We took a taxi and arrived on Regent Street at quarter past six. I thought we’d be ridiculously early, but when we rounded the crossroads at Oxford Street, I could see crash barriers had been erected around the entrance to Hamley’s and a substantial number of people were already waiting. I joined the back of the queue, whilst Daniel went along to count how many were in front of us.
“We’re one hundred and ninety-eighth,” he said when he came back.
“It’s going to be close then,” I groaned.
Over the next couple of hours, we drank our tea and stamped our feet to try and keep warm. As it started to get light, the canopy of Christmas lights above us flicked off and the line continued to grow, snaking back past us and vanishing round the curve of Regent Street. An aggressive silence hung over everything, punctuated by a BBC television news crew moving past the line to document the Tracy Island mania. At one point they stopped in front of us, and a bright light came on above the camera, illuminating a windswept-looking couple. They perked up when they realised they would be on telly, saying they’d driven down from Norfolk at two o’clock this morning in the hope of getting a Tracy Island for their son, who is in a wheelchair. I felt rather guilty about the thoughts I’d had of pushing them to the ground and walking over them both. Then the BBC television crew moved past, and the couple from Norfolk were silent.
At quarter to nine, it was light with a thin fog still hanging in the air. I noticed a little old man working his way down the line, holding a pile of leaflets. At first I thought that he was a born again Christian, or one of the touts for open-top bus journeys, but I noticed that almost everyone he stopped beside was rooting around for spare change and buying a leaflet. I told Daniel to keep our place, hoisted myself over the barrier and went down to him.
“What’s that you’re selling?” I asked.
“Maps, of the inside of Hamley’s,” he said. He had on fingerless gloves and an old winter coat. His nose and ears were sprouting tufts of grey hair.
“How much?” I said.
I saw that the maps were hand-drawn, and had been photocopied badly.
“A pound,” he replied.
“A pound?”
“There’s seven floors in Hamley’s. Do you know where the Tracy Islands are going to be?” he demanded.
“No. Do you?”
“No,” he admitted. “But with this map you’ll find ‘em quicker, won’t you love?”
I agreed he had a point and forked out a quid. I took the map back to Daniel. We went into a huddle and pored over it, deciding that Tracy Island would probably be on ‘Boys’ Toys’ on the fourth floor, or ‘Boxed Games’ on the third, or, ideally, that they’d have piled them up by the front door.
“The latter makes sense, surely?” I said.
“Yeah, we’re all here for the same thing!” said Daniel.
I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned, and there was a tiny woman behind us with an immaculate brown hair in a bowl cut, which made her head look like a polished conker.
“This is the queue for Hamley’s?” she asked.
“Yes. You’re one-hundred-and-ninety-ninth,” I said. The woman looked confused. “For the Tracy Islands,” I added. “There’s only two hundred, apparently.”
“Don’t tell her that,” hissed Daniel through his teeth.
“No, I’m here to buy the Sylvanian Families Treehouse,” she said.
“Do you have children or grandchildren?” I asked.
“Neither. I thought the Sylvanian Families would be nice company to have in the house, you know, over Christmas. They’re much easier to keep than live animals. Believe me, I know. I had a hamster. So what’s Tracy Island?”
Daniel gave me a look. I gave him a look back to say this woman was obviously a bit mad, and so it was okay to tell her. Then I briefly explained about Tracy Island mania.
“But there’re plenty of Sylvanian Family Treehouses? I don’t want to spend Christmas alone again,” she asked anxiously.
“I’m sure they’re plenty,” I said, smiling.
She smiled sweetly back. Suddenly a ripple of voices ran through the queue and then, Hamley’s was open! The line began to surge forward. I hooked my handbag over both arms and got ready to shop. The queue slowed and I could feel a push from behind.
“It’s not me, dear,” said the little lady. “They’re pushing from the back.”
“Don’t crowd us!” I snapped at the people behind, but they returned a determined stare.
