The Mince Pie Mix-Up

by Jennifer Joyce

‘No, we’ve got ages yet.’ Judy looked up as Enid placed the cups of tea and hot chocolate on their table. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘You’re very welcome.’ Enid turned to Charlie. ‘Are you spending the day with your dad?’

  Charlie reluctantly turned away from the window and nodded. ‘We’re going to story time later.’

  If Enid was surprised – which she should have been as Judy had complained about her husband’s lack of interaction with their children often enough – she didn’t show it.

  ‘How lovely!’ Enid placed the biscuit and cake on the table alongside the drinks. ‘Well, I hope you have a nice time.’

  And they did. After their cakey treats, Judy and Charlie wandered across to the children’s bookshop. Fairytale Forest held regular story time sessions but Judy rarely had the chance to take Charlie these days. They usually managed to get there for Santa’s visit, but it was always a rushed job.

  Charlie settled herself on one of the beanbags arranged around the armchair in the story time corner while Judy hovered on the outskirts. She knew most of the children already seated as they attended Charlie’s school. Including Tabitha Frost, who was decked out in an expensive-looking fur-lined coat and matching boots.

  Judy looked around the shop, dreading the sight of Abby Frost. What if she tried to flirt with her again?

  ‘Nanny!’ Tabitha called. ‘Come and sit here.’ She thumped the vacant beanbag next to her and Judy sighed with relief when an older woman stepped forward and eased herself down on the tiny beanbag. She could relax now that she knew Abby wasn’t going to appear and make advances at her.

  Judy perched on the edge of a table displaying Christmas-themed books as the owner of Fairytale Forest began the story of The Grinch Who Stole Christmas. The kids enjoyed the story and when it was over Tabitha demanded her Nanny purchase the book, along with half of the books on the display table.

  ‘Can I really have the book?’ Charlie asked as she and Judy joined the queue at the counter. Judy figured there would be no harm in treating Charlie. Dream pounds didn’t count, after all. ‘This is the best day, Daddy.’ Charlie threw her arms around Judy and gave her a tight squeeze.

  ‘This is the best day, isn’t it?’ Judy asked, but there was a tiny niggle at the back of her mind as she handed over Calvin’s credit card at the till.

  What if this wasn’t a dream after all?

  Calvin had two choices when it came to the Christmas shopping (Judy had assured him the third option of Not Going wasn’t an option at all). He could either drive into Woodgate or Manchester city centre. Woodgate was closer but smaller than the city centre and therefore had less shops, which was simultaneously a positive and a negative point. Calvin thought the fewer shops the better, but what if he couldn’t find everything on the list? Could he really then be bothered to get back in his car and drive into Manchester and start all over again?

  In the end he decided to bite the bullet and headed for the city centre. His mistake became apparent within seconds. The place was crammed with people, with shoppers spilling out of a packed Arndale Centre onto a heaving Market Street. Some bright spark had decided to line the busy thoroughfare with Christmas stalls, which caused cataclysmic congestion. Calvin was crushed, shoved and pushed, stood on and elbowed from all angles. His ankles were bombarded with buggies and wheeled shopping bags stuffed with sharp objects. He was whacked with shopping bags and handbags and a helium-filled Rudolf attached to a small child whose mother was oblivious to the havoc the balloon’s antlers were causing all around her.

  What had happened to good old-fashioned manners? Had they evaporated as soon as the slightest hint of Christmas spirit kicked in?

  But worst of all was the music. So much music, everywhere. A busker strumming a jaunty version of ‘Silent Night’ on his guitar with free-style warbly bits. A brass band parping out ‘Once in Royal David’s City’ while an X Factor-style wannabe crucified ‘All I Want for Christmas Is You’ in a very non-Mariah way. And that was before Calvin had made it into the Arndale where his ears were assaulted by yet more festive cheer courtesy of the piped-in music.

  Joining the tide of shoppers, Calvin allowed himself to be moved along the concourse until he spotted a shop he needed. The battle to escape the strong current was fierce; Calvin feared he wouldn’t make it to the Disney Store with all four limbs intact. He was barged into, tutted at and heard several words that were so obscene they’d make even his boss blush, but eventually he made it inside the shop. And then wished he hadn’t bothered.

