Page 58 of A Perfect Devon Christmas
‘If youcompostone more piece of Christmas, I shall recycleyou.’
‘Now, now,’ Victor chirped, balancing precariously on a pew to hang a garland made of pinecones. ‘Jesus was born in amanger, not a non-biodegradable plastic grotto,’ Margaret snipped.
Mabel picked a bauble from the box. ‘Is this made of lentils?’
‘No,’ Victor said proudly, climbing back down off the pew. ‘Chickpeas.’
The bauble disintegrated in Mabel’s hand.
Ivy tore her eyes away from the chest, fearing what else it might contain, then sniffed, trying to decide what was marring the familiar mustiness of the medieval building.
Victor stood before her, an earnest expression wracking his face. ‘I don’t understand what went wrong,’ he mumbled, staring forlornly at a tray of blackened orange slices. ‘The YouTube video made it look so simple.’
Ah, thought Ivy, identifying the peculiar smell at last: singed orange peel. She pressed her lips together, suppressing a smile. ‘Perhaps the Aga was too hot?’ she offered kindly.
‘They’re supposed to be dried, not cremated.’ Margaret sniffed, poking a charred disc with her manicured fingernail. Her tweed skirt and pearl necklace seemed to radiate disapproval. ‘In all my years in Brambleton, we have never served the Lord with burned fruit.’
‘Actually, the carbon represents our environmental sins,’ Mabel interjected. ‘I think it’s quite profound, vicar.’
Ivy caught Fred’s eye across the church. He winked at her, and she felt that familiar, unwelcome warmth coursing through her body.
Stop it, she scolded herself.He’s just being kind.
‘The popcorn garlands are going well,’ called Helen from the altar. She was guiding Omar’s hands, threading a needle through a kernel.
Omar nodded, his usually serious face breaking into a genuine smile as his fingers brushed against Helen’s. Ivy watched them for a moment: how relaxed he seemed with her, how their heads bent close together over their task. It was good to see him connecting with someone closer to his age.
‘Helen has everyone wrapped around her little finger,’ Fred said, appearing at Ivy’s elbow with a box of baubles in his hands. ‘Even our quiet friend.’
And you too, thought Ivy.
From across the church, Helen’s bright laugh rang out. Ivy turned to see the young teacher helping Omar drape a popcorn strand around his neck like a feather boa. He was performing an exaggerated catwalk strut that had Helen clutching her sides with laughter.
Fred followed Ivy’s gaze. ‘She’s good for him,’ he observed. ‘Brings him out of his shell.’
‘Just being friendly,’ Ivy replied, though she couldn’t help noticing how Omar’s hand lingered on Helen’s shoulder, how Helen’s eyes followed him as he walked away. But Helen was like that with everyone.
‘Some people just click,’ Fred said, raising his eyebrows at Ivy.
Ivy felt warmth creep up her neck. How did he make everything so confusing? ‘Helen’s quite taken with you’ she said lightly.
Fred looked embarrassed. ‘Is she? I hadn’t noticed.’
Although disappointed he wasn’t being honest with her, Ivy wouldn’t be negative about Helen. ‘She’s lovely,’ she swallowed. ‘I hope she stays.’ Ivy added, trying to keep her voice light. ‘Intelligent, passionate about her work. Just what this village needs – fresh energy.’ All the things Ivy used to be.
Fred’s voice was soft. ‘Ivy—’
‘Teaching suits her,’ Ivy said, reaching for the box of baubles. ‘She’s good with people.’
Fred’s fingers brushed against hers as she relieved him of the box. ‘People skills. Not everyone has that gift. You do though.’
Ivy laughed. ‘I’m retired for a reason, Fred. My sermons were putting people to sleep.’
‘I never fell asleep,’ he said.
Before she could respond, a thunderous crash echoed through the church, followed by Margaret’s cry of outrage.
Victor stood frozen beside an overturned ladder, surrounded by a heap of dusty green garlands.
