The Christmas Spirit (7 page)

9th December

As he buttoned his shirt and put on his tie, Stanley realised
that he was humming a tune he used to sing to Edie.
We’ll
Meet Again
by Vera Lynn seemed appropriate, and for the first time it
made him happy not sad. He made himself a pot of tea setting out, as usual, a
cup for Edie too, and buttered himself a slice of toast. Yes, he was feeling
very positive. What a difference meeting new people could make.

She really would have to go to see a doctor soon, thought
Meredith. This wasn’t normal, but first she needed to go through the schedule,
check how the salespeople were performing against target for the month and set
in place any corrective action plans. After about the thirteenth of December
everyone would be in holiday mode, both staff and clients alike, and not much
would be achieved. At least Sophie was back now.

A few hours into her day Meredith decided she had to get out
of the office. She’d nip over to Sugar and Spice for a slice of that gorgeous
caramel shortcake. Maybe they’d even have some Christmas drinks. What she
wouldn’t give for a warming
Gluhwein
right now,
although she guessed they wouldn’t have an alcohol licence. Well, perhaps they
would have a cinnamon latte. Meredith stopped short. She didn’t usually buy
into all this Christmas claptrap, but right now, the thought of it was quite
soothing.

‘Hi there, nice to see you again,’ the woman greeted Meredith
warmly, as she entered the bakery. The smell of fresh pastries and just brewed
coffee assailed her senses and Meredith breathed in deeply, before another
coughing fit racked her body.

‘Oh dear, that sounds awful. You should get that seen to,’
the woman offered.

Thanks, Einstein
, thought Meredith
uncharitably. She gave the woman a tight smile, then said, ‘Do you have any
Gluhwein
?’

‘I’m afraid we don’t have a licence.’

‘Right. I see. Well, do you have any Christmas drinks, any
specialties?’

‘We do have a cinnamon drink and also a cranberry tea, and
I’ve made cranberry and white chocolate muffins in honour of the season,’
Natalie pronounced.

‘Yes, cranberry tea sounds good. Cranberry’s good for you
when you’re not feeling great, isn’t it?’ Meredith asked.

‘That’s right; cranberries are high in antioxidants.’

‘Well in that case, I’ll have cranberry tea and the muffin,
thanks. In fact, can you make that two muffins? Sophie will probably want one,
too, although I don’t know whether she likes them or not,’ Meredith thought out
loud.

Just then another fit of coughing came over Meredith. She
withdrew a handkerchief from her coat pocket and coughed violently into it. But
she didn’t stop. She kept coughing and coughing and then started wheezing and
turned blue. The bakery patrons looked on in horror. She couldn’t seem to get a
breath.

‘Let’s sit you down, dear,’ Natalie said, but just as she
was coming around the counter to help her, Meredith’s legs gave way and she
collapsed. A man sitting close by jumped up to try to catch her, but didn’t
quite get there in time and Meredith fell, her head grazing a chair on the way
down.

‘Jacob, get some water, please,’ Natalie called. ‘Stand
back, please,’ she said to the customers, ‘I’m a first-aider.’

The shocked customers cleared a space around Meredith.

‘She’s awfully pale,’ one of them remarked.

Natalie checked Meredith’s airway wasn’t blocked. Her
breathing was still raspy, but at least she
was
breathing.
Her pulse was faint.

‘Jacob, call an ambulance,’ Natalie said, as she moved
Meredith into the recovery position.

Jacob rushed around the counter and dialled 999.

The paramedics arrived within ten minutes. There was no
change to Meredith’s condition; she was still unconscious. Whilst they were
waiting for the ambulance, Natalie had kept an eye on her, but also asked if
anyone knew where she worked. No-one in the café knew her and unfortunately
they had no way of contacting Sophie. After a few minutes Natalie had the
brainwave of checking for an ICE in her phone; hopefully she would have her
emergency contact listed. Jacob searched through her bag, until he found an
iPhone. Unfortunately it was locked and they had no way of knowing the
password. Then Jacob came across a business card wallet. Withdrawing a card, he
read
Meredith Storm, Storm Communications
. He dialled
the number on the card and asked for Sophie.

As the paramedics put Meredith into the ambulance with the
café clientele watching them and Natalie filling them in on what had happened,
an out of breath Sophie appeared from round the corner.

‘Oh God, what happened?’

‘Are you her daughter?’ the paramedic asked.

‘No, she doesn’t have any children. I’m her assistant. Can I
come with her?’

