It Happened on Christmas Eve

by Kirsty Greenwood

  I push Adam onto the gravelled path, we wheel around a corner and I gasp. It’s beautiful in here. The fir trees are all covered in tiny pale lights and it looks so magical in this moment that my usual aversion to fairy lights is all but forgotten. Ooh, there are colourful little pop up carts serving drinks and food from local vendors! If I didn’t hate Christmas, I might think this was pretty cool.

  There’s a group of about fifteen carollers standing under a gazebo, dressed in various shades of red and white and very seriously singing Good King Wenceslas. One of them is carrying a bucket for donations for Battersea Dogs Home, and though the garden is busy, people seem to mostly be walking past the carollers in favour of the pop up food and drinks carts. One little boy even puts his hand over his ears. I give him a sympathetic glance.

  ‘They need to sing something a bit more lively,’ I muse as we head over so I can put some money into the bucket.

  ‘You’re so right. I always think Good King Wenceslas is the dullest of all Christmas songs.’

  ‘That’s what I was thinking!’

  ‘We should do something about it,’ Adam says.

  ‘No, we shouldn’t.’

  ‘We should! For the sake of the dogs!’ Adam pulls a very noble looking expression and before I can protest any further, he has plonked the Christmas tree, shopping bags and crutches onto the ground beside the wheelchair and suggests that if I don’t want him to fall and break his other leg, I should probably help him up onto his feet. With a reluctant sigh I do, trying to keep my balance as he stumbles into me a little. I press my hands against his chest to steady us both and am surprised by how toned he feels, even beneath his woollen coat.

  I shake my head slightly in an attempt to clear it and hand Adam his crutches.

  ‘Phoebe, you smell like Bondage,’ he says.

  ‘Ugh. I know.’ I give him a little sniff. ‘So do you.’

  ‘It’s horrendous, isn’t it? Overworked, over-heated gimp was the exact correct description.’ He looks at me weirdly and grins slightly, and although he is technically not flirting and technically within the boundaries of our agreement, I feel a flush creep up my neck.

  Adam turns swiftly towards the carol singers and starts to hobble towards them on his crutches. I expect that he’s going to help rouse the crowd, but he waits patiently for the singers to finish their current song and then he hops awkwardly over to the leader, leaning in to speak to her. I see her recoil slightly from the smell of Bondage. I can’t tell what he’s saying, but her face changes from offended to flirty within the space of a minute. She turns and says something to the other bored and cold-looking carol singers who all seem to liven up at her words.

  Adam manoeuvres to the side of the choir and with a nod from the leader yells, ‘A one, a two, a one two three and…!’

  The group launches into a rendition of Santa Claus is Comin’ to Town. Adam, leaning precariously on one of his crutches and with the other tucked under his arm, starts clapping in time as he sings. The rest of the choir join in and a few of them start to dance. Together, they sound brilliant! In no time at all, people start to head over and begin to sing and clap along. A couple of women film on their mobile phones and at least six people head over to put money into the donation bucket. I can’t help but smile at the sound of all these people singing around me. People who wouldn’t ordinarily look at each other in these aloof London streets. Their voices ring around me and to my great horror I somehow find myself singing along too. I clamp my mouth shut before I get too carried away. See, this is what Christmas does. It makes you think that everything is lovely and happy and hopeful when really it is all a lie.

  When the song is over, the crowd whoops and cheers before the carollers, thrilled with the newfound attention, launch into another upbeat song that keeps the crowd dancing and clapping.

  Adam hobbles back over to me, a massive grin on his face, before sitting back into his wheelchair, grabbing some painkillers out of his pocket and necking two of them.

  ‘Are you okay?’ I ask.

  ‘A dancing audience member knocked my leg a bit. Should probably stay in the chair. But it was worth it!’

  ‘It was like Sister Act!’ I say with a little laugh.

  ‘Well, I am often referred to as the Dolores Van Cartier of Christmas.’

  ‘And you made some money for the dogs, which is lovely.’

  ‘While getting the attention I crave, also lovely,’ Adam deadpans.

