I Wish It Could Be Christmas Every Day

by Milly Johnson

  ‘Go on, you were saying,’ Robin prompted, nudging her then whispering, ‘I promise, what happens in the kitchen, stays in the kitchen.’

  Mary smiled. ‘Jack’s dad Reg really loved him and it was obvious how proud of him he was, but I don’t think he ever actually told him to his face.’

  ‘Oh, what makes you think that?’

  ‘Jack’s always been so driven and I’m sure it’s because he wanted his dad to notice him. Even now, when Reg isn’t alive any more, it’s as if he’s still trying to make his dad acknowledge his efforts, the pressure he puts himself under…’ An alert went off in her brain to shut up, that she was talking too much and that Robin might think she was a know-it-all. ‘I may be wrong of course,’ she said to end it.

  Office gossip said that when Reg’s wife left him, he pulled up his drawbridge and wouldn’t let feelings in or out, or at least any display of them, as if showing them was akin to showing a soft, vulnerable underbelly and inviting damage.

  ‘But you know you’re not wrong, don’t you?’ said Robin. Mary was astute beyond her young age, that he could easily tell.

  Mary sighed and poured her whisked eggs into a pan with some butter.

  ‘I just think it’s important to say the words as well, specially to the people who need to hear them most.’

  ‘Do you really think they matter that much?’ asked Robin, taking interest. ‘Isn’t it enough to show rather than tell?’

  ‘Yes I do. My dad wasn’t one for slush but it meant a lot that he could say he loved me as well as showing me. I think Jack might have been a bit easier on himself if he’d heard them from Reg. He won’t stop until he conquers the world and yet he’ll never catch the words he’s chasing.’ Another inner warning sounded. She’d talked enough about Jack’s personal business. ‘Shall I open up a couple of cans of those plum tomatoes?’

  ‘Oh yes, why not.’

  Mary’s words turned over in Robin’s mind as surely as he turned over the sausages in the pans.

  * * *

  Robin and Mary’s Christmas Eve breakfast feast, as Charlie named it, went down a storm. Jack and Luke pushed tables together to make one big one and put six chairs around it for them all to sit at. In the background Radio Brian played, in between his inane ramblings, a series of songs from a bygone age that existed long before the millennium.

  ‘I can’t remember the last time I had butter that I could actually taste, and on lovely thick white toast,’ declared Charlie, gleefully wiping warm dribbles from his chin. ‘When Robin makes toast – always brown – he scrapes off the excess. And he buys that margarine stuff that is supposed to lower your cholesterol.’

  ‘It’s been proven to lengthen your life,’ admonished Robin.

  ‘It’s been proven to make your life feel longer,’ said Charlie.

  ‘Every little helps.’ Robin bit down on his toast as if taking out his annoyance on it.

  ‘My grandfather lived all his life eating red meat, cooking with lard, drinking to excess and smoking like a chimney,’ said Luke.

  ‘There you go, Robin,’ said Charlie. ‘Proof that life is a lottery.’

  ‘And exactly how old was he when he died?’ asked Robin.

  ‘Twenty-two,’ said Luke, dissolving into a guffaw. ‘Sorry, it was a joke. He didn’t really, total lie.’

  ‘How hilarious,’ said Bridge, casting him a look of disdain.

  ‘I’m just trying to keep things light,’ said Luke, his tone playful. ‘We’re stuck here together, possibly for some considerable time, so we might as well… chill, if you’ll excuse the pun.’

  From one side of the room, Radio Brian gave an updated weather report.

  ‘Don’t be fooled by the fine flurries, heavier snow is forecast after lunch. Looks like we are all going to have a white Christmas this year.’

  Chapter 10

  After the breakfast plates had been cleared away, they gravitated to the fire, sat around watching the flames, all except Jack who was fiddling with his phone. Luke watched him pressing and swiping at the screen.

  ‘You can’t leave it alone, can you?’ he remarked.

  ‘What?’ asked Jack.

  ‘Your phone. Picking it up and scrolling through pages is not going to miraculously produce a signal.’

  ‘I just thought I’d check.’

  ‘We should take this time as a gift,’ Luke went on. ‘What fruits will we all yield from it, I wonder? Maybe it will bring balance to those in whom it is sadly lacking.’

