The two of them exchanged glances.
‘It’s… a long story,’ said Paula. She stood up and looked at her watch. ‘We should eat these on the go, Kit. I need to head off to the pub.’ Paula turned to me. ‘Kit just met me for a quick catch-up before I meet Dad for a drink.’
Why did she feel the need to explain?
I gazed at the rink. Cara and the children were waiting at the side. I gave Paula a quick hug and told her to keep in touch on LinkedIn.
Why had they left in such a rush?
Something about tonight’s encounter just felt off.
What were they – or rather Kit – hiding?
17
Lily skipped on the spot as the mantelpiece digital clock turned to five thirty. It was Monday night. The first of December. I held out my hands. She held them tight. Then we whizzed around in a circle, laughing hard.
It was something we used to do with Adam. A way of celebrating. On the first day of a holiday. If either of us adults got a pay rise. If Lily was star of the week at nursery school. And she and I had carried it on, once the initial pain of losing him had passed.
Thirty minutes and we would pull back the curtains at the front of the lounge to reveal our calendar display. We’d put the final touches to it as soon as we got in from school. Copious amounts of Blu Tack had stuck a big poster bearing a glittery ‘Number One’ to our front door. Cakes were sitting ready on plates for ungloved fingers to choose. I’d poured squash into plastic beakers. Davina, Cara and I had decided to pool our resources for each of the nights one of us was hosting, which meant I had more than enough mugs, trays and thermos flasks.
None of the publications I wrote for had been interested in offering sponsorship money. However, the editor at the Express had promised a half page spread in the week running up to Christmas to get as many people as possible along for the final night. We only wanted the estate’s residents involved before then due to numbers, so earlier publicity might have been risky. If many of the villagers turned up as well, there was a risk that roads could be blocked and we didn’t want the venture to be shut down by the authorities. But I was hosting the twenty-fourth and Davina and Cara and a couple of others had promised to help me serve drinks and cakes. That night should bring in a last big burst of donations.
My parents had been brilliant, insisting on sending a cheque to pay for jars of coffee and ingredients for baking. And Kit was here, all dressed up. Davina had managed to borrow the brickie’s outfit that, apart from the trousers being slightly too short, fitted well. He’d be a big surprise for visitors – and Lily. She hadn’t seen him yet. The white beard and curls under the Santa hat, and cushions up his top, made him look like the complete opposite to toned, dark-haired Kit. Parents would probably work it out his identity from his height. I hoped the children didn’t.
The doorbell rang. I let Davina and Cara in. Audrey was coming later. She said she’d wait to see if John made it in time. I peeked outside. No one had arrived yet. My shoulders felt tight.
What if everyone taking part had worked hard for nothing and no one turned up apart from neighbourhood vigilantes watching out for litter left behind? These days there were virtual advent calendars to open online or chocolate ones to buy… What if this whole idea didn’t have enough appeal to drag people out on a winter night? I told myself off and tried to think positive thoughts. But I’d woken up early, running through the details in my head, trying to calculate for the hundredth time if I’d stocked up with enough or too many refreshments.
I gazed into the sky at different star constellations. Despite my concerns, I felt Christmas magic in the air. What a gorgeous night, even with its crispness. Stars, planets, galaxies, they were supposed to make you feel insignificant – to give your problems perspective. But the calendar and my wish for it to do well felt more overwhelming than any astronomical wonder.
Then there was Kit. I looked up at the moon hoping it would diminish the size of the man – not in physical terms, but the space he took up in my mind. We’d caught each other’s eye in the playground this morning. He’d been cleaning a drain. Lily had run over and loudly informed him she was still eating lots of vegetables, including her least favourite, sprouts.
I’d tried not to think about him and Paula.
But failed.
He was out in the fresh air in the back garden so as not to ruin the surprise for Lily, and because he felt stifled in his outfit. As my friends busied themselves in the kitchen, I popped outside to see him. He sat there happily accompanied by a steaming coffee. The children were waiting out front, by the gate, their very important job being to let us know when the first people arrived.
‘You okay?’ I asked.
