Christmas for Beginners - Carole Matthews Page 0,13
Lucas can live with me, and that, beyond any of the other convenient amenities, is the thing I’m most grateful for. Though when I do poke my head round his bedroom door – on the rare occasion I risk doing so – it looks like a glimpse into my old caravan. Lucas favours his floor as a wardrobe, the bed is always crumpled and I have to beg him to change the sheets. What surfaces you can see are scattered with scribblings of his poetry and, though he rarely deigns to perform for me, I do like to hear him read it out. He still won’t share his poetry with his father either, which is a great sadness to Shelby. Sometimes, I sneak a peek at the recordings he puts on YouTube without him knowing. His poems are angry, rapped out with passion and I love them all. We make slow progress and he’ll sometimes take a poetry class for the kids – which they love – but it’s a talent that he’s frustratingly reluctant to share. I’ll keep trying though.
I put the kettle on – electric, not half an hour to wait for it to boil – as we’re hooked up to mains electric here too. Told you it was fancy.
‘I’ve invited the new mayor to the Christmas open day,’ Bev says when she’s settled in the window seat with her mug.
‘What?’ I nearly spit out my own tea. Sliding into the seat opposite, I lean on the table between us.
‘He’s great, by all accounts. Not that new, I suppose. He’s been in office for a bit now. Can’t remember when. I haven’t met him yet, but I’ve heard very good things about Matt Eastman.’
‘But why have you asked him?’
She shrugs. ‘I thought he could shake hands, cut a ribbon, turn on the lights? I don’t know. Do the sort of things that mayors do.’
‘Won’t that be Shelby’s job?’
‘Well. Ordinarily. But these aren’t ordinary times. Golden Boy isn’t here all that often, is he? Can we rely on him?’
‘I’m sure we can.’ I feel myself bristle slightly, which is unfair. Bev, as always, is only saying what she sees. ‘I gave him the date for his diary.’
‘The other attraction of the mayor is that he has some cash to flash in supporting local charities,’ she breezes on. ‘I thought he might like to throw some our way. It can’t hurt to have him turn up and cut a ribbon. If Shelby is here they can fight it out to the death over the scissors.’
When I break it to Shelby, I’m sure he’ll appreciate the benefit of having one of our local dignitaries here, even though it gives me the collywobbles.
Bev draws a notebook from the pocket of her discarded coat and consults it. ‘The local branch of the WI have kindly agreed to do mince pies and cakes for us.’
‘That’s nice.’ We’re trying to foster relationships with our neighbours and community clubs as some local people view our work with suspicion. They assume the place is full of knife-wielding druggies and, to be fair, we have had our share of those over the years, but it’s not our main work. We’re more likely to help with mental health and behavioural issues.
‘I’ve organised some flyers to be printed that we can put around the village.’
‘How many people do you think will come?’
‘No idea, but we could only accommodate a hundred, max. Parking is the issue. As long as it’s not too soggy we can open the field by the road. Alan can supervise that.’ She writes it in her pad.
‘What are my jobs?’
‘I’ll leave you in charge of panicking,’ she says. ‘You do it so well.’
I have to laugh at that. Principally, because she’s right. ‘I am looking forward to it,’ I insist.
‘You’re not. You’re dreading it. Already, it’s bringing you out in hives and we’ve got aaaaages to go yet.’
We haven’t. Just so you know.
‘I need to find another Baby Jesus,’ I confess. ‘The alpacas have eaten the one I bought off eBay.’
‘They are bastard things,’ Bev says affectionately. ‘We’ll have to improvise. Do you think we could get Little Dog to lie still in a manger?’
My canine chum pricks up his ears at the sound of his name. ‘No.’ He’s good, but not that good.
‘Plan B then,’ Bev says and scribbles furiously again.
‘Shall we teach the students a Christmas song?’
‘Yeah. They’d like that and it will keep them out of mischief for a few hours.’