by Annie O'Neil
‘Jess! Darling!’ Rex grabbed her into a tight hug. ‘What brings you to our little corner of the world?’
‘I …’ she stared at him half speechless. ‘You’re an artist. A botanical artist!’ She finally managed.
He laughed. ‘No, that’s Kai, love. It’s in the genes. I’m the business end of Berry Blooms. Kai’s the one who makes all of the magic. You should see what that man can do with a pomelo!’ He gave her a very saucy wink, hooked his hand into her arm then turned her round to their shop which was, unsurprisingly, dazzlingly wonderful. Not only did they offer an array of seasonal delights, they also had a wall filled with beautiful hand-tied bouquets, chunky candles, Christmas cacti (she winced), and … ooh … a DIY section.
‘Want to make something?’ Rex asked, clocking her smile.
She grinned. ‘I’d like to make a wreath. Can we do that?’
‘Course you can love. But …’ He hesitated then called towards an open doorway at the back of the shop. ‘Kai-Kai!’
Kai came bounding out, a thick green cotton apron with leather shoulder straps covering another stylish winter ensemble (dark corduroy slimline trousers, turtleneck jumper – black, to match his eyes and insanely long lashes, and a Burberry gilet). He looked like a rock star. ‘Hey, honey bun!’ He threw his arms wide open, a pair of clippers in one hand, a long reel of silver ribbon in the other.
After they hugged he stood back and gave her a quick pursed-lip inspection. ‘Why are we here? Let Uncle Kai have a guess …’ His eyes flicked to Rex’s then back to Jess’s. ‘Oh, no.’ He put down the things in his hand on the worktable beside him and gave her an apologetic smile. ‘Sorry. If you want to make a wreath, it’s a no.’
Jess’s smile faltered.
‘Oh, c’mon, love. Don’t be sad. It’s only because—’ He gave a quick look over his shoulder. ‘Keep a secret? It’s going to be our thing.’
‘Thing?’
‘For the advent-calendar night. We’re going to borrow Chantal’s trestle tables and set up wreath-making supplies for everyone. And don’t even try to tell me half the houses already have one, because, hello! There are never enough wreaths. Am I right?’ He didn’t wait for an answer. Clearly, he was right. ‘Was it for you, sugar bean? The wreath?’
‘No. I was going to do one for Mr Winters.’
Another look was exchanged between Kai and Rex. This one was not quite so jolly.
‘Mr Winters of number twenty-four, Mr Winters?’
‘That’s the one!’ Jess had aimed for chipper but had ended up sounding more ‘please let that be okay’ anxious. ‘It’s just … I know last night was mad and he almost ran over some people, but he didn’t and he obviously didn’t mean to—’
‘You sure about that?’ Rex intoned.
‘Seriously.’ Jess needed them to understand how sad Mr Winters was, but without betraying the secret grandson she wasn’t meant to know about. ‘He’s just … he’s …’
‘An old git with too much time on his hands to be pleasant?’ offered Rex.
‘Now, honey, don’t be mean,’ said Kai, though the sides of his lips were twitching.
‘It was tulips I was hoping to get for him, actually.’
Rex rolled his eyes. ‘Of course he’d want something out of season.’
Jess gritted her teeth. Why were they so prepared to make unkind assumptions about him? From what she’d gathered, no one knew his real story, so why leap to all of these mean conclusions?
‘Do you have tulip bulbs?’ She asked when they failed to say anything. ‘It was bulbs he was after, not the blooms.’
‘Yes,’ Rex said with a nod. ‘Course we do, love. Sorry. We’ve just had a couple of run-ins with Mr Winters in the past and whilst we like to consider ourselves good neighbours, he’s the sort that can make it tough.’
‘Why?— Did you have run-ins?’
The two shared a look, this one potent with sadness.
‘We used to walk our dog, Alexa, along the cut-through by his house …’ Kai’s breath hitched and Rex took over.
