A Mistletoe Moment

by Natasha West

  Lara, Jeffrey and Judy nodded at that, content with the answer. But Sam wasn’t done.

  ‘Because it wasn’t really challenging in any way. I could sleepwalk through it. Doing deals with someone who’s got a warehouse full of dog calendars, well, it’s hardly high stakes, is it? I mean, who else is gonna want to buy the crap we do?’

  There was a silence. Sam kept going.

  ‘Don’t get me wrong, there’s some bloody cute dogs in those calendars. And people go mad for the pug ones. But I don’t think they’re cute enough to spend my working life consumed with them.’

  Sam glanced over at Lara and saw that her eyes were wide with horror. She couldn’t understand what Sam was doing. Of course she couldn’t. Tanking a job interview in such spectacular fashion? It was unimaginable to her. And to Sam, that made the whole thing all the more enjoyable.

  ‘So, in summary I think I’ve had enough of it. I don’t want this promotion. Give it to someone who gives a shit. I don’t even really want the job I’ve already got. So yeah, I’m off. I think I’m gonna go to the park, check out the ducks. It’ll be freezing but life’s too short to sit in an office. See ya.’

  Sam stood and looked down at three shocked faces. There was one last thing she wanted to do before she left them to their world of cheap goods. One last thing she needed to say. She turned to Lara.

  ‘Oh and Lara, you really need to stop shagging your underlings. It’s so unprofessional.’

  Sam skipped out. As she closed the door, she heard a conversation begin in the room. It was Lara, sputtering nervously. ‘Jeffrey, I have no idea what she’s talking about…’

  Sam walked down the corridor, feeling like she was falling. The life she’d built was slipping away. But instead of feeling scared, she was exhilarated.

  It wasn’t the end of the world to fall.

  Fourteen

  ‘TILDA!’

  Tilda sat bolt upright as her Dad pounded on her door. ‘You’ve just got to jiggle the handle’ she said, still in a dream.

  ‘Are you up?’ Chris called through the door.

  Tilda looked around her. She was in her bedroom, at her Dad’s house. ‘Yeah!’

  ‘Can you nip to the shops for me? I need a few things.’

  Tilda came down twenty minutes later, showered and mostly awake. She was apprehensive about seeing her Dad. After yesterday’s miserable ending to what had begun as a semi-fun adventure, things had been tense. Chris didn’t say he was upset, but the second they’d come home he’d started vacuuming very aggressively. And the subsequent evening had been oddly quiet. In the end, Tilda had retreated to her room, unable to sit in the thick silence.

  Tilda knew he was angry with her. Because of where they’d ended up and what her Mother had said about him. It had been painful for him and Tilda was sympathetic to that. But it hadn’t been her fault her Mother had said those awful things, she’d defended him in fact, and she felt it was unfair of her Dad to keep carrying this passive aggressive little grudge around the house.

  But he’d had a night to sleep on things and Tilda hoped that had been enough to allow the storm to pass. But the second she came into the kitchen, hoping for some breakfast before she was thrust out into the world, Chris was putting a list in her hand, along with some cash.

  ‘It’s just a few things for lunch tomorrow’ he said, not really looking at her. ‘The bird is the most important thing. I’ve ordered a small organic chicken from the butchers as it’s only you and me, it’s in my name-’

  ‘Dad, can I have a cup of coffee first? Before you send me out into the hellscape that is town on Christmas Eve?’

  Chris frowned. ‘Just for once, can you put aside what you want and do something for me?’

  Tilda was gobsmacked.

  ‘What are you on about? I’m gonna do it, I just wanted a cuppa first.’

  Chris turned away, leaning into the sink, suddenly needing to wash a spoon in there. ‘Do what you want. You always do.’

  That was the limit.

  ‘Dad, if you’ve got something to say, just bloody well say it. I’m not doing all this tiptoeing-around-the-problem shit. Just speak, for Christ’s sakes.’

  ‘Fine!’ Chris said, whirling around. ‘You dragged me to that woman’s house. And you knew I didn’t want to go.’

  ‘That woman? Are you talking about Mum?’

  Chris’s eyes narrowed. ‘You know I am.’

  ‘Well, I didn’t drag you there, for a start. You chose to come. You were the one who wanted to follow the trail. And that’s where it led. I can’t help that.’

  ‘You could have gone to your Mums’ on your own. Why did you need me to drive you there?’

  ‘And you could have said something if you didn’t want to go. I’m not a mind reader!’

  ‘Do you really need to be a mind reader to figure out that I wouldn’t want to go there, Tilda!’

  Tilda was stumped for a second. But she wasn’t about to let her Dad win.

  ‘While we’re on the subject, if you’d… put your foot down a bit, there might have been, a, a, a point to being there’ Tilda eventually stuttered. ‘But you’ve just got to follow all the rules, haven’t you? God forbid you ever break out of your little box!’

  ‘If you don’t like how I live, then go and live your own life! You keep talking about buggering off to Australia. What’s stopping you?!’ Chris countered.

