A Cotswold Christmas Mystery

than Dad, which was another thing that made them unusual.
‘Have you done the Christmas tree?’ she asked now.
‘Not yet. I was waiting for you. I thought you’d want to help.’
Stephanie sighed. She had hoped that Dad would explain properly to Thea that it had been a tradition, ever since Stephanie was born, for the adults to decorate the tree in secret and then make a big thing of revealing it, a few days before Christmas Eve. That had evolved into the last day of term, once Stephanie started school. There had been two wonderful exciting Christmases before Mum got really ill and then it didn’t happen in quite the same way after that. At least, Drew had done it instead, which had been good enough in the circumstances. ‘Tell her, Dad,’ Stephanie had urged him. ‘It was such rubbish last year, we need to get it right this time. We have to keep it the same as it used to be.’ And he had promised he would.
‘I got some new baubles and things for it, months ago, in Poundland, remember?’
There was every reason to go along with Thea, and trust her, Stephanie told herself, despite the appeals to Drew. If this Christmas turned out to be different, it was still Christmas. The only element missing was a crib. She would have liked a crib, similar to the one they had in the window of one of the houses in the village. She mentioned it to her father.
‘I don’t really do religion,’ he said. ‘You know that.’
This had become something of an issue over the past few months. ‘But you sometimes have a vicar for the funerals,’ she reminded him. ‘That’s religion.’
‘That’s my job,’ he argued. ‘I do what the families want, whether it fits with my own beliefs or not.’
‘But this is what Christmas is all about. I mean – Jesus being born. It seems wrong to just ignore that altogether.’
‘Most people in this country do,’ he assured her. ‘They focus on food, and bright shiny decorations, and presents and family togetherness. Isn’t that enough for you?’
‘Not necessarily in that order,’ interrupted Thea, who’d been listening in. ‘Personally, the food comes last.’
She wasn’t religious either. Stephanie had never heard her say a single thing about God or Jesus or heaven, as far as she could remember. There was a sense of a pent-up need to have some sort of conversation about it, if not with her parents, then with somebody.
But there was so much magic in the very fact of Christmas itself, after all – enough to keep everybody happy. ‘Yes,’ she said now, about the decorations. ‘They’re brilliant. Has Dad been busy today?’
‘Fairly.’ Thea had no problem with the change of subject. ‘People seem to die quite a lot around Christmas. Usually just after, actually, but there was a new one today. Dad’s been doing office stuff mostly.’
Drew Slocombe was an undertaker, running his own alternative burial ground in a field not far from the house. Assisted by Andrew Emerson, he performed every aspect of the work in a simple no-frills style that appealed to a dependable minority of people. A familiar face at hospices in the area, he provided a friendly, affordable service that ensured a regular stream of customers. As prices rose steadily for mainstream funerals, Drew kept his remarkably low. As a result, the Slocombes had very little cash to spare. If Thea hadn’t sold the house she had owned in Oxfordshire, they’d have needed state benefits and free school dinners. But now there was also a plan to sell the original Slocombe burial field back in Somerset, where Drew and his family had lived before he met Thea. Stephanie was unsure as to how she felt about this, suspecting that if she had been ten years older, Dad would have let her run it for him. As it was, his one-time partner Maggs had let them all down by deciding she wanted to follow a different line of business from then on. Without her, Peaceful Repose was more trouble than it was worth. As the memories faded, Stephanie found it easy enough to deal with the loss of her one-time home. Timmy was even less concerned than she was. There was so much going on here in Broad Campden – the new school, new friends, even a new cousin – that the past just slid away unregretted.
Stephanie liked Andrew well enough, not thinking of him as a substitute for Maggs, because he was so completely different. He hardly seemed to notice her, for one thing. When he did come to the house, it was always Timmy he concentrated on. He had been a farmer until a couple of years ago, but he had seemed delighted to have given that up and gone into the funeral business instead. He knew the Cotswolds well, and had a lot of useful friends scattered across the villages.
They were home in no time, the conversation scarcely started before they were lugging bags out of the car. ‘People shouldn’t die at Christmas,’ Stephanie said. ‘There should be a law.’
Thea laughed. ‘I agree with you there,’ she said.
The schoolbag was upended onto the kitchen table and the cards scrupulously pinned to the long tape festooning the living room, almost doubling the display. ‘All these presents have to go under the tree,’ said Stephanie. ‘I’ll open them on the day.’
Timmy had been home for barely ten minutes when his sister and stepmother got back. Still at the primary school, he qualified for a place on the bus, which dropped him at the top of the lane where they lived. His haul of Christmas greetings cards and gifts was considerably smaller than Stephanie’s. In fact, the only actual present was from his friend Caleb. ‘Boys don’t bother with that stuff so much,’ said Stephanie kindly. ‘Mine are all going to be nail polish and snazzy socks, I expect.’
‘Mm,’ said the boy with a shrug.
The living room certainly looked very festive. Thea had produced a