Christmas for Beginners - Carole Matthews Page 0,63
I were too tired to even have our usual bet this morning.
Alan disappears into the barn without a word, not all that unusual, but Bev also disappears into the tea room with nothing more than a wave and a curt shout of, ‘Leave me alone. I’ll talk to you later.’
So I do just that.
I hope the rain stops soon and we can get the kids doing something that burns off their energy, shifts their mood. The barn feels a bit dark and gloomy due to the grey day, but if I string up some fairy lights in here and have a cleaning and cuddling session with the bunnies that might cheer everyone up. Thankfully, the rabbits don’t seem to be having any issues today.
Then, just as I’m feeling pleased with myself for thinking how to turn this around, a fight kicks off. Two of the girls, Lottie and Erin, start a full-on brawl in the yard. There’s slapping, kicking, name-calling and swearing. Neither of them are much over five feet tall, but they’re like banshees.
I dash to intervene and, as I try to pull them away from each other, get my own hair pulled and Lottie gouges the back of my hand in the process. ‘Stop,’ I say. ‘Stop that right now.’
It’s days like this when I dream of a nice, quiet office job.
‘She started it,’ Erin says, petulantly.
‘Did not.’
But I’m in no mood to listen. ‘You both need to calm down,’ I say in my most placating tone.
‘You can fuck off,’ Lottie says. ‘And you can stick your Christmas thing up your arse.’
‘I’m not doing it either,’ her opponent adds, now that they’re ganging up on me. ‘No one believes that Father Christmas is real now.’
Calling on all my reserves of patience, I calm the girls down and give them a little talk about boundaries, respect, violence, use of bad language and not taking chunks out of each other while they both glower at me. If looks could kill I would be stone dead.
‘You don’t have to take part in the open day or the nativity,’ I say. ‘That’s entirely your choice, but I think you’d be missing out.’
That worries them more than anything – FOMO. Fear of Missing Out. Something all modern teenagers dread. Though now I have given myself another problem in that I have to think of something that two make-up-obsessed teenage girls might miss out on. I wish Bev had never come up with this. Christmas is stressful enough without all this added pressure.
Then I notice that someone’s left the door of the chicken coop open and, even though it only takes me seconds to respond, the chickens are running free and my pep-talk is sharply curtailed. Instead, I’m running round – rather like a headless chicken – as thirty-plus of our sparsely feathered friends scatter to the four corners of the yard.
‘Who let the chickens out?’ I howl.
Little Dog and Betty Bad Dog decide to help round them up and bark excitedly as the chickens flap about which, of course, only serves to make things worse.
‘Down, dogs,’ I shout. So they jump up a bit more. Oh, to have animals that take a blind bit of notice of me. If that’s not enough, then the geese join in, throwing back their heads to honk loudly and flap their wings, spooking the chickens even more.
I stop and watch the chaos around me, helplessly. Why can’t I go back to bed and lie with the duvet over my head until tomorrow?
‘Help,’ I say to the students who are looking on, mouths gaping. ‘Grab a chicken! You know how!’
But knowing how and actually being able to do it are two different matters. When chickens don’t want to be caught, you are definitely up against it. Even our one-legged hen, Peg – who can topple over when standing still – can hop at an impressive rate of knots when she puts her mind to it. ‘Go in the coop and grab some lettuce! Wave it at them!’
The students manage to do that and chase the chickens with lettuce offerings, but on this day contrary to every other day of the year, lettuce doesn’t do the trick.
I don’t know where Lucas is, but he’s not here when I need him. ‘Lucas!’ I shout. ‘Lucas!’
Our blind chicken, Mrs Magoo, is running round aimlessly, flapping her wings in fright. I need to catch hold of her before she does herself some damage.