Christmas at Bay Tree Cottage

Chapter 3
Elana
I Need to Get My Act Together

‘Mrs James? I’m Matthew’s son, Luke Stevenson.’

The guy on my doorstep sticks out his hand in a friendly manner. The first thing that pops into my head is that, up close, he’s younger than I expected. From ground level, the few times I’ve seen him he looked older, somehow, but then he was always the height of a cottage away as he clambered over next door’s roof. I suppose roofing work does require a good level of fitness and agility. And he has that in spadefuls. His hair is dark, short around the sides and longer on top. He has a boyish look that doesn’t really go with his body, which is strong and athletic. Clearly he doesn’t bother to shave every day, but it suits him. His father, who is probably in his fifties, seems to do just about everything aside from roof work, from what I’ve seen. Guess that makes a lot of sense; why would he when he has such a fit son to do it for him?

I offer my hand and we shake, then I invite him inside. He seems a little hesitant, but I’m conscious of the heat drifting out of the open door as it’s such a chilly day. I can almost feel the oil flooding out of the tank to keep the boiler going.

He glances down at the floor, seemingly looking for a mat on which to wipe his muddy boots. At the moment the downstairs floor is still bare concrete and I’ve given up worrying about it. His eyes scan the little line of shoes and boots neatly standing to attention along one wall. He seems rather surprised, probably assuming he was going to walk into a beautifully renovated cottage, like Hillside View.

‘I didn’t mean to stop you; your neighbour mentioned you work from home. I was just wondering if you were happy with the quote my father dropped in and whether you wanted me to start work on the chimney. I’m almost done working on Hillside’s repairs, so I could start tomorrow if you like.’

Thankfully, Aiden Cruise came through with that Skype meeting yesterday and I’m now on target to get the outline submitted. This means that in ten days’ time the first payment should be hitting my bank account, just sixteen shopping days before Christmas. And, if I shop wisely, there should be enough to cover the work required on the chimney.

‘Yes, that would be fine, thank you. It’s been a worry, you know, since Eve mentioned it. The girls play outside all the time and we’ve had some really strong winds this winter. Actually, while you’re here, I have a small leak in the corner of the bedroom ceiling. I wonder if you could take a quick look in case it’s something you can remedy while you’re up on the roof.’

I had hoped that Matthew Stevenson himself would call in with the quote, but I was out on the school run yesterday and came back to find an envelope lying on the hallway floor. It’s reasonable enough, but my other little problem is a real concern, too, and I’m not sure whether Luke is the right one to ask.

‘Sure.’ He’s already bent over, tugging at the knots in his boot laces. I find myself looking down at his feet as he eases them out, staring at his socks. They’re black and one toe on his left foot is poking through a rather large hole. My gaze moves up to his face and he gives me an apologetic, and rather embarrassed, smile.

‘I’m a bit behind on the washing,’ he informs me. ‘All the good socks were dirty.’

I’m tempted to laugh and don’t know why on earth he would share that information with me, but instead I nod in acknowledgement and turn on my heels.

‘It’s this way,’ I call over my shoulder.

I lead him from the rather dusty hallway across the open-plan dining room/study and kitchen, to the staircase. Upstairs is carpeted, but downstairs I’ve merely covered the concrete as best I can with large rugs. It helps to detract from the unfinished state and we’re used to it now.

‘You’ve done a nice job on the kitchen,’ he remarks, probably thinking it’s the polite thing to say.

‘Thank you. Upstairs is virtually finished, which is why the leak is so annoying.’

We continue in silence, until we walk into the spare bedroom and he immediately lets out an ominous ‘Oh’.

‘Is it bad?’

The damp patch on the ceiling extends out about twelve inches from the corner and already the wallpaper at the top of both walls is beginning to peel away. It’s a horrible blot on an otherwise perfect, country-cottage bedroom.

‘Well, it’s not good, let’s put it that way. I’ll take a look up top and see what’s going on. Pity you didn’t get this looked at a bit sooner, to save you redecorating. It could be a guttering problem, or maybe a few slates have slipped.’

For a moment my attention wanders and I’m transported back to the weekend we’d spent wallpapering this room. I can visualise Niall up the ladder as I passed him a pasted sheet of paper folded back on itself in loops. He’d taken it from my hands, but within moments it began to slither down to the floor and as I grabbed it the paper tore. It wasn’t a good day, we’d both been tetchy and ended up having a row. We were tired and our patience was wearing thin. A day that was wasted with needless upset in the grand scheme of things because we had no idea the clock was ticking.

