A Season of Hopes and Dreams

by Lynsey James

  Frank lurched forward, bringing his questionable odour further into my personal space. I noticed his skin had turned an odd shade of grey and his eyes were bloodshot. This, I guessed, wasn’t a man to be messed with.

  ‘Listen, unless you want me to turn this place into a disaster area, stick the beard and red coat on and listen to what the little brats want for Christmas. It’s not rocket science.’

  ‘But I—’

  Frank didn’t give me the chance to argue further. He slipped off his costume, thrust it into my hands and stalked off in the direction of the staff area.

  Oh shit.

  I looked down at the grubby red velvet coat and greying beard I was holding and realised I didn’t have any choice: I was going to have to play the man himself. I craned my neck to see Frank’s retreating figure sloping away from the shop floor and his responsibilities. There was nothing else for it, I decided. I sneaked into the grotto, pulled the beard over my head and slipped the coat on. It smelled like roadkill, but if the store manager came and found the grotto unmanned, there’d be trouble.

  I took a seat on the large comfy armchair and took a sharp breath inwards, instantly regretting my decision as eau de Frank stung my nostrils. All I had to do was listen to some kids telling me what they wanted for Christmas.

  Easy right?

  Wrong.

  I had very specific reasons for hating the festive season; spending my days dressed up as an elf was bad enough, but playing the big man himself and pretending to grant dozens of children’s Christmas wishes was quite another.

  It’s OK, I said to myself, the store’s pretty quiet; you can do this. You can let the world in, even for the briefest moment.

  Switching from my fairly anonymous role of elf, where all I had to do was welcome children to the grotto to actually engaging with people was going to be quite a challenge. I kept people at arm’s length and rarely struck up conversations with anyone besides my family. My world was small and insular, just the way I liked it. Pretending to be happy and jolly and gregarious would be a stretch, even for an actress such as myself.

  I didn’t have much time to dwell on my thoughts. A little boy of around six was dragging his mum towards the grotto, pulling her hand with all his might. With no elf outside to welcome him, he let go and ran right in, skidding to a halt at my feet.

  I cleared my throat and let out my best ‘Ho ho ho, merry Christmas’, making him giggle. His mum caught up with him, flashed me a quick smile and lifted him onto my lap.

  ‘Go on, Harry.’ She was a little bit breathless from trying to keep up with her son and flicked some dark blonde hair out of her face. ‘Tell Santa what you’d like for Christmas.’

  The little boy looked up at me with huge blue eyes filled with hopes and dreams. It was as though all his festive wishes hinged on me and me alone.

  Yikes, don’t mess this up, Alice!

  ‘What can I get you for Christmas this year, Harry?’ I said in my deepest, jolliest voice.

  He thought for a moment, his face twisting into different expressions of deep thought. Once he’d finally reached a decision, he clapped his hands.

  ‘I want a new bike, a pair of roller-skates and…’ He trailed off, hiding his face behind his chubby little hands.

  His mum crouched down and put an arm round his shoulders. ‘It’s all right, darling, you can tell Santa Claus.’

  ‘Is it an extra-special present?’ I asked. ‘I promise, no matter what it is, I’ll add it to my list. In fact, I’ll put it right to the top!’

  His mum gently prised the little boy’s hands away from his face and kissed his head. This seemed to convince him to open up again; he turned his attentions back to me with a flicker of a smile.

  ‘I…I want my daddy to come home.’

  All at once, the mood in the grotto turned very sombre. Harry’s mum took in a sharp breath and pursed her lips, letting out a small hollow chuckle.

  ‘That’s a big ask for Santa, Harry. A-are you sure you wouldn’t like to choose something else?’

  He shook his head, sending his blond hair flying in all directions. ‘No, Mummy, that’s what I want for Christmas. A bike, a pair of roller-skates and Daddy to come home.’

  She nodded and her mouth twitched into something like a smile. ‘Well I’m sure Santa will do his best, but remember Daddy lives in Florida with Maureen now. You remember Maureen – she used to help out in your class.’

