A Lake District Christmas Murder E-Book und Hörbuch

Rebecca Tope

• E-Book-Herausgeber: Allison & Busby
  Hörbuch-Herausgeber: Soundings
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Serie: Lake District Mysteries
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 395

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

As Christmas draws nearer, Simmy Henderson is invited to a party in Glenridding at the heart of the Lake District. However, the festivities are overshadowed by two alarming discoveries: a man's body in the beck above the village and a vulnerable newborn baby, apparently abandoned by its mother. Caught in the crosscurrents and tensions of the inhabitants of Glenridding, Simmy is drawn into the investigation. The season of goodwill has been eclipsed by far darker emotions and a murderer must be found.

Leseprobe

1

2

3

A Lake District Christmas Murder

REBECCA TOPE

In fond memory of Sally Laird (1945–2024)

My friend for almost 60 years

Contents

Title PageDedicationMapAuthor’s Note Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty-One Chapter Twenty-Two Chapter Twenty-Three By Rebecca Tope About the AuthorCopyright

7

Author’s Note

As in previous titles, this story is set in real villages. Some liberties have been taken with precise layout and distances to fit the storyline. The White Lion Inn in Patterdale is now under new management. It appears in the story as it was until recently.8

9

Chapter One

‘We have no idea what they’re like,’ Simmy worried. ‘What’m I going to wear? How long do we have to stay?’

‘There’ll be loads of other people there. Nobody’s going to take much notice of us. If they do, it’ll be Robin they talk to, not us. It’s just a nice village get-together for Christmas. Don’t get all obsessive about it.’

‘It’s not our village, though, is it? We’re not part of Glenridding society – or do we say “community”? That sounds nicer, somehow. Whichever it is, it’s not us. I wouldn’t mind if it was people we know here in Hartsop. Why have they even asked us?’

‘Because we go to the shop there, and people know us, whatever you think. They’re only being friendly. Why’re you being so weird? I’d have thought you’d be thrilled at the chance of meeting more people. You’re always saying you wish you’d got a friend within walking distance.’

Simmy paused, trying to analyse her own response. 10Christopher had dropped the news of the invitation only ten minutes earlier, and her instant reaction had been resistance bordering on panic. A couple slightly younger than them, named Dan and Fran Bunting, had approached Christopher in the Glenridding store and invited the Hendersons to a late-afternoon get-together in two days’ time – which would be 21st December, a Friday. ‘It’s a solstice party. We’re asking everybody,’ said Dan. ‘Really going the whole hog. Kids, dogs, grannies – the works. Sausages, punch, mince pies. We won’t turn down any contributions, but it’s not obligatory.’

‘You’ve got a little boy, haven’t you?’ put in Fran. ‘I bet he’s excited about Christmas. I’d love to meet him.’

‘He doesn’t really understand what’s going on, but we think he’ll enjoy it this year. But I don’t think we’ll bring the dog,’ said Christopher cautiously. ‘Thanks for asking us – it sounds great.’

‘I don’t know,’ said Simmy now. ‘I feel overwhelmed for some reason. I like people in small doses. I’ll be stupidly shy.’

‘I doubt if there’ll be all that many, when it comes to it. Not a lot of people live in Patterdale, after all, and some of them are bound to be otherwise engaged. Think positive. It sounds pretty good to me.’

‘You just said there’d be loads of people there,’ she accused him. ‘Make up your mind.’

‘We’re going, Sim – and that’s final.’

‘I know we are,’ she sighed. ‘I didn’t doubt it for a moment.’ 11

They arrived early, on the basis that this meant they could leave early, too. ‘I bet everyone’ll be gone by seven,’ said Christopher. ‘They obviously don’t intend to give us much food. Although he did mention sausages and mince pies.’ They’d used the village car park a short way below the designated house.

‘And it’ll be Robin’s bedtime. They must realise that.’

The house was one of the oldest in the area, made of the typical dark grey slate that characterised Lakeland. ‘What do they do?’ Simmy whispered belatedly, as they were almost on the doorstep.

‘No idea,’ Christopher replied, before turning a wide smile on Fran Bunting, who had thrown the door open for them. ‘Here we are,’ he added fatuously.

Their hostess was thin, with make-up worthy of a film star. She wore tight leggings and a long red top with sparkly bits in it. ‘And this is your little boy!’ she trilled excitedly. ‘Remind me what he’s called.’

Simmy responded gratefully, aware that this was a ploy to make her feel welcome, rather than any genuine interest in the child. In the turmoil of releasing Robin from his buggy, getting into the living room and trying to focus on the three or four faces already there, any lurking shyness was dispelled. The doorbell rang again, and Fran sped off to answer it, leaving guests to introduce themselves.

‘Drink?’ asked a man Simmy vaguely recognised. He watched Robin’s sturdy march across the room with obvious enjoyment. ‘They look like drunken sailors at that age, don’t they?’

Simmy laughed. It might be a cliché, but it was no less true for that. 12

‘This is Dan,’ said Christopher to his wife. ‘What drinks have you got?’

‘Gin. Wine. Sherry. Juice. Punch.’ The last was uttered with special emphasis, suggesting that there really was little or no choice.

‘Punch, then,’ said Christopher. ‘Right, Sim?’

‘Lovely,’ she said. ‘What’s in it?’

