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The turkey had gone in just before Matins, and Bilbo hurtled back from the church still in her robes to baste it once again. She had, in fact, taken the service with a turkey-baster hidden in her surplice, having forgotten it was in her hand when she left Bag End cottage.
Thorin took it from her, pointing it at the ceiling and squeezing the bulb thoughtfully.
“People will talk,” she said, waggling her eyebrows.
“This is Hobbiton,” retorted Bilbo, wiping her hands on her apron and mentally assessing the next most urgent task. “Between that and incest, it’s all we have for entertainment.”
Thorin grinned. “Don’t forget bestiality,” she said. “I hope you’ve been watching out for Hamfast around that Nativity scene.”
Bilbo rolled her eyes, sniggering. She had always been reasonably sure Hamfast’s ovine girlfriend was a figment of his scurrilous imagination, but she had also taken to surreptitiously double-checking the integrity of the Nativity figures outside the church now and then. You couldn’t be too careful.
As of that morning’s service all seemed still intact however, and Bilbo had too many things to worry about now to give Hamfast another thought. Christmas day was always wretchedly busy for a Vicar who liked food, and this would be more so than most. Not only were her elderly Aunt Belba and Uncle Rudigar attending as usual, but she had another six people to fit around the table, bringing the total number to ten. She wasn’t quite ready to ask for a loaves and fishes miracle, but God, being omniscient, probably knew he was on notice.
Normally cousin Drogo would have been hosting his own family, but this year his parents were spending Christmas with their eldest daughter Dora. Drogo was Bilbo’s relation on his father’s side, though it was his wife Primula who was better known to Bilbo, as Verger of the Hobbiton church.
Bilbo hadn’t planned on inviting them, and then Primula rang up in hysterics on Christmas morning, sobbing that her turkey wouldn’t fit in the microwave for defrosting. On the other end of the telephone, Bilbo had given her wife a Significant Look and calmly invited them all over for the day.
Not that Thorin would ever have objected, devoted as she was to little Frodo. The child appeared to have significantly more spark than either of his parents, and he would be good company for little Lotho Sackville-Baggins, whose parents Bilbo had not, in fact, invited. They had merely dropped in a few days earlier to make it known that they would be happy to attend the Bag End Christmas dinner.
“Why are we even letting them through the door?” asked Thorin, swilling red wine and trying to keep out of the way while Bilbo frantically chopped more root vegetables for roasting.
“Because they’re family, Thorin. And because they’re both on the Parish Council. And because I couldn’t think of a bloody excuse in time.” The doorbell rang, and Bilbo groaned. “That’ll be Aunt Belba and Rudigar, can you let them in?”
Thorin ambled to the door, ducking under beams with practised care as she went, and swung open the front door with an unfeigned smile.
“Belba! Rudi!” she said. “Can I get you a drink? Glass of red wine?”
Rudigar began to shake his head. “No, no, no,” he began, shrugging off his coat. “No, no, no,” he continued, hanging it on the peg. “No, no, no, yes,” he went on, holding one hand out to take the large glass Thorin had poured for him. “Thank you,” he concluded, and took a cheerful gulp.
“How about you, Belba?” asked Thorin. “Pinot Noir?”
“Ohh,” said Belba, smoothing down the wrinkles of her neat woollen dress, her eyes lighting up at the sight of the label. “Well, you know, I am fond of Dorwinion Pinot Noir. If I recall correctly, the 2013 vintage is particularly fruity, due to an unusual cold snap in the August of that year...”
“Ah,” said Thorin, handing her the glass and gently shepherding her, still talking, in the direction of the sitting room. Belba, as usual, continued to natter on as she found herself a seat, entirely unaware that her hostess had disappeared back into the kitchen.
--
By one o’clock dinner was, thank God, served. Bilbo viewed the table with pride, spread with so many dishes it almost groaned under the weight. She folded her hands in prayer and waited until all assembled had followed her example.
“I will now say grace,” she said, and paused a moment for effect, before bellowing, “GRACE!”
The reactions were mixed. Thorin and Frodo both chuckled, Frodo’s parents and the Bolgers nodded piously, Lobelia looked as if a lemon had been suddenly rammed up her arse and Otho jumped so violently he almost knocked over his wineglass. All in all, thought Bilbo cheerfully, a successful result.
