A Christmas Gift

by Sue Moorcroft

  Finally, Georgine dropped all her change in the Salvation Army collection bucket and began Christmas shopping. Her dad was easy as he appreciated practical or edible presents. She bought him warm slippers and a chunky cardigan – easier to get into with a less able arm than a jumper – and the biggest box she could find of Ferrero Rocher chocolates.

  She bought her mother a hand-painted silk scarf from a textiles student who had a stall – or a pop-up shop, as she called it. (It looked like a stall to Georgine.) The scarf was black with a riot of colourful flowers. Terrence was harder to buy for and eventually she went back to the textile student and bought him a silk tie bearing a subtle abstract pattern of blues and greens. She’d need to post their presents to their home in Northumberland at the weekend as they’d announced as early as September that they’d be spending Christmas in France this year.

  Shame that their relationship was so distant, Georgine thought as she tucked the tie in the tote bag over her shoulder. It had been some years since Georgine felt close to a mother who’d divided the blame for the demise of Randall France Construction equally between Georgine and Randall.

  She spent the most time trying to find a nice gift for Blair, something that said, ‘You’re my annoying little sister but I love you lots.’ Eventually, she settled on a white marble and copper dressing table tidy from a shop that was usually too expensive for her to enter. It was pretty and individual, much like Blair herself.

  She mentally glossed over the subject of buying a gift for Joe. Who knew where they’d be by Christmas? It was a whole nineteen days away.

  Then, feeling almost sinful, she bought a new dress for the Acting Instrumental staff Christmas meal on Friday week. It was turquoise, which she knew would look dramatic with her hair, with a ladder of festive gold ribbon up the front. It was only £35 but it felt like a lot, given that she’d scarcely clothes shopped in the past few months, unless it was in charity shops.

  Fired with the Christmas bug, she drove home, pulled down the loft ladder and scrambled up to drag out the box marked ‘Christmas’.

  Back downstairs, she found an Only Fools and Horses Christmas show rerun on TV for background entertainment and arranged the tree in the corner of her lounge diner. The same decorations came out every year, some dating back to her parents’ collection. She set aside the tiny tree she put up in Randall’s flat each year. She’d do that at the weekend, after she’d picked up his prescription meds from the pharmacy.

  As she worked, she hummed one of the songs from the show – ‘Some Kids Get Nothing for Christmas’ – letting her mind drift over tomorrow’s student Christmas party and Joe volunteering to help her finish the props at the weekend.

  Joe.

  Whenever she thought of him she felt as if a tiny firework went off inside. His confession about shoplifting to survive had squeezed her heart. She was glad that little of Rich Garrit remained except, thankfully, the old easy friendship he and Georgine had shared.

  With a wriggle of pleasure, she thought of the way he’d kissed her. If Blair’s phone call hadn’t interrupted them …? They hadn’t been holding back.

  From a battered box she withdrew the tree-top ornament – a silver star with Mickey and Minnie Mouse in Santa hats waving from its centre, a relic from a Disneyland Christmas when she’d been thirteen and Blair eleven. Her parents had been together, Grandma Patty and Grandpa Earl had joined them at a Disneyland encrusted with decorations and lights. Life had been untarnished.

  Gently, Georgine fixed the star to the top of the tree and stood back to admire it.

  Maybe this would be a good Christmas. The show would be a success, Blair would be a bit happier, Randall would be as healthy as possible and Georgine would …

  Was there a chance of making a Christmas memory or two with a complex, tall, brown-eyed man?

  On Friday the programmes for A Very Kerry Christmas arrived from the printers, a giant box of white and silver gorgeousness that Georgine couldn’t wait to wave about ahead of the students pouring back in for that evening’s Christmas party.

  ‘Congratulations, Georgine, you’ve done a lovely job,’ Oggie said, giving her a hug.

  ‘Looks as if the show’s really happening.’ Joe gave her a wink and a grin.

  ‘You nearly took my eye out,’ Errol complained as Georgine tossed him a programme to examine. But even he grinned at her infectious excitement, and at Maddie and Keeley examining their thumbnail pictures to see how cool they looked in black and white.