‘I suppose that would be all right. Get in.’

The ambulance set off with its siren blaring. Sophie’s mind
was racing. She’d need to contact Amelia, Meredith’s sister. But first she
needed to find out what had happened. She talked with the paramedic as the
ambulance rushed to Vale of Leven hospital and he relayed what Natalie had told
him. Sophie remembered that Meredith had been paler than her usual self and had
been coughing a great deal that morning, but then Sophie hadn’t thought much of
it - she herself had been ill this week, with no sympathy from Meredith.

Stanley’s second visit to the club went even better than the
first. Now that he had registered, the centre sent a bus to pick him up around
ten in the morning, which suited him, particularly in this bad weather, as he
was nervous about relying on his stick to keep his balance.

Angus and George greeted Stanley when he arrived and he
chatted with them for a few minutes before heading over to the reading corner.
He had noticed it on Friday, but hadn’t had time to sift through the books. It
would save him going to the library if there was anything he fancied.

Ten minutes later, he was seated in a comfy chair, talking
to a woman about seaside resorts of yesteryear and the beauty of the Hebrides,
a book by Clive Cussler in his lap.

‘Would you two like a cup of tea?’ Cathy’s assistant, Betty,
asked the pair.

They both nodded and resumed their conversation. Within a
few minutes they had a cup of tea each and a plate of chocolate and plain
biscuits beside them to share.

‘Right, everyone. I’m going to hand you out some newspapers
and I’d like you to have a wee read, and in half an hour we’re going to have a
little discussion on today’s headlines,’ said Cathy, as she distributed
newspapers to each table.

‘That sounds like fun,’ said Stanley, ‘A bit like a debating
society.’

‘I like it,’ Ruth, the lady he was chatting to, said. ‘We do
this every Monday morning, as we get all the news from the weekend, too.’

They picked up the newspapers and began leafing through
them, oohing and aahing at some of the stories.

‘Oh, I can’t believe he died! He was one of my favourites,’
Ruth said.

‘Who’s that?’ Stanley asked, interested.

‘John Rainier, the actor. He was in that film with Audrey
Hepburn. What was the name again?’

Stanley admitted he didn’t know the film, although he knew
the actor.

‘He must have been a good age,’ Stanley said.

‘In his nineties, I think,’ said Ruth, scanning the article
to see if it told her. ‘Yes, here it is here, ninety-five.’

‘He had a good innings.’ Stanley thought then of his only
son, who had died before his time, abroad, killed in a skiing accident.

‘Right, we better get back to these headlines, or we’ll look
like a right pair of dummies,’ said Ruth, touching him lightly on the arm.

Stanley felt the warmth of her fingers. He hadn’t been
touched by another human being since Edie’s funeral, except when people bumped
into him by accident on the street. That simple action of warmth and
camaraderie made him feel human, whole again.

As she sat in the pub overlooking Loch Lomond, next to the
burning log fire, Rebecca was struck by the irony. Trust Ethan to choose a
romantic location when they were dividing up their personal possessions. The
man had no empathy whatsoever, nor clue. She zoned out temporarily as he ran
through the list he had prepared of things which were clearly his and items
which they had bought together, but which he thought he was entitled to, and
outlined his reasons why.

How can he be so insensitive? How can it
be reduced to this?
Incredulously she wondered,
how
can I have spent three years of my life with this man?

When Rebecca had first entered the pub, late as usual, Ethan
had been sitting near the fire warming his hands, his jacket still on. She had
stood in the doorway watching him and her heart had missed a beat. How was she
going to get over him? She fought back the desire to burst into tears and,
closing the door behind her, walked up to the sofa where he was sitting.

‘Hello, Ethan,’ she’d said. There had been little preamble
after the ‘pleasantries’ of asking how they each were and in her case, lying
about how she really was.
Set adrift, tearful, abandoned
,
probably weren’t the words he wanted to hear, so she said, ‘I’m fine. Getting
on with things, you know.’

‘So, are you looking forward to Christmas?’ he’d asked.

‘Not exactly.’ She stared at him.
What a
moron!

‘Right, no, I don’t suppose you are.’ He’d had the good
grace to study his shoes at that point.

Now as he inventoried the things he wanted to keep from the
flat, leaving Rebecca with virtually nothing and trying to make it sound as if
she was getting a good deal, Rebecca couldn’t help but loathe him.
How dare he? Does he think I’m totally stupid?

