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

by Annie O'Neil

  When Mr Winters rang a dinner bell he’d found and which, with Will’s permission, he’d attached to the outside of the food truck, the neighbours fell upon the piles of delicious food as if they hadn’t eaten for a month.

  ‘May I have the pleasure of offering mademoiselle her Christmas dinner?’ Will asked, handing her a plate laden with a bit of everything then pointing towards a pair of empty chairs not too far from the truck.

  She nodded and, before she could ask where his own food was, he produced another plate then held his arm out for her to lead the way to the chairs.

  They sat and ate, occasionally joining in the happy, sometimes silly, sometimes sentimental conversations swirling round them. But mostly they enjoyed forkful after forkful of delicious food, sharing grins, enjoying the different little scenes that popped up around them, and, in Jess’s case, the odd hit of frisson when their hands brushed as they passed the gravy and traded toys from their Christmas crackers (Drea had made sure they got some of hers). Mr Winters was sandwiched between Martha and Tyler, who were sitting across from the Nishios. They cajoled him into explaining how he’d managed to find and fill the beautiful vending machine with the last-minute delights. Twenty-four-hour supermarkets, apparently. And a need to see if he could put some good back in the world.

  Some of the children had unearthed the Christmas-themed Twister and were playing it with Audrey lying in the middle of the sheet as ballast. One of the dads had prised the Jenga set apart and had set it up on the end of one of the camping tables, shouting whoooaaa, easy every time someone at the other end of the table got up for second helpings.

  Josh was sitting with Drea and one of the Rob’n’Bobs, the three of them involved in a lively conversation about intellectual copyrights, while Eli leant against his father reading the first pages of what must be a Christmas present. Josh, she realised, looked as though he was lit from within as he watched Drea speak. He laughed a bit more loudly at her jokes. Noticed when her wine glass wasn’t full. Got up to snag the remains of the cardamom carrots for her after she’d announced a passion for them. At one point, Jess caught him reaching out to brush an invisible crumb from Drea’s cheek, his fingertips lingering just long enough for Jess to realise it was Drea and Josh who had been mad for one another all along. Yes, Jess had sat next to him at cookie-decorating day, but Drea had sat across from him, keeping track of the conversation, his children, Jess. Dinner at his house hadn’t been for Jess’s benefit; it had been for Drea’s, Jess serving as the buffer for an attraction the two of them were perhaps a bit frightened to pursue. Neither of them looked frightened now. Zoe ran up to Drea and whispered something in her ear. Drea grinned, pushed back her chair, unzipped her enormous fluffy duvet of a winter coat and pulled Zoe up onto her lap, snuggling the coat around the pair of them, Drea’s chin rested on the little girl’s head as her eyes happily pinged from Rob’n’Bob to Josh. Perhaps the family she’d needed had been here all along.

  ‘You look happy,’ Will said the next time their eyes met.

  ‘I am ridiculously happy,’ Jess said, realising as she spoke how much she meant it.

  This was what she’d been seeking. What she’d been hoping for. Being part of a community. Part of something bigger than herself. The only thing that was missing was her parents.

  She, too, had plugged her phone into Will’s truck. ‘I might go check on the puddings,’ she said. Somehow Will divined that she needed a few minutes of alone time and thanked her, saying he was going to check in on his grandad.

  She turned her phone on and grinned when a notice came up that she’d received a video message from her parents. Tanned, a tiny bit slurry and very jolly, they blew her kisses and wished her the happiest of Christmases then switched the phone round so that she could see how they’d decorated their banana tree in the absence of a pine tree. They’d taken pictures of all of their patients with their new Instamatic camera. Not their faces. Just their smiles. It was a smile-covered banana tree. She didn’t realise tears were skidding down her cheeks until one landed on her phone.

  ‘Everything all right?’ Will climbed into the truck and, by way of explaining his presence, said, ‘It’s pudding o’clock.’

  Jess swiped at her tears and gave him a watery smile. ‘Just missing my parents a bit. It’s our first Christmas apart.’

