Page 7 of Christmas Is All Around
“Andthis,” Mrs. Claus declared cheerfully, waving another hand, “is Cindy-Lou Who!”
Charlotte blinked as a girl who appeared to be in her early twenties appeared from behind the tree; her dark hair was a bit shorter than Charlotte’s, and she sported a blunt set of bangs, but the rest of her hair had been wrangled into two pigtails, and she was wearing a green shift dress. She looked unhappy about her current circumstances, and Charlotte couldn’t blame her. “Who will carve the roast beast?” she asked, scowling, and Mrs. Cratchit elbowed her in the side, presumably to encourage a better display of holiday cheer, which merely had the effect of causing Cindy-Lou’s scowl to deepen.
“We are delighted to welcome you to Eden Priory for the annual Christmas lights switch-on,” Mrs. Claus continued with a determined smile, “and this year, for the first time, we arethrilledto offer a complimentary photo opportunity for anyone who wishes to have their photograph taken with a famous Christmas character!”
She paused, beaming, and there was further appreciative applause; Charlotte suppressed a sigh.
“And it is not just us who are here to welcome you,” she continued cheerfully, “but avery special visitorthat I’ve brought with me from the North Pole!”
“If Santa appears, I’m leaving,” Charlotte muttered to Ava, who hissed, “Shh!” Being shushed by Ava was somewhat galling in and of itself; as the far more melodramatic and attention-seeking of the Lane sisters, she had been known to monologue on a wide-ranging array of topics, despite Charlotte’s usually not-at-all-subtle attempts to get her sister to shut up and leave her in peace. However, it wasparticularlyirritating now, when, prior to her conversion from normal human into mother, Ava had been perfectly happy to indulge Charlotte with a healthy bit of Christmas complaining.
“My husband, Father Christmas, is of course very busy this time of year,” Mrs. Claus said now, and Charlotte didn’t think she was imagining that the smile of Mrs. Cratchit became a bit strained at these words, “but he was good enough to send one of his helpers down to see you—yes,” she added dramatically, beaming at a small child who seemed to be actually quivering with anticipation at the front of the crowd, “it’sone of Santa’s reindeer!”
There was considerable oohing and aahing at this news, followed by a burst of applause when a reindeer—or, to be clear, a human in a felt reindeer suit—emerged from behind the Christmas tree. The quivering child seemed to actually be blinking back tears, though Charlotte was unclear on whether this was a positive reaction.
“Do you think they’re hiding anyone else behind that tree?” asked a guy standing in front of Charlotte to the man whose hand he was holding, who himself was wearing a pair of extremely bright green trousers.
“Maybe Pip fromChristmas, Truly,” Green Trousers Man mutteredback, causing his boyfriend to clap a hand over his mouth to stop a laugh.
This, obviously, was Charlotte’s cue to make herself extremely scarce, lest anyone else have that godforsaken movie on the brain and happen to notice something familiar about her. She turned to Ava. “I’m going to poke around upstairs,” she murmured in her sister’s ear, and Ava nodded distractedly, her attention still focused on the events at the front of the room. Charlotte was experiencing extreme secondhand embarrassment on the part of everyone involved, so it was a relief to slip out of the crowd and slowly climb the stairs. She half expected the next floor to be blocked off, but it wasn’t; some of the rooms had signs on the closed doors marking them as private, but there were several with open doors that she wandered through; these were all decorated in period style—wallpaper, lavish rugs, worn-but-elegant furniture—and featured a number of pieces of Christian Calloway’s art in frames on the wall, including plenty of sketches and unfinished works that Charlotte had never seen before. She occupied herself reading the informational placards in each room that explained how the house had been used during Calloway’s lifetime; he’d apparently inherited the house from his father, as he’d been born into family money, but had undertaken extensive renovations following the success of his home furnishings company in the late nineteenth century.
She was so caught up in her self-guided tour that she wasn’t sure how much time had passed when she realized that she was not alone. She stepped back, having been immersed in a lengthy placard about the contents of Calloway’s library, to find a woman a bit older than her with curly blonde hair and glasses watching her with an avid expression.
“Holy fuck,” she muttered under her breath, and then immediately clapped a hand over her mouth. “Sorry! Sorry! That’s 50p to the swear jar!”
Charlotte blinked. “The… swear jar?”
The woman nodded fervently. “My husband told me I swear too much—I’m a pediatric nurse, and I keep swearing in front of the kids—and I’m trying to work on it, so I’m charging myself 50p each time I swear.”
“Well,” Charlotte said warily, “I’m sure an occasional slip of the tongue—”
“But holyshit. You’reher.”
Oh, dear god. “I don’t know what you mean,” she said, plastering a polite smile on her face (not a thing she excelled at, generally) and slowly inching away from the woman.
“You’re Charlie Rose Lane. FromChristmas, Truly!”
“I don’t think—”
“No, I saw you downstairs and thought I recognized you from your Instagram, and I was right!” the woman said triumphantly, and Charlotte sighed. She’d been meaning to replace her profile picture with a sketch she’d done of herself instead, and this was clear proof that this step was overdue. The woman’s expression darkened. “And I read thatarticleabout you, you know. Did you really ruin the entire reboot?”
“I don’t act anymore,” Charlotte said diplomatically. “Christmas, Trulywas a sort of… one-off for me.”
“You could have made it a two-off,” the woman said dejectedly; she seemed to be lapsing into sadness rather than anger, which made Charlotte possibly even more uncomfortable. She didn’t handle feelings well—hers or anyone else’s. The woman’s expression brightened after a moment. “But wait a second—what are you doing here? Revisiting it for old times’ sake? Any chance we can change your mind?” She moved toward Charlotte eagerly, and Charlotte continued to resolutely inch backward, praying that she didn’t accidentally topple a priceless vase in the process.
“I don’t think so,” she said, smiling as politely as she could manageunder the circumstances. “I need to go find my family, though, so it’s been nice—”
“Oi! What are you doing here?!” Ordinarily, this interruption would have been alarming, but at the moment, to Charlotte’s desperate ears, it sounded like a chorus of angels. She whirled around to see one of the trumpeters eyeing them suspiciously.
“Just leaving, actually,” she said breezily, flashing him a winning smile; he looked to be about seventy, and appeared momentarily dazzled, which was why she deployed her brightest smile only on carefully selected occasions. Charlie Rose Lane had smiled alot, and Charlotte had lost her taste for it.
“They told us no one was supposed to come up here except staff while the event was on,” the trumpeter continued, recovering enough from her smile to look suspicious.
“Well,” Charlotte said, a bit shortly, “perhaps they should have put up asignor roped it off or something, rather than just assuming that I would miraculously divine that I wasn’t supposed to be here.”
The trumpeter frowned. The foulmouthed blonde woman frowned.
“I don’t think Tallulah would have ever said anything like that,” she said reproachfully.
