by Annie O'Neil
‘Smells nice,’ Drea said accusingly when Jess opened the door to her brisk rat-a-tat-tat knock.
‘Thanks?’
‘They’re still there,’ Drea glowered.
Jess bowed her head. ‘I know. I did go down there.’
Drea arched a perfectly shaped eyebrow. ‘And …?’
‘I apologised. I said I’d take them down and he said not to.’
Drea’s brow furrowed. ‘He did?’
Jess nodded. It wasn’t her story to share so she said what Mr Winters had instructed her to tell everyone. ‘He says thank you for the wreaths, it was a kind gesture.’
‘Seriously?’ Drea looked shocked, then suspicious. ‘What else did he say?’
‘Not much.’ Jess put on her best poker face. ‘Aren’t you going to ask what we’re doing tonight?’
It was six-thirty. Half an hour earlier than the time she’d put out on the WhatsApp ‘Christmas Street Advent Calendar’ chat Drea had created a week or so back when people kept randomly turning up wondering when things would kick off. Not that Jess ever looked at it. She had largely relied on Drea and the good old-fashioned technique of looking out her window to figure out when kick-off time began.
Drea made a noise. She was still clearly trying to work out what had gone down at Mr Winters’. ‘Go on then,’ she finally said. ‘Show us what you’ve got planned.’ Jess stood to the side and held out her hand game-show hostess style, anxiously awaiting Drea’s reaction.
‘It’s a Christmas tree,’ she finally explained.
‘I can see that,’ Drea said dryly, her eyes inching round the Christmas tree Jess had painted onto the big white expanse of wall between her living room and kitchen.
Jess was actually quite proud of it. She’d been pressed for time so hadn’t done all of the detailing she would’ve liked, but the lush boughs had the odd squirrel painted in. A few pine cones. A robin. She jogged over to the sofa where she’d put the stencils. ‘So, the idea is that everyone paints an ornament to represent their house. I’ve got number stencils here …’ She held them up. They’d been part of this week’s office supplies and had given her the idea in the first place. ‘Emoji stencils, flower stencils, some Christmas-themed ones … and they paint it on. I counted the boughs and everything. Enough for everyone.’
Drea made a scrunchy face then gave a fatigued sigh. ‘Well, at least you didn’t go all out on dazzling folk, all things considered.’
Now it was Jess’s turn to have a scrunchy face. ‘What do you mean “all things considered”?’
The truth was, she had gone all out. For her anyway. She’d borrowed Kai and Rex’s jam pan so that she could make several litres of steaming hot chocolate. She’d used her mum’s old stock pot to make as many litres again of glühwein, both of which were burbling away on the stovetop waiting to be ladled into the lovely recyclable cups she’d bought at considerably more expense that she had spare right now. She’d also gone to the local bakery and bought piles of thumbprint cookies, gorgeously moreish biscuits with a dollop of red jam or minty green frosting in the centre.
Drea fished into her pocket, pulled out her phone and held it in front of Jess. ‘Haven’t you read the thread?
‘What thread?’
‘The Christmas Street thread,’ Drea said impatiently, thumbing through a few messages then holding the phone out to Jess.
Ah. It was the night of the school play. Peter Pan, apparently. One of the Gem’n’Emms’ sons had the lead role and as such … there was apology after apology after apology.
An unexpected wash of relief eased the tension she hadn’t realised she’d been holding in her shoulders. Although, it did mean her plan to fill Drea with Christmas cheer was going to fail. She chewed on her lip wondering if she could hire in a few people to liven the place up.
‘Sorry, doll face.’ Drea gave her arm a squeeze, misreading her disappointed expression. ‘Sorry for being a bitch earlier. I’ve just got a lot riding on this advent lark, you know?’
‘No,’ Jess insisted. ‘It’s me who should be apologising to you.’
Drea pushed out her lips as if she were thinking on it. ‘Go on then.’
‘What? Apologise?’
