It is my belief that, for most people, the best part of Christmas lies in its anticipation. The islanders of Hopeless, Maine, are no exception to this, despite their privations. Indeed, it is probably because they have so little that the prospect of a celebration never fails to please. As December unfolds, the air of excitement becomes almost tangible, and the centre of all this simmering cheer is, of course, The Squid and Teapot.
Philomena Bucket could scarcely believe it had been only two years since she and Rhys had married at Christmas and been handed the keys to The Squid by Bartholomew and Ariadne Middlestreet, who had finally decided to retire.
Not having any truck with organised religion, the couple had refused to ask Reverend Davies or the ghostly Father Stamage to marry them. Instead Reggie Upton had been persuaded to perform the secular ceremony, giving in to Philomena’s reasoning that if a captain could marry a couple at sea, then surely a brigadier could do the same on land. And so Christmas had taken on an extra shine for the Bucket-Cranhams, a yearly reminder of joy, new beginnings, and improbable good fortune.
With this in mind, she set out early one fog-blurred December morning to gather some greenery. Decking the halls (well, the bar and snuggery) with boughs of holly seemed an excellent place to start.
Even on Hopeless, the vivid green of the leaves and the scarlet clusters of berries refused to be subdued. The holly trees practically glowed, luminous even in the hesitant dawn light. The sight made Philomena’s heart lift – and then, mid-lift, it abruptly faltered as a vast, dark shadow spread itself over her and the branches like an eclipse.
She froze. After what felt like a lifetime compressed into a heartbeat, she slowly turned toward whatever had cast that monstrous silhouette.
The creature was enormous; eight feet tall and easily seven hundred pounds.
“Mr Squash!” Philomena cried, delighted. “Where have you been? We’ve missed you!”
“I’ve been keeping out of the way,” he replied, a little too guardedly.
“Out of whose way?” Philomena frowned. She couldn’t imagine anyone on the island forcing a sasquatch to hide.
“Pyralia Skant,” Mr Squash muttered, almost sheepish.
Philomena raised an eyebrow.
“Oh, it was a long time ago,” he said quickly. “Nothing to trouble you with. Honestly, Philomena.”
“Really?”
“It’s a long story. I’ll tell you sometime.”
“Yes, you will, Mr Squash,” she said with a sly smile. “I’ll make sure of that. Now come along, help me with these holly branches…”
As you might imagine, the sudden reappearance of Mr Squash caused no small stir on the island. The sasquatch had been a popular figure for generations, turning up unpredictably but always making people feel safer simply by existing.
Reggie, Rhys, and Tenzin were delighted to have him back at The Squid and Teapot, but the children – Caitlin and little Oswald – were positively ecstatic. Once they recovered from their initial shyness, the discovery that a gigantic furry creature was, essentially, a living huggable toy felt like Christmas had come early. Mr Squash, for his part, was equally thrilled to see them.
That evening, the bar was bursting. Admittedly, that was partly due to Mr Squash occupying the space of four customers, but it seemed that everyone wanted to claim him as their best and oldest friend. Ironically, his actual friends had retreated to the snuggery, which was quieter and considerably less congested.
“Did he tell you why he disappeared so suddenly, m’dear?” Reggie asked Philomena.
“He said it had something to do with Pyralia arriving on the island,” she replied. “He made no secret of the fact that he doesn’t like her.”
“Hmmm… that’s odd,” mused Reggie, a faraway look in his eye. “Dashed fine-looking woman, if you ask me.”
“Perhaps not to a sasquatch,” Rhys suggested.
“Well, there’s more to it than we know,” said Philomena. “And I intend to find out.”
“And I’ve no doubt that you will, m’dear,” Reggie chuckled. “But in the meantime, I’d better help Tenzin in the bar; the poor chap is hardly coping out there on his own.”
It was much later, when the last customers had finally drifted away and the inn was quiet, that they had Mr Squash entirely to themselves. The fire still burned cheerfully in the grate, and no one was eager to let the cosy mood disperse like smoke up the chimney.
“Don’t leave us guessing…” Philomena said.
“Guessing?” Mr Squash feigned innocence. He knew perfectly well that Philomena had no intention of letting the Pyralia Skant mystery lie.
“Why did you fall out with her?”
Mr Squash sighed. It was a deep, forest-floor sort of sigh.
“I suppose I’ll get no peace until you know, will I?”
Philomena shook her head.
“Very well. It was like this…”
—
To be continued…