Snowflakes and Cinnanmon Swirls at the Winter Wonderland Page 12

  ‘Thank you, Dorothy,’ said Catherine diplomatically. ‘Let’s not get too ahead of ourselves. What were you going to suggest, Jamie?’

  ‘Well, we’ve been talking about making proper use of the woods,’ said Jamie, ‘creating some sort of trail for people to follow, with activities and things to look at as everyone goes around.’

  I remembered Jamie had mentioned making use of Gabe’s skills when Christmas cropped up in conversation a while back.

  ‘What sort of activities?’ the man himself now asked. He sounded as intrigued as Dorothy was excited.

  Clearly, we’d lost another one to the cause. I was going to have to keep my wits about me, otherwise I would end up getting roped into doing something as well.

  ‘Some sort of hands-on session for families to take part in together,’ Jamie explained. ‘Perhaps they could make something out of wood from kits that we could put together ahead of time. Something with a festive theme, maybe?’

  ‘Like when we made the bird boxes in the summer, you mean?’ asked Mick. ‘That worked very well.’

  ‘Yes, anything along those lines would be good,’ Jamie nodded, ‘only with a Christmas twist, of course.’

  ‘I like the sound of that,’ Gabe nodded. ‘In fact, leave it with me, guys. I think I might have just the thing.’

  ‘And I’ve been thinking about hiring in a couple of reindeer,’ said Angus.

  This suggestion was met with stunned silence. Surely, he wasn’t being serious?

  ‘Or a snow machine,’ he added a little more meekly. ‘Perhaps we could have a snow machine on standby, just in case we don’t get the real thing.’

  ‘I like the sound of reindeer,’ said Molly dreamily.

  You could always rely on her to go with the most bizarre option available.

  ‘And to end the trail,’ Jamie rushed on, keen to move away from the idea of Rudolph and his pals, ‘we could set up some sort of grotto with Santa inside to hand out gifts.’

  ‘You could put the reindeer in an enclosure next to it,’ suggested Molly.

  ‘So, let me get this straight,’ said Catherine, looking up from the notepad she had been busily scribbling on. ‘Angus, Jamie, Mick and Gabe, you four would be in charge of the woodland trail and all of its associated activities, Anna and I will be organising the party, and Dorothy, of course, will be in the kitchen.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Jamie and Angus together.

  ‘And I’ll help the vicar with the Christmas tree competition,’ Molly generously offered.

  It always surprised me how well our pagan friend got on with the local vicar, but I don’t suppose it should have, really.

  ‘So, if we do decide to go ahead—’ Catherine continued.

  ‘And I really think we should,’ Angus enthusiastically cut in, ‘and the sooner the better because we won’t have long . . .’

  Jamie put a hand on his father’s arm and subtly shook his head to silence him. The younger Connelly knew that the next couple of minutes were make-or-break as far as the plan was concerned.

  ‘That just leaves you, Hayley,’ Catherine carried on as if she hadn’t been interrupted at all.

  Everyone turned to look at me.

  ‘Oh, don’t worry about me,’ I smiled. ‘I’m sure with all the extra comings and goings there’ll be plenty of cleaning for me to keep on top of. I’ll just be the girl Friday, floating between jobs and helping out where I can.’

  I didn’t really fancy committing to more than that. If Angus had his way, I’d no doubt be dressed up as one of Santa’s elves, sporting stripy tights – perish the thought – and keeping control of the crowds as they queued to see the Big Man.

  And there would be queues. You could guarantee it.

  Everyone from miles around would want to come and see what the Connelly family had to offer this Christmas.

  ‘You could help me if you like,’ said Gabe. ‘I’ll need a guinea pig to help me work on the kits I have in mind. They’ll need to be the right balance of practical and simple. Something impressive that can be easily put together in the great outdoors, and suitable for all ages. You could help me with the test runs.’

  I wasn’t sure whether he thought he was being helpful or not, but I didn’t think more time alone with him was a particularly good idea, and there was no way I was going to get roped into chopping logs and hammering nails in the freezing woods. The thought of playing chief elf was bad enough, but at least it would leave my manicure in one piece. I might have been developing a soft spot for the hall’s resident angel, but I had my limits.