He stood up. ‘Yes. Do you need me yet? Shall I put on the white beard?’
‘You’ve got a few minutes. Although it would be nice to see what you’ll look like, when you’re older. I may never know otherwise.’
‘Why? You planning on going somewhere?’
I smiled. Mustn’t appear to be needy. He didn’t see himself having a relationship with me. ‘I don’t see the rest of my life spent here in Alderston. I’ve always loved travelling and can’t wait until Lily is a bit older and we can go together – until she turns eighteen that is, and heads off with her friends. But I’ve always dreamt of retiring somewhere like the South of France.’
‘Me too. Can I come?’ He gave me a teasing smile. Despite the December chill, the air sizzled like a barbecue.
‘It’s a long way off. Who knows where either of us will be?’ I forced my mouth upwards. ‘Or you might eventually get together with someone who wants you to shave it off. You should see Paula’s dad – or maybe you have. His hippie beard is completely on trend now – he’s only had to wait a few decades for them to come back into fashion.’
Damn. I shouldn’t have mentioned her.
He reached out and touched my hand. ‘About Paula. It’s difficult to explain… I meant what I said to you about not wanting a relationship. It’s just, Paula is…’
Oh God. This was embarrassing. Did I look jealous? Nosy? ‘Kit. Stop. Please. It’s none of my business,’ I said briskly and went to pull my hand away. But he held on tight and drew me close. I bounced off the padded red stomach.
‘Surely everyone wants to know Father Christmas’s gossip?’
I looked up into those chestnut eyes and couldn’t help grinning.
‘Okay. Does Rudolph’s nose really shine in the dark?’
‘Sure does. But only after a bowl of mulled wine.’ His fingers let go. He put on the beard and winked.
‘What can I do?’ asked Cara as I went into the kitchen, thinking that even with a false white beard Kit looked hot. She glanced at the floor underneath the dining room table. I was glad for her sake that the spilt wine hadn’t stained.
‘Help me pour out and circulate the drinks and keep a good supply running. ‘On each tray I’d put a plastic beaker with Please Donate written on the side in bold felt tip.
Cara talked about a rough sleeper she’d chatted to at the weekend. She’d bought him a takeout mug of tea and a sandwich. He said he’d been offered a place in a hostel but they were so violent he felt safer in open sight, on the streets. I mentioned how I’d spoken to one mum this morning – her child was in Year Five. She disclosed how she’d had to start visiting the food bank after her husband lost his job last month and her hours at the supermarket had been slashed. Their rent had gone up six months ago and more than once she’d skipped a meal to make sure her kids had enough to eat.
‘I’ve spoken to Jane before,’ said Davina and nodded. ‘She’s seen me volunteering. You feel so helpless. I wanted to offer her some of the boys’ old clothes but didn’t want to cause offence.’
‘Doing what we’re doing is probably the best way to make a difference,’ said Cara.
‘I didn’t see you in the playground this morning,’ I said to Davina.
She shrugged. ‘We were late. To be honest, we were
lucky to get here tonight. It’s Jasper. He complained of a stomach ache. Yet he still ate all his breakfast and asked to play with my phone. So I said we’d get him dressed and if he still felt the same at the school gates he could come home. He was fine walking but as soon as we neared the playground he slowed down and rubbed his tummy. I could tell he was putting it on.’
‘Is it to do with Arlo and their fight?’
‘I don’t know. They got on fine over the weekend. Although I noticed as we got nearer to school Arlo stood closer to him but Jasper roughly pushed him away. Then they glared at each other. It doesn’t make sense. Jasper didn’t even want to come tonight. I had to bribe him by mentioning your fairy cakes.’ She sighed. ‘Arlo is saying nothing. I can usually prise problems out of Jasper but when I’ve tried talking to him, he doesn’t even want a cuddle. And when I went to tuck him up in bed yesterday, he turned away from our usual goodnight kiss. Max reckons I’m worrying about nothing – that the boys may well not stay best friends forever; that we shouldn’t make assumptions about them just because they are twins. But I don’t know…’
The children burst in.