  The shop was overflowing. There were kids mid-tantrum, staff ready to burst into tears and a fight about to break out over a doll. The two mothers were nose-to-nose, the doll clutched by two sets of hands between them. It was tugged back and forth until a sudden yelp pierced the air, drowning out Donald and Daisy Duck’s rendition of ‘Baby It’s Cold Outside’ being piped into the shop.

  ‘She bit me!’ one of the mothers screeched, clutching the injured hand while the biter held the doll aloft in victory and pushed her way towards the counter. The bitten mother shook off the pain before dashing off in pursuit.

  Calvin hoped that doll wasn’t on Judy’s list.

  It took twenty minutes to locate the toy on the list and a further fifteen to queue and pay. It had taken over half an hour to buy one item on the list and there were eleven more to go.

  Calvin wasn’t going to sit down with his newspaper today, was he?

  Calvin was a changed man by the time he crawled into his car later that afternoon, the boot filled with bags of what was hopefully everything on the list. He’d seen things he shouldn’t have seen. Witnessed events so horrific he’d surely revisit them in his nightmares.

  Christmas shoppers were animals.

  Calvin’s feet ached. His back was on fire and his shoulders and arms felt as though he’d taken part in the Highland Fling. He never, ever wanted to experience Christmas shopping – or any other form of shopping – again. What was Judy thinking putting herself through this ordeal? Hadn’t she heard of online shopping? It was infinitely quicker – and safer. He’d be having words with his wife as soon as he got home. But he didn’t get the chance to utter a word about the perils of Christmas shopping as a frenzied Judy pounced on him as soon as he stepped over the threshold.

  ‘It’s real, Calvin. It’s real.’ Judy was clasping Calvin by his aching shoulders, shaking him as her eyes bulged maniacally. ‘I thought it was just a dream but I haven’t woken up yet.’ She gave Calvin another shake. He was beginning to feel like the doll in the Disney Store.

  Judy released Calvin and slumped onto the sofa. She looked up at Calvin with pleading eyes. ‘Why haven’t I woken up?’

  And then she burst into tears.

  Chapter Seven:

  The Fourth Stage in Wish-Fulfilment: Acceptance

  It took a bit of doing, but Calvin eventually managed to calm Judy down. With Charlie bribed to stay in her bedroom with chocolate and her Frozen DVD, Calvin and Judy had a chat about the wish and whether it could possibly be true that they had switched lives. Neither wanted to believe it but the facts were staring them in the face. Literally. Calvin was somehow in Judy’s body and she was in his. They hadn’t woken from a weird dream and Calvin was beginning to doubt the insanity angle.

  They pieced together the hazy events of the previous evening and were relieved when they recalled that the switch wasn’t permanent. The oversized fairy had assured them that the effects of the mince pie-induced mix-up would only last until Christmas Eve and that they would return to normal by Christmas morning. Christmas was just under two weeks away. They could do this. It was what they’d wanted, after all.

  ‘We can’t tell anybody, though,’ Calvin said.

  Judy spluttered. ‘What, about fairies and magical mince pies? As if anybody would believe us! I don’t quite believe us. But we have to get on with it.’

  ‘Yes, you’re right.’ Calvin eased off one shoe with the toe of the other and repeated the process, wriggli
ng his toes once they were free. ‘What choice do we have?’

  ‘No choice at all,’ Judy agreed as Calvin settled himself down in his armchair. Oh, good – Judy had bought his newspaper. ‘I’m you and you’re me. Which is why you need to put that newspaper down and get tea on.’

  ‘Huh?’ Calvin had barely glimpsed the headline on the front page and she wanted him to put it down?

  ‘You need to cook tea.’ Judy plucked the newspaper from Calvin’s fingers. ‘And you also need to put the presents away without Charlie seeing them otherwise you’ll ruin the magic of Christmas.’

  The magic of Christmas could kiss Calvin’s hairy arse. If it was still hairy. Judy’s was lovely and smooth.

  ‘But I’m exhausted. I haven’t had five minutes to myself all day. Why can’t you cook just for today?’

  Judy pursed her lips and Calvin knew he wasn’t going to like the response. ‘When was the last time “Calvin” cooked? It was either Valentine’s Day or Mother’s Day – but not both.’

