Miracle on Christmas Street: The most heartwarming and hilarious Christmas read of 2020

by Annie O'Neil

  Jess held out a small folded piece of paper. ‘Here.’

  ‘What’s that then?’

  ‘Your Secret Santa.’

  He tried handing it back to her.

  Jess tucked her hands into her pockets. ‘You know what a Secret Santa is, right?’

  He nodded but said nothing.

  ‘Cool. I’ll pick it up, or you up, at seven?’

  ‘I’m not going out today,’ he grumbled.

  ‘Even better,’ Jess cranked up the power of her you can do this smile. Even the most stubborn children found this particular smile hard to resist. ‘The gifts are meant to be something from home that you don’t want. Like …’ Her mind reeled as she tried to think of something quick and easy to wrap up. ‘… some seeds or something from your greenhouse? A gift someone gave you that wasn’t quite right. Some bric-a-brac?’

  ‘Bric-a-brac,’ he repeated.

  ‘Yeah, you know, like doilies or—’

  ‘I know what bric-a-brac is, duck. I just don’t see why giving something I don’t want any more to someone else would bring any sort of Christmas cheer.’

  Jess pulled her coat zip up and down for a minute trying to come up with something inspirational to say about one person’s junk being another person’s treasure. ‘Maybe I should come in. You don’t want to lose any more heat, do you? I know there’s a senior discount and everything but you don’t really want to contribute to … ermm … global-warming?’

  Nice one, Jess. Good way to remind the poor man not only that he’s old, but that his generation ruined the planet.

  ‘Look,’ he finally said, not moving an inch. ‘I know what you’re doing and believe it or not, I appreciate it.’ Jess’s smile barely gained purchase before he continued, ‘… but the truth is, I’m finding all of this …’ he waved his hand between the pair of them, ‘… this interaction business is a bit too much.’

  ‘Oh. Gosh. I’m sorry,’ Jess said, her cheeks colouring with shame.

  Mr Winters shifted, as uncomfortable with this conversation as she was. ‘You’re trying to do a good thing. I shouldn’t have been so bloody rude when you first started coming by. Habit, I guess. Keeping people at arm’s length.’

  Thirty-five years was a long time to keep people at bay. No wonder he was out of practice at letting them in.

  Jess looked to the porch floor, then back up into Mr Winters’ clear blue eyes. ‘Weren’t there neighbours or friends who helped after, you know, Anne passed?’

  ‘After Anne died, you mean,’ he quietly corrected. He thought a moment, then said, ‘I suppose there might have been. I have vague memories of Robert and me being given all sorts of stews and casseroles and the like, but once he’d gone back to Scotland …’ He stopped and ran a hand through his thick white hair. ‘I was so angry and busy trying not to lose my job I guess I didn’t notice who did what.’

  ‘Who were you angry with?’

  ‘Myself, mostly,’ he admitted. ‘Though I probably didn’t see it that way at the time. I didn’t want folk to have to try to be nice to the demon who’d taken away the loveliest woman this town had ever known.’

  ‘It wasn’t your fault!’ Unable to stop herself, Jess reached out and gave Mr Winters’ arm a squeeze. How awful for him to have to live with all of this anguish. A self-imposed torment that didn’t seem to have faded through the years. He looked down at her hand. She put it back into her pocket, fighting the prickling of tears, but stayed quiet as he continued.

  ‘Once Robert and I had our disagreement after the funeral I suppose I felt as though I didn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of anyone’s kindnesses.’

  He said it matter of factly. No self-pity. It was simply the way things were. He’d made a call and it had been the wrong one. His son had never spoken to him again and he’d lived the past thirty-five years punishing himself for something he simply couldn’t have known.

  Jess thought of her own behaviour in the aftermath of the Cheese Sandwich Incident. There had been a lot of lying in bed. Much chocolate consumption. An abundance of O woe is me. But eventually, through the loving support of her parents and her bone-deep passion for teaching, she’d pulled herself out of that murky wallow and was, with plenty of wobbles, trying to start over.

  But starting over was something Mr Winters didn’t seem to have done. It must be so painful for him. Living in that house with all of those memories. ‘Why didn’t you move?’ she asked.

