Page 48 of The Village Christmas Party

‘Dad, what about the piñata,’ says Bella, looking up towards the pink straw donkey above her head.

‘Oh sure, shall we do that first then?’

‘Yes, please,’ squeals Bella. And I imagine the amount of running around the kids will need after another load of sugar from the contents.

Kian passes the stick to Bella, and she takes the first whack at the piñata, before each of the children have a turn. Robbie, the black-haired boy, whacks the donkey with such force that a stream of sweets come cascading down over Elsie’s head as she walks past.

‘Oh my goodness!’ she exclaims, and to my surprise she laughs. ‘It’s raining sweets.’

Their pockets full of toffees, the children have a game of pass the parcel, before going outside once more to the bouncy castle, with strict instructions from me not to eat any toffees whilst bouncing up and down.

‘Is everything okay?’ I finally ask Kian, who looks deep in thought.

‘What? Yes, sure. It’s just something has cropped up that I wasn’t expecting, that’s all,’ he says without elaborating.

He heads outside followed by Audrey, and I will join them when I have made sure all of the pensioners have everything they need. I wonder what could have made Kian’s mood shift in such a short space of time?

After the tired-looking children return to the hall and Kian lights the candles on the beautiful cake, the old people join in the singing of ‘Happy Birthday’, and Bella looks like the happiest little girl in the world.

It’s a joy to watch some of the children head over to the pensioners’ table and sit with them, others are dancing to some modern songs, with Gerald still on the floor busting some moves with Eileen. Black-haired Robbie takes a seat next to Elsie.

‘How old are you?’ he asks her as he plays with a plastic elephant, walking it across the table.

‘Don’t you know it’s rude to ask a lady her age?’ she replies, but there is a smile playing around her mouth. That sherry has definitely loosened her up a bit.

‘Is it?’ asks the boy. ‘But grown-ups always ask kids how old they are, don’t they?’

He throws the plastic elephant up in the air, failing to catch it, and it lands squarely in a discarded glass of lemonade. Elsie smiles at it lands with a plop. ‘It’s a good job elephants can swim,’ she says. ‘And, yes, I suppose adults do ask children how old they are, but it’s different,’ she explains. ‘So how old are you then?’

‘I’m seven, nearly eight. I might have a party in a play centre when it’s my birthday,’ he tells her.

‘That sounds nice. And since you asked, I will tell you that I am eighty-four years old.’

‘That’s really old. Will you be dead soon?’ he asks and I close my eyes in mild frustration.

‘Well I sincerely hope not!’ She frowns. ‘I would like to see my son next year,’ she tells him.

I’m sitting enjoying a drink and watching their conversation unfold. Hopefully it can’t get any worse.

‘Why can’t you see him now?’ he asks as he winds the string around his yo-yo.

‘Because he lives in Australia and it’s a very long way away,’ she explains.

‘They have kangaroos there, don’t they? And koalas. We have been learning about Australia at school. Bad people got sent there for committing crimes. Is your son a bad person?’

Oh Lord.

‘Goodness me, no!’ Elsie exclaims. ‘Criminals got sent there hundreds of years ago. These days it’s a very nice place to live apparently.’

‘So why don’t you go there? Are you too old to go on a plane?’ he asks innocently.

‘My goodness you do like to ask a lot of questions, don’t you? But, as a matter of fact, yes, I probably am too old for such a long flight,’ she tells him.

‘Couldn’t you go and live there?’

‘It’s not really as simple as that. But he’s coming over here next year for a visit. He was too busy with his work this year.’

She quietly takes a sip of sherry as she stares ahead wistfully and I fear Robbie might have upset her.

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