Page 4 of It Always Snows on Mistletoe Square
I stare at the man. ‘That’s very profound, you know?’
He shrugs. ‘I try. You see those boats out there?’ He gestures out to the river again, and my gaze follows the line of his hand out towards several passenger boats and barges on the water. ‘They trust the river to guide them safely to their destination every day. If you have the courage to trust and follow your own path, Elle, instead of fighting it, you’ll never be truly lost in life.’
I watch the boats for a few seconds while I absorb the man’s words.
‘Wait, how do you know my … ’ I begin, turning back to the man. But to my astonishment he’s vanished. ‘Name,’ I finish to the empty bench.
I turn and look all around me along the Embankment, but I can’t see anyone in either direction who looks anything like my dapperly dressed acquaintance. Only a few tourists taking photos, and a group of boisterous office workers who look like they might have come from their Christmas party.
That’s odd, I think, turning back towards the river.Where did he go?
While I look out across the Thames and think about what just happened, I watch some of the boats drifting past. Among the motorboats and passenger ferries, an old-fashioned schooner passes, its sails billowing in the chilly December wind.
Painted in old-fashioned script on the side of its hull are the words:The Spirit of Christmas.
Christmas.I roll my eyes. Bah humbug, more like! What sort of a Christmas am I going to have this year – lonely, jobless and, most importantly right now, homeless?
I look down at the bench where my eccentric companion had been sitting a few moments ago, and I notice that although he’s remembered to take his bowler hat, he’s left behind his newspaper.
You might have been wearing fancy clothes and spoken with a fancy accent, but you’re a litter bug in disguise!I think, smiling to myself as I lift the newspaper ready to toss it into the nearest bin. But something on the folded page catches my eye. Circled in green ink is a large advert printed in an elaborate font:
WANTED:
Experienced Writer
An experienced and published wordsmith is required to write the story and history of one house and its family.
Live-in is essential. Accommodation and all meals will be provided free of charge.
The successful applicant must be available between
1755 and 1984 daily, and essentially
MUST LIKE CHRISTMAS.
Immediate start.
To apply, please visit: ‘Christmas House’, 5 Mistletoe Square, Bloomsbury, London WC1 and ask for Estelle.
Closing Date:
18th December.
I read the advert twice through to try to find a catch somewhere. But other than the slightly strange sounding hours, which I assume must be a typo, it sounds absolutely perfect – the answer to all my current problems.
Don’t get carried away, Elle, I think as I stare at the advert.It sounds a little bittooperfect! Estelle is probably the cover for some freak who collects empty baked-bean tins and used teabags. He likely never leaves the house, and I’ll probably find myself running away as quickly as I arrive.
I toss the newspaper back down onto the bench and gaze at the river again.
And who putsMust like Christmasin an advert, what’s that all about? That’s weird in itself. I know I’m pretty unusual in not liking Christmas, and I have my reasons for that. But most people do, don’t they? So why would you need to write it?
Have the courage to trust and follow your own path, Elle … The stranger’s words still ring annoyingly in my ears while I try and forget all about the curious advert.
My path is leading to a house in Bloomsbury, is it? To a rent-free, live-in writing job in the millionaires’ mansions of WC1 … ? I roll my eyes.Yeah right.Miracles like that never happen. Even if it is nearly Christmas.
Another boat passes under the bridge, then continues on its merry way along the Thames. But this time the words painted on its side make me catch my breath …
The Courage of St Nicholas.