  ‘How else would Robert know where to find me?’ he said with a sharp look, visibly shocked there was even a need to ask.

  Jess’s hands flew to her heart. All of these years, he’d held out hope. And yet … now that Will had reached out to him, he was too frightened to meet. Her chest strained with pain for him, then, as if a dam burst, vowed to reunite them.

  ‘Why don’t you write to Will? Ring him?’

  Mr Winters shook his head. ‘I don’t know. I’m not sure opening up old wounds is such a good idea.’

  ‘From where I’m standing? It seems like you never let them close. And,’ she quickly added before he could interject, ‘for what it’s worth, I don’t think you’ve deserved to be in pain this long. I know I never met her, but from the way you talk about her, I don’t think Anne would’ve liked you to put yourself through this.’

  He blinked a few times, as if trying to digest the notion that his late wife could absolve him of the guilt he felt, then shook his head. ‘That’s kind of you, but there’s nowt you can do about it when the one thing you want is the one thing you can never have.’

  His words sank straight to the bottom of her gut.

  Of course his pain was different to hers. She could still teach. Sure, it’d be scary and she’d probably wobble, more than once, but she had the option to try again. Try to be better, stronger, more resilient. Because the truth was, no matter how far away she moved from London, there would be more Crispin Anand-Haights, and there would also be as many Ethans and all of those other glorious children who made teaching such a brilliant job. And Mr Winters was right. There would never be another Anne Winters. But there was a Will Winters …

  And where there was a Will …

  ‘Arnold … can I invite myself in for a cup of tea?’

  He frowned at her then stood back from the door. ‘Go on then. As you say, climate change …’

  17 December

  15:17

  To: WillWinters@TheMerryVictualler.co.uk

  From: JessGreen2000@gmail.com

  Subject: RE: RE: More News From Christmas Street

  Hey Will –

  I hope you got my last email in response to yours. Sometimes I worry they disappear into the ether never to return. It sounds like life has turned you into one of those rarefied creatures: the self-aware male. Long may you flourish and teach your wise ways to those who follow in your path! (And by the way? Those scallop-pops look AMAZING! Can we learn to make those?).

  Now. To the point.

  I know it’s crazy late notice, but you know how you said you’d try to make room for your grandfather before the holidays if it was in any way possible? I think now might be the time.

  So, if you’re free tonight, here’s my idea …

  ‘Bloody hell it’s cold.’

  ‘Kevin! Language. There’re children here.’

  ‘Not my children—’

  ‘Shush.’

  Mr Winters gave Jess a sidelong look. She gave him her best stab at a smile through her wince. Not exactly the most community-minded chatter to happen upon, but they were here and that was what mattered.

  ‘Anyone tell Emma that it’s sub-zero out here?’

  ‘I’ve got a chicken that needs taking out of the oven.’

  ‘This is Gemma’s not Emma’s night.’

  ‘Which one?

  ‘Gemma! There’s only one of them.’<
br />
  ‘Really?’

  Mr Winters sent Jess an inquisitive look. Jess could only shrug. The Gemma–Emma conundrum might remain one of life’s eternal mysteries.

  ‘Hey, doll. Nice night for it, yeah?’

  Drea sounded casual. Too casual. Jess fell into exactly the same mode because standing here next to Mr Winters was a bit weird. ‘Hey! Hi, Drea. You’ve met Mr Winters, right? Arnold, this is Drea Zamboni. Down at number one?’

  Mr Winters held out a gloved hand and gave Drea’s a solid shake. ‘Yes, she’s … we’ve …’

  ‘I’ve hounded the poor man with flyers galore over the years, haven’t I, Mr Winters? You’re a tough old boot. Ignored every one of them. Good on ya.’

  He gave her a half smile, clearly unsure if it was a compliment or not.

  ‘Those your gifts?’

  Jess and Mr Winters looked down at their hands. Jess held a small wrapped box and Mr Winters had a much larger wooden one with a solitary red ribbon round it.

  ‘You’re meant to put them there on the table Gem’s set up on the drive, yeah?’ Drea pointed them towards the table which was, of course, where most people’s attention was focused, waiting for the event to begin.