  ‘Fine.’ Calvin dragged himself out of his armchair, shoved his feet into Judy’s shoes and trudged out to the car to retrieve the bags, which had doubled in weight since he’d put them in the boot earlier. An oblivious Charlie sang about letting it go in her bedroom and didn’t see him creep past. The presents were stowed away before he trudged back down to the sitting room.

  ‘How do you fancy a takeaway tonight?’ Calvin asked his treacherous wife as she read his newspaper. ‘We deserve a treat, don’t we?’

  Judy cocked an eyebrow. That one, teeny gesture was enough to give him his answer.

  ‘This wouldn’t be your very unsubtle way of wriggling out of cooking duties, would it?’ she asked. ‘Only, we haven’t “treated” ourselves to a takeaway in months. The last time was our anniversary, in fact. When you promised me a night off from cooking.’

  Calvin sloped off to the kitchen without another word.

  It wasn’t that Calvin didn’t know how to cook. It was just that Judy was so much better at it than him. Calvin’s specialities all included processed food from the freezer or a tin, but if that was what Judy wanted, that was what she would get.

  ‘Egg and chips? Really?’ Judy asked as she and the children joined Calvin at the kitchen table. Scott’s jaw dropped at the criticism of his mother’s cooking and prepared himself for the fallout. If any food or crockery went flying, he was ready to duck.

  ‘There are peas too.’ Calvin pointed at her plate. ‘That’s one of your five-a-day is that. And if you have a blob of tomato ketchup, that’ll be two.’ Calvin picked up the bottle of ketchup and squirted a hearty blob onto Scott and Charlie’s plates. ‘There you go, kids. Tuck in.’

  Scott eyed his mother warily as he picked up his knife and fork. There was something odd going on here. Something very odd indeed. Since when had his mum been so lax about their vegetable intake? Even Scott knew ketchup didn’t count as a portion of fruit. Not that he would voice any sort of objection. The less fruit and veg on his plate the better as far as he was concerned.

  ‘Is this what we can expect from now on?’ Judy asked, prodding at the congealed yoke of her fried egg.

  ‘Yep.’ Calvin was busy tucking into his food. What was wrong with egg and chips? Why was Judy never satisfied with anything he did? ‘Feel free to take over the kitchen duties if it isn’t up to your standards.’

  ‘I don’t think it’s up to anybody’s standards,’ Judy said.

  Scott was tempted to drop under the table, just in case. His dad was either extremely brave or extremely stupid. Scott did his fair share of complaining about the food his mum cooked for him, but even he knew when to draw the line and just eat.

  ‘I think it’s yummy,’ Charlie said. Not that she was very hungry after all the treats she’d had that day. She was stuffed to the gills with hot chocolate, gingerbread and crisps.

  Judy stabbed a chip with her fork. ‘Fine, but we can’t have this every day. We either do this properly or what’s the point?’

  ‘The point in what?’ Scott asked.

  Judy froze, her chip halfway to her mouth. ‘In having nice, family meals.’ Judy popped the chip in her mouth. She would have to be careful what she said around the children if they wanted to keep their switch a secret.

  ‘What exactly does Scott do to earn his pocket money?’ Calvin asked later as he gathered up the dirty dishes. The kids had disappeared without clearing up after themselves. He thought it was ridiculous that he not only had to cook but wash the dishes afterwards until Judy pointed out that she’d been doing exactly that for years.

  ‘Nothing as far as I can tell,’ Judy said. She resisted the urge to help Calvin with the dishes, squashing down the feeling of guilt as she sat doing nothing. Calvin had never had such qualms and had laughed about how easy she had it. ‘Anyway, have fun. I’m going to go and watch TV.’

  Scott had holed himself up in his cave-like bedroom, but while Charlie sat playing with her dolls in the sitting room she didn’t seem to notice that Dad was catching up on Mum’s episodes of Escape to the Country, a programme he usually scoffed at, claiming it was full of snobs showing off how much money they had to spend on a pile of bricks and mortar.

  ‘Now can I read my paper?’ Calvin asked once he’d finished the washing up.

  ‘Nope.’ Judy tore her eyes away from a gorgeous, original open fire on the television. ‘You get the evening off now while I babysit my own children. There’s a bottle of wine in the fridge. Laura will be expecting you.’