  ‘I like Maureen,’ he said, ‘she made up funny songs and smelled nice. Daddy said he’d take me to meet Nemo and Dory. Can he come home after that?’

  His mum decided Harry had had enough face time with Santa and lifted him down from my lap. It was all I could do to stifle a chuckle; I hadn’t expected such an intriguing story to unravel.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said with an embarrassed smile, ‘Daddy ran off to America with Harry’s teaching assistant last year and he’s been missing him ever since!’

  ‘Oh don’t worry about it.’ I kept up my deep voice as much as I could. ‘Harry’s still top of Santa’s nice list!’

  She grabbed his hand and started towards the grotto’s entrance, flashing a grateful smile over her shoulder. ‘Come on, you, we’d better get going.’

  Harry stopped in his tracks for a moment and turned to face me. ‘What do you want for Christmas, Santa?’

  His mum’s mouth dropped open. ‘Harry! You can’t ask Santa that; it’s top secret!’

  I opened my mouth to answer, but found the words stuck in my throat. What I really wanted, you see, couldn’t be found in any department store. The one thing I wanted to find under the tree was the one thing in the world I couldn’t have.

  ‘Some milk and biscuits will do just fine for me,’ I replied. ‘Plus some carrots for my reindeer.’

  *

  The rest of the day went relatively smoothly, although being stuck in a thick red suit for hours on end was no picnic. By the time I was finished, I was glad to peel it off; it was like a blast furnace in there. The constant swarm of people had been quite overwhelming too; as someone who purposefully stays under the radar, it wasn’t easy having the spotlight on me all day. I never went anywhere or spoke to anyone; I lived a simple, solitary existence, just the way I liked it.

  As I made my way through the vast expanses of Fox’s department store, I couldn’t help but feel the urge to have a nose around. Although I was dead set against celebrating Christmas for a variety of reasons, it was difficult not to notice the festive magic buzzing around the place. There was a special section of the shop just for Christmas gifts; it had everything from delicate crystal ornaments shaped like any animal you could think of, to sumptuous boxes of Belgian chocolates for the chocoholic in the family. Pairs of huge glass bottles containing olive oil and sea salt lined the back wall, along with hobby craft kits, luxury food hampers and fancy bath sets. There was something for everyone in the store’s little festive nook.

  I averted my gaze and hurried towards the door. What I wanted wouldn’t be nestled on any of the deep cavernous shelves. I bundled my coat around me in preparation for the wintry early November chill outside, put my head down and quickened my pace. I was no more than a few feet from the exit when a little object to my right caught my eye, stopping me in my tracks. I bent down to pick it up and a sad smile formed on my lips.

  Maybe there was something I wanted in Fox’s department store after all.

  *

  My little cottage in Luna Bay was perhaps the village’s only designated Christmas-free zone. It had been mine for about two years; I’d been able to buy it outright from the sale of my New York apartment. I hadn’t bought it right away though; I’d lived with my mum for a year after what had happened in New York. I loved my cottage; up until recently, I’d been able to run it on my savings from my Broadway days and it provided the perfect escape from the festive season.

  There was no Christmas tree twinkling merrily in the living room window, no decorations to festoon the rest of the house with and certa
inly no gaudy ornaments on the front lawn. My cottage stuck out like a sore thumb; even though it was seven weeks until Christmas, a lot of my neighbours had already got into the festive spirit. I breathed a sigh of relief as I caught sight of it when I stepped off the bus; it was my own little corner of the world where I could shut everyone out and keep myself to myself.

  ‘Home sweet home,’ I murmured to myself. I couldn’t wait to get inside, pour myself a mug of hot chocolate and settle down with a good book.

  Just then, a clamour of music and raised voices caught my attention. It was coming from the Silver Bells Theatre, Luna Bay’s one-stop shop for stage entertainment. The opening bars of a jaunty show tune blasted out onto the quiet street, only to be cut abruptly short and followed by: ‘NO, NO, NO! HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU, IT’S STEP TWO THREE FOUR, NOT TURN TWO THREE FOUR!’

