Page 2 of The Village Christmas Party

Bentham’s is what you might call an upmarket store, selling designer goods and luxury items, especially at this time of year when indulgent food hampers adorn the food hall that is always busy with shoppers looking for that extra special gift. The two upper floors accessed by a thick red carpeted staircase and solid dark-wood curved bannister gives the store an air of opulence and the staff – both male and female – wear black skirts or trousers and crisp white shirts. I wear my long, glossy brown hair in a tight bun and favour immaculate – though natural looking – make-up on my face but with a slash of red lipstick.

‘Two hours until closing.’ My colleague and friend Gemma glances at her watch. ‘I don’t think the first drink will touch the sides. Are you coming to the pub?’

She heads to a nearby counter, and coats her finger in a berry-coloured lipstick sample before sliding it across her lips.

‘I might skip it, I’ve got too much to do,’ I tell her, thinking about my never-ending to-do list.

‘Aw, just one drink? It’s the last Friday before Christmas, we always go to the pub,’ she pleads.

I remind Gemma that we have in fact already had a Christmas night out the previous weekend, which she said she would rather not talk about. I’m not surprised really, as she drunkenly flirted with Mr Bentham’s married son and somehow lost one of her shoes on the way home, before vomiting into a dustbin. It was a fun night though, dancing the night away at a local hotel, despite Gemma saying she doesn’t recall much of it.

‘I think a few of the others are going to the pub, I’m sure you won’t miss me.’ I smile. ‘I’ve still got lots of wrapping to do and I’m busy tomorrow,’ I tell her.

I also need to defrost the freezer to make space for a mountain of festive food. I need to make and freeze the mince pies for the pensioners’ party when I have a spare minute too.

‘You know your trouble, Lauren,’ says Gemma, picking up her bag and sliding it across her shoulder. ‘You’ve forgotten how to have fun. All work and no play make for a very dull girl.’ She wags her finger at me.

I look at Gemma with her ready smile, always up for new and spontaneous experiences and sometimes wonder how we manage to be friends, as I love a schedule. I would be a ball of anxiety if I didn’t know what was coming next.

‘Well have a drink for me.’ I smile but as she leaves I ask myself, have I really forgotten how to have fun? Maybe I will join the work gang for a drink. Surely one gin and tonic can’t do any harm, can it? It is Christmas, after all.

I’m not sure if the shrieking sound is the noise from my alarm, or the ringing inside my head. I open one eye and slam the alarm on my phone so violently, it slides off the bedside table. Why didn’t I just come home after work last night, instead of letting Gemma talk me into going to the pub, merely to prove to myself that I haven’t forgotten how to have fun? I have so much to do that I can’t believe I actually went out last night instead of sorting out my kitchen cupboards.

It was nice to feel the season’s cheer though – the Greyhound pub was filled with Christmas revellers last night, the roaring log fire with the Christmas garland placed across the hearth giving it a cosy, festive feel that felt so welcoming. There was such a jovial atmosphere that one drink quickly turned into a few. Definitelythe atmosphere I want for the pensioners’ lunch – but maybe with less drinking!

I can’t deny I had a good time, and a bloke who looked a bit like Ryan Gosling in a certain light smiled at me from across the bar but I don’t have the time for romance, my life is busy enough.

I can’t believe how irresponsible I was, knowing I must go to work today. I ease my way out of bed and into a cool shower, before glugging down a strong coffee. Caffeinated today, rather than my usual decaff or herbal. I need the stuff.

Finishing my coffee and a bowl of porridge with blueberries, I look at my list of chores on the fridge, annoyed that last night’s present wrapping and mince pie making never took place. Not to mention writing and posting cards to the neighbours in the little cul-de-sac where I live.

I know it isn’t fashionable to send Christmas cards, but a lot of my neighbours are elderly and I know that they appreciate them. Plus, they are always cards that support a charity and are made from recycled paper. I’m cross that the mince pie making session has gone out of the window though.

Gemma laughs at me for making my own pies when the supermarket ones are so good these days, but it’s a little bit of a tradition, and something that reminds me of my childhood, making them with my gran. The spicy smell of the pies baking transports me right back to those days.

And they go down so well at the Christmas lunch at the local community centre that I really look forward to planning and preparing for. I take comfort in the fact that even if the pensioners spend the actual day without company, they will at least enjoy a lovely meal and a gift on Christmas Eve, which I know they truly appreciate.

