Chapter 12
‘It’s a little snug, but it will have to do,’ Josh said, pulling up the hood of the Grinch costume on Simon’s head. ‘Right.’ He clapped his hands managerially. ‘Are we ready?’
Other teams around were gathering and were equally energetic in their pep talks.
‘Almost,’ I said, taking the green face paint from Megan’s waiting hand and dampening the sponge in a little tub of water in the other.
‘What is that?’ Simon asked, looking from me to the neon-lime face paint.
‘I will personally donate ￡100 to Crisis,’ I said, rubbing the sponge in the paint before he could object, and slathering it on his chin. He went silent at once and noticeably pouted, which was actually quite helpful in the paint application.
‘What’s our team name, Josh?’ I asked Josh over Simon’s shoulder, as I ignored his playful glare.
Josh turned from speaking to one of the Santa organisers and, with a dramatic arm flourish, announced he had registered us as Fab-YULE-Us.
‘I had nothing to do with it,’ Megan pointed out, looking at her phone once more, willing for a message from her husband that had still yet to arrive.
‘What? It’s perfect,’ Josh exclaimed. ‘Much better than the others.’
‘What are the others?’ Simon asked curiously, as a race marshal came by asking for us to get into position as the celebrity of the day – a winner of the recent Celebrity MasterChef UK – was about to come on stage to start the race.
I hastily dropped the face paint into a Tesco Bag For Life, not remembering that my crossbody bag was stashed inside until it was too late, and prepared to get in line to get a tray and a Christmas pudding.
‘Well,’ Josh began as Megan, Simon, and I hastened to get to the start of the race. ‘There’s the Jingle Belles, an all-girl team with a seventy-plus-year-old, so we’ve got them beat. Then the Parumpapumpums, who I think we’ll need to watch out for.’
‘Yeah,’ Megan interjected as we were jostled towards the starting line. ‘They were shouting Christmas slurs like “I will deck your halls!”’
‘And the ever-so-imaginative “We will sleigh you!”’ Josh added, rolling his eyes in horror – forgetting that he had named our group the Fab-YULE-Us. We were not innocent of pun murder.
‘Sounds dreadful,’ Simon said, trying to hide his smile as he rubbed his eye, smudging the badly applied face paint.
‘What’s dreadful is the make-up. I’m so sorry,’ I added, patting his now furry green arm apologetically.
‘At least this costume is warm. I don’t have to worry so much about scarves and hats.’
‘Wait until we start running,’ I pointed out. ‘You might not be so thankful for that costume then.’
At that moment the marshals began calling for teams to come forward.
‘That’s us!’ Josh cried, moving immediately to get to the front of the starting line for his tray and Christmas pudding, with the three of us following, leaving our stuff at the side of the street.
Thankfully, being a team within the race meant that we got to stand behind a security barrier and could leave our items safely.
‘So what actually happens?’ Simon asked me and Megan, as the two of us began pushing through the other groups to get in line.
‘It’s an obstacle course,’ Megan shouted over the rising din of competitive voices. ‘We each get a tray with a Christmas pudding on it.’
‘I got that part,’ Simon mumbled, grumpy that a Hans Gruber had pushed him aside to join his other collective Grubers.
‘There are obstacles we have to climb over and through, like that inflatable slide.’ I pointed to it for Simon’s benefit. ‘Oh, and the race marshals spray you with foam before you go on the slalom.’
‘And we’ve all got to decorate a Christmas tree and dress a snowman at the end as well.’ Megan grinned – of course, her favourite bit would be the home décor portion. ‘With Josh on our team, that will be a piece of cake.’
‘The winning teams battle it out in a Grand Final,’ I said finally as I was passed my tray and pudding, which was surprisingly heavy. ‘Oh, and don’t drop your pudding.’
Simon mouthed ‘Okay’ in that adorably bewildered way of his, and I couldn’t help but laugh.
‘￡200 for Crisis,’ I muttered to him, raising an eyebrow. He glanced at me, his lips curling into a slow, easy smile.
‘At this rate, you’re going to raise more money for Crisis than you are Cancer Research.’ His voice was teasing, but there was something warm in the way he said it.
‘We’ll raise money for both, no jingle off my bells.’
His laugh was deep and unrestrained, a sound that sent a little thrill through me. We almost missed the MasterChef winner’s opening instructions, but we certainly didn’t miss the ‘Ready, get set, go!’ that followed.
The horn blared, and suddenly we were swept up in a wave of runners – shoved forward by reindeer, elves, fat Santas, bad Santas, and more.
Megan let out a shriek, her sensible shoes propelling her forward with surprising speed, while I nearly slipped in mine.
Simon, either suddenly possessed by competitive fire or eager to finish, jolted ahead.