‘All the usual. Most of the alcohol’s boiled off, according to Fran, if that’s worrying you.’

‘Not really,’ said Simmy. She looked at him more closely, trying to identify what he reminded her of. She thought it might be a vicar. There was something in his manner suggestive of solicitude, an excessive attention to her feelings and wishes that felt intrusive. ‘It smells gorgeous,’ she added.

The room was decorated with swags of greenery: mostly sprigs of fir, holly and ivy, with pine cones added here and there. As a florist, Simmy felt obliged to give a further inspection, although she had already ascertained at a glance that it was all home-made. A small Christmas tree stood in a corner, looking oddly irrelevant. Christmas carols were playing in another room.

Robin shared none of his mother’s discomfort amongst strangers. At twenty-one months, he was walking and talking with confidence, accustomed more to adults than other children and alarmingly enthusiastic about dogs. Dan Bunting rapidly provided punch, and Simmy drank half of it right away. ‘Hello, little man,’ a youngish woman greeted Robin, ignoring his mother. ‘Shall I give you a cake?’ Without glancing to a parent for permission, she handed the toddler a large mince pie. 13

‘Ah … um …’ Simmy managed. ‘Well, I suppose it’s all right. He’ll make an awful mess.’

‘Oh – sorry,’ said the woman unapologetically. ‘He’s not allergic, is he?’

‘I shouldn’t think so. He’s never had a mince pie, so we’re probably about to find out.’

The woman laughed much louder than was appropriate and Robin gave her a sideways look before sinking his teeth into the pastry. His face was instantly besmirched with crumbs.

‘I’m Aoife,’ said Robin’s new friend. ‘It’s Irish for Eva. Don’t even try to spell it.’ She then proceeded to do exactly that.

‘You don’t sound very Irish,’ said Simmy, trying with difficulty to avoid any stereotypes. Irish people did feed their infants on sweet unsuitable food, she suspected.

‘Well, yes – I mean, no. I’ve been here most of my life, as it happens. Since I was nine, in fact.’ Her eye caught another woman, and she grinned. ‘If you’re looking for funny names, how about Diellza? She’s Albanian. I’ve just been getting to know her, but I didn’t get very far. She’s quite exotic, don’t you think?’

A large female approached warily. ‘Hello,’ she said in a musical voice. ‘My English is not too good. Sorry.’

‘You’re doing brilliantly,’ Aoife assured her, with a patronising smile. She waved at the Hendersons. ‘Some local people for you to get to know. They’ll tell you their names.’

‘Christopher and Simmy,’ said Christopher. ‘We live in Hartsop.’

‘Oh? You are … Simmy?’She was obviously querying the name, not the individual.

‘Short for Persimmon. Tell me your name again.’ 14

‘Di-ell-za,’ came the answer, slowly, separating the syllables.

Before any more could be said, Fran Bunting appeared waving an envelope. ‘Hey, Diellza – this came for you this afternoon. I forgot to give it to you. Looks like a Christmas card.’ She handed it over and moved quickly away. Diellza put it in a pocket.

Robin was standing close to his mother, gazing up at the new person towering over him. She was wearing an all-enveloping kaftan-style garment, made of a heavy material that hung from her substantial figure. She had to weigh sixteen stone, Simmy assessed, and she had a sweet face. ‘It’s a pretty name. Like Demelza. That’s Cornish, I think.’

‘Names are interesting. My husband is called Alexander. He’s Scottish.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘You say “Scottish” not “Scotch”. I have to take care to get that right.’

‘Your English is really good,’ said Christopher. ‘How long have you been here?’

‘Oh, quite a long time. But I don’t think I will ever get to know all the idioms. I take everything much too literally.’

‘It must be awfully difficult,’ said Simmy. ‘And the English are so bad at other languages. We just expect everyone to learn ours. It’s awful, when you think about it.’

The Albanian’s jaw tensed, her teeth clearly clenched. ‘Ooh,’ she gasped. ‘Sorry.’

‘Are you all right?’ asked Simmy.

‘Yes, yes. Bad tummy,’ Fran said. ‘Mince pies. Cheese.’ She gave a rueful smile. ‘English food can be hard to digest at times.’

The conversation was turning out to be harder going than Christopher for one was prepared to put up with. 15He drifted away, holding his glass of punch, and Robin followed him. Simmy let the toddler go, confident that nothing much could happen to him. His hands and face were revoltingly sticky. If there was any justice, he would wipe himself all over Aoife, but she had disappeared from view.

She turned back to Diellza, with a sense of obligation. While she had more patience than her husband, it was limited. However curious she might be as to the reasons for an overweight Albanian finding herself in Patterdale, the prospect of forming the right kind of questions and perhaps being regaled with too much information as a result was not enticing. ‘Go and sit down,’ she advised, and then added. ‘Are you living nearby?’

Diellza hesitated, making no move to find a seat. ‘I’m living here. Dan and Fran have let me have a room for a time. They are kind. I’m trying not to bother them too much.’ Something guarded in her expression made Simmy wonder what the precise relationship might be. ‘Christmas is a strange time for everyone, in different ways,’ Diellza went on. ‘Ordinary life is paused for a few days.’

In spite of herself, Simmy felt curious. The Albanian was young – probably under thirty – and her English was really not so bad. ‘That’s true,’ she said. ‘Although it really boils down to just one day. When you get to Boxing Day, the whole thing’s pretty much over. I always find Boxing Day a bit depressing.’

