I Wish It Could Be Christmas Every Day

by Milly Johnson

  ‘Right, I’ll clear up…’ began Luke.

  ‘No, you will not. I’ll clear up the dishes,’ said Charlie and would not be stopped.

  ‘I’ll make my crackers then,’ said Luke and went off hunting for things to make them with.

  Bridge decided to go and find something for her secret Santa present. She’d pulled Luke’s name out of the hat, which was the one she really didn’t want.

  ‘Fancy a game of chess?’ Jack asked anyone who’d answer.

  ‘I will,’ said Mary. She already knew what to give for her Secret Santa present. It was a bit corny, but she hoped it would be okay.

  ‘I must warn you, I was captain of the school team,’ said Jack.

  Mary checkmated him within fifteen moves.

  Chapter 19

  ‘I can’t believe this is Christmas Eve,’ said Robin who was sitting next to the fire, toasting marshmallows on the large fork. ‘Charlie, what in God’s name are you doing?’ He watched as Charlie dropped a maraschino cherry into his hot chocolate.

  ‘It’s a Black Forest special,’ he replied. ‘Stop worrying. There’s no cholesterol in cherries.’

  ‘Smile, everyone,’ said Luke, lifting up his phone and taking a selfie of them all sitting around the fire with their hot chocolates and faces glowing from the light of the flames. He snapped, preserving them in a perfect smiling shot that oozed cosiness. He wished he could send it to Carmen to show her he was okay, wished he could talk to her and make sure she was okay too. It felt a very long time since he last saw her.

  ‘In a weird way, I’m actually looking forward to tomorrow,’ said Bridge. ‘I think it’ll be fun.’

  ‘What were your original plans?’ asked Robin.

  ‘Just spending it alone,’ said Bridge, quickly adding, ‘I mean, the two of us alone, obviously. Ben’s a great cook.’

  ‘You obviously have a type, then,’ said Luke with a wink.

  ‘Oh purr-lease,’ returned Bridge. ‘I remember when you thought a lentil was a support for a door hole.’

  ‘Well there’s nothing we can do about not being where we should be, so I suppose we should make the best of it,’ said Robin, passing around the plate of toasted marshmallows.

  ‘I bet we wouldn’t have had these in Aviemore,’ said Charlie.

  ‘You’d have been chucked out of the hotel if you’d started putting cherries in your hot drinks. Whatever next? Tangerines in your cappuccino? Dates in your lapsang souchong?’

  Charlie shuddered. ‘Ugh, don’t be disgusting, Robin.’ Then he bit down on a marshmallow and chewed it blissfully.

  ‘Top hot chocolate, Jack,’ said Bridge. ‘Perfect, in fact.’

  ‘Oh… oh, thank you, do… do you think so? Really?’ said Jack and beamed bashfully. ‘I was always the one who had to make them for others at St Christopher’s because they said I got them so on point.’

  ‘Were you someone’s fag?’ asked Robin.

  ‘Yes, I was,’ said Jack, sounding proud of it. ‘Nothing sinister. In the first year, you were sort of expected to be a bit of a servant for the older boys. I ran a few errands and made a hell of lot of hot chocolates. The boy I fagged for was a thoroughly nice chap, government minister’s son. He gave me thirty pounds at the end of each term. I rather enjoyed it, felt quite honoured actually.’ The nostalgic smile on his face reflected that.

  Bridge studied him. Unlike the others who’d been the same since the moment when she’d first met them, Jack had changed. He’d started to drop his astute businessman’s guard and was letting them peep at the man behind the mask, one who probably hadn’t had a lot of personal compliments, judging by how he handled someone saying he made a good hot chocolate. He had impeccable manners, she liked that in a man, and was full of small considerations like banking up the fire more than anyone else, making sure everyone was served before himself when they ate and drank. And when he spoke to someone, he gave them his full attention, she’d noticed. All telling, positive traits. He was still a posh twit mind you; though she’d demoted him from posh twat.

  ‘Deliciously frothy, with just the right amount of chocolate. Neither too runny nor too thick.’ Luke appraised it as if he were a wine connoisseur.

  ‘Hear hear,’ said Charlie. ‘Would be very nice with a splash of rum in it.’

  ‘Cherries and rum?’ said Robin, throwing him a look. ‘Revolting.’