  ‘Honestly,’ I said, raising my eyebrows, ‘thanks, but I’m fine. I’m not much of an outdoorsy type. You’d be far better off asking Molly to help you with all that.’

  ‘Oh, yes, please,’ said Molly.

  ‘Fair enough,’ Gabe shrugged. ‘It was just a thought.’

  Was that a note of disappointment in his tone or was my mind still hanging on to the implications behind the ‘I really like you’, comment? Given the curious look Anna was giving Gabe, she clearly thought something was amiss, too.

  ‘And we’ll need a map, of course,’ Angus announced.

  ‘A what?’ asked Anna, thankfully distracted from Gabe’s slumped shoulders.

  ‘A map.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘To go with the trail,’ Jamie explained. ‘We thought a map would add to the fun. We could have little markers dotted along the trail, highlighting certain woodland features and reminding visitors to look out for things as they go around.’

  ‘And little ink pads and stamps to brand the map to prove that you’ve been the whole way around and seen everything,’ added Angus.

  ‘There’d be a small prize at the end for completed trail maps, which could be handed out at Santa’s grotto,’ Jamie cut in, scribbling furiously on his own notepad.

  By a sleigh-bell-toting elf, no doubt. I crossed my arms and tried to look invisible.

  ‘So, as well as having a festive trip out to the countryside, folk would learn something about the woods, the trees and the creatures and birds that live there,’ said Gabe, sounding slightly more cheery. ‘I like the sound of that. I really like the sound of that.’

  ‘We thought we could design the map to tie in with some posters and flyers,’ Angus enthused, ‘along with an advert in the local paper, perhaps even a spot on the radio.’

  He was getting carried away again. Catherine looked at him sternly and held up her hand to stop his excitement.

  ‘But none of this is going to come cheap, Angus,’ she reminded him. ‘You’ll have to cost it out very carefully. If it’s overpriced no one will come, but if we charge too little it could end up costing us a fortune.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Mum,’ said Jamie, ‘I’m looking into all that.’

  ‘And who is going to do the drawing?’ she carried on. The financial implications of the ambitious project had clearly made her jittery, and rightly so. ‘We can’t have it looking like something the local nursery cobbled together, can we?’

  I sat stock-still ignoring the look that had just passed between Molly and Anna.

  ‘We have plenty of things on-site that we can utilise, including our wonderfully skilled team,’ Jamie told his mother, ‘and I’ve even approached a couple of local companies about supplying bits and pieces in return for a mention in the advertising.’

  Catherine looked somewhat appeased by her son’s sensible approach and understanding of the situation. Angus was more of a make-it-up-as-you-go-along type, but, thankfully, Jamie had the business acumen to back up his decisions.

  ‘Not catering companies?’ asked Dorothy sounding aghast. ‘You aren’t hiring in caterers, surely?’

  ‘No,’ Jamie smiled, ‘not catering companies. Unless the Cherry Tree ladies would like to help out, or, perhaps, Amber and Jake from Skylark Farm.’

  ‘Well yes,’ Dorothy sniffed, ‘that’s fine, that’s different.’

  ‘I’m talking more along the lines of someone
to lend us a shed or summerhouse, which we could decorate as Santa’s grotto,’ Jamie continued. ‘A tarpaulin to hang and turn into a temporary workshop among the trees in the woods for Gabe, in case the weather goes feral. That sort of thing.’

  ‘But I suppose we could use the summerhouse in the fern garden for Santa,’ Catherine tentatively suggested. ‘The little garden would make a lovely grotto, wouldn’t it?’

  Well, well, well. They’d done it. They’d sucked her in, but actually, the fern garden would be perfect. With the aid of Angus’s longed-for snow machine and some twinkling lights, the little walled space would make a wonderful finale to a walk through the woods, but I wasn’t sure there would be room for reindeer. Perhaps Catherine’s offer of her beloved little spot was cannier than I initially gave her credit for.

  ‘But that doesn’t solve the issue of finding an artist for the map, does it?’ said Anna, staring straight at me.

