by Annie O'Neil
Wx
18 December
Jess opened the box, gasped, then teared up.
‘What? You all right?’ Drea peered over the top of the box then at Jess’s face as she swiped a couple of tears off her cheeks. ‘Nope. Don’t get it. You’re going to have to explain.’
Coloured pens. Pencils. A jumbo crayon box with an insane two hundred and eighty-eight crayons within its beautiful cardboard boundaries. Glitter. A ridiculous amount of glitter. Pasta shapes. Wooden spoons. Pipe cleaners. The lot.
Her parents had outdone themselves, and it wasn’t even Christmas yet. The box had arrived with a big: OPEN BEFORE CHRISTMAS penned in her father’s assured block handwriting and, of course, his signature smiley face complete with a perfect set of teeth.
‘It’s from my parents,’ she said.
‘Is this traditional? Kiddy crafts for their grown-up daughter?’
‘They’re not so much for me,’ her voice caught in her throat again. ‘They’re for the kids.’
‘What? They don’t have supplies at the school?’
‘No, they do, but …’ She made a scrunchy face and shook her head, finding it impossible to explain how Jess’s parents knew she adored watching a child’s eyes light on an array of art supplies and then get to work. It was one of the best feelings ever. Seeing that spark of delight. Of possibility. This was her parents’ way of saying, ‘We know you’ve been struggling, but think of all of the joy that is waiting for you.’
She thought about the Instamatic camera and handful of film boxes she’d wrapped and tucked into one of her mother’s walking boots for their Christmas present and suddenly wished she’d given them something more personal. Something to show how deeply she appreciated all they’d done for her this last year. It couldn’t have been easy. Putting back together the puddle of tears that had poured into their house a year ago. At this stage in life, she was meant to be looking after them, or, at the very least, herself. They were perfectly capable of looking after themselves. Thousands of miles away on a lump of coral and sand with nothing but periodontitis and overbites to bring them joy …
She looked round the kitchen, still only semi-functional. She’d gently refused her mum’s archaic mixer and whizzer and deep-fat fryer, wanting to take her time to properly set up her home, her way.
She’d been here nearly three weeks now and, apart from having wrapped up the office supplies descriptions and bagging a failsafe stapler, had she done that? Begun to make her mark?
White walls. Bog-standard kitchen table and chairs. White plates. Deciding what impression she’d wanted to make with her dinnerware hadn’t seemed important back when she’d stood in the middle of Ikea feeling friendless and not very hungry.
There was the Christmas tree in the hallway that never failed to make her grin, but would she want it to be Christmas all year long? Or, more pressingly, would she be painting over it for new owners if she bottled it when the school year began? As if on cue a family walked past the front window, two of the children singing an off-key rendition of ‘Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer’ in between wondering why the ‘new lady’ hadn’t taken her For Sale sign down.
Drea picked up the card resting on top of the package. ‘May I?’
‘Please,’ Jess sniffled, not knowing whether to busy herself making a fresh cafetière of coffee or to indulge in a little boo-hoo, even though Drea would tell her to pull her socks up because there were worse things in the world than having parents who sent incredible gifts and renewed offers to be flown to the tropics. And, of course, she would be right. It was a big juicy loving gift, whereas what Drea was going through with her son was mired in complicated emotions and tricky visits to the past and, from the looks of it, no visits in the future.
Jess knew beyond a shadow of a doubt she could and would see her parents again, and when she did? It’d be comfortable and loving and full of laughter and, most probably, vegetable crisps.
Drea had a weekly half-hour conversation about spreadsheets. Her heart squeezed tight for her friend. She wished she could do something guaranteed to convince Spencer to come. Should she send another email? Ring him? Do a video recording round the neighbourhood showing him how incredible his mum was, detailing how welcoming she’d been to Jess from day one (snowball fights aside) and, most importantly, how very, very much she clearly adored him.
‘Aww, that’s nice, doll.’ Drea put the card up on the counter and gave it a little pat. ‘They’re obviously worried about you.’
