I Wish It Could Be Christmas Every Day

by Milly Johnson

  He put the book down on his bedside cabinet for later. Becoming reacquainted with the characters in Persuasion was like the cherry on his cake.

  ‘Right. Let’s go and see if Santa’s filled my stocking,’ he said, clapping his hands together. He grinned at Robin, who thought again how his grin never aged, how it lit up his blue-grey eyes and let him glimpse once more the Charlie Glaser he had fallen in love with three full decades ago. How would he ever be able to exist without this man?

  * * *

  It was funny how simple pleasures were often the best ones, thought Bridge, who had put on her pants warm from the radiator, then remembered how she used to always put them on the radiator whenever she stayed over at her posh schoolfriend Jane’s house. Jane lived in a semi-detached on an estate but they had central heating, which her dad used to leave on during the night, and their tiny box bedroom had a piano in it, which Jane’s mother called ‘the music room’.

  Other snapshots of that portion of her past wriggled to the surface of this surprise memory pool, dislodged from the settled silt by the sensation of warm pants against Bridge’s bum. Jane’s mother had a tea service in a glass cabinet that was called ‘Eternal Beau’ and was used only on special occasions, and she only ever drank ‘Italian champagne’ called Asti Spumante that she bought in Marks and Spencer. Bridge hadn’t thought about Jane in twenty years but here she was, large as life, swimming in the waters of her mind. Jane’s mother split up their friendship in the end, deeming Bridget Winterman too common. And Bridge had really wanted Jane’s mum to like her enough to think about adopting her.

  ‘Bridge?’ Mary’s voice prodded her, burst the bubble of her reverie. ‘You nearly ready?’

  ‘Sorry, Mary. Two ticks,’ Bridge replied, pulling on her jeans, zipping herself into them. ‘There, now I’m ready.’

  Mary smiled excitedly. ‘Isn’t this all crackers?’

  ‘It’s certainly that. I’m not sure if I’m in a bad dream or a good dream,’ said Bridge, lifting her shoulders in a gesture of ‘WTF’ but really knowing that, while it might have all started off as a nightmare, she had the exact giddy feeling about going downstairs that she should have had as a child on Christmas morning. And not because she wanted to rip into her own stocking – her expectations of what might be in it were low – but because she wanted to see him opening his present. Not something one would find in John Lewis, but she reckoned she’d got it right on the button.

  ‘Okay everyone, you can come out now.’ Luke’s voice on the landing.

  A ripple of anticipation tickled down Mary’s spine as Bridge opened their door.

  ‘Happy, happy Christmas, everyone,’ said Charlie.

  ‘And happy, happy birthday, lovely Mary,’ added Robin, putting his arms around her and squeezing her.

  ‘Yes of course, happy birthday, Mary,’ said Bridge, annoyed that she’d forgotten.

  ‘Happy birthday, Mary,’ said Jack, not quite sure if it was appropriate to accompany his words with any physical gesture, and so missed the boat as Charlie moved in smoothly for a hug.

  ‘A double celebration,’ said Luke. ‘Let’s not waste another second.’

  They filed downstairs in jolly expectancy. In the lounge, the Christmas tree lights were already on, the radio was playing on low volume, the logs spitting and crackling a Christmas morning cosiness in the hearth.

  ‘Aw, who did all this?’ said Charlie. ‘How thoughtful.’

  ‘Santa, obviously,’ said Luke.

  ‘I feel as if I’ve just walked into a Christmas card,’ said Bridge, wondering if Luke had sneaked down earlier to set the scene for them. It was the sort of thing he’d do. He was always full of the small, considerate gestures.

  ‘Happy Christmas everyone,’ said Radio Brian from the speakers. ‘I hope you’re all enjoying opening your presents on this beautiful snowy morning and are safe at home with your loved ones. Here’s the magic voice of Sammy Davis Junior singing “It’s Christmas Time All Over the World”.’

  Luke wished he were at home with his loved ones. He’d prayed to God before he’d gone to sleep, told him that though he hadn’t believed in him since school, if he could make sure Carmen was safe and well, he’d take that as a sign that maybe his atheism was cock.

