Page 34 of The Village Christmas Party

‘Just about ready, yes, thanks. Are you sure you and Rose won’t come? I always make far too much,’ I offer once more. ‘Although, you know you are welcome at my place Christmas Day too.’ I throw that in, wondering whether Mum has manged to say anything.

There’s a silence for a second before Dad speaks.

‘Aye, love, your mother did mention that. It was very thoughtful of you,’ he says. ‘But I’m not sure Rose would be too comfortable with that, which is a shame really as you know I would like to spend Christmas Day with you.’ He sighs, and I wonder why people can’t just act like adults and dine together if they are invited to, regardless of their history. Maybe we all ought to practise peace and goodwill unto all men at this time of year. But maybe that is easier said than done.

‘It is, but never mind. You know you are welcome anytime.’ I make sure he knows that.

‘I do know that, thank you, love.’

I don’t add that I hope he doesn’t eat too much of the wrong type of food. I worry about him, of course, being his daughter but I can’t police his life twenty-four hours a day. It would be far too exhausting.

NINETEEN

It’s Christmas Eve and finally the day of the pensioners’ lunch has arrived and I can’t wait to see all the happy faces later in the day.

I’m just parking at the community centre when Kian’s black car pulls into the car park.

I step out of the car as Kian walks around to his car boot.

‘Hi, fancy meeting you here,’ I tell him as he looks up at me in surprise.

‘Hello there. How are you? You aren’t carrying any type of liquid, are you?’ he asks, a smile playing around his mouth.

‘Lucky for you, no. So what are you doing here on Christmas Eve?’ I take in his dark, slightly curly hair almost touching the collar of his jacket, and broad shoulders.

‘I might ask you the same thing,’ he says.

‘Well, I’m here to drop a few things off for the party,’ I tell him.

‘Today?’ he asks, looking a bit puzzled.

‘Umm, yes. It’s the annual Christmas meal for the local pensioners.’

He flicks a button and his boot springs open to reveal a load of bags and boxes.

‘Hmm. I’m not sure how that is going to work. What time is this party then?’ he asks.

‘One o’clock and will last pretty much all afternoon, and what do you mean by you don’t know how this is going to work?’ I ask with a feeling of anxiety.

‘Because there is going to be a birthday party here in a couple of hours. Two o’clock, to be precise.’

He lifts a box from the boot and places it on the floor. There is the head of a donkey poking out.

‘The piñata,’ he informs me.

‘Piñata?’

‘Yes, for the birthday party,’ he repeats. ‘Keep up.’

‘What? I don’t think so,’ I say as panic engulfs me.

‘Oh really.’ He raises an eyebrow. ‘And why not?’

‘Sorry, I just mean we will be cooking a roast dinner in the kitchen, so I’m not sure how it could work,’ I say, flying into blind panic. ‘Surely there must be some mistake here?’

‘Nope. The party is at two o’clock,’ he says calmly as he begins to unload the rest of the things that include bin bags full of inflated balloons in assorted colours.

‘But… but… it can’t be. There must be some mistake. Are you sure you have booked it for the right date?’ I can feel myself becoming light-headed. I really should have had a more substantial breakfast than a cereal bar. ‘It’s the pensioners’ party today, it is always at the same time every year,’ I explain.

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