The Mother of All Christmases

by Milly Johnson

  There was a round of empathetic nods.

  ‘We’ll do everything wrong and beat ourselves up and there will be a supermum at school that does everything right. Manages to get her kids to enjoy broccoli and sprouts,’ Di went on.

  ‘We will worry about them their whole lives. My mum still rings me from Nigeria. “Ophilia, don’t forget the clocks go forward in Britain tonight.” “Ophilia, are you eating properly?” Ophilia this, Ophilia that. She even rings to make sure I have put the correct colour bin out. And one day I’m going to turn into her and say the same things to Ayo. And already I know I’m going to drive her mad. But the crazy thing is I finally get it. I can see into my mother’s soul.’

  ‘That’s like a poem, Fil,’ gasped Raychel as she considered Fil’s words. Then Di ruined a beautiful moment.

  ‘One of these might grow up to be a serial killer.’

  ‘Di!’ Cheryl and Raychel exclaimed together.

  ‘Just saying.’

  ‘Or invent a cure for cancer,’ said Fil. ‘Or become prime minister.’

  ‘I’m already thinking about mine passing his driving test. I won’t sleep when he gets a car,’ said Palma with a chuckle. ‘And he’s not even born.’

  ‘Someone’s going to break their hearts,’ said Cheryl, with a heavy sigh. ‘And we’ll have to stand back and let them learn lessons that hurt them. Then they’ll leave us with an empty nest.’

  ‘Like we left our parents,’ said Annie, in an attempt to redress some balance before they all ran to the nearest doctor demanding Prozac. ‘My mum helped me grow a fine pair of strong wings and I flew.’ She’d flown straight into Joe Pandoro and they’d made a life out of love, fancy paper and mottos. If Annie did half as well at being a mum as hers had, she’d consider it a result to be proud of.

  ‘But in the meantime we have a few years where we are the centre of their universe,’ put in Raychel. ‘Believe me, when they seek out your hand for the first time, you’ll cry big, fat, happy tears. And then there’s the Mothers’ Day cards with a daffodil made out of an egg box and the first nativity when they’re shepherds with a tea towel on their heads or you’re up half the night making a halo out of a wire coat hanger and some tinsel. Precious, precious days. Loads of them. Strap yourselves in for the ride, ladies. We’ve got ups and downs and round the bends to come.’

  ‘Crackers, that’s what it all is, excuse the pun, Annie,’ said Di, and Annie smiled because it was like a line stolen from the Gill Johnson book of corn.

  ‘All we can do is our best for them, sprinkle their wings with flying dust, and hope when they take off, they head for the sun,’ said Eve, remembering the words that Effin had written on his Happy New Baby card. He’d also said she’d feel that her heart was beating on the outside of her now, and she knew exactly what he meant. A new dimension had been created in her, one that made her as vulnerable as it did powerful, as fearful as it did exhilarated.

  ‘What the hell have we signed up for?’ said Cheryl, looking down at her sleeping daughter and knowing that if anyone hurt her, she could easily put them in hospital.

  Massimo held out his pudgy arms to Annie and made her spirit soar with a joy so pure it almost hurt. This: the most beautiful, scary and crackers life force of all, complete with tears and laughter, uncertainties and egg-box daffodils – Motherhood – was what they’d signed up for.

  PUBLIC OUTRAGE

  AT ‘PERFECT’

  DAILY TRUMPETS

  There were a record number of the Daily Trumpets produced between 24 December and 2 June with absolutely no errors in them. Sales have reportedly dropped by 37 per cent in the six months sales period. Reader Maureen Baxter from Wath said, ‘If we wanted this sort of service, we would be reading another newspaper. The editor wants sacking.’

  Editor Alan Robertson has been suspended on full pay whilst an internal review takes place. It is thought he will undergo training and rejoin the team in due course.

