Page 8 of The Village Christmas Party

‘Anyway,’ she continues. ‘This policeman tells us to move on, which of course we refused to do,’ she says defiantly. ‘Mind you, it probably didn’t help when he said he understood our plight, and that he really loved trees himself, then someone went and asked him if he was from Special Branch. He said he could do without any smart-arse comments, and that he was missing out on a family birthday to be here.’

‘I can see his point, to be fair. Anyway, why would he ask you to move on if you were protesting peacefully?’ I ask puzzled.

‘Well, maybe he didn’t think sitting in the middle of the road stopping traffic was peaceful enough,’ she admits. ‘And the lady who was arrested shook her fist at him, which is apparently classed as threatening behaviour.’

I look at Mum, still pretty in her mid-sixties, her long dark hair in plaits. She is wearing a khaki parka with a fake pink fur-trimmed hood, a black jumper, and jeans all purchased from Vinted. I’m not sure exactly when she became an eco-warrior, but I recall her being nothing of the sort when I was growing up. In fact, I recall my parents being rather wasteful, especially with food, loads of which Mum would chuck in the bin from the fridge when her and Dad returned home with the weekly shop.

I think she had some sort of epiphany when she befriended a lady at her yoga class who was living off-grid in a forest somewhere and introduced her to an alternative lifestyle. Thinking about the arguments though, I guess her and Dad were having marriage problems anyway at the time. I think Mum’s new lifestyle choice just gave them a solid reason to separate.

‘Oh, Mum, really? I don’t believe you should ever stop traffic, someone might be heading to an emergency.’ I frown.

‘It makes the news, and that’s the point. Although, I wouldn’t stop someone if it was a matter of life or death,’ she says quietly. ‘I’m not sure about some of the others though,’ she adds as she sips her tea. ‘One or two have actually considered supergluing their hands to the floor. I read about someone who did just that, and part of the road around them had to be removed.’

‘That really is taking things too far. Promise me you will never do anything like that, Mum.’

‘Of course I wouldn’t. I worry about the destruction of the forests, and the state of the world in general, but I would not do anything like that. Right, that’s me off for a shower before I head down to the food bank,’ she says as she rinses her cup in the sink. ‘Have a good day at work, love.’

I know Mum means well, and we need people to fight the good fight, but I worry she might get into trouble or find herself in a sticky situation, quite literally if she considers gluing herself to something. I guess I must believe her when she says she wouldn’t take things too far.

‘Okay, I’m late for work. Try and stay out of trouble,’ I tell her, feeling a bit like a mother admonishing a child.

‘Don’t worry, I’m heading home after my stint at the food bank to upcycle a mirror using some driftwood for the frame.’

‘That sounds nice,’ I tell her. Feeling relieved she is settling for a quiet day at home.

Mum has always been energetic and I’m glad she still is, but she isn’t exactly a young person and I hate the thought of her being involved in anything dangerous at these demonstrations. I’ve suggested her work at the food bank should be enough, and of course she is always happy to help at the community centre.

Mum can also be relied upon to help in any situation, and also enjoys helping out at the pensioners’ Christmas lunch, but I worry that she seems to be getting more involved in demonstrations of late. At least she lives close enough for me to keep an eye on her, I think to myself as I leave the house.

FIVE

The sky is that strange grey, suffused with orange, that casts an almost ethereal glow in the streets, indicating snow. I had hoped it might snow on Christmas Day, imagining me, Mum and Tony ensconced in the cosy lounge watching old movies and feasting on Quality Street – just me and Mum, obviously – but I guess the one thing I can’t plan is the weather.

I’ve just pulled into the car park when Sue calls.

‘Hi, hun, I was just wondering, do you think the pensioners would appreciate a six-foot dancing snowman at the party?’ she asks cheerfully.

‘Ermm. Because you just happened to have one hanging about?’

I close the car door and head into the town centre, the solar lights from the car park welcoming me up the stone path to the shopping centre.

‘Something like that. Actually, it belonged to my next-door neighbour. The husband who erected it in his garden every year has sadly passed away,’ she explains as I take the short walk to the store. ‘His wife always hated it, apparently, but endured it.’ She laughs loudly. ‘She found it clearing out the loft with her son, who didn’t want it either. He said it would give his little kidsnightmares, although the kids around here always thought it was hilarious.’

‘A dancing snowman would give them nightmares?’ I ask, puzzled as I shrug off my coat.

‘Well, it does have rather angry-looking eyebrows.’ She laughs her big, contagious laugh once more, and I can’t help laughing too. ‘It looks a bit like Denis Healey, but you’re too young to remember him.’

‘Are you sure you don’t want to keep it in your street? It sounds like the local kids might be expecting it.’

‘No, my neighbour says it would remind her of her husband too much. So it’s the charity shop or somewhere that can make use of it.’

‘If it sings and dances, then why not? I think the pensioners would love that.’

‘Okay, hun, speak to you soon,’ says Sue, before hanging up.

In work, I hang my coat up then google a picture of Denis Healey, and can’t help laughing. He was once a Labour MP, apparently known for his bushy eyebrows. I really can’t wait to see this snowman and I’m so looking forward to the pensioners’ Christmas party!

Gemma and I head to the Blue Teapot for lunch and order steaming bowls of bacon and lentil soup, with sourdough bread.

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