Page 36 of Confessions of a Christmasholic

‘Mumming goes back over a thousand years and is best described as earlypantomime. Wassailing is aTwelfth Nighttradition, with pagan roots.’ He smiled at her. ‘What the boys do has no reference to either.’

Sutton’s eyes flashed with interest and excitement. ‘C’mon, explain.’

‘Yes, your highness,’ he murmured, smiling. ‘The boys start on this street, with Christmas carols, and Moira holds the begging bowl, looking for donations to whatever cause the village has voted on.’ He saw the question on her lips. ‘There’s a box in the pub, and the villagers drop in suggestions about how the money raised from tonight should be used. It might be a family in need, a new bench for the park, whatever or whoever gets the most votes.’

‘With you so far,’ Sutton said, jamming her hands into the pockets of her coat.

‘After the boys have belted out a couple of carols, moving down the street and onto the next, the villagers can choose between them dancing, them reciting a limerick, bawdy or otherwise, quoting Shakespeare, a song…whatever is required, the boys have to do it. Donations are made and whiskey gets dispensed.’ Gus narrowed his eyes, hoping the whiskey wasn’t from the stash in the Conningworth cellar. That was the good stuff, collected by Kate’s dad over decades.

‘You guys are so weird,’ Sutton said, grinning. ‘But so much fun. This is the best Christmas I’ve ever had, Gus.’

He rubbed her back with his big hand, smiling as he watched Felix and Rosie run ahead to the next house to ring the doorbell. They couldn’t reach it, so Eli lifted each of them, and they took turns ringing the bell. The Caskills were ready for them, already dressed in their coats and hats, and they joined the procession ambling down the street. By the end of the two-hour stint, at least a hundred residents would be following the boys around town.

‘I’m glad you’re enjoying it,’ he told her. ‘So, that was your brother, huh?’

‘Jamie. Technically, he’s my youngest half-brother. Hell on wheels, and is currently in Thailand, working as a dive master. If I have any grey in my hair, it’s from him.’

Gus heard clapping from the crowd and the shouts for Eli to do a limerick. The crowd was demanding the hard stuff early tonight, and he shouted a reminder for Eli to keep it clean. Later on, when everyone was hazy with whisky, after the younger kids were scooped up and taken into someone’s home to watch a movie, the limericks, jokes and speeches would become a lot more vulgar. Funny, but vulgar.

‘Captain, Mr Christmas, sir,’ Eli called back, saluting smartly.

The smart-arse. Like he wasn’t the guy who entertained the crowd last year with a limerick about a squirrel named Cyril who was virile.

Eli belted out the first line to ‘Little Drummer Boy’ and the crowd joined in. Gus looked at Sutton, still entranced by the spectacle. ‘So, you don’t want kids, huh? Is that something that’s cast in stone?’

Because, if she didn’t,ever, then maybe he should slam the door shut on his suddenly wayward and uncontrollable thoughts. He wasn’t thinking about proposing to her, God, they hadn’t even slept together yet, but he knew the spark between them could grow into a flame, then a wildfire. He needed to know whether he should douse it now.

Sutton bit her lip. ‘I’m in my only-looking-out-for-myself phase of my life, Gus. So looking after kids, mine or someone else’s, isn’t something I want to do now, or anytime soon. I’m not even sure if I want kids of my own.’

Oh, she did. He’d seen how she was with Rosie and Felix, kind and patient and funny. She enjoyed kids, and she’d want her own eventually. ‘But I do like your kids, Gus.’

‘I like them too,’ he told her. ‘I think I’ll keep them.’

She smiled at his quip and buried her nose in her scarf. ‘If I donate five pounds to the cause, can I get a shot of Moira’s whiskey?’

He shook his head. ‘Sorry, no. You and I are on duty tonight. We’ll be driving the pissed entertainment crew home later.’

‘Damn.’ She pulled a face, but Gus knew she wasn’t complaining. Sutton rarely drank and when she did, she limited herself to a glass of wine.

‘Dance! Dance! Dance!’ Someone shouted from the crowd and Gus watched his little girl jump up and down with excitement. She tugged on Will’s hand and his friend bent down to listen to her. Will held up his hand for silence and the crowd, about forty people now, quietened down.

‘Rosie wants “Pink Shoelaces”.’

Gus rolled his eyes. Of course she did. She’d been singing and playing nothing else since the night they decorated the Christmas tree at home and Gus could recite the words in his sleep. ‘But Eli and I are going to need some help to do this properly,’ Will told the crowd. ‘E, can you find the music?’

Eli waved his phone back and forth. ‘Already loaded up and ready to go.’

Will plucked the whiskey bottle from Moira’s hand and handed it to old Mr Grafham, who promptly dumped a healthy measure into his glass, and showed Moira where to stand. ‘Sutton? Where’s Sutton?’ Will shouted.

Sutton laughed and threw up her hands. ‘Will, no!C’mon.’

‘We can’t do it without you, girlfriend!’

Gus pushed her forward. ‘Your audience awaits, Sutt.’

She rolled her eyes, pushed through the crowd and took her place between Moira and Roise, with the boys just behind her.

Felix ran over to him, and he swung his son into his arms. The catchy tune started and Eli, Will and Sutton hit the beat spot on, Moira was a fraction behind, and Rosie was trying to keep up. A couple of the teenagers joined the group and gave it their all, much to Will and Eli’s delight. By the time the song finished, at least ten people were dancing, and someone demanded an encore.

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