  Will clutched a hand to his heart. ‘Are you all right? Anything I can do to help?’

  She gave a wobbly nod. Yes. She was all right and then, no. He couldn’t make that particular ache better, but showing up and doing all of this had brought a world of happiness, not just to her, but to everyone here on Christmas Street.

  ‘I’ve got an excellent cure for homesickness,’ Will said, pulling a couple of mugs out of a high cupboard, then brandished a container of hot chocolate. He spooned a couple of heaping teaspoons of the dark powder into a mug then poured in a bit of milk. ‘My dad always said you have to mix some milk in with the powder before adding it to the hot milk. Makes it more chocolatey.’

  When he’d made the two mugs and added a splash of peppermint schnapps, they clinked mugs and, side by side, looked out onto the scene that just twenty-four hours earlier Jess would’ve thought utterly unimaginable.

  25 December: Later

  ‘Speech!’ Someone shouted.

  ‘Toast!’ Another called.

  ‘To Mr Winters!’ A few voices cheerily called out.

  Cutlery was clinked on glasses as calls grew for Mr Winters and Drea to receive a round of applause. Mr Winters batted it away, but you could see, as he lowered himself back down to his chair insisting it was more his grandson’s doing than his own, that he was pleased. Drea curtsied and, with a catch in her voice, said that seeing everyone come together in the way they had made her feel that Christmas was a spirit that lived within each and every one of them and, as such, this year had been much more special than she could have ever imagined. Jess blew her a kiss, knowing Drea was covering some very real heartache. Drea blew one back, shouting out that she couldn’t have pulled it off without her little elf Jessica by her side. A chorus of awwws and that’s sweets circled round, along with a fresh cry for Martha to do a reprise of her mini-concert with Tyler. Martha pursed her lips and told everyone not to be ridiculous, but Tyler was already legging it down the street to get his guitar.

  When he returned, Jess noticed that the bright, invigorating daylight was beginning to disappear, the distinct details of the street fading into the twilight.

  Tyler propped himself up on the edge of a wooden picnic table someone had dragged out onto the street, pulled his acoustic guitar onto his knee and beckoned Martha to join him.

  She protested but rose, pulled her fur coat closer round her neck and coyly shifted through to crowd to join him. After a moment’s thought, she announced, ‘I won’t be doing a reprise of “Silent Night”.’

  There were a few Nos and Pleases, but she held up a finger, her body language transfigured by the performer who so clearly still lived within her. The street fell silent as she said something to Tyler about following her lead. Unaccompanied, she began to sing the opening notes of ‘Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas’. Tyler, with unerring skill, backed her up with his acoustic guitar. Families gathered in closer. Couples snuggled a bit tighter. Jess even caught Mr Winters tugging out one of his pressed hankies when emotion fleetingly got the better of him.

  As Martha continued to sing, Jess noticed a man walking down the street dragging a wheelie suitcase. He looked about her age. A bit younger? Drea suddenly sat straight up, her eyes locked on the young man. Then, in an instant, she was running down the street and pulling him into her arms, saying over and over, ‘My boy, my boy. My beautiful boy.’ They tipped their foreheads together, explanations as to what had happened bandied back and forth in low voices.

  As if by silent agreement, the reunion remained private, with only the sound of Martha’s beautiful sin
ging as accompaniment. When, at last, she drew the song to a close, Drea re-entered the crowd, hand in hand with her son.

  The crowd burst into rapturous applause. Then, as if set off by the undiluted holiday cheer, the lights began to flicker to life in everyone’s homes. For some reason, the street lights failed to come on, but there were enough houses bedecked in twinkly fairy lights to add a festive glow. No one raced back to their house. No one mentioned running in to catch the Queen’s speech. No one, in fact, apart from Martha, who was still swaying to the music Tyler was no longer playing, was moving at all.

  After a few moments of exquisite silence, the spell broke when one of the children loudly announced a need for a wee. Tyler began playing ‘Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree’, a queue formed at Mr Winters’ vending machine and soon the street was filled with children dancing round with tree-shaped sparklers, blowing bubbles and unwrapping chocolate coins.