“Tuck in, chaps,” she said with satisfaction, reaching for the bowl of pigs-in-blankets. “Remember, God helps those who help themselves!”
--
When the last plates had been cleared away, it was time for presents to be exchanged. Lotho and Frodo were first, of course, unwrapping a model castle almost as tall as he was and a small toy car respectively.
Lotho scowled. “He’s got a toy car,” he said, pointing accusingly at Frodo.
“Oh, don’t worry, little poppet!” said Prim, handing Lotho a similarly shaped parcel. “You have a look in there, eh!”
Lotho opened it, and out fell another matching car. Prim turned to Bilbo, beaming. “Amazon sent me two by mistake. Lucky, or we’d have had nothing for him, and that would never do!”
Frodo looked at his car, and then at Lotho’s, and then at the gigantic castle. He turned to Lobelia.
“What did you get me?” asked Frodo innocently.
Lobelia turned puce. “I don’t believe in spoiling children,” she snapped.
“I say,” said Bilbo rapidly, grabbing a luridly-wrapped pink parcel from under the tree before things could become any more awkward. “This one appears to be buzzing?”
“Oh!” said Drogo cheerfully, taking it from Bilbo. “Must’ve switched itself on. That’s from me, for Primula.” He elbowed his wife in the ribs, dropped his voice lower, and winked conspiratorially. “I know you like rabbits.”
“I do like rabbits!” said Primula delightedly. “Frodo likes rabbits too, don’t you? Come and look while I open it.”
Drogo’s face went pale. Bilbo could only stare in horror at the buzzing, rabbit-related parcel in the pink wrapping paper as realisation of what was inside began to dawn.
Thorin stood up so suddenly she almost hit her head on the ceiling. “SNOWBALL FIGHT,” she announced, seizing Frodo and Lotho bodily under each arm, and ran for the front door.
The immediate issue dodged, Bilbo considered following her wife outside. The temptation to see what would happen was rather too great, however, and she watched with glee as Primula unwrapped her vibrator with giggling blushes, to the utter horror of Lobelia and Otho.
“Oh I get it!” said Primula. “Rabbits! Because they have a lot of sex, don’t they, and this bit with the ears, that goes on your jellybean...”
From across the room Otho began a sudden coughing fit. Bilbo jumped up, bounding over to slap him heartily on the back.
“Gone down the wrong way, Otho?” she asked. “Happens to us all, I’m sure!”
“What is it?” asked Aunt Belba loudly. “Do you know, Rudi?”
“No, no, no,” began Rudi, “no, no, no, no,” he continued, narrowing his eyes, “no, no, no,” as a grin began to spread across his face, “no, no, no… yes, I do, Belle. I do indeed.” He leaned over to whisper in his wife’s ear, and she covered her face with one hand and turned scarlet.
Lobelia meanwhile had left scarlet far behind and was beginning to shade into purple. Snatching up a parcel from under the tree she fairly threw it at Bilbo, who thanked her with blithe politeness and began to unwrap it.
Inside were books. “God’s Love: a Guide to overcoming Unnatural Urges,” read Bilbo aloud, feeling an ugly, cold sensation creep into her throat. She looked at the other. “Strengthened by Grace : lose weight the Bible Way.”
“I know you like books,” said Lobelia primly.
From outside, as if a long way away, Bilbo could hear the giggles and shrieks of Thorin and the children playing in the snow. Primula and Drogo were still reading the instructions leaflet of her Christmas present together, and Rudigar and Belba were similarly engaged in giggling, whispered conversation. She glanced at Otho, who folded his hands across his stomach and grinned nastily.
Bilbo took a deep breath. “My goodness,” she said, as bravely as she could. “Look at the time. I’m sorry, I’m afraid I shall have to start getting ready for Evensong now. Is that all the presents?”
“I think so,” smiled Lobelia. “Unless you and Mr Thorin…?”
Bilbo glared at her with unconcealed venom. “My wife and I exchanged gifts this morning, thank you,” she said, and stalked off to call everyone back indoors, her Christmas mood distinctly soured.
--
The corner of corridor that functioned as Bag End’s hallway was almost impassable with the number of bulky coats and winter wear that clung to the coathooks on the wall. There were a great deal of awkward bumps and mumbled excuses before everyone was restored to their own outdoor clothing.
