I Wish It Could Be Christmas Every Day - Milly Johnson Page 0,11

every bit of Yorkshire. I was born in Whitby. I had an aunt whom we used to visit, she lived in Penistone, which isn’t far from Oxworth, is it?’ replied Charlie, before taking another sip of brandy and giving a shimmy of delight.

‘That’s right,’ said Mary, hanging up both her coat and Jack’s. ‘It’s very close to Penistone. What a small world.’

‘What about you, dear?’ Charlie asked Bridge. ‘I can’t place your accent.’

‘I’m originally from just outside Derby,’ said Bridge, although over the past years her accent had been ironed to neutral. She’d forced herself to talk like that at first; now she spoke that way naturally. The name Bridget and the accent that went with it belonged to a past that she had little fondness for.

‘This snow is here to stay, and I imagine a road like this would be way down on the pecking order for gritting,’ said Robin, from his place by the first window, his legs drawing a modicum of warmth from the old-style radiator fastened to the wall underneath it. ‘There’s no light coming from those cottages across the way, is there?’

‘They’re all empty,’ said Bridge. ‘I walked across before I took a screwdriver to the door lock. No one in at the church, either.’

‘Then there’s no chance of them clearing round here, is there?’ Robin surmised. ‘Any snow ploughs will be concentrating on the major roads, not single-track country lanes.’

‘I have a meeting I can’t miss tomorrow lunchtime,’ insisted Jack.

‘Well you’d better pray for a quick thaw, mate, or an AA man driving Chitty Chitty Bang Bang.’ At the rate the snow was falling, Robin thought that the second option seemed the more probable.

‘We’re supposed to be halfway to the Cairngorms for Christmas by now,’ said Charlie. ‘Five-star hotel and all the snow you can shake a stick at, except there isn’t any up there, it’s all down here. The world’s gone insane.’

‘I thought everyone was more worried about global warming than this sort of thing,’ said Mary.

‘I could do with a bit of global warming now. It’s not very warm in here, is it?’ said Charlie, with a shudder.

Robin was instantly alerted to the comfort of his husband.

‘Anyone mind if I light that fire?’ he asked.

A general rumble of ‘No’ and ‘Go ahead’.

‘There’s a box of matches on the mantelpiece,’ Bridge pointed out.

‘Thank you,’ said Robin. He took one out of the box, struck it then poked it at the twists of newspaper under the front logs until the flame transferred.

‘So, there’s no landlord here then?’ asked Jack.

‘Not unless he’s hiding,’ replied Bridge. ‘I gave the place a once-over when I arrived, apart from the cellar, but I did shout down and there was no answer. In short, there’s no one here but “us chickens”.’

‘Which way to the ladies’ loos?’ Mary asked Bridge.

‘I’ll show you,’ said Bridge, ‘I need to go myself.’

* * *

‘Mind if I go first?’ asked Mary, when they got inside. ‘I’m absolutely bursting.’

‘Be my guest,’ said Bridge.

‘Thanks.’ Mary rushed in, locked the door, made an eventual ‘ahhh’ of relief sound.

‘I’ve been holding on to this for miles,’ she said through the door. ‘I was on the brink of having to stop the car at the next available set of trees. I’d have been mortified to have had to pull up for that reason.’

‘You were driving?’ asked Bridge.

‘Yeah. I like driving. Especially that car.’

‘So much easier for men, isn’t it?’ said Bridge. ‘I do envy them the ability to just whip it out and syphon off. Where were you going?’

‘Jack had a breakfast meeting in Tynehall first thing tomorrow morning. The plan was to get there today, rest up, have the meeting and then drive home straight after.’

‘Tynehall? You’re way off course. Were you travelling on the A1?’

‘We were until a lorry blocked it. There was a diversion, then that diversion got diverted…’

‘Similar thing happened to me,’ said Bridge. ‘Got totally lost. Me and the satnav.’

Mary flushed the loo, opened the door.

‘Is that your partner you’re with?’ Bridge asked.

‘Jack? I wish. Oops.’ Mary slapped both hands over her mouth. ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.’

Bridge chuckled as she went into the cubicle. ‘I won’t say a word. Promise.’

‘Jack’s the boss, I’m the lowly PA.’

‘Nothing lowly about being a PA,’ Bridge corrected her. ‘The oil in the machine. Some of these execs don’t know how much their “lowly PAs” actually do for them behind the scenes.’

‘You sound as if you’ve been one yourself,’ said Mary, turning on the tap to wash