by Annie O'Neil
‘Well, if you don’t mind me saying, you don’t look old enough to have a twenty-four-year-old.’ She meant it. Drea looked like she was in her early forties. Tops. And Jess was a good guesser. It was another one of the school-gates games she and the other teachers used to play. The winner got first pick out of the Celebrations box one of the single dads brought once a month as a thank you gift for looking after his children during the day, which was their job, but never mind. Who didn’t love a Celebration?
‘Teenage bride,’ Drea said with a sad smile.
‘Really?’
‘No,’ Drea scoffed, her smile brightening. ‘I was up the duff at sixteen, but no way was I going to marry that loser. Anyway, I better let you get up to your beddie-byes. Number two tomorrow.’ She pointed her index finger up towards the top of the street, the motion causing her to slosh some of the wine out onto the stoop. ‘Whoops! Too much vino for Drea. Right, doll. I’m going to make tracks. I think it’s seven-thirty tomorrow. Be there or be square.’ She turned two of her fingers into a V, pointed them at her eyes and then at Jess’s. ‘Welcome to the neighbourhood.’
‘Thank you. And thanks for making it so memorable,’ Jess said, heartened to realise it had been an amazing way to kickstart her life here.
Drea had already turned, giving a half wave over her shoulder as she stumble-walked diagonally across the street, slipping a bit on some of the snow, shouting out ‘Didn’t spill a drop!’ when she realised Jess was still looking, downed the rest of it in one, then went into her own house.
A few minutes later, having tugged her duvet (still made) out of one of the packing boxes, located a pillow and tucked herself up on the mattress next to the unmade bed frame, Jess realised she was smiling. The day hadn’t gone as planned, but it had gone better than she’d expected. Maybe learning to trust her gut again wouldn’t be so hard after all.
2 December
Jess thunked her head against the refrigerator door. No milk. No bread. No nothing. Part of the original Moving-in Plan had included whizzing to the shops for a few fresh bits and bobs after the van men had left. Another, more critical part of the plan involved unearthing her cafetière. As things stood, she had three dirty mugs and the dregs of her hot chocolate. Mind you, there still might be a couple of Wagon Wheels.
The doorbell rang.
Seriously? It was what? She glanced at her phone screen: 7 a.m. Why was someone at her door? It was still dark outside.
The whole-doorbell-ringing-and-neighbour-checking-in-on-her thing had been fine last night. Drea was obviously a bit sad and missing her son, which Jess could relate to as she’d spent the last year feeling sad and missing the life she used to have. To the point where it had been a mercy she hadn’t had any time to process just how big a change she was making by moving here. But 7 a.m.? Really? She was in her pyjamas. Her fringe was sticking out every which way and, more to the point, she’d not had her all-important first cup of morning coffee.
The bell rang again.
She was tempted to stay hidden in the kitchen. She didn’t want to see anyone. Last night had been an anomaly. She needed this one, final month of being a hermit to truly divine whether or not she’d done the right thing.
Once more, the trill of the bell sounded.
Maybe it was the postman. Her parents had said to keep an eye out for a package. She reluctantly padded to the door, her unicorn slippers making scuffing sounds on the Victorian tiling between the kitchen and the front door. Slippers her ex had endlessly mocked her for, to the point she’d put them in storage along with most of the rest of her possessions he’d deemed unsuitable for public viewing, only remembering just how much she’d loved them when she’d properly packed up to leave London. She’d worn them every day since. Her one act of post-relationship How Very Dare You.
There were two shadows behind the stained-glass door panels, which made her pause. Postmen didn’t work in pairs, did they? She stared at the door as if it would tell her but became distracted by the stained-glass centrepiece. The oblong design of red, green and gold diamonds running through it had been one of the things that had first attracted her to the house. That, the name of the street and the proximity to the primary academy where she’d be teaching had all been selling points. As had the house at the far end of the cul-de-sac. It was older and larger than the others. Grey slate roof topping warm-butter-and-fawn-coloured bricks. Three square, white sashed windows on top, two on the bottom. A sage-coloured door beneath a small porch roof and chimney pots on either end. There was a white picket fence around some immaculate box hedges, which outlined two perfect squares of dug-over earth. As if it was being prepared for a victory garden. It reminded her a bit of the old Emmerdale farmhouse (her parents had been fans), or somewhere Lizzie Bennet might’ve lived.
