Reassign?
“You mean…you regift them?”
“Well, yes, love.” Janice seems surprised that I’m asking. “Everyone regifts.”
“Everyone regifts a bit. Do you regift every single present you get?”
Janice thinks a moment, sipping her cappuccino, then says, “Not the perishables.”
“But everything else? You regift everything else?”
“It makes sense!” says Janice defensively.
“Oh my God, Janice.” I stare at her. “You’re a regiftaholic! I had no idea.”
“I’m very careful, Becky,” says Janice, looking a tad sheepish. “I wear cotton gloves, and I always check them for wear and tear. No one receives a substandard gift.”
The ramifications of this discovery are gradually dawning on me. I knew Janice liked to “get ahead on her Christmas cards”—i.e., buy them half price on Christmas Eve, write them out on January 1, and keep them in a drawer for the rest of the year—but this is worse.
“So, you mean all those presents I’ve given you over the years went straight in the cupboard for regifting?” I can’t help sounding hurt.
“Oh, love.” Janice pats my hand. “I do appreciate them. Every present I receive is one less to buy next year, you see?”
“But that’s not the point of presents! What about the Bobbi Brown Makeup Manual I got you?”
“It went to my sister Anne,” admits Janice.
“And what about the cocktail shaker?” I stare at her, crestfallen. “Didn’t you make a single cocktail?”
“Ah,” says Janice, lifting a finger triumphantly. “Now, that did work out well. We gave that to Martin’s niece Judy. She uses it all the time!”
Maybe she does, I think, a bit resentfully. But I didn’t want Martin’s niece Judy to use it; I wanted Janice and Martin to use it. (And, by the way, no wonder her makeup technique hasn’t improved.)
“Janice, people give you presents because they want to,” I say earnestly. “Because they love you. They want you to enjoy their gifts. Presents are enjoyment and love, not just something to fill a cupboard.”
“I know, Becky.” She gives me a rueful smile. “I know I should enjoy my presents, but I just can’t help being practical.”
I’m not going to give her a lecture, because people can’t help being regiftaholics, can they? It’s probably a genetic thing, which they’ll do scientific research about one day. But this year, I vow, I’m giving Janice something she can’t regift. Some kind of luxury perishable food, perhaps. Ooh, maybe a lobster. I can’t help grinning at the idea of presenting Janice with a live lobster, and at once she says, “What is it, love?”
“Nothing.” I put down my cup. “Come on. Let’s shop!”
We head into the food section, which has the massive advantage that they give away stuff. Every single stall has something to taste, from cinder toffee to Christmas cake to festive vodka.
“Is festive vodka a thing?” I say uncertainly to Janice, but she’s already got us two little sample glasses.
“Of course it is, love!” she says, swigging hers in one go. “Look, there’s tinsel on the bottle. Shall we try all the flavored ones? There’s lemon. And cinnamon!”
Vodka does feel fairly festive, if it’s spiked with cinnamon and you drink it singing along to Mariah Carey. We move on to festive gin and then festive traditional “mead,” and then Janice starts going back and asking for seconds. If I don’t say something, she’ll stay in the booze section all day.
“Janice,” I say at last. “We have to move on! We’ll try the mulled wine another time, OK?”
As I’m tugging at her arm, I spot a nearby stall selling smoked salmon, which is actually on my list. There’s a massive queue, which is a good sign, so I quickly join it. And I’m craning my neck to read the sign about applewood smoking, when another glint of silver catches my eye and I swivel round in hope—
It is! It’s the silver llama must-have ornament! It’s hanging from the handle of a toddler’s buggy, and I bet you anything his mum bought it here.
I’m not missing it this time.
“Janice,” I say hurriedly. “Could you possibly buy my smoked salmon for me? Here’s my credit card.” I hand her my Visa card and add in a whisper, “The PIN’s four-one-six-five. Pay whatever it costs. I just need to make a quick purchase.”
“Of course, love!” says Janice brightly. “How much? I don’t know what the prices are like….”
“Don’t worry about the price, just get lots. Or, at least, why not see if there’s a special offer?” I can see Janice drawing breath to ask something else, but I hastily add, “Thanks!” and dash into the crowd. I’ve got to track down that llama.
I jog along, fighting my way past groups of people, until I see the mother with the buggy. And there it is! The silver llama, hanging on a velvet ribbon loop. It has long glittery hair, and world peace is beautifully embroidered on the side. I can totally see why it’s this year’s must-have ornament.
“Excuse me!” I gasp, touching the woman on the shoulder, and she wheels round.
“Yes?”
“Did you buy that here?” I gesture at the llama.
“Yes,” she says. “Stall over there.” She jabs a finger toward the far corner of the hall.
“Thanks so much,” I say, as she starts wheeling the buggy off. “It’s this year’s must-have tree ornament, you know!” I add over my shoulder. “Sold out everywhere! Very rare!”
As I’m hastening in the direction she pointed, my phone bleeps with a text.
