by Annie O'Neil
An hour later she was all showered and had tidied the crumbs from the Marmite sandwich she’d opted for in the end. Then, before she could talk herself out of it, she pulled on her coat and headed out onto the street.
‘Jess!’
She turned at the sound of Drea’s unmistakable voice.
Smiling, she eased her way through the smattering of people beginning to gather outside number 2 apart from a pair of children who were trying to build miniature snowmen out of the remains of Frosty.
‘Hiya,’ Jess said, giving a shy wave to Drea and the couple she was standing with.
‘Hi, doll. So glad you could make it.’ She planted a kiss on each of Jess’s cheeks. ‘Looks like we’re getting a nice little turnout. I wasn’t sure if we’d peaked last night.’ Her eyes skidded across the growing crowd as she spoke, but she had her hand on Jess’s arm throughout, as if to assure her she was there. ‘Right. We’ll give everyone a few more minutes before we start, but it’s looking good.’ She flashed Jess a quick, bright smile. ‘Want to meet some more of your neighbours?’
‘Yes, that’d be lovely.’ Especially now that they weren’t hurling snowballs at her.
‘Good,’ Drea grinned. ‘Because I wasn’t going to give you much of a choice in the matter. Now—’ She pointedly turned to the couple next to her. They were around her age and were also fairly new on the street. The two young ones playing with the remains of Frosty were theirs and, after a bit of coaxing, also came over to say hello. After about ten more introductions Jess had completely given up on trying to remember anyone’s names and figured they would come eventually.
‘And tonight, of course, we’ve got the Sloans at number two. They have triplets, all mad as a box of frogs, but fabulous. Now. Got all that?’ Drea asked drily. ‘Quiz tomorrow at eight a.m. sharp.’ She laughed before Jess could answer. ‘Ooo – look, look. I think the show’s about to begin.’
Jess turned to number 2, across the road Drea’s. From inside, the owners flashed the porch lights.
‘Looks like the show’s about to begin,’ someone said.
‘Are they signalling Santa?’ An excited child asked, which, of course, made the rest of the children look up at their parents and ask the same.
‘I think they want us to quit talking and be quiet,’ intoned a man in a business suit who didn’t really look as though he was enjoying being out among his neighbours. A woman, presumably his wife, hissed, shush Giles, and then turned her attention to number 2’s front door, which was now opening. A teenager – tweenager? Hard to tell sometimes – appeared. He was wearing a pair of blinking reindeer antlers, a red nose and a very serious expression. He was holding a huge box wrapped in bright red paper with a big gold ribbon round it and an enormous old bow on top. It screamed Christmas time.
‘Hope that’s for me and no one else,’ a jovial man in a thick parka shouted out.
‘Trust you to be the greedy guts, John,’ another neighbour called back.
Drea made a sound that shushed the pair of them. Jess hid a smile. She never ever wanted to be on Drea’s bad side.
All of a sudden, out from behind the boy marched two more tweenagers in identical costumes followed by their parents. They were all playing kazoos. Was that … was it … ‘Jingle Bells’? Yup. It was definitely ‘Jingle Bells’.
As the penny dropped, child number one pulled the lid off the present box, flung it to the side and began working his way through the crowd. There was a kazoo for everyone.
So there was absolutely no doubt as to how the evening was going to progress, Mr Sloan made a hearty ho, ho, ho and called out, ‘That’s right, everyone. Tonight, coming to you live from Number Two Christmas Street, it’s the one and only Carolling Kazoo Choir!’
After some chuckling and groaning and another round of Drea training everyone’s attention back to the task at hand, the kazooing began in earnest.
Half an hour later the session wrapped up with a giggle-fuelled round of ‘Joy to the World’ made even more hilarious by the fact that all of the kazooing was making everyone’s nose tickle.
When it was over, as had happened the night before, parents with children shuffled off rather sharpish. Jess could hear a few offers for a drink or cups of tea being bandied about. An acute sense of loneliness swept through her. It was very much a first-day-at-school feeling. The type that made you wish as hard as you could that life could go back to being the way it used to be. Not entirely perfect, but blissfully familiar. She went up on her tiptoes to see if she could spot Kai and Rex when a plastic wine glass appeared in front of her.