‘Alexa may have, once or twice, accidentally chased Mr Winters’ cat up a tree. Or two. Possibly.’
‘I didn’t know you two had a dog.’
Again, that grief-charged energy surged through the shop.
‘We used to, darling,’ Rex said softly. ‘She took her journey to the Rainbow Bridge at the beginning of the year. This’ll be our first Christmas without her.’
A lump formed in Jess’s throat as Rex and Kai’s hands sought each other’s for a reassuring squeeze. They had obviously adored her.
Unable to come up with anything healing to say that wasn’t geared for the under-tens, Jess asked, ‘Was she named after the Amazon virtual assistant?’
Both of their lips thinned. Rex gave a little eye roll. ‘No, darling. Alexa Chung.’
Ah. Of course.
She thunked her forehead then asked, more gently, ‘And … have you thought of getting another dog?’
‘Too soon. Too soon!’ Kai squeaked, turning away to dig a handkerchief out of his pocket.
Rex’s face creased as much as it could but Jess thought she saw a hint of something that suggested he wouldn’t mind getting a new dog. He threw a quick glance at Kai’s back and mouthed, ‘It’s been awful.’
When Kai turned back round he had pinned on one of those cheerful in the face of adversity faces. ‘Now, we were on the topic of Mr Winters. Any particular reason you’re feeling the need to buy him tulip bulbs?’
‘I think he’s lonely.’
‘Sweetie.’ Kai gave her arm a squeeze. ‘I can see what you’re doing, but we’ve lived on the street for years now and he’s always been the same. You’re trying to soften the heart of the ice king.’
‘Ice melts,’ Jess said. In her inside voice. In her outside voice she said, ‘So … tulip bulbs?’
Their shop turned out to be a bit of a Tardis. Through yet another archway there was a covered open-air area with all sorts of potted plants, miniature potted Christmas trees – both plain and decorated (‘some folk simply don’t have the time or imagination, love, so we do it for them’).
‘We’ve not got the daff bulbs anymore. It’s always best to get those in by September at the latest.’
‘She doesn’t need a lecture, darling. She needs bulbs.’ Rex said, giving his husband’s shoulders a light rub.
‘Any idea what colour scheme he’s going for this year?’ Kai asked in a more conciliatory tone.
Mr Winters did colour schemes? Interesting. ‘What did he do last year?’
Kai and Rex stared at one another as if they were each a Magic 8 ball and then, at the same time said, ‘Blue.’
Jess’s eyebrows raised. Blue. Like his mood, no doubt.
‘What colours do you have?’ She asked.
Fifteen minutes later she had a carrier bag full of earth-scented bulbs waiting to be tucked into the soil in front of Mr Winters’ house. First step of her mission: complete.
‘Look.’ Drea pointed towards the hedge where Josh’s children were currently dressing him up in a tiara and a set of fairy wings. ‘Lovely, isn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ Jess sighed. ‘He is.’
‘Someone’s got a cru-ush,’ Drea teased.
‘No, someone doesn’t,’ Jess snorted. Lying. But also, not lying. Having Josh as a neighbour was kind of like school drop-off had been back when St Benny’s had had the privilege of schooling the Beckhams’ youngest children. All of the female teachers had enjoyed drooling over David, but were perfectly happy in the knowledge he would never be theirs. She felt the same about Josh. Lovely eye candy. No need to find out the calorie count or, more to the point, who would claw her eyes out if she stepped onto hallowed ground.
‘Whatever you want to tell yourself, doll,’ Drea shrugged, returning to her ‘work’ at o
ne of three clothes racks the Hippies had set out on their freshly dug-out driveway that would be replanted, they told everyone, with the choicest of pollinators (‘Every bit of green matters!’). From the looks of things, everyone on the street had had a massive clear-out and already several families had headed back home with (reusable) shopping bags full of other people’s treasures.
‘This would suit you, Jess.’ Drea lifted a barely there red dress from the clothes rack. It was beautiful. Delicate gossamer-thin fabric that wafted in the breeze. It looked expensive. It also looked as though it belonged on a perfect body in a fancy restaurant.