  I walked up the gravel path to the open door, lingering outside for a moment as I suppressed a smile. Given the time of year, the local theatre club was probably rehearsing for its annual pantomime. It was something of a laughing stock in the village because nothing ever went according to plan. The sets wobbled, actors fluffed their lines and the time they’d used live animals for Snow White and the Seven Dwarves had gone down in Luna Bay history. A spark of curiosity ignited within me as I wondered which classic pantomime would be messed up this time. Mother Goose perhaps, or maybe Aladdin? I shuddered to think how they’d pull off the genie and the flying carpet.

  More raised voices from inside the theatre made me turn back towards home. Knowing my luck, if I hung around any longer, the theatre club’s slightly terrifying director, Christabel Grant, would try to conscript me into joining her ranks. Her voice suddenly erupted, piercing the velvet darkness.

  ‘Sandra, I won’t tell you again! Love is All Around comes in the second act, not the first. Keep this up and you’ll be the back end of a horse!’

  I let out a little giggle as I reached the top of the hill. Christabel ruled the theatre club with an iron fist and everybody was too terrified to stand up to her. It made me breathe a sigh of relief that I’d so far managed to thwart all her attempts to sign me up to one of her productions.

  There was no way I was ever going to set foot on a stage again; not after what happened in New York.

  The sight of my little cottage looming before me made my grin stretch even further. Once I stepped over the threshold, I could kick my shoes off and keep the rest of the world at arm’s length.

  Bliss.

  Chapter Two

  Of all the books on grief I’d read in the last three years, none of them advocated buying Christmas presents for your lost loved one.

  Yet, earlier, at Fox’s department store, that was exactly what I had done.

  As soon as I stepped inside my cosy little cottage, shrugging off the wintry nip from outside, I made a beeline for my bedroom. Underneath my bed was a small box, no bigger than a shoebox. It was battered and worn from being moved around and shoved into corners so many times, but for me it held a collection of special memories far too precious to throw away. I pulled it out and sat down on my bed with it, taking off the scuffed lid as carefully as I could.

  My breath caught in my throat as I looked at the box’s contents for the first time in what felt like for ever. Nestled inside the battered old shoebox was three years’ worth of Christmas presents, birthday gifts and odd little souvenirs. A bottle of aftershave, a programme from his favourite theatre production signed by the cast, his favourite red T-shirt, which still held the faintest traces of his smell.

  It was all for him.

  I retrieved the little Rubik’s cube I’d bought earlier from my pocket and added it to the collection, allowing myself a smile. Jamie had always loved puzzles and prided himself on his ability to complete the New York Times crossword in twenty minutes flat. Every morning, he’d sit on the terrace of the apartment we shared, a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice by his side, and do battle with the cryptic clues. I closed my eyes and pictured his brow furrowing, the pen sticking out the corner of his mouth as he concentrated and the look of euphoria when the answer finally became clear.

  For the briefest of moments, I could almost hear the noise and drama of New York City. There was the bustle of people walking the famous sidewalks, each heading in their own direction, taxi cabs beeping their horns at drivers that got in their way and the inimitable buzz that could only be found in the city that never slept. Being part of such a vibrant place had been a dream come true; the city had been a living, breathing entity itself, where anything seemed possible. Until one rainy morning when everything changed…

  I shook myself back to the present; thinking of New York was not a good idea. Instead, I closed the box and shoved it back in its hiding place, satisfied I’d done my bit to include Jamie in this year’s Christmas celebrations.

  If only he was around to take part in them himself.

  *

  The next day thankfully didn’t involve dressing up in an elf costume, but it did involve lunch with my mother. Which, in some ways, was a lot more stressful.

  ‘Has your agent phoned you with any new roles yet?’ she asked as we sat over tea and cakes in the Moonlight Café, Luna Bay’s best eatery. ‘It’s been a while since you’ve heard from her, hasn’t it? Oh, and are you eating properly? You’ve barely touched your cake.’

  I groaned and shook my head. My mum meant well, but was permanently worried about me. It was as though I was made out of glass and she thought I’d shatter any minute.