I caught up with them as we all tried to climb the inflatable slide, our trays and puddings swaying dangerously. It was chaos, and not the good kind.
‘Give me a boost!’ Simon shouted and without hesitating Megan and I had one hand on either side of his backside and were pushing his furry green bottom up and over.
‘The gentlemanly thing would have been to help us!’ Megan pointed out, half-giggling, half out of breath, but there was no time for further complaints; Simon’s head suddenly reappeared at the top of the slide.
I heard the commentator laughingly pointing out that ‘The Grinch appears to be saving Cindy Lou Who!’
Somehow, Simon managed to hold onto both his tray and the slide, pulling Megan up with him. She yelped as she rolled down the slide, and I heard Simon’s voice ring out, ‘Your turn now.’
Trying my hardest not to lose my slippery footing as I laughed, I lurched forward to grab him and squashed the Christmas pudding into my chest.
‘Oh, fuck!’ I exclaimed and I heard one of the Jingle Belles shout, ‘Language!’ at the top of her lungs. ‘So sorry!’ I screeched, as I toppled over and landed on top of Simon and we both fell down the slide together. Now two Christmas puddings pressed into our chests.
‘I hope these costumes weren’t rentals,’ Simon murmured, his breath warm against my cheek as we tried to right ourselves.
‘Knowing Josh…’ I said, groaning as I got to my knees and offered him a hand as I precariously peeled most of the Christmas pudding back onto the plate, ‘… they’re not.’
‘Come on,’ Simon exhaled with a huff but his face glowed with a rosy pink tint, the laughter and exertion painting him in a charming light. ‘We can still win this,’ he said, that infectious grin spreading across his face.
We had all made good time through the obstacle course, even if our puddings were a little more squashed than they had been at the start. Simon and I found Josh and Megan already expertly adding details to the Christmas tree as we arrived, and we were instructed to start work on the snowman.
‘What shall we call him?’ Simon asked, clearly getting into the spirit of things, as he wrapped a red scarf around the snowman. His focus on the task only seemed to make him more endearing.
‘Not Jack Frost,’ I said, my mind struggling for something clever as I began to place a hat on the snowman’s head.
‘I was going to stick to the pun theme,’ Simon suggested. ‘Something like Michael Snow or Cold Porter.’
‘Snowen Wilson?’ I recommended.
‘Meltin’ John,’ Simon suggested with a grin so contagious I almost fell over, trying to stop myself snorting.
I clutched my ribs, gasping for air as my laughter took over. ‘Stop it! I can’t breathe.’
Simon covered the snowman’s hat dramatically, a mischievous glint in his eye. ‘Ssh! You’ll upset Snowprah Winfrey. They’ve never breathed, you know.’
I threw one of the baubles from the props table at Simon as Josh pronounced his tree was ‘Perfect!’ And it was. Even with cheap -buy props, Josh had managed to make our Christmas tree look like something out of a John Lewis catalogue.
‘Last bit! Go, go, go!’ Josh urged, snapping us back into the race. It looked like we were only behind one team, we still had the opportunity to win this.
‘Go!’ I instructed, grabbing my slightly dented Christmas pudding and racing for the finish. We had to pass through waiting strangers who had silly string at the ready as crowds cheered on.
‘Come on, Simon!’
‘Go on, my son!’ I heard the recognisable sounds of Simon’s fellow buskers, all harmonising in their supportive cheer. Turning over my shoulder, I saw Simon give them a swift middle finger before grinning like a mischievous schoolboy as he surged ahead.
‘￡300!’ I shouted to him, catching up just as we neared the final inflatables.
‘I’ll forget you owe me anything if we win this,’ Simon called back, practically charging ahead, only a step behind Josh, who was sprinting as if the finish line led to an early Boxing Day sale in Zara.
‘Come on, Megan,’ I said, grabbing her hand as she panted over the last inflatable. ‘We’ve got this.’
‘Woo!’ Megan cheered lazily, raising her pudding above her head in a mock Chariots of Fire finish.
Josh and Simon both beat us to the red ribbon but we finally made it. And collapsed in a heap of Christmas cheer and exhaustion.
‘That was bloody hard work,’ Megan said, sitting up with her Christmas pudding – still perfect – in her lap.
Simon rested his hand against a scaffolding pole that was holding up the finish-line sign.
‘I definitely got my steps in,’ he said, his eyes twinkling.
Josh was correcting his costume, ensuring his bald cap was perfectly lined up and none of his muscles had gone in the opposite direction from his body.
‘Well done, team,’ he said matter-of-factly, like a manager at the end of a forced team-building exercise.
‘That was hilarious,’ I added for good measure, my ribs still twingeing with a stitch brought on by laughter.