‘Mrs James?’

Luke’s voice brings me back into the moment and I try to shrug off the wave of sadness and regret.

‘Sorry. Yes, I realise I should have looked into this sooner. It’s been a busy time, I’m afraid.’

‘I was thinking of the cost, that’s all. These things are always cheaper to fix if they are caught early. If the water has blown the plaster, then it won’t be a case of just replacing a couple of pieces of wallpaper. Anyway, I’ll let you know what I find.’

As I follow him back down the stairs I give myself a mental kick. I have to get a better grip on things, because he’s right and I know that. He doesn’t understand my situation, of course, but I have no excuse and it’s a relief to know he’ll begin work in the morning.

As I close the door behind Luke, I wonder if there’s a bill I can avoid paying this month to cover the extra work. I know there isn’t and reality hits that I’m probably going to have to take that loan from Mum and Dad.

The sigh that echoes around the stark hallway seems to grow in intensity, enveloping me with a sense of loneliness that is bone-chilling. Can I do this on my own? I used to think of myself as a strong person, but as time passes each little hurdle is beginning to feel like yet another mountain to climb.

***

Diary Log – day 486. 26 days to Christmas. 4 days to my deadline for the Aiden Cruise book outline and I’m on target. Christmas will happen and, fingers crossed, we will be lighting the fire. It seems almost as important to Maya this year as hanging onto the idea of Santa.

The remedial work to the roof is going to cost as much as the work on the chimney. It’s with a heavy heart that I ring Mum to break the news, although she’s clearly delighted to help out.

‘You know, Elana, everything we have will be yours one day. So don’t talk about loans, dear, it’s only money.’

Her words make me feel even more miserable. I’ve just lost Niall, or that’s how it feels still, and the thought of losing someone else is one I can’t bear to think about.

‘It’s a loan, Mum, and I will pay it back once this book is finished. You and Dad must enjoy your retirement and I’m not going to rob you of that. Hopefully it will be a long and enjoyable one. You’ve both earned this time to do whatever you please. It’s your time, Mum – remember that, because I don’t want you living just through us.’

There are a few seconds of silence on the other end of the line.

‘Darling, if you are hurting, then we are hurting. You and Maya are our world; we love you both to bits. We’ve had a wonderful life and we are so proud of you and how well you are coping. But we know you only choose to show us that brave face. We’re always here for you if … if things ever get too much.’

Her voice is strained and I know her eyes are filling with tears, as are my own.

I can’t share this with you, Mum. I just can’t. I shake my head, as if it’s that easy to shake away my thoughts.

‘That’s life and we just have to get on with it. We’re fine, really. And thanks for the loan, I appreciate it. Give Dad a hug from us!’

Almost as soon as I put the phone down, Maya rushes into the room.

‘Was that Grandma Tricia?’

Her little face shows disappointment and, rather guiltily, I realise I should have called her in, even for a brief ‘hello’.

‘We’ll see Grandma very soon, Maya, I promise. It was only a quick call today. Have you finished your homework?’

Her bottom lip wavers a little, telling me that she hasn’t even started it.

‘Can we light the fire, Mum?’

My heart sinks into my stomach.

‘I’m afraid we can’t, Maya. The builder has to sort the problem with the roof before he can move on to fix the chimney. If we light the fire now it wouldn’t be safe. We want to be safe, don’t we?’

She considers that for a few moments and then nods her head in agreement.

‘How about tonight we cuddle up on the sofa and read anyway, we can light some candles instead of having the fire.’

‘But it won’t be the same, Mum. And if the chimney isn’t safe how will Santa manage to come down it?’

‘Well, I hope it will be all fixed by then. So don’t worry about that now. Go and sort your homework, then after tea we can have a reading fest. Promise.’

She saunters out of the room without saying another word. I notice that there’s no Christmas music, either. Guess we are both having a down day, so I’ll finish up and get started on dinner. I don’t know who needs this most tonight, Maya or me. As I put the PC into sleep mode, Niall’s face stares back at me. One day soon I’ll find the strength to take the photo off, but I’m still not quite ready.

Chapter 4
Luke
Some People Don’t Appreciate How Lucky They Are

It’s milder today and hard to believe it’s December. This time last week it was blowing a gale and the rain was driving across the valley in almost vertical sheets, hitting the ground like bullets. Talk about changeable, but at least this is good weather for roofing.

