"Did you get the presents, Jean? I know I'm down and I could have brought them, but it's not the same." It was late morning. Already, Bren and Tony had come down to sort out the Christmas dinner, had their first Christmas morning waking up together in their own pub, a little bundle of mainly border collie pup springing between them. And now, as Little Willie and Laura were laying tables, Bren had taken the opportunity to
"Oh, yes, they arrived two days ago. We've not opened them yet, but we will, before Lisa and David come round." Jean paused, then asked, in deliberate tones, "He gave you the ticket then?" Bren smiled.
"How did he know?" she asked, rhetorically.
"I told Stan, and he told Tony," Jean explained, simply.
"Thanks Jean. It's great. And I had another little surprise left in a box outside, all ready for me birthday."
"Oh yes?"
"A little puppy, in need of a home," Bren clarified. She looked out of the window. It was still dark; the sun she noticed, was really much later rising than Manchester.
"Have you got a name?" Jean asked, her tone not one of surprise."
"Not yet. But oh, he's lovely!" Bren watched as the aforementioned little bundle of black and white fluff carefully negotiated the stairs. "Jumped all over us this morning, licking my hands and face, then he did a wee on the carpet, but hey, I thought never mind, he's only a puppy, it's no worse than my mother ever did. Plus, I've got to train him, a'course."
"Just like the dog and bicycle you told me about when you were younger," Jean concluded.
"You remembered?" Jean chuckled. "Yeah well, Tony phoned Stan and Stan asked me and told Tony."
"Well thank you, Jean, I didn't know what I would do not working with yer, but we've made the effort, haven't we? D'you know, I was just starting the vegetables for the day, and I heard noises outside, and I called Tony, yer, know, in case it was someone, and he he called out that there was a box, a big 'n."
"And the box, did you think it might be a smaller box, containing something shiny and circular?".
"A ring?" Bren lowered her voice. "Well, yeah, mebbe, an engagement ring, yeh mebbe, yeh."
"But he's probably remembered what you said after your divorce from Martin came through...?"
"What was that, Jean?"
"Never again."
"Well yeah, never again, but never again about Martin, yer know, not "never again ever", not never again and not Tony..."
"Aw Bren, I'm sure everything's going to be just fine - you got your pub this year, maybe get engaged next year - you've got all your lives together, eh?"
"Yeah, you're right," Bren nodded.
"So your vegetables," Jean changed the subject, "did them this morning, did yer, on account of getting a new little puppy?"
"Well, I was goin' ter, yeah," admitted Bren. "But it were too late; Geraldine was in the kitchen doin' 'em when I got down. Arrived when Clara and Colin were getting in, did the lot."
"Well, you have landed on your feet there," Jean replied, approvingly.
"So, how is everyone?" Bren asked, watching as the puppy found the food and water Bren had set down, which he was tentatively tucking into.
"Dolly's right at home, fussing about Mobberley, she can't get her tree where she wants, but it won't matter. Her mother's coming. Enid, as you know, could find fault with Jesus. Twink, well, she's stuck to her social work course, she's in Ripon, I suppose. I'll invite her to the wedding, of course."
"And Philippa, she gone south?"
"No, actually, she's getting married too, to Mr. Michael."
"No! Didn't they break up?"
"Oh no, the new Mr. Michael, James Michael, Mr. Michael's nephew, who took over. All a bit of a whirlwind, but it's made such a difference to her, she's much less scatty. It's all all about modernising with the new Mr. Michael, so Philippa's in her element."
"It's all change, then, at the factory?"
"We hear he wants to expand - two takeovers, at least. The future's bright."
"And, what've you got Stan?"
"An electrician's course, to get his certificates," Jean explained. "Oh I know he can do everything, and when he goes on it will delight in telling everyone so, but you know, he just has to mix up his fuses one day and phwmp - no more house. He should be wearing glasses by rights, but he won't."
"Like you, Jean?" Bren asked, cheekily.
"Yes," Jean admitted, just like me. So, you're having your dinner when your dinner service has finished? Just yourselves?"
"And Colin and Clara: she's taken her leave to stay and do up the B and B and retreat with Colin and Tony and Stan when I come down."
"Wouldn't like to be her," Jean remarked. "Four men renovating an old barn."
"But she likes all that stuff," Bren replied. "She's told me how her supervisor doesn't like her you know, for being a woman trucker, shows the men up more, does her job too well."
"Sounds like all women and their bosses. Except Tony, of course," Jean added. "Tony could manage us alright, and we got the job done. What have you got him?"
"A DVD player and some of his favourite films," Bren added. "They're the next thing."
"You can't record on them though, can yer? I still like videos, but it's the future I suppose,"
"And a watch," Bren added, "A good one, not from down the market."
"Hope it's better than the one I got Stan," Jean replied. "That was when I knew he loved me, that day, when he wore the rubbish one I gave him, rather than his precision one. It was a near miss with your mum's money, though."