Ethan must have thought she’d be so resigned to the end of
their relationship she’d just roll over and say,
‘Yes,
Ethan, no Ethan, three bags full, Ethan,’
but he didn’t know her as well
as he thought. From somewhere deep inside came a resolve not to be trodden all
over.

‘And I’ll need your keys soon, as it wouldn’t really be
right, you having access to the flat, when it’s no longer yours.’

‘You’ll get the keys, Ethan, once everything’s sorted out
and no, I don’t agree that you should keep the wardrobe, or the washing
machine, or the bookcases. Can you tell me exactly what you think I should have
of our joint purchases, as it seems to me that you don’t think I should have
anything much at all.’

Ethan shrank back. Rebecca had never talked to him like that
before; few people did. No, this was a change from her usual compliant self.
His dumbstruck reaction amused her; he actually took a few seconds to recover.

‘Well...well, I suppose you could keep a few other items,’
he finally managed to blurt out.

‘A few other items,’ Rebecca was incensed. ‘What items have
you already proposed I keep?’ she said matter-of-factly, folding her arms to
clarify she meant business.

‘Well...’ began Ethan, ‘I was thinking...what about the
microwave and the blender?’

‘Really?’ Rebecca’s sarcasm was plain. ‘So we bought a
houseful of furniture together, you made me sell my fridge freezer, bed and a
few other things, for which I got a pittance, and you think I should get items
with a combined value of a hundred quid? Well, you can think again.’

Taking advantage of the fact that Ethan appeared staggered
by this resourceful, belligerent Rebecca, she said, ‘I want the washing
machine, wardrobe, bookcases and that’s just to make up for you making me sell
my stuff. Remember, you’re the one who wanted to end this, so you can hardly
expect to get all the spoils, too.’

In the face of this new Rebecca, Ethan backed down. They ran
through his list again, with Rebecca being fair, but ensuring she had what she
was entitled to.

‘My lawyer will be in touch with yours about buying you
out,’ Ethan said, as they wound things up.

‘Well, I hope you’re happy. I’m glad you split up with me,
because you’ve revealed your true colours,’ and with that, Rebecca swung her
coat over her shoulders, picked up her bag and left, leaving Ethan standing
with his jaw almost reaching the floor.

10th December

As Natalie walked to work that morning, she was inspired by
the number of Christmas tree lights she saw in the houses she passed. Several
people had decorated the trees outside their homes, whether they were Christmas
trees or not, so strings of white lights could be found hanging from ash, beech
and elm trees, as well as the expected firs. It made Natalie’s heart soar to
see the spirit of the season embraced in this way. Everyone was happier at
Christmas, well not everyone, but generally speaking people showed more
goodwill towards their fellow men and women.

On the way back from work yesterday she’d stopped in at the
garden centre and ordered a small Christmas tree to be delivered to the bakery
the following day. So she carried a large bag containing Christmas lights, an
angel, and lastly, an assortment of baubles from all over the world. Some were
handmade or bespoke, others were valuable, such as the snowflake with twenty
six diamonds inlaid and two ruby encrusted rings circling it, whilst others had
sentimental value; the paper angel her great-niece had made for her, a fine
example. Natalie had been collecting baubles all her life; some people
collected stamps, others Pokemon figures or football stickers, she collected
Christmas decorations.

Natalie spent the early part of the morning mixing and
tasting, measuring ingredients and refining flavours. She was also working on
her latest Christmas cake of the day -
Tronco de Navidad
- a firm Spanish favourite. It kind of resembled a yule log - layers of creamy
mousse with a thick chocolate frosting. Grooves made it resemble the bark of a
tree, and mushrooms, raspberries, and holly leaves all made of marzipan adorned
it. Natalie had thought it particularly fitting for today, as the Yule log
placed in the hearth was supposed to burn for the twelve days of Christmas and
here they were, twelve days before Christmas, by European standards if not by
British. She’d always preferred the European custom of making Christmas Eve the
big occasion, unlike the British way of only celebrating on the twenty-fifth.
It was probably because she wasn’t much good at containing her excitement.