Diellza smiled fleetingly. ‘It’s very strange,’ she said again.

Simmy wanted to ask more, while avoiding any appearance of undue curiosity. Her complete ignorance of Albania made it difficult to frame casual questions, but 16she gave it a go. ‘I expect all the rituals are different in Albania,’ she tried.

‘We don’t think of them as rituals,’ came the slightly frosty reply.

‘No – wrong word. I mean—’

‘I know what you mean. But really it is not so different. We have the food and the music and the gifts, just the same as you.’ Again, the rictus of discomfort. ‘I’ll sit down, as you suggest,’ she decided. ‘I’m sorry. You find me at a difficult moment. It’s nice of you to talk to me – Simmy. I will remember your name. Perhaps we can see each other again after the Christmas days. I think Dan will agree to that.’

Uh-oh, thought Simmy. Was she imagining an implication that Dan Bunting was not the simple benefactor she had assumed? Was Diellza in some way an unwilling recipient of his largesse? There was no avoiding the idea of ‘human trafficking’ or ‘modern slavery’, merely by learning the woman’s nationality. Suddenly it felt horribly possible.

Her instant inclination was to back away from this sort of trouble as fast as she could. She looked round for Robin, as a handy excuse, but he was across the room with his father. At least four more people had arrived in the past few minutes, not counting two children aged about six, who were quietly fighting in the doorway. Someone had turned up the volume of the carols and ‘Hark! The Herald Angels Sing’ was belting out.

‘Go and sit down,’ she said loudly. ‘Before people grab all the chairs.’ There were two armchairs near the fireplace, and a scattering of upright dining chairs obviously brought 17in from another room. Diellza did as suggested, sailing across the floor as if it was empty of people. Her bulk ensured a clear passage. Simmy smiled slightly to see it. Then she turned away, slightly ashamed of herself for her cowardice. But after all, you were supposed to circulate at a party and talk to everyone there. If Diellza was being exploited in some way, others could see it and deal with it, rather than her. She could hear voices in other parts of the house, which had at least three big downstairs rooms, and concluded there was a table somewhere bearing sausages and other seasonal fare. She would find someone else to talk to, and then go and explore.

But nobody offered themselves as a likely conversationalist. Simmy stood beside a small table, checking one face after another. There was a woman with very short pink hair she had seen before in the Glenridding shop, and an older one who was excruciatingly thin and who sometimes jogged determinedly through Hartsop and off towards Crookabeck. A man with a gingery-grey beard was also faintly familiar.

Simmy’s thoughts remained stubbornly with Diellza, who was now seated regally on a rather small chair, one hand on her stomach. She could hardly be an illegal immigrant if the Buntings were happy to expose her to all their friends and she had been in the country for a while. Where was the husband called Alexander, who was Scottish? The very fact of his existence further reduced any suspicion of illegality. But equally pertinent was the fact that he was not spending Christmas with his wife who was staying in a tiny Cumbrian village with an apparently charitable couple. It made her realise how sheltered and spoilt she had always 18been, when such matters as Albanian politics and displaced migrants were so far beyond her understanding.

Dan Bunting came smoothly to her rescue, the perfect host. ‘Hey – Simmy, right? You look as if you might need more punch. Come and talk to Louise. She’s expecting her third and feeling hot. She’s been admiring your Robin. Her second one is just his age.’

Simmy already hated Louise for having the babies that she herself had wanted. With every passing month it became more obvious that Robin was never going to have any siblings. ‘I met Diellza,’ she said, hoping for some explanation.

He nodded cheerfully. ‘She’s a sweet girl. Very well educated, actually, but got herself in a bit of a mess these past few weeks – well, months, actually. Badly treated by her husband. We’ve taken her in until after Christmas. Well – wouldn’t you? Poor thing had nowhere to go.’

Simmy sighed, knowing that she was really very unlikely to have offered a roof to a troubled Albanian. ‘That’s very good of you,’ she said.

‘Well, we’ve got the space, and far too much food. It’s making a nice change, and she’s no trouble. Stays in her room most of the time. Doesn’t even hog the bathroom, which was Fran’s main worry. We’ve only got one.’ This oversight was evidently a cause of some regret. He went on, ‘She didn’t want to come down to meet people, but we persuaded her. I hoped she’d make one or two friends.’ He pulled a face. ‘Although we don’t expect her to be here for very long, so it wouldn’t be a very good idea to get too rooted.’ He was watching Simmy for her reaction, which gave rise to a degree of resistance. Again, there was the 19hint of hungry attention that sometimes imbued a vicar’s conversation. She had no intention of repeating anything Diellza had said to her.

‘It was very nice of you to invite us to the party,’ she mumbled instead, noticing that the carols had gone quiet again. ‘I feel awful, not knowing more people. But it’s always so busy with Robin and the shop and everything. It’s all we can manage to walk the dog and see family. Christopher’s got brothers and sisters he likes to keep up with.’

‘Shop?’

‘Oh, yes – didn’t you know? I’ve got a florist shop in Windermere. I’m back there three days a week now. Robin goes to my parents. It’s a real hassle getting him to them – they’re in the exact wrong direction. I should be full-time, really, but that’s just too much.’