  As we wander around the rest of the park, Adam insists that we stop at one of the little food carts. I insist that it be the hotdog cart on account of the fact that I do not like festive foods. So we stop for a hotdog and I realise I’ve not eaten since eleven this morning. I gobble it up joyfully. Hotdogs are amazing.

  ‘You want another one?’ Adam asks. ‘Because I really really do.’

  I had planned to go home for my noodles... Hmmm. Maybe I can have noodles tomorrow because a second hotdog sounds…

  ‘Yes, I will have another.’

  When we’ve finished I rub my stomach in satisfaction.

  ‘Come closer,’ Adam says softly. ‘I have something to tell you.’

  ‘Why do I have to come closer? Just tell me.’ I roll my eyes.

  ‘No you have to come closer, it’s private and I don’t want anyone else to hear.’

  Tutting, I bend down, my face close to his.

  Adam doesn’t say anything, but dabs a napkin gently to my nose. ‘You had a bit of ketchup there.’

  I straighten up, pawing at my nose. Ugh. Why didn’t he just tell me I had ketchup on my nose so I could move it myself.

  ‘That was flirty,’ I hiss.

  ‘It was not. You want me to let you go around looking like some sloppy Rudolph?’

  ‘No, but… you could have let me wipe my nose myself like a normal person.’

  Adam holds his hands up in an innocent gesture. ‘I was just trying to help.’

  ‘Sure.’

  As we leave the park, I get a spark of a long dormant feeling in the pit of my stomach. I can’t quite figure what the feeling is. I’m not sure I even want to figure out what the feeling is.

  ‘I’m taking you home now.’ I say firmly.

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘Great.’

  ‘Awesome.’

  ‘Excellent.’

  ‘Stop it.’

  ‘You stop it.’

  ‘Let’s both stop it.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘Adam!’

  Chapter Eight

  Christmas Eve 6:25 p.m.

  Finally! Finally, we’re on the way back to Adam’s house and this blasted day can be over and done with. Heading past Jerret and Hobbs Bookshop, I glance into the brightly lit window. It’s covered in Christmas decorations and I almost jump when I am faced with a massive cardboard cut-out of Adam’s face alongside small stacks of his latest book, part four of his Young Adult series The Newcomers. I wheel the chair around to face the shop window.

  ‘As if I’ve not had enough of you today, now I have to see you in my local bookshop too!’

  ‘I know, it’s embarrassing. Come, on let’s go,’ Adam replies quickly, not laughing along as I expected he would.

  I point at the cardboard cut-out picture. ‘That’s the smile you were doing at the woman in the perfume shop.’ I tease again, but Adam doesn’t crack even the tiniest of smiles. And then I remember what Marcy said about his latest book tanking. Eek, and here I am stopping him right in front of the bookshop window so he can think more about his failures. Nice, Phoebe.

  I take the break off the wheelchair and am just about to speed us away when a tall, elegant woman of around my age, half steps out of the bookshop.

  ‘Adam Westbury?’ she says, pulling the soft dark grey shawl she’s wearing more tightly around her shoulders. ‘I thought it was you!’ She flicks her eyes up to me and, clearly deeming me uninteresting, continues
to speak to Adam. ‘I saw on Twitter about your skating mishap, you silly pup. Anyway, you simply must come in and sign the stock we have. There are rather a lot of copies left!’

  There shouldn’t be a lot of copies left, should there? That doesn’t seem like a good thing. I look at Adam, his mouth is set in a grim line.

  I clear my throat. ‘We actually have somewhere to be! Sorry!’

  ‘No, no, it’s alright, Phoebe!’ Adam says with a cheerfulness that, after being around him for the past couple of hours, I now suspect is a touch forced. ‘I can sign a few books very quickly, if you don’t mind?’ He looks up to me with an apologetic smile.

  I’d really rather not but signing some books seems like a thing he should definitely do to encourage more sales if he’s not had any.

  ‘Marvellous!’ says the woman, opening the door wide so that we can get into the shop. ‘You have quite the entourage,’ she says, looking at the tree with a wrinkled nose and then at me with the same expression.

