Christmas at the Farmhouse - Rebecca Boxall Page 0,8

get back to work.’ Magnus is an architect who works from home and channels all his Danish love of uncluttered, pared-back design into his work, seeing as he lost the battle a long time ago at home (I can’t help it: I love clutter!). We had the children young and, as so much of Magnus’s time was spent studying architecture and working, there was no time or money left for me to study too. I spent several unhappy years trying to juggle earning a basic crust with raising the children until we decided it just wasn’t worth it: financially or emotionally. Recently I’d begun to wonder about starting a career late in life but now, with Freja’s news…

‘Yes please,’ I said, dismissing such thoughts again. ‘One of my Christmas rules, anyway: presents must be wrapped in front of an open fire!’

Freja laughed, as she helped me shake a variety of gifts out of carrier bags while we knelt on the hearthrug. ‘Just as well we don’t live in Hawaii or somewhere. So, whose are we wrapping first?’

‘Let’s start with Mikkel’s family and work our way down in age. I’ve left yours upstairs, obviously. And Dad’s.’

‘You know there is absolutely nothing I want or need,’ said Magnus as he set a match to his carefully stacked fire. He stood back to admire it, managing to avoid crushing the gifts – or Freja and I.

‘You always say that,’ I replied. ‘But you know you have to indulge me and at least put up with receiving a couple of gifts!’

Magnus shook his head, smiling with an affectionate exasperation. He kissed me on the top of my head then took his leave upstairs to his clutter-free office in the attic that looks out on to potato fields and, beyond that, to the five-mile golden spread of St Ouen’s Bay.

‘What’s this?’ Freja said, examining an unusual-looking item.

‘A wine thermometer for Mikkel.’

‘He can stick it up his bum. Test how anal he is each day!’

‘Freja!’ I scolded, though I couldn’t help but smile.

The present wrapping took a long time, Freja being unusually particular about wrapping gifts with her innate artistic flair so that each and every one was a joy to behold. It was companionable, actually; peaceful and cosy, with the fire crackling and the rain hammering sideways on to the windows. When the sky started to darken I gathered myself up from the rug and began switching on lamps and pulling the thick curtains across. The sitting room is an L-shape so there’s a cosy sitting area with sofas and an armchair surrounding the fireplace and then, around the corner, is the baby grand piano which nobody ever uses apart from Mikkel. It looks lovely, though, and always comes in handy for displaying family photographs.

‘I love this all-in-one for Violet,’ Freja said, and I realised it was the first time she’d taken an interest in anything baby related. ‘How old is she now?’

‘She’ll be six months on Christmas Day.’

‘They are coming for Christmas, aren’t they?’ asked Freja, concerned. For all her madcap ways, Freja is a family girl and it’s important to her for us all to be together at Christmastime.

‘They are now. Heidi was fussing about having to take Violet on a plane and how they’d manage, but Lucas reminded her that it’s only a half an hour journey from London. Anyway, her parents are away this year so it made sense for them to come here again. But you know we can’t expect to all be together every year. It’s not realistic, now that you’ve all got your other halves.’ Freja pulled a face, like she didn’t want to listen. ‘Talking of which, can we expect Sunny for Christmas?’

Freja looked surprised. ‘Oh no, Mum. He doesn’t celebrate Christmas!’

‘But you said he’s Father Christmas at the garden centre!’

‘Just for the money. Anyway, we’re not together.’

‘You’re not?’ I asked, joining her back on the hearthrug.

‘It was just a fling.’

‘Are you sure it’s not that you’re afraid of falling for someone too deeply, after everything that happened with Ryan?’ Ryan was Freja’s first love and turned out to be a rat. He was one of those charming-to-the-parents types, which I distrusted from the outset. We were worried about her when it all ended a year ago; she got far too thin for one thing.

‘Honestly, Mum, it was just meant to be casual.’

‘Have you told him about the baby?’

Freja looked shifty. ‘Not yet. I will do… I just wanted to tell you and Dad first.’

‘You must tell