-dle!’—and they were off.

‘Go for it, Daddy!’ Stephen was yelling with all his might as Gabriel set off running down the muddy field. He ran past Marianne and Pippa, who were cheering and wolf-whistling wildly.

‘Go, Gabriel, go!’ Marianne yelled, and suddenly his heart lifted, and he was swept with a huge adrenaline rush. He ran, busting a gut, towards the front of the crowd, easily outstripping the more lumbering members of the village. Maybe he was going to enjoy this after all…

Cat was in the kitchen trying out recipes for her new cookery book. Mel had started off helping her but had quickly lost interest, while James and Paige had gone next door to play. Noel was sitting watching DVDs with Ruby. Really she should get them out in the garden, it was such a lovely day and Noel was going back to work tomorrow, but Cat was enjoying the rare luxury of having the time to cook properly.

While other aspects of domestic duty were an arduous chore for Cat, cooking wasn’t one of them. She loved the joy of turning basic ingredients into a tasty meal, the almost sensuous pleasure of kneading pastry, the delight of producing something which the whole family enjoyed. Cat could barely
remember a time when she hadn’t been able to cook, beginning young and shadowing her mother in the kitchen. Interestingly, of all her children, it was James who showed the same propensity. Maybe he’d be the next Jamie Oliver. Cat associated cooking with peace and harmony, with safety and security. The smell of baking always lifted her spirits, as it did now.

She checked on the scones she was cooking and returned to the beetroot soup she was making partly from memory. It was an old family recipe of her Auntie Eileen’s, who’d got it from her Polish mother-in-law. Cat was working her way through various recipes that had been in the family for years. They included her mother’s famous apple tart, Auntie Eileen’s amazing meringues (which she miraculously made without a whisk, instead using two knifes to whisk the egg yolks), and her own grandmother’s tasty Irish Stew.

‘How’s it going?’ Noel walked in. Thankfully he’d got over whatever it was that was eating him on Thursday and was less sulky.

‘Okay,’ said Cat, testing her soup and pulling a face. ‘Damn, I’m going to have to ring Auntie Eileen. I don’t think I’ve done this right.’

‘What on earth is it?’ said Noel peering into the pan. ‘It looks like someone’s bled to death in the saucepan.’

‘Ha, ha, very funny,’ said Cat. ‘It’s supposed to be beetroot soup. I think I may have added too much paprika. Lucky you grew so much beetroot on the allotment last year as it looks like I may have to scrap this lot and start again.’

She poured away the soup and started washing up pans. She’d be rubbing beetroot stains out of her fingers for days at this rate.

‘What’s in the oven? That smells nice.’

‘Granny Dreamboat’s Fabulous Scones,’ said Cat, ‘and yes, when they’re ready, you and Ruby can test some.’

‘Ah, well, if it’s Granny Dreamboat’s recipe, it must be all right,’ said Noel.

‘Talking of Granny Dreamboat,’ said Cat, as she started putting pans away, ‘did you think she seemed okay yesterday?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Just…well, the thing with the Treasure Hunt was a bit odd, wasn’t it? She’s never got the kids’ ages wrong before, but it was as if she was buying them things from a few years back.’

‘Well, maybe she was busy and made a mistake,’ said Noel.

‘Maybe,’ said Cat doubtfully. ‘It’s just unlike her. And then there’s little things, like the way she rang me the other day to ask how to make pastry. I mean, my mum, ringing me for cooking advice? Plus there was that business of forgetting to pay her bills. I thought she might be in some kind of financial trouble. But now I’m not so sure. She seems to be terribly forgetful of late.’

‘So are you,’laughed Noel,‘you never remember anything I tell you.’

‘True,’ said Cat, as she took the scones out of the oven and deftly turned them onto a cooling tray.

‘It’s probably just her getting older,’ said Noel. ‘It’s just because she’s so capable you tend to think she’s invincible. I think you’re worrying unnecessarily. Mmm, these are delicious.’

‘You’re probably right,’ said Cat, unconvinced.

‘I know I am,’ said Noel, kissing the top of her head and disappearing into the lounge with a plate of scones.

‘Yummy, scones!’ Mel appeared as if by magic.

