Monday 25th December
Christmas Day at Rose Hill Manor: Swishy tails and special deliveries
As expected, turning down a proposal, in public, in Rose Hill isn’t without fallout. I get enough hugs, well wishes and advice in the next hour to last at least until the mince pies come out a lot later this afternoon. By midday, when a lot of the guests are peeling off back to their own Christmas lunches, I’m pretty much over the shock of getting engaged then unengaged all inside ten minutes. I’m catching a quiet moment by the French window when Rory sidles up with Gracie for his own debriefing.
‘Well done for that one, Berry.’ As he pulls me towards him with his one spare arm, there’s a waft of delicious Diesel mixed with Rory’s own particular guy smell, and a crush so hard I can hear his heart hammering against his chest wall. He frowns down at me. ‘Are you okay? Have you survived the mass concern and love?’
I nod. ‘I even had a hug from Jules. He’s very brave to come out when he’s still blotchy.’ For someone as appearance-orientated as Jules, a face that’s all red must be a nightmare.
Rory laughs. ‘There’s barely an inch of face showing between the top of his scarf and his Santa hat. And that’s covered in concealer.’ He looks down at Gracie.
‘So how about these presents?’
Gracie’s bottom lip wobbles. ‘P-p’raps them’s at Mummy’s house.’
I’m about to tear into him for being mean, when he scoops her into his arms. ‘Can you hear anything, Berry Christmas?’
Gracie gets in before me. ‘Jungle bells … I can hear jungle bells …’
Immie arrives, beaming, Teddie on her hip, and throws down an armful of coats and boots. ‘I think they’re all here.’ As Rory lets Gracie down, Immie zips her into her anorak. ‘Come on, Hols, time to put your leopard on.’
I pull on my hat and my wellies, and help Gracie into hers. ‘What’s going on?’
Immie chortles. ‘This is Rory’s surprise. You can’t help but love this one.’ She points to the window. ‘Look outside, Gracie. See who’s coming.’ As she opens the door there’s a gust of icy air and the sound of bells coming closer. ‘This is going to be so ace.’
We stumble out onto the terrace just in time to see a cart zooming towards us. As Nuttie the pony tosses his head as he trots, the bells on his harness are ringing and snow is flying up off the cart wheels. White fairy lights, winding right across the cart, are twinkling and sparkling against the snow. And sitting high on the front of the cart is …
‘Santa!…’ Gracie’s scream of excitement echoes across the snow. ‘It’s Feather Christmas Santa … he’s bringing my presents!’
It’s amazing how fast kids pick up on this stuff. She’s already spotted the huge hessian sack in the back. And unlike the time I hitched a lift with Santa and his overfriendly elf, this time the presents are real.
Rory’s busy with the disclaimers. ‘Right, Santa’s had to come on his cart, with his pony, because you’re the last person he’s visiting, and his reindeer are too tired to pull his sleigh.’ He swipes his hand across his forehead under his hat. ‘And this is for one time only. Every other Christmas, Santa will be coming when you’re asleep, okay?’
But Gracie isn’t listening. She’s already rushing across the snow to where the cart has pulled to a halt at the edge of where the lawn should be.
Rory hurries after her and hands her up to sit between Santa and Elf. He pushes me up onto the cart too, then springs up beside me. Somehow I can’t say anything, because when I look at Gracie’s face, literally shining with happiness, there’s this huge lump in my throat that won’t let the words out. After a huge nose blow, I manage to whisper to Rory, ‘You’ve smashed this one, Sanderson.’ I’m familiar with the routine now, so I grin at Ken and Gary. ‘Isn’t this where we all go in for a selfie with Santa?’
Ken laughs at me. ‘Christmas Crackers, you’re right.’ He looks down his nose at me. ‘You wouldn’t have been getting one of these either, if you hadn’t chosen Rory.’ He shakes his head. ‘There’s enough sizzle between you two to cook a turkey.’ He pauses as a doubtful look passes across his face. ‘You do know he doesn’t have curtains in his bedroom?’
I’m shaking my head in despair. ‘Yes. Immie already told me.’
Ken’s nostrils flare. ‘You can’t pass over an Adonis like him purely for lack of soft furnishings. The fabric shop in town has a lady who’ll run up anything you want. You might as well get matching cushions and a valance too while you’re at it.’
Sometimes it’s hard to remember – they’re like this because they care. ‘Thanks, I’ll bear that in mind, Ken. Shall we have that selfie, now?’ Although in some ways I’m grateful. Not so much for the interference. But at least it’s distracted me from my uncontrollable blubbing.
‘Okay, first we’ll do a circuit of the house, then the selfies.’ When Santa tells you what’s happening, you go with it.
Everyone who can fit on clambers aboard. The air is cold against our cheeks as we fly up the drive. I’m rammed up against Rory, and with the snorting of the pony, and the flying snow, I know it’s a once in a lifetime event. Rory’s right to tell Gracie she’ll probably never get her presents personally delivered by Santa in the snow, ever again. And my heart’s bursting in my chest that Rory’s made it happen for her now.
‘Selfie time.’
I should have realised, when it comes to selfies with Santa, Ken likes to call the shots. Then Rory produces a pillowcase out of his windcheater pocket, and Gracie holds it open, while Santa fills it with her presents, and I take pictures of her expression. Delighted doesn’t begin to cover it. Then, last thing, Rory produces a carrot for Gracie to feed to Nuttie. Truly, this man has every aspect covered here. Then we all clamber down again and Chas and Rafe take the rest of the presents from Santa’s sack. Then we all stand and wave as he drives away, and when his bells are just a jingle in the distance, we all walk back towards the house.
Another selfie? I get as far as thinking this one’s what I’d like to wake up to every day on my bedside table. Then I remember that table’s three hundred miles away and my stomach wilts.