by Jane Green
He saw me, straightened, and rang some kind of jinglebell contraption. As I approached, he smiled uncertainly and then put on a gruff ho-ho voice. ‘Well Me-e-e-e-rrrie Christmas, little girlie!’
‘Merry Christmas yourself, Santa.’ I pointed to a stool next to him. ‘What’s that?’
‘That’s my elf helper chair,’ he said, still in character.
I looked around the store. The fluorescent lighting made everything look flat and sterile, and the Muzak rendition of ‘Winter Wonderland’ being piped in didn’t enliven the atmosphere. Still, I felt so hopped up it didn’t matter. ‘Where’s the elf?’
He shrugged and suddenly dropped the Santa act. ‘He called in sick.’
I sank down on the stool. Isaac was looking at me anxiously. Half of me wanted to jump in his lap and throw my arms around him. The other half of me wanted to strangle him. ‘What if I had forgotten the napkin and sent my jeans through the laundry?’ I barked at him. ‘Did you ever once consider that?’
His forehead tensed. ‘You read it, then?’
‘Yes.’
‘And … ?’
‘And you got your wish – halfway. My sister stole my boyfriend. But I’m not heartbroken.’
His eyes widened and I could detect a hint of a smile. ‘You’re not?’
I shook my head.
He looked like he might collapse in relief. It was hard to know what to do next. We both sat there, grinning like fools.
‘I brought you a present.’ I handed him the package.
‘For me?’ he asked, delighted. He picked up the big box and shook it.
I yanked the ribbon for him.
He tore off the paper and pulled the lid off. When he caught sight of the scary dummy, he gasped. ‘Oh, my God! He’s just what I always wanted!’ He immediately yanked the doll out and sat him on his knee. In a high voice, but with his lips obviously moving, he said, ‘Thank you so much!’ The dummy’s mouth didn’t even move along with the words. Didn’t even come close.
I laughed. ‘You’re really bad at that.’
‘This big dummy got you something, too,’ the little dummy told me.
Isaac handed me a package. It was way too small to be an Easy-Bake Oven. I unwrapped it and found a VHS copy of Frosty the Snowman.
‘Starring Jimmy Durante,’ Isaac said, looking duly chastened.
I put my arms around him. ‘It’s big of you to admit it. In fact, I think it’s my best present so far this Christmas.’
‘I’m not finished yet, sweetheart.’
‘There’s more?’
‘This is the best part.’ He reached into a pocket of his suit and pulled out a spring of mistletoe. I drew in a delighted gasp. ‘You’re a miracle worker!’ I exclaimed.
He waggled his fake brows at me. ‘Wanna give it a spin?’
I nodded, and in the next moment, he pulled me close. For a moment, I forgot that we were in a fluorescently lit drugstore, or that he was wearing a ridiculous Santa suit, or that we had ever fought over silly things like Trivial Pursuit or who sang what song in what Christmas special. I began to wonder when his shift ended, and if it would be entirely untoward if I didn’t get back home as soon as I said I would.
I also felt like crying. Why hadn’t we done this years ago?
He pulled away, reluctantly, and I took the mistletoe as a souvenir. As soon as it touched my fingers, however, I frowned. It was fake!
‘Where did you get this?’
‘Aisle four.’
‘You let me think we were having a magic moment under plastic mistletoe?’ I asked, outrage building.
He might have argued over whether it made any difference or not, but he didn’t. Instead, he shut me up with a devastating smile. ‘Worked great, didn’t it?’
I had to admit it did. ‘We’ll have to save it for the next blight year.’
His eyes searched mine. ‘You never answered my question, Holly.’
‘What question?’
‘Are you free New Year’s Eve?’ he asked.
I had a better idea. ‘Are you free tonight?’
My only pictures from last Christmas came from Valu-Rite’s photo booth. Isaac and I squeezed in together, along with his new dummy, which he had christened Jason. (Coincidentally, the name of my sister’s current fiancé.) The strip is in black and white, and the quality is a little fuzzy, but I wouldn’t part with it for the world.
In the first frame, Isaac and I have our heads together, and Jason’s plastic hair is just visible in the bottom of the picture.
In the second frame, I have been pushed aside, and Jason is gaping at the camera in demonic open-mouthed glee.
In the third frame, I am strangling the dummy as Isaac looks on in horror.
In the fourth, Isaac and I have our lips locked in a smooch, and Jason is completely out of the picture.
He just wanted a decent book to read ...
Not too much to ask, is it? It was in 1935 when Allen Lane, Managing Director of Bodley Head Publishers, stood on a platform at Exeter railway station looking for something good to read on his journey back to London. His choice was limited to popular magazines and poor-quality paperbacks – the same choice faced every day by the vast majority of readers, few of whom could afford hardbacks. Lane’s disappointment and subsequent anger at the range of books generally available led him to found a company – and change the world.
We believed in the existence in this country of a vast reading public for intelligent books at a low price, and staked everything on it’
Sir Allen Lane, 1902–1970, founder of Penguin Books
The quality paperback had arrived – and not just in bookshops. Lane was adamant that his Penguins should appear in chain stores and tobacconists, and should cost no more than a packet of cigarettes.
Reading habits (and cigarette prices) have changed since 1935, but Penguin still believes in publishing the best books for everybody to enjoy.We still believe that good design costs no more than bad design, and we still believe that quality books published passionately and responsibly make the world a better place.
So wherever you see the little bird – whether it’s on a piece of prize-winning literary fiction or a celebrity autobiography, political tour de force or historical masterpiece, a serial-killer thriller, reference book, world classic or a piece of pure escapism – you can bet that it represents the very best that the genre has to offer.
Whatever you like to read – trust Penguin.
www.penguin.co.uk
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PENGUIN BOOKS
Published by the Penguin Group
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First published in the United States of America by Kensington Publishing Corp. 2005
First published in Great Britain in Penguin Books 2012
Selection Copyright © Kensington Publishing Corp., 2005
‘Holiday’, first published as ‘Vacation’, copyright © Jane Green, 2005
‘The Second Wife of Reilly’ cop
yright © Jennifer Coburn, 2005
‘Mistletoe and Holly’ copyright © Elizabeth Bass, 2005
The moral right of the authors has been asserted
All rights reserved
ISBN: 978-0-14-196760-8
