Page 73 of It Always Snows on Mistletoe Square
‘And is that Christian?’ I ask, looking out of the window again. ‘It looks a bit like him – but he wasn’t wearing that hat when he left the houses earlier?’
‘Yep, that’s him,’ Angela says, looking down into the garden again.
The two partygoers have broken into a rendition of ‘Let it Snow!’ now and there are a few bedroom curtains beginning to twitch around the square.
‘Pipe down will you?’ A man calls out from a window.
‘Ooh, la-di-da here, ain’t ya?’ Angela says, and she tries to mimic the man’s cultured tones. ‘Pipe down yourself!’
The man shakes his head angrily. ‘You’d better quieten down soon, or I’ll be calling the police.’
‘We need to tone it down a tad,’ Christian says. ‘I do have to live here.’
‘You live ’ere?’ Angela exclaims. ‘Well I never. I thought we was just taking a shortcut. Ain’t this posh? You loaded or something?’
‘No, I just rent a room, in this house here.’ Christian points towards the house, and notices for the first time Estelle standing in the window. ‘Uh-oh, that’s my landlady. Try to look sober!’
‘Crikey! She looks a bit fierce,’ Angela says, attempting to stand up straight.
‘No, Estelle is all right. But she won’t appreciate us arriving on her doorstep three sheets to the wind.’
‘You’re so posh,’ Angela says, grinning at him. ‘Three sheets to the wind! We’re pissed and there’s no covering that up!’
Sixties Estelle moves away from the window and heads towards the front door.
‘Bit rough around the edges back then, wasn’t I?’ our Angela whispers to me as we all follow into the hall.
‘You do sound a little different,’ I reply.
‘It’s all these years spent with Estelle. She poshened me up!’
‘Angela, there is no such word and you know it,’ our Estelle says, as her younger self unlocks the door and I feel a chill wind blow through the hall. ‘I simply taught you better grammar, that is all.’
Angela pulls a face. ‘Poshened me up,’ she repeats, grinning.
Sixties Estelle stands with her arms folded in the doorway as Christian and Angela make their way slowly to the top of the steps giggling and still shushing each other.
‘I thought I’d save you the bother of trying to fit your key in the lock,’ she says sternly.
‘Sorry, Estelle.’ Christian bows his head. ‘I didn’t think you’d still be up.’
‘At least take your hat off if you’re going to apologise. I know you have more manners than to address a lady with your hat on. Talking of which, where did you get that hat?’
‘“Where did you get that hat, where did you get that smile?”’ Angela begins to sing. ‘Sorry,’ she says, taking her own hat off when Estelle doesn’t smile.
‘I think you will find it’s tile, not smile,’ Estelle says formally, as she eyes Angela. ‘The correct lyric to the particular song you’re attempting to sing.’ She turns her attention back to Christian.
‘I borrowed the hat,’ Christian mumbles, his head still down.
Estelle studies him for a moment and, as she runs her eyes over him, I’m sure she notices, as I do, what looks like a smattering of blood on the collar of his white polo-neck jumper.
‘Christian, take your hat off please.’
The young Angela glances at Christian. They both seem to have sobered up pretty quickly.
Christian slowly removes his bowler hat to reveal a large deep gash in his forehead that extends up into his hairline.
‘Goodness,’ Estelle exclaims. ‘What happened? No, don’t tell me that now, let’s get you inside. I’m going to assume you haven’t had that looked at professionally?’