As we moved past the windows of Hamley's, towards the main entrance, there was a puppet of Lady Penelope behind the glass in her elegant pink drawing room with a cigarette in a holder. Parker stood to one side, proffering an ashtray. Who’d have thought kids would be still be interested in all this in 1992, puppets on strings? I thought.
The queue surged forward again, and we were at the door! Someone dressed as a giant teddy bear came out of the entrance with a man in a policeman’s outfit. The man from Norfolk barged inside, knocking the huge teddy bear over, blocking our path. The woman from Norfolk took no notice and managed to scoot round him and through the door as the policeman got the bear half up, but the bear was too heavy and fell back down pulling the policeman with him.
“Why have they put bloody costume characters here?” I shrieked. They were now blocking the doorway. “Oi, Plod and Bear, move your arses!”
I went to step over them, but the policeman grabbed me by the arm. Daniel managed to leap over them and get inside.
“Hey! Get off,” I said.
“Madam, you need to cool it,” said the policeman.
“I don’t need some out-of-work actor in a stupid policeman’s costume telling me what to do,” I snapped.
The policeman kept his grip on my arm and used the other hand to pull out his ID.
“Ah…” I said, reading that he was indeed a real policeman.
“Yes, ah,” he said.
“I’m very sorry,” I apologised and tried to pull away.
“Not so fast, madam,” he said.
The giant teddy bear had now righted himself and people were streaming past. I pulled harder, but the policeman held on to my sleeve. People were swarming past either side, bashing us back and forward in a little dance.
“Let me go!” I cried.
“Not until you calm down,” he said, red in the face.
A very tall man rushed past, smashing his shoulder into the back of the policeman’s helmet. It slid forward over his eyes. I managed to yank my arm away, and I ran for it into Hamley’s.
There was chaos: people were surging and crowding through the shop, which was packed with Christmas toys, piled high, lights winking and blinking.
“Coco!” I heard Daniel shout.
I looked round and saw him being carried upwards on an escalator packed with people. He mouthed something.
“What?” I yelled.
He mouthed again. I still didn’t understand. He rolled his eyes.
“Basement!” he shouted.
“They’re in the basement?”
He nodded, and then vanished as the escalator took him up and out of sight. I spied a neon arrow on the wall where the basement stairs led down. The crowd had heard Daniel and headed that way too. I felt a small, strong arm push me out of the way. It was the little Sylvanian Families lady who had been behind us in the line.
“What are you pushing for? I thought you wanted a Treehouse?” I said.
But she was gone, towards the neon arrow. I followed and the stairs took us all round twice before we were in the huge electronics department in the basement. The crowd fanned out.
“Where are they?”
“Tracy Island?”
“Where have you got them?” people were shouting.
I ran blindly to one corner, but there was just a rack of Game Boys and posters. I felt like I was on The Crystal Maze.
“The Tracy Island toys are on the fourth floor!” said a harassed sales assistant, cupping her hands around her mout
h. Half of the people on the shop floor surged towards the stairs, and the half on my side went to the lift. A big man stabbed at the button, and we waited for a minute until the lift doors opened with a ping. Twenty people piled in, and there was shouting and pushing as the remaining few tried to squeeze behind us.
“Get out of the way, the door won’t close,” shrilled a highly-strung female voice. I realised a moment later it was me.
The people refused to budge until the little Sylvanian Families woman gave the three people who had their feet in the lift door a hard shove. With no obstruction, the lift doors closed and we began to move up. A mirror on one side displayed our wild faces. A woman with long mousy hair blew a tendril away from her face and looked as if she were going to cry. The lift slowed and I braced myself.
The doors opened and we were off again. Shouting out, “Where are they?” we zigzagged through shelves until, at the back, we saw a big blown-up poster for Tracy Island, and below it, a dwindling pile of boxes. I lunged forward, shoving people out of my way. Someone was standing on the back of my maxi-length coat and I couldn’t move forward, so I sloughed it off like a snakeskin and kept moving.
Finally I made it to the front and there were three left. Two hands went out and grabbed two of the boxes, and I got the last one! I got it! I clutched it tight to my chest and hurried to the till to pay.