  Acknowledgements

  This book has been inside me for years and it had to come out. It was like a meeting place for characters from a few other books and they would not lie still. It’s a standalone, BUT you just might get a little bit more out of it if you have read others of mine because it contains threads from The Yorkshire Pudding Club, A Summer Fling, White Wedding, The Teashop on the Corner, Here Come the Girls, Afternoon Tea at the Sunflower Café, Sunshine Over Wildflower Cottage, The Queen of Wishful Thinking and – of course – A Winter Flame, where you first meet Eve and Jacques. I also have an eBook out called The Barn on Half Moon Hill which features the story of the Half Christmas lagoon-opening event mentioned in The Mother of all Christmases so if you want to find out a little more about Cariad, Franco Mezzaluna and Eve please download it (it’s for peanuts). It was written to raise money for a very special friend of mine called Claire Throssell who tragically lost her two children in a fire started by her husband. Any profit goes straight to her. If you Google her and read her story, then you just might realise why I wrote it. From one mother for another.

  I have a whole host of thank yous for this book. Firstly – thank you to my readers, and if that sounds a bit crawly then tough, because they keep me in this job. They write me the most fabulous messages telling me that I’ve given them comfort, respite, inspiration or even a laugh – all of which are massive compliments. I’m indebted to them – really. May I never let them down.

  To my publishing team. My amazing agent Lizzy Kremer, who is a machine of loveliness and competence. In this game you need people who have your back – and she’s the best. I love her dearly, professionally and personally. And the lads and lasses who do their thing at the agency – thank you. Special mention to Brian who hands out the dosh. And to the splendid lot at Simon and Schuster who I’ve been with from the off. They know my little ways, I’ve probably caused more eye rolls than all the other authors put together with my eccentricities, but I’m in safe, friendly – and above all patient – hands. Thank you for doing what you do, my lovelies, especially Jo Dickinson, who is a proper smashing editor and one of the nicest people on the planet. Love to Ian, Suzanne, SJ, Danes, Emma, Dawn, Dom, Joe, Jess, Affleck, Hayley and everyone who does their bit quietly for me in the background. Every cog is important in a machine. And to my fabulissima (my word – copyrighted) PR manager Emma Draude who is the equivalent of a Lulu Guinness handbag: a must have. You are a total find, lady – thank you! And your team.

  I don’t know why I am thanking my copyeditor Sally Partington because she makes me look like an incompetent fool when we work together. She is so good. She should teach grammar. I drive you mad, Sal, I know – but you are my favourite part of the process. Thank you. Until the next time.

  I was brought up in a household that loved boxing and my other half is a massive aficionado so writing about the sport was always going to happen one day. My character Tommy is based loosely on Josh Wale, at time of writing, the present British Bantamweight champion – twice defended – and ranked fifteenth in the world, which is a massive achievement. And he’s a Barnsley lad. I wish him every success and more in his career and life afterwards because he’s a top bloke and passionate about the sport and we are proud to have him as one of ours. Josh’s gym Micky’s Athletic Boxing Club (named after his dad who is his trainer and inspiration) is a place where other national champions have been trained too and where, three times a week, kids can go and learn discipline and fitness through boxing. For more information, please contact mickysathletic@outlook.com.

  Just like Tommy, Josh also does a lot of work with boys and girls who need some direction and guidance in their lives at the Dearne Valley Personal Development Centre (http://www.dearnevalleypdc.co.uk). A wonderful local organisation that turns kids’ lives around and the proof of that is in the success stories. They give the kids art, crafts, cookery, literacy lessons, outdoor pursuits and of course boxing. They lead by example, showing kids that with some hard work and determination, they can make something of themselves. They
are always struggling to find funding – so if there are any philanthropists out there that want to invest in the youth, then feel free to contact them. The centre was set up by champion boxer – a gold-medal winner in the Commonwealth games – John Irwin and his wife Jackie. They don’t make a profit. They do make a difference.

  Thanks to Zoe Kilner for her sonography advice, I needed to get the details right on this one and her help was invaluable. As was the input of midwife Sue Greenwood. It’s always lovely when people volunteer to help you and I am very grateful for their expertise.

