25 Days 'Til Christmas

by Poppy Alexander

  “Your point being?”

  “Well, if we were to . . .” she cocked her head at the wedding dress rail, smiling in what she presumably thought was a beguiling way.

  “Now look what you’ve started,” he accused Grace, who gave him an artless grin.

  “What sort of shape were you thinking?” she said, addressing Cheryl alone and throwing Daniel a naughty look which lasted a microsecond, so Mr. Bird couldn’t see. “Are you after a princess dress with a full skirt? Like Jordan’s one when she married Peter Andre, do you remember? Only maybe not pink . . .”

  “Yeah, no, definitely,” said Cheryl. “I loved the pink, it was gorge . . .”

  “Okay,” said Grace, blinking, “or we could do a mermaid with a fishtail, that’s really elegant . . . with your figure you could carry anything off. How about a sheath dress, dead simple and classy?”

  The two men looked at each other helplessly. “Get me out of here, lad,” said Mr. Bird.

  “Looks like the wedding group have found their first clients,” Daniel replied, trying and failing to keep a straight face.

  Kate was relieved when her shift ended. She didn’t stop to have lunch like she normally would—Marmite sandwiches from home to save money. Instead, she changed out of her elf costume, grabbed her backpack and decided to head over to Christmas Steps early. Maybe Daniel was already there. She was so glad and relieved he had not taken offense at her saying she didn’t want romance. Telling Pat about the latest disaster over Jack’s school hadn’t made her feel better. She needed to tell Daniel.

  She was walking so fast it was only ten minutes to one o’clock when she turned the corner into the funny little street. She looked up the steps and was touched to see a couple embracing at the top, silhouetted against the gray, wintry sky. They looked so sweet, so together, wouldn’t it be nice if—one day—she and someone, maybe Daniel . . .

  She stopped dead. It was Daniel.

  She recognized the coat, its collar turned up against the cold. And how could she have overlooked that wavy brown hair, the chiseled jawline. He drew back his head, and the willowy, slender woman he was embracing turned to him, both of their handsome profiles perfectly framed against the light. They looked great together.

  “And that’s fine,” thought Kate, her heart pounding, as she scuttled out of sight before he looked down. Before they kissed. Which they were absolutely just about to do. She didn’t need to see that. Not that she cared. Obviously, he was completely free to snog anyone he liked. As a friend, she would positively encourage it, in fact. He was clearly up for a relationship. She had thought he was interested in her, but it turned out anyone would do. And it had to be acknowledged, the woman he was embracing at the top of those steps was a darned sight more glamorous than a world-weary single mum in a gnome costume. Elf costume, she self-corrected. And that was fine too. Perhaps they could still be friends. Of course, they could still be friends. And then she realized a tear had stolen down her cheek. She brushed it away, irritated.

  Thinking of Jack gave her some comfort as she walked to the bus stop, but then she remembered how he was just about to be chucked out of the only school he had ever known, where all his friends were. She was sobbing openly as she walked through the teeming crowds on the pavement. People stared; an older woman looked concerned. But nobody approached her, and she was glad.

  She was on her own again. Just her and Jack against the world.

  6 Days ’til Christmas

  “What are you wearing?” asked Pat as she supervised Kate and Wayne carrying the folding tables outside.

  “This?” said Kate, puzzled. She was wearing her usual elf costume as she had been selling the last of the Christmas trees minutes earlier.

  “What? Really? I thought you might want to wear a pretty dress—get out of that tunic for a change,” said Pat, puzzled.

  “Sorry, what are we talking about? Selling mince pies?”

  “No, silly, the staff party tonight. You are coming?”

  “I was tempted to skive,” she admitted, “but then I thought I’d better come: I might have a chance to chat with Mr. Wilkins when he’s relaxed. Put in a good word for myself.”

  Pat chewed her lip. “I’m sure you’re right. I’m glad you’re going to be there. I’m not looking forward to it much myself.”

  “What’s the matter with it?” asked Wayne, coming late to the conversation because his language processing was a bit slow. “There’s dinner plus beer you don’t have to pay for. What’s not to like?”

