Christmas and Other Things I Hate Read online

  “Can we not?”

  “If you like, but I think if you’re going to ignore all your problems then they’ll just manifest in some other way.”

  “Such as?”

  “Well, every time I try to ignore something, I come out with the worst breakouts on my face. I kept running from my problems and pretending they weren’t happening but then they would just pop as pimples.”

  “You really think your childhood trauma appears as a blackhead?”

  “What’s with you and childhood trauma? One: less of the sarcasm. Two: I have no childhood trauma; and three: it’s well documented by scientists that stress causes skin breakouts.”

  “Who is this scientist? Is their name Dr Clearisil?”

  “Fine, have it your way; we’ll talk about the weather or I’ll put on the radio and treat you to my dulcet tones.”

  “Now that’s an offer I can refuse.”

  She nudged my shoulder and put on the radio just as one of those irritating power ballads was building up to the big finale.

  As soon as she recognised the tune she started to screech along with the diva on the radio while I tried not to wince too obviously at every note.

  “You know what?” she said, mid chorus, “I’m going to have to stop, I’m giving myself a headache.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh at her candid review of her own singing so I finished the song for her.

  “That wasn’t half bad,” she said, “We could make a girl band.”

  “I think we’re about 15 years too old to qualify as ‘girls’.”

  “Speak for yourself! My mum always told me that you’re only as young as you feel and I definitely stopped counting birthdays after I turned 18.”

  “What about your dad?” I asked.

  “What about him?”

  “You talk a lot about your mum, but you haven’t mentioned him.”

  “There’s a very good reason for that. He’s an ass and a long time ago I decided to stop letting him be in my life.”

  “I’m sorry,” I replied.

  The awkward silence that followed was only interrupted once a novelty Christmas song came on and we both started to sing along.

  “I hate this song,” she said.

  “What? Helen admitting there’s something she doesn’t like about the most wonderful time of the year? How could you not enjoy the musical styling of Mr Wibble.”

  “He’s a cartoon llama, that’s got nothing to do with Christmas.”

  “Tens of thousands of children would disagree with you,” I replied, “He’s set to be this year’s Christmas number one.”

  “Kids today, they’ve no musical integrity.”

  “Agreed.”

  The motorway was quiet enough and we made good time to Dublin. Thanks to Helen’s insider knowledge we were able to navigate some lesser-known back roads to her flat, and avoid the inner-city commuter traffic at rush hour.

  She’d already convinced me to spend the night with her and set off after breakfast for the rest of my trip home. It worked out well for me; I had the benefit of a shorter trip on Christmas Eve, when there was bound to be tonnes of people trying to make journeys to their families and I didn’t have to be in my house, alone and worried about making rent.

  She used her shoulder to push open the front door and stumbled into the hallway.

  “It gets stuck when the weather is cold,” she explained. She disappeared down the hallway and with the flick of a switch I found myself standing in a winter wonderland.

  There were lights hanging from every possible place and tinsel was draped over the doorway. By the stairs, there was an animatronic Santa who wished me a ‘Merry Christmas’ and snowmen lined the length of the hallway.

  I was impressed and terrified in equal measure.

  “I know I’ve gone a bit over the top,” she called from the other room, “but it’s mostly stuff gifted from my mum so I feel bad if I don’t have it all out.”

  She popped her head out around the doorway and smiled.

  “Don’t be shy, come on in and make yourself at home.”

  I gingerly navigated the hallway to ensure that my bag didn’t knock something over and cause some sort of chain reaction which resulted in Christmas-themed carnage. I was relieved that I managed to make it into the living room without injuring myself, or a snowman, but my relief was short-lived when I saw what this room had in store for me.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me?” I whispered to myself.

  My face betrayed my shock and Helen was quick to come over.

  “Let me take your bag,” she offered, “You get used to all the stuff after a while.”

  All ‘the stuff’ she was referring to was three Christmas trees and enough sparkly lights that would make her flat visible from space, at the right angle.

  “I’m really not crazy,” she continued, “Again, I know that seems like the type of thing a crazy person would say but I’m just really trying to make an effort for Christmas, this year.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, last year was pretty grim. My mum was sick so we didn’t celebrate it at all. I feel like I have to really make up for it this year and pull out all the stops.”

  “That’s sweet, but I’m also concerned the blinking lights are going to make me have some type of fit.”

  “Oh crap, do you have epilepsy?”

  “No, but I may be in danger of developing it if I stay here all night.”

  She brushed off my attempt at humour and turned two of the three Christmas tree lights off, while I found a space on the sofa to sit down, in between several snowflake cushions.

  “I’m sorry to hear about your mum,” I said.

  Helen was in the kitchen, noisily looking for glasses and wine and was barely listening to what I was saying. I couldn’t make out her reply either, so I thought it was better to wait until she returned to chat more about her mother.

  Eventually she came back into the Christmas grotto,that was formerly a living room, holding a tray. When she sat it down I saw that not only had she brought a bottle of red wine, she had a plate of dark chocolate brownies to accompany it.

