Candy Canes and Buckets of Blood Read online

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  Candy Canes and Buckets of Blood

  Heide Goody & Iain Grant

  Pigeon Park Press

  ‘Candy Canes and Buckets of Blood’ Copyright © Heide Goody and Iain Grant 2019

  The moral right of the authors has been asserted. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, except for personal use, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher.

  Published by Pigeon Park Press

  www.pigeonparkpress.com

  [email protected]

  Candy Canes & Buckets of Blood

  1

  When they announced the next station stop would be Great Eccles, Esther Woollby instinctively put her hands on her homemade tote bag, even though it had been sitting safely on her lap the entire journey.

  “You’ll like Guin,” she said to Newton, sitting opposite her.

  Despite his perpetually worried expression, Esther had always thought, with his untamed black hair and proud nose, Newton would grow to be a handsome man. With a wild Byronic air about him. Right now, he just looked like a worried teenager with unruly hair and a big nose. She worried how worried he looked. She made sure she didn’t look worried. It would only worry him.

  “You will like her,” she insisted.

  “I’m sure I will,” he said and caught her gaze. “Don’t worry, mum.”

  “I’m not worried,” she said. “I just don’t want you to worry.”

  “I’m not worried.”

  “You look worried.”

  “I’m thoughtful.”

  “What are you worri— Thoughtful about?”

  “Lily,” he said.

  Esther should have suspected. He was a teenager. They were obsessive creatures. “You’ll be fine without her for a day or two,” she said.

  “Of course I will,” he said. “But will she be fine?”

  “You gave her a Christmas present before we left?”

  He nodded.

  “Then she knows you care. And you’ll be back before she knows you’ve gone.”

  “She already knows I’m gone.”

  “How do you know? Did she text you?” She gave him her best goofy grin to reinforce the joke. Newton smiled politely, but that was all. The boy was always cracking jokes, awful jokes, but one of the unwritten rules of Newton World was mums weren’t allowed to be funny.

  “Listen.” She leaned forward and put her fingerless gloved hands on his knees. “You miss her. I get that. But, no offence, she’s not like you.”

  “Not like me?”

  “Apart from the obvious.” She bit her lip, wanting to tread carefully. “I’m just saying that she’ll be delighted to see you when you get back, but in the meantime, she’ll just … cope.”

  “Cope, huh?” said Newton. He held up his phone and showed her a picture. “That’s from her Instagram page.”

  “Lily has an Instagram page?”

  “Yolanda at the farm helps manage it.”

  “Is Yolanda the cute one into all that anime manga stuff?”

  “Mum! Look!” He flicked to another picture. “Yesterday.” He flicked back. “This morning. Yesterday. This morning. Tell me Lily doesn’t look despondent in that one.”

  Esther was wondering how to politely suggest that despondent was a strong word, particularly since she couldn’t see any difference in the pictures. She was saved by the announcement they were arriving at Great Eccles.

  ***

  2

  Dave Roberts kept his eyes on the road.

  Friday the twenty-third of December should have been one of the busiest days, but there was only moderate traffic on the hilly A roads. There’d also been a forecast of heavy snow, particularly in high places, yet although the midday sky was as cloudy and white as Christmas cake icing, there wasn’t a flake of snow to be seen.

  Still, he kept alert. In his time he’d been called to enough traffic accidents to know what became of incautious and inattentive drivers.

  “Anyway, you’ll like him,” he said.

  “Who?” asked Guin from the back seat.

  Maybe there were only the two of them in the car but he still made Guin sit in the back, and on a booster seat. Yes, she was eleven, but she was short for her age and the booster seat was entirely necessary. No matter what she said.

  “Newton. I was just saying.”

  Guin grunted.

  Dave kept his eyes on the roads. He knew if he looked in the rear view mirror he’d see his daughter fiddling with pipe cleaners or tin foil or copper wire or something. She’d be fashioning some sort of creature or abstract shape to add to her collection. She only grunted to demonstrate she had heard but she wasn’t participating in the conversation.

  “You’ll like him,” Dave persevered. “You know Esther well enough and it’s time you met her son. And he meets you. We can all spend Christmas together at our place.”

  There was no response for some time. They passed a sign: half a mile to Great Eccles and the train station, another four beyond that to Alvestowe.

  “He’s not staying in my room,” said Guin eventually.

  “He’s not,” said Dave. “We discussed it.”

  “
I don’t remember that.”

  “We did.”

  “I banged my head in year five. I still have the dent.”

  “You can’t blame your poor listening skills on a minor bump.”