"Yeah!" Bren exclaimed. "Can laugh about it now, though. What do you hope he's got you?"
"Underwear would be nice," Jean replied, as Bren watched snow flurries skit around outside, but I saw he had the Screwfix catalogue out on the page for cordless sanders."
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"Where's Clara then?" Tony asked, as he prepped the bar for the lunchtime rush. From behind them, through the kitchen door, a very tired Clara appeared, hair damp, but with a wide grin.
"Didn't get here til six," Clara said. "I'd have been up sooner, but I struggled to get the underflo0r heating coils into Colin's land rover." She reached for a slice of lemon and dropped it into her tea. "Aye, it'll be great," she added, looking out through the large bar windows at the barn, now structurally sound and awaiting the rooms to be divided, the plumbing and electrics to be installed, then the decoration of the rooms, plus the furniture. A lot of work to do, Bren considered, and was really grateful she had three weeks away from it all. But it would be worth it.
"Let Stan put them in," ,Bren advised, "Jean's got him an electrician's course."
"To go on, or to run?" Tony asked. "They're going to love the man who knows everything, eh?"
"Let's hope he doesn't get his dander up."
Following on from Clara, Colin crutched himself in. Bren hopped down from the bar where she had been unbagging change for the till and opened the bar's door into the lounge for him.
"Merry Christmas both!" Colin declared, before sitting down next to Bren. Then, he passed her a small packet. "A Christmas present, just a little one." he explained. Bren opened it, as Tony stopped refilling the spirits to watch her undo a watercolour set and artists' paper.
"Clara and Tony said you were into art," he explained, "and I had to go into Cumbria to get some tiles that were being thrown away for the retreat's ground floor"
"That's brilliant, Colin, thank you," Bren said, marvelling at the gift. "I'm not that good, though."
"This "Etch-a-Sketch" drawing says different," Tony put in. "Look, Colin, it's the pub." He picked it up from one of the joists of the bar's ceiling and carefully passed it to Colin."
"You're talented, Bren," Colin added. "By the way, I put all the furniture in the Band B when I got here."
"With your legs, in the dark?" Tony asked, astonished. "It was freezing!"
"It's done," said Colin, and shook hands with Tony. "A little something, eh?" he added, "From our clubbing days?"
"The Best of Northern Soul," Tony read, then added, "It should have been called, "The Best of Soul that no-one else wanted to got shipped to Wigan where everyone loved it."
"Merry Christmas, Tony," Bob declared, then thanked Tony for the present, still on the theme of Northern Soul: a brand-new, original Adidas clubbing bag and, inside, a vest and a tub of talc."
"Of course you knew this man, Tony Martin, won a dance-off at the Cas back in the day?"
"Really?" Bren asked, smiling.
"Twinkle-toes Tony, they called him!"
"Give over!" Tony replied, waving an arm at Colin. "It were you all the women were after, when you'd turn up in yer uniform every week - never failed to pull, did this one." Then, he looked at the floor. Bren peered over, watching the puppy play with one of her slippers.
"It's one of mine," she said, getting down. "I'll take him a walk, and try and get him settled," she added. "I'll train him not to come out here, Might be a good idea to put the bottom half the split door closed, oh, hello, Laura," Bren added, as the young woman tickled the puppy behind the ears. "We're closing at 4pm today, Laura," she added, as the hippy put down a plastic container of meat that she had scavenged from somewhere. The puppy tucked into what looked like offcuts of ham with great delight.
"At least we didn't have to pretend to eat them," hissed Tony to Bren, as the young woman began to lay the tables for Christmas Day dinner.
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Little Willie McCorquodale arrived covered in a dusting of snow shortly after Laura and acted as waiter to the six pre-booked guests, five dairy and sheep farmers with no woman to cook for them at home, and one elderly gentleman of military persuasion. Bren did not know, or ask, but the man, with a walrus moustache sported medals and dressed very smartly. Mr. McKay had been into the "Dram Shop" several times, and Bren had steered a clear path away from him once he began to flirt with her. Instead, she was in the kitchen cooking and serving, with the puppy's little head appearing over the box lid every so often to look at her. The doctor, who took his walking cane that Little Willie had given to him along with his coat raised his Homburg hat at Bren.
"Fancies yer," Tony whispered, teasingly.
"Give over! Doctor Iain?" she asked, as the old man walked out into the blizzard and head to his own house along the town's main street.
"Doctor Eun," said Willie, looking out across the fields towards his home. ""Eun" means "lamb". He's the local vet, Iain Sutherland."