  “All the dad dancing for one thing,” muttered Kate, knowing she was sounding like a bore. It wasn’t her. She was struggling to find her joy at the moment. “And the warm white wine. I’d pay good money not to drink that.”

  “And the dinner’s not all that, is it really, dear?” asked Pat.

  “I like a turkey dinner,” said Wayne. “Wosser matter with it?”

  “I’m happy to eat it once, on Christmas Day, and that’s about my limit with dry turkey and overcooked sprouts.”

  “I’m not eating the sprouts,” said Wayne, in faint horror. “I don’t do veg.”

  “Goodness knows how you grew up to be so strong,” said Pat, watching him cart and then set up a heavy folding table with the greatest of ease. “Anyway, back to the important stuff,” she said, raising an eyebrow at Kate.

  “My black dress I suppose. The usual.”

  “I’m sure you’ll look very pretty—if not particularly festive.”

  “I’m not sure I want to look festive,” said Kate. “I think I’d like to have people notice I’m there and then slip away for an early night.”

  But Pat wasn’t listening. She was looking over Kate’s shoulder and flushing pink in a way Kate had begun to recognize in her old friend.

  “That’ll be our Brian,” mouthed Kate to Wayne. She turned and there he was, several inches taller than the three people walking with him, each carrying a large Tupperware box.

  “Pat,” he said gruffly, clearly delighted. “And Kate . . . hello . . . I’m Brian,” he said to Wayne, holding out a hand.

  “Here’s the team,” he added, pointing in turn, “Beth and Will, you two have already met, and then this is Joe,” he said, indicating the dark-haired young man on the end who had the worst acne Kate had ever seen, along with Coke-bottle glasses and protruding ears.

  “Joe,” she said, holding out her hand. “Hi, it’s nice to meet you, and lovely to see you both again,” she added to Beth and Will. “Are these the mince pies?”

  “Three hundred of them altogether,” said Brian. “We’ve worked pretty hard, haven’t we, team?”

  They all nodded. “I did the tops,” said Joe. “The tops are quite hard.”

  “They are,” agreed Kate. “Sometimes they don’t stick on properly do they?”

  Joe looked perturbed. “I think they’re stuck,” he said, frowning anxiously.

  “I’m sure they are,” Pat reassured him. “Do you know? I can smell them . . . delicious! I’m sure people will love them.”

  “And here are the flyers,” said Kate. “Look, aren’t they amazing? They’ve got the map to the café, plus the details of the auction this afternoon. There wasn’t time to promote entries for the bake-off but that’s more of an ‘Apple Café employees versus Portman Brothers’ thing, isn’t it?”

  “Cool,” said Beth, shyly. “I can give them out, can’t I?”

  “You can,” said Pat.

  “Let battle commence,” said Brian, giving her a smile.

  Just as Wayne was sticking the last bit of tinsel to the edge of the tablecloth and the team from the Apple Café were marshaling their towers of mince pies for Brian to dust with icing sugar, Daniel arrived.

  “Dan!” said Beth, running to him for a hug.

  He greeted Beth enthusiastically, but his eyes were fixed on Kate. Thank goodness she was there, safe and sound. He had begun to wonder if something awful had prevented her from meeting him the previous day.

  By the t
ime he had embraced Beth and said hello to the rest of the team, including Brian, he looked around for Kate. But she had slipped away.

  Catching her breath in the staff storeroom, the furthest place she could go to get away from him without leaving work altogether, she put her hand on her chest to steady herself. She could feel her heart pounding. Why on earth could she not bear to be with him? The unexpectedness of his arrival had unnerved her. He never told her he was coming to help. But then he was probably going to mention it during their failed meeting yesterday. What was she telling herself about them being friends? No chance. It was best for her to keep out of his way, for his sake. She had a knack for casting a dark pall on everything she got involved in, she realized now. She should back off. It was far too painful to see him with another woman anyhow. It was time for her to admit to herself she thought he might have been the next man in her life. At last. She was wrong. There was going to be no Christmas miracle for her.