Whilst the chaos was being unravelled, Frodo had wandered, all unnoticed, into the sitting room and picked up Lobelia’s poisonous presents. Holding them, he called out towards the grown-ups.
“Aunt Lobelia,” he called, “Are ladies married to ladies a sin?”
It was as if Lobelia had become suddenly magnetic, and all about her were repelled. She found herself standing entirely alone, with even her husband suddenly most interested in a cobweb over the door.
“Well, darling,” she said. “Some people think so.”
“Like stealing?” asked Frodo, walking closer, his expression entirely guileless.
Lobelia began to make somewhat flustered sounds, and all present drew, if possible, further back. It was remarkable how much space could suddenly be found in the tiny cottage.
“Only, I don’t think my Aunt Bagginses can be a sin, because God is Love, isn’t he? And they love each other,” said Frodo, his little brow creased in a frown. “But then I saw you open Aunt Bilbo’s china cabinet with the special spoons in, and put them in your handbag. So I’m a bit confused now.”
There followed a very long, very awkward silence.
Perhaps the second glass of Pinot Noir was mostly to blame, but Bilbo could not stop herself. The laughter burst out of her in gales, until she was wiping her eyes and Primula had to help her into a chair. Thorin held a hand out, brows bristling, and Lobelia withdrew the spoons from her bag with stuttered, bitter apologies before beating a hasty retreat. Behind a raised hand, Bilbo flicked the V’s after her, watching the three of them scurry down the path to where Otho’s gigantic white Range Rover waited.
“Well, good riddance to silly old smelly rubbish,” sniffed Primula in agreement. She tugged her bobble hat tightly down onto her head, and Drogo ruffled his son’s hair.
“Did I say something wrong?” asked Frodo anxiously.
“Not at all,” said Bilbo, clutching the boy’s hands in hers and trying not to well up with tears. “You’re a good lad, Frodo.”
“You are,” said his father. “Now come on, I should think there’s time for another mince pie before Evensong, don’t you?”
Frodo’s face lit up, and he followed his parents down the path joyfully. “Merry Christmas, Aunt Bagginses!” he called.
That only left Belba and Rudigar. Thorin held the door open for them both, not quite so effortlessly cheerful as before.
“Thank you for coming,” she said.
“Thank you for having us,” said Belba brightly. “We had a lovely time, didn’t we, Rudi?”
“No, no, no,” said Rudigar, “no, no, no, no, no…. Yes. Bloody marvellous.”
“It reminds me of a Christmas we had in 1993,” said Belba, “Of course there was much more snow that year...”
“Goodbye,” said Thorin, nodding and smiling as she closed the door.
--
Once everyone had left, Bilbo heaved an enormous sigh and walked back to the kitchen. The washing up stood stacked in precarious piles, with the leftover turkey on the side waiting to be carved, curried, and quietly thrown out in a week’s time. She grabbed a box of Liqueur chocolates, and began peeling the foil off and eating them with vicious intent.
“I think that went well,” said Thorin, from behind her. Thorin wrapped her arms around Bilbo’s middle, and kissed her shoulder.
“I suppose it could’ve been worse,” admitted Bilbo, leaning her head to one side to allow her wife better access. “Perhaps if the house had been blown up by a rogue World War II mine. Or if a pack of ravenous wolves attacked the village. Or, actually, worst of all, Aunt Belba could’ve started singing. I’m serious, you haven’t known pain until you’ve heard her ‘O Come All Ye Faithful’. It’s the ‘gloria’s that do it.”
Thorin chuckled, and one large hand began to snake up towards the neckline of Bilbo’s jumper, tugging it sideways to expose a little more skin.
“Mmm. Oh balls,” moaned Bilbo. “No, look at the time, I have to go and lead Evensong in 20 minutes.”
Thorin tightened her grip, nuzzling into the softness at Bilbo’s neck. “I don’t want to share you again just yet,” she mumbled.
Laughing, Bilbo turned to push her away. “Tough tits,” she said firmly. “I can’t be late for Evensong on Christmas day.”
“I know,” said Thorin, grinning like a naughty child. “That’s why I set the sitting room clock an hour ahead, so I could have you all to myself, just for one hour.”
Bilbo blinked in astonishment. “You wicked sinner,” she breathed, unable to conceal her relief.
“I am,” agreed Thorin. “Merry Christmas.”