  ‘No, Mum, Anna hasn’t phoned me for a while because I’m still on a break from acting. Don’t know if I’ll ever go back to it, to be honest. And yes, I’m still eating properly; nothing’s changed since you asked me the other day!’ I smiled and broke off a piece of red velvet cake with my fork, before popping it into my mouth.

  Mum tutted and placed her hand on top of mine. ‘Alice, it’s been three years since the accident…’ At the mention of the word “accident”, I flinched and she drew her hand away. ‘Don’t you think it’s time you went back to acting? I’m not saying you have to get on a plane back to New York and star in a Broadway show, or even do something on the West End. You could get involved with the panto at the Silver Bells Theatre; I’m sure they could use someone like you to help out. It’s usually a complete shambles, isn’t it? It could even be part of “moving-on action plan” or whatever it was that the grief counsellor gave you. You’ve done pretty well with it so far; you got that job at Fox’s didn’t you?’

  I sighed. ‘That was more because my savings are running out and I wouldn’t be able to afford Christmas presents without a job! The grief counsellor meant well, Mum, but she made moving on sound…I don’t know…easy. You can’t break down forgetting the man you’re in love with into twelve steps, can you?’

  ‘Nobody’s saying it has to take twelve steps, or fifteen, or seventy-five,’ said Mum. ‘But I think you should start by giving the panto a try. You’d probably have a lot of fun.’

  I paused, fork raised, to try and think of a sensible excuse why I couldn’t do the pantomime. Somehow I didn’t think ‘I never plan on going near a stage again as long as I live’ would cut it.

  ‘Look, Mum, I appreciate your ideas but I don’t think I’d be any good in the pantomime. I haven’t acted for ages and, like you said, the panto’s always a total disaster. Didn’t the sets fall down last time or something? Nah, I think I’ll stay well away from the Silver Bells Theatre and their panto!’

  Her face fell as she turned her attentions back to her slice of Victoria sponge. ‘That’s a pity; you’re a natural on stage, darling, and it’d be lovely to see you back doing something you love. Plus it’d wipe the smug grin off Christabel Grant’s face if you got involved. You’d act circles round her!’

  I almost choked on my mouthful of cake; my mum was usually really easy-going and never got worked up about anyone. However, there was something about Luna Bay’s resident drama queen that seemed to reall
y wind her up.

  ‘The last thing I need is Christabel making me public enemy number one,’ I replied, pouring myself some more tea. ‘Besides, I’ve got more than enough to keep me busy just now: I’ve got my job at Fox’s and…’

  I trailed off when I realised I didn’t have anything else to add to my list. A furious crimson blush crept onto my cheeks and neck and I had to flip my hair over my face to hide it.

  Mum raised her eyebrows in that way mums always do when they know they’re right. I could feel one of her speeches coming on and as soon as she opened her mouth, my suspicions were proven right.

  ‘You’ve got a job where you have to wear big pointy ears and a hat till Christmas Eve. What happens after that? You need to get your life back, Alice; I know what happened to Jamie knocked you for six and that you didn’t plan on being back in Luna Bay, but you are and it’s time to start living again. What happened to the Breakfast Club at Sunflower Cottage you went to a few times? You seemed to really enjoy that. Maybe if—’

  I held up a hand to stop her. ‘I haven’t had time to go to the Breakfast Club recently because of the job at Fox’s. I don’t know what’ll happen when it’s over, but I’ll figure it out. It’s not ideal and I hate the pointy ears, but it’s a job. As for my life, I’m happy the way I am, Mum. So please, stop worrying about me for five seconds.’

  I reached over and squeezed her shoulder. ‘I’m fine, really. I know you think I’m an emotional wreck who stays in my cottage all day crying over Jamie, but I promise you I’m not.’

  Mum smiled and patted my hand. ‘I’d just like to see you get out there a bit more, that’s all. Why don’t you at least think about helping out with the pantomime? You might not have to go on the stage; maybe they need people backstage to help with the make-up or costume changes?’

  Realising I wouldn’t get any peace unless I said yes, I agreed to give it some thought. I had no intention of actually joining Christabel’s team of misfits, but promising to give it consideration was good enough for Mum. Luckily, before she could conscript me into any more of her hare-brained schemes, my phone rang.