The buzzer went again just as she reached the door. She yanked it open with a not-entirely-charming ‘Yes?’
‘Hi, darling.’ Kai smiled, a swatch of his dark hair falling into his eyes as he wiggled a bottle of milk with a silver top in front of him alongside a Betty’s of Harrogate tin with old-fashioned script spelling out the magic word: Coffee. ‘We weren’t sure if you’d have provisions in yet and, as such, wanted to give you a proper apology for yesterday’s snowball assault.’
Rex nodded in agreement. ‘Winter weaponry isn’t how we usually meet and greet the new neighbours. Can we consider this a do-over?’
Kai didn’t wait for her to answer. ‘We’ve put the number of the milk delivery chap on the bottle if you want. Are you more of a tea girl? I can run back and get some if you are.’
Jess grinned, her grumpiness forgotten. ‘Coffee’s perfect. And please accept my apologies for assaulting you with my gorgeous morning look. Not.’ She put her hand on her hip and jutted it to the side, then gave her hair an over-the-shoulder flick as if greeting people in her jim-jams was something she did every day of the week.
Kai made a clucking noise. ‘We know we’re early and let me assure you, we’ve seen it all.’
Rex looked at him, eyebrow arched imperiously. ‘Have we, now?’
‘Course not, darling. It was a jest. But you know better than most that this doesn’t happen just by waking up in the morning.’ He tipped the milk bottle in the direction of his own face then tilted his chin up so that the porch light bathed him in a warm halogen glow.
Nope. There was nothing Jess could make out that would’ve indicated he’d spent hours at the dressing table before leaving the house in the morning.
He handed her the milk then put his hand by his face like a fan. ‘Shave first. Then a scrub. Eye gel. Moisturiser. Anti-fatigue serum and an SPF. Even in the winter months. Then of course there’s the hair routine.’
He looked as though he was about to embark on a detailed explanation of said routine when Rex cut him off. ‘Love, we could be here all day. Let’s let the poor woman get some coffee into her and keep what remains of the heat inside her house, yeah?’
He held up an insanely beautiful evergreen wreath bedecked with whole pomegranates, dried orange slices and cinnamon sticks. It smelt amazing and looked unbelievable. In London it would’ve cost well over a hundred pounds. More. She never in her life would’ve imagined buying one, let alone hanging it on her door (executive living demanded anonymity of front doors). Rex handed it to her, explaining, ‘I had to nip into the shop earlier this morning to take a delivery and thought this might add a little boost to the house. Until you get your own Christmas decorations up, obvs.’
Jess’s smile faltered. She hadn’t so much as opened a box of essentials, let alone thought about getting a Christmas tree. The truth was, she hadn’t planned to decorate for the holidays. Last Christmas had been so awful and this one was … well … she’d kind of wanted to skip over it.
‘Don’t you like it?’ Kai and Rex asked in matching tones of dismay. Neither of their brows furrowed. Jess hazarded a guess that
there was probably a teensy bit of Botox involved in their beauty routines as well.
‘Like it?’ She finally managed to splutter. ‘I love it. Seriously. As you say, it’ll really give the place a boost.’ It might even let her off the hook for not getting a tree in.
Kai and Rex shared a delighted smile, as if it brought them more joy to give presents than she had in receiving them. She had to admit, having them as neighbours gave her a hit of the warm and fuzzies. She regretted being so grumpy when she’d heard the door go. Which did beg the question … were they her Diet-Coke-break men?
‘I suppose you can get the estate agents to take this down now,’ Rex pointed at the For Sale sign with a bright red Sold banner angled across it.
