Holly looked at Eve with sad brown-eyed bewilderment and made a loud honking sound, like an upset goose.

'I know they blame me, Ann and Gregory. They think I changed the course of his fate. People find it easier to blame someone, then they have a target to direct all their hurt. I know it's human nature.' Ann's words had stuck to her like a sugar bomb, then burrowed deep inside and done their most damage in her brain, because more than a little part of Eve wondered if Mrs Lighthouse was right: that if Jonathan had never met her, he would be living still, content with Marie.

I feel alive with you, Eve. More alive than I've ever been with anyone else. You make me believe I could live for ever. He had told her more than once. Did he feel so invincible that he took his eye off the ball? That would make it her fault, wouldn't it?

'Oh Holly, I miss him so much. I miss him more with every passing year.' Eve wiped her eyes and then laughed at her ridiculous self. 'How bloody stupid am I, talking to a reindeer?' But somehow it didn't feel as barmy as it should. The kind-eyed beast offered no comment or judgement, just allowed her to dump a huge lump of sorrow off her chest.

'I don't know how to stop thinking about him, Holly,' she said. 'I don't want to stop thinking about him, even though people think I should. I don't want to go for counselling. I want him to know that he is mine still and always will be, that my love wasn't cut off by his death. Is that so bad?'

Holly offered no comment. Not even when Eve's tears reached the ground. There was no one around to embarrass herself in front of, so Eve let them. Eve didn't cry usually. She had learned from an early age to stuff her emotions away. Only when Jonathan came into her life did the cupboard door on them unlock, and she felt truly able to let her vulnerable self peep out.

Holly flumped heavily to the ground.

'God, don't say I'm boring you,' said Eve. 'Although you must be tired, carrying that weight around.'

Holly curled her great head around towards her bottom, biting at her sides and braying loudly. And Eve knew.

'Oh, you're not are you?' said Eve, looking around her to see if anyone had miraculously appeared to help. She was no reindeer expert but this was looking a bit obvious.

Holly was shuffling around on the ground and looking in discomfort.

'Wait, hang on,' said Eve. 'I'll get the vet.' She reached in her pocket for her mobile phone, then realized she didn't know which vet Jacques had contacted. She thumped in his number.

'Hello,' came his voice after two rings, sounding more Leslie Philips than she liked.

'I think Holly's started giving birth,' she said, feeling as sober as if someone had just chucked a gallon of water over her head.

'I'll be right there,' he replied.

He must have run like Linford Christie from the carousel because he was there in warp-speed seconds.

'Have you rung the vet?' asked Eve in early panic-mode.

'Not yet,' said Jacques. 'I've just been busy doing a four-minute mile.' He took his phone out of his pocket. Eve raised her eyes heavenward, noticing the SpongeBob SquarePants case it was stored in.

The half of the conversation she heard wasn't very encouraging.

'Well, when will he be back then? There must be someone you can send . . .'

'Don't tell me they aren't sending a vet out,' growled Eve.

'Well, they're saying Mr Fleece is on another job, and they've got a rush on.'

He held his finger up as Eve was about to interrupt him again. 'However, they are also saying that it's unlikely we are going to need him anyway. Nature knows what it's doing.'

Jacques put his phone back in his pocket.

A gooey-covered head was pushing out of Holly's rear end.

'Oh look, it's coming,' said Eve, deciding she must have bored the baby reindeer out of its mother. They watched as the next quarter of its body slithered effortlessly out, then Holly struggled to her front feet and the calf plopped softly to the floor.

'It's out! Oh, well done Holly! Congratulations, girl.'

Congratulations? Did you say that to a birthing reindeer?

Eve felt joyously cheerful. It shouldn't have been a lovely moment with all that goo but the tiny reindeer looked like Bambi, albeit Bambi in a big rubber balloon.

'Now watch, she'll take all that jelly off,' said Jacques. But Holly didn't. She crumpled back to the ground, her neck strained towards her back, and then Eve noticed something protruding from her back end.

'What's that?'

'There's another calf in there,' said Jacques.

Holly swung her head around to her side and butted herself.

'Oh God, Jacques. She can't get it out. You need that vet.'

The usually silent Holly gave another distressed bray right on cue.

'Jacques, do you have the keys to the enclosure? We have to get in with her.' Even as she was saying it, Eve didn't believe what had just come out of her mouth. But whether or not it was the whisky talking, she felt the compelling need to offer the poor animal anything she could of comfort.

With one hand Jacques scooped out a jailer's hoop of keys from his pocket, and with the other his phone. 'It's the big one with the green top,' he said, whilst dialling the vet yet again.

Eve fumbled with the lock and then the bolts and went inside the enclosure where she dropped to her knees beside the newly born calf, pulling the greasy vernix from his face so he could breathe, before turning her attention to Holly.

'It's not a head that's stuck, I'm sure it's a leg. No, wait, it's the calf's back end, I think.'

Jacques relayed the information down the line.

'Well, if you can't send a vet here, let us know what to do. Please get get someone to talk us through it,' he said, his voice raised enough to be taken note of.

There was a lull in the conversation as the woman on the end of the line went to find a vet and seemed to be taking ages about it. He tapped the back of the phone impatiently.

Luckily the calf was breathing and trying to get up. So young and already getting to its feet, thought Eve. Nature really was something else.

'Ah, thank you,' said Jacques, obviously re-engaged in conversation. 'Yes, it is a bottom . . . So what you're saying is that we need to use one hand, reach in and push the butt end of the calf forward then reach in with the other arm, following the leg until you reach the foot.'