I have half an hour before I need to leave for work, so I sit at my smart grey marble-topped dining table – not real marble, butyou would never know – and write out cards to the neighbours. Some of the younger residents in the street don’t bother with Christmas cards, but I like to include them all the same. It’s hard for me to imagine this time of year without a string of cards displayed along a wall in a warm and cosy lounge.

My parents moved into this house, that was once my grandparents’, having always loved the house with the high ceilings and stained-glass windows. After their divorce – Dad lives with someone else now, and Mum is in a ground floor apartment and has made lots of new friends – I now live here alone. Both my parents have great pensions, so live in locations that suit them both, Mum preferring to be in the town centre. My parents told me that the house would be my inheritance anyway, so why not have it sooner rather than later? The spare rooms are always made up if they want to stay though, which works well for all of us.

Initially, with my parents’ blessing, I thought of selling the house and buying a brand-new build a mile away close to the river, but decided against it. This is a beautiful house that simply needed some modernising, although I have been careful to keep its original features, that include cast-iron fireplaces and the stained-glass windows.

I can still picture the green artificial tree from my childhood threaded with multicoloured lights and chocolates in shimmering purple foil hanging from the branches. Mum was good about letting my friends stay over, and we would sit and watch television, munching chocolates before going to bed and sneaking teenage magazines upstairs to read by torchlight. We used to giggle at the problem pages, and I remember spending weeks wondering whether Mary from Macclesfield ever did sleep with her boyfriend, even though the agony aunt advised her not to.

I occasionally wonder whether I will ever have a child of my own to make Christmas memories with, but I am coming up for thirty-three and I still haven’t met the one. And truthfully? I’m not sure it matters. I won’t settle for anyone less than my soulmate, so if that means spending the rest of my life alone, so be it. Whatever happens, Christmas will always be my favourite season and I will never forget the first year I got involved with the pensioners’ Christmas party. It showed me the true meaning of Christmas.

I grab the little boxes of handmade shortbread I made a few days earlier and drop them off at the elderly neighbours’, along with the cards, before I head off to work, and they are thrilled with them as they always are. Last year I made vanilla fudge and my neighbour Eileen shed a tear when I handed it over, as it was the first year without her husband. She told me he would be mad that he had missed out as fudge was his absolute favourite. Eileen is really looking forward to Christmas dinner at the centre this year, and was thrilled to be asked to attend.

I’m about to climb into my car when I receive a text message from one of the other volunteers at the centre, asking if we need any more decorations for the Christmas lunch. I tap out a reply, suggesting maybe some balloons as we still have the table decorations and Merry Christmas banners from last year. She sends a thumbs up emoji and I tell her I will call her tomorrow.

Sue began volunteering after taking early retirement, although she admitted that retirement wasn’t all that it was cracked up to be. She had been on three cruises with her husband, Barry, and travelled to Australia, before trying golf and yoga. At sixty-three, Sue said she wasn’t ready for daytime television and crosswords, so took up Zumba classes and began volunteering at the centre, and enjoys every minute. Her husband found his thing in golf and plays regularly, but stilljoins Sue in volunteering at the centre occasionally, especially around Christmas time.

Heading into the town centre, a steady drizzle falls from the sky, but the lights from the shops lift the greyness, the shimmering tree at the centre of the town square standing proud. Gold foil angels playing trumpets are threaded across the main street, along with red and silver trees and a large inflatable Santa is suspended from the rooftop of the council office. A grotto across the square, complete with reindeer, has a steady line of excited children, despite the rain.

One thing the council in the village of Fellview in the Lake District never scrimps on is Christmas – even though the residents frequently complain of potholes in the roads and untended trees that spread their roots into their gardens. Christmas has always been a joyous time in Fellview though, where hostilities between residents and council officials seem to stall during the season of goodwill.

Last year, a well-known boy band from the late nineties switched on the Christmas lights and danced around a stage that had been erected especially. Most of the teenagers in the crowd had no idea who they were, which made me feel ancient. So did watching my teen hero hide his balding head beneath a cap as he sang one of their massive hits from over two decades ago. It was a stark reminder of how quickly the years pass by, but I try not to dwell on it. This year, a bloke fromOnly Fools and Horsesis doing the honours of switching the lights on, so at least the older population will be happy.

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