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

by Annie O'Neil

  ‘Right! I think we’d better get ourselves rugged up for Christmas Jenga, yeah? Get our winter gear on?’ Drea clapped her hands and smiled, very clearly back to being Drea again.

  Everyone obeyed her efficient instructions and in a matter of minutes the lounge was tidied up, they’d all put on weather-appropriate clothing, had bundled all of the To Be Returned casseroles into their arms and had even printed out Best-Dressed Pet Show Holiday Bonanza flyers, before bundling out of the door and heading next door. Drea, Jess decided, was the world’s eighth natural wonder.

  ‘Well that was a disaster,’ Drea tugged off her coat and plopped it on the banister as Jess hadn’t yet hung up the coat hooks she’d yet to buy. ‘Who paints their Jenga set red and green then stacks the wet blocks on top of one another to dry?’

  Jess shrugged. She didn’t think it was worth being quite as annoyed about it as Drea was. It’d actually been kind of funny. Besides, the weather was so horrible it had probably been just as well that they’d couldn’t play. The neighbours who hadn’t been able to jam themselves into the Cummings’ garage had all worried aloud about head colds, in particular Martha who, even under cover, had sneezed and yawned quite a lot, explaining that if someone hadn’t been playing their godawful so-called music half the night she might’ve got some proper sleep. Just a few minutes in, they had all headed home, hands stuffed with flyers and ideas being shared about how to best dress their pet for the next night’s fashion parade. All, of course, except for Mr Winters, who hadn’t come, and Kai and Rex, who had refused a flyer and had walked home silently, hand in hand. She suspected they might sit tomorrow night out.

  ‘Wine,’ Drea commanded as if number 19’s failure to make their night a success had been a personal slight.

  Jess flicked the kettle on for herself. She had entered that awful ‘hangover while still awake’ phase of the evening and thought hair-of-the-dogging it probably wasn’t for the best. Keen to not let Drea’s spirits sag too low this close to the month’s big event, Jess poured her a glass of wine and said, ‘I suppose you could look at it from another angle.’

  ‘And what angle would that be, exactly?’ snapped Drea, accepting the glass of wine then grandly swooping it out as she answered the question herself, ‘Destroying Christmas in advance so that the real day seems better? Not the best of tactics.’

  ‘No. I didn’t meant that, it’s … maybe everyone could do with a day off.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Drea shot daggers at her.

  ‘Nothing. I just mean … you know?’

  ‘No, Miss Clever Clogs.’ Drea pushed herself up to a haughty Queen of England pose. ‘I’m afraid you’re going to have to spell it out for me.’

  ‘It’s just a busy time of year and adding in this extra business—’

  ‘Oh, sorry,’ Drea fixed Jess with an entirely unapologetic stare. ‘I didn’t realise I was adding to everyone’s stresses and strains. Next year I’ll just keep myself to myself, shall I?’ Her eyes were blazing with fury.

  Jess sucked her lips into her mouth and ground her teeth down along them while she did a quick backwards count from ten. She didn’t want to bicker and she certainly didn’t want Drea to think everything she’d done for the living advent calendar was an irritation. It had been the total opposite. She forced her brain to regroup and turn her feedback into parent–teacher conference mode: focus on the positive, and find silver linings in the negatives.

  ‘I think the advent calendar is one of the best things that’s ever happened to me.’

  Drea scoffed, took another gulp of wine then, eyebrows templing said, ‘Really?’

  ‘Yeah. Really. I can’t think of any better way to have met all of my neighbours. I mean, look.’ She pointed towards her hallway where her tree and all of its individually painted ornaments stood as testament to the fact she was well and truly part of the neighbourhood. ‘I wouldn’t have a tree if it wasn’t for you.’

  Drea made a vaguely mollified sound.

  ‘Or known that boas were made of ostrich feathers. Or learned how to make wreaths or how to plant tulips.’ As she spoke, Jess began to realise just how true it all was. The advent nights had well and truly made her feel part of something wonderful. Everyone may have started out being dubious, but nineteen days in, it was clear participation had gone far beyond token shows of being neighbourly. She was just about to say as much when Drea cut her off.