Drea.
‘Quick one before we turn in?’
Jess smiled and nodded. She’d spent the entire day alone and would most likely do the same again for the next day and the next, so … she held the glass up while Drea filled it. A few other people reappeared from their houses, picnic wine glasses and screw-top bottles in hand, making jokes about there being no need for ice sleeves for the wine so long as they stayed outdoors.
‘This your way of keeping all of the calories burning off before Christmas, Drea?’ A woman a couple of doors down did a couple of enthusiastic star jumps then comedically wiped her brow before taking an equally enthusiastic glug of wine.
‘Ha, ha,’ Drea intoned. She rolled her eyes for Jess’s benefit then explained. ‘I’m in the fitness industry.’
‘Oh?’
Drea waved it off, the miniature Christmas trees on her fingernails catching the street lights as she did. ‘Keeps the mortgage paid. So. How do you think you’d do if I gave you a quiz on everyone’s names now?’
Jess choked on her wine and laughed. ‘I’d fail. Miserably.’
‘No worries, doll. You’ll get there. It took me ages to meet everyone here, what with the way you Brits prefer hiding behind closed doors.’ She smiled at the smattering of people still out on the street. ‘This proves my point.’
‘What does?’
‘That people want to have more of a community feel about where they live. And what better time than Crimbo to kick it off?’ She waved a small group of women over. ‘C’mon Jess. Let’s start again.’
Twenty minutes, a bag of snowflake-shaped pretzels, and another bottle of wine later, Jess had officially committed four people’s names to memory: Drea. Kai and Rex. And Martha Snodgrass at number 21, because, seriously, how did you forget that name? She was in her seventies and had had a young lodger for the past six months with whom she was regularly at loggerheads. And from there it got quite fuzzy. There were lots of Emmas and Gemmas, whom the street collectively referred to as the Gem’n’Emms because no one could keep any of them straight. Their husbands were known as the Rob’n’Bobs, even though there was only one of each and one was definitely called Darren. And then there were a truckload of other people she couldn’t remember.
She’d get there eventually. Maybe.
‘And what about that house?’ Jess asked when there was a lull in the conversation. ‘Who lives there?’
Everyone’s eyes followed Jess’s finger down to the end of the street to the large, unlit house down at the end of the street. Number 24. The curtains were drawn tight, making it impossible to detect any signs of life. It was neat and tidy enough. No piles of unattended leaves or dead plants giving it a Norman Bates sort of feel, but … the way everyone’s mood altered from bright and cheery to suspect and withdrawn sent a wriggle of shivers down her spine.
‘Oh, that’s Mr Winters.’ Drea finally broke the silence. ‘He’s our resident Scrooge.’
Jess was about to say even Scrooge came round in the end, but soon the air was thick with information.
‘Keeps to himself, he does.’
‘I heard he was racist.’
‘Sexist, too.’
‘Vegan most likely.’
‘Wot? Because he’s a racist and a sexist, that makes him a vegan?
Where’s the logic in that?’
‘It’s because he was done for murder, wasn’t it? He’s trying to make amends.’
‘No, that’s not right. I heard it was white-collar crime and that he’s under house arrest. Still got to keep his big house, though, didn’t he?’
‘That wasn’t it at all. They nabbed him for having slaves in his basement. Cook. Cleaner. He had a whole squad of them down there.’
‘Oh, stop it the lot of you!’ Drea shushed them crossly. ‘He’s just a sad, lonely old man who doesn’t know how to make friends any more, he’s been on his own that long. Scrooge. Like I said.’
As a group, eight or so heads turned to stare at Drea. For a moment she looked as though she really cared that there was a sad, lonely man who saw no joy in the world living at the end of their street and then, in the blink of an eye, the compassionate defensiveness was whisked away and replaced by a bright sunshiney smile. ‘Right, you lot. It’s a school night isn’t it? Same time tomorrow?’