‘Trust you to come back when it’s all cooked,’ said Cat,
as she tidied up the kitchen. She’d been cooking so long it was nearly time to prepare tea. She tried to convince herself that Noel was right, that the small worrying lapses in her mum’s concentration were just the signs of advancing old age but, deep down, she knew she was kidding herself.

‘What happens now?’ Marianne asked. The last stragglers of the Monday Muddle were heading off down the hill towards the stream, by which muddy back route the Muddlers would make their way back into town. Most of the onlookers had run off down the field cheering them, and she and Pippa were doing precious little trade now.

‘Now we pack this lot up and go and find a suitable spot to cheer them on—the bridge over the brook at the end of Willow Valley is always a good place. Sometimes we pelt them with rotten eggs and flour, but I think the committee has vetoed that this year.’

‘Blimey, I had no idea the country was like this,’ said Marianne.‘It certainly beats a boring bank holiday in town.’

She didn’t say she had particularly enjoyed the sight of Gabriel running swiftly through the crowd, looking rather more athletic than he’d let on. He wouldn’t have looked out of place in
Chariots of Fire.

They called Stephen, Nathan and George, and made their way via the road to the brook, where a crowd was starting to gather.

‘When are they coming?’ The boys jumped about impatiently.

‘Soon,’ said Pippa, ‘be patient.’

A shout from someone near the stream indicated that the first runner was already on his way. The original catcher of the ball clearly hadn’t kept it, as it was now in possession of one of Dan’s friends. Dan was in hot pursuit, looking fired up and covered in mud.

‘One year they’ll do this event in the dry,’ said Pippa raising her eyebrows. ‘It took me ages to get his stuff clean last year.’

‘Dad-dy! Dad-dy!’ the boys were chanting and Stephen joined in. Gabriel was making his way down the path, covered in sweat, his shirt sticking to him in a way that made Marianne feel most peculiar, his lean legs spattered with mud. The legs. Oh my God. The legs did it. Marianne couldn’t tear her eyes off them. Then suddenly the leader tripped and Dan and his friends leapt on top of him. To shouts and whistles, four men rolled in the mud like a bunch of school kids. The ball escaped down the bank and, swift as anything, Gabriel was down there scrabbling frantically in the water for the ball, which was in danger of heading off downstream.

‘Way to go, Gabriel!’ Marianne leapt to her feet, cheering. The scrummers belatedly realised they’d lost the ball and set off in pursuit of their prey, but their heavy frames, so useful in the scrum, were no match for Gabriel’s fleetness of foot.

‘I had no idea it would be this exciting,’ said Marianne. ‘Where to next?’

‘If we hurry we should catch them just as they come into the village at the top end of the High Street,’ said Pippa.

‘Well, what are we waiting for?’ said Marianne. ‘I haven’t had so much fun in years.’

Gabriel was on a high. He raced down the path like a bat out of hell. This was completely exhilarating. He’d never known the Monday Muddle could be so much fun. No wonder Dan and the boys were so obsessed with it. He’d been vaguely aware of the cheers when he’d grabbed the ball, but then, as he’d scrabbled his way up the bank, he’d heard Marianne screaming his name. Something about that
had fired him up beyond anything he could possibly have imagined. Suddenly it became vital that he didn’t just win this damned thing for Stephen, but for Marianne as well. He wanted to prove himself to her, to show her that he was different from the rest of the crowd.

He ran on, ignoring the mud and the hammering of his heart, the feeling that it might just burst out of his chest. Never had he pushed himself so hard physically, and never had he felt more joyfully, vividly, brilliantly alive. He was dimly aware of the bluebells in the woods as he ran past, of birdsong and sunshine, but that didn’t matter because he was nearly at the gate that led to the High Street. He heard the crowd roar and it inspired him beyond anything he’d ever felt inspired to do before. He vaulted the gate without a thought, fired up by adrenaline and stupidity. He could do anything. Anything at all. Free running? He could be king. He was going to be King of the Muddle.

Or not.

As Gabriel leaped over the gate, his foot caught the top bar and the ground rushed headlong to meet him. The last thing he thought was,
That’s going to hurt
, and then everything went black.

