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

by Annie O'Neil

  Jess put the kettle on, taking discreet glances as Drea nosed through the office supplies box and pocketed some Post-It notes shaped like baby chicks. Not really murdery behaviour. Not yet anyway. Death by paper cuts?

  ‘Why’d you come over?’ Jess eventually managed to ask, handing Drea a fifty-fifty mix of thick hot chocolate (the way Mrs Winters made it) and coffee.

  Drea looked at her funny. ‘Do I need a reason?’

  ‘No,’ Jess laughed, quietly relieved Drea wasn’t here to blow the whistle on interfering friends.

  ‘Good,’ Drea said taking a sip of her coffee. ‘That’s tasty. Now. What’s happening with Mr Winters?’

  The doorbell went.

  It was Josh. She ushered him into the kitchen after he, too, decided a mocha would take the edge off the winter weather. ‘Sorry to break up your coffee morning.’

  ‘This isn’t idle girlie chit-chat, Joshua,’ Drea coolly informed him. ‘This is a serious meeting.’ She tipped her head towards Mr Winters’ end of the street. ‘Jess has been doing some detective work.’

  Jess tried to find a tactful way to explain that while, yes, she had made some progress on the Christmas Eve front, she hadn’t strictly received the actual thumbs up.

  The doorbell rang.

  It was a delivery man and Martha. She was signing for a big square parcel and handing the man a shiny pound coin. ‘Always nice to acknowledge a job well done at Christmas time dear, isn’t it?’ Martha said, handing Jess the box and letting herself in. ‘You wouldn’t happen to have the kettle on, would you?’

  Once they were all sitting round her small table with a steaming mocha or, in Martha’s case, ‘a proper cup of builder’s’, Jess eventually deduced that the stream of unexpected visitors were all trying to nail down exactly what it was Mr Winters was going to do for his evening and when.

  ‘Why does it matter?’ Jess asked.

  They all looked at her, wide-eyed with disbelief.

  ‘Uhh, doll face. Some of us have a full day ahead. Particularly those of us with family arriving from ’Stralia?’ Drea pointed at herself then held out her seasonally manicured nails and began ticking off questions Jess needed to answer. ‘We need to know timings, whether it’s indoors or out. If he’s in the right temper. And, most importantly, is it going to be appropriately – you know …’ she held out her hands and gave Jess an intense stare. ‘Impressive. It’s got to be impressive.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because my son’s going to be here, that’s why!’ Drea leaned forward as though she was going to flick Jess on the forehead then thought better of it when she remembered Josh and Martha were there. ‘And, obviously, because the advent events bring Christmas cheer for everyone here on the street. The pet parade was to die for, Joshua. And your night, Martha? Class in a glass. Your voice is an absolute ripper. Total revelation. I can’t believe you aren’t still out there dazzling them on the circuit. What happened there?’

  Martha nearly spat out her tea.

  Jess cringed.

  Josh became very interested in his mug.

  Martha cleared her throat and put down her cup. ‘I think that’s a story for another day.’

  ‘We have time,’ Drea said for all of them.

  Josh took a quick glance at his watch then gave an if you’re willing nod. Jess’s only plans were to put together her bed and as she’d had a weird dream about Josh, or possibly Kit Harington, doing a Christmas-themed striptease last night that felt weird, so … yup. She had time, too.

  Martha pursed her lips at them then, surprisingly, began to explain. ‘Well, you all must know there was a man behind the fur coat and the boas.’

  They all nodded.

  ‘Details please, Marti.’ Drea said, licking a bit of chocolate off the rim of her mug.

  Martha’s lips thinned.

  ‘You’d be helping me,’ Drea almost pleaded. ‘I’m going out of my head until my boy gets here. He’s on the plane on his way to Singapore as we speak. I’ve got twenty-four more hours of distraction to find, so please, please tell us your story.

  Martha shot them all looks as if trying to ascertain their reliability then, after another sip of tea, continued. ‘His name was Augustin Cuvier.’

  Jess and Josh shared a look. Martha had an excellent French accent.

  ‘He’d heard me sing in one of the clubs down there in Soho and said he liked my voice.’