A sales assistant stood there, dumbfounded at the crazy sweaty people. She wanted to take the box from me to scan the barcode, but I wasn’t having any of that. Nor would I let her put it in a bag for me. She gave me a receipt and a carrier bag, and I carefully put my Tracy Island box inside. Then I remembered I didn’t have my coat. I found it in the centre of the shop floor, covered in mucky footprints. I put the bag down on the floor, and bent down to pick up my coat. Then the little old Sylvanian Families lady whooshed over and crashed into me, dropping the carrier bag she’d been clutching.
“I’m terribly sorry,” she said, then, giving me a twinkly little smile, she picked up her bag and scuttled off.
I finally found Daniel outside Hamley’s. He was lying in the back of an ambulance. His shoe and sock were off and the ankle on his left foot was twice its normal size. A rather brusque middle-aged nurse was bandaging it up.
“I fell, Cokes,” he whimpered. “I tripped over a display of Scottish Barbie dolls and went tumbling down the escalator.”
“He’s lucky he didn’t break his neck,” said the nurse. “This isn’t what Christmas is about! I think you’re going to have to go to hospital and get that looked at. It’s a bad sprain.”
Daniel sat back and took a deep breath.
“This will cheer you up. I got the last one!” I said, holding up the plastic bag with a grin. I opened it and pulled out… A SYLVANIAN FAMILIES TREEHOUSE!
“What the FUCK!” I shouted. The nurse looked horrified.
“Have you been drinking?” she asked.
“No, I’ve been conned!” I looked in the bag in disbelief. I was sure I’d picked up a Tracy Island. Then I remembered… The little old Sylvanian Families lady… she’d bashed into me.
“That bitch must have switched it!” I shouted.
There was a silence from Daniel and the nurse, and then a policeman appeared – the one who had grabbed my sleeve.
“Right, that’s it! You, OUT!” cried the nurse.
“Causing trouble again, madam?” the policeman said.
I didn’t wait to find out what would happen next. I ran for it. I steamed down Regent Street, through crowds of Christmas shoppers. I didn’t stop until I rounded the corner to Oxford Circus. I looked back. No one was following.
* * *
The house was warm when I got in. I followed the sound of voices and laughter through to the living room. A fire had been lit, and Rosencrantz was standing in front of the television. Sitting on the sofa were Ethel, Chris and Benji. Chris’s new boyfriend was dark-haired, lithe, and incredibly handsome. Rosencrantz was conducting them as they sang.
* * *
“I’m the bestest and wisest man,
Ten times better than Peter Pan,
I’ve got lots of Frankincense,
I got it on offer for fifty pence,
Is that Jesus in his pram?
He looks like a lump of boiled ham!”
* * *
“Mummy, I just taught everyone my brilliant song!” shrilled Rosencrantz when he saw me.
“’Ere Coco, I also taught ‘im one of mine,” said Ethel. “Go on, love.”
Rosencrantz didn’t need encouragement and he launched straight into it.
“I’m not a pheasant plucker, I’m a pheasant plucker’s son,
And I’m only plucking pheasants, till the…”
Rosencrantz tailed off as he noticed the Hamley’s bag I was holding.
“Mummy! What’s in the bag?” he shrieked, running over and hugging my legs.
“Oh, nothing,” I said holding it up high, out of reach.
“Yer mum’s bin shoppin’ for Father Christmas,” explained Ethel. I shook my head frantically.
“Oh? What? You ‘aven’t?” asked Ethel.
It was too much. I burst into tears and ran upstairs. On my way up I heard Ethel say, “Woss up with ‘er? Is it me song? It’s not as if I taught ‘im the rude version!”
Chris came up and found me a few minutes later. He was carrying a large mug of mulled wine. It smelt delicious.
“Cokes? Hun?” he said, knocking on the bedroom door. He came in, handed me the steaming mug and sat down on the end of the bed. I told him what had happened, ending with running away from the policeman.