‘What? No. They’re just …’ Were they? She genuinely doubted they would’ve gone to the Marshall Islands if they’d thought she wasn’t up to looking after herself. They were only looking after their little girl. Which made her teary all over again.
Drea handed her a menthol tissue then rearranged the card, featuring a Santa Claus in a Hawaiian shirt and shorts, so that it faced Jess. ‘This is what parents do when they’re worried. They interfere. You’ll learn one day.’ She got a mischievous look on her face. ‘When Josh and Jess are sitting on a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g.’
‘Ha! As if.’ She swatted away the notion. Letting something build that wasn’t really there was silly. ‘I don’t fancy Josh, I fancy the idea of Josh and that is totally different. Anyway,’ she wiggled her fingers in front of Drea’s smirk then pointed at the box of art supplies. ‘This isn’t interfering, it’s – it’s love.’
‘You say tom-ay-to, I say they’re exactly the same thing. From Spencer’s point of view, anyway.’
Jess couldn’t think of a counter-argument for that. Not something wonderful and wise that the Dalai Lama or Michelle Obama would say, anyway. She wondered if that was what had happened between Mr Winters and his son. Polarised perspectives. Mr Winters had been trying to be respectful of his wife’s wishes to have a nap while his son saw it as neglect.
One man’s trash; another man’s treasure.
One boy’s brie and cranberry leftovers; another boy’s kryptonite.
Maybe that’s what life was. A huge series of misunderstandings that people who cared for one another spent a lifetime trying to unravel.
Her eyes dipped to the drawer where the letter still sat, unopened, and she took a sip of coffee as Drea did the same, each of them slipping into silent reflection.
‘Do you think the Winter Warlock will be coming along tonight?’ Drea eventually asked, breaking the thoughtful silence.
‘Who?’
‘Arnold,’ Drea said in an Arnold Schwarzenegger voice.
‘Oh, yes. No. Maybe?’ Jess shrugged. She wasn’t really sure. ‘We could go round and get him.’
‘That is the correct answer. I’ll pick you up,’ Drea said, taking a last sip of her coffee and dipping her free hand into Jess’s art supplies. She brandished a hot pink marker pen then popped it into her pocket with a toothy grin. ‘Right! That’s me prepared for another day of inspiring the masses to get off their––’ She grinned and let Jess silently fill in the blank as she showed herself out.
Jess picked up the box of art supplies, her smile widening. It might not be the perfect Christmas, but maybe it wouldn’t be one to wish away. Not just yet anyway.
Though a light was on in the front room, there was no answer at the door.
‘Maybe he’s powdering his nose,’ Jess said.
‘Doubt it,’ Drea sniffed, pointing towards the far end of the street where the crowd was gathering and, from the sound of electric guitar blaring, Tyler was mid-rehearsal. ‘It’s too loud for him. He’s probably hiding.’
Jess peered down the street towards the growing number of neighbours milling outside number 18, the men watching and offering advice as a couple of dads tried to set up a rather enormous triangle frame on the square of front lawn.
‘What’s that for?’ Jess asked.
‘The Grinch piñata.’ Drea said as if it were completely obvious.
&nbs
p; ‘They’re doing a Grinch piñata?’
Drea shrugged. ‘That, or they’re preparing for a public hanging. How’s your conscience?’
Jess snorted – awkwardly – and gave Mr Winters’ doorbell one last brrrring.
‘Nope. Not here,’ Drea concluded for the pair of them.
Jess craned round to see if she could catch a glimpse of something, anything to assure her he was all right. They’d opened up a lot of old baggage over the past couple of days and she was frightened it might be too overwhelming for him. He didn’t seem the type to do anything rash, but as happy a time of year as it was, for some people it was a time of year that drained away any tidings of comfort of joy.
She was just about to knock again when Drea took a step down and lurched, hands spread wide trying to catch hold of something. Jess grabbed her arm, holding her steady until she righted herself.
‘Strewth!’ Drea grumbled with a glare at the steps. ‘The frost must be turning to ice already. If the ruddy council would ever grit the street it’d be a bloody Christmas miracle.’
