A Villain for Christmas (The Holyoake Christmas Series, Book 2)

Involuntary Character Study

The next morning Billie was woken up by hurricane Dair - and then, figuratively speaking, picked up, deposited into the kitchen, fed delicious brekkie, and then stuffed into his car - all of it courteously and respectfully, but leaving no room for discussion - and promptly dropped off at her place with a quick 'L-laters.' Billie had gotten a distinct impression that she'd been mercilessly, though civilly, discarded.

And here she was, standing in front of the good old Crow's Vespers, in her frumpy clothes; her tote - with the words 'Stand Up to Dragons' printed on it - pressed to her chest; her hair dishevelled; and her mind in complete disarray.

Everything around her - the cottage, where she'd been born and brought up; with its grey stone and casement windows; and her Aunts' snow-covered garden, including three old yews, a covered pergola, a greenhouse, and a potting shed - everything seemed just a tad surreal, as if seen through the looking-glass; as if she'd travelled 'sideways in time' like in the eponymous short story.

There was light in the greenhouse, which meant Delia and Aunt Sophia would be there. Billie could hear Chavela Vargas' La Llorona pouring out of the kitchen window. Phee was clearly working on her concoctions.

Billie slinked by the Eastern Wall, towards the door to her extension; jerked it open; and dashed inside.

She managed to freshen up; change into another of her comfortable baggy outfits; and even to pack what she thought she might need for work with Bondarenko who was waiting for Billie in the Hall - when someone loudly rattled the handle of the door to the main house.

"Sybil Althea Iris Harewicke, open the door this very moment!"

Aunt Thelma's voice was the very definition of 'stentorian.' Billie grew stock-still, the charger for her mobile in her hand.

"Sybs, let us in," Phee called from behind the door.

Billie knew this tone: her sister was signalling that she was here for Billie; but at the same time, she was letting Billie know that there was the devil to pay. Phee's colloquialism of choice for such situations was 'a dumpster fire.'

Billie glanced at her Mother's watch on her wrist and sighed. She was once again late - and this time there would be no gallant half-Italians in massive black cars to swoop in and save her.

Billie unlocked the door and took a step back, bracing herself. All five of her relatives marched in. A dumpster fire, indeed.

Billie once again found herself tragically unprepared for the impending judgement. It was properly mind-boggling how un-Billie-like her behaviour had been recently: impulsive visits to someone else's houses, uninvited; sleeping with someone; no alibi or cover story for two nights she'd spent away from home, almost in the manner her Aunts would consider the greatest gift from the Universe. 'Almost' would be the key word here, of course.

You've always been so prudent and careful, Billie! Keeping your head down, almost blending into the background. What did Federico Giovanni Cerretelli do to you?!

Phee lingered by the door; while Delia stopped in the centre of the room, her arms crossed; their Aunts behind her like the Scarecrow, the Tin Woodman, and the Cowardly Lion.

Even before anyone said a word, Billie hollered, "He's not the Man!" and shrank away from her kinsfolk.

Delia emitted a deep, long-suffering sigh.

"Sybil," Delia started - but Billie's mind apparently hadn't recovered after this dimensional shift.

Also, even after a quick rinse and having put on clean clothes, she somehow could still smell Dair's citrus cologne on her skin.