Chapter 17
SEVENTEEN
It’s the eve of Christmas Eve and it’s crazy busy at Bentham’s. The light dusting of snow yesterday didn’t stick to the ground, leaving the roads a little slushy, but at least it means we won’t have any issues transporting the pensioners to their party tomorrow. I’m mentally running through everything in my head, hoping there isn’t anything I have forgotten, however unlikely that might be as I have been ticking things off my list.
I’m not sure why, but I find myself scanning the crowds in case Kian decides to pop in for some last-minute shopping this morning. I was also surprised that I found myself thinking about him last night when I got home. Halfway through the morning service a similar-looking bloke walks in, with the same easy-going, almost beaten-up look, wearing a brown leather jacket and accompanied by a good-looking redhead.
But it isn’t him, and to my surprise I breathe a sigh of relief that Kian wasn’t with a woman and wonder what on earth has got into me? I’d noticed him in here for the first time the other day, but maybe he has only just moved into the area.
‘I’m really looking forward to Christmas Day this year,’ says Gemma, spraying herself with a sample of a very expensive perfume that we have behind the counter. ‘My family are coming up from Wales, there’s going to be fourteen of us. I haven’t seen my cousins for two years,’ she tells me. ‘We always have such a good laugh, I am really looking forward to it.’
‘It sounds wonderful.’ I smile, thinking of how this year it will be just me and Mum, which suits me just fine though after the craziness of Christmas Eve at the community centre. I wish Dad could join us too, but I know that is selfish of me. He has his own relationship with Rose. I just hope he heeds the doctor’s words and doesn’t overindulge on the day.
‘Why don’t you and your mum join us on Christmas Day?’ offers Gemma as if reading my mind. ‘The more the merrier, I say. Mum’s dining room is huge, and everyone will be pitching in with the cooking. Apparently, one of my aunts is bringing half of Tesco with her.’ She laughs.
‘That’s so kind, Gemma, but honestly? I’m quite happy quietly spending the day with Mum. And I’ll be popping over to see Dad and Rose in the morning with their presents.’
Rose is quite difficult to shop for, not being one for perfumes or cosmetics due to a skin sensitivity, so I have bought her a new heated styling brush as she mentioned needing a new one last time I visited.
‘Of course, but if you change your mind you will be more than welcome,’ she says kindly as a man approaches the counter with a box of sparkly tree baubles. He could probably get them for half the price at the huge discount store on a nearby retail park, but obviously likes to support local business. It seems most of the patrons feel that way, telling us they would hate to see the store close due to the onslaught of discount shops as many other high street stores have done. I like to think that as we sell quality items, along with such wonderful sales, the customers are still getting great value for money.
‘Thanks, Gemma.’ I feel blessed to have such a good friend. I don’t know what I would do without her.
The day rolls on with festive cheer as excited shoppers cram into the store for that last-minute gift. Christmas tunes are playing in the background and I feel a tingle of excitement myself, knowing that everything is prepared for tomorrow. I can’t have forgotten anything, I have been over things so many times and it isn’t as if it’s the first time this is happening, so it should run like clockwork now.
A father with a little girl, who I presume to be his daughter, is picking out a gift and I find myself wondering how Kian’s day will go with his daughter Bella on Christmas Day? Will it just be the two of them, or will they be joining in with the rest of his family? I wonder if he lives in an apartment or a house? Gosh, what is the matter with me?
I distract my thoughts by being busy serving customers, my thoughts occasionally turning to tomorrow. The other volunteers will arrive in the morning and Sue is cooking two huge turkeys in her oven overnight, on a low setting, clearly not worried about fires or anything like I would be – although I suppose everyone has fire alarms these days. The vegetables will be cooked when we arrive at the centre on the morning of Christmas Eve and I have some hand carved ready-cooked ham to serve along with the turkey.
After preparations are complete, we will make the short journeys ferrying the pensioners to the party, for the ten or so who are unable to make their own way there. The guests usually arrive at one thirty to enjoy a pre-dinner drink, before Christmas lunch is served around two. Santa will arrive around four thirty dispensing gifts to all and it gives me a warm rosy glow just thinking about it and the practised routine that always goes to plan. I know Gemma teases me about my lists and attention to detail, but something like this can’t be organised on a wing and a prayer.
Taking a break later in the staffroom, I receive a phone call.
‘Five o’clock today, okay great, thanks,’ I say, confirming an appointment.
I’m just back at the counter serving a lady with a pair of leather gloves when a familiar face walks through the door.
‘Mum, hi, what can I get you?’ I ask.
‘Nothing, love, you know I wouldn’t pay the prices in here.’
An immaculately groomed woman behind her is holding a dress that I happen to know has a two-hundred-pound price tag.
‘Especially when they have been made in some sweat shop in some undeveloped country, paying the workers a pittance,’ adds Mum, with a shake of her head.
‘Okay, Mum, but keep your voice down.’ I steer her to the corner of the counter whilst Gemma serves the woman with the expensive dress.
‘So what are you doing here?’ I ask.
‘I’ve been thinking about what you said about inviting your father over on Christmas Day,’ she tells me.
‘Really?’
‘Yes, I don’t want to cause any trouble, but do you think I ought to ask them? I can be very persuasive,’ she says, which is definitely true. ‘We’re all adults here, aren’t we?’
‘Perhaps, but I definitely can’t see Rose agreeing to it.’
‘Well, there is no harm is asking.’ Mum looks serious for a minute. ‘What with your father’s heart problems, you never know if it might be his last Christmas.’
‘Oh, Mum, don’t say that, I can’t bear the thought.’
Mum’s right though. We are all adults, and in a perfect world we ought to be able to sit around a table together, but, sadly, real life isn’t always like that.
‘Leave it to me,’ Mum says firmly. ‘Right then, I’ll be off now. I’ll call you later.’ She lifts a pot of foundation from a nearby counter, and tuts at the price tag before leaving.
Town is bustling with shoppers when I finish work, and I pass a dozen or so wooden chalets adorned with Christmas lights. It’s only a small square, with traders selling the usual food and drink, wooden toys and a few clothes stalls, one selling hand-made Peruvian hats and scarves. Once I have been assured that the products are eco-friendly and vegan, I pick out a colourful beanie hat and scarf for Mum to go with her earrings. There are stalls selling bottles of Gluhwein, offering shoppers a sample, alongside pungent cheeses, some with a Christmas twist with the addition of cinnamon and spices.
The smell of sizzling German sausage from a stall fills the air as shoppers stroll around the market, muffled in thick coats and hats. I say hi to lots of people who recognise me from the shop, as I walk. As I approach the end of the square, near a stone monument, I watch a group of carol singers dressed in traditional Victorian costumes, singing away, and collecting money for a local hospice.
I peel a ten-pound note from my purse and place it into a violin case, as the group break into ‘God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen’, and a Victorian-dressed gent tips his top hat.
I try to shake the thoughts of a hospice from my mind as I head to my car, anxiously wondering what the outcome of the meeting with the doctor will be.