  The lounge looked beautiful and Christmassy: the hearth, the tree, the decorations, even a contribution from the three front windows, framing a triptych of snowy scenes like paintings in a gallery.

  ‘Are we having breakfast or presents first?’ asked Charlie.

  ‘Presents!’ came a hearty, synchronised chorus by way of reply.

  ‘Come on everyone, and sit by the fire,’ said Mary.

  ‘Let’s open them one by one,’ suggested Bridge. ‘Left to right.’

  ‘Oh yes, let’s, because that makes mine first,’ said Robin and picked up his sock, peered inside. ‘Ah, how lovely and traditional. An orange and some nuts.’

  Mary’s brow creased in puzzlement. She hadn’t put those in there.

  Robin tipped the nuts in their shells and the clementine into his lap, not expecting to find anything else until the tiny package fell out. He unfolded the tissue and there was a mobile telephone number written on a slip of paper, along with Mary’s friendship bracelet. He knew exactly why she had given it to him. A token of true kindness. And friendship.

  ‘Oh, Mary, this means so much to me already,’ said Robin, leaning over to plant a kiss on her cheek, then asking her to fasten it immediately onto his wrist. The small blocks each bearing a letter: C.M.W.Y.N.A.F. Call me when you need a friend. He would be calling her, because he would indeed need to.

  ‘Me next,’ said Charlie.

  Robin passed his sock to him; his also had been stuffed with an orange and nuts. One of them must have come down and done this. The same thoughtful person who had built the fire and switched on the radio and the tree lights.

  ‘Keep going,’ urged Robin when Charlie thought he had emptied the sock of all it had. He reached into the toe and found the rectangle of paper. On it was drawn an imitation cheque, signed by Robin Raymond.

  I promise to pay the bearer: half an hour of my time to use as you will.

  Charlie looked squarely at Robin to make sure he had understood correctly.

  ‘Half an hour of your time?’ he asked.

  Robin nodded slowly, emphatically.

  Charlie’s hand came out to his, grasped it firmly and his eyes became glassy.

  ‘Thank you, Robin. Thank you.’

  ‘What’s this? Is it saucy?’ asked Luke.

  ‘Sexier than you could imagine,’ said Charlie. ‘Let’s leave it at that.’

  ‘It’s obviously hit the spot,’ said Jack, hoping his present hit the spot too. Inside him, two lots of fingers crossed as Mary picked up her sock.

  ‘More nuts and an orange,’ said Mary. ‘Who put these in here?’

  ‘Elves,’ said Jack, who suspected either Luke or Robin as the most likely culprits, if it hadn’t been Mary.

  ‘I do hope it’s a Chanel handbag. I know that’s what you were hoping for,’ said Bridge, mischievously.

  ‘Somehow I don’t think so, but that’s okay,’ replied Mary, pulling out a slim red diary, House of Quill stamped in gold at the bottom. No prizes for guessing who this was from because she’d opened the parcel in which it had arrived. Jack had ordered it to give to Mrs Chikafuji as a present. It cost over a hundred pounds and was absolutely beautiful. For a diary.

  ‘House of Quill,’ said Charlie with a whistle. ‘Very nice.’

  ‘To whoever bought me this,’ began Mary in the spirit of ‘secret’ Santa, ‘thank you, it’s beautiful. I shall treasure it.’

  She tried not to look disappointed, tried to see something other than a glorified diary. A typical Jack present, a complete gift mismatch to the recipient, at least when the recipient was her. Her formal Christmas present from him, given to her the day before they set off for Tynehall, had been a tartan headscarf, shopping bag and a box of jellied
fruits. Presents from a person who didn’t know her at all and had no intention of ever getting to know her. The diary was functional and practical and reliable and boring. This was how Jack saw her: an office thing.

  ‘You shouldn’t treasure it, you should use it,’ said Charlie.

  ‘Oh I most certainly will.’ Mary maintained her bright smile for the benefit of her new friends; she couldn’t look at Jack, though, because her eyes would have made a lie of her words.

  ‘Me next,’ said Luke, with more excitement than a room full of Labrador puppies finding a stash of toilet rolls. He picked up his stocking, shook it. More nuts and a small orange. And a matchbox. He opened it to find it was full of ash.