Love, do you want “oak smoked,” “applewood smoked,” or “cold smoked”? Janice x
I hastily pause and type a reply:
Doesn’t matter! Applewood, maybe? Bx
Then I start hurrying on again, but at once my phone rings and Janice pops up on the display screen.
“Hi, Janice!” I say breathlessly. “Is everything OK?”
“There is a special offer, love!” she says triumphantly. “They do bundles, twenty, thirty, or forty pounds. Only I know you said don’t worry about the price, but I don’t feel I can make that decision—”
“Thirty, please!” I hastily cut her off. “Perfect! Thank you so much.”
I dash on as quickly as I can and manage to get to the next corner before Janice pings back another text:
Sorry, my mistake, they can’t do 30 in the applewood smoked, love. Janice x
Honestly. As if anyone will tell the difference after a few glasses of Buck’s Fizz. Trying not to give away my impatience, I text:
Get any bundle any kind. Thanks so much, Janice, really appreciate it!! Bx
The path ahead has miraculously cleared, so I increase my pace to a sprint, not even pausing when my phone bleeps again. It’ll be some random question about packaging or something. Janice will have to decide that on her own.
I reach the far corner of the hall, look around wildly—and there it is! It’s hanging on the side of a stall: a silver llama with world peace in pink on its side. Yay!
Regaining my breath, I approach the stall and beam at the woman behind it, who smiles sweetly in return while polishing her gold spectacles. She has a lanyard around her neck, and I notice that she’s called Yvonne Hanson.
“Hello, Yvonne!” I greet her. “Lovely stall.”
“Thank you,” she says complacently. “I do my best. How can I help you?”
“Could I please have a silver llama?” I say, trying not to sound too urgent. “In fact…several? In fact…all your stock?”
“I’m afraid the llama’s sold out,” says Yvonne pleasantly, replacing her spectacles. “I’m so sorry.”
Sold out? But there’s one right in front of me.
“Could I buy that one, please?” I ask politely, pointing at it.
&n
bsp; “Ah.” Her brow creases. “I’m afraid not. That one is for display purposes only.”
I stare at her in slight bewilderment. “But you’ve sold out.”
“Exactly.” She nods in agreement. “As I say. Sold out.”
“So…couldn’t I buy it?”
“This is a display llama,” she says in slow, distinct tones. “For display.”
“I don’t understand,” I say, trying to stay patient. “If it’s sold out, why are you displaying it?”
“Because it’s part of the range.” She smiles. “Very popular.”
“But no one can buy it!” I say in frustration. “It’s sold out! So this is misleading. You’re luring people to your stand like a mirage in the desert! You’re toying with people’s hopes! Is that fair? Is that just? Is that human?”
Abruptly, I realize I’ve raised my voice, and a few people are staring at me, including Yvonne, whose smile has become a little rigid.
“I’m afraid the llama’s sold out,” she repeats politely, as though beginning the conversation again. “Would you like a turtle instead? Lovely sequins, very popular.”
I glance briefly at the sequined turtle—which doesn’t hold a candle to the llama—then back at Yvonne. For a few moments I’m silent. I’m not a vengeful person, but I have taken against Yvonne, with her gold spectacles and power trips.
“May I look at the llama, please?” I ask after a few moments.
Yvonne’s eyes narrow, but I can tell she can’t think of a reason to say no, so eventually she replies, “Certainly you may.” She lifts it off its nail and places it in front of me on the stall, adding, “As I say, it’s sold out.”
“Of course.” I match her pleasant tone. “I absolutely understand that it’s sold out and you can’t sell me this one even though it’s right here in my hands. It makes total sense.”
Yvonne doesn’t reply, but as I dart a glance at her I can see it plain in her face. We’re enemies.
“It’s lovely, isn’t it?” I say, running my hand gently over the silver metallic hair. “So beautiful. How strong are these fronds, I wonder…?” I run my fingers through the metallic strands a few times—then carefully snap one off. At once I gasp in apparent horror. “Oh no, I’ve broken it. How could I be so careless?”
“What?” Yvonne makes a grab for the llama, but I swoop it out of her reach and open my eyes wide.
“What a terrible accident! I do apologize. And now it’s damaged, of course you won’t be able to display it, so I simply must buy it, to repay you.” I meet her gaze innocently. “At full price, naturally. I insist.”
“It doesn’t look damaged to me,” chimes in an elderly lady who has just joined me at the stall—but Yvonne and I both ignore her. This battle is mano a mano.
“How much is it?” I add, reaching for my purse, but Yvonne doesn’t reply. As I look up, I see a kind of glinty triumph in her eyes and feel a sudden qualm.
“Oh, I would never sell a damaged item,” she says, her smile even sweeter than before. “I’m afraid it will have to be removed from display altogether. Could you give it to me, please? I would rather not have damaged goods on view, as they compromise my high standards.”
She holds out her hand and I glare at her, trying to think of a response, before reluctantly handing over the llama.
“It looks perfect!” says the elderly lady—but neither of us flickers. I can’t believe Yvonne outwitted me.
