Christmas for Beginners - Carole Matthews Page 0,2
and red lippy only serve to make him look paler. He’s carrying a bucket and a spade that’s nearly as big as him – though with all the physical work he does here, his skinny, gangly frame has started to fill out a little. He puts down his tools and climbs onto the first rung of the metal gate, the only thing that’s keeping our alpaca crew from running amok – something they love to do with every given chance. They all come up to nuzzle his hand in turn.
‘What have you been doing now?’ he says to them. ‘You’re making Molly frown and you’ll give her wrinkles. More wrinkles.’
As if I care. I’m a stranger to anti-ageing creams. In fact my bathroom is shockingly short on the usual unguents. The outdoor life is my beauty regime. I like to think of myself as fresh-faced and natural when I’m more likely wind-blasted and sun-baked. Though I think since this bolshie bunch of alpacas arrived they’ve been ageing me in dog years.
I fill Lucas in. ‘You saw our beautiful Baby Jesus? I only put him down for a minute and one of them had him for breakfast.’
‘That was short-lived. Naughty alpacas,’ Lucas says with a wag of his finger at them. ‘There’ll be a special place reserved for you in alpaca hell.’
‘I don’t think you’re taking this seriously,’ I admonish. ‘The Hope Farm Open Day and Nativity is rushing up towards us at an alarming rate and we are woefully unprepared.’
‘It’ll be fine,’ Lucas says with all the nonchalance of a Gen Z teenager who cares not for traditions. ‘You worry too much.’
He’s right. And I’m the only one that does worry. Everyone keeps telling me it will be fine, but the thought of an open day with nativity combo is already giving me sleepless nights. I don’t know why I let myself be persuaded to do this. I’m too malleable by half. I’m not even a Christmas person. Usually I spend it alone with the animals. I don’t possess any decorations. I’ve never had time for it. Much as I try to ignore it, this year, I fear, will be very different.
The whole open day thing was, of course, the bright idea of my trusty sidekick, Bev Adams. She’s what I like to think of as my link between Hope Farm and the outside world. Bev has been here at my side for years. She’s like a mum and a sister all rolled into one and, with the exception of Lucas, the closest thing to family that I have. When my guardian, Aunt Hettie, died and left me bereft and adrift, Bev was the one who helped to put me back together again. My dear friend is about fifteen years older than me – in her mid-fifties – but is as fit and as strong as a twenty-year-old. If you’d seen her throw hay bales around or wrangle a stubborn sheep, then you’d know. Bev’s an ex body-builder and is still in great shape, although the only exercise she does now is here on the farm.
Even though I’m supposedly banned from taking in more rescue animals, we’ve recently rehomed two donkeys – also Bev’s idea: a mother and daughter called Harriet and Hilda. They are sweetness personified and came from a lady who was too old to look after them any more and wanted a caring home for the pair so they wouldn’t be separated. Cue an invitation to enjoy bed and breakfast on a permanent basis at Hope Farm. I’m so glad that we took them in, though. However, on the downside, our delightful donkeys do seem to have provided the inspiration for Bev’s desire to throw open our doors to the general public and share our work with them in a festive manner. The thought fills me with terror. I’m not what you might call a people-person – unless they are people with troubles.
But there’s no holding it back now – Christmas and our nativity are going to happen whether I like it or not.
Chapter Three
‘I should get on,’ Lucas says. ‘Shit to do involving shit.’
‘You’re mucking out the barn?’
‘Yeah. The joy just keeps on flowing here.’ He pushes his long black fringe from his forehead and his dark eyes look across at me. ‘There are ten kids here today. I’ll take them with me. I’m sure they all need more poo to brighten their lives.’