Autumn Leaves at Mill Grange by Jenny Kane (the little red hen ebook .txt) 📗

a silent ‘thank you’ to his new friends, Tom struggled with his emotions as he watched Dylan dive into the mound of tinsel, wrapping some around himself before turning to Bert with a solemn expression. ‘Shouldn’t the lights go on first?’

‘Quite right, young man.’ Bert gave him a wink. ‘You are plainly an expert at Christmas trees. Shall we let your dad stand on the ladder to do the high bits, then we can fill in the rest of the tree?’

‘Yes, Bert.’ Dylan screwed his face up in concentration as he studied the pile of decorations and turned to Tina. ‘I think we’re gonna need some more though.’

Tina nodded. ‘We definitely will. They’re in the attic. You want to explore with me while your dad does the boring light bit?’

‘YES PLEASE!’ Dylan jumped up as down with delight. ‘Can I, Dad, please?’

Feeling his heart melt, wondering how his son would normally spend his Saturdays, Tom smiled. ‘Just make sure you look after Tina as you go.’

Fifty

October 3rd

At last Phil was satisfied with the scene. Two wing-back armchairs had been placed in front of the Christmas tree, the fire had been lit, and a table set up for afternoon tea had been placed between the chairs.

Shaun admired the set-up. ‘Do you want me to call Tom in for a rehearsal, or do you want to wait and do this when the outside light has gone, and crack on outside while we can?’

‘Tom?’ Phil stabbed a finger at the clipboard in his hand. ‘No, that’s an outside interview. Makes sense to do it in his place of work, so he can talk though the process in situ. This is for the chat between you and Sam about what he intends to achieve at Mill Grange.’

‘Sam?’ Shaun shook his head. ‘Sorry, Phil, but I did tell you, Sam’s chronically claustrophobic. He can’t come in here.’

Phil’s forehead creased. ‘Come off it. This is his house. We can’t possibly promote a house and enterprise if the owner can’t go inside it. He wanted us here, so he has to do this.’

Shaun opened his mouth to protest, but Phil’s expression told him plainly that he wasn’t going to change his mind so it was no use arguing with him. The best Shaun could do for now was repeat, ‘But later, best to use the outside light while we have it.’

‘Yes.’ Phil wasn’t listening as he swiped through pages on his tablet. ‘Let’s go and do Tom’s interview. Best to do it while there’s light left, don’t you think?’

‘Good idea.’ Shaun rolled his eyes as he fished his phone from his pocket, ‘I’ll nip to the bathroom and join you outside.’

‘Via Hilda. Your hair needs sorting.’

Not responding, Shaun frantically texted a joint message to Tina and Thea as he moved.

EMERGENCY. Phil wants to film Sam and me INSIDE. He will not be budged.

*

Helen watched Dylan run back and forth across the gardens, his round face serious one minute and a mass of smiles the next; just like his dad’s.

Dylan’s whole being came alight as he was trusted to carry tools and buckets around the site. Having been told not to run too close to the fortlet, or step on the edges of the excavation, so he didn’t damage the trenches or fall in, he walked carefully. He placed each wellington-booted step with precision, then burst into an excited lopsided run when asked to dash over the house to deliver a message for Mabel, Bert, or Tina, who were getting the house ready to be a retreat.

Helen only ever interacted with children when she was giving a school party a tour around the Baths, and she hadn’t had to do one of those for years. She knew it was only a matter of time before Dylan came to ask her if she wanted him to do anything. He’d asked everyone else, who’d instantly found him a job to do, whether it needed doing or not. Helen didn’t want to consider why she was anxious at the prospect.

Seeing Phil and Tom crossing to the site, with an unusually flustered Shaun on his heels, Helen stood up. If the filming was about to begin, then the little boy would need moving from the site, and so would she. Am I going to be expected to babysit? The notion filled her with horror. She kept her head down, hoping that if she didn’t see Dylan, he wouldn’t see her. For heaven’s sake, woman. She scraped at a stubborn patch of clay. You’re like a bloody ostrich burying her head in the sand. He’s just a kid.

The squeal of ‘My dad’s gonna be on telly,’ broke through Helen’s faked concentration. Tom was going to be on television? But he said… Then she understood. His boy wanted him to be on television, so Tom had done an about-turn and had agreed to be filmed.

Clambering out of her trench, brushing soil from her knees, Helen sauntered over to a worried-looking Thea. ‘What’s wrong?’

Lifting her phone up so that Helen could read Shaun’s SOS text, she swore under her breath, conscious of young ears in the vicinity. ‘Sam can’t manage that, can he?’

‘I don’t think so.’ Thea peered across the garden, searching for either Tina or Sam.

Helen surprised herself by saying, ‘We can’t move the tree outside either. Dylan would be heartbroken.’

‘Maybe that’s the answer.’ Thea looked earnestly at Tina.

‘What might?’

‘I’m willing to bet Sam would rather have a panic attack than disappoint a child who thinks the Christmas tree he decorated is going to be on television.’ Thea watched Dylan as he picked up loose stones from outside the dig site and placed them in a bucket. ‘I bet he’s already dying to tell his school friends about this.’

*

Dylan sat on the nearest bench to the excavation. His welly-covered feet swung backwards and forwards as he watched the camera focus on his dad. Helen sat next to him, her heart thumping rather faster than she would have liked. She smiled