  “Where have you been?” said Pat, coming into the staffroom to put the kettle on, just as Kate was reappearing, wiping the mascara from under her eyes to hide the recent tears.

  “You’ve missed that nice Daniel,” she said. “He’s gone off to talk to the management team about the cake auction this afternoon. You’ll never guess! He’s managed to get that auctioneer from Messam’s auction house—you know, the one who’s on the telly doing that show about stuff people have in their attics that’s worth a fortune.”

  “Oh God, the auction,” said Kate, weary to the bone.

  “Did you bake something?”

  “I didn’t, I confess. I feel bad, it was supposed to be me running all this.”

  “Don’t worry,” said Pat kindly. “You’ve had other things to worry about. Anyhow, Brian and I,” she paused, reflecting on the words, before continuing with a contented sigh, “Brian and I have had a lovely time sorting stuff out. And that lovely Daniel’s done loads too, what with the flyers, and the auction.”

  “Have you baked for it?”

  Pat bridled. “I might have had a bit of a crack at it,” she said. “I told Brian I wasn’t going to do anything. He’s a master—how can I compete?” She didn’t look as if she minded. “But I did do a Yule log, I confess. Well, I was baking one anyway; I just did two. It’s for a good cause.”

  “So, come on, ’fess up, are you and Brian a ‘thing’?” asked Kate, managing with superhuman strength to dredge up a weak smile.

  “We’re spending Christmas Day together,” she said in a rush. “And I know what you’re thinking . . .”

  “You do?”

  “That we’re ridiculous old farts who should know better at our age, and we’re moving too fast, and it’ll all be a disaster, and what on earth are we thinking . . .”

  “Wait, wait!” This time Kate had no trouble finding a smile. She had never seen her old friend like this before. “I’m not thinking any of those things. I think it’s lovely. You’re great together. I couldn’t be more delighted for you both. Am I buying a hat?”

  “Now you’re being ridiculous,” scolded Pat, but she was mollified, patting her hair as she told Kate more. “We’re going to Ursula’s, so that’ll be fun,” she sniffed. “Brian’s bringing one of his Christmas puddings and she’ll not have had one as good as that before.”

  She smiled a secret smile, smoothing her skirt even though it didn’t need smoothing. “And, talking of which, I must get back and sort out all the entries for the competition.”

  “I hope we got enough, did we?”

  “I should say,” said Pat. “Wayne’s done something for every category. He’s let me have a peek at his raised pie. It’s pretty impressive, I can tell you.”

  “God, I hope that’s not a euphemism,” muttered Kate to herself. She wasn’t sure she wanted to see Wayne’s “raised pie,” or his raised anything, come to that.

  There was still a lot to do and everything to play for with her fund-raising target. And her job. There were the mince pies to give away to the public—she must go out and help now she knew Daniel was elsewhere—and then there was the auction. She had been told the Managing Director wanted to give a speech—he rarely missed an opportunity to hold forth—and she still needed to put a final call in to the media, making sure the paper was sending a photographer and the marketing department were giving it their all with social media. After that, she was collecting Jack from Helen’s, taking him home, getting dressed for the staff party . . . It was enough for a week, never mind a day.

  “Penny for them?”

  “I wouldn’t burden you. I must go and give them a hand outside,” said Kate, brushing past her friend without meeting her eye. If she started to tell Pat all her worries she was afraid she would never stop.

  There was a carnival atmosphere in the street. Brian was standing back just keeping an eye as Joe, Will, and Beth handed out mince pies and flyers. Kate was thrilled to see that people—initially wary—were quickly beguiled, stopping to chat and to compliment the team on their baking. Kate was touched to see how patient most people were with Will, whose stammer seemed a little worse when talking to strangers. They were generally happy to allow him to take his time, gently encouraging him and praising his pastry. Joe was repeatedly explaining how difficult it was to get the tops of the mince pies on really well and Beth was accepting compliments bashfully for the mincemeat which, she was explaining, contained lots of apple and cinnamon—her two favorite things.

  Kate saw Beth gazing admiringly at Will when his back was turned, taking more mince pies out of the boxes to put on the tray.