  And then it was time to get busy with the student party. Hannalee and Avril had volunteered to collect the party food order and carried long, flat boxes of finger food and cake into a small room off the studio theatre. The door was locked against hungry and over-excited students who might jump the gun while the staff rushed off to get ready in the staff area, threading silver tinsel through their hair or hanging baubles from their earrings.

  ‘Thank goodness it ends at ten,’ groaned Keeley, who always declared herself totally exhausted by the two-thirds mark of any term. But tonight nobody could be grumpy when students flooded in wearing anything from mini dresses or skinny jeans to light-up hats and Santa suits.

  Georgine was kept busy selling bottles of Pepsi or Fanta. Joe was having fun with a whirling light show while a student called Kane played DJ on a small portable stage and the walls shook to Kanye West, Little Mix and Dua Lipa. The food came out after eight and was fallen upon as if by ravening wolves; students queuing from both ends of the table, meeting in the middle and eating the first plateful while queuing again for seconds.

  Almost every box of food had been carried through and opened before the students showed any sign of slowing up. Georgine snaffled a plateful for herself and sought out a space on the bottom tiers of the retractable seating at the back of the room.

  She wasn’t alone for long. Joe appeared through the students, most of whom were dancing again now they’d taken on fuel, guarding the contents of his plate with a crooked arm.

  He settled beside her. ‘One samosa and two blueberry muffins is all I managed to get. Nice to see the kids enjoying themselves.’ He nodded in the direction of the heaving dance floor. Then his voice changed. ‘Hello … what are they up to?’

  Georgine swung round in time to see four students carrying in drums and cymbals. ‘Interesting. I wonder if someone ought to find out what they’re doing?’ She bit the end off a cannoli.

  Joe peeled the paper case from a muffin. ‘Someone probably should.’

  Minutes later, the students returned with guitar cases and a mic stand. ‘Nobody’s stopping them,’ Georgine observed, polishing off a chocolate brownie. A glance around showed her that Oggie and other members of staff were observing but not interfering. Not even Errol.

  ‘Probably intrigued to see what they’re up to.’ Joe wiped his hands on his jeans. All the paper napkins seemed to have ended up on the floor.

  Nolan, the bass player in Band One, got up onto the DJ’s platform. Kane pulled one of his earphones aside to listen. Then he nodded and, over the fading final bars of ‘Shout Out to My Ex’ spoke in his DJ’s growl into the microphone. ‘Okaaaaaay, Nolan has something to say, so listen to my man here.’

  Slightly out of breath, Nolan took the mic. ‘So, um, yeah, right. Some of the other students want to know what our show’s like. Shall we do a bit?’

  The applause, whistles and hoots he was greeted with painted a big grin on his face. He shouted, ‘Yeah!’ and suddenly almost every Level 3 student was making his or her way to what had evidently been designated the stage, the musicians pulling out amps from behind the DJ’s deck.

  ‘So this was obviously prearranged. The entire cast’s taking up their opening positions,’ Georgine observed, climbing up to stand on her seat in order to see, something she would have taken a dim view of if a student tried it.

  Joe climbed up beside her.

  ‘Move back, move back! We need a space!’ Nolan was shouting, waving his arms at the students on the d
ance floor. ‘Bit further … OK, there’s good.’ He looked around at his fellow performers, seeming in a rush to get started before an adult felt the need to spoil the fun. ‘Ready? From the top – two, three, FOUR!’

  In the opening number of ‘Everyone Loves Uncle Jones’ both bands crashed in with what could only be described as glee. The vocalists clustered around the mics, not having quite enough to go around. ‘We love you, Uncle Jones, the man who makes Christmas joy, for every girl and boy and boy and BOY,’ rang out.

  Both dance troupes came on, hop-hop, step across, kick, kick, hip thrust.

  The audience began to dance, to clap along, to whoop.

  Georgine turned to Joe, laughing out loud. He put out an arm to steady her when the fold-away seat she was standing on wobbled, grinning all over his face, switching his gaze back to the students who so obviously wanted to perform just for the hell of it.

  From ‘Everyone Loves Uncle Jones’ they moved on straight into ‘A Very Kerry Christmas’, where female lead Kerry introduced the rest of the family, and the chorus and dancers came on and off.

