lower branches, and the fresh ferns and holly branches entwined around the banisters of the staircase are twinkling with tiny white lights.
Spotting Santa’s legs dangling from the chimney breast of the baronial-style fireplace makes me smile. The white-trimmed red velvet trousers and black, gold-buckled boots of Father Christmas delivering his gifts perfectly offsets the formality of the entrance hall, magically transforming it into a place for laughter and celebration.
As we head to the kitchen, we hear barking, and without warning, a bundle of toffee-coloured fur tears into the hall and starts jumping up at Flo.
‘Hey, boy!’ She laughs delightedly. ‘Where did you come from?’
‘Oh, he’s gorgeous. Or is it a she?’
‘He’s a he,’ says a voice, and a large woman with lots of curly dark reddish hair and twinkling eyes comes panting after the little dog. ‘This is Wilbur and he’s being a very naughty boy today. Because of all the excitement of being in a strange house, I suppose. Wilbur! Get down!’
‘He’s fine,’ laughs Flo. ‘Is he a puppy?’
She nods. ‘Just a year old. A very cheeky cockapoo. I’m Rhoda, by the way. My husband, Bob, and I are old friends of Marjery and Will. Delighted to be invited to this lovely pre-Christmas house party!’ She glances at Flo’s box of fruit and vegetables. ‘I take it you girls are handling the food? How lovely! Well, I won’t keep you. I need to find Bob. Come on, Wilbur. Heel, boy.’
As Wilbur is clearly far too excited to remember what a heel is, Rhoda sighs good-humouredly, goes over to where he’s sniffing around the Christmas tree and scoops him up. ‘See you later, girls!’ she calls, and starts climbing the stairs, presumably in search of Bob.
In the kitchen, Flo and I quickly unpack the crates and set to work in the rather draughty kitchen, knowing that soon, with the ovens on, it will grow comfortably toasty.
I whip up the batter for the mini Yorkshire puddings, then store it in the fridge for later, while Flo starts prepping the vegetables. The guests are having drinks at seven in the plush drawing room before sitting down to eat at seven-thirty in the formal dining room, with its long, richly-decorated festive table. I plan to begin browning the fillet of beef with its wild mushroom stuffing soon after six, so that it has time to roast in the oven and rest before serving.
‘How’s Tavie?’ asks Flo, with a sympathetic glance.
‘Oh, trying my patience as usual,’ I say lightly. ‘She’s out with her friend, Amy, at some boy’s house, and every bit of me wanted to refuse to let her go, but I can’t do that, can I?’
Flo grimaces. ‘Ooh, I remember it well. Trying to strike that balance between making sure they’re safe and wrapping them up in cotton wool.’
I groan. ‘And you had twice the trouble.’
‘Couldn’t you pick her up on the way back tonight?’
I laugh bitterly. ‘She’d literally murder me if I turned up at someone’s house to collect her.’
Flo grins. ‘Teenagers. They swear they couldn’t give a stuff about anything, yet they’re more self-conscious and awkward than a naked man trapped in a department store window!’
‘Nice image.’
‘You have to give Tavie some freedom, I suppose. She’s nearly sixteen.’
‘Yes.’ I sigh. ‘But it’s so hard. On winter nights, I just want to get in our cosy jim-jams, play Ludo and drink hot chocolate with marshmallows by the fire, like we used to.’
‘She’ll be fine. As long as you know where she is and she comes back at a reasonable time.’ Flo shrugs. ‘I guess you have to trust her.’
I nod. ‘She’s a sensible kid underneath all the indignant posturing. She’s told me she’d never do drugs, and she thinks that people who do are dumb. So that’s something.’
‘Good for her.’
‘I know. And I do believe her. She’s always truthful about stuff like that, although sometimes I wish she wasn’t quite so upfront.’ I grimace. ‘She told me the other day that she’d tried smoking weed but she didn’t like it so she wouldn’t be doing it again.’
‘When was this?’ laughs Flo.
‘Smoking the weed? A few weekends ago. I grounded her because I didn’t know what else to do. But it seemed pretty pointless considering she’d already decided it wasn’t for her.’
‘That’s a tricky one. She sounds like she knows her own mind.’
‘She certainly does.’ I think of Tavie’s blue eyes flashing with earnest indignation last night over dinner as she talked furiously about the plight of the homeless. Heartily agreeing with