  ‘No,’ said Jamie throwing down his pencil, ‘no it doesn’t, and that could end up being the really pricey bit. That could be the stumbling block because we want it to look really special. I’m going to speak to Lizzie Dixon. She might know someone who could do it.’

  ‘Mates rates are what we need,’ said Angus, tapping the side of his head.

  He looked just like Winnie the Pooh when he was having a good long think about something.

  ‘Hayley could do it,’ piped up Molly.

  Did she really just say that?

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said Anna, using her very best why-didn’t-I-think-of-that tone. ‘You could do it, couldn’t you, Hayley?’

  Traitors. The two of them, masquerading as friends, sitting right opposite me.

  ‘Do you draw, Hayley?’ Gabe asked.

  It was an innocent enough question. There was absolutely no way on earth that he could have known that. No one at the hall, aside from the dynamic duo, knew of my passion for pencil and paper, or that I had been hoping to keep it that way.

  ‘She has been known to do the odd doodle,’ Anna answered on my behalf, smiling wickedly.

  ‘Has she?’ asked Catherine as everyone’s eyes turned to me.

  ‘Well, I never,’ said Angus, sounding more Tigger than Pooh.

  ‘I had no idea,’ said Mick.

  ‘None of us did,’ added Dorothy.

  ‘She has a whole folder of stuff upstairs,’ said Molly, the words rushing out as she dropped me well and truly in it. ‘She’s amazing.’

  ‘I don’t suppose there’s any chance we could have a look, is there?’ asked Jamie, his eyes shining with the same excitement as his father’s. ‘You might just be able to create exactly what we need.’

  Chapter 14

  Angus enthusiastically elected himself as the person most appropriate to scrutinise my artistic skills and followed me up to my room to look through the folder I had hoped to keep hidden in the cubby hole under the window. Had I been worried that my unpredictable feelings for Gabe were poised to take centre stage, I needn’t have, because they weren’t going to get the chance to dominate my imagination for a good while yet.

  ‘Well,’ he chuckled as we went, ‘this is all a turn up for the books.’

  I didn’t say anything.

  ‘All these years we’ve known you, Hayley, and we’ve never once seen you with a pencil or a paintbrush in your hand. Although, now that I think of it, your grandmother was always telling us that you were keen on art when you were at school, and that she thought you had a real talent.’

  ‘Was she always telling you that?’ I gasped, spinning around and almost knocking him back down the stairs. ‘Did she really think that?’

  Neither of my parents had ever shown even the slightest interest in my sketchbooks when I used to sit drawing while they were immersed in the soaps. Not that I went out of my way to show them what I had been up to, of course, but I was rather taken aback that my nan had been so aware of what I was doing.

  She wasn’t what you’d call an artistic type, and I never really thought my efforts would have been of any interest to her. I had foolishly lumped her in with the rest of the family when it came to certain things, but, given all the love and help she gave me when I needed her most, I shouldn’t have. I shouldn’t have assumed that she was the same any more than I should have presumed Mum would never find the courage to change her course.

  ‘She did,’ Angus nodded. ‘She was very proud of you, you know.’

  ‘Yes,’ I whispered, swallowing down the lump in my throat. ‘That, I did know.’

  I didn’t let myself think about her all that often, but her voice, telling me how brave she thought I was, was still as clear as a bell in my head.

  ‘She was a wonderful woman,’ Angus sighed, ‘occasionally fierce,’ he added with another chuckle, no doubt remembering all the times she had scolded him for messing up her hard work, ‘but always fair.’

  She had certainly been a formidable woman with strong, traditional beliefs about relationships, yet she had made sure she stood firmly by me when my parents threw me out after my pregnancy became public knowledge. She told me right from the start that she wasn’t going to let her one and only granddaughter feel isolated, even though, for the most part, I was.

  She revealed how she was ashamed of my mother, not me. Mortified by how her own daughter had treated her only child. She was the one who arranged a roof over my head with Catherine and Angus; she was the one who made me believe that everything was going to be all right. And then she died and the baby died and, foolishly, I returned home.

