‘I don’t hate Christmas in principle. I just happen to have hated every Christmas so far.’
‘Now that is really sad.’
‘I need to get into some dry clothes.’ We waded back towards the house, where I trudged inside, had a long hot bath and, in blatant disregard to it being eleven in the morning, crawled into my softest pyjamas and pulled the duvet over my head. For the rest of the day I wallowed in self-pity, left a fake-cheerful message for Ellen, cried, giggled, gasped and oohed at the Hillary West book I’d bought myself as a birthday present, and ate over half the trifle. The rain died to a drizzle as dusk fell, and I went to sleep praying for a birthday, road-clearing, miracle.
On reflection, I’m rather grateful God said no to that prayer.
26
I woke up to the sun streaming through my window, accompanied by the sound of music. Rubbing the sleep from my face, I listened harder and realised it was the Shakin’ Stevens’ Christmas classic, ‘Merry Christmas Everyone’.
I fumbled to put my glasses on and leapt out of bed, for one glorious moment sure a miracle had indeed occurred, or simply that Mack had been wrong about how long it would take for the water to recede, and the Camerons had come to collect me for the best birthday in the history of the universe, ever. Who else would choose to play Christmas music in June but those crazy Cameron kids? Flinging on a T-shirt, feeling like Noah after his millions of days in the ark, I ran to the window, expecting to see a row of little faces beaming up at me.
Water. A bird huddled on the shed roof. More water. No Camerons.
The music got louder. And could I smell coffee?
Tentatively, thinking rattled thoughts about chocolate-trifle-induced delirium, I opened the bedroom door.
The music grew louder, the coffee smell stronger.
Mannequin Diana was wearing a Santa hat.
I crept down the stairs, selecting a walking stick from the stand by the front door. Somebody was in my kitchen. Whistling.
I pushed open the door. ‘Happy birthday, Jenny.’
Mack, too, wore a Santa hat. And a jumper with a reindeer on it. The table was set for two, with red and white snowflake napkins. Fairy lights adorned the window frame, and a jug stuffed with holly and ivy sat on the dresser. His coffee machine gurgled merrily on the worktop.
‘I’m a bit confused.’
‘Nobody should hate Christmas, so this is your birthday present.’
‘Eh?’
‘I’m giving you a happy Christmas. It won’t make up for all the terrible ones, but it might help you feel better about the next one.’
I stood there, speechless.
‘Sit down then.’ Mack waved a spatula at the nearest chair.
I sat. Then stood up again, walked over to where he stood by the mini oven, and, before I could chicken out, kissed him on the cheek. ‘Thank you.’
He nodded, a smile peeking out from his whiskers. ‘You’d better eat a lot of pancakes, because dinner isn’t going to be a feast.’
We both ate a lot of pancakes. And bacon, and a sticky old drizzle of syrup from the back of Mack’s cupboard.
And then we took our drinks into the living room.
I nearly dropped mine on the floor.
‘How did you do this?’ I gaped at the tree, standing in a pot of earth, the old baubles and tinsel I’d discovered weeks earlier dangling from its branches, the magical scent of fresh pine-needles wafting over everything. There were more fairy lights, more decorations I didn’t recognise. But what got me most was that half the contents of the room had disappeared. The piles of stuff and ugly, scratched furniture were gone. The boxes still waiting for disposal. The dusty ornaments and dingy, faded pictures of farm animals. One sofa now sat against a wall, a throw covering the threadbare cushions, a chair that didn’t completely clash with it to the side. There were a few end tables, a larger coffee table and a couple of bookcases. And that was it. Apart from the fireplace.
Previously hidden behind all the junk, the (hideous) electric fire tucked inside now bathed the room in the most delicious orangey glow.
‘I can’t believe you did this.’ I was agog. Utterly blindsided.
‘Neither can I. But once I’d started I sort of had to finish. Else it would have been really weird.’ He went over and turned the fire off. ‘Sorry, that was for effect, but until it’s been tested I don’t want to risk burning the house down.’
