I Wish It Could Be Christmas Every Day

by Milly Johnson

  ‘Did we have anything that matched?’ Luke asked, guffawing.

  ‘Not sure we did,’ said Bridge. Including themselves. They didn’t match either, but like the furniture it all worked somehow. For a while.

  ‘Do you remember the weird and wonderful meals we used to make? They always tasted so good, didn’t they?’ asked Luke.

  ‘We were bloody starving all the time, that’s why.’

  ‘Hot buttered toast, Laughing Cow cheese and chopped-up red onion.’

  ‘Bread dipped in a cup of Bovril.’

  ‘Tinned tomatoes and cheap white bread.’

  Bridge was sure her mouth was starting to water slightly. ‘It feels like another lifetime ago.’

  ‘We had everything then and didn’t know it,’ Luke said, his smile fading. ‘It was all waiting inside us to flower.’

  Bridge saw his Adam’s apple rise and fall as he swallowed. The show of sunshine in their conversation slipped behind a cloud.

  ‘Well, that was then and this is now,’ she said, as Jack and Mary walked in from the kitchen.

  ‘I’m glad we both found another happiness,’ said Luke.

  ‘I’m glad you’re glad.’ A flash of a smile, no more.

  Luke pushed back the vision of them both lying on the springy new-old lounge carpet crushing the paper chains they’d spent the best part of the afternoon putting together. She hadn’t remembered and neither should he. It had no right being in his head any more.

  Chapter 18

  Radio Brian gave himself a break from Christmas carols and revved up a mambo from Pérez Prado, which cut into Charlie and Robin’s sleep and woke them up. They both stretched like synchronised Siamese cats.

  ‘How long have I been out for the count?’ asked Robin, eyes roving around the lounge looking for the clock that he was sure was on a wall somewhere.

  ‘Months,’ replied Luke. ‘It’s now June.’

  ‘I do hope not,’ said Charlie on a yawn. ‘I don’t want to miss Christmas Day.’

  ‘Oh yes, we all need to go present-hunting, don’t forget,’ said Robin.

  ‘Ooh, I see the paper chain is up,’ said Charlie, admiring Bridge and Luke’s joint effort. ‘And you’ve finished the tree, Mary.’

  ‘You’ve just reminded me.’ She sprang up from her seat and trotted over to it. ‘Are you all ready?’

  ‘For what?’ asked Robin.

  ‘This. Ta-da.’ Mary bent down, pressed a switch. Christmas tree lights. Twinkling and red like large holly berries.

  ‘Perfect,’ Charlie declared.

  ‘Do you know what the difference between a Christmas tree and a Christmas tree light is?’ asked Luke.

  ‘I have no idea,’ said Charlie.

  ‘Forty calories,’ said Luke and exploded into laughter.

  Groans ensued. That triggered off an idea in Luke’s head.

  ‘I tell you what, I’ll make some crackers with my best jokes in them for tomorrow.’

  ‘I hope they’re better than that one, Luke,’ Mary said, holding up crossed fingers.

  ‘Trust me, they won’t be,’ replied Bridge to that.

  Outside the snow continued to fall, but softly so; the wind was taking a rest.

  ‘So, are we going to have the full Christmas dinner shebang then?’ asked Bridge. ‘I mean, all that food the landlord’s bought in would go to waste otherwise, won’t it?’

  ‘I’d like it to go to my waist,’ said Mary, which made Robin and Charlie chuckle. ‘I’d love to cook the Christmas dinner for everyone.’

  Noises of protest came from all concerned.

  ‘We will cook it together,’ said Charlie and licked his lips. ‘Do you know, I don’t think I would ever get fed up of Christmas food. I could live off it every single day.’

  ‘You might have to if this snow doesn’t go,’ said Bridge.

  ‘Which brings us to the question of what to have for dinner tonight,’ said Robin. ‘Anyone fancy a jacket potato?’

  * * *

  Robin wrapped lots of large white potatoes up in tinfoil and put them in the bottom of the oven. He returned from the kitchen wearing a huge smile and carrying something behind his back.

  ‘Look what I found,’ he said and pulled out a large toasting fork. ‘We can make toast.’

  ‘We can anyway, there’s a grill in the kitchen, Robin,’ said Bridge.