‘He’s still very young,’ said Dan Bunting, with the same sympathetic understanding as before. This man is too good to be true, thought Simmy, again with a flicker of shame. ‘And yes, I remember now about your flower shop. Silly me.’ He gave a self-deprecating laugh.

Simmy waved this away. ‘The punch is delicious,’ she said.

‘So I’ll fetch you some more.’ And he went off with her empty glass, having mercifully forgotten all about the pregnant Louise.

At six o’clock, Dan appeared and loudly clapped his hands. ‘Happy solstice, everyone!’ he shouted. ‘Now it’s time for a few little rituals.’

Simmy had been talking to the woman with pink hair, who knew just who she was and wanted to pick Simmy’s 20brains about plants. Her name was Celia Parker and she lived in Patterdale all the year round and never rented out rooms to holidaymakers, winter or summer. ‘I like to be mistress of my own destiny,’ she said obscurely. ‘And I often go off on a whim, leaving everything to fend for itself.’ She also confessed to having a thing for hellebores, which Simmy found easy to understand. Catching a glance at the hair, Celia laughed. ‘I did it deliberately to confuse people. It tempts them to put labels on me that are actually quite misplaced. Anyway, I decided I liked it, regardless of my original reasons. I was going grey and couldn’t stand the prospect of becoming invisible.’

Simmy had been finding grey hairs herself lately and inwardly sighed. It was not clear what the woman did for money, but it sounded as if she had some at her disposal.

‘Rituals?’ Simmy murmured now, looking round for her husband in mild panic. He was last seen by the sausages with two other men.

‘Don’t worry – it’s all very simple. More like a party game than anything else,’ Celia reassured her.

‘You’ve done it before?’

‘Oh, yes. We’re all a bit pagan around here. Hadn’t you noticed?’

‘Not really,’ Simmy admitted. ‘Although Dan comes over as a bit like a vicar.’

Celia Parker laughed out loud. ‘So he does,’ she said, with an amused shake of her head.

The first ‘ritual’ entailed writing down everything from the previous year you were glad to be rid of, Fran Bunting having distributed slips of paper and pencils. It was then thrown on the fire, which Dan had stoked up to a satisfying 21blaze. Simmy could not think what to write, and eventually managed Feeling isolated, with not enough friends.

‘Don’t worry,’ Dan called. ‘Nobody’s going to read what you’ve put. It’s between you and the fates, or gods, or whatever you like to believe in.’

‘He’s always so inclusive,’ Celia whispered. Simmy smiled. She had caught sight of Diellza throwing her paper into the flames and wondered what she’d written. Whatever it was, she had taken no time at all to record it. Most other people were still tapping their pencils on their teeth and scratching their heads.

When it came to her turn to burn her words, Simmy felt a strange sense of power in the simple act. She really was going to ask the fates or gods to lend a hand in improving her social life. And there were people right here in front of her who were offering themselves as material. Aoife seemed approachable; the pregnant Louise was an obvious pal; and Fran Bunting herself seemed worth getting to know a bit better. But they were all a lot younger than her. Celia, on the other hand, was quite a bit older. Simmy had never regarded herself as stand-offish, but being an only child meant she sometimes had a shaky grasp of the necessary processes that went into forming a friendship. She had had a few good friends at school, but not many since.

‘And now the second part,’ called Dan. ‘Write down what your hopes are for the coming year.’

‘And burn that as well?’ murmured Simmy. ‘Isn’t that a bit counterproductive?’

‘No – listen,’ Celia told her.

‘Then pin it onto the tree. There are little pegs in a box.’ 22

‘Such efficiency!’ said Celia.

Simmy had even more difficulty with hopes for the future. She wanted to put Another baby, but that felt oddly dangerous. Beware of what you wish for, came a voice in her head. The overattentive fates might respond with twins, or a child with extra needs that she and Christopher would be unequal to. Simmy Henderson had reason to mistrust the fates, after all. They definitely should not be tempted. So she wrote Good health and felt pathetic.

‘Are you doing anything tomorrow?’ asked the pregnant Louise, ten minutes later, during which Simmy had meandered around both rooms and eventually ended up with the one person she had rather hoped to avoid. ‘I thought you might like to bring Robin round to mine tomorrow. We should have done it before this.’

‘Oh – well, thanks, but I’m at the shop all day, actually,’ she said, thanking her stars that it was true. ‘It’s been terribly busy and tomorrow’s the last day for Christmas things. Table centrepieces, mostly.’

Louise waited calmly for the excuses to run out, then said, ‘Well, couldn’t you leave Robin with me, and then stay for a drink or something when you fetch him? What do you usually do with him?’

But I don’t even know you, Simmy silently protested. ‘My parents have him. They’ve got all sorts of plans. Thanks for the idea. Maybe after Christmas … ?’

‘Okay,’ shrugged the woman. ‘But I warn you, I won’t give up. You haven’t spent a proper winter here yet, have you? You’ll soon see you need people, sometimes a lot more than you think.’

‘Actually, we were here the whole of last winter. We 23know what it’s like.’

‘You have no idea,’ Louise contradicted her. ‘Haven’t you seen the forecast?’

24

Chapter Two

Neither Simmy nor Christopher had registered the fact of an ominous weather forecast. ‘We’ve been too busy,’ Simmy admitted. ‘Why – what’s going to happen?’