  Before long, they’d performed the whole of scene one.

  Then Oggie took over the mic before anybody could decide to count them into scene two. ‘Thank you all very much. That was fantastic! I’m always proud of the students of Acting Instrumental, and you’ve just shown me why. We’ll leave it there, I think, because we want most of this audience at the Raised Curtain, so let’s not give the whole show away.’

  A huge cheer went up, punctuated with raucous whistles. After waiting, grinning, for the hubbub to die down, he went on, ‘And I’m afraid that concludes tonight’s festivities as it’s past ten o’clock and I should imagine our car park’s heaving with impatient parents. Thanks to Hannalee and Avril for organising the party. Have a safe journey home. And Merry Christmas.’

  Another round of applause and the room began to clear. Instruments were hurriedly stowed in cases and the laughing, chattering students milled towards the doors and funnelled out. Soon there was only a handful of staff members left and the kind of ear-popping silence that follows loud music.

  Hannalee and Avril yawned and said they’d return in the morning to sweep up and collect empty bottles for recycling. Oggie declared he’d be joining Georgine and Joe for Saturday morning in the props room, which was news to Georgine, but it probably wasn’t a good career move to say to her boss, ‘But I was looking forward to being by myself with my assistant.’

  As if life were offering her a consolation prize though, Joe caught her alone when she went to collect her coat. ‘Will imaginary mistletoe work for you? I think the students snaffled all the real stuff.’ He held his empty hand above her head.

  Georgine giggled. ‘Imagination is a wonderful thing.’ She stood on tiptoes, slipped her hands onto his shoulders and touched her lips to his.

  Joe caught her up and deepened the kiss until Georgine’s imagination was firing on all cylinders indeed. ‘Come up to my place,’ he murmured against her mouth.

  Heat low in her belly, Georgine began to agree, then groaned. ‘I don’t want my car to be here at such an odd time. It’s not discreet. You could come to mine though—’

  ‘Joe?’ came Oggie’s voice from the corridor outside.

  Georgine jumped out of the clinch, face burning. ‘Whoops! We’re not being very discreet on college premises.’

  A lot less jumpy but making an exaggeratedly frustrated face and muttering something about being the landlord, actually, Joe began pulling on his coat. ‘In here, Oggie.’

  Oggie pushed open the door and came in with an arm around his eldest daughter, who Georgine had met several times before. ‘Martha’s come home from university and wants to say hi.’

  Martha, tiny and slender, didn’t look as if she should be descended from big, strapping Oggie. ‘Joe!’ she cried, launching herself at him. ‘Haven’t seen you for ages! I’m dying to catch up. Can I introduce you to my new boyfriend? He’s doing music at Bristol. I know it’s a bit late but Mum’s cooking pasta because we’re starving. When she sent me to pick Dad up she said to see if I could persuade you to come too. So you will, won’t you? Pleeeeease?’ Then she seemed to realise there was someone else in the room. ‘Oh, hello, Georgine. You didn’t have plans with Joe, did you?’

  Georgine didn’t feel she could say yes, in view of what those plans were. ‘Hi, Martha! Me? I’m just on my way home. Enjoy your pasta.’

  She said her goodnights, Joe sent her a rueful look, and in moments she was unlocking her car and driving home alone. And wishing she wasn’t.

  The frustrating close to Friday evening set the tone for the weekend. Saturday was spent finalising props for A Very Kerry Christmas and completing the inventory for those they’d recently inherited. By the end of the day they had the black starry backdrop, oversized baubles and polystyrene snowflakes galore neatly packed up, ready for the get-in at the Raised Curtain on the fifteenth, a week’s time.

  ‘I can’t believe that’s taken all day,’ Oggie said, stretching out his back. ‘We’d better do the costumes tomorrow, hadn’t we?’

  Georgine rubbed her aching shoulders. ‘I hope we can get it done in the morning. I’ve Christmas presents to bake in the afternoon. Hang on.’ From her jeans pocket, her phone had begun to burble. Her stomach sank to see the caller was the manager of the complex where her dad lived. ‘Sorry, got to take this.’ She retreated to the far end of the room, heart beginning to pitter pat unpleasantly.

