Chapter 19

When John arrived at the Benedict Joseph Hostel and Day Centre for the homeless on Saturday morning, Christmas Eve, he was prepared to follow his usual routine, serving lunches and clearing, while the full time staff got on with Christmas preparations for the next day, but he was met at the door by Brother Lawrence, the Franciscan prior and manager of the place.

“John! We’ve got big problems. I have four of the friars with ‘flu, Barry got ‘flu on Thursday, and now Derek and Vivienne have gone down with it as well, and you know how vital they are on Christmas Day. That’s half the staff, and the friars who would make up numbers are too ill. I don’t know what to do!”

“Brother,” said John with a knowing smile, “what you’re asking is whether I can come in tomorrow as well as today.”

“Well...”

“As it happens, all my children and their other halves and families have gone to Cumbria for the week. I was going to join them after I finished tonight. They’ll manage perfectly well without me. Of course I’ll come tomorrow.”

“Oh, thank you, John! We’ll still be very short staffed, but there are one or two of the homeless lads’ll give a hand serving the food.”

“I’ll just give James a call to tell him not to expect me, then we’d better get on,” said John, getting out his phone as he walked to the kitchen.

“I’m sorry James,” he said, getting to the point as soon as his son answered. “I won’t he able to get to you today or tomorrow. The hostel is badly understaffed because of illness, ‘flu. to be exact, and I’m needed for the Christmas Lunch. You’ll get along fine without me.”

“Really, Dad?” James replied, disappointment evident in his voice. “Surely they–”

“James they’ve three staff and half the prioiry off sick with ‘flu. and they don’t have everyone there tomorrow in any case. There’ll be chaos if I don’t stay.”

James’s sigh came over loud and clear. “OK, Dad. I’ll let them know. We’ll be thinking of you.”

“And I’ll be thinking of you all. I’d get to you on Monday, but it hardly seems worth it. Perhaps we can get together here for New Year.”

“Happy Christmas Dad, but try to get up here for Boxing Day – we’ll miss you.”

As expected, preparing everything in the kitchen and decorating the dining room took even longer than usual, and it was nearly midnight by the time John left the Hostel, and half past twelve by the time he arrived home.

He negotiated his way round a car parked in front of his house and parked his own on his drive. Christmas Eve and Day always saw his road heavily parked with visitors. None for me this year, he thought as he let himself into the dark house. At least it was warm as he’d left the central heating on low all day.

He’d just entered the kitchen to make some cocoa to take to bed, when the front doorbell rang. Visitor to the wrong house, he thought as he made his way to the door.

He opened it. “Hello... Claire?“

“Hello, John, you’re very late back.”

“Er, yes. We’re very short staffed at the Hostel, but how come... ?” Then he remembered his manners. “Stupid me! Come in, love, come in! I was just going to make some hot Chocolate. You’ll have some? You’re lucky to find anyone at home, I should be–”

“At Grange,” she completed the sentence, and waited with a smile.

John was now operating on automatic pilot, which meant that his natural hospitality drove what he said and did, while his mind tried to catch up with this completely unexpected development. Thus her comment that she knew he should be at Grange passed him by. Instead, he made hot chocolate for two.

Claire was, in spite of herself and her knowledge of John, amazed. She arrived at twelve thirty five on Christmas Day morning, and beyond a moment or two of confusion, he was making her Drinking Chocolate, which as both of them knew from previous experience there, was a bed-time drink. He was the same relaxed man who had received her into this house on every previous occasion. Nothing seems to phase him, she thought.

“So I assume your flight has just arrived and you’re on your way to stay with Ellen and Simon?” John asked her.

“No John, I heard that you’ve got staffing problems at the hostel over Christmas, and wondered if I could help.” She still had that almost playful grin on her face, and John wondered why she was so amused.

“I don’t follow,” John said as he poured the milk into the mugs and stirred.

“Now John, where would I have heard about your staffing problems? Eh?” she said with an even wider grin. John now had the mugs ready.

“Let’s go and sit in the living room,” he suggested, carrying the two mugs and preceding her there. He put her mug down on the coffee table in front of the sofa, placing his own next to it in an invitation to sit by him there.

He knew now that she was having fun at his expense, which she was. He did not mind and tried to work out why she was there with him. He thought he knew.

On her part, her playfulness masked a deep fear of what he would say to her when he regained his wits, though she had no choice but to wait until he asked some uncomfortable questions.

Instead: “Happy Christmas!” he said with a smile. “It’s turned into Christmas Day already. Now let me try to catch up. Our families have been plotting again. I should have known when both my daughters were asking if I’d been in touch with you recently, and then planned a Christmas at Grange of all places, to relieve Clare of stress.

“You heard about my hostel problems while you were up there, I presume with your own family. Mine told you that I wouldn’t be arriving at all, and why, and you’ve come hot-foot to help out. Am I right?”

“Spot on, John,” she said admiringly. “My family told me I was looking ill and needed pampering at Grange. They know how I love that place and would jump at the chance to go. Of course they said nothing about your family being there as well.”

“So they conspired for everyone to be there at the same time,” John said with a knowing smile. “I wonder why?”

“I think we both know why, don’t we, John?”

“Oh yes. And you’ve played right into their hands, my darling, haven’t you? I couldn’t get there at all without letting all the folk at the hostel down, so the two families’ plan to get us together was falling apart. But you jumped into your car and drove all this way because you knew the hostel and wanted to help. So now we’re together which is exactly what they wanted.”

“John, we need to talk.”