  ‘Ash?’ A present from Bridge, he knew. No doubt she couldn’t find a piece of coal to give him, as Santa rewarded the kids on the naughty list.

  ‘Well, cheers, whoever you—’

  ‘It’s symbolic. I’m going to give you Sabrina’s ashes,’ said Bridge, interrupting him. ‘I know as presents go it’s a bit weird but I also know you’d treasure them.’

  Luke, for once, was speechless.

  ‘A dog or a cat?’ asked Charlie gently because he could see how taken aback his new friend was.

  ‘Dog,’ Luke and Bridge answered together.

  Bridge had kept their dog’s ashes because she could. Luke had asked if he could have half of them, to bury in his garden, grow a rose over the spot. She’d refused just to be arsey, even knowing how much such a concession would mean to him. She’d confused kindness with weakness before she’d grown up to realise there was a dignity and strength in the quality. She had kept Sabrina’s collar; Luke should have the ashes in their entirety.

  ‘This means a lot, Bridge,’ said Luke, swallowing a ball of emotion lodged in his throat.

  ‘I know it does,’ she said as she reached for her own sock, which was the fullest of all of them. She scooped out the nuts and the small orange before pulling out a can of plum tomatoes. Then she laughed.

  ‘Memories,’ she explained for the benefit of the bemused others. Her eyes drifted to Luke and stayed there. ‘Happy memories.’

  ‘We were very happy once, believe it or not, Bridge and I,’ said Luke, addressing them all, before his eyes locked with Bridge’s.

  They’d chopped up the tomatoes and heated them in a pan on the fire because they had no coins for the electric meter. They’d stirred it with loads of salt and pepper and dipped cheap white bread from the bargain shelf in the local shop into the pan and it had tasted like a feast. Neither Bridge nor Luke had ever been able to unlink the sight of a humble tin of tomatoes from that night, however much water had gone under their bridges since. It was a symbol of what they once were to each other. What they had needed to be to each other in order to be what they were now.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Bridge, the two words holding a bucketful of emotion.

  ‘Okay, Jack, your turn,’ said Robin.

  Jack picked up the sock, did a quick calculation and realised that whatever was inside must have come from Charlie.

  ‘I hope there’s a diamond in here,’ he said, addressing no one in particular.

  ‘There is, in a fashion,’ Charlie said. ‘It’s certainly one of the most valuable things you’ll ever have.’

  Jack was intrigued.

  There was a small, thin notepad in the bottom among the fruit and nuts. One of the Figgy Hollow Inn pads that they all had in their rooms on the dressing tables, with an accompanying complimentary pen. On the cover, in spidery handwriting, the title: Rules of Life by a Man who Lived Well.

  Jack flicked through the book; each mini philosophy took up a page.

  ‘Follow that and you won’t go far wrong in life,’ said Charlie.

  Jack read aloud.

  ‘Say good morning and goodnight to your cleaners. Treat kings and commoners with respect.’

  ‘That is a sterling piece of advice and one I was given many years ago by my first employer, a very rich man who had survived a concentration camp in the war. He came to London with nothing but the clothes he was wearing. A man who had seen the worst of life and its best.’

  Jack turned to page two.

  ‘Never let an unsaid thank you sit in your heart undelivered.’

  ‘Everyone underestimates the power of a simple please and thank you,’ Charlie explained. ‘You can change someone’s life with the smallest act of gratitude.’

  ‘I never knew you were so wise,’ said Robin, playful smile on his lips.

  ‘I was wise enough to let you into my heart,’ said Charlie and tapped his temple. ‘That should tell you that I have an adequate number of marbles in here.’

  ‘That’s debatable. Anyway, do you want your half an hour now or later?’

  ‘Now,’ said Charlie. ‘Then we can get on and enjoy our Christmas.’

  ‘Come on then,’ said Robin, rising from the chair with a loaded outward breath. ‘Let’s get it over and done with so I can stuff the turkey.’

  ‘Wahay,’ exclaimed Luke.

  ‘Cheeky boy,’ said Charlie and winked at him.

