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Siegfried Farnon glanced over the list in his hand, tucking it back in his pocket and starting the car, frowning in consideration of his day and whether he could reasonably make it all the way out in objectively the other direction, just to make his friend, confidante and housekeeper laugh at him.
It was good to see her smiling again, the worry and the fear and the gut-wrenching pain having vanished from her face with Edward’s phone call, leaving her teary with joy and the sheer relief of hearing his voice. She’d broken out into happy tears multiple times on Christmas Day, laughing a little each time, and saying she was just being silly, that she was just so happy.
He’d wanted to hug her close, share in her happiness. Instead, he’d forgotten the damn goose. But even that, even forgetting something she’d worked hard to get for them, hadn’t dampened her spirits. She’d sung carols as she’d prepared their Christmas dinner and he’d sat in the dispensary with the window open, just to listen to her.
Today though, he wanted to apologise to Miggins for forgetting to pick up the damn goose, and see if he had anything else – however small – that he could bring back as a Boxing Day surprise for his dearest friend.
As he drove to his first appointment of the day, he mentally mapped the routes again, seeing where it could be possible to fit in the trip to an extra farm without letting Audrey know he was delayed. He wouldn’t want her to call him foolish. Again. Not yet at least. Ideally that would wait until New Year and he did something truly foolish.
It had been a horrible few weeks, waiting and not knowing what happened – expecting the worse and worrying over just what it would do to Audrey and how he could help when the worst did happen. Treating a fox he didn’t initially think could be saved was the very least of what he would do for her. He didn’t quite want to think what else he would do but if Major Seabright-Saunders had promised to bring Edward home that moment - he’d have had River running on an injury again and suffered the guilt gladly in exchange.
Sometimes it scared him, how far he was willing to go for his brother who was like a son to him, and how equally far he was willing to go for Audrey Hall.
For now though, he could go to Miggins and apologise for not collecting the goose, and hope that Tristan and Helen would stop calling him a silly goose by the New Year. It was wishful thinking, of course.
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“Aye’up, Mr Farnon,” Miggins called cheerfully as he exited his barn at the sound of the car and Siegfried exiting the Rover. He was red-faced from the cold, and seemed entirely confused to see him. “We call fer vet?”
“Ah, Mr Miggins,” Siegfried braced himself for humility for Audrey’s sake, “No, no call. I’m afraid I’m rather here to apologise. I was meant to collect a goose for my household on the 22nd or 23rd and… well, I confess it rather slipped my mind.”
Miggins nodded in understanding, “No apology needed, Farnon. M’wife were down in village last week an’ ‘eard of your Missus’ boy goin’ down on th’ship. When you dint show, we thought that were it. No news?”
Siegfried considered briefly the wonder that was Audrey Hall, that had normally grumpy farmers so concerned for her. And anger at this war that was taking safety from them all.
“He’s alive,” Siegfried informed Miggins, feeling a press of emotion behind his throat as he did so, remembering her choked voice on the phone. “Went down with the ship and was rescued. He’s in a hospital in… Singapore, I think Mrs Hall said. We heard yesterday morning first thing.”
“Thank t’Lord,” Miggins removed his cap briefly, “Bet your missus were beside ‘erself. I’m reet glad fer yer both.”
“It was rather an emotional Christmas morning,” Siegfried admitted, “And then we realised I’d forgotten the damn goose.”
Miggins chortled, and put his cap back on his head.
“Bet yer missus were right cross with you bout that, an’all.”
“I don’t think Mrs Hall could have been cross about anything yesterday,” Siegfried said without thinking and smiled a little self-deprecatingly to cover it up. “My brother, however, was put out that we had to make do without a roasting joint.”
“Well, I ‘eard yer missus can make th’best out o’nowt so ‘e can’t ‘ave been grumblin’ too ‘ard,” Miggins grinned, “You best be comin’ w’me, Farnon.”
Siegfried followed, of course. This was, presumably, still an apology after all.
“I was wondering, Miggins,” Siegfried kept stride with him easily. “If we might come to an arrangement for another joint, however small, for me to take back. So I’m not quite in as much trouble with the family. I presume the goose isn’t still available.”
Miggins just looked at him under his cap, and continued into the farmhouse, calling for his wife. She was a slim woman, smaller than her husband with a brisk efficiency that farmers wives and housekeepers all seemed to have.
“Mr Farnon,” she greeted, putting her load down and dusting her hands off. “We were expectin’ you four-day-ago for yer goose. Have y’heard from Audrey’s lad?”
“Yes, alive though injured, we heard yesterday morning,” Siegfried caught himself wondering how many times he would need to repeat that, thought of the many times over the past week and more that he’d had to reluctantly tell people there was no news and sharply change the subject to their animal. They had all let him with a look of understanding that made his breath catch each time. It wasn’t his son that was missing, after all.
“A Christmas miracle,” Mrs Miggins breathed in relief, “Our Paul’s down wi’army. I don’t wan’ter imagine ‘ow ‘ard it’s been for your Aud.”
Your missus. Your Aud.