  ‘Fine. I think I will. I’m sick of all this bullshit, anyway.’

  ‘What bullshit is that, exactly? Adult life?’

  ‘I’m not afraid to enjoy my life and you can’t stand it, can you? You know what? If you’re an example of an adult, then I don’t want it! I’d be bored stiff!’

  Chris felt tears welling up but he blinked them quickly back. ‘Great. You enjoy your life. Good luck with it. But I hope you realise you’ll end up just like the woman we met yesterday, Gillian. With nothing but a bunch of memories of acting like an idiot!’

  That was it for Tilda. She grabbed the list and the money and charged out of the house.

  Chris listened as his daughter slammed the door behind her and he already wanted to take back everything he’d said. But the words had been spoken and there was nothing to do about it. His broken marriage had chipped off yet another part of him. His only child.

  Tilda wandered down the crowded high street as shopper’s zig-zagged around her. They had the big day to prepare for. Tilda watched them and she felt something strange and unfamiliar. Envy.

  These people with their family Christmases, sweating the small details. Wondering if they had enough crackers, reminding themselves that they simply must pick up some bread sauce, trying to picture the size of the bird they’d ordered and hoping it would feed everyone. It all looked so simple and comfortable.

  As Tilda stood in huge line at the butchers, she thought about all the terrible things her Dad had said to her. And then she thought about the equally cruel things she’d said to him. Then back to what he’d said.

  That thing about her being like Gillian, that was the worst of it. The rest had been an extension of things she knew her father thought. Not much of a shock. But to provide an in-the-flesh 3D view of what he actually saw when he looked at her? That hurt.

  Gillian might have done Tilda a big solid but the chaos of her life had been very clear. She wasn’t anything that a person would ever aspire to be. She’d wasted her youth and worse, she didn’t appear to even notice what a fuck-up she was.

  Was it possible her Dad was right? Was Tilda in a mess and didn’t even know it? Or was it purely a defensive move to deflect attention away from the mess that his own life was? It was hard to know.

  But Tilda knew one thing for certain. Chris’s comment had been designed to hurt her. That was the very root of the pain Tilda was in. Her father had been cruel. He was never cruel. Critical, argumentative and rigid, but not that. Chris was her touchstone and always had been. Her relationship with her Mother ranged from so-so to awful. But her Dad was th
e one she knew she could rely on, in all sorts of ways. Tilda had assumed he always would be that for her. But after this?

  It didn’t feel like there was any coming back from it.

  Back at home a few hours later, Tilda dropped the shopping off in the kitchen, relieved to see her Dad wasn’t there. She glanced out at the back garden and saw him, trimming the hedges as though he wanted to make them feel pain.

  She gave a moment’s thought to going out there and apologising to him, to trying to sort things out. But it was only a brief impulse and it passed.

  Tilda went up to her bedroom and pulled out her iPad, opening up an app she’d used many times. It was a flight comparison app. After twenty minutes, Tilda had a flight booked to Sydney Airport. It left on Christmas day, at 8pm. It was a one-way ticket.

  Tilda would eat Christmas lunch with her Dad and then get the fuck out of there.

  Fifteen

  Christmas Day

  Sam awoke slowly and looked at the clock. It was ten thirty. Sam was shocked. She could never usually sleep past seven.

  She was due at Imogen’s at twelve, at her family home. It was going to be a posh meal and although Sam was grateful for the invite (her parents always went away for Christmas and without her own family, she was generally at a loose end) she wasn’t at all sure she was up for it. The day was her own and she wanted to do something vaguely ridiculous with it. To celebrate walking out of her job.

  Sam had made good on her promise and headed to the park to watch the ducks after she’d thrown the interview, but not before popping her head into her office and letting Jack know that she was dropping the mic.

  ‘Sam, have you lost your mind?’ Jack had sputtered, shocked. ‘You’re on your way up! You’re throwing away all the progress you’ve made here.’

  ‘That’s the thing, Jack. I don’t feel that it is progress. Not for me. You’re a decent boss and I wish you well. But I’m done. I’m sorry about the lack of notice…’

  Jack sighed and said ‘Don’t worry about it. Do what you’ve got to do.’

  He shook her hand and said goodbye.

  Sam had stopped by Imogen’s desk as she was leaving to tell her she was quitting and that she’d see her tomorrow at lunch. Imogen had been delighted.

  ‘You little rebel. I love it! But what’ll you do for money?’

  ‘I’ve been saving every spare penny I earned since I was eighteen. I’ll be fine for a bit and then, I don’t know. Might start my own business.’

  ‘Doing what?’

  Sam shrugged. She didn’t have any idea. And it was wonderful.

  And then she left Pound Saver forever, stopping at the supermarket for a loaf of bread which she fed to the ducks at the park. They looked happy. And Sam had been happy too.

  But today, she had an obligation. But then again, what else was there to do today? It was Christmas day and someone else was doing the cooking. It was a pretty good deal when you got down to it.

  Sam got ready. As she put her make-up on her mind wandered to Tilda and how she might be spending Christmas day.