  “He’s nice, Will, isn’t he?” she said.

  Beth didn’t reply but her secret smile as she gazed at her shoes told the story.

  “I think you two would make a lovely couple,” she went on, but Beth shook her head.

  “Zoe liked Will,” she said, in her charming hoarse voice. “She liked him, so . . .”

  “I think Zoe would love you and Will to get together,” encouraged Kate. “If she loved you both she would want you both to be happy, wouldn’t she?”

  Beth’s face registered the possibilities with growing awe. “I will tell him,” she said to Kate and went off to help him, just as Brian arrived at her shoulder.

  “I’ve been matchmaking,” she admitted proudly to Brian.

  “They’d make a good couple,” he said, seeing the two of them, heads bent over the mince pie boxes, giggling at some private joke. “I think a chat about the birds and the bees might be in order,” he added mock sternly. “I’ll have to take them to one side.”

  “Talking about birds and bees,” Kate added mischievously, “what are your intentions toward my lovely friend Pat?”

  “Ah yes, that was you too, wasn’t it?” he smiled broadly. “You’ve got quite the matchmaking knack. Well, since you’re cheeky enough to ask, my intentions are serious. And,” he added hastily, “entirely respectful and honorable of course.”

  “Of course,” said Kate, feeling a little less bleak for a moment, before a flashback to seeing Daniel at Christmas Steps reminded her about her last contact with him. He appeared to have demonstrated that his intentions toward her were considerably less serious, respectful, and honorable than she had thought. It served her right for keeping him dangling. “You snooze, you lose,” Tom had always said.

  Looking back at the crowds as the mince pie giveaway recommenced, it was encouraging to see the flyers were being carefully folded and stored away in pockets and shopping bags, with people promising to make visits to the café soon in the new year. Better still, many of them were happy to return for the auction in the store after lunch.

  “It seems to be going pretty well,” said Daniel in Kate’s ear, making her jump. She shot sideways, colliding with a shopper, with multiple bags in each hand, looking grumpy and puffing behind a formidable woman who might be his wife.

  “Look out,” the man said tetchily.

  “Sorry,” said Daniel, offering him a mince pie.

  “Oh,
go on then,” he said, stopping and softening. “She’s not let me have any lunch,” he complained, gesturing at the woman who was steaming ahead, oblivious to his mutiny.

  “Good, eh?” said Kate, watching him chew.

  “Best I’ve ever had,” he said, around a large mouthful. “What’s all this in aid of ?”

  Daniel briefly explained.

  “Where’s the collecting tins then?” the man said, fishing a tenner out of his wallet.

  “We didn’t think, did we?” said Kate to Daniel, stricken. “We should have had tins for donations.”

  “I’ll make sure it gets to the right place, thanks,” said Daniel to the man as he walked off. He didn’t remind Kate that, in their planning meeting, she was the one who had been delegated to find collecting tins. Clearly she had no memory of it and he wasn’t going to undermine her confidence by pointing it out. “We’ll make plenty with the auction this afternoon,” he reassured her. “Where were you yesterday?”

  “Sorry, I got held up,” she replied, daring him to press her further with a blank stare.

  “No problem, but we need to catch up.”

  “No, we don’t,” said Kate, firmly. “We don’t. It’s fine.” With that, she walked off, Daniel staring after her in amazement.

  Kate needn’t have worried. The entries for the bake-off were stupendous. The café in the basement of the store, where they were holding it, had tables roped off so they could lay everything out. It was packed shoulder to shoulder. Lots of shoppers and all the employees, including those who had not entered, were gathered around. Through the crowds Kate could see Sarah from Human Resources chatting with Mr. Englebert, the oldest member of the board. He should have been pensioned off years ago, but he seemed reluctant to leave and the rumor was his wife didn’t want him at home under her feet. Sarah seemed so nice from a distance, and Kate remembered with gratitude how she had encouraged her to take off when it snowed. She supposed hiding a ruthless core with a friendly exterior was a prerequisite for working in HR. She had seen the woman’s steely side and didn’t reckon on her own chances if they ever went head to head.