I hate being the bearer of bad news for a customer, but whoever replaced this roof was either very sloppy or wasn’t an experienced roofing contractor. Not only had a few slates slipped, resulting in a lot of water damage, but the lead flashing around the chimney is a mess. A quick check in the loft confirmed that the visual damage to the bedroom below only hinted at how much water was getting in. It was only a matter of time and a couple more heavy storms, before the lady of the house had a major leak on her hands that would have brought down the ceiling.

My mobile kicks into life and I groan as I spot the caller ID.

‘Yes, Anita. What’s wrong?’

‘Joe has an ear infection and I forgot to pick up some medicine. It’s important.’

‘Of course, I’m on my way.’

I hate not knowing when Joe is ill and the fact that Anita only tells me things when it suits her. It’s hard enough when a family splits up, let alone putting up with an ex who doesn’t feel the need for two-way communication. She’s happy enough to share information when she wants me to fetch and carry, but other than that I rarely get to hear what’s happening. As I slip the phone back into my pocket and straighten, I take a moment to draw a deep breath. My eyes scan the ridge on the opposite side of the valley. A small, light aircraft is taxi-ing along the airstrip on the hill and I watch as it appears to bounce a little. The noise from the engine carries on the breeze, sounding mechanical, as old planes tend to do. Life is such a contrast at times.

I clamber down the ladder, stopping only to knock on Mrs James door to let her know I won’t be around for an hour.

‘Sorry, Mrs James, I need to run an errand, but I’ll get back here as quickly as I can.’

She blinks, as if slightly taken aback by my words and I kick myself, thinking I should have said I needed to pick up some supplies.

‘Oh, that’s … um … fine. And call me Elana, please.’

She’s a good-looking woman, but she wears an almost constant frown. She’s probably only in her mid-thirties at most, but that overly serious disposition is ageing. Take now, for instance. She only opened the door about a foot and is peering out at me from the tiny gap. I mean, who does that? I’m not some stranger, I’m her building contractor and yet, on the other hand, she’s just asked me to call her by her Christian name. Talk about mixed signals – guess I’ll never understand women.

‘Okay. Thanks, Elana. I’ll be back shortly.’

Eve did mention that her neighbour works from home and I was to keep the noise down whenever possible. Rather remarkably, I didn’t laugh, but managed to keep a straight face. How can you not make a noise when you’re working on a roof? I need to hammer and saw at the very least and there’s no way to do that without making a fair bit of noise.

Anyway, I didn’t know her name was Elana. Unusual, but it suits her. She’s rather different, a little posh I’d say. She has this mop of curls, the sort of hair that won’t be tamed and her little girl is like a mini version of her. It’s quite a contrast to her general demeanour, which is rather serious, based on the little interaction we’ve had so far. Still, I’ve done the polite thing, now I’m off to sort out Anita.

***

I don’t know why I fall for it every time. When I arrive at Anita’s apartment with the medicine, Joe is running around in the background looking his usual boisterous self. His face breaks out into a big grin the moment he sees me but Anita doesn’t invite me inside.

‘That took you a long time.’ She scowls as she takes the box from me.

‘I was on the roof of a cottage, halfway up a hill on the edge of the forest. I left as soon as I received your call, but it was a thirty-five-minute drive. So what exactly is wrong with Joe?’

As I peer over her shoulder she continues to bar my way, making it clear I’m not going to grab a cuddle from the little fella.

‘He seemed a bit hot and he was pulling his ear.’

‘Well, he looks okay, now.’

‘Yeah, but kids are like that. They bounce back quickly. See you at the weekend.’

With that Anita shuts the door. I hear a yell from inside as Joe protests, but I know there’s no point in trying to grab a few minutes with him. The court order says Saturdays ten until four, and Anita has no intention of showing any sort of flexibility.

It’s tough being the parent who isn’t the primary carer, but I have to work. I’m not saying it’s easy for Anita either, but if she could only relax and let me help out I could easily have him more often. The problem is that the system is more about one solicitor against another, rather than common sense coming into play. And, not wanting to sound sexist here, but it favours the mother. Now I don’t disagree with that, the mother-child bond is unique, but Anita constantly complains about being a single parent. She is a mother coping on her own for seven nights and six days a week, but that’s her choice. I’ve offered to have Joe at weekends, and weekday over-nighters, if she’s in need of a rest. And yet, in court, all I ended up with was six hours on a Saturday.

