Short story

With Christmas approaching, the last thing Cassie needs is a move to a run-down house in the country...

Greg couldn’t help giving a broad grin of satisfaction as he pulled up behind the removal van in the drive of his family’s new home. “Don’t worry, love,” he said, turning to Cassie. “The house will look absolutely wonderful after a makeover, I promise. We’re going to be very happy here.”

Sitting beside her husband, Cassie felt less optimistic. She was delighted with his new job, but she’d been reluctant to move from their comfortable suburban semi to this dilapidated house in the country. Its previous owner, a Miss Mortimer, hadn’t updated it for decades.

Cassie just knew that the renovation project was bound to be both dust-laden and never-ending. With Christmas only six weeks away, she was beginning to feel more than a little stressed.

Greg read her thoughts. As they all got out of the car and their two small daughters rushed ahead of them, he said: “It’ll be fine, Cass. Stop worrying!”

Cassie smiled wearily as they went into the cold, dingy hall: “I know, love, it’s just that…” She stopped as she spotted an envelope addressed to them propped on the window ledge. She opened it and started reading. “It’s from Miss Mortimer!” she exclaimed, then frowned as she read on. Following Greg and the girls into the old-fashioned kitchen.

There was a moment’s silence as their eyes adjusted to the gloom. A soft

Cassie’s eyes widened as she realised it wasn’t a recipe book at all, but Aunt Flora’s private diary…

whimper from a basket in the corner took everyone except Cassie by surprise.

Katie saw the little dog first. “Oh look!” she breathed, her face alight.

“Oh, please say it’s going to be ours, Mummy,” Lucy begged.

Cassie held up the letter. “It says that

until yesterday Miss Mortimer thought she could take Skipper with her to her new flat but at the last moment she discovered that pets aren’t allowed. She has left some food and water for him and has asked us to take him to be re-homed as soon as we can.”

Cassie braced herself for the girls’ predictable reaction.

“But he’ll be homeless!” Katie gasped. “Homeless at Christmas,” Lucy added, plaintively. “We can’t let that happen.”

“Well, yes, but…” Cassie tried to catch Greg’s eye for some moral support, but he had dropped to his knees and was stroking Skipper whose tail was wagging furiously. Katie was fighting back tears as the dog looked up at them pleadingly.

Cassie hesitated. “Girls, I’m really not sure we can keep him. It will be me who has to look after him and I’ll have more than enough to do getting the house straight.”

“We’ll look after him!” the girls chorused.

Greg said cheerfully: “Well, that’s decided then. Miss Mortimer will be delighted to know that Skipper is staying in his own home.”

Lucy did a little dance of joy on the grubby lino: “This is the best Christmas present ever.”

Greg beamed, but all Cassie could manage was a bleak little smile. She now had a mountain of boxes to unpack, a neglected house to sort out, no job and a scruffy little dog to walk every day.

The girls settled happily in their new school and Cassie soon made friends with one of the other mothers. As they enjoyed a quick cup of coffee after the school run one morning, Jemima asked: “With all the unpacking and decorating, do you think you can find time to make a cake for the Christmas Fair?”

Cassie took a bite of one of Jemima’s delicious buttery homemade scones and admitted: “I’ve never really mastered the art of home baking.”

Jemima wasn’t going to let her off that easily: “As the newest mum in the school, you must bring something.”

“Hmm, I’ll have to think about it,” Cassie mumbled, wondering if she could get away with a packet mix and ready-made icing.

That afternoon as the girls bounced excitedly out of the school gates, Lucy said: “Mummy, the Christmas Fair is going to be about the war and we have to make a wartime cake for the competition.”

“A wartime cake?” Cassie’s heart sank.

“We’ll help you!” the girls promised in unison.

Cassie sighed. With her recipe books still packed away in a box somewhere and no internet installed so she couldn’t search online, she hadn’t a clue what she was going to do. Maybe she could ask Jemima who was a dab hand at baking.

When she told Greg her problem, he reminded her: “You’ve got that box of Aunt Flora’s stuff, haven’t you? I thought I saw what looked like a recipe book in there when I put it up in the loft.”

Greg’s aunt had left them a box of her possessions when she’d gone into a care home, but with the move and all that it entailed Cassie hadn’t had a chance to open it. One look at the girls’ expectant faces told her that she would have to haul herself up the loft ladder and conduct a search.

Treading carefully across the joists, she flashed her torch around the dusty loft. She almost fell over a large bag of Christmas tree lights before she spotted Aunt Flora’s cardboard box. Sure enough, tucked down the side was a tatty exercise book marked ‘Recipes’. Clutching it tightly, she made her way back down to the landing.

Later, after the girls had done their homework and the house was quiet, Cassie snuggled down on the sofa with Skipper snoring gently at her feet and Aunt Flora’s book on her lap.

Several loose pages of faded handwritten recipes fluttered to the floor. Cassie retrieved them and couldn’t believe her luck when she saw that one of the grease-spattered sheets had what appeared to be the instructions for a frugal fruit cake. In faded blue ink the magic words December 1944 were barely visible above the list of ingredients.

Idly, she flicked through the book, half hoping to find some more useful recipes. Cassie’s eyes widened as she realised it wasn’t a recipe book at all, but Aunt Flora’s private diary. Fascinated by what it revealed, she read on…