‘Where are we tomorrow?’
‘Number 3.’
A few disaffected murmurs filled the air.
Jess shot a questioning look at Drea.
‘Let’s just say our hopes aren’t high for number 3.’ She nodded to number 4, an attractive detached cottage that had a wreath on the door, Christmas tree twinkling away in the window and a tasteful willow weave in the shape of a reindeer ‘nibbling’ on their front hedge. ‘Number four’ll be better.’
A collective happy sigh went round the group.
‘Chantal’s,’ A woman said in a hushed tone of reverence.
Drea began collecting bottles, chucking them into the closest recycling bin, pointedly wishing everyone a good night.
‘We love Chantal,’ a woman told Jess in a way the suggested that she too would soon fall under the mysterious Chantal’s spell.
‘Why do we love her?’ Jess asked.
‘She’s the reason we’re all fat and she’s thin and beautiful,’ another woman cackled. ‘You’ll see.’
The group began drifting off to their own homes and, as Drea had been drawn into a conversation with the woman from number 8 about health-and-safety considerations, Jess felt that awkward all-alone feeling creep through her again. Time to go.
When she got back to her house, she frowned at the For Sale sign before her door caught her eye. Her new wreath had slipped and was hanging haphazardly from the knocker. It’d need fixing. Another job. She pulled her keys out of her pocket and went to open the door noticing, as she did, that someone had slipped a tiny bit of mistletoe into the wreath. Against the odds, that warm and fuzzy feeling she’d had the other night returned. Perhaps moving to Christmas Street was the one smart thing she’d done this year.
3 December
‘Hello, darling!’ Jess’s mum waved and her dad lifted up a coconut with a straw stuck in the top.
‘IỌKWE!’ Her dad bellowed. ‘THAT MEANS HELLO IN MARSHALLESE!’
‘Harry, there’s no need to shout, she can hear us just fine. YOU CAN HEAR US, CAN’T YOU, DARLING?’
Jess nodded. The video connection was surprisingly good considering they were a gazillion miles away.
‘Hi, Mum,’ Jess’s voice cracked. ‘Dad!’ A tear plopped onto her cheek.
‘Jess, love. What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing! I – It’s good to see you.’ An epic understatement if ever there was one. But as good as it was to see them, it was also difficult. Their tropical shirts, darkening tans and coconut drinks highlighted just how very far away they were and how incredibly alone Jess felt. The advent calendar events had definitely been a nice way to meet her new neighbours, but twenty-two more nights of standing off to the side and then running home before anyone engaged her in conversation wasn’t exactly filling up her dance card with a squad of new besties and a glut of Mr Darcys. Not to mention having to come up with something for her own night. Its looming approach genuinely terrified her. An entire street of strangers … judging her. She’d thought of inviting Rex and Kai over for a brainstorming session – Drea was still a bit too intimidating to confess a complete absence of ideas to – but it didn’t seem fair to lumber them with her insecurities when they had their shop to run and their own night to host and she hadn’t exactly unpacked anything since that first day when she’d opened a whopping three boxes.
‘We couldn’t miss moving day, could we?’ Her mum gave her an expectant smile, clearly hoping Jess would wipe her tears away, unleash a sunshiney smile, then proceed to delight them with tales of how fabulous her new home in her new neighbourhood in the new town where she was meant to be getting on with her new life really was.
Instead, she swept away another few tears and sobbed. ‘That was two days ago.’
‘What? No. Diane?’ Her dad looked at her mum, then at his wrist which, for the first time ever, did not sport a watch.
Jess’s mum glared at her husband as if it was his fault. ‘Harry. Why aren’t we ringing on the right day?’
A back-and-forth volley ensued, her parents trying to pin down exactly who had been in charge of the calendar and time zones and days of the week, to the point Jess instinctively did her teacher’s Attention Clap. The magic one that all of the students knew meant she’d be expecting silence in three … two … one …
As if they, too, had been programmed, her parents turned to her, contrite expressions on their faces. ‘Sorry, love. We thought we’d got it right. I think we’ve fallen victim to island time.’