‘Yeah.’ She looked happier now, so Jess fell over herself in the same halting way she had to Arnold until Drea started cackling and gave Jess’s cheek a pinch and a pat, both of which kind of hurt. ‘That’s good. Consider yourself forgiven. For now.’ She threw a look over her shoulder towards the empty street. ‘A few people might show up. Is your new bestie coming?’
‘Who?’
‘Arnold Winters.’
‘Oh! Yes. No. I mean … he said he might.’
‘Seriously?’ Drea looked genuinely gobsmacked. ‘I was kidding.’
‘So was I when I invited him to come along, I mean – he is obviously welcome, but what with his attendance track record and everything …’ She waved her hands between them. ‘Anyway, he said he might come.’
‘Did he say it in the way most British people say it?’
Jess gave her a sidelong look. ‘What way is that?’
‘All sincere and yeah, yeah, absolutely, and then not show up?’
Jess shook off her initial defensive response and thought about it. It was, after all, a go-to response in London. No. No, he had seemed genuine enough. ‘I think he might?’
Drea narrowed her eyes as a spy might at the apex of an interrogation to find out exactly where the stolen thermonuclear missiles that could destroy the world were hidden. ‘What exactly happened between you two?’
Jess’s tummy went all squirmy. It really wasn’t her place to tell. ‘I apologised and before I could get through it all he said not to worry about it.’
‘Hellooooooo!’ Rex’s voice rang out from Jess’s gate. ‘We’re ready to be dazzled!’ Kai bounced in alongside him and started doling out cheek kisses under a fresh sprig of mistletoe.
And then, before Jess knew it, her evening was under way.
About a dozen people came in the end, which, considering the size of her house, Kev’s capacity for glühwein and the fact she’d painted the tree in her not exactly enormous corridor, was probably a good thing. Despite an underlying fear she was being ghosted by all of her future pupil’s parents for being vile to poor Mr Winters, everyone seemed to genuinely believe they were at the school play which, judging by the amount of minivans pulling back into the cul-de-sac around the time people were leaving … it did appear to be the case. And, despite the non-appearance of Mr Winters, the night had been fun. The tree looked great.
Kai and Rex’s decoration was their house number with climber roses twined round it. Drea used a surfer stencil with the surfer holding a huge number one. Kev, surprise surprise, had drawn a racing car with his house number on the door. Martha had come along, no Tyler (‘band practice or some such’). She’d painted a Victrola and had grown a bit rosy-cheeked after accepting a cup of glühwein from Kev as he called out last orders. The couple at number 13 who had had them clean up their house had done a bicycle. Apparently they were triathletes and that was why they never got any housework done. (‘Too much training, love. Too much training.’) The handful of other neighbours had painted a dog, a golden pear, a rocking horse; and Katie, the lovely nurse from across the way, had rushed in, spray-painted in a stencil of some ice skates, and had grown a bit misty as she told them how she’d been a figure skater as a girl, but an injury early on had forced her to explore ‘other options’. Jess had insisted she take two cups of takeaway hot chocolate before she rushed off to start an overnight shift. She seemed really nice and really tired. Jess hoped they’d be friends one day. No Josh, but it wasn’t as if adding a new crush to her list of things to do would help her clutter-clear her problem shelf. Speaking of which, she stuck her head out the door and looked down the street again. Nope. No Mr Winters.
She lifted her hand to her mouth and then forced herself to lower it. Over the course of the evening, she’d reduced her newly grown nails to nubs again in her effort to refrain from running down the street and offering him an arm to lean on for the short walk down to hers. Drea, to her credit, didn’t say anything, but after everyone had left and Drea had helped her sweep up the kitchen and tidy away all of the paint and stencils, she had stepped outside Jess’s house, made a pointed look down towards Mr Winters’ then said, ‘It’s an English thing.’
‘I’m English,’ Jess reminded her.
Drea laughed. ‘Yeah, but … you know what, doll? I’m glad you and he made peace. Hopefully it means the old bugger’ll pull something out of the bag in ten days’ time.’
‘Ten days?’ Jess’s stomach lurched. ‘Is it that soon?’