‘Ice. Minus twelve. Christmas Eve’s the worst.’

‘Better than snow, then,’ said Simmy, who had no more than a mild sense of excitement at waking up to a white wonderland. Her mother’s loathing for any inconvenience had passed onto her. Without siblings, there had been no sledging or snowball fights, although her father always built a snowman.

Louise pulled a face. ‘I’m due on the sixteenth of January. I want to be sure I can get to Carlisle quickly when the time comes.’

‘Why not have it at home?’ asked Simmy, who had romantic ideas about natural home births.

‘You’re joking! What do you take me for? Some primitive earth mother?’ 25

Oh dear, thought Simmy, relinquishing any idea of adopting this person to be her new friend. ‘Did you have trouble with the others, then?’

‘It was agony, both times. But they wrote me up as “straightforward”, which made me laugh. The whole thing’s a nightmare.’

Simmy had had enough. ‘At least the babies survived,’ she said quietly. ‘My first one was stillborn.’

‘Oh!’ said the pregnant Louise, recoiling. Simmy could see that the conclusion was mutual that no friendship was imminent. ‘How awful.’

‘Yes,’ said Simmy. ‘It was.’

The party was starting to wind down by seven. Children had to be taken home, and the punch was all gone. It had been dark for hours, giving a sense of late night-time and an obligation to be safely home. ‘Have you seen the stars?’ someone cried. ‘It’s a glorious night.’ Several people went outside for a look, leaving the front door open. Christopher and Robin rejoined Simmy and they began to hunt for their coats. ‘The car windscreen’s going to ice up at this rate,’ said Christopher. The distance between car and house had been just great enough for them to need the buggy. Robin had recently become too heavy for comfortable carrying, and his walking pace was annoyingly slow.

The Buntings could not conceal their relief at the departures. The Christmas carols had begun to repeat themselves for a third time, the atmosphere somehow less festive and harmonious than might be ideal. Simmy sensed some kind of rift or divide between two sets of guests. Maybe it was solstice versus Christmas, she thought, 26looking forward to debating the issue with her father. Or local politics, of which she was blithely ignorant. Living in Hartsop set the Hendersons apart from the more populous Patterdale and Glenridding. Despite the plethora of holiday homes of varying sorts, there were still a good number of permanent residents in those two settlements. Roughly a thousand in total, she thought, having checked it when they’d first moved in. Hartsop itself couldn’t manage more than about fifty.

Simmy would have liked to have seen Diellza again before leaving. She had spent the past forty minutes vaguely trying to find her and learn more about her. After failing with Louise, she wanted to assure herself that she was capable of forming a bond with at least one woman – although the Albanian was an unlikely candidate. Too young, too foreign and too transitory. And her needs were obviously being met by the Buntings. Even so, Simmy felt compelled to try again, if only because there was a novelty to the idea and Diellza herself had suggested a further meeting.

‘Where’s Diellza?’ she asked the hostess. ‘I wanted to say goodbye to her.’

Fran Bunting blinked. ‘Did you? She’s gone to her room. She’s quite shy, poor thing. It’s a sad story. It’s nice of you to show an interest.’ The last words were thrown over her shoulder as yet another party guest approached with thanks and farewells.

Robin was drooping, sitting on his father’s arm. ‘Come on,’ said Christopher. ‘This boy’s heavy. Where did you put the buggy?’

‘I didn’t put it anywhere. I thought you had it.’ 27

It was soon located, and they walked the few yards down the hill to the car park. It was almost empty, since the other partygoers mostly have walked. There was no chance of parking closer to the Bunting’s house with double yellow lines everywhere.

‘It’s cold. Apparently, we’re due for a big freeze in the next few days.’

‘So everybody kept saying. I expect they’re exaggerating,’ said Christopher.

‘Are you hungry?’ Simmy asked an hour later, after Robin had been put to bed. The child had shown no interest in food after two mince pies, several crisps and a sausage. ‘I didn’t eat very much, did you?’

‘It wasn’t very appetising. My sausage tasted of cardboard. I think I accidentally chose a vegetarian one.’

‘I had quite a nice mince pie. I’ll do some soup, then. Carrots, onions, parsnips.’

‘It’ll take ages.’

‘Half an hour. I’ll do them in milk, like my mother does. It’ll be just the thing.’

‘Lovely.’

‘What did you write for that solstice business?’ he asked her, ten minutes later.

She flushed. ‘I’m not telling you. They’re supposed to be secret, like wishing on a wishbone.’

‘Well, I put “High business tax and cruel salmon farming”. It was all I could think of. Fiona’s been ranting about the salmon for weeks now. She’s got us all converted.’ Fiona was a work colleague at his auction house.

‘I don’t think you quite got into the spirit of it.’ She felt 28oddly let down. ‘It was meant to be something personal.’

‘Business tax is personal. Feels like it, anyway. So, what about that Albanian woman? Did you find out any more? I saw you talking to her.’

‘Not much. The Buntings came to her rescue somehow, but she’s only staying a little while – it sounds as if she has plans. She’s got a husband who’s been nasty to her, according to Dan. Who were you talking to?’

