Holly Jolly Christmas

Holly slides her hot chocolate to one side and scowls.

“What? You know I’m right,” says Martha, tipping four sachets of sugar into her coffee and stirring the drink round and round.

Holly grits her teeth as the spoon clinks against the side of the cup, clashing with the explosion of horns and jingling bells blaring from the café’s speakers.

“There’s no way you can be called Holly Berry and hate Christmas. It’s impossible. Maybe even illegal.”

Holly reaches across the table and rests her hand on top of her friend’s. The stirring stops, abruptly.

Martha wriggles her fingers free and licks the spoon before chucking it onto the tray. She glares at Holly over the rim of her cup as she slurps her drink.

“H-h-hot,” she splutters, wiping the frothy mustache from her upper lip. Throwing herself back in her seat, she folds her arms across her chest.

“There must be a part of you that secretly likes Christmas otherwise you’d have changed your name.”

Holly shakes her head and peers through the café’s steamed-up windows, mesmerized by the colorful lights twinkling in the stores across the road. Hordes of shoppers’ dash by weighed down with bulky parcels and glittery bags. She startles as a young couple pause on the pavement outside, lounging against the wafer-thin pane of glass. Holly lowers her eyes as the man whips a sprig of mistletoe from his jacket and pulls the woman towards him.

Gross.

She curls her lip: “Sorry to disappoint you, but I hate this time of year. Always have. Always will. And as for the hassle of changing my name…”

“You always used to like it, it’s only because Lionel dumped you at Christmas,” snorts Martha.

“He didn’t dump me,” says Holly, her cheeks flaming. “I left him after I found out his kind of personal training involved more than running and push-ups.”

“He was a complete wan…”

La la la.

She sticks her fingers in her ears as Martha mutters dark things about her ex-boyfriend: “Can we give Lionel a miss. I really don’t want to think about him at all.”

“I was only…” Martha trails off, dabbing at her mouth with a napkin. “You know you’re welcome at our house. The kids would love to see you,’ she says, pausing. “I’d love to see you.”

Holly stares down at her lap, twisting the corner of her shirt into a tight knot. Tempting. It would be nice to spend Christmas Day with other people, not always be alone and…

“If I wasn’t going away then perhaps I would,” she says. “But whilst you guys are tucking into your turkey and roast potatoes, I’ll be halfway down my third cocktail. I hope.”

“Hmm. I don’t know why you need to jet out of the UK every December. I’m sure Barbados is lovely, but I think it’s weird being somewhere hot. Christmas is all about snow and mince pies and crackling log fires…”

“What about all the people who live in the southern hemisphere?” interrupts Holly.

“Well, that’s different,” huffs Martha, pulling her phone out of her pocket and waving it in Holly’s direction. “Anyway, you might not even get away this year. Look.”

Holly scans the headline on the news story, ‘Pest from the West threatens travel misery for thousands.’

“A tiny bit of snow isn’t going to stop me getting away,” says Holly. “I’ll think of you guys though. Whilst you’re shivering in sub-zero temperatures, I’ll be stretched out on a sandy beach and taking a dip in the ocean to cool off.”

Martha sighs and pushes her chair back, grabbing her coat from the seat next to her. As she winds the scarf around her neck, she waggles her eyebrows and says: “Reuben’s over from America. He’s going to be at ours for the holidays.”

“Please don’t try and fix me up with your brother-in-law. I’m not interested.”

“Shame. Not only is he drop dead gorgeous, but he can cook as well. I wish he’d give Alister a few lessons in that department. Okay,” she says holding up her hands when she sees Holly’s face. “I won’t say another word.”

Holly buttons up her jacket and reaches underneath the table, pulling out a bag of presents.

“Can you give these to Conrad and Bonnie?” she says. “Wish them a Merry Christmas from me.”

“You spoil those kids,” says Martha, flinging her arms around Holly. “You will be okay, won’t you? Being in a hotel by yourself just sounds a bit lonely to me.”

Holly nods.

“Okay, if you’re really sure.”

“Quite sure,” says Holly squeezing her friend back and smiling as she watches her bustle out of the café and dash for the bus.

Quite sure she says again later as she stands in front of her bedroom window. There isn’t a cloud in the sky as the moon peeks out behind the branches of the giant oak tree. It couldn’t look any less like snow. Those weather forecasters are such exaggerators. They’re going to look pretty stupid tomorrow when there isn’t even a dusting.

+++

Holly’s hand slaps the bedside table as she tries to silence the alarm on her phone. 4am. Gross. It doesn’t feel like two minutes since she went to sleep. She holds the screen in front of her face and struggles to focus on the raft of notifications. She sits bolt upright when she reads the third message down.

Her fingers tremble as she clicks on the text: ‘URGENT: Flight cancelled due to bad weather. Please contact your travel provider for a refund or to rebook.’

Bad weather?

Flinging back her duvet, she rushes to the window, and rips open the curtains, shielding her eyes against the dazzling whiteness. Her garden has vanished. At least a foot of snow blankets her lawn, burying her car and weighing down the branches of the oak tree. The fields on the other side of her hedge look lumpy and unfamiliar. And where has the road gone? Holly glares at the treacherous moon as it emerges from behind a cloud.