  ‘Speaking of tulips, how’s your work going with Mr Winters?’

  Jess glanced at her phone. Still no email. The nervous thoughts she’d been keeping at bay – partly in thanks to the free-flowing wine but also due to having such a lovely, silly, family-based day – all flooded back into play.

  ‘I think I may have ruined Mr Winters’ life,’ Jess moaned, conking her head on the breakfast bar.

  ‘At least he’s only got a few more years left to live,’ Drea said. ‘I ruined my son’s life and he’s got yonks yet to rub it in.’

  ‘Awww … c’mon. It isn’t that bad between you, is it?’

  Drea’s face screwed up tight, her thumbs pressing into her eye sockets as if to will something else to come to mind other than all the mistakes she’d made. ‘No. No, doll, but it certainly could be better.’ She traced her finger along the top of the half-empty wine glass. ‘When you need to live on opposite sides of the world to keep the peace …’

  ‘My parents are on the other side of the world,’ Jess said, hoping that would help.

  Drea raised her wine glass up in a toast. ‘They would’ve happily brought you with them, and that, my dear, is the difference. I ran away from my boy. From the past he wanted me to confront. And I’m paying for it. Every. Single. Day.’

  Jess dumped her tea down the sink and pulled out the fancy canister of hot chocolate her parents had tucked in among all of the art supplies. ‘Should we have some of this, cuddle up on the sofa and talk it out?’

  Drea blinked a few rapid, perfectly mascaraed blinks then said, ‘Aww, doll face. That’d be lovely. And I’ll plait your hair after, yeah?’ Then she cackled like a hyena and necked the rest of her wine.

  An hour deep into the second Bridget Jones and her third set of plaits, Jess made two pre-New Year’s resolutions. One? Never to let Drea plait her hair again unless she needed a facelift. Two? Make Christmas as perfect for Drea as Drea was trying to make it for everyone else.

  20 December

  Jess was running on nervous energy. She’d refreshed her laptop about twenty times in a row, even taking the time to unplug and restart it to see if somehow her or Will’s email had been caught between the wall socket and the computer. Then she did the same set of IT forensics for Spencer’s email. She even did a burpee when she caught a glimpse of Drea running by on what she presumed was a detoxifying morning run, hoping it would add to the aura of good vibes she was trying to build around the next few days.

  The laptop flickered back to life. Jess jabbed at the mail icon.

  Nothing.

  Why hadn’t either of them written back?

  Something. Anything! Even an angry email railing against meddling neighbours interfering where they shouldn’t have. Would an angry email stop her? Maybe this was lesson she couldn’t learn. Standing by and doing nothing simply wasn’t in her genetic make-up.

  Although, she’d done nothing when Josh had suggested she join him and the children on a visit to a nearby stately home that was putting on a Winter Wonderland. Even though it had been utterly lovely lounging around his house and playing with his children, she still wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to be nudged in the direction Drea was obviously nudging her. Into Josh’s arms.

  It wasn’t anything against Josh. Quite the opposite, in fact. He was completely lovely, as were his children, and, of course, there was the blushing-whenever-she-was-in-his-presence thing; but despite all that, or perhaps because of all that, she
felt as though she really needed to stand on her own two feet for a while now that her parents weren’t propping her up any longer. Or Amanda. Or Drea, for that matter. The cool big sister she’d never had. It was time for Jess to be like Adele. Maybe not so much the make-a-platinum-album-based-on-her-embittered-experiences-at-an-over-priced-elitist-prep-school/break-up/job-search Adele (Never mind, I’ll fail … a childlike youuuuu … no more playground time or Oxbridge hopes for yooooooooooUUUU). No, it was more figuring out exactly who she was and who she wanted to be before she tried to mould herself into someone else’s life.

