Christmas at the Farmhouse - Rebecca Boxall Page 0,3

wasn’t expecting was…

‘Pregnant,’ she stated as she helped herself to an apple from the fruit bowl, taking an enormous bite with her lovely white teeth.

Chapter Three

January 1969

Susan

He was true to his word, Mr Jenners, and every weekday morning he popped into the baker’s before school to pick up his daily loaf, and occasionally some sort of baked treat – always insisting on buying one for me too.

He’d come in on Saturday mornings, as well, and I’d often have the radio on then if Mr Downley was out doing his deliveries. I remember there was a particular tune that always seemed to be playing when Mr Jenners came into the shop – Hey Jude. He heard me humming along to it one day and asked me if I liked the Beatles. What a question! What young girl didn’t like the Beatles back then?

‘Course I do!’ I told him.

‘I’ve got a little secret I know about them,’ he teased.

‘What?’ I asked, handing over his Cottage loaf.

‘What time do you finish today?’ he asked, passing me eight pence and rubbing at the faint moustache on his upper lip.

‘Midday,’ I said, warily. ‘But I’m expected home for lunch.’

‘Don’t you ever meet up with friends on a Saturday instead of going home? Go to the pictures or something?’

‘Every other weekend I get together with my friend Penny, but not today. I’m seeing her Saturday next.’

‘Well, why don’t you see if you can meet her a bit later than usual? I’ll take you for a cup of tea and tell you my little Beatles secret… It’ll be worth your while.’

‘Where would we go?’

‘Actually, we needn’t go anywhere. I live at Number 6 Hartley Street, big red door with a brass knocker. Nip round when you’ve finished here and I’ll make you that cup of tea, then you can meet your friend after that.’

I agreed; after all, it sounded innocent enough to me – though I decided not to trouble my parents about it. I did tell Penny, though, when she popped into the shop to buy some bread during the week.

‘You still on for Saturday?’ she said, as she paid for two Farmhouse loaves – her family was so vast that one wouldn’t suffice. Her mum usually made her own bread but now and then she found herself with too much to do and sent Penny to buy some instead.

‘Yes, but I need to meet you half an hour later than usual.’

Penny looked at me, her round blue eyes bright under lashes coated in thick mascara. She had short blonde hair and freckles and looked just like her idol, Twiggy. ‘Why?’ she asked. ‘Met someone have you?’ She smiled conspiratorially.

‘No, nothing like that. It’s our old English teacher, Mr Jenners. He’s just moved in around the corner and he’s invited me round for a cup of tea.’

Penny narrowed those large eyes of hers. ‘Doesn’t sound like nothing to me. There were rumours about that man at school. He’ll be after you.’ Penny was far worldlier than me.

‘Penny! The poor man’s wife’s only just died! There’s nothing fishy about it, I promise. Anyway, he’s got some secret information he’s going to tell me.’

‘What about?’ said my friend, looking even more suspicious.

‘The Beatles,’ I whispered, handing over her wrapped loaves and crossing my arms in front of me. Penny’s expression changed immediately to one of awe and interest.

‘You don’t think he knows one of them, do you?’ she said. ‘Maybe he’s going to introduce you to Paul McCartney!’

‘I doubt it, but don’t worry – whatever it is, I’ll be sure to tell you.’

‘Make sure you do,’ she said, taking her change and zipping it into her purse. ‘I’d better get back – Mum’ll be wanting these. See you one o’clock on Saturday at the farm then, and if you’re a minute late I’m sending out a search party.’

‘It’s Number 6 Hartley Street,’ I called out as she opened the door and I felt better for knowing that Penny, at least, would know where I was.

Chapter Four

Thursday 5th December 2019

Jo – Father Christmas

We were slightly stunned by Freja’s careless announcement, both of us looking at her incredulously as she finished her apple. A tiny part of me felt annoyed that she hadn’t kept the news to herself until after Christmas (so much to think about without this bombshell to add to the list…), but I quickly gave myself a mental slap.

Magnus was the first to speak. ‘But… but who’s the father?’ he asked and Freja rolled her pretty grey