When the final guest left, shown expertly and efficiently to the door by Willie, he asked Bren if he could call his mum, to tell her he would be home, and that the weather there was getting worse. Bren looked out at the swirling flakes. Already, the kerb over which Clara had parked in the summer was hidden in its opaque depths. It was three miles to the McCorquodale farm. If Little Willie, a boy growing up in the area and living in the landscape with his family's business thought it would be a treacherous errand to try to return home then, Bren reasoned, he could stay with them.
"It's getting dark," Tony said, looking past Bren. "Not even three o'clock and nearly dark."
"Time for the Queen on the T.V. then," said Bren, as Willie spoke in the telephone in the hall.
"Not really, Bren?"
"Oh yeah, we always used to have the Queen's speech on, at Christmas," Bren replied. "Only, I don't remember watching it last year..."
"We were busy," Tony grinned, then looked through the kitchen and into the hall as Little Willie came to the bar hatch.
"You can stay, Willie," Tony said, passing the boy a Coke. "As it's getting worse. Can't he, Bren?" Bren nodded, and followed Willie through to speak to Mrs. McCorquodale and told her if it were too dangerous to walk, he could stay. As she put the phone down, Laura gave her a cheerful goodbye. Bren looked dubiously out of the pub windows at the ever-deepening snow.
"When are you back open" she asked, pulling on a scarf of many colours made, presumably, from oddments. "At least this year will be the end of 2000: no need to worry about the Y2K bug this year, eh? No aeroplanes dropping out if the sky in 2001 cos of computers thinking it's 1901?"
"Laura," said Bren, concern in her voice, "I've heard the weather forecast for tomorrow. If you like, we're having a Christmas dinner here, Colin, Clara and so on."
"Oh, no!" The woman shook her head, "I wouldn't want to impose. In any case the children are looking forward to our midwinter dinner."
"What're you having?"
"Road kill and ptarmigan."
"Sounds delicious, Laura" replied Tony, holding out a hand, "Thanks for everything this year. We couldn't have done without you. Happy Christmas."
"Happy time of minimal solar declination," she replied, brightly. "Nights are going to get lighter from now on."
"Don't doubt it!" Tony said, warmly.
"Think about, it eh, Laura, will yer?" Bren called, as their part time help disappeared into a swirling blizzard. She turned, locking the door, and headed into the kitchen. In his box, the puppy was asleep. Bren looked at the washing up - not as much as she'd expected, but then Geraldine pushed her way back through the bar door, and continued with the task.
"You don't have to do that, Geraldine!" Bren exclaimed, realising that her daily help was still here, too. There was no chance that the old woman would be able walk home in this. Six for dinner, then, Bren thought, glancing at the plastic container on the floor by the puppy, then went over to the fridge, fishing out a big box of burgers that, presumably, Laura had brought with her from a supermarket bin.
"Burgers? On Christmas Day?" Tony exclaimed, as he saw Bren looking at them. "Look I'll try them first," he said, shovelling hem into the bin, "You hover by the phone Bren, phone 999 ready..." Bren laughed, and handed them to Tony. He knew full well they had turkey in the oven.
Willie and Clara finished the last of the cleaning up as Bren plated up five dinners. She noticed Geraldine was still there, and added an extra plate, wondering about the woman. She didn't even know her surname, let alone where she lived. Geraldine turned up, did her work, and went home again. Bren hadn't even recalled when she had seen her last in town, buying shopping, and the like.
"I've got the TV on!" called through Clara, as the depressing notes of, "Mad World" filtered through into the kitchen. They were going to eat it around the large farmhouse table that Bren loved, in the living room that broke off from the pub lounge, directly under the bedrooms, many of the when she began to bring it through, Bren gasped at the sight of the room, decorated ad-hoc with many of the bar's lounge decorations. Geraldine was setting the cutlery.
"Merry Christmas, Bren," Tony said near her ear as he gave her a hug. "Couldn't have asked for better, eh?"
"Eh?" Bren replied. She nodded up to Tony as her eye caught a group of people making their way across a snowy field.
"'ang about," Tony declared, as Bren kissed his cheek, and he opened the back door to Laura carrying a blanket tied to her back, a child bundled up and tied to her front, seven other children of varying ages and, for want of a better word, husband,
"Elrond Frodo Legolas!" The man declared, holding out a skinny hand.
"Now we know where Swampy ended up," Tony hissed to Bren, "In a hippy commune in the Highlands." Bren laughed, as Tony continued to Laura's husband asked, "Is that your name or your LARP username?" Thankfully, Elrond Frodo Legolas chuckled.
"My capitalist name is Neil," he added.
"Pleased to meet you, you have a - delightful family." Tony watched as the children tore around the place, though skilfully, none of them disturbed the table or any of the furnishings.
"They're great, aren't they?" Neil commented, proudly. "But I've told Pippin Galdriel Moonchild, eight is enough, I just don't think we can be sustainable if we had more:"
"Here, Mrs. Furlong," Laura said, holding out her large bundle. "We thought we would ask for your hospitality, and bring and share our meal for the day."