Whatever I do is wrong and no one seems to understand that it’s not fair. Anita left me, disappointed when I gave up my lucrative career in software design to help Dad out with the business. It’s a small operation with a total of five of us covering most of the skill sets, from our electrician, to myself, the general builder/roofer. Was I happy to be back in the profession I’d trained in when I left school? No, and Anita knows that, but this is all about family. The pride my dad now has seeing ‘& Son’ on those letterheads, is priceless. More importantly, Mum doesn’t have to worry quite so much about the effects of his high blood pressure. It’s under control again at the moment, but a dizzy spell when you’re thirty feet plus in the air is a real scare. It isn’t just roofing work, but anything off a ladder, or scaffolding, now makes her worry about him, so it’s my job to keep that to a minimum.

If the price I paid is that I gave up my dream to maintain his, then what choice did I have? The livelihood of five families is on the line here.

Besides, regrets are something I can’t afford at the moment. Having to pay maintenance for both Anita and Joe until he goes to pre-school, and Anita can get a part-time job, is understandably costly. The mortgage on our old apartment is expensive, but Anita said it was unfair to expect her to move into something cheaper. Thankfully, the tiny bedsit I rent is a good price and my needs are modest. I enjoy my own company and, to be honest, when I’m not working or with Joe, then I’m on the computer. Jeez, that makes me sound like a saddo, if ever I heard a sob story. But at the moment I can’t contemplate having anyone else in my life to complicate it even further.

Ironically, the guy Anita left me for wasn’t in the picture for long. It takes a special person to take on someone else’s son and accept the situation; plus the fact that I had no intention of absenting myself from Joe’s life didn’t go down too well. Anita was appalled when he suggested she hand over Joe to me, so they could ‘start afresh’. The wake-up call made her bitter, because I think she began to realise that my loyalty wasn’t quite so boring after all. Maybe stability was actually a big positive over wanting to socialise and party all the time. But then, she’s still only twenty-two years old and at twenty-four I’ve had a couple more of those so-called delightful party years. Personally, I thought it was all a bit over-rated, if I’m honest. Getting drunk and chatting up women just to be one of the lads was often mind-blowingly boring. And yet it was how I met Anita. She was out on a friend’s hen party at the time.

Anyway, it is what it is. The truth is that we were simply too young when we had Joe, despite being delighted when we found out Anita was pregnant. But I guess I’d always wanted to be a part of a stable family unit of my own, because my parents are so happy together. I’m used to family life, whereas Anita feels she’s been robbed of her freedom. She’s torn between a mother’s instinctive love for her child and the hopeless feeling of being tied down, with a level of responsibility she couldn’t even comprehend in the beginning.

Now she takes her frustrations out on me and I have to be man enough to accept that, because no matter what happens, we created one great little kid.

***

‘Would you like a cup of tea or coffee?’

I look down over the edge of the roof to see Elana James shouting up at me, hands cupped around her mouth. You can’t shout quietly, lady, it’s a long way up. Admittedly she’s rather reserved and it’s kind of her to make the offer, so I hold up one hand in acknowledgement and shout back, ‘Thanks, tea, I’ll be down in five.’

It’s about time I finished, anyway, so I adjust the tarpaulin and check everything is watertight for the night. I found a lot of broken slates that also need replacing and the order will be delivered in the morning. By tomorrow night I’m hoping the roof repair will be in hand and then I can start thinking about the work on the chimney. A voice suddenly rises up out of thin air, startling me; well it’s more of a mumble, really. I ease myself into a standing position and hold my breath, straining my ears to catch the direction it’s coming from. There it is again. I move closer to the chimney and now I can make out actual words.

‘… and you have to promise me that you won’t forget, Santa. I don’t want my daddy to think I’ve forgotten him. You can’t send presents to people who are in heaven, even though you can speak to them, of course. So I need you to take him something special from Mummy and me. I’ll let you know when the chimney is fixed. And I’ll leave you some extra biscuits on Christmas Eve. Thank you.’

A lump rises in my throat as the voice trails off into silence. No wonder the lady is so reserved; she’s not divorced, as I’d assumed, she’s a widow. I wonder when exactly her husband died. Her daughter is a really cute kid, bright and very polite. Christmas can’t be easy for them; it’s a hard time of year when you have to live with regrets. I’ll be with my parents this year for the first time since I left home when I was eighteen. Never thought I’d find myself back there at Christmas, staying in my old bedroom as if being married and becoming a dad is merely a dream.

I wonder if Elana heard her daughter’s plea, too. It’s none of my business, but it’s probably the saddest thing I’ve ever heard. Right, time to get off this roof and drink that tea before I set off home for the day.