Drea wiggled it in front of her face. ‘Bet Josh would like you in this.’
Jess crinkled her nose. She was not thinking about completely gorgeous Josh and was definitely not thinking about being wined and dined. ‘I don’t really think it screams primary schoolteacher.’
‘Oh, c’mon,’ Drea gently elbowed her. ‘It’s free.’
‘It looks like something I would have to bring to another clothes exchange in a year.’ Jess laughed, trying to get Drea to put it back on the rack.
‘What? You hate it?’
‘No!’ Jess back-pedalled, suddenly a little nervous the dress had been donated by Drea. ‘It’s great, it’s just … not me.’
Drea held it up in front of Jess, gave her an intense inspection then conceded. ‘Yeah, you’re right. You’re more of a floral maxi-dress girl.’ She hung it back on the rack with a huff.
‘Was it yours?’
‘Yeah,’ Drea admitted, shifting the clothes along the rack with a practised glance, move on, glance, move on. ‘It was part of the Old Drea ensemble.’
Jess gave her a curious side-eye. ‘Meaning?’
Drea gave a flick of the hand. ‘It didn’t spark joy. Time to be clutter-cleared.’ She held out a dress that would’ve left very little to the imagination if actual mortals could’ve squeezed into it. ‘I used to wear this kind of nonsense back when I was dating.’
‘You gave up dating?’
‘I gave up men,’ Drea said dramatically. Although, pretty much everything Drea said sounded dramatic, as if she travelled with a personal soundtrack to accompany her every move. Right now, Jess imagined, some soft music harking back to days gone by would begin as Drea looked up, eyes lit by the explosion of lights coming from the house across the street where the Christmas electricity bill was bound to be a shocker. Drea’s perfectly curled lashes might bead up with a few tears, threatening but not daring to trickle down her proud cheeks.
And then she began to cackle like a banshee. ‘Aw, look. It’s a bullshit line I use to try and convince myself I’m perfectly happy without a man in my bed. I’m not. I love them. I love sex. I love cooking for them. I love being pampered by them. I have a weakness for them. One I need to conquer.’ Her smile faltered.
Jess adopted a nonchalant air. ‘Maybe there’s a Men-a-holics Anonymous you could attend.’
‘Yeah, doll. They’re called women’s refuges.’
The light mood evaporated.
‘You weren’t— He didn’t— Was there—?’
Drea continued to shift hanger after hanger along the rack, the scritch-scritch sound adding a sharper edge to her expression. She looked up and gave Jess her trademark everything’s fine smile. ‘What’ve you got planned for your night? Something spectacular?’
‘That’s umm … yeah, I’m keeping that a surprise.’ She managed, still trying to equate the strong, amazing woman in front of her with someone who’d be subject to domestic abuse. Drea didn’t seem the type. Then again, Jess wasn’t the type to hurt a child, so … She tried to shrug it off.
‘And by “surprise” you mean you don’t know yet,’ Drea asked with a roll of her now completely dry eyes.
‘Yes,’ Jess admitted with a sheepish grin. ‘Forgive me?’
‘As long as you pull the cat out of the bag on the night.’
‘Consider it done.’ They gave each other a fist bump, the solidarity of the moment feeling a bit more powerful than your everyday fist bump.
‘Hey, Jess! Drea.’ Kai catwalked up to them with a boa round his neck. ‘Like my new evening wear?’
‘Hell’s teeth, man.’ Drea took it off his neck and swirled the thick, frothy concoction round her own neck. ‘Ostrich feathers. I knew it.’ She nestled into it then ran it out the length of her arms as if she were no stranger to the boa and what to do with it. ‘Who the hell is giving this away? It’s the real deal.’
Jess stroked it, as did Rex. They both made mmm, soft noises as a rather intense ‘possession is nine-tenths of the law’ discussion broke out between Kai and Drea.