  A lightbulb in her head lit up. Maybe that was the problem. She’d been square-peg/round-holing it in London. Trying to jam herself into a lifestyle that wasn’t her own. Like the time when Amanda had forced her to go shopping at Harvey Nichols. She’d insisted they try on clothes on the designer floor even though Jess would never in a million years be able to afford them and, more to the point, would feel uncomfortable and anxious in them. Terrified she’d jam the zipper or snag a row of thousand-pound sequins or any number of things she bet Amanda, or Drea, for that matter, wouldn’t have thought about twice. Funny, actually. That Drea lived on this quiet little street in, well, not so much the middle of nowhere … but she was a woman who had the means to live anywhere and yet she didn’t. Was Drea after what most of the people on Christmas Street were aiming for when they’d happily slapped a SOLD banner across their own For Sale signs? A bit of normalcy? A quiet-ish life on a lovely street without too much fuss and bother? Neighbours who cared enough to build you into their casserole rota?

  Her mobile rang.

  She grabbed it and was nanoseconds away from pressing the answer icon when she saw who it was. Amanda.

  She stared at the phone, frozen with indecision. She couldn’t silence it because everyone under the age of fifty knew two rings and an abrupt stop meant you’d been dismissed. She couldn’t answer it because, well, she was scared. And yet … wasn’t this part of standing on her own two feet? Facing her past so she could embark on her future, a bit battle-scarred, but stronger. More confident. Happier in her own skin?

  The doorbell rang.

  No follow-up command to open the door.

  Not Drea, then.

  She stuck her head out into the hallway, phone still ringing in her hand. There was one tall shadow and two smaller shadows. She grinned. She was literally being saved by the bell. She stuffed the phone in the kitchen drawer along with the unopened St Benny’s envelope, then jogged over to open the door.

  As expected, it was Josh, Zoe and Eli. As was also to be expected, she blushed when Josh flashed her that crooked smile of his. He had freckles that ran across his nose. Had she noticed that before? The freckles? They hinted at the boy he’d once been and spoke to the man he had become, despite the heartache he’d been through. A man who had borne the deepest of sorrows but found the strength to face his future with a smile. She definitely needed to take a page out of Josh’s book.

  ‘Here,’ he said, handing her a small stack of post.

  ‘Oh! Do you have a new job?’

  ‘Yes,’ he gave his chest a proud thump as the children giggled and pointed at the postman who was heading up the street. ‘Postman Josh at your service.’

  ‘Daddy, you’ll have to change your name to Pat if you really want a job,’ Zoe said as if he was the silliest daddy ever.

  ‘Are they all called Pat?’ Eli asked, making Jess love him a little bit more. He was the type of kid who would be able to draw an entire imaginary kingdom on the tip of an intergalactic iceberg but would struggle with choosing whether to spell through or threw. She couldn’t wait to be part of his education. It’d be fun watching both of them grow. Which was both heartening and a little bit freaky.

  ‘Jessica,’ Josh said with unexpected gravity.

  ‘Yes, Joshua?’ She asked, slightly mimicking his tone, but not entirely sure if he was being play serious or actually serious.

  ‘We need your help.’

  She looked down at Zoe and Eli, who both nodded. Yes. It was true. Her help was required.

  The whole keeping-her-blushes-under-control was blown to smithereens when Josh grabbed hold of Jess’s hands between his mittened ones and went all puppy-dog-eyed on her. ‘Please, Jessica Green,’ he began as her breath caught in her throat. ‘Please, will you do us the honour of being one of the judges of the Christmas Street Best-Dressed Pet Parade?’

  Ah.

  She sucked in a sharp breath. Most of the families on Christmas Street who owned a pet also had children who went to the academy. Did she want to be doling out red and blue ribbons, currying favour and disdain before her first day?

  Her eyes snagged on a dark-green van slowly working its way down the street. The driver, a dark-haired chap, was looking away from her, the van slowing, presumably to read the numbers, then slipping from view as Josh repositioned himself into the centre of her eyeline.

  She thought back to the lecture she’d just given herself about Josh and being a grown-up and standing on her own two feet. She would literally be grading these families’ children in a few weeks’ time. Surely she could handle a cute pets parade where, hopefully, everyone was a winner?

  She gently extracted her hands from his and gave him her best imperious look. ‘Yes. Yes I will,’ she nodded and then made a wait-a-minute face.