  ‘How very zen,’ said Bridge with a sniff. ‘But I want to get back to my other half, even if you aren’t in as much of a hurry to get back to yours.’ One-nil to me, she thought.

  ‘Ouch. Worrying isn’t going to solve this problem, so there’s no point in doing it,’ Luke batted back, as calmly as his voice could manage because he realised this would piss Bridge off more than picking up any weapon.

  ‘You have a Norwegian state of mind,’ said Mary.

  ‘That’ll be my Viking blood,’ said Luke. ‘You don’t get this colouring from Anglo-Saxons.’ He pointed to his pale-blond unruly mop. ‘Or mad red-headed Celts.’ One-all, he thought; that levelled up the score in his eyes.

  ‘Mary is half-Norwegian. She really knows what she’s talking about,’ said Bridge, the inference that Luke didn’t clearly implied.

  Luke didn’t rise to the bait this time either but sent an air fist-bump across the table to Mary. ‘Go us Scandinavian pale and interesting types.’

  ‘Pale and uninteresting in my case,’ said Mary with a little laugh.

  ‘I totally refute that,’ said Robin. ‘We had a lovely chat in the kitchen. I found you very interesting.’

  ‘What do you suggest we do then to pass the time best, our dear half-Norwegian Mary?’ asked Charlie. ‘Although to be fair, I’m quite happy sitting in this armchair, staring into the flames and listening to Radio Brian. What a wonderful picker of music he is. I feel the most Christmassy I’ve felt in years.’ He sighed contentedly.

  ‘I don’t know really,’ said Mary. ‘But Luke is right, worrying won’t help. We need to work with our present situation.’

  ‘I think I’d like to take a look across there,’ said Luke, pointing to the church and the cottages positioned around what, in normal weather, was probably a village green.

  ‘I already did and there’s nothing to see,’ returned Bridge.

  ‘A fresh pair of eyes might unearth something you missed,’ Luke grinned benignly at her.

  ‘Like what? A bloke with a fully fuelled light aircraft in his front room who’ll promise to fly you back to Manchester?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  Bridge shrugged. ‘Suit yourself, but you’re going to get cold and wet for nothing.’

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ said Jack. ‘Let me just get my coat from upstairs.’

  ‘Use ours,’ insisted Charlie, pointing to the two brightly coloured snow jackets still hanging by the door. ‘They’re Arctic-friendly. They’ll keep you warm as toast. Jack, you’re bigger so you take Robin’s orange one.’

  Luke and Jack put on the two coats. Luke laced up his boots, Jack only had the one pair of shoes with him, which were very Arctic-unfriendly, but he needed to break up the boredom. He opened the door and all the snow that had drifted against it fell in and onto the bottom half of his legs.

  ‘Fool’s errand,’ said Bridge with a heavy sigh. ‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you.’

  Luke didn’t answer her but Bridge knew he would be determined to find something to prove her wrong. She also knew he’d be unsuccessful. She wasn’t stupid; had there been life out there in any shape or form, she would have discovered it yesterday.

  ‘Anyone for a fresh coffee while we await the wanderers’ return?’ she asked as the door closed behind them, a gleeful trill in her tone.

  * * *

  With every step they took, Luke and Jack got wetter and colder. Jack’s socks were saturated before they’d even reached the edge of where he thought the ca
r park ended. By the time they’d crunched their way over the small bridge and arrived at the buildings, Luke had to check to make sure his nose hadn’t dropped off because he could no longer feel its existence. He should have worn Carmen’s mittens, which were presently sitting on the bedroom radiator, and her furry cat hat. He stuffed his hands back into the deep warm pockets of Charlie’s brightly coloured Alpine jacket.

  ‘Let’s try the church first,’ suggested Jack, his words leaving his mouth on a visible plume of breath. Luke stuck up his thumb. It was too cold to talk when he didn’t need to.

  The short squat body of the church was out of proportion to the enormous square tower and the snow sat on top of the roof like Carmen’s hat, thought Luke. The large wooden double doors were locked, of course, and when Luke knocked on the left one with the flat of his hand, it didn’t move at all, as if it had swollen into the frame and become one with the stonework.