  Drea glanced at Martha’s raindrop dappled fur coat, hanging on the back of her chair. ‘I’m guessing he more than liked it, Martha. He liked everything that came with it.’

  ‘Yes, well …’ Martha arched an eyebrow and took a prim sip of tea, but Jess could see a slight tremor in her hands as the memories flooded back. ‘He showered me with gifts. Furs. Boas. The softest leather gloves I’d ever had. Fineries I’d never dreamt of. I’d grown up round here, you see. Practical parents. Practical plans. Nothing so mad as running away to London to become a singer. In fact, I was meant to marry the greengrocer’s boy. Harold.’

  ‘But you did it anyway? Ran away to London?’ Jess asked in a whisper. It was sort of what she’d done. Sought the so-called glamorous end of being a primary schoolteacher for the rich and famous, only to discover that kind of life meant living by a set of rules that didn’t seem to include a moral compass.

  Martha nodded. ‘Broke my parents’ hearts, I did. By leaving. But I was young and foolish and what young woman doesn’t believe a handsome man with an accent when he tells them he wants to make her a star?’

  Josh started to say something, but Drea and Jess shushed him. The question had clearly been rhetorical.

  ‘He wanted me to move to Paris with him.’ Martha’s features softened at the memory. ‘Said that’s where all of the “proper” jazz and blues singers lived. Of course, I’d only been a little girl when the true greats were there, but it didn’t stop me from thinking Paris was the only destination for a singer who wanted to make it big.’

  They all nodded as if they had known that, but a few shared looks made Jess realise Drea and Josh’s knowledge of the jazz greats and their residency in Paris was as scant as her own.

  ‘Anyway,’ Martha briskly continued, ‘like a fool, I believed him. Let myself think I was in love with him and that I would grace multiple album covers and spend the rest of my days wearing sequinned dresses and singing my heart out atop a baby grand piano.’ She took another sip of tea, then stared into the cup as if hoping the rest of her story might twist up and out of it along with the steam and tell itself.

  Jess wrestled to picture the sweet old lady in front of her in a sequinned dress vampishly crawling across a baby grand piano. If she squinted maybe …?

  ‘And …’ Drea eventually prompted.

  ‘And it turned out all he wanted was a mistress,’ Martha’s voice had an edge to it that meant question time was over.

  ‘Well, for what it’s worth,’ Jess said, ‘we were all absolutely bowled over by your beautiful voice. Augustin lost himself a surefire winner.’

  ‘He also lost himself a wife, his fortune and, if the rumour mill was to be believed, a handful of other mistresses dotted along the Mediterranean. A siren in every port, apparently.’

  ‘And did you marry him in the end?’ Josh asked. ‘The greengrocer’s son?’

  ‘Yes, I did,’ Martha said, surprised Josh had found his way to the next phase of her life so easily. ‘Kindest, most loving man I’d ever met. We could never have children and never owned a mansion, but it turned out we were so happy together, we didn’t need any of those things. The trappings. And it taught me that the love of your life doesn’t have to appear with a fanfare and spotlights. Sometimes they’re right under your nose, wrapped in plain brown paper, just waiting to be seen.’

  Drea scraped her chair leg abrasively across the floor.

  Jess involuntarily glanced at Josh,
her subconscious clearly seeking that same warm glow, but, much to her surprise, she felt nothing. Friendship, sure, but, no tingles. No butterflies. He ticked so many boxes and those freckles were completely to die for, but … Huh. She didn’t hunger to be with him the way Martha so clearly ached for those happy years she’d shared with her Harold. What a relief. No messy crush on the gorgeous widower to worry about. Jess returned her attention to Martha.

  ‘I lost him quite a few years back now, to a heart attack, but he gave me the best years of his life, he did. Absolutely loved Christmas time.’ She laughed. ‘He used to make wreaths out of bunches of carrots and onions and such every Christmas. They were awful. Nothing like Kai and Rex’s artworks, but they were made with love. Devoted to me he was, my Harold. Dreadful surname, but you can’t have everything, now can you?’

  They all shook their heads. No, you couldn’t. But it was food for thought. Knowing what was important in a relationship. Fidelity or a glamorous surname. Proximity or … well … whatever the flip side of proximity was.

