a funny old year

This blog only started in May. But I quite like the idea of doing a 2010 review, so I’m going to cheat a little bit. Shh, don’t tell. The first few links go over to my old blog, marathonmummy.

January saw me listing Ten Things I Love. It also saw me having a slight panic about running 26.2 miles. Not surprisingly.

February and my panic was calmed slightly with a lovely surprise in the post from my friend Julia, fellow mother of four, marathon runner, and author.

March I wrote a post dedicated to my sister Zoe.

April. Nothing much happened. Oh yes, apart from running the London Marathon in memory of my dad.

May arrived, and this blog was born. We headed up to the allotment as a family to plant potatoes and have a picnic in the sunshine.

June brought open gardens in the villages, sunshine, bunting, and an interview with Julia Williams where she talked about writing, Doctor Who, running, and falling in love with her heroes.

July saw the garden full of redcurrants and my most googled blog post (very odd) Redcurrant Jelly and Bossy Delia Smith. I’m not sure whether it’s bossy Delia or the redcurrants that get people going. I’m not sure I really want to know, either. Eek. I also was lucky enough to have an interview with Katie Fforde who has been one of my favourite writers since her very first novel, (ahem) years ago.

August came along and we visited my mum’s house near Mornac-sur-Seudre in La Charente Maritime and I took lots of photographs and did lots of reading and crochet and unplugged myself from the internet for a fortnight.

September – yippee, nearly autumn, my favourite time of year (apart from winter and spring, my other two favourites). That meant time for an autumn walk picking blackberries and the how to make sloe gin post. (It’s ready to drink now and is delicious. And very potent. Hic.)

October was half term and we took a visit to the Highlands where I took lots of photos (again) and got homesick for hills and heather and we visited Culloden Moor and it was very eerie and beautiful.

November was rather quiet round here because I was hard at work writing a book which is nearly finished now. And there are little snippets of it available on the blog if you want to have a look. this is one and this is another. There may be another one later today, too. Very excitingly I have an agent interested, so I’m really looking forward to 2011.

December saw the final entry for Tara’s Gallery which was a photograph depicting love. Here it is – Merry Christmas from all of us.

Here’s to 2011. I think it’s going to be an exciting year!

silent sunday

a little bit of Christmas from the book

The hedges outside Susan and Tom’s house were woven with fairy lights which sparkled in the the dark. On the icy footpath, tiny paper bags, each one with a tealight in the base, lit the way. The front door was decked with a huge, simple wreath of holly, hung on a deep red ribbon. Kate opened the door, and was hit with a blast of cinnamon, cloves and something alcoholic.

‘Hello stranger,’ Tom kissed her cheek ‘You’re freezing. Come in, let me take your coat. Susan’s making mulled wine.’

In the kitchen Susan was standing, half empty bottle of brandy in hand. Morag was at the table, holding a drowsing baby Mhairi. Through the hall Kate could hear the shouts of Jamie and Ted playing on the Wii.

‘I’m afraid my hand slipped when I was adding a tot of brandy to the mulled wine,’ said Susan, with a conspiratorial grin. ‘It’s now like rocket fuel. D’you want some?’

‘I’d love some. I’ve been warned by Bruno that I’ve not to drink too much though or I’ll be dying on the six o’clock ferry in the morning.’

‘Ah,’ said Ted, coming into the room with Jamie on his shoulders, ‘But a hungover ferry journey is a rite of passage. We’ve all done it, haven’t we?’

The room filled with groans of reminiscence.

‘I’ll just have one,’ said Kate, firmly. She was trying to ignore the slight feeling of disappointment she was feeling. Half of her had been hoping that Roderick would have been there, given his close friendship with Tom and Susan. But perhaps, she realised, they hadn’t invited him, knowing it was might be awkward.

Morag had put the baby down to bed. Tom lifted a protesting Jamie off Ted’s shoulders, saying ‘bed for you, young man.’

Kate blew Jamie a kiss. ‘I’ve a special present in my bag for you – I’ll leave it under the Christmas tree. You can tell me what you think when I get back from England.’

Jamie, eyes heavy with sleep, blew her a kiss back. ‘Night night, Katie-Kate.’