  ‘Phoebe Cook,’ I say, extending my hand once we’re inside the shop.

  ‘Fliss Mayhew,’ the woman says with a simpering smile. I give her my firmest handshake and feel not even a slight bit guilty when she winces. There are some people in life, who you can immediately tell are douchebags.

  The shop is lovely, though. I love a book shop and this is a beauty – warm and roomy, with high ceilings piled with colourful books. There’s even a couple of those swingy wooden ladders so people can get to the top shelves!

  I wheel Adam over to a display of his books at a table in the middle of the shop. Fliss busies over and hands him a pen.

  Adam picks up the book and looks at the blurb for a little while with a sad smile.

  ‘It’s great that you have a whole display in here!’ I say, trying to be encouraging.

  ‘Oh, Marcy is an old friend of my mother’s. Nepotism at its finest,’ she giggles, waving a hand over the display. ‘At this time of year I rather expected the table would be empty by now, but these books seem to want to stay.’

  She does another little laugh while Adam grimaces and starts to sign the stock with an exuberant signature. ‘I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘You really don’t have to keep the display up, if you have something else you think would sell better in this space.’

  ‘No, no it’s fine, of course!’ Fliss says. ‘Having some signed should help to shift them… Did the publishers sign you up for another deal?’

  ‘Not yet!’ Adam says, in that forced bright tone again. ‘But I’m writing a brand new series for adults and I’ve already had some interest from a few publishers.’

  ‘Oh good for you, Adam! I often wonder if the reading public are getting fatigued with all of this commercial literature, but it sounds as though you’ll be just fine!’ Fliss shrugs. ‘I’m actually writing a piece of poetic literary fiction about a beautiful woman who works in a bookshop and her noble horse, who is also her dearest friend.’

  Ugh, that sounds like a shit book.

  ‘Great!’ Adam says, still scribbling over the books. ‘I wish you the best of luck with that. Do let me know if I can help in any way.’

  ‘Thanks! That’s so kind, but I’m not sure it will be your cup of tea. It’s sort of unique, you know? And very literary. Not like your books.’

  She’s not outright saying it but you can tell she definitely looks down on the kind of thing Adam writes.

  Snobs. Definitely riding high on the shitlist.

  I clear my throat. ‘You know, I’m writing a piece of poetic literary fiction about a woman who works in a shop and who fancies her horse.’ I affect a very serious expression.

  Fliss blinks at me, her mouth opening and closing like a guppy. Her cheeks turn red. Adam bursts into loud, deep laughter.

  ‘I do not ‘fancy’ Snowy!’ she hisses. ‘I think it’s time for you to leave.’

  ‘I’m finished anyway!’ Adam says, the cheeriness in his voice now sounding a little more genuine.

  We quickly gather our things and leave the shop, as a red-faced Fliss scowls at us through the little window in the door.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I say, once we’re outside. ‘I couldn’t help myself. She seemed like such a snob.’

  ‘Oh she is. She’s the worst,’ Adam says. ‘I’m sorry you had to meet her.’

  Shit. ‘Is she going to take that display down now, because of what I said about her horse?’

  ‘She definitely will. But it was absolutely worth it! Fancies her horse. Ha!!’

  ‘I’m sorry your new book isn’t doing so well,’ I say as we wheel around a group of office workers laughing and singing outside a bar.

  ‘Me too.’ Adam shrugs, the tips of his ears turning red. ‘It’s quite a fall from grace.’

  ‘Um… shall we grab a quick drink before I drop you off?’ I ask, feeling uncharacteristically sympathetic.

  ‘Fuck, yes.’

  Chapter Nine

  Christmas Eve 7:00 p.m.

  We head to The Elgin pub, and on the way we pass Tesco. It’s utterly rammed. I peer through the glass window longingly, thinking of my noodles and the peaceful, solitary night that is very quickly getting away from me. I feel regretful for suggesting the pub now, but it seemed like the right thing to do, and however miserable I might be feeling, that must have sucked for Adam in the bookshop. I’m trying to do a nice thing. A kind thing. Not exactly the act of a hardcore bitch. It must be all the music and twinkle lights. This is why Christmas is dangerous – it makes people soppy.