  Jack, at six foot three, was better equipped to look through the high-placed lancet windows but they were too narrow to allow much view.

  ‘See anything interesting?’ asked Luke.

  ‘Nope.’ Jack attempted to scale up a few notches, using the relief on the stone as purchase. It didn’t work well as he lost his footing and fell backwards into the snow. It was two foot deep at least but not as soft as it appeared.

  ‘Let’s try round the other side,’ said Luke, holding out his hand to pull Jack up. An unbidden picture flashed in his mind of holding his hand out to the woman sprawled in the snow, a woman with red Rapunzel hair and a green coat, her hand small and cold. What if he’d been steps in front of her instead of behind and never saw her fall, never stopped to help? He’d wondered that so many times over the years, how his destiny had been altered by a mere few yards, a few seconds.

  They both strode around to the back where the silence seemed more pronounced and reverent in a graveyard that stretched as far as their eyes could see, looking eerily beautiful with all the snow-dusted crosses and stones. There was a smaller door at the bottom of the tower, the wood peeling and long stripped of its varnish, and banging on that yielded no response either. There remained only the row of cottages to try.

  ‘Can I ask what we’re actually going to do if we do find someone in?’ said Jack. ‘Apart from enquiring if their phone is working?’

  Luke’s pace slowed as he pondered an answer. It was a fair question. They had food, warmth and shelter over at the inn. They were in more of a position to give than to receive.

  ‘I have no idea,’ he said eventually. ‘Let’s just see if there’s anyone around first and then when someone throws open their door and invites us inside, I’m sure we’ll think of something to ask them. Like, do you happen to have a spare snow plough or are you okay for mince pies because we happen to have plenty?’

  There wasn’t a single occupant in the cottages though, just as Bridge said. Peering into windows revealed either empty or sparingly furnished rooms. The cottages, it seemed, were abandoned for the winter, awaiting the summer season. There was no one in Figgy Hollow but them. Luke drew in a deep breath before he took his first step back in the direction of the inn, as he imagined the smug, told-you-so look on Bridge’s face.

  ‘Well, Bridge was right,’ said Jack, which did nothing to help.

  ‘For once,’ said Luke with a humph. ‘She does love a gloat.’

  ‘Can I take it that you aren’t divorcing on the best of terms?’ Jack dared to ask. ‘Just a vibe I picked up, despite the banter between you.’

  ‘That’s an understatement and a half. It’s been an uphill slog to get where we are and I’m still not convinced that she won’t refuse at the last fence. Oh bollocks.’ Luke stood on a patch of ice that gave way and freezing water gushed over the top of his Timberland boot. Every mention of Bridge brought a small curse with it, like a free gift. ‘You ever been married, Jack?’

  ‘God no,’ said Jack, toppling against Luke as a gust of wind surprised him from the side. ‘I don’t seem to be able to find anyone who’s my type.’

  ‘Ah, beware of holding out for “the type”,’ said Luke. ‘If I’d have held out for Heidi Klum I’d have missed all the happiness that I’ve found with Carmen and yes, I’ll admit it, the wild and wonderful years I had with Bridge. Two very different women, neither of them “ideal-type-Heidi”. There are plenty of soulmates out there waiting for you, Jack. Don’t paint yourself into a corner waiting for “the type”.’

  Jack had no idea what Carmen was like, but Bridge was tiny with hair that could probably be seen from Mars and, give or take the common numbers of head, arms and legs, about as far away physically from Heidi Klum as it was possible to get. She was also, he suspected, quite terrifying if provoked, not the sort of woman he would match with the laid-back Luke. Or himself, for that matter. Small, dark-haired and scary was how he remembered his mother being, although the image he had of her was probably coloured by the portrait his father had painted of her over many years.

  Sometimes Jack wondered if he’d ever find this mysterious creature: the soulmate. Looking at the weather, worsening by the second again, he had more chance of finding Bigfoot.

  Chapter 11

  Bridge stood at the window watching Luke and Jack heading back. She decided she would try her very best not to gloat, mainly because Luke would expect her to. The snow had definitely increased in droppage from when they set off across the way and judging from the amount of times they were replacing their hoods as they walked, the wind was building too. The skies were a mass of ominous dark-grey cloud that no sun in its right mind would even try and penetrate.