‘Right then,’ said Susan, gleefully, ‘Let the party commence.’ She ladled the steaming hot mulled wine into huge, heavy glasses, each of which appeared to be wearing a little woollen coat. Kate took her drink, and peered at the woollen attachment.

‘It’s Helen’s idea. It keeps them warm for longer,’ explained Susan, laughing. ‘Wait till you’re outside watching the fireworks and you’ll see the point of them.’

‘Fireworks?’

‘Aye, it’s our little tradition – Christmas Day is for the children, so we take it in turns to have drinks at someone’s house the week before. The fireworks started off as sparklers, but somehow over the years it snowballed.’

‘Is that your idea of a Christmas pun?’ Kate groaned.

‘Ha. No, but it’s a good one,’ said Susan.

There was a soft knock at the door, and suddenly the long hall was full of more visitors. Finn, a box under his arm, leaned over and kissed Kate hello. His face was cold. Remembering their night together, she blushed. He gave her a wink.

‘Roddy, will you take my coat?’

The voice filled Kate with horror. Oh god, please, no, she thought, looking past Finn. But oh god, yes, it was. Standing in the hall with a fur hat on top of her golden hair, thin lipped mouth pouting, (not a good look, thought Kate) was Fiona. And behind her –

‘Kate.’ Roderick, strangely, looked pleased to see her. He leant forward and kissed her hello. It was the first time he’d come anywhere near her since bonfire night, and the briefest kiss on her cheek made her stomach disappear through her feet.

Perhaps he’s got a weird firework fetish, she thought, and started to giggle.

‘Are you alright?’ He looked at her, puzzled.

‘Fine. Sorry, I was just thinking about something.’

‘I’ll have a vodka and tonic,’ said Fiona, breezily, as she walked past Kate.

Kate looked around to see if there was anyone else at whom she could have been aiming the request, but the hall was empty. Finn was standing in the kitchen with Morag, and the others had made their way to the sitting room.

‘I don’t think there is any – at least, I don’t know where it is. There’s mulled wine,’ said Kate, trying to be helpful.

‘Well, don’t you think you should find out that sort of thing at the beginning of the night?’ snapped Fiona.

‘Fiona! This isn’t Kate’s house. Why on earth would you expect her to know where the drinks were kept?’ Roderick looked over Fiona’s shoulder at Kate, pulling an embarrassed face.

‘Is she not working here?’

Hello, thought Kate, I am actually standing right here.

‘Kate?’ Roderick burst out laughing. ‘Why on earth would she be working here? She’s friends with Tom and Susan, she’s here as a guest.’

‘Oh. I just assumed, with what she was wearing,’ Fiona looked Kate up and down, taking in the black jeans and black polo neck, ‘that they’d borrowed her from you for the night.’

Kate snorted. Roderick, sensing mutiny in the ranks, ushered Fiona through into the sitting room, throwing an apologetic look back over his shoulder as he did so.

‘That bloody cow!’ Kate stormed into the kitchen, pouring herself a large top up of the now-cooling mulled wine. She gulped it down, and slammed down her glass.

‘Fiona,’ said Finn and Morag in unison.

‘She’s vicious.’

‘She is indeed,’ said Morag. ‘And you don’t want to get on her wrong side.’ She swiped at the kitchen table with a cloth. Kate was surprised to see the usually equable Morag so angry.

‘I don’t understand. Why has Roderick brought her here tonight – are they back together?’

Finn shook his head violently. ‘I can’t see it. But Fiona’s a bit like lichen on a rock. She clings on for grim death. And let’s face it, the stakes are fairly high with Roderick.’

Kate looked up at Morag, whose expression said it all.

‘And that’s what worries me. Fiona doesn’t want Roddy because she loves him: she wants the house and the land and the cachet of being the laird’s wife.’

‘Right enough,’ agreed Finn. ‘I tell you what, Kate, we were so pleased to get shot of her when she got the job on the mainland. I wanted to fly over to Glasgow and thank that newspaper myself.’

‘Och now, Finn, she’s not a bad girl at heart. She’s just spoilt.’ Morag gave him a little poke in the ribs. ‘Mind you the local paper has been a much nicer read since she gave up as editor,’ said Morag. ‘If I wanted an expose every week I’d read the News of the World.’

Kate, by this time halfway down her third mulled wine, was feeling distinctly floaty. She twirled the cinnamon stick in her drink, watching the dark whirlpool, daydreaming.