  ‘I sense a condition coming,’ Josh said, his smile wavering as he threw a ‘c’mon, help your ol’ pops out here’ look to his children. Good grief, the man was adorable.

  ‘You have sensed correctly,’ she parried, a little crackle of electricity zipping through her as their eyes met again.

  ‘You can wear the princess hat again if you like,’ Zoe said, her face a picture of solemnity.

  ‘I’ll let you into my fort,’ offered Eli.

  ‘Those are both very generous offers,’ Jess thanked them, her eyes darting down to the end of the street towards a certain picket fence. ‘I think one judge is not a great idea and was wondering …’

  Josh pulled a face. ‘Really?’

  He’d clearly read her mind. ‘I think it might be nice.’

  ‘Or a nightmare. I mean, he’s a nice-enough bloke and all, but … I’m not sure some of the other parents are in agreement.’

  ‘Well, then,’ Jess said with her best Mary Poppins voice. ‘We’ll just have to get them to see things our way.’

  In all honesty, she couldn’t see Mr Winters agreeing to be a judge, but if she’d ruined his chances of having a grandson, she was going to give him the next best thing: a stand-in granddaughter. And even though she didn’t have tonnes of experience in this department she was pretty sure granddaughters backed up their grandfathers. Especially when the chips were down.

  ‘So …’ Jess said. ‘Mr Winters as a judge? What do we think?’

  ‘In our house we tend to do things by vote.’ Josh said. ‘Kids? What do we think? Do we ask Mr Winters to judge alongside Jess and Drea?’

  ‘You’ve asked Drea?’

  Josh squinted at her.

  Oh, God. Had she just sounded jealous? He was looking at her funny. Yup. She’d sounded jealous. How embarrassing. Of course they’d ask Drea. Drea was great at everything and the living advent calendar was her idea and she tidied up before leaving people’s houses, not made bigger messes by playing dress-up. And Jess’s yes had come with a condition. She bet Drea’s hadn’t. She would’ve said, ‘Sure thing, Josh-a-roo,’ then bounced off for another fortifying run. Jess saw Mr Winters’ front door open. She saw an opportunity and took it.

  ‘Looks like Christmas has come early for someone,’ Jess said, a bit breathless from having hotfooted it down the street, losing her balance only a couple of times as she skidded on the morning frost pockets that seemed a staple on the pavement these days.

  Mr Winters looked down at the box in his hands. It was about the
size of a large meat pie, wrapped with old-fashioned butcher’s paper and bedecked with a simple red and white striped ribbon. Did someone send him a pie? Jess remembered how Martha seemed to take a special interest in Mr Winters’ welfare. Perhaps she’d taken a shine to him. There weren’t any postmarks or anything.

  ‘I didn’t order anything.’ He looked confused, as if this had never happened to him before. Receiving without first giving something.

  ‘Is there a return address or a card?’

  He handed her the package, almost as if he was frightened of it. Jess gave it a once-over. Nope. There was nothing. It had obviously been hand-delivered.

  She thought back to the green van that had been on the street a bit earlier. She hadn’t noticed it leaving, but … ‘Did someone ring the bell and give this to you?’

  ‘They rang the bell,’ Mr Winters confirmed, ‘but there was no one here when I got to the door. Too slow, I guess.’

  Hmmm. Delivery people were insanely busy this time of year, but a sprig of hope bloomed in Jess’s chest. She wondered … maybe …

  Mr Winters gave a little shudder as a gust of wind hit the pair of them. The weather had definitely taken a turn for the worse these past couple of days.

  ‘Shall we open it inside?’

  Mr Winters looked at the package as if it could, very possibly, contain a bomb.

  ‘I’ll open it here,’ she decided for the pair of them. When she unwrapped the package she beamed, her chest flooding with relief.

  ‘Here,’ she held out the box of handmade mince pies, each with a different design on top – a snowflake, tiny little bells, a star. ‘These are from your grandson.’

  Mr Winters wasn’t one for big shows of emotion, but the news hit him as hard as if Jess had actually pushed him. She reached out to steady him and, again, taking matters into her own hands, announced she would be making them both a cup of tea and they would eat a mince pie together before she left him on his own to digest the news.