‘Already?’
‘Oh, love,’ Her parents gave a shared sigh of delight. ‘It’s just so … well, the weather’s deliciously warm, the people are ever so lovely, and the teeth!’ Her mum clapped her hands together and pressed them to her lips. ‘Their teeth are wonderful for the most part. Honestly, I think it’s largely the Brits here who need help,’ she stage whispered. ‘Heaven knows who looked after them as children. It certainly wasn’t us.’
‘Lots to keep you busy, then?’ Jess asked, relieved to back on her parents’ favourite topic. Gnashers.
‘Brits or teeth?’
Jess listened as her mother happily nattered on, her father interjecting every now and again with a factual correction or a bit of a sidebar description. Then they picked up their tablet and took her on a tour of their small but comfortable breeze-block house, which was a short walk from the hospital where they were volunteering. ‘It’s all right by the sea,’ her mother smiled then frowned. ‘A lad from one of the NGOs was saying we’d better enjoy it while we could because it’d all be under water soon enough.’
‘What? Why?’
‘Climate change, darling,’ her mother said, tapping the side of her nose. ‘It’s everywhere.’
Her father yawned, clapping a hand over his face, then gave a sheepish grin. ‘Sorry, love. I think it’s time we turned in.’
Jess looked at her watch. It was two-thirty her time which meant – ‘Is it the middle of the night there?’
Her mother smiled through a yawn of her own. ‘We’ve still got a touch of the jet lag. We go to sleep early, wake up in the middle of the night, have a swim by moonlight, then back to bed.’
Jess forced herself to swallow down another sting of tears. Her parents had changed their lives and were now reaping the rewards. She had to believe that same sparkly-eyed joy would come to her sometime, too. Maybe not in the form of coconut drinks and midnight swims, but it’d be out there. Somewhere.
Either way, her parents were having a whale of a time. Which, of course, they completely deserved. They’d run a busy dental practice for as long as she could remember. They’d given her a lovely upbringing in a lovely village, never wallowing in the fact they’d only had her instead of the ‘large unruly brood’ she knew they’d wanted. They’d encouraged her to follow her dream of being a teacher rather than push her into joining the family practice. The only t
ime they’d second guessed her decisions was when she’d been offered the job at St Benedict’s Preparatory School. Was London the goal or was St Benny’s? (Benny’s!) Did St Benny’s embody the values she embraced? (Of course!) Was she sure working there would make her the teacher she wanted to be? (The best!)
It turned out her emphatic answers to the questions had changed. She had changed. To the point that her parents, who had already ushered her out into the world as a fledgling adult, had opened their arms and taken her back into their home at her darkest ebb, built her back up, then given her the deposit for her new house which she never, not in a million years, would’ve been able to afford on her teacher’s salary, and ushered her back out the door so she could start her life all over again.
So, if fixing teeth west of the international date line was their jam, they deserved every cracked molar that came their way. Even if it did mean pretending she was looking forward to her first Christmas on her own. Two years ago it wouldn’t have mattered quite as much. She’d had a boyfriend, a home, a job in London. She’d been enamoured by how twinkly London became. The presents the parents gave the teachers. The invitations to holidays they received were mad. They included joining a make-up doyenne and her family at their Courchevel chalet for winter half-term, ostensibly as a guest, but really to babysit the children when the parents went out for long boozy lunches. A Russian businessman who seemed to own an entire mountain range with a dacha on top. (Snap to the babysitting.) And a film producer who only invited the pretty, unmarried female teachers to ‘check out life on the set’. Those were usually politely declined. It was living the dream by proxy. Someone’s dream, anyway.
Had loving the trappings of working at St Benny’s landed her where she was now? Had it made her take her eye off what was really important: the students? Was that how she’d ended up misjudging the Cheese Sandwich Incident so poorly?
She shoved the thought back into her ‘nope, not ready’ box and forced herself to smile and wave at her parents as they worked out where the ‘end call’ button was on their iPad. A few seconds after the screen had faded to black, she heard the metal clank of the post flap.
