Christmas at Hope Cottage: A Magical Feel-Good Romance Novel(9)
Emma nodded, though it was painful to nod.
‘But how can you hear or see us, then?’ she asked with a frown.
Looking from one to the other was making her eyes strain even more; she massaged her temples, and closed her eyes.
‘They’re not all lost, exactly; essentially they’re just a mess. I can see, just not clearly, things go in and out of focus,’ she said thinking of Sandro and how, strangely, he’d seemed as clear as glass, whereas everything else looked like it was shrouded in a fine mist. ‘I can hear, but it can get confusing when people talk at once. I’ve got rather good at reading lips. But, I can’t smell or taste anything,’ she said glumly. This last was the worst.
‘Nothing?’
She shook her head.
‘And touch?’
‘Things don’t always feel right – it’s like a muddle at times… Things that are usually soft can feel hard, like, say, the wind on my skin, which can sometimes feel like a burn, or I may feel nothing at all when really, I should,’ she said, thinking of the blood tests that had been taken before she left the hospital and how surprised she’d been to see a needle sticking out of her arm. Perhaps what made it worse was that things weren’t always muddled – but that was also a concern, because there was always the surprise, sometimes painful, when they were.
‘Do they know how long before you recover?’
‘No, all we can do is wait and hope,’ answered Evie. ‘And make sure she gets plenty of rest,’ she said pointedly, though of course they both ignored her and made no move to leave.
‘It’s okay,’ she told Evie with a small smile. ‘Honestly, it’s like I’m tired either way – when I sleep or when I don’t, I feel about the same really.’
Dot clucked sympathetically. Then she gave her a wink, jerking her head in the direction of the annexe. Her eyes, behind their jam-jar lenses, wide. ‘That should make you feel a bit better though, I mean you can still see him, right?’
‘Imagine all of that, on your doorstep,’ agreed Aggie, her eyes going slightly misty.
Emma narrowed her eyes, and then looked from Dot to Evie, pointedly. ‘Actually, I want to have a word with you about that.’
‘Oh yes?’ said Evie, her tone mild, as if they were discussing the weather and not some relative stranger living in their home.
‘Yes,’ said Emma. ‘Who the hell is he? How come you never said anything about him?’
‘Oh!’ said Evie, her eyes widening in surprise. ‘Haven’t you met before?’
Emma blinked. ‘No.’
‘Didn’t I mention him before?’
‘You did not.’
Dot and Aggie were watching the proceedings with amused shock on their faces. ‘Who could fail to mention Sandro?’ Dot asked Aggie, who shook her head and said, ‘Caramba.’
Then they dissolved into what Emma could only think of as unhelpful giggles.
Evie rolled her eyes at them. ‘Well, there’s not much to say really. He’s Sandro, and he’s my tenant, for a little while anyway.’
Emma thought of how odd he seemed – how familiar he’d been, and how at ease he seemed with the cottage and their mad recipes, how he’d spoken of The Book, so ready to believe that it worked.
‘You just let some crazy guy come live here without telling me about it?’
Evie tutted. ‘He isn’t crazy, love, he’s Spanish.’
Then, as if the conversation were now closed, she looked at her sisters and said, ‘So I suppose we should start thinking about the plans for Christmas. If it’s anything like last year we’ll need to start planning a lot sooner, particularly when it comes to ordering ingredients, you know how we always get three times as many people coming by for a recipe during the holidays. Ann Brimble said we should think of doubling our flour order, we don’t want to run out halfway through the month like we did last year. And we should probably look into some new pie cutters too – the Appeasement Pie was a popular recipe last year. Oh, and Sandro asked if we wouldn’t mind helping him cater for Christmas dinner down at the Tapas Hut this year. He said that last year it was about thirty people and I said we could manage, I mean God knows we’ve done it informally for years, what difference does it make if we’re a little more formal about it?’
Christmas at Hope Cottage was always a busy, festive and welcoming affair, the table laden with food, from Dot’s famous glazed ham to Evie’s Yorkshire pudding and fluffy rice drowning in gravy, and Aggie’s laughter booming off the walls. It was always a non-stop party, and everyone was invited. They were always good that way, making sure there wasn’t anyone who was spending the day alone, not if they could help it.
Emma, though, wasn’t really paying attention. All she’d heard was something about Sandro…
They all nodded. Dot took out a small notebook and started jotting down ideas. ‘I agree, tapas just isn’t really Christmassy, sorry to say—’
‘Why is he here?’ interrupted Emma, who wasn’t about to let go the fact that Evie had let a stranger come to live at Hope Cottage; not without some explanation at least.
Evie turned to her with a frown. ‘Sandro? Well, he needed a place to stay while his house is being renovated. He’s bought an old farmhouse see, and it didn’t make sense for him to waste his money at a B&B.’