  Drea was introducing her handsome and utterly charming son to absolutely everyone whose path she crossed, explaining that, while incredibly intelligent, the boy couldn’t read an airline ticket to save his life – proud mother bragging rights clearly trumping her upset over the misread date. Above the hubbub, Jess could hear snippets of praise being lavished upon him. ‘Melbourne’s hottest legal eagle’, ‘precociously intelligent’ and, more endearing, ‘my darling boy’.

  Kai had an orderly queue comprised of little girls and Tyler waiting to hold Ickle Pickle; and Martha, much to Jess’s delight, was tucking a blanket over Mr Winters’ knees as the two of them settled in for a chat with Kev and his wife beneath the glow of a heat lamp.

  It was, in short, utterly magical.

  Later, as the crowd began to thin, Drea appeared by Jess’s side and whacked an arm round Jess’s shoulders. ‘Thanks, doll face.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘Your email. The one you sent to Spence.’

  Jess pulled a face. ‘Don’t thank me for that.’

  ‘Why not? He said it tipped the balance. He’d been dithering and then when he received your email, said he thought his old mum must’ve changed.’

  ‘How did he get that from my email?’

  ‘You went to bat for me with no thought for yourself and he liked it.’

  Jess scuffed her foot on the floor, a combination of really pleased and stupidly embarrassed.

  ‘Do you think it will always be like this?’ Drea drew her attention back to the crowd, now just a few clusters of families gathering up the final bits and bobs before heading home for the night.

  ‘No,’ Jess laughed. ‘But whatever it’ll be, it’ll be better because of this.’

  ‘You don’t think everyone has secret voodoo dolls of me hidden away in their houses, do you?’

  Jess shook her head. ‘Not in the slightest. You are a bossy little moo, but you’re utterly gorgeous.’ She slipped her arm round Drea’s waist and gave her a squeeze. She’d only known her a few weeks and already felt as close to her as she imagined sisters might feel after a lifetime of knowing one another’s quirks and foibles but loving them all the same.

  ‘Are you and Spencer going to stay up and plait one another’s hair tonight?’ Jess gave her a gentle nudge with her shoulder.

  Drea gave a dry, ha-ha then softened, her eyes lighting on Josh. ‘We’ve been invited over for a movie blitz at Josh’s and as Spence is so jet-lagged, I thought it’d be a nice way to end a long day.’

  ‘Oh?’ Jess tried to look innocent. ‘At Josh’s?’

  Drea bashed Jess with her shoulder. ‘Shut up.’

  ‘No, you shut up.’ Jess grinned. ‘Happy Christmas, Drea.’

  ‘Happy Christmas, doll face.’

  They hugged and parted, sharing a smile that said they both knew they would be in and out of each other’s lives from here on out.

  Jess made her way through the lightly thinning crowd to Mr Winters.

  ‘All right, lass?’ He was standing in front of the gate to his picket fence wearing a serene expression.

  ‘Very well. You?’

  He nodded. ‘I was thinking of mentioning to William here about the spare rooms in the house.’

  ‘Oh?’ Her tummy fluttered when, as if cued by an invisible director, Will appeared in the window of his food truck, waved, then pulled the shutter down.

  ‘Aye. He says he’s more than happy living in the office above his premises, but a man needs a break from his work now and again, don’t you think? He doesn’t need to set up here as a permanent residence or anything, but … it’d be nice to see a bit more of the lad.’

  Jess shook her head yes. She thought so, too. She also agreed that a break from everyday life was sometimes necessary to separate the Day-Glo kitschy Santas from the truly wonderful vintage Father Christmases. She’d had her eyes on the wrong prize back in her St Benedict’s days. It took losing her job, her boyfriend and her sense of self to find who she really was again. Had it been one of the most difficult years of her life? Absolutely. Had it been ultimately rewarding? Very much so.

  Will bounded up to them, hot chocolate container in hand. ‘Either of you fancy a warming cup of chocolate?’