Jacob hadn’t felt so happy in a long time. Having a job to go
to every day, even if it was only working in a bakery, gave him a sense of
purpose and belonging. To someone who had often felt unwelcome in his own home,
as if he were somehow a nuisance, spending time in this busy but relaxed bakery
was balm to his soul. Natalie was a great boss to work for - really kind, a
genuinely good person, plus he was getting to know the locals as he had never
done in the past. He was amazed at how interesting he found old people and he
didn’t mean people in their fifties, but those in their late sixties and above.
In retrospect he supposed he should have considered them more exciting in the
past - they’d been around a long time, but it simply had never occurred to him
that they would have anything in common. He’d heard such stories from friends
who had grandparents, of being bored rigid by stories of the war, but he
discovered that they didn’t only talk about the war, but politics, too, in
which he was very interested. They discussed old movies, from well before his
time, but which he enjoyed, with screen greats like Clark Gable, Rita Hayworth
and James Stewart. They spoke of how travel had been difficult, life before the
internet, before cars were commonplace, before TV, for goodness sake. Jacob
couldn’t imagine life without any of these things, so he lapped up their stories.

Every time the door opened, Jacob wondered if it would be
Rebecca. It had been a few days since her last visit and he hoped he hadn’t
seen the last of her.

At twelve thirty, a harassed Sophie entered the bakery,
cheeks ruddy with cold, her blonde hair piled on top of her head.

‘Hi,’ she spoke first to Natalie, who had walked towards
her. ‘I just wanted to thank you both for the other day. And I thought you
might want to know how Meredith was doing. Sorry I haven’t been in before, it’s
been a bit manic,’ she said, as she unwound her scarf and draped it and her
coat over a nearby chair.

‘No need to apologise, my dear,’ Natalie told her, ‘So how
is she?’

‘She’s stable. Still in hospital. She has pneumonia.’

‘Pneumonia, eh? That is serious,’ Natalie shook her head.
‘Poor woman.’

‘Yes, well, the doctors have said she might be able to get
out by the end of the week, as long as she has someone to care for her at home.
But she lives alone, so her sister has offered to put her up.’

‘That’s what families are for. She’s lucky to have such an
accommodating family.’

‘You’re not kidding. Amelia’s great, but she has four kids.
I don’t know how she’s going to manage, but she’s assured the doctors she
will.’

‘Well, I’m glad to hear she’s getting better. And what about
you, are you taking care of yourself?’ Natalie asked.

Sophie was touched. No-one ever asked her how she was doing.
They just assumed she would get on with it. She felt tears threaten behind her
eyes, and bit her lip to prevent herself from crying. The truth was she felt
stressed-out, which was why she had come to the bakery to sit in and have a
latte and a piece of cake, before returning to the madhouse which was a dynamic
company without its CEO at the helm, with no-one except Sophie to assume
responsibility, even though she was only a lowly assistant. Meredith had been
so intent on not trusting anyone to do anything, she hadn’t allowed for the
eventuality that one day she might not be in a position to manage everything
herself.

Although Sophie was rising to the challenge, she had all but
slept at the office the past few days. She’d also been at the hospital twice to
see how Meredith was doing; pale and a lesser version of herself, pitiful, were
the words which came to mind. Always so strong and well, scary, to see Meredith
in a position of weakness didn’t compute.

‘I’m surviving, just,’ Sophie replied, ‘Thanks for asking.
It hasn’t been easy and I daresay it’ll get worse before it gets better, but
I’ll manage somehow.’ Returning to the other reason she was here, Sophie asked
if she could have a slice of the cake of the day and a latte. ‘I’m going to sit
in today.’

‘Quite right, too. You need a little break,’ agreed Natalie.
‘Jacob will bring you your order shortly.’

Jacob, who had been standing beside Natalie, and had
overheard the conversation, but had been serving other customers, smiled warmly
at Sophie.

She looks tired
, he thought,
although he liked the way she had done her hair today. It didn’t occur to him
that Sophie had pinned her hair up in a haphazard fashion that morning, as it
was the quickest thing to do.

Since he had no great plans today, and the weather was
miserable, Stanley decided he would go through his photo albums. He’d never got
around to cataloguing many of them properly, so today he was going to sort them
out. He’d just make himself a nice cup of tea first and read a bit of his book.
He was finding it a bit more hard going than some of the author’s previous
books, as it was technology related, a subject about which Stanley knew little.

Just then the letterbox rattled and a thud heralded the
arrival of the morning’s mail. Stanley shuffled off to retrieve it. His
arthritis was getting worse, he noticed, as he sat at the table and opened the
letters with difficulty. Quarterly gas bill. He hadn’t received his winter fuel
payment yet. He gasped when he saw the total. Could it really be that much? He
was always so careful and only ever had one radiator on in the house.  Sighing,
Stanley decided he’d have to economise more for the next few months, both on
fuel and on other essentials. He wondered if he was eligible for any other
benefits. You always heard on TV of millions of pounds in unclaimed benefits
because few people knew they were entitled to them. Perhaps it would be worth a
trip to the Department of Work and Pensions to find out. He couldn’t phone them
as he couldn’t hear very well on the phone, even with his two hearing aids and
the special phone with hearing assistance. Then there were all those confusing
menus to get through. Why couldn’t a real person just answer the phone on the
other end? And they were always in such a hurry to get you off the phone.