  Mary gave Robin and Charlie enough time to get to their room and then she beckoned Luke and Jack to lean in close.

  ‘I think I know what Robin’s present is,’ she said in a low voice. ‘He wants to give Charlie the opportunity to say… uncomfortable things. I should tell you, Charlie isn’t a well man.’

  ‘Really?’ said Jack.

  Bridge and Mary nodded together.

  ‘Oh hell,’ said Luke. Both he and Jack looked rocked by Mary’s revelation, slapped from the side by an unseen hand. ‘Thanks for letting us know so we don’t say anything else inappropriate.’

  ‘How poorly is he?’ asked Jack.

  Mary gave the slightest shake of her head, which said everything. A few moments of contemplative silence ensued and then Luke smacked his hands together.

  ‘Then let’s give him the best Christmas we possibly can. All the bells and whistles we can muster,’ he said. ‘Right, Jack, let’s go and peel some spuds.’

  Chapter 23

  Upstairs in their room, Charlie sat on the bed and patted the space next to him.

  ‘Come on, I’ll be gentle with you,’ he said.

  Robin sat, his hesitation apparent. Charlie appreciated more than he could know, the sacrifice he was making.

  ‘Do I need to take notes?’ asked Robin.

  ‘If you think it necessary,’ said Charlie. So Robin pulled his phone out of the drawer, opened the Notes app, waited for Charlie to begin.

  ‘Firstly, I’ve written most of the disbursements I want you to make on my behalf and stored them with my will in the safe. But some have changed. I want you to give the Chanel handbag to Mary. Don’t give it to Rosa, she’d sell it but Mary will treasure it.’

  ‘Good,’ said Robin, managing to transmit in that one word exactly what he thought about Charlie’s niece.

  ‘Tell her though that she must promise to carry it with all the chutzpah she can find in herself. And give Bridge my Chanel scarf. She’ll look lovely in it, like the queen she is.’

  ‘I’ll do that for you,’ said Robin. ‘Any other disbursements? Do you want me to give Jack your car and Luke your Rolex?’

  Charlie laughed. ‘I’ll think of something for them and write it down for you to execute. Now, in the locked left cupboard of my desk at home, you’ll find all the information you need on investments and bank accounts, national insurance number, insurances, passwords. I’ve got all the financial affairs organised. I’ve been in contact with the funeral director and given him a running order of the service already so you don’t need to bother about all that.’

  ‘You didn’t have to do this, Charlie.’

  ‘I wanted to. It helped me come to terms with things, gave me some control. In a way it was quite comforting. What would haunt me is looking down, seeing you flummoxed by having to make decisions your head just doesn’t want to deal with at that time. But there are some extras I wanted to tal
k to you about.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Robin, seeing how much this meant to Charlie and feeling a tinge of regret that he’d shied away from doing this before. It wasn’t as traumatic as he’d imagined – so far.

  ‘I want Christmas foliage on my basket coffin. Holly and poinsettia flowers. And mistletoe.’

  ‘If it’s available out of season,’ said Robin, tapping this into his phone.

  ‘We both know I’m not going to last until the bluebells come out, darling. Now music. There’s a change. I want, “I Wish It Could Be Christmas Everyday” and—’

  ‘You can’t have that,’ protested Robin. ‘It’s far too jolly.’

  ‘Every day has been Christmas with you, my dear capable Anne.’

  Robin gave his head a wobble, a sharp intake of breath to steady himself.

  ‘You can stop that as well. Making me emotional. This is the longest half hour of my life already.’

  Charlie nudged him affectionately with his shoulder.

  ‘I’ve left Dotty five thousand pounds in my will but I want her to have ten.’

  ‘Eh? She’ll be the richest cleaner in Hertfordshire.’

  ‘She’s been a godsend. And put her wage up.’

  ‘Shall I transfer the deeds of the house to her as well?’

  ‘It’ll be your house when I pass, you do what you like with it. What song did you think of having in the middle when everyone is supposed to have bowed heads and sentimental thoughts of me?’

  ‘ “Ding Dong The Witch Is Dead”,’ said Robin, which made Charlie hoot.