‘Gabriel!’ Marianne wasn’t even aware she’d screamed his name, but she was transfixed at the sight of him coming tumbling over the gate. She ran faster than she knew she could up the hill to reach him. Her heart was pounding. He couldn’t be hurt. He mustn’t be. Not now—

Now
what?
Hang on a minute? What on earth was she thinking? Marianne paused for a moment, stopped short by the bolt of lightning that had hit her out of the blue. Suddenly it all made sense. Oh my God, she’d fallen for Gabriel, big time, and she hadn’t even noticed. The revelation was cut short. Gabriel was hurt and needed her. Please, please, let him be okay.

‘Gabriel, can you hear me?’ Marianne reached him at last, kneeled down and leant over to check his pulse. Thank God for that first-aid course she’d done last year. She never thought she’d have to put the things she’d learnt into practice so swiftly.

Good, he was breathing. His pulse was racing, but then he had been exerting himself. He didn’t look like he was going blue around the lips, but you never could tell. Gabriel was Marianne’s first proper patient, she desperately didn’t want to cock things up.

‘Is there anyone medical here?’ Marianne shouted above the rest of the crowd who’d followed her. She couldn’t see any of the village GPs.

‘I’m okay, I’m okay.’ Gabriel was coming round. ‘Am I dreaming?’ he said, as he looked into Marianne’s eyes. ‘I think I’ve just seen an angel.’ He lay back and shut his eyes. Marianne swallowed hard.

‘No, but I think you’re probably concussed,’ she said.

‘Nonsense,’ said Gabriel, sitting up. ‘I’m the King of the Middle, I mean, Muddle. And I’m going to win this thing. Have ball, will travel.’

‘That’s the spirit! Go on, my son!’ the crowd roared.

‘Get him!’ shouted Dan, who was running down the path, followed by two other members of the pack.

‘Not bloody likely,’ said Gabriel. He stood up, staggered slightly, picked up the ball and, with a herculean effort, ran as fast as he could towards the village pub, followed by a host of besieging onlookers all chanting his name. Luckily it wasn’t too far.

‘Gabriel, be careful!’ shouted Marianne, to no avail. What a bloody idiot. Why did he have to go all testosterone-charged on her? ‘This is insane!’ she wailed to no one in particular.

‘Yup,’ said Pippa, who had caught up belatedly, ‘but this is perfectly normal for round here. You should see some of the injuries Dan’s had over the years.’

They watched as Dan made some headway towards Gabriel who was beginning to stagger slightly. Just as it looked as if Dan was going to reach him, Gabriel put on another spurt of speed and, like a man possessed, roared up to the pub entrance and slammed the ball down on the table.

‘I am the man!’ he declared, before swaying sideways and toppling straight over.

Noel was reading Ruby a story. It had always been one of his favourite pastimes, reading his children to sleep. He loved
the way she cosily curled up next to him as he put on silly voices to
The Gruffalo.
He missed the others being young. Mel was so moody and difficult these days, it was hard to know where to begin. He felt guiltily relieved that she took out all her grumpiness on Cat, but sometimes he wished she’d cuddle up to him on the sofa like she used to when she was little. When James wasn’t on the Playstation, he was kicking a football about. (Noel had a sneaking feeling he was a great disappointment in the footballing department, very rarely joining the other dads on the sidelines on Saturday—he usually used work as an excuse, but it was mainly because he couldn’t stand the other football dads, or standing round with cold feet—and he and Cat frequently rowed about it.)

More and more, Noel felt like he was superfluous in his older children’s lives. Although Paige still demonstrated a pleasing tendency to jump all over him as soon as he walked through the door, the older two frequently acted as if they didn’t care if he were there or not. Cat had a different take on things, he knew, extolling the joys of older children, but Noel had a sneaking affection for the muddle and chaos of the early days of parenthood when, despite the lack of sleep, the house had felt cosy and comfortable and he had felt a sense of pride at the home he and Cat were creating. Now it often felt like he was a stranger in his own house, and the jobs he had to do (memo to self, mend that sodding shelf) were a constant reminder that he wasn’t matching up to either his or Cat’s expectations as a husband and father.

His thoughts strayed to the eco town and the one bright spot in his work landscape. Though the trips up north were growing more frequent, the upside was that Noel got to spend more time in Hope Christmas. He’d taken to staying in the Hopesay Arms, the village pub, which was so much
nicer than the Travelodge on the nearest motorway. Noel had even stayed once when technically he could have got home. He’d felt guilty about it, almost as if he were having an affair, but, somehow, Noel just wanted to keep Hope Christmas as his secret.

