The Christmas Spirit (17 page)

As she cradled her glass of wine, she thought back to some
of those she’d helped in the past; Sigmund Freud in Vienna in 1899; Florence
Nightingale in 1909; 1920 saw her with Molly Brown, survivor of the Titanic;
1937 with the athlete, Jesse Owens; 1944 - Winston Churchill, then Prime
Minister of Great Britain; 1956 - Sylvia Plath; 1963 - Jackie Kennedy; 1972 -
Freddy Mercury; 1981 she spent in Calcutta with Mother Teresa. Although
celebrities, each in their own way, they were still normal people with everyday
concerns and Natalie had helped them through some of their darkest moments.

Natalie was glad she had packed earlier today. Since
everything had gone according to plan, she’d be setting off the following
morning. Transport had been arranged for her, so she could leave Winstanton
unnoticed. She would miss the town and its occupants, but by now she was used
to this feeling. She always had to remind herself that her purpose was to
create happiness and restore Christmas spirit. Once it was done, it was time to
move on.

Even the Christmas Spirit needed a little holiday every so
often. She’d packed light; swimsuits, flip-flops, sunhat, sun tan lotion. It
was hard work restoring peace and goodwill and Natalie had decided Tobago was
the perfect antidote to the freezing cold Scottish weather. As she put out the
lights and headed for bed, she thought,
Tobago, here I come!

To whet your appetite, a short extract from my second novel,
The Dating Game

Chapter One

‘You are
not
setting me up with anyone
ever again!’ Gill McFadden said, clattering her wine glass on the table.  ‘It
has been a disaster every time.  I should have seen this one coming, too.’

‘Oh come on, Gill, they’ve not been that bad,’ said her best
friend, Debbie.

‘Yes, they have,’ Gill said grimly.

‘Let’s just start with last night’s fiasco, Graham, shall
we?’ sighed Gill, who then took a gulp of her Pinot Grigio, as if to give her
strength for the tirade she was about to unleash.  Lisa and Angela, making up
the remainder completing the quartet of friends that evening, exchanged a
glance.  They knew they were about to get an ear-bashing.

‘How did you describe Graham to me, Lisa?’  When Lisa didn’t
reply, her answer stuck in her throat, Gill continued, smoothing a strand of
her lustrous chestnut hair behind her ear.

‘OK, let me remind you.  You assured me I would get on well
with Graham as we were almost the same age and he had no baggage.  I think you
said he was a workaholic like me, but also liked going to the gym, so pretty
fit, in both senses of the word.  Oh, and he liked reading and foreign films. 
Am I close?’  At silent assent from her friends, Gill went on, ‘what you didn’t
tell me was that he’s five feet four, so three inches shorter than me, and in
the heels I had on last night, make that seven, and that he has the personality
of a gnat!’  Drawing breath and getting back into her stride, Gill counted out
on her fingers for emphasis.  ‘He talked about the gym all night.  He didn’t
once ask anything about me, apart from if I was a member at a gym, as he looked
me up and down.  I now know more about pectorals, abdominals, protein shakes,
and the pros and cons of taking steroids, than I ever thought possible.’

Gill tried to glare at her friends, but Lisa was looking at
the ceiling, Angela at her shoes and Debbie had found the Guinness beer mat on
the table fascinating.

‘And, yes, he is divorced, but he’d only been married two
minutes and then got divorced.  What does that say about his attitude to
commitment?’  Not waiting for an answer, by now not expecting one either, Gill
carried on.

‘Then, there’s his favourite book, or rather lack of.  The
last novel he read was The Da Vinci Code and before that a text prescribed for
O’ Grade English!  How does that make him interested in books?’

A particularly keen reader herself, Gill couldn’t fathom how
anyone couldn’t read a book a month at least.

‘And his love of foreign films?  He looked a bit of a perv,
so yes, if they’re Swedish and include the words, “Yes baby, give it to me
harder!”’

Debbie snorted.  She couldn’t help it.  That set off Angela,
and as Lisa started howling, tears running down her face, before long even Gill
saw the funny side of it and her face visibly relaxed.  Then she was laughing,
protesting between gulps for air, ‘It’s not funny.  How would you have liked
it?  I’ve barely been out for months, as you know.  What a waste of a night. 
Here was me trying to talk to him about Aldo Giovanni and Fellini and all he
knew about foreign film was Borat!’  The giggles from Debbie, and the fact that
Angela had to get up and run to the loo at Olympic speed, attracted the
attention of the vigilant barista,

‘Everything all right, ladies?’

‘No, I think we can quite categorically say, everything’s
all wrong,’ Gill managed to squeak. ‘But we’ll be fine, thanks.’

As the barman shrugged and walked away, Lisa said, ‘What
about him?’

‘What?’ asked Gill, ‘Brett?’

‘Yes.’

‘He’s barely out of nappies.’

‘No, he’s not.  He’s about twenty-five.’

‘Yes and much as I would enjoy the stamina of a twenty-five
year old, I would probably have as much in common with him as the workaholic,
iron pumping bore you set me up with last night.  No, I think I’m much better
off on my own.’

‘You can’t give up, you’re only thirty-seven,’ Debbie put in
her tuppenceworth.

‘Yes, I can.  I’ve had enough, really.’

‘There must be another way,’ agreed Lisa, as she readjusted
her charm bracelet, which had snagged on the fine hairs of her arm.

‘I don’t think so.  We did have one thing in common, Graham
and I.  Like me, he works a lot and didn’t I get to hear about that, too. 
Riveting.  I might be a workaholic, but at least I‘m not a bore about it.  Am
I?’ Gill searched her friends’ eyes for confirmation when they didn’t answer.

‘No, no,’ Lisa added hurriedly.  ‘You never talk about your
work,’ at which point the three friends dissolved into laughter again.

‘I don’t talk about it all the time,’ said Gill.

‘No of course you don’t,’ Lisa didn’t even try to hide the
sarcasm in her voice.

‘Just ninety percent of the time,’ said Debbie.

‘I’m not
that
bad,’ said Gill.

‘Yes, you are,’ broke in Debbie, ‘and that’s why we need to
find you a good bloke.’

‘Well, that’s not going to happen.  Maybe I should just
throw myself even more into my work.’

‘Oh that would be just great.  Then you will have so much
more free time,’ dead-panned Lisa.

‘Gill, you already work from seven in the morning until
eight or nine at night, at least five days a week and you’re always on your
laptop at the weekend.  There’s got to be more to life.  You’re meant to work
to live, not the other way round.’

‘Really?  Well thank you Miss Ross for that illuminating
insight, but I think I’ll just try and find more people jobs.  I’m obviously
far better at that than I am at finding a partner.’

I hope you enjoyed
The Christmas Spirit
. Please feel free to
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@susan_buchanan
or Facebook
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or via my blog
http://www.susancbuchanan.blogspot.co.uk
where I post updates on my writing progress and book reviews. My fourth novel,
What If
, should be out in summer 2014.