  Tilda’s night had been a lot more fitful than Sam’s twelve-hour streak. She’d been awake till two wondering if she’d done the right thing in buying a ticket to the other side of the world in a fit of temper. And then she’d awoken at seven, questioning the same thing. But by 10am, she was sure it would be OK. She’d get her rucksack out of the cupboard, throw a few things in it and be off. It didn’t need to be any more complicated than that. It was the beauty of a life free of ties.

  It was only then she started to think about what she’d do when she actually got to Australia. She needed to get a hostel bed to start with. Maybe she could bum around after that, find a job of some sort. Something fun, like teaching kitesurfing. Did you need some sort of qualification for that? Tilda didn’t have a clue but she refused to let that sort of thinking in. She would be propelled by something better than facts. She had a wanderlust and it had to keep taking her forward. She was sure she’d land on her feet. She always did.

  The smell of cooking began to drift up the stairs. Her father was no doubt working on lunch already. They usually did gifts afterward. Tilda realised with horror that she hadn’t actually gotten him anything. She’d meant to pick up something yesterday but she’d been so angry with him, the idea of buying him a present was pretty far from her mind.

  She began to look around online. It was too late for today but it might come after boxing day, once she was gone. She saw a few things he might like in the gardening section of Amazon, labour saving devices. But they were pretty expensive. And she needed all her cash for accommodation.

  Tilda considered her options. She could get him nothing. The way things were with them right now, did he even deserve anything, Tilda wondered fleetingly. But it was no good. She knew he merited, at the very least, a Christmas gift. Even if he didn’t think very much of her, he’d still been a good Dad in the larger scheme of things. And he’d taken care of her way past the point he was expected to. She had to get him something. But how the hell was she supposed to pay for it? The last pay day for the Brass Lantern had come and gone, and it had been spent on the flight.

  And then she remembered something. The tip jar from the office party. There had to have been about a hundred quid in there. Split between her and Mikey, she was entitled to fifty of it and that was enough to get her Dad a nice gift.

  The Brass Lantern would be open today; they were doing Christmas lunch at an extortionate price. Tilda was going to have to brave it and go back for what she was owed.

  She quickly got dressed and snuck out. Chris didn’t notice her leave. He was up to his elbows in potatoes.

  Tilda peaked into the bar, hoping to see Mikey. If he was around, she could ask him to get the cash for her and it would be no fuss at all. But the place was packed to the rafters and he was nowhere to be seen. Dave, on the other hand, was very much present. Growling orders as the staff whizzed around, trying to feel necessary.

  They weren’t serving lunch yet, but a lot of people had come for a pre-lunch drink, no doubt needing a break from some of their more taxing relatives. Tilda realised that would work in her favour. If Mikey was upstairs, she might be able to slip past Dave, completely unnoticed in the crowd.

  Tilda James-Bonded her way through the bar, stepping behind pillars and leaning into people, disguised as part of various drinking groups, all the while keeping an eye out for Dave. The gods were smiling: he didn’t spot her.

  Eventually, she made her way to the stairs and up she went, into the safety zone. The bar upstairs was just as busy. The chances that Mikey was working today were growing ever slimmer.

  As she stepped through the crowd, she scanned the bar and then she saw him. Mikey. And she couldn’t believe what she saw.

  Mikey had gone through some sort of transformation into an eighties Tom Cruise. He was throwing cocktail shakers and booze bottles around with aplomb, while the crowd gasped. He’d slide the bottle down his arm and it looked as though it were going to hit the floor and then boom! He’d grab it at the final moment and toss it to his other hand. The crowd let out a relieved breath and clapped for him.

  He was pouring a cocktail (for a young lady who looked quite enamoured with his routine) as Tilda dashed up to the bar. ‘Mikey! How are you doing this?!’

  Mikey turned to see Tilda and smiled in surprise. ‘Tilda! What are you doing here? I thought you’d be halfway around the world by now!’

  ‘And later tonight, that’s exactly where I’ll be. But seriously, where on earth did you pick all this up?’

  ‘Well, after you left, I thought about taking your advice and quitting too. But then I decided that I wasn’t ready to give up yet, not till I’d given it a real go. But I knew I needed to get a bit more confident. So I watched a million YouTube videos about cocktail throwing and started practising. I thought it would help my clumsiness and it really does. I’m still getting the hang of it…’

  ‘Looks like you’ve
got it down.’

  ‘Nice of you to say.’

  ‘How does Dave feel about the showmanship?’

  ‘He wasn’t sure at first. I think he thought I was going to smash all the inventory. But then he saw how much people liked it and he’s into it now. Reckons it’ll pull in more punters, which feels pretty good. I mean, I know I’m not going to be a barman forever, but if you’re going to do something, you might as well do it right.’

  Tilda was blown away. Good for Mikey. In a few days, he’d turned his whole attitude around and now he was killing it. Even though he didn’t want to do it in the long run, he’d committed to it. Tilda had thought she was the mentor to Mikey when she was here. But as she watched him put together a daiquiri, she thought perhaps he had some things to teach her after all.