He just couldn’t resist the opportunity to wander the little streets, pottering round the quaint shops with their lopsided walls, low ceilings, and displays of geegaws and trinkets that he found incredibly enticing. The shop that drew him back most often was more of an emporium, being a three-storeyed house, crammed full of antiques—most of them rubbish, though Noel had spotted the occasional gem. He harboured wild fantasies of buying one of the tumbledown old farmhouses he’d spotted on the way out of Hope Christmas, and cramming it full of old knickknacks purchased from the antiques shop, as well as books he’d acquired from the fabulous bookshop, where the booksellers were now ordering books especially for him. But, somehow, in his head he could never see Cat and the children there. Cat was far too much of a townie to ever countenance a life in the country. It was a pipe dream, and Noel knew it. Besides, by the time Matt and Luke had finished with the eco town there wasn’t likely to be anything left of the Hope Christmas he loved. Noel felt hopelessly guilty about the part he was playing in destroying this particular paradise for the sake of a parking lot, but he couldn’t see a way out of it without losing his job. And, in the current economic climate, he could scarcely afford to do that.

Realising Ruby was asleep, he gently kissed the top of her head, put the book away and popped his head into Paige’s room, where she had her nose stuck in a Jacqueline Wilson.

‘Five minutes till lights out,’ he said, before going downstairs and chasing James off the computer and into bed.

Cat and Mel were watching
Pride and Prejudice
, eating popcorn. He didn’t mind period drama, but wasn’t quite in the mood, so, ignoring the disappointed look on Cat’s face, he headed into the study and went online to see if there were any job opportunities out there. After a fruitless half an hour, he realised he was wasting his time. He’d try some agencies in the morning. He switched off the computer and went back into the lounge in time to witness Darcy whisking Elizabeth off into the sunset. Mel said goodnight and Cat cuddled up to him on the sofa while they watched a repeat of
Little Britain.
Noel was uneasy. He still hadn’t got round to telling Cat about the precarious nature of his work situation. Somehow there hadn’t been a right moment over the weekend. Perhaps he should tell her now.

‘Penny for ’em,’ Cat said, tucking into a piece of popcorn. ‘You seem very preoccupied.’

‘I’m fine,’ he lied, ‘just a bit tired.’

He’d tell her tomorrow. Maybe.

Gabriel lay on a stretcher in a hospital corridor, feeling woozy. This was ridiculous, he shouldn’t be in hospital, he was perfectly fine. Trust Diana Carew to insist on calling an ambulance. The paramedic who had checked him over had decided he needed to go to hospital for observation. The adrenaline rush from earlier had completely deserted Gabriel, and he was now feeling like a total prat.

You are the King of the Muddle though
, a sneaky voice in his head said very clearly.‘Yeah,and look where that’s landed me!’ Gabriel said out loud.

‘Do you often talk to yourself ?’ Marianne was standing over him, looking amused.

‘Only when my head hurts,’ said Gabriel.

‘You’ve only yourself to blame,’ said Marianne. ‘What on earth were you thinking?’

‘I wasn’t, much,’ admitted Gabriel. ‘I just got a bit carried away.’

‘I’ll say,’ said Marianne. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘Everything hurts,’ said Gabriel. ‘Where’s Stephen?’

‘Down the corridor with Pippa and the other kids,’ said Marianne. ‘I said I’d come and find out what was happening.’

‘I’m really glad you have,’ said Gabriel. Despite the pain in his limbs, and the aching of his head, he felt a sudden dizzying sense of joy that she was here with him, right now. All the way down that path, it was a vision of Marianne that had been spurring him on. Suddenly life seemed worth living in a way it hadn’t done for months. Suddenly he had a reason to get up in the morning with a spring in his step and joy in his heart. He had forgotten the rushing, intoxicating ecstasy of early love—if indeed it was love that he was feeling. Whatever it was, it was making him feel like jumping in the air and punching the sky. For the first time he imagined a future without Eve. And a future with someone else.

‘Even though I think you’re an utter pillock,’ said Marianne, bursting his bubble, ‘I’m glad you’re okay.’

‘Marianne, you say the nicest things,’ said Gabriel with a grin.

‘Don’t,’ said Marianne.

‘Don’t what?’ said Gabriel.

‘Look at me like that,’ said Marianne.

‘Like what?’