  “I went deaf for a whole term.”

  “You stuck Play-Doh in your ear. When you were seven. And we discussed sleeping arrangements yesterday. Newton was never going to be staying in your bedroom. He’s sixteen. There’s an age gap. It wouldn’t be appropriate or fair for either of you.”

  “You and Esther share a room. There’s an age gap.”

  “Now you’re being daft,” he said.

  “I still have the dent.”

  A ram on an isolated crag watched the cars go by. Dave was prepared to bet that ram didn’t have to put up with the excuses of hypochondriac lambs.

  “Will I be getting less Christmas presents this year?” said Guin.

  “Fewer,” said Dave automatically.

  “So I will?” she said.

  “What? No. I was just correcting your— Why would you think you’d be getting fewer?”

  “I worked it out.”

  “Worked what?”

  “You used to buy my presents and Esther would buy Newton his. But if we’re all together then you wouldn’t want to treat us differently. You’re a senior paramedic. That’s band six salary.”

  “How do you know this stuff?”

  “Internet. And the charity Esther works for doesn’t pay her much. I asked her—”

  “It’s not okay to ask people how much they earn.”

  “—So if you want to treat us the same, you’d have to spend more on him and less on me.”

  “It doesn’t work like that,” he said. “It’s not like a tax. It…” The traffic was slowing ahead. Dave began indicating for the train station. “You don’t have to be so precise about things. Just soak up the wonder of the season. I think I preferred it when you still believed in Father Christmas.”

  “I was thinking about that too,” said Guin.

  “Oh, really. Well, we’re here.”

  ***

  3

  Guin Roberts looked up to see they were pulling into a train station car park. She’d been engrossed in the small scale adventures of Wiry Harrison and his quadruped friend Tin-foil Tavistock taking place on the pull-down tray in front of her. The adventures were very small scale; Tin-foil Tavistock had been explaining at length to Wiry Harrison the problems she’d been having with the other year seven girls at the quadruped school. Tavistock, who was formed from scrunched up strips of foil and couldn’t decide if she was meant to be a horse or a deer or even a camel, had told Wiry Harrison how the girls at school socialised in wide circles in the school playground – physical circles, presenting their backs to the world and keeping the circle abuzz with gossip about all and any students who weren’t part of it. There were several such circles in the playground but it didn’t seem to matter which one Tin-foil Tavistock tried to join, she would be told she didn’t belong and wasn’t wanted.

  Wiry Harrison nodded his loopy head of wire and offered what advice he could. Guin listened intently because, by sheer coincidence, she suffered with near identical problems to Tin-foil Tavistock.

  “That’s them,” her dad said.

  He swung the car into a parking space and, in a seamless action, put on the brake, slipped out the door and waved to people Guin had not yet seen.

  She tried to return her attention to the conversations of Wiry Harrison and Tin-foil Tavistock but she was losing interest. Wiry Harrison seemed to think part of Tavistock’s problem was the other girls at quadruped school were mean to her because she couldn’t decide if she was meant to be a horse or a deer or even a camel, and Guin couldn’t see how this applied to her own, similar problems.

  Outside the car, viewable only from thigh to neck through the car window, her dad was wrapping his arms around Esther. Esther tugged at his scarf, the one she had knitted him, and there was the muffled sound of some humorous remark. Esther was wearing her homemade patchwork coat and fingerless gloves. Guin knew she’d knitted those too. Esther’s hands were on Guin’s dad’s chest, patting, stroking. She was a very tactile and touchy-feely woman. Guin approved of the knitting. She didn’t approve of all the touching.

  Guin’s dad shook the hand of the tall boy next to Esther. It was an exaggerated and blokey handshake, like they were making a business deal. Her dad opened the car door.

  “—climb in, dude. That’s Guin in the back. Guin, say hi.”

  The boy slid into the back. He was a gawky looking teenager with wild hair that seemed to be trying to cover his face, as though it was embarrassed to be seen with him.

  “Hi,” he said, smiling. “I’m Newton.”

  Guin nodded. She knew that. He was Esther’s son. And one day — a day she viewed with complete indifference – he might become her step-brother.

  Her dad and Esther got in.

  “We’ll just drive down into Alvestowe,” said her dad, “park up on one of the side roads and hit the market. Stollen and mulled wine for everyone.” He chuckled to himself. “Well, not everyone. Some of us are aren’t old enough to drink.”

  “And some of us are driving home tonight,” said Esther.

  “Stollen for everyone and mulled wine for Esther,” he corrected himself.

  “Or I can drive,” she said.