‘Kate?’

‘Sorry, I was just thinking. So Fiona left to work for a national paper?’

‘Sandra was over the moon,’ said Finn. ‘Fiona was determined that Roderick would come with her and get someone in to run the estate day to day. But he dug in his heels and refused, so she upped sticks and went to Glasgow without him.’

‘So why is she back now?’

‘Well, I think her plan fell through,’ Morag continued the tale. ‘I think she thought she’d storm off and Roderick would follow her. But she underestimated his love for this place.’

‘And the fact that he probably thought he had a lucky escape,’ added Finn, in an undertone.

‘There’s that as well.’ Morag laughed. ‘Finn, your glass is empty. Here you go,’ she topped up his glass.

‘Are you trying to get me drunk?’

‘Behave yourself, Finn MacArthur.‘

‘Can’t blame me for trying. You’re a good looking woman for your age.’ He winked at her.

‘Bloody hell Finn,’ laughed Kate. ‘I can’t believe I fell for your lines. Talk about cheese.’

He pulled her into his arms, grinning hugely, and bent her backwards in parody of a stage kiss, laughing mouth almost on hers.  ‘Admit it, you want me.’

‘Don’t mind me,’ said Fiona, crisply. ‘I only came to find out if there was any chance of getting a drink around here. It was Christmas drinks that we were invited to, after all.’

‘Fiona, my dear,’ Morag sloshed some mulled wine into a glass, scooping in some fruit and a cinnamon stick. ‘How thoughtless of Kate.’

Fiona sniffed disapprovingly in Kate’s direction. The humour in Morag’s voice was lost on her. ‘I’ll take a drink for Roddy. Where on earth are Tom and Susan? It’s supposed to be their party and they’re nowhere to be seen.’

 ‘Probably sneaked upstairs for a quickie, knowing them,’ whispered Finn as Fiona stalked out of the room, glasses in hand.

‘We can’t hide in the kitchen all night,’ said Kate. ‘Plus Fiona thinks I’m the hired help. I need to get in there and refresh the glasses.’

The sitting room looked beautiful. Susan had strung fairy lights around the windows, and each of her huge, abstract paintings was festooned with swathes of pine, which together with the enormous tree in the corner, filled the room with the smell of Christmas. The log fire was crackling, and an excited Jamie had already hung stockings by the fireplace, complete with strange little offerings. Kate bent down to look at a letter, held in place by a Playmobil knight, a marble, and a small wooden box full of paperclips.

‘Don’t ask,’ laughed Susan, who appeared out of nowhere. ‘Every night Jamie leaves a little note for Father Christmas, and a collection of assorted tat. We’re running out of hiding places for all the stuff, and Tom’s on strike and refusing to write any more letters back from Santa.’

Kate stood up. Turning around she could see Roderick was sitting in the corner of the sofa, with Fiona perched over him on the arm of the chair. She was flirting hard, playing with her hair, flicking imaginary specks of dust off his shirt, twirling the cinnamon stick in her drink to show off her beautifully manicured scarlet nails.

‘Poor bugger looks terrified, don’t you think?’ said Finn, joining her by the fire.

As they looked over, Kate watched Fiona lean across Roderick, whispering something in his ear. His face registered surprise. He caught Kate’s eye, then his glance darted across to Finn, and back again. Fiona sat up, looking at Kate with a satisfied smirk.

a snippet of my book

This is part of the first draft. It’s unedited, it needs lots of work, but here you are.

‘I can’t choose. They’re all so beautiful,’

Kate was sitting on the floor of the kennel in a sea of liver and white when a puppy chose her. Unlike the others, her face was almost all brown, but looked as though someone had spilled a splash of white paint down one side of her muzzle. She was quieter than the others, and curled up on Kate’s lap.

‘This one. Now quickly, get me out of here before I change my mind.’

Susan laughed and pulled her up from the floor with one hand.

‘The others are being homed over the weekend, so she’ll be fine to go with you tonight.’ Susan rummaged in a cupboard, pulling out a hot water bottle. ‘Just tuck her up with this in bed and she’ll be fine.’

Kate had every intention of sneaking the puppy into bed with her, but took the hot water bottle without argument.