  ‘Martha?’ Jess asked as they all finished up their drinks. ‘Why did you come over?’

  ‘Oh, yes … that.’ She looked distracted for a minute then said, ‘I was wondering if you knew what Mr Winters was up to for Christmas Eve. Tyler mentioned wanting to have a few friends over and as the poor boy doesn’t have a home of his own to go to, I thought it might be nice for him if I disappeared for a few hours and he could jam, or raid the drinks trolley or whatever it is they do.’

  ‘Tyler doesn’t have parents?’

  Martha looked surprised Jess didn’t know. ‘He was in the foster-care system, dear. Most of his life. This is the longest he’s lived anywhere. Not a surprise given the ruckus the lad makes, but …’

  Jess smiled. There was a world of love in that pause.

  ‘I’m sure whatever it is Mr Winters does will take up enough time for Tyler to have a party. And if it doesn’t?’ she hastily added – because she was pretty sure if he did anything, he wanted people in and out as quickly as possible – ‘you are more than welcome to spend the evening with me. It’s my family’s tradition to watch It’s a Wonderful Life, so if you care to join me …?’

  Martha clasped her hands together and pressed them to her lips. ‘Oh, I’d love that. Shall we make popcorn? Dreadful for the teeth, but I do love a big bowl of popcorn and a bit of Jimmy Stewart. Thank you, dear. I accept.’

  ‘Pleasure.’ Jess grinned, already feeling a nice buzz of excitement for a lovely Christmas Eve with Martha. It would be fun to see the classic film with someone new. She wondered how Martha felt about chocolate oranges …

  ‘The kids and I are geared up for a movie night, too,’ Josh volunteered.

  ‘Oh?’ Drea asked. ‘What do you watch?’

  ‘It’s a proper film fest. We eat early because, you know, Santa. So while we’re cooking it’s Frozen – Zoe’s choice. Then during dinner it’s Shrek – Eli’s call – and then after it’s Miracle on 34th Street on the sofa. The new one. Well. Old one to the kids, but new one to old has-beens like me.’

  Drea bridled. ‘We’re the same age, Joshua. You’re hardly a has-been.’

  Josh, much to Jess’s surprise, flushed. ‘Sorry, Yup. Wasn’t thinking. Anyway!’ He slapped his hands on his thighs and pushed himself up to standing. ‘I better push off. Do you know if tonight’s on?’

  Drea stood up, too. ‘I haven’t heard otherwise. The Bartleets will do something. They’re always in of an evening.’

  Jess shot her a questioning look.

  ‘I see all of the cars come and go at the end of the street, don’t I?’

  It suddenly occurred to Jess how many Christmas Eves Drea must have spent on her own. She was not a solitary creature, Drea. No wonder she was so wound up, still fretting that her son might not be here to share it with her. She forced her own concerns into the back of her mind and asked, ‘Do you and Spencer have any traditions?’

  Drea’s sunny expression clouded a minute and then said, ‘None that would work here. Beaches aren’t exactly user-friendly this time of year. No, we’ll make some new ones, Spence and I. Maybe pop some fizz and catch up after …’ she gave Jess one of her this is on you looks, ‘… we have all enjoyed something spectacular at Number Twenty-Four.’

  Jess gulped. She’d willingly taken on the task of encouraging Mr Winters out of his shell and into the neighbourhood celebrations. Sure, Christmas Eve was important, but she knew deep down that if things went well for him tomorrow, he’d be changing his life forever. And she’d do everything in her power to ensure he was changing it for the better.

  Mr Winters slid a mug of steaming hot chocolate onto the table in front of Jess. She was already wired from the two mochas she’d had at home, but refusing it wouldn’t have been polite and she was pulling out all of the stops today. Not that any of them were working.

  ‘Aye,’ Mr Winters said when Jess suggested the sparklers again. ‘We could hold it outside, but I’ll no doubt get the blame if the weather stays poor.’

  ‘No one will blame you for the weather being awful.’

  He tipped his head back and forth, unconvinced. ‘There’d be something. There’s always something.’