  ‘Oh, but this way is much more fun,’ argued Robin, settling back into the armchair. ‘And marshmallows. There’s a bag of them in the kitchen, suitable for vegetarians – I checked. And you can get about six marshmallows on each of these big prongs.’ He looked around. ‘Where’s Mary?’

  ‘She went upstairs for a sock,’ said Bridge.

  ‘I thought she’d been picked off by the murderer among us,’ said Robin. ‘And then there were five.’

  ‘No one in their right minds would pick off Mary first,’ said Jack. ‘She’s too…’ His voice trailed into silence as he realised he’d spoken a thought aloud.

  ‘Efficient?’ Bridge supplied the word, flavoured with a tone of mischief.

  ‘Capable, I’d have said,’ stated Charlie. ‘No self-respecting murderer would want to get rid of someone who would be his greatest ally if things went awry.’

  ‘Maybe Mary could be the murderer though,’ said Luke. ‘Has anyone thought of that?’

  Mary appeared at the bottom of the staircase and everyone fell into a semi-awkward silence, as happens when the subject of conversation unexpectedly turns up.

  ‘We were just saying,’ said Robin, eventually cracking the ice of hush that had formed over them, ‘it really is like being in an Agatha Christie story. All of us here, marooned together. Just like Charlie said yester—’ He stopped to think, patting his lip with his finger. ‘Was it only yesterday that we came here? Feels so much longer.’

  ‘Time flies when you’re enjoying yourself, doesn’t it, Bridge?’ said Luke, turning to her for affirmation.

  ‘Oh yes, the hours are simply zooming by,’ replied Bridge snarkily.

  ‘Well, here’s my sock,’ said Mary, placing it on the hearth. It was long and red. Part of a pair she’d brought to go under her new red boots, which were destined for a refund. She’d never wear them anyway, she’d always be reminded of this failed trip and she didn’t want any memories of that going forward.

  Radio Brian announced that he was signing off for an hour or so as he had to go and chop some logs for himself and Mrs Radio Brian, or Cath as she was better known to his regular fifteen listeners. But he was leaving his flock with some Christmas carols from the past.

  ‘He can hardly leave them from the future, can he?’ scoffed Bridge.

  ‘There might be no future,’ said Robin. ‘Looking out there, it would be easy to think the sun has died. Maybe we’re all starring in a real disaster movie. The Christmas Armageddon.’

  ‘The Apocalypso Carol,’ said Luke, playing a riff on some imaginary drums. ‘Ba-dum tish. Right, I’m going for my sock.’

  ‘I’ll come up with you,’ said Jack.

  ‘I might as well get ours,’ added Robin, attempting to heave himself out of the comfort of the armchair. Having only just sat down, he found himself reluctant to leave it. Bridge held out her hand to help him up.

  ‘I’d better go and get mine too,’ she said.

  She and Robin followed the others, leaving Charlie and Mary alone. He looked at her intently and smiled.

  ‘You know, don’t you?’ he said.

  ‘Know what, Charlie?’

  ‘About me. It was how you handed over the tablets to me this morning, with that lovely smile, but it was powered by forced cheer.’

  Mary opened her mouth to deny it, but she knew she wasn’t a good liar.

  ‘My dad was on the same medication,’ she said instead. ‘As soon as I saw the name on the bottle, I knew, yes.’

  Charlie nodded slowly. ‘I intend to have a wonderful Christmas Day and make some memories for Robin to keep,’ he said and leaned in close. �
��To be honest, it was Robin’s idea to go to Aviemore, not mine, but I couldn’t spoil it for him by saying I wasn’t that keen. He wanted to push the boat out. I just wanted some snow and I was going to hire a machine to make it and blow it all over the garden.’ His blue-grey eyes sparkled, reflecting the firelight. ‘I’m having the most perfect time here with everyone. It’s people more than places that give the greatest happiness.’

  ‘Good. And you’re right,’ said Mary and when Charlie’s hand reached out to hers, she took it, felt him squeeze her fingers hard as if transmitting feelings he couldn’t – or didn’t want to – put into words.

  ‘Did… did the pills work for your father?’ Charlie asked then.

  ‘Right to the end,’ she answered him honestly. ‘There was no sudden decline. He went to bed after watching the last-ever episode of a box set he’d enjoyed, he had a belly full of fish and chips, chocolate fudge cake and his usual big brandy and he… never woke up.’