  ‘Georgine France?’ asked the voice on the other end of the phone. ‘This is Leena, scheme manager. Don’t worry too much, but I’m ringing to say your dad’s had a bit of a fall. Luckily, he was able to pull his red cord in the bathroom. The paramedics are with him but they think he’s broken his arm so they’re taking him to hospital.’

  ‘Oh, no.’ Georgine began to move in the direction of the door. ‘Should I go to his flat? Or straight to hospital?’

  ‘They’re taking him to Peterborough District Hospital, so go there.’ Leena sounded calm and collected. It was obviously all in a day’s work for her. Georgine ended the call, made breathless explanations to Oggie and Joe, and shot off, phone to her ear, calling Blair as she raced into a late afternoon with the scent of frost on the air and jumped in her car.

  The evening passed in a tedium of hospital waiting rooms, Blair flicking through magazines and sighing. Randall’s arm was not broken, to everyone’s relief, but bruised. He was given a sling to keep him comfortable. ‘Bad arm anyway,’ he slurred.

  ‘Thank goodness it wasn’t your good one,’ Georgine agreed, giving him a gentle hug. ‘But look at your poor face as well. You’re getting such a bruise.’ Randall’s left cheek and eye were purpling impressively.

  A nurse came to establish whether Randall could look after himself if discharged. She looked at him keenly, but Randall was adamant that he was no worse off than usual. When Georgine offered to stay at his flat he got quite testy. ‘I yust ont to ho to bed! No’hing’s changed.’

  By the time Georgine and Blair got him home it was past one a.m. The only concession Randall made to his injury was to have a pillow under his bad arm. Then he thanked them and told them to go home.

  Georgine wanted to protest, ‘But you look more vulnerable than usual. Let me stay.’ She knew he’d hate to hear it so said, ‘I’ll come back in the morning,’ instead.

  ‘Why?’ he demanded. ‘You’re busy. ’Ight, unny.’

  Georgine and Blair had little choice but to leave him to sleep.

  When Georgine, after a restless night, texted Oggie and Joe to give them an update and then called to see her dad regardless of what he’d said last night, she found him eating porridge and reading the Sunday paper as if nothing had happened, apart from his left eye being swollen nearly shut.

  He pointed to his arm and admitted, ‘Bit stiff,’ and took a couple of paracetamol. Georgine used putting his tiny Christmas tree up as her excuse for hanging around while he showered and dressed, wh
ich he seemed to manage with no more than a little extra huffing and puffing. He shuffled into the sitting room and nodded at the bijou silver tree twinkling with multi-coloured baubles. ‘Pretty.’ He smiled with the right side of his face.

  When he announced Sol was coming round to play whist, Georgine knew she was no longer needed and drove back to Middledip to join Joe and Oggie for the last couple of hours on the costumes. By one o’clock, flagging and hungry, they decided any additional gluing of sequins to costumes could be fitted in somewhere in the week.

  Oggie walked her out to her car, talking about the show. She waved farewell to Joe, who was watching, and drove home. Blair was out so Georgine fell onto the sofa for a combat nap.

  Waking refreshed, she’d eaten a quick lunch and begun on the baking planned as Christmas gifts to Fern, the caterers at work and some for Randall to give to the scheme managers where he lived, when her phone buzzed.

  Joe: I seem to remember you saying something about baking this afternoon. Can you use a kitchen porter?

  She didn’t have to think twice. Her lips curled in a smile as she replied.

  Georgine: If you’re any good at washing up.

  Joe: On my way.

  In minutes he was at the door, drawing in a big, appreciative breath as he stepped over the threshold. ‘Mm. Something smells gorgeous.’ He took off his glasses, which had darkened in the daylight, and stuck them in his pocket before he threw his coat over the newel post and followed her into the kitchen. ‘Wow. Those look amazing,’ he said when he saw the first batch of brownies cooling.

  Georgine motioned towards the mixing bowl and other baking things. ‘There’s the washing up. If you do a good job, I might let you have a brownie with a cup of coffee when I’ve mixed up the final batch.’