‘A farmer from up on one of the crags. He was really interesting. Diversified, of course, with two barns converted for visitors, and his wife making mutton pies and wine. But he’s got five hundred sheep and keeps the farming going as well. They’ve got three sons. One of them works with Dan Bunting, apparently in the social services or something. They’re all connected, one way or another – the permanent residents, I mean.’

Simmy felt another surge of loneliness. ‘I didn’t really find anybody I liked much. The best one was Celia – with the pink hair. But she must have gone home early or something, because I couldn’t find her when I got away from Louise. She was the pregnant one. We didn’t like each other. She wanted to mind Robin when I go to the shop.’

Christopher stared at her. ‘For free? God, Sim, why didn’t you jump at it?’

‘I don’t know her. I didn’t like her attitude. I don’t think she even likes children very much.’

‘Fran Bunting’s all right, isn’t she?’

Simmy shrugged. ‘I suppose so. But she probably works full-time and she seems a bit nervy. I was hoping to find someone with free days now and then, so we can go for walks and chat, and have pub lunches, and take the kids to 29the sea, and gossip about our husbands and parents …’ She stopped, hearing herself. ‘Yes, that’s what I want. A friend. A proper old-fashioned best friend.’

‘Maybe Santa Claus will bring you one, then.’

‘Santa might not get through this year, if the weather forecast’s right. The reindeer will freeze to death.’

‘Reindeers are used to cold.’

She laughed.

Christopher was not giving up. ‘No, but you should try again with Louise. It would make a huge difference if Robin could go to someone local.’

‘It wouldn’t work,’ said Simmy decisively.

Over the soup they tried to plan the coming week. Simmy was going to the shop the next day, which was a Saturday, and then not again until Saturday  29th December. Christopher had an even longer break, having closed his auction house for a full ten days. ‘I might go in and do a bit of tidying on Thursday or Friday,’ he said carelessly. ‘I’ll be stir-crazy by then.’

‘We need to take the weather into account,’ she cautioned. ‘It might affect everything we wanted to do. Tomorrow looks all right for me to get to Windermere, but what about my mum and dad getting here on Monday and back on Wednesday? They might not come if they think they’ll be stranded.’

Christopher shrugged. ‘We’ll have to see. I can’t believe it’ll be all that bad. They can come on big roads for most of the way. I don’t think it freezes too badly along the Ullswater road. The lake affects the temperature, apparently.’

‘I need a whole lot more shopping yet. I was going to storm the supermarket in Keswick on Monday. Along with 30everybody else, probably. Stuffing, crackers, cream—’

‘You’ve got all the basics,’ he interrupted. ‘And your mother’s bound to bring a whole lot of stuff. Including stuffing,’ he added with a laugh.

‘It’d be terribly dull for Robin if they don’t manage to come,’ she worried. ‘My dad’s so good at Christmas. Games and songs and everything.’

‘Well, maybe I’ll take him up to his cousins tomorrow. They’ll give him all the excitement he can handle. And he had a wildly sociable time at the party. He’s certainly not shy.’

‘Miraculously.’

‘He prefers adults to other kids. That’s supposed to be a sign of intelligence.’

‘I think it’s because he never sees other kids. He doesn’t understand them.’

‘Oh well,’ said Christopher vaguely. ‘It is what it is. And he likes it when Hannah’s two make a fuss of him. Pity all the cousins are older than him.’

‘Mm,’ said Simmy.

Just after nine there was a call to their landline. ‘It’s Celia here,’ came the voice. ‘From the party just now.’

‘How did you get this number? I didn’t give it to you.’

‘In the olden days I could just say you were in the book, couldn’t I? Everything so simple and open. As it is, I copied it down a few months ago, when you put that card in the shop about babysitting. Did that ever get anywhere, by the way?’

Simmy’s mind was working slowly. ‘Have you got a baby?’ 31

‘Don’t be daft. I’m fifty-six. I just thought it might be handy to keep the number. It’s called networking. Anyway, I’m calling to ask if you’re doing anything on Sunday. I thought a few of us could get together for a Christmas lunchtime drink. And food, of course. Maybe at the White Lion. Just girls.’

‘Oh.’ Simmy had a sense of being dragged into something that she knew she should welcome. ‘Well, thanks. I’ll walk up with the dog, maybe.’

‘Good. And did you find a babysitter?’

‘There’s a girl here in the village. She walks the dog as well as babysitting. Not that we need her very often.’ Less than once a month, in fact, she acknowledged to herself. The Hendersons did not go out very much.

‘Of course! Lily – that’s her name, isn’t it? She’s perfect. Well, see you on Sunday, then. About twelve-thirty.’

‘All right,’ said Simmy. She put the phone down and told Christopher what had been agreed. ‘Why do I feel so nervous?’ she wondered.

He shrugged.

Because I’m getting what I wished for, she thought. It was almost as if the pink-haired Celia had managed to read her slip of paper before she burnt it.

They went to bed early, aware that another try for a second child was on the agenda. Simmy did her best to enjoy it for its own sake, but the fact of a purpose behind the act itself took a lot of the shine off it. Too much disappointment was wearying, getting in the way of natural spontaneity. What was the point? And weren’t they too old, anyway? What if the child had Down’s syndrome? What if Angie or 32Russell fell ill and Simmy was torn between her duties as a daughter and mother? Did she really want another baby now? None of this could be said to Christopher, who tended to live for the moment and push future worries aside.