  “I thought you didn’t approve,” said dad.

  “Of cars clogging up the roads and the air, yes,” said Esther. “But this car’s going to be driven tonight regardless, so it doesn’t really matter who does the driving.”

  “And mulled wine for Dave!”

  He drove out of the station car park and re-joined the road to Alvestowe. Guin slid Tin-foil Tavistock and Wiry Harrison to one side of the pull-down tray and took out Tim the Robot. Tim was a square metal tube with holes all over it. Into those holes Guin had screwed and bolted an assortment of arms and devices. Timmy had a spanner arm on one side, a picture hook on the other and various glass bead eyes on his front. Tim was always on the lookout for new arms and, one day, she hoped, she might find him some legs, or possibly wheels. Tim wasn’t fussy.

  “You’re Guin, right?” said Newton.

  Guin positioned Tim’s arms upwards, a sort of a God, why me? gesture.

  “It’s a nice name,” said Newton. “Is that short for Guinevere?”

  “No. Penguin,” she said.

  “Guin,” warned her dad. “Be nice.”

  The boy, Newton, leaned over a little to Guin. “Hey. Why would no one bid on Donner and Blitzen on eBay?”

  Guin looked at him.

  “Because they were two deer,” said Newton.

  Guin continued to look at him.

  “Because there are two of them and they’re reindeer,” explained the boy, “but they’re also too dear, as in—”

  “No, I get it,” said Guin. “I’m just not laughing.”

  “Right,” said Newton.

  ***

  4

  On the way to Alvestowe Newton tried out a few more of his better jokes on the girl, Guin, but she just wasn’t biting. He wasn’t put off; it was a challenge. He also wanted to show his mum he was making an effort. He wanted her to be happy and Dave seemed like an all right kind of guy, and he clearly made her happy, so, until Dave showed himself to be something other than an all right kind of guy, Newton would do what it took to keep them both happy. When other people were happy, Newton was happy.

  Lily wasn’t happy. That bothered him. He looked at her Instagram page again and flicked between the two pictures, yesterday and today. He could see it in her eyes and the set of her mouth. She wasn’t happy.

  Newton tried to tell himself that he couldn’t make everyone happy all the time. There were priorities. His mum was at the top of the list, the very top with a big gap between her and everyone else. Newton pictured himself at the bottom – well, not quite the very bottom. There were some people who had to be below him. Like Hitler. Or
people like Hitler but who were actually alive. And then, in between, there was everyone else. Lily was in there and Yolanda from the farm and Dave and Guin and even Newton’s dad, wherever he was and whatever he was up to these days. They were all there in the list. Newton told himself that he couldn’t make everyone happy all the time. He wished he could believe it.

  “What hides in the bakery at Christmas time?” he asked Guin.

  She didn’t look up from the homemade toys on the tray in front of her.

  “Mince spy,” he said.

  Guin groaned. Newton could have punched the air. A groan was progress.

  ***

  5

  The road into Alvestowe town turned sharply before crossing a river via a narrow bridge. Coaches had to take a swing at the corner to avoid clipping the dry stone walls along each side.

  “These roads weren’t made for this kind of traffic,” said Esther.

  “I don’t suppose so,” agreed Dave. “They’re kind of constricted by the geography.”

  Alvestowe sat in a gorge-like cleft between rocky hillsides. The landscape in this corner of the world tended between wind-blasted moors and craggy forested valleys.

  “Didn’t an RAF jet crash here some years ago?” said Esther.

  “I’m sure there was a time when air force planes on ‘training exercises’ seemed to be crashing every other week,” nodded Dave. “I said to Guin, it would be a terrible thing to crash out here, be stuck out here.”

  Dave considered the traffic and the likelihood of finding a place to park. The narrow pavements between the grey stone houses and the road were already thronged with visitors.

  One of the things Dave and Esther told themselves they had in common was a disdain for the activity of shopping. It turned out that what Esther meant was she hated chain stores and conspicuous consumption and unethical production methods. Give her a farmers market or a craft fair and she could spend hours stocking up on organic cheeses, artisanal baked goods and jars of chutney featuring vegetables which no one in their right mind would want to preserve. Dave despised shopping because he despised crowds. He wasn’t agoraphobic and he didn’t dislike people, but he despised feeling he was just part of the crowd. He didn’t want to be reminded that he was a participant in that great big procession marching from birth to death, distracting itself from its inevitable destination with noise and pomp and spectacle. In a crowd, especially in a crowd of shoppers, Dave could see humanity trying to find meaning – trying to purchase meaning – when there was no meaning to be had.