  ‘Ah. I’m sorry for asking.’

  ‘I don’t mind, really,’ returned Mary.

  ‘I want to make it easy on Robin when I go, you see,’ said Charlie. ‘I don’t want him to be traumatised.’

  ‘He will be anyway, Charlie. Because he loves you.’

  Charlie sighed in understanding, and let go of Mary’s hand, aware that he was in danger of cutting off her blood supply. It was the letting go of Robin that concerned him most. He knew he’d hurt.

  ‘I hope you find your Captain Wentworth in life, my little Anne Elliot,’ said Charlie. ‘The good ones are always worth waiting for.’

  There comes a point where hanging on becomes wasting your life, though, thought Mary, just as Jack appeared at the bottom of the stairs, waving a sock. One of a striped Paul Smith pair. She recognised them because she had bought them for him last Christmas, part of a set of three designs.

  ‘I’d better not lose it,’ Jack said, ‘it’s one of my lucky pair. Every time I put these on, something good happens. I was going to wear them for my meeting with Chikafuji.’

  Mary wondered if he remembered who had bought them for him. Probably not, but at least she hit the bullseye with her present, unlike he had with his Christmas presents for her. Not even a single ‘1’ on the dartboard of suitability.

  Charlie’s sock had a red, blue and green argyle pattern on it, Robin’s was a white cushioned sports sock. Bridge had a long black one, Luke’s – not unsurprisingly – was covered in pictures of lumps of cheese with whiff marks coming out of them.

  ‘How very mature,’ said Bridge, playing straight into his hands.

  ‘Mature… cheese… like it,’ he said and played another drum riff.

  ‘What are we having on the baked potatoes?’ asked Charlie after his stomach gave a plaintive keen of hunger.

  ‘How about plain old butter and salt,’ said Mary. ‘Nice and simple. We can eat them out of the tin foil and pretend we’re camping.’

  ‘That sounds delicious, Mary,’ said Bridge. ‘Sometimes the simple things are the best.’

  ‘Aw cheers, Bridge.’

  ‘Shut up, Luke.’

  ‘So how are we going to organise the filling of the socks ceremony?’ asked Jack, aware that everyone then looked to Mary for direction.

  She pondered for a moment before she answered him. ‘Well… we have to be in bed before midnight or Santa won’t come,’ she said, setting off ripples of ‘of course’ and ‘quite right’ in response. ‘So if we all go up at the same time, we can sneak down at five-minute intervals. We’ll draw lots to determine when that is. That work?’

  ‘I think, Mary, you are missing your way in life,’ said Charlie. ‘You should be in charge of something multi-national that needs your most excellent skills.’

  ‘Maybe,’ she said. ‘I’m ready for a change.’

  It was a slip of the tongue, but she went with it, forced herself not to look at Jack in case she saw him nod in encouragement.

  * * *

  ‘Want me to tell you what you missed earlier on, Mary?’ said Bridge with quiet relish, as they were preparing the baked spuds in the kitchen. ‘You’d gone up for your sock and we were talking about being picked off by a murderer and Jack said that you wouldn’t be picked off first as you were too… and then he shut up. But he was obviously going to say something nice.’

  Mary didn’t miss a beat, but carried on slashing crosses in the tops of the potatoes.

  Bridge huffed loudly. ‘Well I am disappointed, Mary. I thought you’d be delighted to hear that.’

  ‘The missing word was probably industrious or indispensable, or most likely efficient – that’s one of Jack’s words. He wouldn’t have said I was too gorgeous or too stunning to be picked off.’

  ‘He might have,’ said Bridge.

  ‘He meant that any killer among us would want me to hang around and make the coffees or take down a dictated account of how he murdered people for posterity.’

  ‘Now you’re being silly. But…’ Bridge took a breath, ‘…if you ever do feel like a change, as you said out there, I think you’d fit into my company like a size three hand in a size three glove. My PA is going on maternity leave in the next couple of months and I have a feeling that she won’t be back. So… I’ll just park that with you.’

  ‘In Derbyshire?’ asked Mary, which wasn’t an out and out refusal, Bridge noted.

  ‘The Hope Valley. It’s very pretty. You’d relocate from Yorkshire, I expect but I’d throw in a place to stay. I’ve got plenty of rental properties on my books; one beautiful little cottage comes to mind that would suit you down to the ground. And it’s not that far from Yorkshire, for when you wanted to drive back and see your family.’