  Robin heaped logs on the fire in readiness for the wanderers’ return, as Bridge had phrased it.

  ‘Oh that’s blissful,’ said Charlie with delight as the flames blazed and quivered.

  He felt the cold so much more these days, thought Robin. The central heating was always on full blast at home, it was hot enough to grow bananas in their parlour, wilting everything but Charlie. But he never mentioned it, just went along with agreeing that there was a need to turn up the thermostat, blaming their large old house for its draughts.

  Mary opened the door for Jack and Luke who rushed in gratefully.

  ‘Here, let me help you,’ she said as Jack’s fingers were too frozen to grasp the tab of the zip. She had a sudden picture of herself reaching up to straighten his tie before they went out to some posh function as a couple. It was never going to happen. Not after all these years. The sand in her egg-timer was almost entirely at the bottom now.

  Luke kicked off his boots then peeled his saturated socks away from his feet, surprised that his toes hadn’t come with them. His soaking wet trousers plastered themselves to his bare legs and he shuddered at the sensation.

  ‘I need to go upstairs and change,’ he said.

  ‘You’ll dry out in no time if you sit here,’ said Charlie, patting the armchair next to him. ‘Bring your boots over and set them down in front of the fire.’

  ‘Thank you, Charlie, but I really do need to change my trousers. Had there not been ladies present, I’d have gladly sat beside you, stripped to my pants to thaw out my legs,’ answered Luke.

  ‘Thank goodness we’re here then,’ said Bridge.

  ‘I wouldn’t want to excite you too much,’ Luke came back at her.

  ‘Be still my beating heart,’ Bridge replied to that in a monotone, tapping her chest with a very steady tattoo, the equivalent of a slow hand clap.

  Jack was experiencing the same feeling of relief from taking off cold, soggy socks. He followed Luke upstairs to change too.

  ‘So there was no one over there after all?’ Bridge called after Luke, unable to resist.

  ‘Yes, but they were all asleep. I’ll go back later when they’ve stirred,’ he threw over his shoulder to her.

  * * *

  Ten minutes later, they were all sitting around the fire, nursing cups of coffee. Luke’s and Jack’s feet were encased in clean socks and their shoes were drying
out by the fire.

  ‘I don’t think we are going to be anywhere other than here for Christmas Day,’ Bridge said, turning her head towards the window and seeing the snowflakes blowing so wildly outside it was as if the inn was sitting in a giant snowglobe.

  ‘That would be a total disaster,’ said Jack, lips contracted, clearly stressed at the thought.

  ‘Would it?’ asked Luke. ‘As disasters go is this really the worst? We’re warm, we’ve got food, shelter—’

  ‘Brandy,’ Charlie interrupted him with his own addition and laughed.

  ‘Yep, we have enough brandy to pickle ourselves in,’ carried on Luke. And his beautiful Carmen was at least with her family. They’d have a second Christmas when he got back. He had loads of presents hidden in his wardrobe to give to her. ‘And we have good company of course.’ He smiled, taking them all in with a slow sweep of his eyes.

  ‘And Radio Brian as well,’ said Mary. She liked Radio Brian. His lack of teeth gave his voice a soft and gentle quality that sat nicely with his pick of old records, the sort her dad always played on his old vinyl player.

  ‘It’s a bit of an inconvenience, but we are here and safe and there is nothing we can do about it,’ said Charlie. ‘Do you have children, Jack?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well, that’s one crisis averted at least. You and your partner can have your turkey another—’

  ‘I don’t have a partner either.’

  ‘Any dependants at all?’ asked Robin.

  ‘Not even a goldfish,’ said Jack.

  ‘So send your nerves and tensions away on holiday. Do as this very clued-up young lady says and embrace the snow,’ said Luke, rolling his hand towards Mary.

  Bridge looked at him incredulously.

  ‘Are you on drugs?’ she asked. This was not the Luke she knew. Someone had stolen him, put a new soul in his body and pushed him back out into the world as ‘reconditioned’. This Luke should have been smelling of patchouli oil and wearing a kaftan, with his fingers permanently fixed into outwardly turned Vs of peace.