  Mr Winters took a step backwards.

  ‘Here, mate. I’ll take it.’ Drea didn’t wait for an answer, just lifted the box out of his arms with a light ‘Oof!’, marched through the crowd and plonked it on the table. ‘Now that’s what I call a present,’ she said, nodding at the wooden box. A brave statement considering she didn’t have the slightest clue what was in it. Jess followed in her wake, popped her gift on the table then scuttled back to Mr Winters’ side, shifting from foot to foot more out of nervousness than cold, although it was definitely one of those ‘blow your breath into smoke rings’ sorts of nights.

  The dulcet tones of Cliff Richard began wafting from the house along with the arrival of Gemma in a slightly too saucy to be appropriate Mrs Claus outfit.

  A couple of the Rob’n’Bobs wolf-whistled and were promptly shushed by their wives and the protective glare of Gemma’s husband, who was behind her wearing a snug-fitting elf costume. Their children, two adorable little platinum-blond boys, were also wearing elf costumes but theirs looked tailor-made. It was clear to see where the money went in their home, which, all things considered, made Jess’s heart go a bit gooey. Awww. Families. They could be messy sometimes but they could also be great. Which reminded her … She did a quick scan of the crowd for a young version of Mr Winters. She hadn’t heard back from Will and really doubted he’d make it, but it’d be so nice for Arnold if he did show up. And she had to admit, she wondered if the real-life Will was like email Will, who she had grown rather fond of. But mostly, Jess wanted Mr Winters to have something and someone to look forward to instead of facing yet another year of loneliness and self-recrimination. Her eyes lit on and caught with Josh’s. He raised his eyebrows and did the guy chin-tilt thing. She smiled and flushed, which was stupid because she seriously did not imagine any sort of future between them.

  Drea nudged her in the ribs, making her flush even deeper.

  What on earth was she doing being all flirty with a parent dad? She knew, having witnessed it on multiple occasions at St Benny’s, that flirting with a parent dad, particularly the widowed parent dad the entire street was insanely protective of, was class-A stupid.

  Everyone fell silent, straining to hear Gemma’s tiny, whispery voice, as she rang a bell and said, ‘Ohmygoodness, that must’ve been an angel getting its wings!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s from It’s a Wonderful Life – remember?’

  ‘Clarence?’

  ‘They all get wings. With the bell. But yes, Clarence does, too.’

  The person with the chicken in the oven brought it up again with a muttered chop chop and Gemma, who was clearly immensely shy, flushed crimson. Her husband protectively waded into the breach and began handing out presents. There was a lot of collective laughing and ribbing as joke gifts were opened and presented to the group. At one point some headlights flashed onto the street. Jess went up on tiptoe to see who it was, but the car did a three-point turn and was gone before she could see.

  Kev got a litre of car oil.

  Katie the nurse got a taped-up box of the Operation board game.

  Rex and Kai got a candle in rainbow stripes that they lavished praise on before yawning and making a quick exit. (Work! It’s a madhouse!)

  Drea got a mini-loudspeaker that changed her voice into Minnie Mouse and the Terminator. Someone made Gemma do it which, of course, got a huge laugh. Jess turned to gauge Arnold’s reaction. His features looked tight and anxious, as if he wanted the whole thing over and done with. She gave his arm a pat and said, ‘Our turn soon. It’s going in order of the houses.’ He gave her a thin-lipped nod.

  The triathletes got a packet of Dettol easy-wipes to which they said, ha-ha very funny, then tried to book everyone in for next year.

  The chicken roaster received an I ♥ My Neighbour mug before bowing out of proceedings because the chicken was calling.

  Jess received a bag of carrots ‘for the reindeer’ from one of the Gem’n’Emms with an apologetic, ‘Sorry. We don’t know you well enough to give you something stupid.’

  The comment stung a little, but Jess reminded herself that it was, of course, true. Drea suggested she juice the carrots with ginger and then throw in some tequila if it was after five.

  Josh was the recipient of Mr Winters’ present. He looked really touched when he opened up the wooden wine box to discover it was filled with pre-planted daffodil bulbs and would need little attention beyond some watering in order to flourish.