  Inside The Elgin it’s peak celebration vibe. I spot a luminous coloured poster on the wall declaring this The Big Notting Hill Christmas Bash. Ah. It’s full of giddy people wearing Christmas hats, drinking cocktails and singing along to the very loud Christmas tunes. It’s a hellscape.

  ‘Shall we go somewhere else?’ I shout to Adam over the noise.

  ‘No, this is brilliant!’ he shouts back.

  Maaaan.

  We head to the back of the pub, where there’s a small table free, a group of people standing around it swiftly making space when they see the wheelchair, shopping bags, crutches and Christmas tree. I push the wheelchair to the edge of the table, and spin it slightly so that Adam has a view of the room.

  ‘Is that a good position?’ I ask.

  ‘My favourite position,’ Adam smiles innocently, although that sounded flirty to me. I narrow my eyes at him. He narrows his back.

  ‘What do you want to drink?’

  Adam blows the air out through his cheeks. ‘After the week I’ve had, something strong would be awesome.’

  ‘You’re going to have to be more specific,’ I say, eyeing the queue at the bar.

  ‘Double vodka and coke.’

  ‘Great. Back in a second.’

  I head to the bar, squeezing past high spirited revellers, one of whom, tells me to cheer up because it might never happen.

  ‘It is happening,’ I say in response, gesturing madly to the crowd and the Christmas music and the fact that I am not at home in pyjamas with my earplugs in.

  Waiting at the bar, I find myself swaying to the sounds of East 17 singing Stay Another Day. It is objectively a pretty excellent song when you think about it, and not technically a Christmas song.

  ‘Phoebe! Wow, what are you doing here?’

  I spin around around to see Ellie from work, wearing sparkly face makeup, a tinsel crown and the slightly cross-eyed expression of the absolutely sozzled.

  ‘I’ve come for a quick drink with a friend,’ I say.

  ‘I’m here with people from work!’ She points over to another table where I spot Jim, Horace the creepy IT guy and Tracey the overtly sexual admin assistant.

  ‘You should come and sit with us!’ Ellie sings, slinging an arm around my neck and pulling me in a sort of headlock.

  I wriggle myself out of her grasp. ‘Maybe!’ I say, knowing that I definitely won’t.

  Ellie places her hands onto my cheeks and looks at me imploringly. ‘I’m really happy to see
you,’ she slurs. ‘Really happy. But… Phoebe, why are you always so mean?’

  I frown. ‘I’m not mean!’

  ‘You are sometimes.’

  ‘No, I just prefer to keep myself to myself.’

  ‘But also you are meeeeean.’

  Am I? I didn’t think I was mean. A tad grumpy, yes, but not mean. But… Ellie doesn’t seem like the type to lie, so whether I’ve intended it or not that’s clearly how she’s interpreted my behaviour.

  ‘Well, I’m sorry.’ I say, gently taking her hands off my cheeks.

  Ellie tilts her head to the side and squints one eye, the other one fluttering close as if she’s trying very hard to focus. ‘When I first started at Harmonious Spaces I thought you and I would become great friends.’

  ‘You did?’

  That’s surprising.

  ‘Yes! I thought you were really cool and stylish. And then one day I saw you watching an episode of Broad City on your phone during lunch and, oh my goodness, I love that show.’ Ellie presses a hand to her chest. ‘I mean, I really love it, you know?’

  I nod. Broad City is sublime. ‘I do know.’

  ‘So I said to you, I said, ‘Broad City is the best, right?’ And you just rolled your eyes and span away from me in your skinny chair.’

  I shake my head. I wouldn’t have done that. I may be a grump but I’m a polite grump.

  ‘Are you sure that happened, Ellie?’

  ‘Yep. I know because it was the first week back after the Christmas break last year and the heating in the office was on the blink. I remember feeling fed up at your snub and also because I was very very cold.’

  I lean onto the bar while I wait to be served and try to remember this encounter with Ellie. January last year was just after the whole debacle with Mitch. I was completely miserable and yes, probably a total bitch.