“Blimey. Talk about shopping madness…”
“This isn’t what Jesus had in mind, is it?” I said.
“Well, technically, Jesus was born in February, wasn’t he? And he was Jewish.”
“I don’t mean that. Christmas should be a time for caring and sharing. I’ve left Daniel in an ambulance on Regent Street with a sprained ankle! And what for? A miniature treehouse full of plastic rodents!”
I sat up and showed him the contents of the Hamley’s bag.
“What are Sylvanian Families?” asked Chris.
“Badgers, and otters, and bears…”
“Oh my,” finished Chris. “Sounds like a busy night at the Vauxhall tavern.”
“Be serious,” I said, sipping at my mulled wine. “Ooh that’s good, that’s strong.”
“Why else do you think Ethel is teaching her four-year-old grandson I’m not a pheasant plucker? She’s on her fourth mug,” said Chris.
I laughed. He went on,
“And Benji has been helping Rosencrantz run through his lines for the Nativity play. He knows them all, and everybody else’s… I know we’ve only been dating for six days, Coco, but I think he’s the one. What do you think of him?”
“He’s gorgeous, Chris. I’m so pleased for you.”
“He’s perfect. And I can’t think of a thing I don’t like about him. And his body is just amazing. He’s so flexible, he can put both legs behind his h—”
The phone began to ring downstairs.
“I’ll get it, you lie there and de-compress,” smiled Chris.
He came back a few minutes later.
“Daniel is on his way back in a taxi. He asks if you can come down to the door in ten minutes, with cash. His wallet went missing in the Hamley’s melee.”
I sighed and downed my mulled wine.
“I’ll get you a refill,” winked Chris.
Sunday 20th December
Daniel has a badly sprained ankle. The nurse told him to go home and rest up for a few days. Chris and Benji helped me to get him up the stairs last night and into bed, I then elevated his foot with a pile of old magazines and administered two paracetamol and a glass of brandy, but it didn’t seem to help. He was in so much pain. With that, the Tracy Island disaster and the ongoing worry about work next week, I didn’t get any sleep beside him.
I’d agreed to go over to Chris
’s house today and meet Benji properly. Daniel said his foot was giving him agony, and he told me to take Rosencrantz.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay with you?” I asked.
“No. You go and have fun, Cokes. Mum said she’d pop round. She can look after me properly,” said Daniel.
I was tempted to ask what he meant by properly? But I didn’t have the energy.
Ethel arrived at two, and only added fuel to the fire by indulging Daniel’s groans and mopping his brow. She’d brought an old Blue Peter advent crown with balding red tinsel, and proceeded to put it on the bedside table and light the fourth candle.
“Remember this, Danny? You made it when you were little. I thought there should be at least one Christmas decoration in the ‘ouse,” said Ethel.
Instead of being Christmassy, it gave the bedroom the air of a nineteenth-century sick bed.
“You go on, Coco. Go ‘an ‘ave a booze up with Chris. I’m ‘ere fer Danny,” said Ethel, pulling up a chair to sit by the bed.
“We’re not having a ‘booze-up’. I’m only going for an hour, and Rosencrantz wants to go too,” I insisted.
I looked to Rosencrantz for support.
“Yes, I’m coming too, Mummy! I want to see Uncle Chris’s tree!” he cried.
I bundled him up against the cold air and we walked round to Chris’s through Regent’s Park. It was only half two, but the afternoon was beginning to fade and a few ducks were splashing around in the lake.
His house was a blaze of fairy lights when we arrived. The path down to the front door was dotted with dwarves dressed in Santa outfits, the thatch roof was lined with blinking fairy lights, and a wreath on the door said, ‘Happy Holidays!’
When Chris opened the door warm air and the smell of mulled wine rushed out.
“Come in,” he said morosely.
On his hall table was a huge Nativity scene, which on closer inspection I could see was filled with miniature china figurines from Disney’s Beauty and the Beast. Belle and the Beast were standing by a manger and lying amongst the straw was Chip, the little teacup.
Coco Pinchard's Must-Have Toy Story Page 5