“Got its own mobile phone, as well, no doubt,” said Ely, still eyeing Tiggs.
Annie laughed.
“I’m not quite that bad. But she is chipped.”
Ely looked at Annie as though she were completely off her rocker and shook his head. “I was just coming to see you. Had a call from Billy’s mum, said you’d offered him a job and needed me to be a reference as to his character.”
“Oh, yes, Billy. He’s having a trial with me on Saturday.”
“You could do worse than Billy. He’s a good boy. Had a tough start. He can be a handful but only when he’s not occupied.”
“So, do you think he’d be good at the café?”
“He’ll work hard and he’ll give respect as it’s given him.”
Annie hoped that wouldn’t be a problem; customers were not always famed for their respect for staff. Something about entering a catering establishment caused the nicest of people to behave like complete arseholes.
“Well,” said Annie. “He can have a trial on Saturday, and we’ll see how he gets on.”
“Right. I’ll be off, then, night fishing tonight.”
“In this?”
“It’s as good a night as any,” Ely replied. “You started thinking about the Christmas festival yet?”
“The Christmas festival?”
“Don’t tell me no one’s told you yet!”
“Let’s just suppose they haven’t,” said Annie.
“It’s only the biggest event of the year; aside from the winter solstice and Christmas, and then of course there’s the wassailing, but that’s not till Twelfth Night, so you don’t need to worry about that yet.”
For the love of God! Annie thought. How many parties can one village have?
“A bit of carol singing or something, is it?” Annie asked.
Ely laughed until he broke into phlegmy coughs. Annie waited for him to recover.
“A bit of carol singing,” he stammered, wiping his eyes. “Well, I suppose there’s a bit of that to it. You won’t want to miss it. In fact, now that the Nook’s open for business again, you’ll be hosting it!”
And with that he offered his good-byes and set off down the beach; the sound of his wellingtons trampling the stones could be heard long after his body was swallowed by the sea mist.
“Well, bugger me!” said Annie. “I’d better spend some time with Mari’s almanac.”
Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle shook herself, her fur clumping in the damp air, and let out a whine that could have woken the spirits of the long-departed Willow Bay sailors.
“Come on, then, fusspot,” said Annie fondly. “Home.”
Chapter 69
Winters can feel quite isolating for a small village, after the holiday makers have left and the weather set in, so we never give it the chance. You can be frightened by the wild dark of winter or you can meet it head on and welcome it in, and we Willow Bayers never shy away from a challenge!
The Christmas festival is always held around the first week of Advent and is when our Christmas festivities really begin. We set fires all along the beach to light the darkness （and of course to let Father Christmas know where we are） and we toast in the season with mulled cider and wine. The ghosts of Christmas past, present, and future usually make an appearance; Pam keeps them in the cellars beneath the pub. Did you know Charles Dickens lived nearby here? There is caroling and dancing, and last year Raye and Aiden organized a folk band to play in the moonlight, which was wonderful!
Whoever you are, I implore you to throw yourself into the festivities. It’s a celebration of the long nights and the deep cold that allows the land to rest ready for spring. I suppose it’s a concoction of Christian and pagan traditions, but we have always embraced the knowledge that as a village we are a melting pot and proud, and our traditions reflect our unique identity.
Annie laid Mari’s book beside her and pulled the duvet up closer. She texted John.
You didn’t tell me about the Christmas festival.
You didn’t ask.
That’s because I didn’t know about it!
Well, how was I to know you didn’t know?
Fair point. When is it?
December 8 this year. Will you do it?
Will I have a choice?
Sure, there’s no pressure at all, just so long as you’re aware that if you don’t do it, you’ll be trashing a two-hundred-year-old tradition and everyone will judge you.
Ah, is that all?
You wanted to open a café . . .