  Laura had been a single mum to her three children since her husband walked out on the family four years earlier. Her ex-husband wasn’t a very hands-on dad and only saw the children – under duress – every other Saturday and never overnight. This arrangement could crumble at any time, depending on her ex’s relationship status, which left both Laura and the children unsure whether the visits would happen or not.

  Calvin didn’t know Laura very well but he soon got the gist of what a git her ex was as they shared a bottle of wine on her sofa. Calvin wasn’t a great fan of wine but at least he could sit still for more than thirty seconds here. He was utterly exhausted. He was loath to admit it but he didn’t think he could cope with two weeks of this misery. He had no idea how he was going to feed his family for a further thirteen evenings. There were only so many times you could rotate meals of eggs and chips, sausages and chips and microwave pizzas. And what happened when that great big pile of presents stowed in the walk-in wardrobe had to be wrapped? Calvin would be lumbered with the job, that’s what.

  It didn’t bode well that Calvin was so tired and ready for giving up after one measly day of Judy’s life. He’d never thought an evening on the sofa could be so heavenly. However, a relaxed evening over at Laura’s house was not on the cards.

  ‘What is it this time?’ Laura asked when one of her children – Calvin couldn’t recall their names – popped their head around the sitting-room door. This had occurred at least half a dozen times in the hour that Calvin had been there. The children were supposed to be in bed but seemed reluctant to remain there for any length of time.

  ‘I’ve lost Larry,’ the child said. Calvin concluded that Larry was some sort of stuffed toy and its loss was causing great distress for the child, whose lip was wobbling like Santa’s belly after one too many mince pies. ‘I can’t sleep without Larry.’

  Laura shot Calvin an apologetic look. Again. ‘Sorry about this. I’ll be right back.’

  Laura took the child by the hand and led it upstairs while Calvin refilled their wine glasses. The wine was slipping down far too easily but needs must and all that. The wine may not have caressed his aching feet but it did make the prospect of doing all this again the next day fuzzily doable.

  ‘Sorry about that. Is it this mad at your house?’ Laura plonked herself back down on the sofa and took a large gulp of wine. Calvin understood. He truly did.

  ‘It’s manic. There hasn’t been one minute in the day that’s been mine, you know.’ Lau
ra nodded knowingly as Calvin offloaded. ‘And it isn’t as if Ju –’ Calvin coughed to cover his faux pas. ‘As if Calvin even appreciates how hard it’s been for me.’

  Laura shook her head. ‘He never appreciates you.’

  ‘He does! He appreciates her – me – all the bloody time. I’d realise that if I stopped moaning about the poor bloke for five minutes.’

  Laura blinked at Calvin, not sure what to say after that little outburst.

  ‘I just think Calvin does a lot for me and the kids. It may not be as obvious as what I do but that doesn’t mean I should chew his ear off all the time. I need to cut him a bit of slack. He works hard.’

  ‘So do you.’ Laura, being a good friend, was quick to point this out.

  ‘Pah.’ Calvin took a swig of wine. They were going to need another bottle. ‘I bake a bit and pour a few cups of tea. It’s nothing compared to what Calvin does.’

  ‘Right.’ Laura poured out the last dregs of wine. ‘I’ll go and get another bottle from the fridge.’

  Calvin eased off the boots Judy had made him wear and rubbed his abused feet. The boots had pinched his toes and he’d almost broken his ankles trying to walk in them.

  ‘I’m only going to Laura’s,’ Calvin had pointed out as Judy had forced the boots on his feet in a weird, bad-tempered Prince Charming move. ‘Why do I have to dress up?’

  ‘You’re not dressing up, Calvin. You’re wearing jeans, for goodness’ sake.’ Judy had zipped up the boots with more force than was necessary. ‘I’ll let you off the make-up tonight, but you are not turning up in a pair of trainers.’

  Calvin really didn’t understand his wife, especially when he stood up on the stupid heels and nearly ended up straight on the floor. He wobbled like a newborn foal as he attempted to cross the bedroom, his arms outstretched for balance. He felt ridiculous.

  ‘You look ridiculous,’ Judy had tutted. ‘Walk properly.’

  He’d had a practice run (or rather a practice walk) around the house until he felt confident enough to walk across the village to Laura’s house. Still, he’d stumbled on quite a few occasions. At least he could blame the wine on the walk home.