‘Yes, absolutely. It’s on the list,’ she quipped, not entirely certain she wanted it gone. Not just yet anyway. Even though these guys were great and Drea had put on an incredible advent calendar night, having the For Sale sign outside her house made her feel as if she still had options. She didn’t, but the truth was, she felt as though she was masquerading as someone else right now. A confident, happy go-lucky, prawn-eating, snowball-throwing funster. What if they found out who she really was? A shamed teacher banished from a renowned prep school for allegedly harming a child. Would they be so welcoming then? Shutting down the thoughts, she asked, ‘Which house do you two live in?’
‘We’re at number eleven,’ Kai said, pointing to a detached house diagonally across from her own, then shifted the wreath up Jess’s arm like an enormous bangle before putting the coffee in her free hand. ‘You’re more than welcome to pop in for anything you need.’
‘Outside of business hours,’ Rex tacked on, then gave Jess’s arm an apologetic squeeze. ‘Sorry, love. It’s one of the busy seasons at the shop and even though we’re always working at this time of year, we’re always working. We’d better shoot off to furnish the hordes with their boughs of holly and mistletoe – did you need any mistletoe?’
‘No,’ she answered, a bit too briskly.
Rex, completely unoffended, tapped the side of his nose. ‘Well, you know where you can get some if things change.’
‘They won’t,’ she said darkly. Things hadn’t exactly ended brilliantly with Martin. And she had quite enough of her own problems to sort out before she began to delve into matters of the heart. Anyway. She gave a stagey shiver. ‘Guess I’d better think about keeping some of that heat in.’
They waved an awkward trio of goodbyes, the bonhomie of the gift-giving a bit lost after Jess’s terse answers. ‘Thanks again!’ she shouted after them as they headed down the short path to the pavement. ‘See you tonight?’
They half turned, good-natured smiles back in place and nodded. ‘Seven-thirty, I think it was.’
‘Should I expect igloo-making lessons?’ Jess said in a last-ditch attempt to show she was actually fun to be with. ‘Reindeer-taming?’
Kai and Rex laughed.
‘You can expect something a bit more low-key than Drea’s night. She’s never been one to opt for subtle,’ Kai added in a stage whisper.
They waved, climbed into an immaculate, holly-red Range Rover and swept off down the street in deep discussion about their day to come, no doubt.
Right! Now that there was coffee and milk in the house, it was time to start tackling the pile of boxes in her lounge.
It was dark again by the time Jess looked out of the lounge window.
Her heart skipped a beat when she saw the street was lit, but empty. Empty save for the small slump of snow where Frosty and his eyes made out of coal had stood a day earlier. Had she missed the advent calendar surprise at number 2? The promise of seeing Kai and Rex so she could show them how she’d hung up their wreath had kept her going throughout the day. She’d also been hoping to soften the edges of her disappointment that her parents hadn’t rung – again – with a glass of wine and a bit of a natter with Drea. Even if the woman scared her a bit, an entire day of alone time had made her desperate for some company. Right up until they’d left, her parents had been brilliant at keeping her busy. She’d been allowed to sulk and mope for one week and then had been put to work. She had a regular stint on reception at their dental surgery. They’d gently eased her into some online tutoring so she could gain back her confidence in the teaching arena. When another moping session loomed, they’d sent her to the shops for things she was sure they hadn’t needed or parked her in front of an onion that needed dicing. Today had been a stark reminder that the only person who could live the rest of her life for her was Jess. She’d had enough of this particular Jess and craved social interaction like air. Even if only for an hour.
She scrabbled around to find her phone among the crumpled-up newspaper she’d used to pack up things back at her parents’. It was six-thirty. Okay. Good. Enough time to have a shower and a sandwich. She mentally ran through the handful of groceries she’d picked up during a quick lunchtime run to the nearby superstore to figure out what she could eat so, if there was wine, it didn’t land on an empty stomach. The first thing that sprang to mind, without actually looking, was a big block of cheddar. She could make a cheese-and-crisps sandwich just like her mum used to make her when she was little. Bap, lashings of butter, salt and vinegar crisps atop a thick slab of cheese—
Her stomach churned as the memories flooded back in. She scrunched her eyes tight but could only picture the children’s dining hall back at St Benedict’s. She opened them again, forcing herself back into the here and now. Ethan was fine. Thank God. And Crispin? Probably lording it about in front of some other poor, unsuspecting art teacher. Little tyrant that he was. Anyway, it wasn’t her problem now.
