Page 29 of A Very Irish Christmas
I assume she is simply using a turn of phrase – but no, there is an actual cherry. It’s huge, made of shiny red plastic, and is passed from Roberts to Georgie to Charles. He hooks it by its bright green string over the very top of the tree, and it dangles there, looking absolutely ridiculous and yet somehow also perfect.
Allegra trots down the stairs, Charles descends the ladder, and Roberts switches on the plug. The tree is transformed, the multiple strings of lights sparkling and twinkling, playing through the glass baubles and casting red-and-gold glimmers on the various bows, plaid ribbons, miniature reindeers and draping candles that we have spent the last hour hanging.
It is absolutely glorious, and all of us are grinning.
‘If you don’t mind me asking,’ I say after a few moments of silent admiration, ‘why a cherry?’
‘No idea,’ Charles says, grinning. ‘It’s been there every Christmas I remember, though.’
‘Your great-grandfather brought it back with him from his travels in Australia,’ Allegra replies, her violet eyes misty. ‘He’d spent a month there, in Adelaide I think, on business. Apparently cherries are a thing at Christmas there, and this wasbeing used as part of a display in a shop. He knew I’d love it, and persuaded the shopkeeper to part with it. I was only a little girl, and thought that cherry was the finest thing I’d ever seen. I remember it very vividly, despite the fact that this morning, I got up ready to take Rupert for a walk around the estate. Rupert was the Springer we had before Jasper, Cassie dear, so you can see why I found it confusing when neither of them was there to greet me. Every day is a grand adventure now.’
And every day brings repeated loss, I think, imagining how awful it must be to face up to such pain every time you remember that a loved one has actually gone. Suffering that emotional shock over and over again.
‘We should get a new puppy,’ Georgie announces firmly. ‘I promise I’d look after it!’
‘We’ll see,’ replies Charles. ‘Perhaps I’ll put the word out in the new year, and we’ll see if there’s a local litter we can go and visit.’
She throws her arms around her father, squealing in glee, and despite her height and age, she suddenly seems like a young child again.
‘Now,’ says Roberts, clapping his hands together, ‘I’ve got a buffet ready, as usual. I’ll lay it out in the Blue Room, and we can reconvene in an hour for movie night. I’ll bring the television through. The usual, I presume?’
Everyone nods enthusiastically, Roberts departing for the kitchen and the women heading upstairs, arm in arm. Charles and I are left, me still gazing in wonder at the tree.
‘It’s beautiful,’ I murmur. ‘Strange, but beautiful.’
‘Ah. That should be our family motto.’
‘What is your family motto?’
‘Something awful in Latin to do with defeating your enemies even if you pity them.’
‘Oh. Yeah. That does sound awful! What’s your usual movie night film?’
I’m entranced with all of their beautiful family traditions, and not at all missing my own – whatever it is they’re planning to screen, it will be a lot more fun than my wedding video, that’s for sure. Even if it’s the latestSawflick.
‘Every year, after we do the tree, we watchHome Alonetogether.’ He shrugs and adds: ‘It’s a classic.’
I laugh out loud, because they’ve done it again – completely subverted my expectations. I’d thought maybeIt’s A Wonderful Life, or one of the old versions ofA Christmas Carol. Instead, it’s Kevin McCallister and his perilous paint cans.
‘You have a marvellous laugh,’ he says, gazing at me in a way that makes me both warm and self-conscious. ‘It always makes me want to join in.’
‘Thank you – and I seem to be doing a lot more of it since I came here, Charles.’
‘That’s good. All part of the Bancroft service. Now, as we have a little time, would you like to see the rest of the house? Maybe cast your professional eye over it?’
I nod enthusiastically, because I’ve been desperate for a tour. I’ve popped my head around a few corners, but didn’t want to be too invasive – this place might look like something out of a Jane Austen novel, but it is their family home after all.
I follow him around as he displays room after room, all of which are named after colours, all of which are magnificent but cold. It’s clear they’re not really used, and need a spot of love – but the potential is vast. There are big rooms, perfect for dinners, and smaller rooms that could be set up for meetings and talks. There’s one called the Amber Snug that is absolutely delightful – tiny by this building’s perspective, but still large enough to hold a group of ten. Then he shows me the library, which has been better cared for – free of dust, walls lined withglorious mahogany shelving, tables and chairs scattered about for reading.
‘This is gorgeous,’ I say, walking around and surveying it. ‘If you went for the writing classes, people would freak over this. You could sell packages to Americans for a small fortune.’
‘That’s excellent news. I wouldn’t mind a small fortune. This is one of my favourite rooms, to be honest. I have an office upstairs, but this is where I come to let my mind roam free, unencumbered by thoughts of rents and taxes and bills and duty.’
I’d never really considered how much of a responsibility running a place like this would be. Normal household tasks in my small apartment take up enough of my time, and that’s just for me. Charles is dealing with not only a historical legacy, but the burden of ensuring his family’s future. That can’t be easy.
I spot some books about ancient Rome on one of the tables, and ask: ‘Is that what you’re reading? You like history?’
‘I do,’ he says, running his hand over the covers fondly. ‘The Indiana Jones phase wasn’t really a phase. I studied Archaeology at Oxford, and I would have dearly loved to pursue it as a career. I did, for a few years, and I had the time of my life on digs in Zambia and Greece. Never happier than when I was grubbing around in a trench, searching for the perfect pot. But then my father’s health took a turn for the worse, and it was time to come home and grow up.’