  They sat and sipped, while in the background Radio Brian, returned from his log-chopping, was playing some wonderfully festive Renaissance music. He’d made them all splutter their hot chocolates by announcing that he ‘had been first gripped by the madrigals at the Cambridge Folk Festival’.

  ‘Wonder if that had anything to do with his teeth falling out?’ asked Bridge, adding to the hilarity and Luke was reminded of what a quick wit she had, every bit a match for his. She’d made him laugh a lot, as well as cry, scream and punch walls.

  ‘I for one can’t wait for Luke’s crackers,’ said Mary. ‘I could hear him giggling to himself as he made them.’

  ‘They are really good, if I say so myself,’ said Luke, taking the opportunity to preen. ‘I think I’ve discovered another new hot-shot business venture.’

  ‘Cracker Boy?’ queried Bridge, wrinkling up her nose. ‘Doesn’t really have the same ring.’

  ‘You should throw one at me tomorrow and see what name comes out,’ returned Luke, soft full mouth curved in a puckish smile. For a moment, they were the only two people in the room.

  ‘So, the plan tomorrow is…?’ asked Robin, to the group in general.

  ‘I think we should all get up at the same time to open our presents,’ said Bridge, clicking back to them.

  ‘We should divvy up the jobs tonight,’ suggested Luke. ‘We can’t all fit in the kitchen together so we’ll need to be as organised as the SAS.’ He popped another marshmallow into his mouth and chewed. ‘These are so good, Robin. Do you want a job working for Plant Boy as head chef?’

  Bridge yawned. ‘I’m tired,’ she said. ‘It’s exhausting doing nothing except eating and listening to Christmas music.’

  Mary fetched her pad from the bar and drew a grid on a fresh page.

  ‘Are we bothering with starters?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m more than happy to go straight to the main,’ said Charlie and everyone nodded in agreement.

  ‘I would like to volunteer to prepare the vegetables,’ said Luke, raising his hand as if he was a small boy in class who wanted to go to the toilet. ‘I can do amazing things with a parsnip.’

  ‘I’ll help. I can be your sous chef,’ offered Jack. ‘Or fag,’ which made him chuckle to himself.

  ‘I’m happy with that,’ said Robin. ‘I’ll prepare the turkey and… oh, what will you two have instead?’ He waggled his finger between Mary and Luke.

  ‘Leave that with me. I can sort our turkey alternative out when I’m doing the veg, no problem,’ said Luke.

  ‘I’ll do the washing up,’ said Bridge.

  ‘I’ll help with that,’ said Mary. ‘And the clearing up.’

  ‘Perfect.’

  ‘What about me?’ asked Charlie.

  ‘You can do the toast, Charlie. The raising a glass sort of toast, not poking bread onto Robin’s big fork and waving it at the fire toast,’ said Bridge.

  ‘And say grace,’ said Robin. ‘That can be your contribution.’

  ‘It’s not enough,’ said Charlie. ‘I’ll dress the table as well. I have unsurpassable flair for these things so I will employ all my best skills.’

  ‘You do indeed,’ affirmed Robin. ‘I’ll also help anyone who needs it. Preparing the turkey won’t be that big a job.’

  ‘Now that was easy,’ said Luke. ‘What a diplomatic lot we are.’

  Brian’s voice came on the radio.

  ‘And that’s it from Radio Brian for tonight, folks. Sleep well and remember to leave out your stockings for Father Christmas. I’ll be back with you all in the morning. I’ll play you out with Nat King Cole roasting hi
s chestnuts on an open fire. Goodnight.’

  ‘That sounds as painful as being gripped by the madrigals,’ said Robin, and got up to look out of the window.

  ‘How is it out there?’ asked Bridge.

  ‘I’m seeing it’s a “White Christmas”,’ he trilled by way of response.

  ‘You really do have a lovely voice,’ said Mary. ‘Very Bing Crosby.’

  ‘Oh get away with you, lady. It’s probably the whitest Christmas we’ve ever seen in this country. The snow is deep and crisp and even.’

  ‘Like Good King Wenceslas’s pizza,’ said Luke, laughing. ‘Deep pan, crisp and even.’

  ‘I hope that isn’t one of the jokes in the crackers,’ said Bridge, ‘because it’s at least one hundred and fifty years old.’