  “I made these myself,” she said, “Tuck in, they go great with this wine. I use the real fancy dark chocolate.”

  I smiled at her description of the tray bake and happily took one. As soon as the tart taste of the chocolate hit my tongue I realised I hadn’t eaten since before I left for London, this morning.

  I was ravenous. I had just finished my third when I eventually stopped myself to apologise for shovelling them into my mouth.

  “It’s fine,” she replied, “I’d only end up eating the whole plate myself and then there would be trouble.”

  “I hate that,” I said, “This whole ‘being bad’ for eating chocolate. I don’t buy into that crap. Food is fuel and right now this is precisely the fuel I need. Pour me another glass of wine while you’re at it and we can toast to the death of diet culture.”

  We clinked glasses and sipped at our drinks, while I continued to look around at all the decorations in the room.

  “I didn’t mean I’d feel guilty for eating the brownies,” said Helen, “I just meant I would be completely off my face if I had the whole plate.”

  “I’m not following.”

  “I just mean I’m not a hard-core stoner, I don’t want you to get the wrong impression.”

  “Why would I think -”

  I dropped the fourth brownie I had just taken a bite out of.

  “They have drugs in them?”

  “Just a bit of weed, nothing sinister, I shouted in from the kitchen what they were.”

  “How could I hear anything from the other room while my eardrums are being assaulted with that bloody singing reindeer in the corner?”

  Helen started to laugh and I hoped that it was because this was all some sort of terrible joke.

  “Couldn’t you taste it? It’s not exactly subtle.”

  “I tasted chocolate and shoved three in m
y mouth in quick succession,” I shouted, “Now that you mention it there’s a bit of an after-taste.”

  “That could just be the wine, it’s not great – it was on offer.”

  Helen continued to sip at her glass and wince after every gulp.

  “Jane, please sit down. You’re going to freak out and when that stuff kicks in then you’re really going to panic and I can’t handle that right now.”

  “You can’t handle it? You drugged me! Are you trying to get me high so you can tie me up and harvest my organs? Ah jeez, this is what I get for talking to strange people on aeroplanes.”

  “Can we just calm this whole situation down, for a second? Just sit on the sofa, look at the twinkly lights and let the experience take over. Seriously, I get my best ideas when I’m high and you needed a bit of help to figure out what you’re going to do with your life. This is a brilliant idea, but maybe no more wine for you. Actually, wine was a terrible idea to have with these. Let me just take that away, my bad.”

  I sat back down on the sofa and tried to slow down my breathing. I took a yoga class, once, about eighteen months ago and tried to remember what the teacher told us about breathing. The more I tried, the more lightheaded I got, until I couldn’t get past the number four without an intruding thought of panic putting me right back to square one.

  Helen returned to the sofa and took my hands in hers.

  “In for six seconds, hold for three, out for eight,” she said.

  She kept repeating the instructions to me until I listened and obeyed the words.

  I closed my eyes and after the third cycle of breathing everything started to slow down and I felt my body relax.

  Helen took her hands away and I felt her move from the sofa. I didn’t bother to open my eyes. I worried that the strange looking Santa on the mantel place would set me off again. I heard a switch being flicked and then the crackling from the speakers of a record player. I recognised the familiar opening notes of Desperado and smiled.

  When I opened my eyes I found that the other Christmas tree lights had been switched on again but they didn’t bother me as much, this time.

  “I think I’ve acclimatised to my surroundings,” I said.

  “Trust me, in about 15 minutes when the brownies start to kick in, you’re going to love this place.”

  “Do you do this often?”

  “Nah, I’ll maybe have half a joint now-and-then, at the weekends, but I made a big batch of brownies to get rid of it and some stuff in the cupboards before I leave; seemed wasteful otherwise.”

  “I’ve never done drugs before,” I confessed, “The wildest I get is finishing off a bottle of wine on a Friday night.”

  “Technically, that’s a drug.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Look, I’m here with you. You’re going to have a pleasant high, listen to some music, enjoy the twinkly lights and maybe we’ll get some food.”

  Her description did sound quite enjoyable and the alternative was to stick my fingers down my throat to try and get the brownies up, but I was far too much of a wimp to be willing to make myself sick.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, “I really didn’t mean to drug you without your permission. Saying that out loud makes it seem so much worse. If it makes you feel any better, I have no interest in your organs.”

  “It does a bit, thanks.”

  I tried to not overthink every sensation I was experiencing and concentrated on the music and the lights. I knew things were starting to happen when I noticed that I could see the vibrations from the speakers mix with the fairy lights.

  It was beautiful. I turned to Helen to see if she could see it too but she was too busy moving her hand, slowly through the air.

  “Jane,” she said, “Move your hands, it’s like we’re moving the lights through the universe.”

  She was right, the light was trailing behind my hand every time I moved it.

  “Let’s talk about something important,” she suggested.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I replied, “I feel like I don’t have the information to do that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean like everything that has happened up to this point is on another DVD.”