  ‘Just, you know, make sure the soil doesn’t go dry,’ Mr Winters said.

  ‘That’s …’ Josh cleared his throat. ‘They were Claire’s favourites.’

  ‘I know they were, lad.’

  Everyone grew still. Claire was Josh’s wife.

  Mr Winters nodded and something passed between the two men that only those who have loved and lost could share. A common understanding.

  Martha received a dual foot massager which Tyler took great delight in. ‘You and me, Mazza! How about a nice night in front of Mastermind and we can hit all of those pressure points, eh?’ She rolled her eyes at him, but Jess could see she was amused.

  Finally it was Mr Winters’ turn.

  Everyone knew Martha had taken his name, so the group’s attention pinged between the pair of them as if they were watching the final at Wimbledon.

  Clearly uncomfortable in the limelight he fumbled with the square thin package. He pulled the shiny red paper off it and revealed an album. ‘Marti Morgan,’ he said, brow furrowing.

  ‘It may not be your style of music, but apart from Tyler the mix-master here, I thought you might be the only one old enough to have an actual record player.’ She smiled at Mr Winters. ‘If it’s not your style of music, there are plenty more where that came from. You’re more than welcome to come over, have a cup of tea and see what you think.’

  Tyler nodded along enthusiastically as if, he too, had been part of this plan. ‘I’ll drive you if the walk’s too far.’

  Mr Winters’ harrumphed. Martha lived two doors up from him. ‘I may be old and feeble, young man, but not that old and that feeble.’ He gave Martha a quick nod. Her offer had been acknowledged and possibly accepted.

  Gemma whispered her thanks to everyone but said she’d probably better get in as she couldn’t feel her fingers or toes anymore. Everyone quickly followed suit and, despite some grumbling that he didn’t need a nursemaid, not yet anyway, Jess and Drea walked Mr Winters home, not so subtly reminding him about the Christmas piñata at number 18 the next night at six.

  ‘Nice job, Jess,’ Drea said once Mr Winters was safely indoors.

  ‘For what?’

  ‘Getti
ng the tortoise out of his shell.’

  Jess felt the warmth of the compliment hit her insides. ‘Any word from Spencer?’ she asked a bit too innocently.

  ‘Nah,’ Drea gave a brusque shake of her head. ‘But it’s meeting day next Tuesday. Pretty much the last day he can get on a flight and still make it for Christmas, so … we’ll see.’

  They arrived outside of Jess’s house. She gave Drea a quick, tight hug then crossed all of her fingers. ‘I’ll stay like this until tomorrow.’

  Drea huffed out a laugh and then softened. ‘Thanks, doll. It’s nice having someone on side.’

  And that was it, wasn’t it, Jess thought as she shut the door behind her, grinned at her painted Christmas tree, then headed for her nightly hot chocolate fix. Knowing someone was out there, on your side. It was what had thrown her so off-kilter when the Cheese Sandwich Incident had gone down. The people she’d thought would be there for her – the Head Teacher, her boyfriend, the other teachers – hadn’t been. And even though Amanda had handed her tissues and poured her glass upon glass of Pinot, she’d not stood up for Jess. Nor had she demanded a meeting with the Head to say she knew Crispin had a tendency to bully the other children. That he manipulated situations to make himself the victor, regardless of what had happened. It explained why taking her calls was so hard. She felt betrayed.

  A ping sounded from her laptop.

  17 December

  20:43

  To: JessGreen2000@gmail.com

  From: WillWinters@TheMerryVictualler.co.uk

  Subject: RE: RE: RE: More News From Christmas Street

  Dear Jess(ica)

  MEA CULPA!!!! I was literally on my way there. I was at the actual entrance to Christmas Street when I got a call from the fire brigade. The fire alarms had gone off at the catering kitchen. Idiot me left a batch of mince pies in the oven and … incineration. Luckily not too much damage, but it meant I couldn’t come along and meet Grandad and you when I really was hoping to.

  Flat out until the big day, but please keep trying. I know it isn’t your responsibility to keep me in touch with Grandad (that feels right … so I think I’ll go with that), but the efforts you’re making mean a lot. Scallop-pops are insanely easy. They’re on the list.