Page 33 of One More Day
And then she’d sip a glass of cream liqueur, she’d put on ‘O Holy Night’, and she’d watch me with the same pride as a parent would watch their child if they’d just won Olympic Gold. It was our little moment, every year for as long as I can remember. ‘O Holy Night’ and the simplicity of decorating a tree for my mother. I suddenly realise I’ve been singing or humming the tune, albeit badly, since I got here.
I beam as I walk around the little shop, my heart beating in my chest with the thrill of all that’s on offer. It’s like the clock is speeding back in time and I can’t stop myself.
My basket is already almost full of candles, holly and ribbons, glitter spray and a collection of cute mini-Christmas trees which are pre-lit with speckles of twinkling gold. I don’t know what I’m going to do with all this stuff, but everything I touch takes me back to happier times.
Could I decorate Seaview Cottage with this lot? Would Charlie like that, or would it upset him if he’s wanting to avoid Christmas? I can decide later on, but for now I’m experiencing something wonderful inside and it feels so good.
‘Just shout if you need any help,’ says the lady.
‘I will,’ I reply, as I glide around the shop, smelling and touching and closing my eyes with glee. I’m like a child in a candy store. I’m like my sister when she looks at her children. I’m like my mother when she hears Elvis Presley. I’m like my late Granny Molly let loose in a fancy boutique. I’m like my dad when he sees us all laughing together.
I’m in my element.
I glance out the front window to see George patiently waiting on me by the door. He isn’t like most other dogs. He doesn’t need to be fixed to anything, nor will he dash out onto the street. He is always happy to wait and to simply be by my side, so I know he’ll come to no harm even though I’m taking a lot longer than I’d planned to in here.
‘Oh my goodness, what’s this?’
There’s a little wooden music box for sale which gives me goosebumps when I open it, hoping it might play ‘Love’s Greeting’, a delicate tune that reminds me of happy times here in this village with my Granny Molly, but it playsThe Nutcrackerinstead. For a brief, delicious moment I think it might be the same music box as she had, but it isn’t. It’s beautiful, but not as beautiful as hers, so I put it back on the shelf.
There’s so much to choose from. Sixteen-year-old me is in Christmas heaven.
I go to the till with my basket full of goodies. The scent of Christmas fills my senses and I know if the lady is nice to me at all, I might break down and cry. I need to stay strong. My emotions are sky high.
‘This is a beautiful little nook you have here,’ I say, hoping to keep my mind focused in my usual way, which is to talk my way through it. ‘I could easily spend all my holiday allowance on candles and frosted pine cones.’
I’ve no idea where I’m going to put all this stuff, but I’m so overcome with nostalgia that I can’t resist. I’m taking it as a sign. Up until now, the very thought of buying anything festive would make me feel sick.
‘Are you OK, lovely?’ the lady asks me, but I can barely respond as my breath catches in my throat.
There’s a warmth in her voice that soothes my broken heart. Her name badge says ‘Lorraine’ in a fussy, swirly font that the marketer in me wants to ask her to change to something simpler.
‘I’m fine,’ I reply, but my eyes are giving me away. I stop. I wonder. I’m caught up in this hazy daze of limbo where I don’t really know if it’s Christmas or it isn’t. And yet, here I am with a basket of decorations that I don’t even know what I’m going to do with.
‘You’re not fine at all, are you?’ Lorraine asks me. Her kind, motherly approach almost knocks me off my feet.
‘I’m just …’
‘Go on.’
‘Well, it’s been … it’s been a few years since I felt like buying anything like this. I’ve been avoiding Christmas for a while.’
She nods like she’s heard it all before as she carefully places all my decorations into two brown paper bags. Then she pauses.
‘My mother always said that Christmas can be the happiest time of year now, but then the saddest time of year when we meet it next, eh?’
I nod in agreement. A tear threatens to escape. I beg it not to.
‘Your mother is a wise woman,’ I say, my voice cracking. I take a long breath.
‘Take your time, be kind to yourself and you’ll get through it.’
I nod.
‘I know I will.’ I close my eyes.
‘Oh, love.’
‘Yet here I am in a little shop in a village I once loved buying decorations again,’ I say with a nervous laugh. ‘I wasn’t expecting this at all. Sorry, I’m a bit overwhelmed.’