Or was it?
He’d lied and got her fired. Would he do the same again? She’d felt it had been her moral responsibility to let the Head Teacher know the truth, but where had that honesty landed her?
Christmas Street, she sternly reminded herself. Where, hopefully, Santa was keeping tabs on the naughty and nice children so Jess wouldn’t ever find herself in such an awful predicament ever again.
She poured her frustration into scrunching some stray newspaper into the one box she hadn’t collapsed for her shiny new recycling bin, then stood back in the doorway of the lounge and tried to admire her handiwork.
It looked …
Well …
It looked like someone had been the recipient of her parents’ stray furniture and augmented it with the very first sofa she’d laid eyes on eBay. Which was, of course, pretty much what had happened.
It was a bit shocking, really. That she’d cared so little. She was an art teacher: beauty, and being surrounded by it, was her thing. Which was why she’d been tempted to hang Kai and Rex’s wreath above the mantelpiece of her small Victorian-style fireplace (currently sporting a finger-painting of a bunny rabbit riding a unicorn she’d been given, framed by a parent and signed by the child, back when she’d held favoured teacher status).
In fairness to the sofa, it was a rather beautiful teal and embodied a yesteryear charm that appealed to her. It was long enough for her to take a nap on (she’d tested it) and deep enough to curl up in and read a book. You could also swirl your finger along the velvety cloth and draw your initials or a heart in it, if you were that way inclined.
On the flip side, it pretty much filled up half of the lounge to the point there was no room for a table on either side of it. It didn’t match anything else she had in the room: her dad’s old leather wing chair (ripped and in need of recovering), a small bookcase that had so many bumps and nicks that it had passed through the shabby-chic stage and was hurtling towards the leave-it-out-on-the-pavement-for-the-binmen-to-collect stage, and, to remind her of all that had gone before, a small, decorative cactus.
Once she got a few more books on the shelves and maybe threw a blanket or two over the leather chair, it would look fine. Better than fine. It would look homely. A place she’d
want to return to at the end of a long day with the students, rather than a storage room for the boxes she had yet to open, including the big box of office supplies she was meant to provide copy for (thanks Amanda!) by the end of the month.
She picked that box up and lugged it into the kitchen, telling herself that what she should feel instead of dispirited was proud. She’d come a long way in a year.
Precisely one year ago, she’d been in tears pretty much all day, every day (and that wasn’t just because of the cactus pricks). One week later she’d been jobless. Two weeks after that? Boyfriendless, homeless, aimless. Then a solid year of regrouping at her parents’. It’d taken a fair few ugly cries and a lot of gentle nudging from her mum to even think about online tutoring, let alone doing it, but … she’d got there in the end. Eventually, she’d begun to apply for new jobs at very small, very ordinary-sounding primary schools until, finally, she’d had the confidence to take one at Boughton Primary Academy. It was in a lovely town only an hour down the road from her parents. Not so close they’d think she was clinging, not so far she couldn’t make herself a regular feature at their Sunday lunches. They’d gone house-hunting together. Finding the little house on Christmas Street, just a ten-minute walk to her new school, had felt like a sign. As if life was finally aligning in her favour.
Then Dentists san Frontières had rung and her parents made the decision to leave. They sold their house. Her mum and dad had said she was more than welcome to join them, but it was pretty clear they were hopeful that she would pull up her socks and get on with the rest of her life. This wasn’t, after all, the eighteenth century when she could wander round their house doing useful bits of embroidery and silver polishing until she died of consumption, an unfinished book of poetry by her side. So here she was at the ripe age of thirty-one, trying to make a go of being a grown-up all over again.
