Christmas at the Farmhouse - Rebecca Boxall Page 0,13

with black hair, and had twinkly blue eyes that seemed to go off-the-scale twinkly when he beheld Astrid. I wasn’t sure what to do. I felt like I was intruding and was about to turn and scuttle off when Astrid spotted me.

‘Mum!’ she yelled.

I feigned surprise. ‘Astrid, darling! How lovely to see you!’

‘And you!’ she said warmly, and I realised I hadn’t seen this side of Astrid – the warm, friendly side – for a long time. ‘Mum, this is Jack. He works with me at the radio station. He’s only just moved to Jersey so I’ve been showing him round, helping him get to know the place.’

‘How kind of you,’ I replied, though seeing her grey eyes glittering, I knew it was more than kindness motivating her. ‘How’s Percy?’ I asked.

‘He’s better, thank goodness. Rotten colds. He’s back at nursery now and he’s so excited about Christmas!’

‘And Xav? How’s he?’ I asked, feeling strangely like I shouldn’t even be mentioning the poor man’s name in front of Jack.

‘He’s fine, I think.’

‘You think?’

‘Mum, we can’t be long – we’ve only got an hour till we need to be back at our desks. Are we still on for this afternoon?’

I wracked my brain, remembering that we’d arranged to take Percy to see Father Christmas at the garden centre at four o’clock.

‘Oh yes, of course. I’m looking forward to it. Though I’m not sure I’ll be able to look at Father Christmas in the same way ever again…’

‘Why not?’ asked Astrid.

‘There’s lots to explain… Lots to catch up on… Why don’t you come back to ours for supper after we’ve been to the garden centre? I’ll give Percy his bath. You can stay the night if you want.’

‘Lovely,’ Astrid smiled and, despite all my misgivings about the reason for the smile, I was incredibly happy to see it. ‘See you later, Mum!’

‘Good to meet you,’ said Jack, and they were off, both chatting and gesticulating as they hurried towards the Fish Market.

I put thoughts of the encounter out of my mind – I needed to focus – and purposefully set about my shopping, starting with the spice shop. The atmosphere felt thick with the festive scent of spices and I worked my way along the racks, all neatly arranged in alphabetical order, picking up cloves, cinnamon, coriander seeds, ginger, juniper, mace, mixed spice and nutmeg.

After that, I splurged on all the necessary cooking spirits from Corkscrew, the wine shop (cherry brandy, rum, port and sherry), then continued making my way around, picking up some lamb chops for dinner, too, until I had everything I could need aside from the fresh foods. I’d ended up by the second-hand bookshop and decided to indulge myself for ten minutes. There’s something about these sorts of shops – a bit like libraries – that feels so unrushed and peaceful and timeless. The shopkeepers never jump up to ask whether you need any help; they always sit quietly, unobtrusively, while you take your time reading the blurb on the jackets and breathing in that dusty scent of old books.

In the end I found the perfect one for Magnus on architecture for his birthday and, with my one-track mind, a marvellously old-fashioned cookbook (Fanny Cradock’s Christmas Cookery!). When I took the books to the till, I spotted some lovely Advent calendars – reduced, as we were a week into Advent already. Not those chocolate monstrosities, but proper religious ones with each window revealing a festive picture, like a star or a lamb or some frankincense – the sort I’d always had as a child – and I decided to buy one for each grandchild, and Freja too. Absurd to think she’d be having her own baby soon, when I still considered her a child herself.

Tartan trolley full to bursting, I took a shortcut towards the car park through the Fish Market, and when I spotted Astrid and Jack, still in animated conversation as they devoured lunch at the seafood café, I knew I must brace myself for later in the afternoon when, I suspected, Astrid would be imparting news that would be difficult to hear. Another pre-Christmas bombshell, no doubt, but I wouldn’t let it ruin Christmas. Nothing was going to ruin it this year. I was determined. This year, with the surprise I had in store, would be special.

Chapter Nine

January 1969

Susan

Strangely, after that Saturday, Mr Jenners didn’t come in for his bread or baked goodies all week. Eventually, early on the Friday, the surly son came into