"Of course!" Bren exclaimed, as Tony gave her an indulgent smile.
"Ptarmigan have just been put on Scotland's endangered birds list," her husband chided gently.
"Yellow category, though," his wife called over, as she tried to extract a toddler from the pub's Christmas tree. "So we're all right for the moment. There's always squirrel, and if they put the speed limit up from forty to fifty on the A709, potentially more roadkill."
"We got three pheasants and a deer two weeks ago, didn't we Dad?" One of the elder boys, skinny like his father, called over, grinning.
"We did indeed," Neil replied, looking about the pub.
"Drink?" Tony offered, as he thumbed at the bar. "I'm just bringing them over."
"I do distil," Neil said, "but I didn't bring any with us."
"I meant, would you like one? Whisky, mebbe?"
"Do you have Nc'nean?"
"Er..." Tony looked under the bar at the rejected samples from whisky night. "Knock-knees?"
"I've got "Loch Dubh", "Islay", "Meallta"..."
"Meallta! That's grand!" Neil enthused, as Clara brought the drinks in, took the doubtful-looking food from Laura and asked what the children would drink. Tony opened up the double doors that connected the bar's lounge to the living room as the puppy skittered past him, barking merrily.
"Can you do ptarmigan?" Laura looked at Bren, worry crossing her features. She held out a bird about the size of a small chicken by its feet.
"Er, is it like poulet, is it?" Bren asked, as she looked at it. At least it was plucked and gutted. "I can do poulet."
"We wrap it up in salt and bake it in earth," Laura added.
"Will it go on a Baby Belling, will it?" Bren asked, doubtfully. They'd just passed their Health and Safety inspection and wanted and the Baby Belling was their own cooker, not the pub kitchen's. "Coq a vin," she concluded, beckoning Laura through. "Have we got any white wine, Tony?" she called.
"We own a pub, Bren, of course we have white wine."
And, once the wildfowl was cooked, and the new guests had been seated around the table, Tony declared, "Now, we can eat. Merry Christmas, everyone!"
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Half an hour later, with Laura and Geraldine clearing up, and Neil and Tony rearranging the furniture, Bren sat on their sofa. She watched two of the hippy children pulling at the puppy's ears, and the little dog, having put up with it for a few moments, began to slink off behind the sofa. Laura called them together and they sat obediently by the fire next to their mum. Clara went to sit near them, shortly followed by Little Willie, who sat opposite the two elder children with a pack of playing cards. They clearly knew how to play. After a moment, Clara went to get a box of dominoes.
"It's a pub, we have ludo, dominoes, cards..." Tony relayed to Bren as she reached for his hand when he sat down, "And one day we'll actually have a customer who knows how to play backgammon."
"Look at that!" Tony pointed to Geraldine, who had closed her eyes and gone to sleep in a chair. "I've never seen her stop, have you?"
"We're getting snowed in," Bren said, pointing to the windows, which were filling with snow.
"Then, as well as our first Christmas, we've got ourselves our first lock in," Tony replied, then got to his feet. "Everyone," he called, looking around. "I know that some of you thought you were staying here the night anyway, but to anyone who held delusions that they were going home this evening, better think again." The childrens' eyes were on him, Bren noticed.
"Clara? Can yer help Bren bring down the blankets from the loft?"
"So, don't you get cold, living outdoors in this kind of weather?" asked Bren, as Laura folded blankets over her younger children.
"We usually go over to the caves, if it gets this bad," Laura replied, "and stay there. We won't get there today, Elrond," Laura added, as her husband looked around at the children, snuggled together.
"Well," Neil mused, "I haven't slept indoors since 1986, but yeah, it is the festive season, I might treat myself."
Later, as the evening wore on, Bren brought through some food as a buffet, laying it out on the table. The children were playing an alphabet game, and Bren overheard the children, "A nfor "Auntie Arwen Meriadoc, B for Bramble jam; C for Clannies; D for..."
"D for...doggie!" Shrieked one of the smaller children, in delight. "D for doggie." At which point, she clambered over to the puppy and began to stroke his head, his little tail wagging madly.
"Deefer," Bren whispered, pointing to the other sofa where Little Willie, clearly having got over his shyness, was talking intently to Clara.
"He has a name," Tony replied, kissing her, "Deefer Dog."
Bren put on the TV quietly to listen to the news, and turned off the lights. The lights from the Christmas tree twinkled in their snugness.
"And on next, the Morecambe and Wise Special from 1975," the link announcer on the television declared. Bren snuggled closer to Tony on the sofa.
"In the next millennium, whatever form Christmas takes then, aliens putting up little metal icicles over little metal trees, they'll still be showing the Morecambe and Wise Special from 1975. Night Bren, Merry Christmas."
"Night, Tony, then kissed him on the cheek, I do love you."