‘Yup!’ Drea tapped her watch. ‘And counting.’ Her voice was weighted with a host of unspoken expectation. In ten days’ time her son would or wouldn’t have taken up her offer. In ten days’ time, Mr Winters would or wouldn’t delight the neighbourhood as a month’s worth of advent evenings drew to an apex. In ten days’ time, the tone of Christmas proper would be set, for better or for worse.
Half an hour later, tucked up in bed with her laptop, Jess’s finger hovered above the send key. To email or not to email. That was the question.
Don’t ask, don’t get, she decided and jabbed the button, almost seeing the short, heartfelt missive wing its way to Melbourne where it would, with any luck, be instantly opened by Drea’s son. There was only one Spencer Zamboni in the whole of Australia according to Google. The whole of the world, actually. And Jess was going to do her damnedest to make sure he was right here on Christmas Street in ten days’ time.
15 December
‘Oh, you’re there! How wonderful!’
Jess’s mum clinked her coconut cup to her father’s then towards the laptop camera, her cheeks already a tell-tale pink. Looked like someone was enjoying her sundowners.
‘We thought we’d take the risk and see if you were home,’ her father said after a gulp of his own drink.
‘Yay!’ Jess cheered half-heartedly. She waved her hands around pompom-style then lifted up her over-sized coffee mug to air clink with her parents’ cocktails. This while tugging her hoodie over her shoulders to make it look as though she was actually dressed for the day rather than still wearing her jim-jams as the non-existent sun hit the yardarm. ‘How’s it going in the tropics?’
‘Oh, Jessica. I had such an interesting compacted molar today,’ her mother began. Jess half listened, took a bite of white toast off-camera (white food was forbidden in her parents’ home … cavity monsters), then doodled a snowman with rabbit ears, only to realise when she looked up again that they were looking at her expectantly.
‘Oh, dear,’ her mum put down her coconut cup, worry creasing her forehead. ‘You’re not regretting things, are you, Jess? Being on your own over the holidays?’ She swotted her husband’s arm. ‘Harry! I told you we should’ve stayed. Look at her. She’s gaunt with sorrow.’
‘Mum,’ Jess tried to interrupt. ‘I’m not—’
‘Absolutely dreadful,’ her mother persisted, her nose looming as she leant in to examine Jess on their laptop screen. ‘Are you taking your vitamins? You could need some D supplements.’
Jess pulled a face. No she didn’t. She’d not strictly showered or done anything to her face yet, but ‘gaunt with sorrow’? Frustration, more like. She’d been working herself up to head back to Mr Winters’. Though they’d spoken quite a lot yesterday, she felt their talk needed a follow-up if she was going to convince him to do something special on Christmas Eve.
‘She does look a bit peaky.’ Her father was saying as he, too, leant towards the camera, the lens fish-bowling his face.
‘Jess …’ her father put on his gentle voice. The one he used when he thought she was snarling at him because she was suffering from women’s troubles, ‘Would you like to come out and join us? It’s not too late, you know. The flights only go on a Tuesday and a Friday and it’ll probably cost double, but the offer still stands.’
‘I’ll bet they’d love some assistance down at the local school.’ Her mother butted in. ‘Plus there are some wonderful young people out here. Quite a few single men, in fact. Why, just the other day I did a periodontal—’
Jess began waving her hands. ‘Nope! No, thank you. Please do not finish that sentence. I do not want you to be my overseas Match.com, thank you very much.’
‘Jess, love. We’re trying to help—’
‘Setting me up with a man who lives in the Marshall Islands and is suffering from periodontal disease is not helping.’
‘Well, it looks like someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed,’ her mum sniffed.
‘I’m fine. Honestly, I just …’ She was trying to get her life back on track and it turned out moving somewhere wasn’t quite the escape from all of her dark thoughts that she’d hoped it would be. Turns out they’d come with her. As Mr Winters’ had suggested, it was figuring out who was in charge that was the challenge. The problems or the problem solver.
‘Coooeeee!’ The mail flap clanked open. ‘Jess?’
‘Sorry, guys. I’ve got to go.’ Jess blew them a kiss and promised to call them again soon.