‘What’s her name?’

Jamie lay on the rug, letting the puppy chew his hair.

‘Willow.’

The name came out of nowhere, but suited her perfectly. Kate scooped her the spaniel puppy into her arms, stroking her soft ears.

‘Can we come and see her tomorrow?’

‘You can come whenever you want, Jamie. Bring your mummy and daddy too.’

‘And Mhairi? She can’t play with puppies because she’s too little. Mummy said she’s not allowed.’

‘Mhairi too. But you’ll be in charge because you’re a grown up boy. Mummy said you’re going to be four on your birthday next week?’

‘I think I’ll be five. Five is bigger,’ Jamie stood up on tiptoe. ‘I’m quite big just now, look.’

‘Enormous,’ Kate laughed.

Susan reappeared from the baby’s bedroom, creeping in with a look of relief.

‘Right Jamie, I think a bit of Thomas the Tank Engine for you,’ She switched on the television, ‘And a wee sit down for Mummy.’ Susan looked suddenly exhausted, worn out by the needs of a sleepless baby, a little one more than ready for school, and a whole kennel full of dogs.

‘Do you want some more tea before you go?’

‘Truly, no. But thanks.’ Kate headed for the door, manoeuvering her way through the toy cars and assorted plastic. ‘I’d forgotten what you’re like up here in Scotland for drinking tea. I’m awash.’

Susan kissed her goodbye. The sun was setting on what had been another very long day and Kate was dying to collapse in front of a fire and watch something mindless on television.
Her mobile beeped. Shuffling Willow under her arm, she managed to yank it out of her pocket.

Have you run off with a haggis? What’s the news? I was promised regular gossip updates.

Emma’s texts always made her smile.

24 hours in: two new friends (no you are NOT dumped), a dog, a gorgeous gamekeeper (don’t worry married so out of bounds) and enough caffeine to keep me awake for a week.

‘Ow!’

Not looking where she was going, Kate’s ankle gave way as she stepped into a pothole. With a gasp and a yelp of surprise, they fell sprawling forward into the mud and gravel of the drive. Somehow she’d managed to avoid squashing Willow, or dropping her, which was fortunate as a car was approaching at speed.
The Land Rover from last night, with the distinctive DE 1 numberplate, pulled up in front of her.

‘Multi tasking isn’t going to be your strong point then, I take it?’

Oh bugger, thought Kate, looking up from her landing place.

The owner of the voice was wearing green wellingtons, of course. A pair of rather muddy jeans, a jumper, a checked shirt. Dark hair.

He held out a hand, and hauled a filthy Kate and Willow up from the ground.

The phone, which had narrowly missed a puddle, beeped indignantly. Her rescuer knelt down and picked it up, glancing at the screen before handing it to Kate with an expression she couldn’t read.

Just don’t go falling madly in love with Sir Roderick of Posh or whatever he’s called. You’re not Cinderella.

Oh, god, no.

‘Sir Roderick of Posh. Your new landlord, employer and definitely not Prince Charming.’

Fine pieces of gravel were falling gently, like rain, from her hair. Willow was whimpering gently, for dramatic effect.

‘My friend Emma. I am so sorry. Oh god, I am so mortified. I’m so sorry. I mean -’ Kate was blushing furiously, and as ever, unable to stop herself from babbling in a crisis.

‘I’ve been called far worse,’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘But you’re not in the city now. We don’t walk around with our phones permanently glued to our ears around here.’

Five years of living with Ian, who could have won an Olympic Gold in making her feel stupid, and she’d ended up working for a pompous git who behaved the same way.

‘Come up to the house and I’ll get Jean to take a look at you – that was quite a fall.’

‘I’m fine,’ said Kate. ‘I just need a hot bath.’

‘I’d be happier if you did,’ he said, in an employer-ish sort of voice. ‘I need you in one piece. I’ve got plans for you.’

Feeling railroaded, Kate climbed into the Land Rover, trying not to wince. Protecting Willow, she’d fallen awkwardly on her left side, and her shoulder was beginning to ache badly.

Roderick edged the Land Rover round carefully, seeing Kate beginning to tremble and suspecting shock. He expertly dodged the potholes on the way to the house.

‘You’ve been in the wars.’