  ‘Thank you, Bridge,’ said Mary. ‘I’ll consider it.’

  ‘These potatoes smell divine.’ Bridge swapped the subject back to food, not wanting to over-egg the job offer pudding, and dropped a knob of butter into each of the slits that Mary had made, but she could sense the cogs turning in the younger woman’s brain. At least she hoped they were.

  * * *

  They all enjoyed more carols from the radio and buttery baked potatoes in front of the fire, everything washed down with red wine except for Charlie who had a gin and tonic with a maraschino cherry dropped in it.

  ‘Charlie has a real thing for cherries,’ said Robin. ‘I brought a jar with me in case they didn’t have any in Aviemore. Emergency cherries, as I call them.’

  ‘Maraschino cherries always smell of Christmas, I think,’ said Charlie. ‘I don’t have them at any other time of year but in December, because it makes me giddy and full of silly anticipation. Plus they count as one of my five a day. Along with the juniper berries in the gin, I’ve got two covered.’ He gave a little-boy chuckle and Robin rolled his eyes.

  ‘Three if you count the potato, Charlie,’ said Jack, tucking in to his.

  ‘Ooh yes, of course,’ Charlie’s musical chuckle extended a few bars.

  ‘These jacket spuds are wonderful,’ said Luke. ‘Simple and fabulous grub.’

  ‘I usually have cheese on mine but I’m not missing it at all,’ said Bridge.

  ‘We’re developing a vegan cheese,’ said Luke. ‘The ones out there presently are awful. I’m determined to crack a good recipe. I’m working with an actor whose roles dried up so he learned how to make cheese and started his own company, Praise Cheeses – terrible name; terrific cheese, though.’

  Bridge noticed how fired up he was talking about his business. He really was unrecognisable from the Luke she married, who once nearly set the kitchen on fire when trying to make cheese on toast by using a toaster upended onto its side. The Luke she knew.

  Jack licked some butter off his fingers, then scrunched up the tin foil.

  ‘That was perfection,’ he said. ‘We used to do these at school. We’d sneak out through the dorm windows and make a fire, bake potatoes in the hot coals. The whole process used to take up half the night.’

  ‘Boarding school?’ asked Luke.


  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Posh sod.’

  ‘Was it brutal?’ asked Charlie.

  ‘No, it was good. First year was a bit tough, when we were all pushed around a lot by the bigger boys. But I liked it. I’m still friends with a lot of them who were in my year. Plus I had an excellent education.’

  ‘Uni?’ asked Bridge.

  ‘Oxford.’

  ‘Posh sod,’ said Luke again.

  Jack laughed. ‘Bit of a waste really. I was always going to join the family firm and not become a history professor. But I loved the subject and I enjoyed my time there.’

  ‘Did you go to university, Mary?’ asked Charlie.

  ‘No, I left college and went to work at Butterly’s,’ she replied. ‘I was lucky really because Jack’s father was looking for a secretary and I walked straight into the job.’ She knew she wouldn’t have got it had anyone else applied for it. Especially someone older and therefore ‘more sensible’ – and not being a brunette helped. ‘I’d had enough of studying, I wanted to get out there and earn some money.’

  ‘I’d have read English had I gone to university,’ said Charlie. ‘I would have taken my fill of Jane Austen and her works until my appetite was slaked. Robin would have read geography.’

  ‘How do you know what I’d have done?’ asked Robin, giving him a dirty look.

  ‘Because you love to travel and you know everything about everywhere.’

  Robin contested that suggestion. ‘I might have done theology, for all you know. My mother wanted me to be a priest. Well, she did before she knew what my proclivities were.’

  Charlie laughed at that. ‘You’d have made a wonderful cardinal whatever your proclivities. You look so fetching in red. Cardinal sin.’

  ‘Oh do stop, my sides are splitting,’ said Robin, holding himself, pretending to be in pain.

  ‘You’re like a double act, you two,’ said Bridge, smiling along with the others, enjoying the interchange between their two most senior members.

  ‘We have a lot of fun together, don’t we?’ Charlie grinned across at Robin, his eyes full of laughter.

  ‘We do, Captain, we do,’ said Robin. The moment hung between them for a long second, full of warmth and affection.