Page 31 of The Village Christmas Party

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.

EIGHTEEN

After my meeting with the doctor, I grab a coffee from the café, realising I have hardly had a drink all day, apart from a few sips from a bottle of water. My mouth feels dry and I am a little nauseous, but I guess that was just down to nerves earlier. The news was positive I think, so I feel I can breathe again, but the earlier adrenalin is causing a headache to build.

I’m just walking out of the Blue Teapot with my takeaway decaff drink, and not looking where I am going when I bump into someone. The lid from my coffee comes loose, and a little bit of my drink splashes onto the pavement.

‘Not again? This is beginning to become a little bit of a habit,’ says Kian, standing in front of me. ‘I’m thinking of walking around in a waterproof jacket at all times now,’ he teases. ‘Although this time, I managed to avoid being drenched.’

‘I am so sorry,’ I gasp, gazing into Kian’s gorgeous eyes. He’s dressed smartly and smells good too. I wonder if he is off on a date?

‘At least you wouldn’t have been scalded. It’s more cream than coffee,’ I tell him.

I’d absent-mindedly nodded when the girl behind the counter asked me if I wanted cream and sprinkles on my latte.

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