  Effin Williams was only ever meant to be a small character and he has ended up taking over my whole life. I have always enjoyed working with ‘his voice’ Owen Williams, MD at Siml – Wales’ foremost social media consultancy, to be found on @simlsocial. Without him, Effin would say eff-all. I have been in stitches writing some of Effin’s dialogue – I have grown to love the old curmudgeon. Thank you, yet again, Owen and I’m sorry I have to keep calling on you but then again, it’s your fault for making him such fun.

  This book could not have been written without the selfless help of Geine and Tony Pressendo at www.simplycrackers.co.uk. They have given me a crash course on the cracker business from the importance of the ‘snap’ to the best boxes to use so you don’t get your crackers crushed (painful!). I have loved working with them. I can roll an expert cracker now and have my jokes in their crackers. I’ve kept them clean. They sell some cracking (sorry) kits on their site, go and make your own, they are much more fun to have at the table. Then again, you can have them made especially for you if you want a bit of fancy. They make them for everyone who is someone. I am sorry to leave the cracker world behind, but I have made two lovely new friends – and learned a new craft. And found somewhere to put the jokes I have always loved to write because joke-writing has been part of my life for many many years. I think I will always make my own crackers from now on.

  Thanks to my website designer Stu who is a marvel and has had a particularly hard year with me writing two books this year. As soon as he’s finished designing an interactive cheesecake map, he’s had to start inserting Christmas puddings everywhere. He is brilliant and I would highly – nay more than that – recommend his services. He can be reached on www.nm4s.com. Tell him I sent you.

  Anyone who knows me knows that I have had a love of birds of prey for many years. I often go and fly birds up at www.falconrycentre.co.uk in Thirsk which is a magical experience and they sell gift vouchers if you want an unusual present for someone. When you sigh a little and think, as I did, ‘I’m in love with a Red-Tailed hawk’ you know you’re in deep. In my head Effin has always shared this passion because he needed something to keep his blood-pressure on the level. This love was first given to me after watching Kes at the cinema, a film made from a book by Barry Hines, a fellow Barnsley writer, who kept me on course when I was being told that Barnsley was a joke town, or I was sacked from a job for having ‘an accent better suited to the textile industry’. Barry wrote in an era when it wasn’t popular to be from the north in the Arts world, not that he cared about convention. Barry Hines was a trailblazer and he kept me hoping. That’s why I joined the committee to help raise the money to build a statue in his name. This year – 2018 – is the fiftieth anniversary of his book A Kestrel for a Knave being published and 2019 marks the fiftieth anniversary of the film Kes and it would also have been the year of Barry’s ninetieth birthday. We are raising the £106,000 we need a pound by a pound and all contributions are gratefully received from people who love birds, Yorkshire, art, Barry Hines himself, Barry’s many works and Graham Ibbeson, the master sculptor who is making it. Barry was a great man, a great teacher – a beacon, cruelly felled by Alzheimer’s. Any surplus monies we raise will be given to dementia-supporting charities and local causes. Please follow our progress on www.barryhinesmemorial.com – and there are details of how you can donate to the fund there too. Do feel free to contact us about it.

  Thank you to my ever-patient friends and family, especially Pete, who don’t see me properly for weeks on end because I am writing my head off. This is an all-consuming job and sometimes I really must learn to look up and join in life rather than write other people’s. As much as I love to do that.

  The subject of blood donation is close to my heart as my dad donated blood all his life and now needs donations himself. It’s important to give it if you can – and they give you tea and biscuits. It’s vital to register as an organ donor too and save your relatives some hard decisions. Life is very precious. I hope Paul’s story at the beginning of the book has made you think that now is the time to sign up – it doesn’t take long and then it’s done: www.nhsbt.nhs.uk/­donate/.