Mrs Lennox helped her out of the car. Roderick had picked up Willow, who was lying upside down in his arms, squirming helplessly as he tickled her tummy.

‘Traitor,’ mouthed Kate, as she straightened up, gritting her teeth. ‘I’m fine, really. It was just a tumble.’

‘I hear you’ve had a busy day. Now you get in the house, and we’ll get you cleaned up.’

The hall was vast, with a parquet floor, covered with the biggest turkish rug Kate had ever seen. Thankfully there weren’t any dead stag heads that she could see, but ancient oil paintings of forbidding men in kilts indicated that the house had a long history.

‘Come away into the sitting room for a minute,’ Jean propelled her into a chair and disappeared.

‘Drink this. You’re a bit shaken up, and it’ll help,’ Roderick handed her a glass of brandy.

‘Where’s Willow? I’m not much good at this dog owning lark am I? She’s been gone from her mother five minutes and I’ve tried to flatten her and now she’s awol.’

‘She’s in the kitchen. Jean’s giving her some puppy food. Not sure she’ll eat much – I think she had a fright too, looking at the state of your shirt.’

Kate looked down. It was possible to be more embarrassed after all: she was sitting on the posh sofa of a country house in a wee-soaked t-shirt.

‘Ooh!’ She tried to pull herself up, but her arm wouldn’t co-operate.

‘Stay where you are.’

He strode out of the room, and Kate furtled in her pocket for the offending phone. Feeling like a schoolgirl in danger of being caught out sending notes in class, she sent a surreptitious message to Emma.

Have made complete arse of myself. You would laugh. I might later. If I don’t throw myself off a cliff first.

Kate stuffed the phone back in her pocket just as Jean opened the oak doors.

‘I’ve run you a bath. I don’t want you going home to the cottage tonight and sleeping on your own when you’ve fallen down and hurt yourself.’

‘That’s lovely of you, but I really am fine. I just need a sleep and a couple of painkillers.’

‘Aye, and you’ll get those here, and someone to keep an eye on you as well.’

‘One lesson you’ll learn quickly,’ Roderick reappeared, holding Willow, who was now cradled in his arms like a baby, staring at him adoringly, ‘Don’t argue with Jean. Braver men than me have tried and failed.’

‘Och, away,’ Jean smiled up at him with as much adoration as Willow. ‘Now, up to your bath, young lady.’

Roderick raised his eyebrows at Kate as he helped her out of the sofa.

‘Told you. Don’t mess with Mrs M.’

merry christmas

The theme at this week’s Gallery at Tara’s place is love.

It’s easy at this time of year to get caught up in the presentwrappingtoyfindingfloorsweepingdecoratingwashingtidying panic of it all. Believe me, I know. Yesterday when sane people were snuggled up at home with their children making home made cookies, watching family films, playing board games* and being sensible, I was sliding around a car park with three boys in the back of the car. Last minute Christmas shopping isn’t my idea of fun, especially in a foot of snow.

But Christmas isn’t about all that. Tara’s theme is perfect – it’s about love. It’s my little sister driving up from Surrey on Christmas Eve with Chris Rea on the radio. It’s my lovely niece and my daughter having a sleepover at my mum’s house. It’s my boys making paper chains in the kitchen. It’s the standing joke about the red onions (that even the starving, half-frozen birds in my dad’s garden wouldn’t eat). It’s giggling every year over the Christmas we spent up at Dad’s house where we grilled the turkey for two hours because we didn’t know how to work his oven, and dinner was served so late that everyone was plastered on champagne. It’s The Royle Family (have you had your tea?) and Jenga and waking up at five because I can’t wait to hear the children when they realise HE has filled their stockings. It’s going to the Christingle with my Mum and Chris and seeing all the friends we have in the village and their children, and kissing everyone and exchanging cards on Christmas Eve. It’s being on Facebook at 1am on Christmas Eve and friends from the village sharing last minute wrapping updates and ‘help I’ve run out of sellotape – has anyone got some spare?’ messages.

And most of all, it’s this lot. Look, no1 has her arms wrapped around her brothers. Half the time they want to kill each other, but this picture says it all.

Love at Christmas.

*if there’s a secret to doing those things without it ending in World War 3, please let me know. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m off for a bit of comfort reading – a copy of Jump by Jilly Cooper and hide from the children.