“Yes, she is very relieved to have news - we all are,” he said a little awkwardly, “Though I do apologise for forgetting the goose, Mrs Miggins. I came up to apologise and to inquire after anything that I might be able to buy from you instead.”
“You can ‘ave yer goose,” Mrs Miggins said briskly, “One mo and I’ll fetch it from larder.”
Siegfried blinked after her and turned back to Miggins satisfied look, wondering if he’d heard correctly.
“My goose?” he said.
“Yer goose. One yer missus sorted,” Miggins confirmed. “Good o’you ter come all this way, Farnon, we were goin’ ter bring it down ter you tomorrow.”
Siegfried wondered, though he managed to hold his tongue, how long a goose was supposed to last before it started being un-cookable. He wasn’t sure Audrey would thank him for presenting her with a slightly odd smelling goose that was scarcely fit for the dogs.
“And it will be alright for Mrs Hall to cook?” Siegfried checked carefully, “I confess I know little of how one goes about storing and cooking goose for Christmas. That’s entirely Mrs Hall’s domain.”
“Yer missus’ll like it right fine,” Miggins reassured him with a clap to the shoulder. “My Lottie did it up wi’ours.”
Sometimes, Siegfried wished people spoke directly and to the point and not in these half-sentences he was presumably supposed to instinctively understand. What did that even mean?
It turned out that what it meant was that Mrs Miggins had cooked the goose up herself – bringing out a medium sized bird already golden and covered in herbs in a baking dish. He gaped.
“I ‘ope Audrey don’t mind, but given all goin’ on, I thought t’elp,” Mrs Miggins examined the tray and put it down on the table between them. “Make it bit easier, th’like. I got some goose fat leftover for ‘er an’ ‘all.”
Siegfried may not have been an expert on cooking for Christmas, but he had spent enough years watching Mrs Hall work her magic from the safety of the doorway and enjoyed the culinary delights. He knew that cooking was a game of timing and moving trays in and out of the oven, and that the goose took a very, very long time to cook – the smells coming from the kitchen over Christmas were nothing short of sinful and had him starving long before Mrs Hall even set the table.
“Mrs Miggins,” he said in genuine astonishment, “I can’t even begin to thank you. I know how difficult Christmas lunch can be and – thank you. Mrs Hall will want to thank you herself; I am sure of it.”
“Well,” Mrs Miggins ducked her head, not quite in a blush, “Audrey’s one you can always rely on t’elp in a pinch. Least we’could’do. ‘ere, don’t go forgettin’ th’fat.”
Any further thanks or offers to pay for the additional time and supplies used, especially in this time of rationing, were firmly turned down, and before he knew it, the goose was covered and sat on the passenger seat of the Rover.
“I can’t tell you what this will mean to Mrs Hall,” Siegfried stood by his car door. “And the rest of us really, but Mrs Hall especially.”
“Well, like Lottie said, ‘appy to ‘elp you and yer missus, you done us more good turns than coupons o’er the years,” Miggins tipped his head. “Better be getting back t’cows, Farnon. Don’t lose tha’there goose on yer way ‘ome or your missus’ll be ‘avin’ words.”
Chortling at his own joke, Miggins tapped the bonnet of the rover and turned, clearly done with the conversation entirely.
Siegfried got in the car, looking down on the covered dish and smiling softly, already picturing Audrey’s face, and possibly tears at the thoughtfulness of their neighbours. She’d have preferred to prepare it herself, he knew – she had a particularly marvellous stuffing recipe that she’d ended up using as actual stuffing the lunch prior, but for Lottie Miggins to have put the effort in on her behalf would mean so much to her. It certainly meant a lot to him, to know that Audrey wouldn’t have to spend the entire evening trying to slow cook a goose when she should be sleeping.
It occurred to Siegfried then that no matter how he addressed her, Miggins had been exclusively calling Audrey “your missus” as if she were just his, and not all of theirs at Skeldale. The thought didn’t panic him as much as it might have two years ago. Your missus. Your Aud. His.
Now he thought of how he’d watched her sleep in the animal shed, a recovering fox in a cage and a blanket pulled up to her shoulders with an sharp pang in his chest. He thought of his grip on the banister as Audrey cried tears of relief and joy, surrounded by the family they’d pulled together. He thought of the fact he’d made his way to Miggins to apologise and beg a scrap of meat to present to Audrey in place of the goose he’d forgotten in his overwhelming concern for her the prior few days.
It had been a dark few weeks at Skeldale, waiting for news of Edward, and he found he wasn’t afraid anymore, of what it meant. Of the ache in his chest when she hurt, or how he knew that she’d be finding something to cook and send up to Lottie Miggins in thanks for cooking the goose. How he couldn’t wait to see her face lighten in surprise when he handed it over.
Siegfried pulled the list out of his pocket and glanced at the remaining name on the list. A short trip, entirely routine, though he was loathe to leave such a precious cargo in his car when it might make Audrey smile.
He threw the Rover into gear and reversed back into the lane. Dick Rudd would forgive him, he was sure, as he turned right at the crossroad instead of left and followed the call back home. He had a goose to deliver.