  Originally this book was going to be called ‘The Christmas Pudding Club’ because it was a title that harked back to my first book The Yorkshire Pudding Club written from my pregnancy diaries, whereas this one was written as my sons became fully-fledged adults. Where have those years gone? Motherhood is indeed a fairground ride that makes the biggest roller coaster look like a flat line, but I have loved it. It has thrilled me, scared me, turned me into both a soppy mess and a tigress at times. Now my children’s wings are flapping and my apron strings are untying and my heart is breaking a little at the end of this magnificent era. So – for my sons Terence and George, a line that sums it all up simply.

  My hands have held some precious things in their time (Vivienne Westwood/Lulu Guinness handbags) but nothing that could ever hope to equal you.

  Love Mum xx

  Cracker Jokes

  Just as a cracker has to have a no-nonsense snap, the joke has to have a totally nonsense punchline. The punchline isn’t always obvious, you may have think about it. . . and then comes that delicious groan. These are some of my favourites.

  What did the drummer call his two daughters?

  Anna one, Anna two . . .

  Why do bees stay in their hives in winter?

  Swarm

  What do you call a whale with no pants on?

  Free Willy

  Why didn’t the rabbit join the navy?

  Because he wanted to sign up for the hare force

  Why was there a baguette in a cage in the local zoo?

  Because it was bred in captivity

  What’s a librarian’s favourite vegetable?

  Quiet peas

  Why did Picasso paint his wife in watercolours?

  Because she was no oil painting

  Why did the prawn start walking like a crab after taking his medicine?

  Side effects

  Why don’t wasps stay in hotels?

  Because they prefer Bee and Bees

  Why did the right angle go to the beach?

  Because it was ninety degrees

  Why didn’t the turkey have a pudding after his Christmas dinner?

  Because he was stuffed

  Which train station do crabs use in London?

  Kings Crustacean

  What do you call a blue chameleon on a pink cushion?

  A rubbish chameleon

  What’s the difference between a korma and a vindaloo?

  Two toilet rolls

  What do you call a man who has never told his wife a lie?

  A bachelor

  What did the horse say when he stepped out of the fridge?

  Brrrr

  How do you make a slow person fast?

  Don’t feed him

  What do you call a husband who buys you an iron for Christmas?

  An ambulance

  What’s the fastest chocolate in the world?

  A Ferrari Rocher

  What do you do if the lights are too bright in a Chinese restaurant?

  Dim sum

  What do you call a goat that doesn’t want a job?

  Billy Idol

  Where’s the best place to go to learn how to say hello properly?

  Hi school

  What sort of owl is best at doing the dishes?

  A teet owl

>   Where’s the most fun place in the universe?

  The Milky Way-hey!

  Who is the patron saint of football?

  St Off

  Why were the elephants thrown out of the swimming pool?

  Because they kept deliberately dropping their trunks

  What’s got 8 legs and sits on glass?

  A black window spider

  Why are old people like ancient plaster?

  Because their main purpose in life is to keep dropping off

  Why couldn’t the sheepdog tell the difference between white and black sheep?

  Because he was collie-blind

  Why shouldn’t you buy spiders from shops?

  Because they’re cheaper on the web

  How do you recognise a mother-in-law clock?

  It’s got a really miserable face

  What’s the most magical dog in the world?

  A labracadabrador

  What do you call someone who gets into trouble for something he didn’t do?

  A plagiarist

  Why do birds tweet at dawn?

  Because they prefer it to Facebook

  What’s a pirate’s favourite lesson?

  Arrrrt

  What goes ‘ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch’?

  An octopus whose trainers are too tight

  What’s got two grey legs and two brown legs?

  An elephant with diarrhoea

  When do people say Noel at Christmas?

  When they’re asked ‘is it nice to spend it with all your relatives?’

  Why did the Christmas star go to the psychiatrist?

  Because he was paranoid he was being followed

  What’s the difference between a small Christmas bird and a Christmas tree seller?

  One is a robin redbreast and the other is a robin git

  What sort of music do balloons hate?