To think I trusted you. How can it snow so much in just a few hours?

She snatches up her phone and punches in the airline’s number, groaning when the computerized message tells her all the operators are busy. And the website isn’t any help either. After it crashes for the third time, Holly chucks her phone into the far corner of the room.

Throwing herself onto the mattress, she wriggles down the bed and pulls the covers over her head. If she’s going to be in the UK for Christmas, then she’s bloody well going to sleep through it.

+++

Holly pokes her head out of the duvet. What was that? She thought she heard something. She holds her breath and listens. Nothing. It’s probably just the snow sliding off the roof. She’s snuggling down in her bed when she hears the noise again. It sounds like someone banging on the front door.

Who on earth is that?

She trudges to the window and peeks out. She can’t see anyone. Whoever it is, must be standing right inside the porch. As she gazes across the whitewashed landscape, she notices two sets of footprints on her driveway and what looks like thousands of animal tracks. Dogs?

Plucking her dressing gown off the bedroom floor, Holly hurries down the stairs, catching her leg on her suitcase she left by the front door the night before.

Stupid thing, she mutters, turning round and giving it a sharp kick. She’s still rubbing her foot as she cracks open the door.

“Yes, can I help you?” she says to the couple jammed into her tiny porch. Their faces are pinched and blue with cold. The man shuffles back and drops his eyes. Holly isn’t sure if it’s her wild hair or her the fact she’s still not dressed at…

... Gosh, almost midday, she whispers, glancing at the clock on the wall.

“Merry Christmas,” says the woman pulling down her hood and shaking the snow from her battered green jacket.

“Happy Christmas,” murmurs the man at her side, twisting round and making shushing noises.

“I’m Jackie. Jackie Shepherd and this is my husband, Stan,” she says holding out her hand. “We were on our way to the service at St Mary’s when our van skidded and flipped into the ditch.”

Holly stands on tip toe and glances over the woman’s shoulder. Two wheels jut up towards the sky and the side of the vehicle is already hidden beneath a couple of inches of snow.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t hear a thing. Are you both okay?”

Jackie nods: “We managed to get enough signal to call the AA but they’re not sure when they can make it out here. I know it’s awfully cheeky, but we wondered if.. It’s just that it’s so cold, otherwise we’d wait outside, but…”

“Oh gosh, yes of course, sorry I’m still half asleep. Come on in,” says Holly stepping to one side.

Jackie kicks off her welly boots and hesitates in the doorway, turning to look at her husband who has stepped outside and is wrangling a donkey and two sheep.

So that’s what caused the tracks.

“They were supposed to be starring in the nativity play,” says Jackie, nodding her head at the animals. “That’s why they’re with us. We just wondered if you had a shed or somewhere we can keep them so they’re not out in the snow.”

“I haven’t got a shed,” says Holly, biting her lip. “But maybe they could dry off in the utility room?”

“Are you sure? I mean, I don’t want them to trample mud all over your floors.”

“Bring them in. It’s fine. It’s way too cold to be messing about. What are they called?”

Jackie’s face reddens: “The little one’s Baabaara and that’s Rambo,” she says pointing at the larger of the two sheep. “And the grumpy guy at the back is Ebeneezer.”

The donkey brays and Stan rubs his neck, giving him a hug.

“Ebeneezer?”

“Yes,” says Jackie, shaking her head. “Because he always pretends to hate Christmas and taking part in the Nativity, but he certainly enjoys all the attention and the extra carrots afterwards.”

Holly giggles and strokes the donkey’s head as he squeezes past her in the hallway, followed by the two sheep. Their hooves clatter along the stripped pine floor as they amble towards the utility room.

“Stan’s just gone to get the mince pies and cakes out of the van,” says Jackie. “We should have something nice to eat whilst we’re waiting.”

Holly looks over her shoulder to see Stan traipse towards the van, wrenching his hood up and struggling to stay upright as he’s buffeted by the wind. Fierce gusts hurl the snow around her garden, pinning it against the hedgerow, the deep drifts billowing in the breeze like waves on the sea.

“Mince pies sound amazing,” says Holly shivering. “I haven’t got much in the house to be honest. I was supposed to be flying out to Barbados, but the weather had different ideas.”

“You were leaving on Christmas Day?”

“Yeah, I always do. It’s quiet and you’d be surprised how cheap the flights are.”

“I bet. I’ve always wanted to jet off for some winter sun, but we’d never find anyone to look after the farm.”

Holly kicks the utility door open and the animals file past her into room. She grabs some old blankets out of the top cupboard and lays them on the floor. The sheep circle round before collapsing and curling up together. Ebeneezer meanwhile spies an open packet of cereal on the worksurface and rests his chin on the counter.

“Don’t you dare,” says Jackie moving it out of reach.

Holly steps into the kitchen and fills the kettle, lifting down three cups from the cupboard: “I’ll just go and get dressed whilst I’m waiting for it to boil,” she tells Jackie. “I was going to spend the day in bed after the snow ruined my holiday plans.”