  “What?”

  “Ok, so my whole life is this two-disc DVD and everything is on disc one and I can’t get to it.”

  “I think you’re high, Jane.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because nobody watches DVDs anymore.”

  “I think you’re right. I’m really hungry, can we have food?”

  “I’ve a great idea! You’re only here for the night so let’s push the boat out and hit the town. There’s a really nice Brazilian restaurant down the street.”

  “I don’t care what it is, I just need food.”

  We put on our coats and headed out of the flat. Unfortunately, my footing wasn’t anywhere near as careful as when I first came into the place.

  I took out several snowmen on my journey to the door but the more I hit, the harder Helen laughed.

  “Let’s get some food,” she said, as she hooked her arm in mine and we slowly made our way out of the building.

  It was freezing and it was also earlier in the evening than I expected.

  “It feels like it should be midnight,” I said, “This has been the longest day of my life.”

  “Stop your complaining and get into the restaurant. The meat here is crazy good.”

  She pushed me in through the door and was given a very warm welcome by a large, bearded man, wearing a dirty apron.

  “Helen,” he said, “Nice to see my best customer again, it’s been a while.”

  “You know me, busy bee. My friend is ravenous and I had to take her to get the best meat feast in town.”

  They embraced like they were family. As I watched them I felt a pang of longing for my own family. Whenever I was sad, my parents would squish me into a hug sandwich to keep me together. It was precisely what I needed right now.

  Instead I decided to hug Helen and the Brazilian man so I could feel better.

  It didn’t feel great, in fact it felt extremely awkward.

  “That’s enough hugging from you,” said Helen, “Let’s get you some food instead.”

  She led me to the table and we were presented with menus. As I picked mine up, the front cover flopped over as if it were melting in my hand.

  I started to scream and jumped out of my chair.

  “What on earth is wrong with you?” asked Helen.

  “The cover,” I said, as I pointed at the bizarre menu, “It’s melting all over me.”

  “What? No, it’s not.”

  “Yes, it is. It flopped over like a weird, melting mess.”

  “It’s a soft leather cover, it’s meant to flop over.”

  “I gotta get out of here.”

  I grabbed my bag, ran towards the door and left a confused-looking Helen in my wake.

  The streets were still crowded with people buying

  last-minute Christmas gifts. I had no idea how to get back to Helen’s flat but I just felt like I needed to get as much space between me and the melting menu, as soon as possible.

  I started to jog but was stopped in my tracks and knocked to the ground by a lamp post I ran into.

  For some reason I thought it was going to be made of a much softer substance, like marshmallow.

  A young man came to my aid and helped me to my feet. He asked if I was ok before he grabbed my handbag out of my hand and ran off.

  I didn’t put up much of a fight, the brownies had clearly slowed my ability to react.

  By the time I figured out we weren’t having some sort of strange dance-off he was already out of sight, along with my most important belongings.

  “Jane!” shouted Helen as she jogged up to where I was standing, “Are you ok?”

  “No, I’m not ok,” I said, “I banged into this poor lamp post and I think it’s dead.”

&n
bsp; I began to hug the lamp post until Helen managed to dislodge my arms from around it and pulled me round to face her.

  “Are you hurt?” she asked.

  “My dancing partner took my bag,” I replied.

  “Someone stole your bag?”

  “Yeah, he went that way.”

  “Ah crap. What was in it?”

  “I don’t know, nothing, everything, I don’t remember.”

  “Let’s sit down somewhere and figure this out.”

  She led me to a bench to sit down while I lay my head down on it and watched the light from the street lamp.

  “He’s not dead,” I said, “His light is on.”

  “This is ridiculous,” she replied, “the street is completely packed and no one helped or tried to stop that guy?”

  “It’s ok, I barely knew what was happening and I was there. I’m still really hungry.”

  “Let’s get some chips and figure out what you’re going to do about your bag.”

  She pulled me onto my feet and once again hooked her arm into mine to help navigate me through the crowds.

  We stopped at a food truck and my stomach grumbled as soon as the smell of fried food hit my nostrils.

  We found another bench to sit at and eat our food. I decided that they were the nicest chips I’d ever eaten in my life and needed, at least, another bag to help ease my hunger.

  Helen handed over hers and watched as I enthusiastically ate her leftovers.

  “Your keys are definitely at my place,” she said, “I remember putting them in the gingerbread house before we left.

  “Playing the odds, I think it’s safe to assume that your purse and phone were both in there. Do you have enough fuel to get you the rest of the way tomorrow?”

  “Nope, fuel light came on about four miles before we reached your place.”

  “Do you know your parents’ number to get them to send you some money to your account? Or even get them to come get you?”

  “How would I get to the money? My cards, my ID, everything is in that purse. No bank would give me the money without proving who I am. My passport is in the bag I left in Belfast. My parents haven’t driven further than Cork city in their lives and the likelihood of them getting here in one piece, this side of New Year is slim to none.”

  “This is a total balls up.”