“May I not buy it as damaged goods?” I make a last attempt. “Surely you don’t just waste damaged items?”
“But it’s not damaged!” says the elderly lady, sounding perplexed.
“I will be holding a damaged-goods sale in June,” snaps Yvonne with an air of finality. “You may consult my website for details.”
She drops the llama into a nearby cardboard box and Sellotapes it shut for good measure, shooting me a victorious look as she does so.
“Fine. Well, happy Christmas,” I say darkly, hoping that she can detect my subtext message: “You don’t deserve one.”
“And to you!” she replies breezily, clearly meaning, “I won, so I don’t care what you think.” Turning to the elderly lady, she says, “Can I help you?” and I give her a final resentful glare. Christmas shopping is brutal. Brutal.
I walk disconsolately away, and I’m about to text Janice to see where she is, when I hear her cheery voice hailing me: “Becky, there you are. Good news, love! I’ve ordered the smoked salmon and bought mince pies and I’ve got us some festive brandy!”
She proffers two little cups and I practically grab one from her. When you’ve had a run-in with a bureaucratic despot, festive brandy is definitely the solution.
“Delicious!” I say, draining it in one gulp. “Just what I needed. Let’s go and get some more.”
From: [email protected]
To: Becky Brandon
Subject: Re: Llama tree ornament crisis
Dear Mrs. Brandon (née Bloomwood):
Thank you for your email.
I’m sorry to hear that you have been unable to purchase a silver llama tree ornament. Unfortunately, we do not have any in stock here at head office, as this product has been very popular.
I wish you every success with your Christmas decorations and suggest that you browse the attached catalog, showing our full range of tree ornaments.
With all best wishes for the festive period.
Yours sincerely,
Malcolm
From: [email protected]
To: Becky Brandon
Subject: Re:Re:Re: Llama tree ornament crisis
Dear Mrs. Brandon (née Bloomwood):
Thank you for your email.
I assure you that we are not deliberately withholding supply of the silver llama in an attempt to create a “South Sea bubble” situation.
We are therefore not “playing a dangerous game,” as you put it. Nor do we agree that our actions will “probably threaten the economy and cause global havoc.”
With all best wishes for the festive period.
Yours sincerely,
Malcolm
CHATS
Christmas!
Martin
Becky, my back’s playing up, so might I bring along my orthopedic stool on Christmas Day?
Becky
Of course!
Jane
Martin, so sorry to hear about your back! In our street in Shoreditch, there’s a super new therapist called the Tantric Back Cooperative. Shall I book you an appointment?
Janice
In Oxshott we prefer qualified medical professionals, love.
Jane
What are you trying to say, Janice?
Janice
Nothing, Jane.
Jane
Yes, you are.
Janice
No, I’m not. What are YOU trying to say?
Martin
Ladies, ladies.
Janice
Be quiet, Martin.
Oh my God. My head.
It’s throbbing so hard, I’ve been forced to put sunglasses on. It was that festive brandy that did me in. Unless it was the festive piña coladas, which Janice found from some stall. What was she thinking? (Actually, they were so delicious, I ordered a bottle.)
I slept through my Black Friday alarm, so I haven’t got a single online bargain, and now I’m running late. Even worse, I’ve just had a quick look through my purchases from yesterday—and I went seriously off-piste.
Items I intended to buy:
Tablecloth
Napkins
Candles
Wrapping paper
Items I actu
ally bought:
Family Christmas aprons
Mince-pie display stand
Smoked salmon
Festive piña colada (one bottle)
Festive mojito (two bottles)
Inflatable mistletoe wreath
Twelve musical ornaments that play “Jingle Bells”
Felt Christmas tree with padded-felt candy canes (adorable)
White Christmas tree with LED lights and diamanté decorations (stunning—I mean, everyone was stopping to look at it)
Papier-mâché Christmas tree covered with red-foil-wrapped chocolate stars (how can you not buy a Christmas tree covered with red shiny chocolate stars?)
So that’s three Christmas trees. Plus I’ve already ordered a massive premium Norwegian spruce, which I can’t cancel, because Luke keeps saying the smell of the tree is his favorite bit of Christmas. And I need an eco-tree for Jess.
Which makes…five Christmas trees in total.
I pause in my hair brushing, thinking hard. Can I have five Christmas trees? I try to imagine telling Luke we’re having five Christmas trees and bite my lip. It just sounds…you know. Quite a lot.
I could spread them about the house a bit and maybe no one would notice?
Or…yes! I won’t call them Christmas trees. I’ll call the real one our Christmas tree and the rest can be “Christmas shrubs.” I’ll have a Christmas shrubbery. Genius. And then—
Oh God, look at the time. I need to hurry.
Luckily, it’s a bright, crisp day with one of those unreal, shiny blue winter skies, so no one questions my sunglasses as I drop Minnie off at school. And by the time I’m walking to Letherby Hall, I’m feeling a bit more human. As long as no one makes a loud noise—
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