  ‘Nope, they’re all originals from the brain of Luke Palfreyman.’

  Luke had made crackers that last Christmas before it started to go wrong, before the sea change, Bridge remembered then. The jokes were terrible. They had laughed until turkey and cheap plonk came down their noses and had a Christmas bonk before they dished up a Black Forest gateau bought from the cheap frozen food stall in the market. They were always so very good at sex; both loved the urgency of it, both came together like express trains. God, I’d kill for a shag, she exclaimed inwardly, then felt herself freeze and blush at the same time as there was a noticeable hush in the room that suggested she’d said that thought aloud. Luckily, she hadn’t.

  Jack collected the mugs and took them into the kitchen to wash up. Bridge turned off the radio and the Christmas tree lights.

  ‘Well, I’m going upstairs to Bedfordshire,’ said Robin, glancing over at Charlie and taking in how tired he looked. These days he could be the life and soul of the party one minute and the next, a punctured lilo.

  ‘We should all go then,’ said Luke. ‘What about the stocking-filling procedure?’

  ‘Has everyone got their presents organised?’ This from Bridge.

  A chorus of ‘yes’.

  Mary tore a page from her writing pad, ripped it into six strips, wrote on them.

  ‘Okay. Each of these has a time on it, five minutes apart, commencing in ten minutes. Pick one and don’t be late or you could end up revealing your identity.’

  They waited for Jack to come back and then Charlie chose first.

  ‘Isn’t this exciting?’ he said. ‘I can’t remember having a Christmas where I smiled as much as I am now.’

  ‘Oh, thanks very much,’ said Robin with a tut.

  ‘You know what I mean,’ said Charlie, giving him a playful tap on the arm.

  ‘Here’s hoping you have many more, then,’ said Bridge. ‘I mean the smiling part, not the being trapped in an old pub with a bunch of strangers part.’

  ‘I hope so too,’ said Charlie, with a soft smile.

  Robin turned away, picked up the poker and started prodding the half-burnt logs. ‘Don’t want these falling out and causing a disaster,’ he said. Mary recognised that look on his face, when you felt yourself slipping as you tried so hard to be brave. She knew that Robin must be mentally exhausted and probably physically too, as dreams would kill the quality of his sleep, propelling him to a fearful consciousness when he needed most of all to gain strength through rest.

  ‘First up gets everyone else up,’ said Luke. ‘To make sure everyone does come downstairs at the same time. I can’t believe I’m so excited about all this.’

  ‘You need to get out more,’ said Bridge, even though she knew what he meant. He was just making the best of their enforced circumstances, as she was. But Ben would be fretting about her, because that’s what he did and she wished there was some way to let him know she really was all right. On a more practical level, she needed to go upstairs to wash some pants so she had a clean pair for the morning.

  ‘What time does everyone want to rise?’ asked Jack.

  ‘Don’t make it too early, we aren’t five,’ said Bridge.

  ‘Shall we say not before nine, then?’ suggested Mary.

  ‘Perfecto,’ said Charlie.

  They filed upstairs, issuing goodnights like a festive version of The Waltons. Bridge checked the piece of paper that had her stocking-stuffing time on it. She had fifteen minutes to do her little bit of laundry.

  ‘I’ve got loads of spare pants if you need them,’ Mary offered when she realised what Bridge was doing in the sink. ‘I always pack too many. Seven pairs for an overnight stay.’ She didn’t say that one of those pairs cost thirty pounds and were silk and she wanted to wear them for dinner with Jack in the Tynehall Country Hotel in the hope they’d make her feel sexy and seductive ‘from the fuff up’ as her sister Maggie would have said. She’d probably never wear them now. She had no occasion to and by the time she did have, at this rate, they’d have disintegrated.

  ‘Thanks for the offer but it’s no trouble. So long as the radiator works some magic and dries them for me.’

  Mary put her hand on it; it could have been warmer.

  ‘Stupid me,’ she said then and pulled her handbag over. ‘Why didn’t I think…’

  She took something out of a side compartment and started fiddling with the radiator.

  ‘What are you doing, Mary?’ asked Bridge.

  ‘I’m bleeding it,’ came the reply.

  ‘You carry a radiator bleeding key around with you?’ asked Bridge.