Setting the bill aside for a moment, Stanley picked up the
remaining letters. A Christmas card, with a gold bauble on the front and a frosted
finish. Glitter came away on his hands; a lovely card.

To Stanley from John and Maureen, Merry
Christmas
. A lump formed in Stanley’s throat. That’s how it would be
from now on. To Stanley; not to Stanley and Edie, or Edie and Stanley, but
Stanley - just Stanley - alone. Stanley wiped away a tear which had come
unbidden to his eye. He turned his attention to the last letter and on opening
it was met with a robin perched on a gate, snow all around him; a cottage
featuring a roaring log fire in the background.
To Edie and
Stanley, Love at Christmas Elizabeth and Robert.

Stanley couldn’t work out what was worse, for Edie to have
been eradicated altogether from the previous card and her absence made all the
more notable, or for someone not to have been informed of his wife’s passing.
Elizabeth and Robert, from Calgary; friends of friends. He would have to find
their address and write to them, send them a card, but also somehow mention the
fact that Edie was no longer with them, save them getting it wrong next year.
Possibly they would be embarrassed, but best to set the record straight and
hopefully Stanley wouldn’t receive a card next year still addressed to his
much-loved but now departed wife.

It had felt liberating to be so strong when confronted with
Ethan for a change. Rebecca had felt a sense of pride at standing up for
herself, although when she had got back to her car the night before, her legs
were shaking and she was glad to be able to drop into the driver’s seat before
they gave way. This new sense of empowerment was short-lived, however, as the
harsh reality that was spending Christmas without a partner reared its head
again.

Everywhere she looked there was Christmas. Every second
house now had its Christmas lights on. For her part, buying a Christmas tree was the
furthest thing from her mind. She and Ethan had always done that as a couple; a
key part of the Christmas proceedings. They even decorated it together. He was
the only man she knew who wasn’t a parent, who enjoyed such things. How could
their relationship change so quickly? She still didn’t know what had gone
wrong. What was clear to her now, though, was that they weren’t meant for each
other. The coldness he had displayed towards her the night before, the fact
that he could instil such anger in her, usually such a placid person, told her
that. But it didn’t make spending Christmas without a boyfriend any more
palatable. There were parties to go to, relatives to field questions from about
the breakup, new arrangements to make for Christmas Day. Hannah had already
said she could spend Christmas with her and Rebecca would have preferred to,
but her mother had insisted she come to them. She would be pitied and fussed
over, loved really, but sometimes you just needed space. She could have had
that with Hannah, both of them single and in similar circumstances, well sort
of, Hannah hadn’t just been dumped. Instead she’d have to endure twenty
questions from her mother, who was a big Ethan fan, although ultimately her
loyalties lay with her daughter, or so Rebecca hoped.

As she walked through the supermarket, Rebecca tried to
avoid any Christmas related areas, but even the wine aisle had seasonal offers.
Items on her shopping list weren’t in their usual place, as products had been
re-jigged to accommodate all the Christmas stock. Where she’d usually find the
gravy granules was now home to selection boxes and tins of Quality Street and
Roses; the latter one of the key reasons half the country had to diet in January,
with office staff gorging themselves throughout December on chocolate from
well-meaning bosses and clients. She had fancied grilled halloumi for dinner,
but was having difficulty finding the Cypriot cheese amongst the array of
selected specially for Christmas
cheese boards and other
cheese gifts. Since she was here, maybe she could get one of those for
Christmas Day; her way of contributing to the Christmas meal. Her mother would
never accept money from her and would be horrified if she offered. Their home
was still her home, even though she hadn’t lived in it for five years.

The cosmetics aisle played host to a giddy assortment of
bath sets and bubble baths, body scrubs and bath crèmes, in brightly coloured
packaging, festooned with ribbons and lace. All Rebecca wanted was a bottle of
moisturiser, but she was foiled once again. Where had they put the damned
moisturisers?

And to cap it all off, the supermarket was playing Wizzard’s
Wish It Could Be Christmas Every Day
. Even that
couldn’t lift her spirits. Rebecca wasn’t looking forward to Christmas this
year, not one bit.