‘Mum! Ruby and her parents are here,’ said Lily. ‘And Mr and Mrs Jackson from over the road. And Kev and Bill.’
Lily, Hannah and Lex chatted excitedly. Arlo was smiling. Jasper shrugged off Davina when she squeezed his shoulder. With just ten minutes to go, I shooed all the children out of the house. Davina and Cara took out the first round of drinks and snacks. I went out the back and led Kit into the lounge. He sat in position, in the chair right by the front window. The front door went and footsteps hurried in.
‘Sorry I’m late,’ said Megan.
‘No problem. You’ve just made it,’ I said and passed her a cardboard box. I lit up lamps I’d positioned carefully around the lounge. And put on the Christmas tree lights. Lily and I had strategically placed every bauble to maximise the effect we wanted. Across the top of the front window and down the side Lily had sprayed fake snow.
‘You go outside,’ said Megan. ‘I’ll pull the curtains apart at six o’clock sharp.’ She disappeared into the kitchen and came back with a chair she needed to fulfil her role.
‘No. I can’t abandon you both. Honestly I—’
‘Fern. Do as you are told,’ said Kit. ‘You deserve to witness the wow moment when your window is revealed, after everything you’ve done to put this whole plan together.’
‘Yes, Dad,’ I mumbled and the three of us laughed. I zipped up my coat and opened the front door.
‘Almost time folks,’ I called as I walked down the path, cold pinching my nose. I stopped for a second and felt dizzy. Thank goodness. People had turned up! ‘Once the curtains are open we’ll be bringing around more refreshments. There are plenty for everyone so please stay for a chat and support our worthy cause.’
Lily ran over. I looked around. There must have been at least forty people congregated. My brow relaxed. Not too many. Not too few. I’d decided to buy a back-up of readymade cakes with a long use by date. I’d reckoned if they didn’t get eaten up tonight they would also do for the twenty-fourth.
‘One minute to go!’ said Lily importantly and I shushed the crowd as anxiety returned. Residents had made an effort to turn up and I hoped they weren’t going to be disappointed. Tommy pushed to the front, dragging Mia behind him. He also manoeuvred Lex to the best position, having got to know her in the playground. Cara told me how he’d scared off a group of children who were teasing Lex about the freckles she’d inherited from her mum. He got on well with girls. Lily said he always told off the boys at school if any of them were rude to them. Not that she needed him to stand up for her, she said, but it was nice to have someone on side.
Even the children stopped talking. All that could be heard was Michael Bublé crooning popular Christmas songs, his smooth tones and nostalgia drifting out of the CD player that thanks to an extension lead, I’d set up in the front garden – just like Kit had suggested.
The curtains twitched and Lily clapped her hands with excitement. My heart pounded as, from the top, an invisible pair of hands pulled them apart.
Little ones squealed. A Labrador barked. Adults gasped. In the darkness the yellow glow of the living room, framed in a glass square, looked so cosy and welcoming.
‘Is that Father Christmas?’ asked Lily, eyes shining up at me. ‘He’s really, really in my house?’
‘Yes, Lily,’ I said. ‘He’s extremely busy but heard about what we were doing and wanted to help. So…’ I said to everyone around. ‘He’s here and happy to chat to any children – and will visit us on the very last night of the calendar as well.’
‘I wonder where he’s parked his sleigh,’ said Lex and jumped up and down.
Cara caught my eye. Just like me, I knew her heart was in danger of melting.
‘He’s waving!’ said Jasper, and for a second looked like his usual cheerful self.
‘Look at that snow falling down the window!’ said Arlo and stood on tip toe.
Davina caught my eye. ‘Talk about setting the benchmark high.’
I laughed at her rueful smile.
In that moment I forgot all about Kit. How stupid I felt. How giddy I felt in his presence. Instead, I stared at faces around me, all absorbed in the scene. I laughed as fingers pointed at Kit and his long white beard. I forgot about the complaints I’d received. Participants trying to outdo each other. The worries about feuding and pickets.