  ‘I’ve got all sorts in my handbag,’ said Mary. ‘Scissors, screwdriver, sewing kit… You just never know, do you.’

  A sister soul, Bridge thought. Between them, they probably had enough tools to build and plumb an extension to the inn.

  ‘Ah, listen to that lovely hiss.’

  The radiator gave a satisfying long, slow fart of air. ‘That’s it,’ Mary patted it as if it were a pet. ‘It’s heating up properly now. I’ll go around the house and do the others in the morning. Then again, it’s nice to be chilly enough for us to want to huddle around the fire isn’t it?’

  Bridge wrung out her pants and then draped them over the radiator.

  ‘You don’t mind them being here do you?’ she asked Mary.

  ‘Why should I?’ Mary assured her. ‘If it doesn’t sound a bit weird, they’re beautiful pants.’

  ‘La Perla,’ said Bridge. ‘Ridiculously expensive. Something I never thought I’d be able to afford, but I can now, so extravagant lingerie is my go-to indulgence.’

  ‘Mine would be handbags,’ said Mary. ‘I’ve always wanted a Coco Chanel handbag. I’m not really a labels person because we’ve never had the money for stuff like that, but I think I should really love one of those one day.’

  ‘They keep their price. Even second-hand ones are extortionate,’ said Bridge. ‘Some of the vintage ones fetch higher prices than they did when they were new.’

  ‘A pipe dream for me,’ said Mary with a sigh.

  ‘Did you notice that Charlie had a Chanel scarf on yesterday? Though he was wearing it as a cravat.’ Bridge squeezed some toothpaste onto her brush.

  ‘I noticed his cravat but I didn’t realise it was Chanel,’ replied Mary. ‘It suited his image. I bet when he was younger he looked like one of the three musketeers.’

  ‘They’re a funny couple, aren’t they?’ mused Bridge. ‘I mean Robin runs around after him like a servant. I know there’s a lot of years between them but are they partners or master and slave?’

  Mary recalled the comment Bridge had made about hoping Charlie had many more Christmases to come. She’d wondered whether to say anything, torn between breaking a confidence and preventing Bridge from saying something clumsy out of ignorance; decided she should.

  ‘I should tell you something about them,’ said Mary.

  ‘What?’ asked Bridge. Mary had her full attention.

  ‘This is the last Christmas Robin and Charlie are going to spend together. Charlie’s ill.’

  ‘How ill?’

  ‘He’s dying.’

  ‘Really? Oh fuck, oh no, God how awful,’ said Bridge, h
er voice hushed with shock.

  ‘I didn’t want you to put your foot in it.’

  Bridge looked pensive, then she cringed.

  ‘Thank you for telling me, Mary. I already did though, didn’t I, wishing he’d have many more happy Christmases to come. Me and my big mouth.’

  ‘You weren’t to know.’

  ‘How did you?’

  ‘When I went to fetch his tablets earlier on. I recognised what they were.’

  ‘How… how long does he…?’

  ‘I don’t think he has long. You only get them right at the end. They don’t extend your life, but they help you enjoy what time you have left. Charlie knows I know.’

  Bridge felt a rush of sadness hit her from left field. What really did she have to complain about in life when compared with that? Poor lovely Charlie. She would make sure he had every consideration she could give him while they were there.

  Mary checked her watch, stirred into action.

  ‘Anyway, I’d better just nip out, I have something to do. See you in a couple of minutes.’

  Bridge smiled. This was absurd, all six of them sneaking downstairs at five-minute intervals just to slip a present into someone’s sock. So why was she brimming with this ridiculous sense of anticipation?

  Chapter 20

  Mary knelt down by the fire and stuffed the small item into the toe of the sock. She hoped he wouldn’t think it was too ridiculous or cheesy or make him sad, but she was driven by her conviction that this was totally the right present for him. She was the first down. All the socks laid out reminded her of being a little girl at home. They’d had a real fire, just like this one, and her dad would empty a three-pound bag of flour onto the hearth and stamp his big boots in it to make it look as if Santa had stepped there. Mary had the sudden yearning to crawl back into that past when they were together: Mum, Dad, Sean, Maggie, Rob and their collie Barney. But they all had moved on and found a new family nucleus for Christmas Days. Would she ever find hers, so she could look forward with hope, instead of back with longing?