‘Like that,’said Marianne.‘You’re stopping me from being as cross as I want to be with you.’

‘Well, don’t be then,’ said Gabriel. ‘At least I won.’

‘Yes,’ said Marianne, with a sudden grin that sent his heart leaping skywards, ‘yes, you certainly did.’

‘Cat-er-ine! Cat-er-ine!’ Cat was roused from a deep sleep by the sound of Magda sobbing and shouting hysterically.

‘What on earth is going on?’ Cat leapt out of bed, crossly noting that as usual a bomb could go off and Noel wouldn’t even notice, flung a dressing gown around her and opened the door. Magda was standing before her, doubled up in pain, blood pouring from her stomach. Cat looked down and saw a bloody trail of footprints leading from the bathroom.

‘I was at club, with Sergei. We dance,’ said Magda, who was swaying alarmingly and looked incredibly pale. ‘I had my belly button pierced today. It catch on Sergei’s jacket and—oh my God, the pain!—it start to bleed. So I come home. But it won’t stop bleeding. I am going to die.’

‘You’re not going to die,’ said Cat firmly. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. And hold your finger over it to stop the bleeding. Where’s Sergei now?’

‘He is in kitchen. He not like blood.’

‘Oh, does he not?’ said Cat. ‘Haven’t you heard of A&E?’

‘What?’ Magda was leaning against the wall, panting heavily. Christ, she wasn’t about to go into anaphylactic shock, was she?

‘Let’s have a look, shall we?’ Cat gingerly removed Magda’s hand from her bare midriff to see a stud hanging off a bit of skin, with blood pumping out. Resisting the urge to gag, Cat shoved Magda’s fingers over the hole to attempt to stem the bleeding and took her back into the bathroom. She made her au pair lie on the floor with her legs in the air to stop her fainting and prevent the blood flowing downwards and, remembering a trick her Auntie Eileen (a former nurse) had taught her, she held the two pieces of skin together as tight as possible in the vain hope that they would knit back together again. After ten minutes she cautiously took her fingers away and realised that a clot
was beginning to form. Going to the first-aid cupboard, she got some steri strips out and stuck them over the wound, having first cleaned it as best she could with antiseptic wipes, ruthlessly ignoring the feeble moans emanating from Magda.

Sergei, meanwhile, had bravely managed to come up the stairs and see how his girlfriend was getting on. He took one look at Magda’s bloodied stomach and promptly threw up.

‘You’re a fat load of use,’ snapped Cat. ‘Have you been drinking?’

‘We both have,’ said Magda.

‘Great, just great,’ said Cat. ‘Right, get in the car, both of you. I’ll take you to Casualty.’

Cat drove like a maniac through the darkened London streets, furiously thinking about how she was going to deal with this situation. She was so angry she didn’t even care if Magda bled to death in the back of the car, she just wanted her gone. By the time they’d got to the hospital, she’d made up her mind about what she was going to do, even though she blanched at the thought of how she was going to manage it. She drew up outside the casualty department and then turned to them both and said, ‘I want you to listen carefully. I am going to say this only once. I’m going to leave you here, but you can make your own way home. And, in the morning, Magda, I am going to ring the agency and tell them your services are no longer required. You can come and pack your things up and then you can go. Do you understand?’

‘But Cat-er-ine—’ began Magda.

‘But Catherine nothing,’ said Cat. ‘You’ve had enough warnings. I’ve had it up to here with you and lover boy over there. I’d rather not have an au pair at all than have to put up with one as useless as you.’

It took Cat an hour by the time she’d got back from the hospital and, when she returned, she had to clean up the mess. The last thing she wanted was for the kids to see all that in the morning.

‘What’s happening?’ Noel appeared in the doorway, looking sleepy.

‘Magda nearly bled to death all over the floor, Sergei threw up everywhere and I’ve now sacked Magda,’ said Cat, as she mopped the floor with a will.

‘Oh, right,’ Noel looked a bit bemused. ‘Crikey, how did I manage to miss all that?’

‘How indeed?’ said Cat.

‘Here, let me help,’ said Noel, going to get another mop. It took them half an hour, but eventually all the mess was cleared up.

‘It could only happen to us,’ said Cat, who was so wired up she couldn’t face going back to bed again.

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Noel. ‘I’m sure there must be a house somewhere which is more chaotic than ours.’