Eve's head whirled around. 'You have to be joking,' she said. The look on Jacques' face told her that he was doing anything but.

'I'm not joking, Eve.'

'I can't do that . . .' said Eve.

'Eve, look at the size of my hands. I most certainly can't.' Jacques held his spade-like mitt up. If he put those in, Holly would be singing soprano just before she split in half.

'I can't. I just can't,' said Eve. She hadn't had enough whisky to consider that to be a possibility. 'There must be another way.'

'Yes, we let her die.'

Then Holly brayed a really pitiful noise of pain and Eve shook her head.

'Okay, tell me again.' She couldn't believe she was about to stick her hand up a reindeer's backside. 'I need to wash my hands.'

'There's no time. Put your hand in and push the calf's bottom.'

Eve puffed out her cheeks and raised her hand. It wavered near Holly, then pulled back. She told herself she couldn't do it, then that she could. She took another deep breath and pushed her hand in. It was easier than she thought to push the calf forward, although the sensation of seeing her hand disappear into a glob of gel wasn't on her list of things to do again in a hurry.

'Now, put your other hand in and find the leg.'

Eve grimaced and pushed her other hand in gently, searching around, and thankfully found it straightaway.

'Now, trace the leg to the hoof and cup your hand around it to prevent it tearing her.'

Eve was enjoying this marginally less than the ever-so-patient Holly.

'Got it.' She was astounded and squealed with something like delight. 'Jacques, I think I've got them both.'

'Great. Now push gently on the bottom and pull gently on the hooves.'

Eve exerted a slow but definite force, then Holly made an awful noise and Eve's nerve wavered.

'Oh God.'

'Take it slowly, you're doing fabulous.'

'Where's the bloody vet?'

'He's on his way, apparently,' said Jacques.

'Where's Holly's keeper, then?'

'I sent Tim home. His wife is in labour.'

'You're having me on.'

'Nope,' said Jacques with an amused little laugh. 'How are you doing, Eve?'

'I'm pulling.'

'Good girl.' Jacques listened to the instructions coming down his mobile and then relayed them. 'Now ease the bottom in a bit further.'

'If I push the bum in any more it'll come out of her mouth.'

'Just a little bit more, until you can get the hooves past it.'

'Go missus,' said a strange voice. She glanced over her shoulder to see she had an audience. Some of Effin's men were gathered at the fence and more people were coming.

'Oh my God, I think I'm doing it. They're out, Jacques. I've got the hooves out.'

Jacques finished off the conversation with the vet, stuck the phone in his pocket, and bent at the side of Eve. 'Now I can help you pull,' he said. 'Ready.'

'As I'll ever be,' said Eve.

'You can do it, Eve.' Was that Violet's voice she just heard?

'On the count of three; not "three-go" but "one-two", then we go.'

'Okay.'

'One, two . . . three.'

They pulled slowly and firmly. Poor Holly gave a cry.

'It's not budging,' said Eve.

'Oh yes, it is,' said Jacques, in serious panto mode this time. 'Again, one, two . . . three.' The calf slid out, delivered on a slide of two tons of slime and two massive weary cries from Eve and Jacques, and a 'thank the bloody Christ' bray from Holly. Immediately Holly started to lick her newborn calf and then the first one, which staggered towards its mother wanting some overdue attention. There were cheers and claps from the fence. Half the workers were there by now, it seemed.

'Twins,' said Eve, thinking that her outfit was ruined. However much she washed it, it would always remind her of having her arms up a deer's bum.

'That's rare for reindeer,' said Jacques. 'Well done. You were absolutely brilliant, Eve. You should be proud of yourself. She might have died had it not been for you.'

Eve was shaking. She didn't feel proud of herself or brave, she just felt 'what if . What if Holly had died alone in her paddock because no one was there? What if she hadn't got pissed and needed some air? But she kept that inside and said, 'I'm sure she would have been fine.'

'You know that's not true,' said Jacques, and put his hand on Eve's shoulder. 'Eve, you're shaking. Are you all right?'

'Yes, I'm fine,' she said. He must have been able to smell the whisky on her breath. She'd nearly anaesthetized Holly with it. She suddenly felt very embarrassed and attempted to turn away and claim some space between them, but his hand gripped tighter.

'Come here,' he said, turning her around and pressing her into his chest. She got a noseful of his jumper and his Christmas-tree smell and felt his hands warm on her back as they squashed her into him. 'I think you might need a hug after that.' She was amazed that she stayed in the cage of his arms and let him hug her, and she tried not to acknowledge that yes, she did need a hug at that moment.

Eve's legs were shaking more than her upper body was and Jacques' warm, considerate hold on her was the only thing keeping her from falling down into a dark chasm. She had edged near the portal of death again that afternoon, seen it open and be ready to claim Holly and her calf, only to close again unfed, and it had rocked her. But she'd had the power to alter the natural course of Holly's life. It was something that should have made Eve feel better, but all it did was reinforce the feeling that maybe her influence had worked the other way with Jonathan. Just as Ann Lighthouse had said.

Chapter 26.

In last week's Margaret Dodworth's monthly recipes, we did of course mean to boil the tin of condensed milk in water and microwave the butter until soft, not to microwave the tin of condensed milk until soft and boil the butter in water. The Daily Trumpet apologizes for any misdirection in this matter.

Chapter 27.