  Before she could stop herself she blurted out, ‘Not with everyone. Will doesn’t blame you for what happened with your wife. That’s why he brought the pies round. As a peace offering.’

  The air between them froze.

  Jess tried to swallow and couldn’t.

  She’d stepped onto the very thinnest of ice, unleashing a skein of fissures across their fragile friendship.

  After the clock literally ticked a full round, Arnold asked, ‘And how do you know this? He flicked his finger towards the street. ‘You told him on your screen, I suppose.’ He moved his mouth as if he was chewing over some words to decide whether or not they were worth spitting out and opted for silence instead.

  Oh, crumbs. That bad.

  ‘I did tell him.’ Jess confessed. ‘It was a mistake and I regretted it, but even though he found the news a bit full on, he’s doesn’t blame you.’

  ‘He’s not exactly knocking at the front door introducing himself though, is he, lass?’

  ‘Well, no, but he’s so busy with his catering company.’ She stopped and started over. ‘He said he waited for a bit when he dropped the pies by but—’

  Mr Winters waved at her to stop talking. He didn’t need to be told he was a slowpoke on top of everything else. That it was his fault, again, for things not turning out the way they were meant to.

  She felt awful. The kind of awful she’d felt when Ethan’s parents had told her they were withdrawing him from St Benedict’s because it clearly wasn’t a safe environment. The kind of awful that had burrowed deep inside her when the Head Teacher had said she thought she’d made it clear St Benedict’s teachers were never, ever, to use corporal punishment; even though Jess had told her a thousand times she’d not, for one tiny second, meant to hurt Crispin, and she certainly hadn’t scratched him. The wretched form of awful that had crawled under her skin when Martin had suggested she take the blame and plead with the Anand-Haights for her job back. Being at St Benny’s had meant being a somebody and when you were a somebody, even a somebody wearing tar and feathers …

  And then she got what Mr Winters meant. It didn’t matter what she’d said or how many apologies she’d made or how many times she’d explained what really happened, people wanted someone to blame for things that had gone wrong. And the Cheese Sandwich Incident had needed a villain. Jess, somehow, had become that villain, just as Mr Winters had become the villain in his own, blameless life.

  ‘Do you want to wallow in self-pity then?’ She was shocked to hear herself ask.

  ‘What? No. That’s not—’

  ‘Well it certainly sounds like it to me. Do you think your wife would’ve liked this? Watching you sit
here in this big house waiting, wondering if one day your son or grandson might come to you?’

  Jess didn’t wait for him to answer. ‘Well they’re not. And they won’t. Not if you accept the blame everyone’s heaped upon you. You’re innocent. You didn’t do anything. You shouldn’t sit here waiting for life to happen to you. I did that for an entire year and all it did was make me more afraid. Did you know that I’ve owned my house for twenty-three amazing days? Days in which I’ve been shown nothing but kindness, but I still haven’t taken the For Sale sign down.’

  He shook his head, clearly confused.

  Unexpected tears began trickling down her cheeks as she continued, ‘I left it up because I was afraid if I took it down and got used to the idea of being here – being happy here – that something bad might happen and I would be blamed for it and then I’d have to run away again, only this time my parents aren’t here to run away to. And that’s no way to solve problems, is it? I mean, look at Drea. She’s finally got her son coming to see her, and that took years of sending along insanely expensive airplane tickets. And Josh. Living in the same house his wife died in. That had to be next to impossible at the beginning, but he stuck to it. And Martha. Moving back to Boughton after her dreams of becoming a professional singer had been dashed, only to live a genuinely happy life. I mean, if mistakes were reasons for running for the hills, I’ll probably end up moving quite a lot, won’t I? If I want to stay here, and I do, I’m going to have to learn that trusting my gut is no bad thing. And you’re going to have to learn that what happened thirty-five years ago wasn’t your fault. It was an awful, horrible, life-changing mistake, but you were not to blame.’

  Mr Winters frowned at her, then pulled open a drawer and handed her a freshly ironed handkerchief.

  ‘Thank you,’ she sniffled. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to make this about me, or get all preachy; it’s just … I think you’re great and I would hate to think of you mouldering away here for the rest of your life being sad.’