33

Chapter Three

On Saturday morning Simmy made an early start for her shop in Windermere, leaving husband and son to sort themselves out. ‘I’ll close by one,’ she said. ‘Home by two at the latest. Save me some lunch.’ There had been talk of Christopher going up to Keswick for the morning, checking on his saleroom, but it had come to nothing. ‘There’s really no need,’ he decided.

In Windermere, young Bonnie Lawson, one of Simmy’s two full-time assistants, did not arrive until half past nine, leaving Simmy time to go through everything on the computer, straighten quite a lot of mess in the back room and turn up the heating. Verity, her other employee, did not work on Saturdays, but had left a long note listing all the deliveries she had done the day before, and wishing Simmy a wonderful Christmas. There was also a little package and a Christmas card. ‘Drat!’ said Simmy to herself. ‘I never got her a present.’ The oversight was 34embarrassing, and guilt-inducing. Verity was a reliable worker, on shamefully low pay. She was good-hearted and generally cheerful. She drove Bonnie mad with unceasing inane chatter and local gossip. It was too late to do anything about a present, or even a card. The only option was to send a lavish e-card, if she could work out how to do that.

Most of the plants were looking decidedly chilled. Poinsettias, lilies, indoor hyacinths – the customary Christmas flowers, all of which would be redundant if they didn’t find new homes this morning. Except the hyacinths, in fancy bowls, which would be welcome for another month or so. Some had been forced and were in full bloom, but others had scarcely started.

‘Hey!’ Bonnie greeted her. ‘How’s things?’

‘I forgot to get Verity a card, or a present. She’s left something for me, look.’

‘No worries,’ breezed the irrepressible girl. ‘I did it for you.’

‘What?’

‘I realised you’d forgotten, on Thursday, so I wrapped up something from one of Corinne’s boxes of car boot crap. It was nice, actually – a little cut-glass vase. I pretended it was from you.’

‘Bonnie! That’s amazing.’

‘Same thing happened last year, if you remember.’

‘Did it? Really? I should pay you, then, or Corinne.’

Bonnie shrugged. ‘It probably cost about 15p. Did you go to that party?’

Simmy followed the change of subject with little difficulty. ‘We did and I have instantly become part of the 35Patterdale social set as a result.’ She explained about Celia and Louise and Aoife. ‘Christopher thinks I should let Louise look after Robin.’

‘She’d want paying.’

‘She didn’t say anything about money.’

‘Well, you’d owe her in one way or another, wouldn’t you? She might want you to have her three for a whole month in the summer.’

Simmy shuddered and then laughed. ‘She’s going to be busy with her new one for a while, anyway. I think Robin’s safe for a bit.’

Bonnie cocked her head. ‘You didn’t like her – right?’

‘Right. I thought she was a bit lacking in maternal instinct, which sounds awfully judgemental, doesn’t it.’

‘First impressions are always right,’ said Bonnie with utter certainty. ‘It’s been proven.’

Simmy laughed. ‘I thought it was the opposite – don’t they tell you not to judge by first impressions?’

A small group of customers interrupted the chat and the morning began to get busy. Christmas cheer was there in abundance, with wide smiles and sincere good wishes on all sides. Bonnie had decorated the shop with holly, ivy and mistletoe, as well as silver bells and sparkly chains. ‘Not long now,’ people kept saying. ‘Only two more days.’

‘I make it three,’ Bonnie muttered, every time. ‘Counting today. And not counting the Day itself, of course.’

‘Better to say “three sleeps”,’ said Simmy. ‘Although a lot of people assume it all starts on Christmas Eve. They’re still very traditional up here.’

‘Not you, then?’

‘Filling Robin’s stocking. Putting parcels round the tree. 36Eating mince pies. My parents will be there already, so we might play some games. Did you hear about the scary weather forecast?’

Before Bonnie could reply, a customer interrupted. ‘Minus fourteen, I heard. Starting tomorrow night. They’ll close the passes.’

Simmy felt a quiver of apprehension. ‘I expect we’ll be okay. Christopher says it’s not so bad alongside Ullswater. They’ll keep our roads clear.’

‘You hope,’ said the customer with relish. ‘We haven’t had a decent winter for a while now. It’s overdue.’

‘Haven’t you heard of global warming?’ came a man’s voice from near the door. ‘No more deep freezes and blizzards.’ The tone was sceptical, and nobody knew how to respond.

Bonnie broke the silence. ‘Did you say ten or a dozen?’ she asked the person she was serving, turning to Simmy. ‘Have we got that many left?’

‘What?’

‘Red roses. The lady wants them.’

‘I’ll go and see.’

It was twenty minutes before the shop was empty, and then only briefly. ‘Ben should be okay, even if it does freeze,’ said Bonnie. ‘It’s a main road all the way between here and Keswick, more or less.’

‘Where is he now?’

‘Still in his digs. He’s coming home this evening. Staying until Thursday, I think. The trouble is, he says the exhaust on his car is making a noise and he’s not sure he ought to be using it.’

‘Oh dear,’ said Simmy inattentively. Any risk of being 37drawn into giving lifts to the young couple was best avoided by failing to show much interest.

Bonnie was thumbing her mobile. ‘I’m going to look at the forecast for myself. It can’t be as bad as the woman said.’

‘Let’s hope not.’

‘Oh! They’ve found a body in Glenridding.’