Mr Perkins appeared in the window, gave her a haughty look, then stalked off. If something really bad had happened to Mr Winters, Jess was sure he would create a proper ruckus, so taking that and Drea’s pointed tapping on her Apple watch as a cue, they left.
They walked down the street, careful not to lose their balance on the slippery bits, Drea kvetching about the two blinking street lights that never seemed to wholly commit to being on. Drea had, Jess had noticed, become increasingly cranky the closer it got to her Tuesday meeting with her son. From the outside, it seemed as though Drea and her son both wanted a reconciliation, but each on their own terms. In Jess’s experience that simply wasn’t possible.
They arrived at the edge of the crowd, were offered a handful of snowflake-shaped pretzels and, much to their surprise, saw Martha at the far side of the garden in deep conversation with none other than Mr Winters.
‘Well, well, well, my little chickadee,’ Drea rubbed her hands together. ‘Shall we go earwig?’
Jess shushed Drea, ever so pleased to see Mr Winters chatting, not entirely comfortably, but chatting nonetheless. ‘Let’s let them carry on without us, yeah?’
‘All right, ladies?’
Drea and Jess turned as one to find Josh long-armed at the end of Audrey’s lead as his two children, dressed as superheroes, ran towards the centre of the circle where most of the children were gathering.
‘Josh, hi. Hi, doll. Howzit? Your turn soon, yeah?’
Jess knelt and gave Audrey a cuddle while Drea pressed Josh for details on his night. For some reason she always felt doubly ridiculous talking to Josh when Drea was watching, so the dog cuddle was just fine.
‘All right everyone!’ The Rob’n’Bob gave his hands a brisk clap and rub. ‘Are you ready to get your piñata on?’
The children whooped and cheered and Kev asked why they’d made the piñata look like him. Everyone laughed as they gathered round the frame, which now sported at its centre a huge Grinch piñata, filled with Celebrations and Quality Street if the rumour mill was anything to go by.
‘Get out yer insulin shots!’ laughed Katie the nurse.
The Rob’n’Bob lifted up a huge bowl of clementines. ‘We’re all over health and safety at this house,’ he crowed.
Jess’s eyes flicked to Mr Winters.
He was midway to lifting his hot chocolate to his lips. He stopped, looked at the mixture, then discreetly tipped it into the hedge.
If Jess had been anywhere near him, she would’ve given him a hug. If he’d let her. They’d made quite a lot of progress over the past week, but she was pretty sure they weren’t quite ready to hug it all out.
‘Right!’ A cricket bat was handed to Josh’s daughter Zoe, who looked completely adorable in her Wonder Woman get up complete with Elsa gloves and cape. She was blindfolded and had a few semi-successful whacks at the piñata. Jess clapped and laughed, turning just in time to catch the interesting sight of Drea watching Josh, not Zoe. Drea gave her a sharp What? look then pinned an avidly interested expression on the next child as the blindfold was tied on.
‘Where’s Ruby?’
Heads swivelled round as everyone tried to find the last child to have a turn at the now very dishevelled-looking piñata before matters were turned over to Tyler, who had turned up flushed from an hour’s worth of ‘rocking out, man’.
A little girl dressed as an angel was spotted playing an invisible game of hopscotch on the street with a couple of other girls down near where Mr Winters was standing. He, Jess had surreptitiously noticed, had been inching his way out of the heart of the crowd and towards an easy escape route.
Several calls chimed together to call Ruby, who turned, made a sharp swivel and ran in Mr Winters’ direction. One minute she was running. The next she was being held millimetres from the ground by the scruff of her neck. Mr Winters dragged her upright, halo and wings askew. Ruby made a horrifying choking noise, looked up at Mr Winters, then let out an ear-piercing scream.
There was a terrifying silence and then chaos reigned.
Ruby’s mother swooped in and grabbed her daughter.
‘What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?’ shouted a father. Presumably Ruby’s.
Jess’s heart pounded in her chest as she fought to be heard above the clamour.
Accusations rained down on Mr Winters, who looked smaller and smaller as the words pummelled him.
‘She slipped!’ Jess said, not sure if anyone heard her or not. ‘He was trying to help.’
