And eventually it was all agreed, and Martin poured out more drinks, and the talk turned to things going on in the village. Once again my heart swelled with pride as they related stories to each other about the meetings being arranged in the various villagers’ houses – all of which seemed to be attributed to me.
‘I’ve even heard talk in the shop,’ Sarah said, ‘that Barbara Griggs, the miserable old woman who lives in the cottage down Back Lane and shouts at everyone, has invited Stan Middleton from across the road to play rummy with her in the evenings since the pub closed, and they’ve been heard laughing their heads off. And there are empty sherry bottles in the recycling every week.’
‘Yes, and apparently Stan’s joined the pensioners’ club, which he swore he’d never do, because they were all stupid old women talking about their knitting, and is letting some of them have their meetings in his house,’ Martin joined in. ‘And he says it’s all because he found Oliver being shooed out of Barbara’s garden.’
‘Good old Ollie,’ Daniel said, when they’d all stopped laughing.
‘It’s all very well, though,’ Martin said, suddenly sighing, ‘holding meetings and get-togethers in each other’s houses when it’s just a few people at a time. But what about all the Christmas parties coming up?’
‘They’ve all had to be cancelled,’ Sarah explained gloomily to the others. ‘My Women’s Institute one has already been called off. And the Brownies’ one of course. And the pensioners’. All of them.’
‘What a shame,’ said Nicky. ‘There isn’t anywhere else in the village big enough to hold them, I suppose.’
‘No.’ Sarah shrugged. ‘Well, there’s only one place of any size, of course – the Big House.’ And she laughed, and Martin joined in. ‘There’s no way anything festive is going to happen there.’
‘What’s the Big House?’ Daniel asked.
As you can imagine, I was wide awake by now, listening with great interest.
‘Broomford Hall. It’s just outside the village, going up the hill towards Great Broomford. Used to be the manor house. The last owner was a kind old chap who used to let us hold the summer fair in the grounds. But the new owner…’ Sarah smiled and shrugged again.
‘Is a downright miserable git,’ Martin finished for her. ‘He’s a widower, apparently, and lives up there all on his own. Doesn’t often come into the village, but when he does, he’s got a face like thunder and not a good morning for anyone. Nobody’s ever seen him smile.’
‘Oh. Well, that’s not a possibility then, is it?’ Nicky said. ‘He doesn’t exactly sound like someone who’d be prepared to hold any Christmas parties.’
‘No.’ Sarah shook her head sadly. ‘We’re all just going to have to go without our Christmas festivities this year, unfortunately.’
I couldn’t help meowing in sympathy, she sounded so gloomy. They all turned to look at me, laughing again.
‘And even you can’t help out with this one, Ollie,’ Sarah said.
As I said, I was probably getting a bit too puffed up with pride for my own good. I had this reputation now, it seemed, of being the Cat Who Got People Together. And I felt like I’d been given a challenge. Could I do it? Could I actually become the Cat Who Saved Christmas? I didn’t know how, but I was determined to give it a go.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Although Martin kept complaining that it was only November and ‘ages’ till Christmas, it seemed like everyone had started talking about it now. The children were getting excited about things like Christmas plays that were going to happen at school and apparently involved them dressing up as shepherds and angels, and Sarah having to make strange costumes out of sheets. Every time they got silly and rowdy, they were warned that Father Christmas wouldn’t come unless they behaved themselves. I’d actually heard Grace and Rose whispering together about not believing in this Father Christmas person anyway, so I wasn’t sure why they pretended they did. Perhaps it’s a bit like us with the Nine Lives story. A legend – part of their culture. I could understand that. Anyway, they still seemed to be excited about him coming, whether they believed in him or not.
All the talk of Christmas was making me feel homesick. When I lived in the pub, Christmas was such a lovely time. George put lots of decorations up, with holly and other greenery all around the fireplace, and a really big Christmas tree in the corner, weighed down with shiny baubles and tinsel and sparkling lights. I can see what you’re thinking, little kitten. A tree, indoors – yes, it’s what everyone does at Christmas. I keep forgetting next Christmas will be your first time. Well, take a hint from me. When your humans bring the tree indoors, they’re going to tell you not to touch it. But then they’ll hang all the sparkly things on it, putting temptation right in your way. If they don’t want these things played with, they shouldn’t hang them there. Believe me, it’s almost impossible to resist the urge to jump up and swat those sparkly baubles with our paws. I almost brought the whole tree crashing down when I was a little kitten like you, on my first Christmas. It frightened the life out of me and, after that, George hung the sparkly things higher up on the tree so I couldn’t reach them. I still tried, though. Some things just can’t be resisted.
It was so pretty and cosy in the pub in the evenings, with all the lights, and the flickering of the fire, and although it was true there were a lot more strange people in the bar, which made me a bit nervous, they were all usually in really happy moods. George used to say it was his favourite time of year. And now I couldn’t stop thinking about him, living somewhere far away with his sister and her cat allergy and without me. It made me mew sadly to myself as I lay in my chair or on Rose’s bed snuggled up with her teddies, and sometimes the girls would stroke me and wonder why I didn’t seem very happy, and I wished I could explain.
To take my mind off it all, that week I went every day on my little jaunts to the Big House. I didn’t waste time playing in the bushes anymore, or at least, not for more than a few minutes. I ran straight up to the big windows where I’d seen the girl and the woman before. Sometimes they were there again, and the girl called Caroline would call out hello to me and watch me with that sad little smile. Once or twice, there was nobody in the room so I guessed they must be somewhere else in the house. It was so big, they could have been anywhere. One day I got even braver and trotted round the side of the house and all the way to another big door, with steps going up to it. From the top of the steps I could jump onto a wide windowsill and see into another room. It was a huge room, bigger than the bar in the pub, and it was almost completely empty. I couldn’t help wondering what on earth it was for, and why anyone would want a room of that size, especially if they didn’t have any furniture to put in it. Humans never fail to surprise me. And then I remembered that conversation about the Big House being the only place large enough to hold a party. It was true. Everyone in the village could probably fit in that one huge room.
I didn’t hang around. I was always nervous that the angry man who didn’t like cats – or humans, by the sound of it – would turn up and catch me. I couldn’t understand why Martin had said he lived there on his own. If that was the case, why were the girl and the woman there? Perhaps they were trespassing, like me, and perhaps I should stay well clear of the whole situation. But something made me go back again the next day anyway.
Sarah seemed to be very busy these days. She was always in the kitchen, making things that smelt lovely and spicy and putting them in the freezer.