  ‘If I eat one more thing I’ll explode, lad,’ Mr Winters said, patting him on the shoulder. ‘Now, if you two’ll excuse me, I’m afraid I need to take this sack of bones inside to sit by the fire for a bit.’

  When he’d left, Jess realised she was twisting back and forth like a love-struck schoolgirl.

  ‘How ’bout you? Full to the brim or a bit of room for some more?’

  Jess patted her stomach and feigned a groan of despair. ‘I’m so full right now. Could I take a rain check?’

  As their eyes met, the energy between them escalated to something heated and life-affirming.

  ‘Absolutely,’ Will said. ‘Brunch maybe?’

  ‘That’d be great.’

  ‘And then lunch?’

  Jess giggled. ‘That’d be nice, too.’

  ‘And maybe supper after that? I make a mean espresso martini which could easily keep you up for a midnight snack. You’ve not lived until you’ve tried one of my one a.m. bacon butties.’

  She laughed and flushed. So he’d felt it, too. The connection.

  ‘That all sounds wonderful – but tonight, I’ve got something I need to do.’

  Will lifted his chin, clearly aware she wasn’t blowing him off. ‘It was nice to meet you, Jessica Green.’

  ‘It was nice to meet you, Will Winters.’

  ‘Happy Christmas.’

  She went up on tiptoe and gave him a kiss on his lightly stubbled cheek. ‘Happy Christmas to you. And thank you.’

  When she pulled back, his hands lightly resting on her waist, her hands on his arms, their breath meeting in tiny clouds, the air between them crackled with magnetic tingles of electricity. ‘See you later then, Merry Victualler.’

  ‘See you later, Miss Green.’ He leant forward and gave her another kiss on the cheek, slower this time, more lingering, then pulled back, hopping from foot to foot, mumbling something about it being cold and the pair of them needing to make tracks before they turned into snowmen. He waved and watched as, still smiling, Jess headed down the street, turned left onto the little stone path that led to her house and before she got to the door, took down the For Sale sign. She was here now. She was home.

  Acknowledgements

  I would like to double up on the gratitude and thanks for the team at Orion, in particular my editor Olivia Barber who has been an absolute dreamcake to work with. Thanks are also due to my friend and long-suffering ‘first draft reader’ Jackie N, who is a genuine Christmas angel. Thanks as well, for reading and supporting and all round wonderfulness go to Pam Brooks, Christine Brookes, Nicolette Heaton-Harris, and Sophia Bartleet. Thanks to everyone who let me steal their names and, of course, to the Morgan family for loaning me use of
the fabulous and real life Martha Snodgrass’s name – a fiery woman, sadly no longer with us, but who had me as a boarder way back in the day (minus the electric guitars). Gratitude to the queen of Christmas, Debbie M who not only inspires on a regular basis, but gave me some ridiculously tasty Christmas themed chocolate (if you can get your mitts on candy cane crunch, I strongly recommend it). And thanks, of course, to my gorgeous hub-a-roo for not only proof-reading the first draft but not even questioning the “household decision” to leave up the Christmas decorations well into the year as writing commenced. You are Christmas. You are joy. xoxoxo

  Author Biography

  Annie spent most of her childhood with a leg draped over the family rocking chair and a book in her hand. Novels, baking and writing gallons of teenage angst poetry ate up most of her youth. Now, Annie splits her time between corralling her husband into helping her with their cows, begging her bees to show her the honey, reading, audio book binging in the veg patch and spending some very happy hours writing. She has written over twenty category romances for Mills & Boon, Harlequin Romance, one of which won the RoNA Rose Award.

  Credits

  Annie O’Neil and Orion Fiction would like to thank everyone at Orion who worked on the publication of Miracle on Christmas Street in the UK.

  Editorial

  Olivia Barber

  Copy Editor

  Justine Taylor

  Proof Reader

  John Garth

  Audio

  Paul Stark

  Amber Bates

  Design

  Rachel Lancaster

  Joanna Ridley

  Nick May