‘What do you have against children anyway?’
‘No one’s ever done you harm!’
‘What a nasty man.’
‘He was helping her!’ Jess tried to shout louder, to no avail.
‘Not a nice bone in his body.’
‘We’re definitely not going to his on the twenty-fourth. If he even bothers.’
‘That piñata should’ve been Mr Winters not Scrooge.’
‘HE WAS TRYING TO HELP HER!’ Jess bellowed, unable to bear it, or Mr Winters’ heartbreaking expression anymore.
All eyes turned to Jess.
An all-consuming fear shunted through her. The parents’ expressions, all accusatory, looked so familiar and yet … completely different. The same as the St Benedict’s board of governors had looked when, for the first time in eight years, she’d met them as a defendant rather than a champion of the children they’d all committed to care for and protect.
‘She’s right. Jess is right,’ Josh stepped up alongside Jess. He gave her and then Mr Winters a quick, supportive nod. His brow furrowing as he assured everyone, ‘He was helping her. I saw it all clearly. Ruby, love?’ Josh gave the now tear-streaked little girl a gentle smile. ‘Did you slip when you were running up the pavement?’
Ruby looked at her mother and father for support. Both of her parents looked increasingly uncomfortable. Jess’s whole body was shaking with nervous energy.
‘You don’t have to answer, sweetie,’ her mum said.
Mr Winters began to head towards his house, hands stuffed in his coat pockets, shoulders looking frail, hunched against the cold. Jess felt torn. Should she run after Mr Winters or stand up to the crowd here who had got the incident so very wrong?
Her father, who clearly wanted some resolution, persisted, ‘Ruby, love? Did the man hurt you or help you?’
Ruby threw a panicked look towards Mr Winters, tears trickling down her cheeks then whispered, ‘Helped,’ before burying her face in her mother’s shoulder.
A series of Oh, well, he should’ve saids surfaced amid a smattering of, It’s not like he’s the friendliest of chaps, is it? and How were we to know he was helping?
‘Maybe we should apologise?’ Jess suggested.
‘To who?’ One of the Gem’n’Emms asked.
> ‘Mr Winters,’ Josh and Jess said as one.
Drea threw in a ‘There’s no “I” in team’ comment that didn’t quite hit the mark, but Jess gave both her and Josh grateful smiles. It felt amazing having backup. She hoped Mr Winters saw it like that. She’d never felt more alone than when she’d faced the ‘firing squad’ at St Benny’s. Amanda had sworn she would speak to the Head on her behalf but when pressed, had bowed out, saying as she hadn’t been in the dining hall it might not do her any good, so she’d better not. Martin hadn’t been any better. He’d pretended to care for about half a second and then flipped teams saying wouldn’t she be better making nice with Crispin’s parents seeing as they were insanely loaded? As if the whole reason she’d become a teacher was to hobnob with the haves of the world in the hopes her estate-agent boyfriend could bag a few sales. Jess ached to run after Mr Winters and tell him she knew exactly how he felt but her feet seemed to be cemented to the ground.
‘Hey! Arnold, hang on a tick.’ Josh jogged down to where Mr Winters was carefully making his way along the pavement, already halfway down the street.
They all watched as the two men shared a quiet word. At one point, Josh put his hand on Mr Winters’ shoulder and, Jess was pleased to see, it wasn’t shaken off. Their conversation seemed to reach an end when Arnold turned to look back up the street. His face bore the saddest expression of resignation Jess thought she’d ever seen. As if he had known all along that coming out would lead to something like this. Point made, he seemed to be saying. And, even more gutting, You win.
The evening dismantled fairly sharpish. After the Rob’n’Bobs failed to crack open the Grinch, Mrs Nishio took over. She gave the piñata a surprisingly solid thwack. ‘“What are men to rocks and mountains?”’ she said with wink to her husband as the children fell upon the shiny wrapped chocolates like wolves. Then everyone disappeared into their houses along with reminders that it was Christmas Jenga the next day so be sure to bring pocket warmers because everyone would need fully functioning fingers.