“Yes indeed we do, but not tonight sweetheart. Early Mass tomorrow and then straight to the Hostel. It’s late. If we can still stand up tomorrow night, we can catch up then. I take it you’ll be staying here with me?”

“If you don’t mind, John,” she replied.

“No, why should I mind?” he said. “The bed’s made up in the guest bedroom,” he said, as he rose.

Claire stood with him and then went to get her bag from her car.

“I’ll get off to bed then,” she said, as they met in the hallway at the foot of the stairs.

“OK,” he said with a smile. “I’ll lock up. Do you want waking? Mass at eight.”

“No. My phone has an alarm.”

They stood facing each other not knowing what to do, so John took a step forward held her arms and kissed her cheek. “Good night, God Bless,” he said, releasing her.

“Good night John, and thank you.”

“What for? You’ve come to help us over our problem. See you in the morning, or rather later this morning!”

They laughed and Claire made her way up the stairs, while John did the rounds of the house and put out the lights.

A little later, two middle-aged people lay abed in the same house but in different bedrooms, and prepared for sleep.

Claire had never felt so exhausted. She had risen very early, taken a flight to Manchester Airport from Schiphol, been driven up to Cumbria, driven herself from Cumbria back to the Manchester suburbs, all the while feeling stressed at her possible cool reception by John, then been welcomed warmly. She had time to think that she felt so much at home there in his house as she always had, before she fell deeply asleep.

John had worked all day at the Hostel until very late, and knew he was delighted to have Claire under his roof again. This time she was not in some sort of crisis herself, but had instead come to help with his problem. He still wondered if she would have come had there been no crisis of any sort, but like his guest, fell asleep before resolving the matter.

Meanwhile there was consternation at the Grange House.

“We can’t find mother!” shouted Elizabeth, “she’s not in the house!”

“The car’s gone!” cried Mary. “I think she’s gone back home. She was totally angry about what we’d done.”

Catherine came down the stairs. “What’s the matter?”

“Claire’s gone,” Ellen said, “and we don’t know where.”

“Some last minute shopping in Grange?” asked Clare Junior forgetting it was Christmas Eve and all the shops would be long since closed.

“I’ve got a text,” John said as he emerged from the living room. “She says she’s gone to help with the homeless hostel.”

“Dad’s Hostel?” Catherine asked. John nodded.

“Oh hell!” groaned Philip. “She’s too tired to drive all that way! She’s been up since five.”

“I’ll text her and ask her to let us know when she gets there,” Mary said, suiting the action to the words.

Everyone except the young children stayed up until Mary got a reply just before midnight.

“‘I’m outside John’s house, who hasn’t got back from the Hostel yet’.” Mary read to them. “So she’s got there safely. Oh, John’s just arrived. Mum says ‘Happy Christmas!’”

The party celebrated with a drink or two before retiring.

“It’s a bit of a downer that Mum and John won’t be here in the morning for presents and Christmas Dinner,” said John as they all climbed the stairs.

“Yes,” said Elizabeth to Catherine, “Not quite what we planned, eh? But they are together – and alone!” The group giggled and went off to bed.

Far earlier than she would have liked, Claire was awoken by a hand gently shaking her shoulder through the duvet.

“Claire, it’s seven o’clock. Here’s some tea,” and he was gone. She opened her eyes with a groan to find the bedside light on and a steaming mug of tea beside it. By the time she had finished the tea, she was awake enough to switch off the alarm, get out of bed and get ready for the day.

From then on, for both John and Claire, there was no let up. They celebrated early Mass at eight, then on to the Hostel where they were fully occupied until late afternoon, grabbing bacon butties for breakfast, and a late turkey lunch after the homeless had been fed.

Claire had made herself available and filled in any job that needed doing ‘now’, chatting with the diners whenever an opportunity arose, to John’s great admiration. John was cooking during the morning and waiting on during the meal. Both of them helped with washing up and setting up the dining room for a cold evening meal should any wanderers arrive later in the day, then cleaning down the kitchen.

“John, do you do that every Christmas Day?” Claire asked as he drove them home at nine thirty.

“No, I help with the preparation on Christmas Eve. There are usually enough volunteers to form a shift system on the day, so I’m not needed. We’ve never had so many ill with ‘flu. before. Claire you were marvellous: every time there was something needed doing you were there.”

“I feel great! It’s great to be really useful, but I’m shattered now.”

“You and me both!” They laughed.

Once inside, John ushered Claire into the living room, “Sit down and rest,” he told her. “I’ll sort something out.”

He put the oven on and put half a dozen mince pies in to heat, pouring some nuts and chocolates into bowls. Then he returned to the living room with plates, to find Claire fast asleep on the sofa. He took out glasses from the cabinet, a bottle of port and a few selected malt whiskies. He left her to sleep a little longer while he went back to the kitchen to serve up the pies and nuts, bringing them into the living room with a jug of water for the whisky, and putting them on the long coffee table.

His movements woke Claire, who looked embarrassed until John’s gentle smile relaxed her.

“Oh, John! Your homemade mince pies!”

“Port or whisky?” he asked.

“Oh, definitely port!” she said enthusiastically.

John put a CD of Christmas carols into the player, and sat with her while they ate the food and sipped the drink while the carols played.

“This is just perfect, John,” she said, feeling totally relaxed.

John said nothing but merely smiled at her. And she continued in a reflective mood.

“When I discovered how our families had plotted ... I was so angry! I hated being manipulated like that.”

“Or hated the idea of having to spend Christmas pushed together with me?” he asked with a grin.

“Yes ... No...” she stammered. “It’s not like that. It’s just,,, “