“And then we woke you up and shattered your peace and quiet,” says Jackie, closing the utility room door.

“Not at all. I am glad you’re here,” says Holly, patting the older woman on the arm as she hurries along the hallway.

As she’s buckling up the belt of her jeans and reaching for a pair of socks, a snowball cracks against the window, startling her.

Is that Stan? That’s a bit weird when we’ve only just met, but…

She flies to the window as another snowball smacks against the pane. Holly looks down and grins. Martha is outside with Alister and the kids and two men she doesn’t recognize.

One of them must be Reuben but who is the other bloke?

Martha waves and points to the two sledges behind her. They’re laden with boxes of presents, huge hampers and what looks like enough bottles of wine to see them through to the new year.

“Told you it was going to snow,” yells Martha. “So, we thought we’d bring Christmas to you.”

Holly rushes down the stairs and flings the door open, hugging Bonnie and Conrad as they crash in through the porch.

“We didn’t want you to be alone,” says Martha, stamping her feet on the mat. “But also, our half of the village doesn’t have power, so we thought we’d invite ourselves over to yours.”

“Yeah, it’s been pretty rubbish. I fly halfway across the world and then I can’t even get a cup of coffee in the morning,” says the dark-haired man, his green eyes twinkling.

Ah, so this is Reuben. Martha was right. He is drop dead gorgeous. She feels her cheeks flame as he smiles at her.

“I’m Reuben by the way,” he says, shaking her hand. “As Martha clearly can’t be bothered to introduce us. And you must be Holly Berry, the lover of all things Christmas.”

She giggles and starts to protest: “I don’t hate Christmas, it’s just…”

“And this is Seb,” says Martha, butting in and glaring at Reuben. “Alister’s youngest brother”

“I shouldn’t be here either. I was going to stay with mum and dad but then the weather turned, and I got stuck at their house,” says Sebastian, nodding in Martha’s direction.

“I don’t remember the last time all three Wiseman bothers have been under the same roof for Christmas,” says Alister, placing the last box in the hallway and turning round to close the front door.

Holly ushers them through to the lounge and introduces them to Jackie and Stan who describe the terrible driving conditions and explain how their van ended up in the ditch.

“That must have been terrifying,” says Martha. “You were lucky you weren’t hurt.”

There’s a pause in the conversation and Holly jumps up from her chair, saying she’ll go and make everyone a cup of tea.

“Tea?” queries Martha. “I don’t think so. I haven’t dragged all those bottles of champagne over here to sit around and drink tea. I’ll go and grab some glasses from your cupboard in the utility.”

She pushes past Holly and hurries along the hallway.

Perhaps I should…

Holly squeezes her eyes shut and covers her mouth when she hears a loud scream and footsteps thundering across the wooden floor.

She’s still laughing when a wide-eyed Martha, stands in front of her, stabbing her finger in the direction of the utility room.

“There’s a… there’s a…” says Martha, as Baabaara, Rambo and Ebeneezer saunter into the lounge.

“Ooh sheep,” says Bonnie, jumping up to stroke them.

“And a donkey,” yells Conrad, shouldering his sister out of the way.

Jackie stumbles to her feet: “Oh I’m so sorry. Come on you lot, back to the utility room.”

The sheep ignore her and flop down on the rug in front of the TV screen.

“Come on,” says Stan, shoving uselessly at the sheep. “This is our fault. We actually let them in our house, and they love to watch television.”

“What are their favorite programs,” asks Holly laughing.

“Anything really. Whatever we have on,” says Jackie.

“Maybe Sheepless in Seattle, suggests Reuben, waggling his eyebrows.

“Or perhaps Shearlock Holmes,” cackles Martha.

Holly struggles to catch her breath; she’s laughing so hard: “That’s terrible. I’ll go and get the glasses.”

By the time Holly returns with the tray of champagne flutes, the children have cuddled up with the sheep and Ebeneezer has stretched out on the chaise lounge.

“Talk about making yourself at home,” says Jackie, covering her eyes with her hands.

Everybody jumps as Reuben pops the cork on the first bottle, the golden liquid fizzing and bubbling over the side. He tops up each glass and hands them round.

Holly sinks down in the armchair closest to the fireplace and sighs contentedly. The children are giggling and lying up against the sheep. Ebeneezer is snoring. Everyone is happy and smiling. She’s happy and smiling. It might not be Barbados, but the day is turning our better than she thought. In fact, if she’s honest, it’s the best Christmas she’s had in years.

“Let’s put on some music,” says Martha, perching on the sofa next to her and scrolling through the playlist on her phone. She smirks when she sees Holly and Reuben staring at each other before shyly dropping their eyes.

“Here we go. This one’s perfect,” she says, as the piano kicks in and Michael Bublé tells everyone to have a holly jolly Christmas.

Reuben smiles and clinks his glass against Holly’s.

“Or should that be a jolly Holly Christmas,” says Martha, raising her champagne flute. “Cheers.”