  Her death and my miscarriage had happened so close together that I could barely separate my last remaining memories of her from those of my time in the hospital. I hated that, but was thankful that taking on her role as housekeeper as soon as I ducked out of school had kept her close in other ways.

  ‘And, of course,’ Angus continued, ‘we would have asked about your love of art ourselves, but what with everything else that happened when you first came here, I suppose it just all got forgotten.’

  ‘Well, I’m pleased it did,’ I interrupted. ‘I wouldn’t have wanted to talk about it, even if you had asked.’

  Drawing and painting had quickly come to remind me of nothing other than the man who had deserted me and the baby I had lost. Those negative feelings were entirely my own fault, of course. I was the one who had told myself certain things and repeated them out loud so often that I had come to believe them. One day, I would have to face up to that, but for now I was focused on getting over Gavin and quashing my feelings for Gabe. That added heartbreak could wait.

  ‘But, did you really intend to put it all away for ever?’ Angus asked, interrupting my emotional thoughts for the second time that morning.

  ‘Yes,’ I sighed, pushing open my bedroom door and thinking of more than my sketchbooks. ‘That was the general idea.’

  I don’t think I’d ever known Angus to be speechless before, but as he worked his way through the folder and I stood fiddling with my cuticles, trying to pretend it wasn’t all happening, he was completely silent. He lingered longest over the most recent sketches; the ones I had started after Gavin had unwittingly roused the sleeping beast and I hadn’t been able to stop myself from picking up a pencil.

  ‘But Hayley,’ Angus eventually said, ‘I really don’t know what to say.’

  ‘Because you can’t believe that someone like me could do something like that?’ I asked, pointing at the books now spread across the bed.

  I instantly regretted my harsh suggestion. He had every right to look hurt.

  ‘Sorry,’ I said, ‘that didn’t come out right.’

  ‘No,’ he said, ‘I’m sorry because that is partly what I was thinking.’

  At least he was honest.

  ‘This is all such a shock,’ he continued, looking from me to the books and back again. ‘I’m seeing you in a whole new light.’

  ‘Oh god,’ I said, theatrically rolling my eyes and planting my hands on my hips, ‘you’re not going to start going aroun
d telling folk I have hidden depths or anything, are you?’

  ‘But you do, my girl,’ he beamed. ‘You do.’

  I could tell he was completely reassessing me; totally rejigging what he thought he knew and trying to work out where this surprisingly artistic piece of the jigsaw would fit. I wasn’t sure it would fit anywhere anymore. I had spent too long trying to squeeze it out.

  ‘Have Anna and Molly always known about this?’ he asked, his eyes returning to the bed.

  ‘No,’ I told him. ‘They found my folder the day I was moving out of the Rose Room. I’d hidden it under the bed and they happened to stumble upon it.’

  ‘Well, thank goodness they did,’ Angus cried. ‘I can’t believe you’ve been hiding your light under a bushel for so long.’

  ‘Bed, actually,’ I quipped.

  No matter how serious the situation, I just couldn’t seem to stop myself. My make-a-joke-out-of-anything-uncomfortable default button was firmly on and burning brighter than ever.

  ‘Well, whatever,’ he went on, ignoring my silliness, ‘you, my girl, have been keeping your talent a secret for far too long.’

  I shrugged my shoulders and dropped my arms to my sides, unsure as to how I felt about what was happening. Just because everyone now knew about my talent, that didn’t mean that I would be properly taking it up again. Sure, I had fiddled about a bit recently, but I had no intention of taking it further than that.

  ‘These are new, aren’t they?’ Angus asked. ‘These have been done quite recently.’

  There was no denying it. The pencilled date in the corner of the pages was a giveaway for a start.

  ‘Yes,’ I admitted. ‘During the last few months, I’ve been having a quick doodle, as Anna so succinctly put it.’

  Angus nodded and carried on flicking through the pages.

  ‘But why?’

  ‘Why what?’ I frowned.

  ‘Why did you start again?’

  I moved some of the papers to one side and sat on the edge of the bed.

  ‘It was the scorching scaffolder’s fault,’ I huffed. ‘He remembered that I used to carry this folder around at school, along with what was inside it, and that, in turn, got me thinking again.’