Simmy still found it surprising the way all kinds of news popped up on Bonnie’s phone without any warning. There was an uncanny sense that the phone knew exactly what would interest her. ‘A hiker, I suppose?’

‘Maybe. A man – no further detail. The police have not ruled out foul play. Hey – you’ve got a Christmas murder, right on your doorstep. And Ben won’t be able to get there if they close the pass at Kirkstone, or his exhaust falls off. Unless he goes today, which he’d better not.’

‘Check the forecast,’ Simmy reminded her.

Bonnie swiped briefly. ‘Minus ten on Monday night. That’s pretty bad. No snow, though. Everybody’s pipes are going to freeze.’

‘Warm woolly jumpers coming out of the cupboards. Has Corinne got enough firewood?’ Bonnie lived with Corinne, who had been her foster mother until she reached eighteen, and had since mutated – in theory – into landlady, friend and confidante. In practice, very little had changed.

‘She got Eddie round last week, as it happens, and he lopped off a couple of dead branches from the end of the garden. Cut them into logs, so we’ve got enough for a month at least.’

Another surge of customers took them almost to midday. ‘I think I should go to the supermarket now, in 38case I can’t get out again on Monday,’ said Simmy.

‘You could go tomorrow. Everything’ll be open.’

‘I suppose I could. I only need a few final things, really.’ She heaved an exasperated sigh. ‘It’s all so silly, when you think about it. There’s a horrible sense of obligation to get everything right. Even when nobody really cares. All that food and work getting it cooked.’

‘We’ve said this before,’ Bonnie reminded her. ‘Why d’you go along with it? Nobody’s forcing you.’ Bonnie had her own aversions to the excesses of Christmas dinner, after several years of severe anorexia.

‘Social pressure,’ said Simmy darkly.

‘Plus, you like it really,’ the girl teased. ‘Sitting round with your family, drinking fizzy wine and guzzling all that turkey. Shutting out the world and pretending you’re safely hiding away in your cave.’

‘I don’t think cavemen did Christmas.’

‘They did the solstice, though, I bet you. And it’s pretty much the same thing.’

‘Which brings us back to last night’s party,’ said Simmy. ‘Did I tell you about the rituals they made us do?’

They closed the shop before one and wished each other a happy Christmas with hugs and presents exchanged, but not opened. Simmy had found a sky blue top made of soft jersey that would reach down to Bonnie’s hips, which she hoped the girl would like. Buying clothes for other people was always fraught, but Bonnie’s slim figure and pale colouring made it relatively easy. Cheerful colours and smooth lines suited her beautifully. She handed it over, carefully wrapped and added an envelope containing a 39hundred pounds as a Christmas bonus. In exchange she received a rectangular packet that could only contain a book. ‘How exciting!’ she smiled.

‘That’s for Robin, really,’ said Bonnie. ‘But you’re supposed to like it as well.’

Neither of them had forgotten the fact of a dead man in Glenridding, although each one pretended that she had.

Simmy phoned her mother before embarking on any shopping. Angie and Russell Straw lived in Threlkeld, close to Keswick and had much better opportunities for buying things than Simmy did. ‘Have you got stuffing and crackers?’ she asked.

‘Among a hundred other things, yes. We made a list a week ago, remember?’

‘Have you seen the weather forecast. Everybody’s panicking about it.’

‘Your father did the winter tyres a fortnight ago. And there’s not meant to be any actual snow. It’ll be perfectly all right, you see.’

Simmy and Christopher had never got the hang of winter tyres, agreeing that they sounded expensive and bothersome. ‘Oh good,’ said Simmy. ‘Although I’m sure I should be buying something. What about Boxing Day?’

Catering came naturally to Angie, after years spent running a B&B. She laughed impatiently. ‘Leftovers. Salad. Cheese. I’ve got a nice Stilton. And a bottle of port that went with it. Nobody’s going to be hungry.’

‘You must have spent a fortune,’ worried Simmy.

‘It’s only money,’ said her mother.

‘I’ll go to Ambleside on the way home, and get some 40bits,’ she decided. ‘You never know – people might drop in.’

She bought two bottles of red wine, a tin of Quality Street, a large net of satsumas and a dozen eggs. Then she drove bravely up the steep road known as The Struggle, over the Kirkstone Pass and was home shortly after two o’clock. The sun was already low in the sky, but not enough to dazzle her. It’s Christmas! she reminded herself, trying to generate the childhood magic that she was sure she must have experienced. An only child, living in Worcestershire next door to an orchard, she had found the whole thing mostly confusing. Angie tended to the cynical, even in her younger years, mocking the excesses of neighbours who hung fairy lights around their gardens. Russell did his best to make it special for his little girl. He dressed in a red hat and watched her avidly as she opened her parcels. He organised games in the afternoons. He insisted on a big tree with an angel on top. Nobody said anything much about Jesus, although at school they made up for that. Simmy was afraid that her own child would have a similarly ambivalent response to it all as he grew up.

And after the sudden influx of potential friends, it did seem possible that someone might indeed drop in at some point over the coming days. There would be a test of community spirit if freezing weather caused pipes to burst and batteries to die.

‘Did you have lunch?’ asked Christopher, hearing her come in. ‘We’ve not long got back ourselves.’

She shook her head. ‘No. I think I told you I’d be wanting something.’