‘How’d you go with your tulip bulbs down the road?’ Rex asked, his head tipping slightly towards Mr Winters’ dimly lit home.
‘Oh, that. Well …’
It had been a nightmare, basically. She’d knocked on his door, which Mr Winters had promptly opened, glared at her, then barked, ‘Why the hell won’t you leave me alone like a normal person?’ Then he’d slammed the door shut. She’d run home, furious, and would have stayed at home tonight eating her body weight in ice cream if Drea hadn’t come by an hour earlier and shouted into her post flap, ‘Little pig, little pig, let me come in!’ She’d only left when she’d extracted a promise to see Jess here, at the Hippies’, at seven sharp.
‘Sorry, love.’ Rex gave her a sympathetic half hug. ‘The man is determined not to be friendly. Just leave him as he is. It’s how he likes it.’
‘Maybe you’re right.’
‘I am right,’ Rex said, seriously this time. ‘He doesn’t like interference. Not with the postman, not with neighbours, no family that I’ve ever seen. The man is an island and likes it that way.’
The word ‘interference’ stung sharper than it should have.
It’s what Crispin’s mother had said. That Jess had been interfering in a matter that had had nothing to do with her.
A child who suffered severe dairy allergies about to get a cheese sandwich in the face was very much something to do with her. At least … she’d thought so at the time. She’d gone back and forth over it so many times, it was difficult to know any more.
‘It’s sad, I know,’ Rex said, both of them turning to look at the dark house with a tiny bit of light peeking through one of the downstairs windows. ‘Some people are beyond help.’
‘Maybe I’ll just leave the bulbs at his front door.’
‘Maybe you should plant them in your own garden,’ Rex said firmly.
Defeated by the fear of creating more trouble than good, Jess reluctantly nodded. Maybe Mr Winters would see the flowers and reach out to her in the spring. And maybe pigs would fly down Christmas Street with a sleigh full of chocolate reindeer.
She looked to the top of the street. No pigs.
She tuned back into Kai and Drea, who were nailing down a fifty-fifty shared ownership deal with the boa, and whoever found out who the original owner was got to wear it on New Year’s Eve. They shook on it and grinned.
At least someone was leaving happy.
7 December
22:17
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: RE: Your Christmas Card
Dear Jess(ica),
Sorry for not writing back sooner. I’ve been neck deep in a mince-pie production line of one, a hellish occurrence which need never be revisited.
Thank you so much for getting my misdirected card to my grandfather.
Grandfather.
It feels peculiar calling him that as I’ve never met him. And even though it is a bit strange that you read the letter, I’m also a wee bit grateful. Gratitude from a Scottish male is a rare thing to encounter, so … behold. We’re used to beating our chests and proclaiming ourselves entirely self-sufficient, but the
truth is I can’t speak to anyone in my own family about it because of history. Stuffing things in closets and never mentioning them again is our family’s modus operandi.
The actual truth, as we’re sharing, is that I’m not surprised the letter never reached him. Everything’s a bit of a mess. Catering college doesn’t prepare us fledgling chefs for much beyond perfect vol-au-vents and a sure-fire way to save a hollandaise. As such, I’m newly single, in a new town, in a new country, all of which makes me a bit of a Billy No-Mates during a season that is specifically geared towards togetherness. I know. Boo hoo. Poor me. It’s not as if anyone made me move here or forced me to work every hour God sent driving my poor girlfriend to distraction, but now that I’m on me tod, I hadn’t realised how alone I am down here.
The type of alone that gives you enough time to realise how all of that work and no play setting up my company definitely made Will a dull boy. Hence, wanting to meet and make room in my life for my grandfather. To get some balance. Not that I’m managing all that brilliantly on that front as it is officially the silly season for caterers, but I’ve got my eye on a storefront premises that would really change the business into something viable. If I get through all of my Christmas bookings intact, I can afford it as well as some staff to get that old work–life balance back in play. Tomorrow’s a brand-new day, right?