‘Drea.’ She pulled open the door with a slightly exasperated smile. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘Crikey.’ Drea pretended to shield herself from a horrific sight. ‘Who dragged you through a hedge this morning?’
Jess did not dignify this with an answer.
‘Are you going to offer me a cup of coffee?’ Drea asked.
Jess wheeled round and headed back to the kitchen to fill up the kettle. Everyone was bossy today. Date this person. Take those vitamins. Comb your hair.
‘I’ll take that as a yes,’ Drea shouted after her, before letting herself in and taking up her usual post at the breakfast bar. After the kettle had boiled and Jess had spooned some coffee into the cafetière, Drea asked, ‘What’s got into you?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Liar.’
‘So?’
‘I’ve got problems of my own.’
‘So?’ Jess repeated, a bit less combatively than the first time.
‘You’re supposed to help me.’
She slammed the press down on the cafetière, splashing herself with hot coffee in the process. ‘Bums! Ouch. Why am I the one who’s supposed to help?’
Drea’s quarrelsome expression faltered. ‘Because you’re my friend.’
Guilt, gratitude and about nine hundred other feelings flooded Jess’s heart. Drea considered them friends. She grabbed a J-cloth from the sink and began wiping. Now that she properly thought about it, Drea had single-handedly made moving to Christmas Street about a billion times more welcoming than it could’ve been. Without Drea, there was a very distinct possibility Jess would’ve sat in her little house describing non-essential office supplies without exchanging so much as a ‘hello, how are you?’ to a single neighbour.
She selected a mug that had a unicorn with hearts on it as a means of silent apology, filled it with coffee and handed it to her. ‘Milk?’
‘Just a splash.’ Drea said, clearly still miffed as she patted her perfect derriere. ‘Lactose calories always land here.’
‘Interesting. Where do the chocolate cake calories land?’
‘Nowhere,’ Drea riposted with a smug smile. ‘I don’t eat chocolate cake, do I?’
‘Oh, Little Miss Perfect, aren’t you?’ Jess teased.
Drea’s smile dropped away.
‘What? Did I say something wrong?’
‘No.’
She clearly had.
‘My son says that sometimes.’ Drea said after a sip of coffee. ‘“We can’t all be Little Miss Perfect like you,”’ she mimicked.
<
br /> ‘It’s good to strive for things,’ Jess said, trying to be supportive while silently panicking about the email she’d sent last night and had yet to have a response to. ‘I don’t know anyone else who could’ve pulled off the Christmas Street advent calendar apart from you.’
Drea scowled at her coffee. ‘You know as well as I do that “pulling it off” mostly entails pushing people into a corner so that they have to do my bidding.’
‘No. That’s not true,’ Jess protested. Well. Maybe it was a little, but once people had realised how fun it was, almost everyone had begun to look forward to it. She added. ‘It’s been a real success so far.’
Drea rolled her eyes and they both fell into a weighted silence.
Looks like they were both battling demons today. Seeing her parents – tanned, smiling, really enjoying the fruits of everything they’d worked for all their lives – had made her happy, but also … it made her feel like she was at the beginning of such a long road. As if the eight years at St Benny’s had only been a dress rehearsal for her real life and now that she’d seen some of the pitfalls and danger zones, she was starting all over again. From scratch. Not entirely sure she wouldn’t be doing the same again in another eight years.
Jess took a sip of her coffee then, after the silence had become too pronounced, asked, ‘So … what’s up?’
‘I don’t think Spencer’s coming.’
A slew of colourful language exploded in her head. Was this because of her email? She forced herself to squeak, ‘What makes you say that?’
‘Aww, nothing in particular, but when we had our Skype call today—’
‘Wait. You Skype?’
Drea looked at her as if she were two sandwiches short of a picnic. ‘Yeah. I speak to him every Tuesday.’
‘I thought you said you didn’t speak.’
‘We do, but business only, so I don’t count it. Mother–son moments over spreadsheets aren’t filled with warm fuzzies.’ When Jess sent her an I don’t understand look, she explained, ‘He handles all of the legal bumph for Bondi Beach Body. Profits, contracts, licenses. Everything that goes into his trust.’