I’d taken the word living very literally for my theme. Instead of a painted scene or one made out of craft models, I’d employed the services of humans. The background was the Christmas tree, lit up carefully, with an array of different coloured baubles, wooden stars and a grinning plush reindeer stuck on the top. The falling snow was small jagged pieces of white tissue. It had taken Lily ages but painstakingly she’d ripped up sheets of the paper. Megan stood on a chair, arms out of view, and from time to time let go of a handful. The effect was even better than I’d hoped, a waterfall of tissue trickling downwards. And pressed against the window, to the right so as not to block out the sight of the tree, Kit sat. He smiled broadly and now and again waved.
‘It’s quite charming,’ said Mrs Jackson, standing next to me. ‘And these fairy cakes are delicious.’
I positioned myself in front of the wall between the pavement and my garden and asked everyone to be quiet.
‘Thanks for coming tonight. All your support is really appreciated. Ron who manages the food bank is here to say a few words.’
Ron pulled back the hood of his padded duffle coat and ran a hand over his bald head. He looked around.
‘As it turns out, I don’t know what to say. Your generosity… I’m overwhelmed. Just today a new family came into the food bank – a woman all the way from Newcastle who’s just fled a situation of domestic abuse. She had two kids and ran away with them during the night. She’s moved in with her sister down here. But her sister only works part-time and cares for her terminally ill husband. All the kids – four in total – will share one bedroom. They’ve hardly enough money between them for rent and heating, let alone food.’
Children and adults listened intently.
‘Such stories aren’t uncommon. So every single penny you make this month means a lot. It’s so easy to turn the other cheek. Thanks for giving one of the most precious commodities – time – to improve the lives of others. We need to save this food bank otherwise rough sleepers are going to…’ He glanced at the children. ‘… Going to struggle even more and an increasing number of adults will miss meals to make sure their kids don’t.’
Everyone clapped. Davina went over with a tray. Ron took another drink and chatted to her and Mia.
I went back into the house, followed by Cara. We brought out more drinks and cakes. The plastic donation beakers soon filled up. Kit came outside and spoke to some of the children, handing out sweets from a big sack. The pound shop had been more than happy to help as long as they got a mention on the ma
ps. They’d already been printed and handed out, so instead we agreed I’d mention them in the residents’ Facebook group and in a speech I’d give on the last night. Despite the disguise Ron recognised Kit and they had a quick chat. After just under an hour people began to drift away. I’d heard people talking about their Christmas shopping, the predicted snow, last night’s television. Tommy, Arlo and Jasper got into an argument about whether Father Christmas was real.
‘Believing in him is for babies,’ said Tommy scornfully. ‘This one’s definitely a fake.’
Jasper’s eyes went red and little Lex looked puzzled before Audrey moved her to one side. Arlo pulled his brother roughly away and he tripped. Davina hurried over but Jasper glared at her not to help him get up.
‘Shush, Tommy,’ said Mia.
‘Won’t,’ he said and stuck out his bottom lip.
‘Sorry,’ said Mia to the annoyed looking parents standing around and pulled her pewter jacket tighter. ‘I’ll have a word with Tommy when I get home. Make sure he doesn’t say anything like that again.’
‘I hope Mia does have a word,’ said Cara as we sat in the lounge afterwards with Davina and the kids. Audrey was sitting at the dining room table, having insisted on being the one to count up donations.
‘I was in school today, when the cardboard advent calendars were judged for my Parents’ Association competition,’ said Davina. ‘Lily’s and Hannah’s were fantastic, by the way. But you should have seen Tommy – the tantrum he threw when his didn’t win.’
Jasper turned his head at the last sentence. ‘I thought he was going to burst into tears. What a baby. Men don’t cry.’
‘Of course they do,’ said Davina and frowned.
Audrey came over and handed me a piece of paper. I read the figure. Multiplied it by twenty-four. Did the sum again.
Same outcome.
Her maths was correct.
‘That’s great, Audrey, thank you,’ I said in a chirpy voice but inside I couldn’t have felt less like celebrating.
There was no point sharing my fears that the fundraising efforts might fail.
The Christmas Calendar Girls Page 12