Chapter 44
Ilay in the garden, flat on my back, my arms and legs aching from the numerous snow angels I’d made. A few weeks ago, if someone had told me that that was what I’d be doing come Christmas morning, I’d have said they were talking rubbish. My smile faded a little, as I wondered why that would have been my response. Staring up at the sky, I tried to pinpoint when it was that I’d stopped enjoying the simplest of things. When I’d become so boring.
I’d never been a particularly outgoing individual. As a child, I stuck out for being the poor kid and I quickly learned how to shrink into the background. I stayed on the edge, watching and listening rather than trying to join in. Most young people would hate being in that position, but for me, it turned out to be a good thing. I learned from other people’s mistakes without having to experience a lot of the angst that most of my contemporaries went through. There was no peer pressure because I didn’t mix. My only real friend had been Jules, so I got to be my own person, with my own views.
However, as with most things in life, there was a downside too. In answer to my questions, I’d probably always been boring. Living a near solitary life with not much money wasn’t actually all that fun a lot of the time. To the point that over the years I’d probably forgotten how to enjoy myself. Even when mum died and I no longer had to think so hard about money, I carried on living in the same lacklustre way. I scoffed. The one thing Mum had made sure not to skimp on was her life insurance. As if, if anything happened to her, she hadn’t wanted me to be sadandpenniless. “Sorry, Mum,” I said, looking up to the heavens. I might not have squandered her money, but in some ways, I’d definitely wasted the opportunity she’d given me.
Heavy snow began to fall again and with both me and Frank already soaked, I knew it was time to go in. Heading back to the house, I looked up at the neighbouring window to see my audience had doubled. The woman had obviously fetched her partner to see the eccentric visitor staying next door and I smiled and waved at them as they continued to observe me. “You should try it,” I said, calling up to them. Of course, while they might not have appreciated my efforts, I knew Seb would and I glanced up at the myriad snowflakes, thinking that later, maybe he and I could build a snowman. “Come on, Frank,” I said, grabbing a towel to dry him off as we stepped inside.
With lots to do, I told myself it was time to be an adult again and turning on the hot tap, I hoped the warm water would bring some sensation back to my numb fingers. Drying my hands, I scanned my schedule notes to see that thanks to my garden antics, I’d fallen behind even further. Not only should I have switched on the cooker to heat up, by then the turkey was meant to be well on its way to cooking. I insisted it wasn’t a problem, and refusing to worry about it, set the correct oven temperature and placed the roasting tray on the rack inside. We’d just have to eat a bit later than planned. Then I hastily headed out of the room so I could at least be washed and dressed before my guests arrived.
After being out in the cold for so long, getting out of my wet clothes and into a hot steaming bath felt bliss. Although as I quickly shampooed my hair and soaped up my skin, I couldn’t help but smile. Despite throwing my timetable into disarray, I’d enjoyed the best Christmas morning I’d had in years. I understood why, of course. London wasn’t exactly set up for frolicking in the snow first thing. At least, my bit of London wasn’t, what with me living in a second-floor flat, on a busy road, with no garden. I giggled at the prospect of ringing Jules to tell her what I’d been up to, knowing she probably wouldn’t believe me.
Climbing out, I wrapped myself in a towel and made my way to the bedroom. Taking a seat at the dressing table, I prepared to dry my hair. As I split it into sections, I pondered the day ahead. I could catch up on my to-do list, I decided. This year really was going to be the Christmas to beat all Christmases.
Switching on the hairdryer, I again pictured me and my guests all chatting and laughing as we tucked into our meal. I saw plates of succulent turkey, golden crispy roast potatoes, glazed carrots, and pigs in blankets. All with cranberry sauce and covered in lashings of rich meaty gravy. As if that wasn’t enough, my mouth watered at the thought of the fruit-filled Christmas pudding and brandy cream that awaited us. There were mince pies and slices of Christmas cake for those who had room, not forgetting Jules’s special recipe gingerbread trifle. My stomach rumbled and pushing all thoughts of food to one side, I continued to dry my hair. Focusing, it wasn’t long before I got lost in the white noise.
The room suddenly fell silent and realising the hairdryer had abruptly stopped working, I frowned, wondering what was wrong with it. I turned it off and back on again in the hope of it restarting. But it was to no avail and tapping the end of the nozzle, I tried the button once more. My brow creased even further as I stared at the damn thing, unable to believe that out of all the times it could have broken down, it had to choose then. I reached under the dressing table and pulled out its plug, before slotting the pins into the adjacent socket. However, pressing the on button yet again, I continued to be met with silence.
Questioning if its fuse had gone, I caught sight of the window reflecting in the mirror in front of me. My heart sank as I rose from my seat and went to look out. I took in the heavy snow fall, seeing that my snow angels had all but disappeared. Huge fat flakes fell thick and fast. Severe weather was known to play havoc with power lines and I turned to look at the hairdryer. Realising the problem wasn’t the fuse at all, any confidence I had about the day ahead instantly vanished.
With half my hair still in sections, I spun on my heels and raced down to the kitchen. Heading straight for the oven, I prayed it would be hot, but as I opened the appliance door, there was no sudden blast of heat. My shoulders slumped as I stared at the roasting tray, hardly daring to pull back the foil that covered the turkey. I winced. “Oh Lordy,” I said, reaching for the silver to reveal nothing but raw meat.
My breath caught in my throat as I realised that Jason and Barrowboy wouldn’t be properly celebrating their first Christmas since their parents had died. That Seb would remember his first Christmas without his dad as the Christmas he was made to starve. That Lizzie would be left to pick up the pieces should her son have a hunger-induced meltdown. And that Oliver and Ted would be muddling through more than ever that year.
Thanks to a power cut, Christmas was ruined.
