Christmas and Other Things I Hate Page 3

  “Can you lend me the cash? I can give it to you when I get to my parents?”

  “I can’t,” she replied, “The grand total of my worth was just spent on these chips.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’ve invested my entire life savings and I can’t get to it.”

  “Is this a joke?”

  “I told you I’m leaving Dublin tomorrow, all my money is gone and we are stranded.”

  “What about your mum? Friends? Anyone?”

  “Look, I can’t help you.”

  I felt wounded by her change of tone and reluctance to help me, even though her brownies were the cause of my misfortune.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, “It’s complicated, I wish I could explain properly but I can’t right now. We just have to think of a new way to get some cash, fast and get you home in time.”

  “I’m not being a prostitute.”

  “Why does your brain go straight to the dark side all the time? You really are a strange person.”

  “Says the mysteriously broke woman who lives in Santa’s grotto?”

  We both stayed quiet for a few moments, while I continued to eat the scraps of chips that were left in the paper.

  “Do you really think I’m mysterious?” she said, “I’ve always wanted people to think I’m mysterious.”

  I internally groaned and wished the effects of the brownies would hurry up and go away. When I looked up, I spotted a manger scene across the road.

  I walked towards the edge of the footpath and tried to put a plan together.

  “What are you looking at?” asked Helen.

  “I’ve got an idea,” I replied, without bothering to turn around.

  She walked up beside me and tried to follow my gaze to understand my train of thought.

  “What’s the plan?”

  “We’re going to kidnap Jesus.”

  Chapter 3

  We both stood beside the nativity scene as I tried to put some sort of plan in place.

  “You can’t be serious about this?” whispered Helen, “It’s Christmas, you can’t kidnap the baby Jesus that’s definitely going to put us straight to hell – or worse.”

  “Out of curiosity, what’s worse than hell?”

  “I dunno, the naughty list?”

  I rolled my eyes and went back to studying the manger.

  “For the record, I don’t feel ok with doing this.”

  “Look, we’re broke, we’re desperate and I have to find petrol money to get home.”

  “I just mean that you seemed to have skipped a couple of stages from ‘woman who has been mugged’ to ‘crime lord’ in a ridiculously short space of time. There has to be a less illegal way of making some money.”

  “Ok, if you’re the brains of the operation, tell me. You’re the one that’s completely reluctant to help me by simply asking a friend or a neighbour to lend you a couple of quid to help out a mugging victim at Christmas?”

  “I told you, it’s complicated.”

  “Then this is what we’ve got. All you’ve got to do is keep an eye out while I shove him under my coat.”

  “Wait, just wait a second and slow this job down. You are high as a bloody kite and about to deface holy property, can’t we just sleep on this?”

  “No.”

  “Fine, I will figure something out that doesn’t result in us getting arrested.”

  She cleared her throat, took off her jacket and sat it on the ground in front of her.

  She began to sing, what I assumed, was Jingle Bells, but I couldn’t be sure. Her voice was truly awful.

  It came as no surprise that people started to give her a wide berth as she got louder and louder.

  Eventually someone shouted from the other side of the street and told her to ‘shut up’ but that just made her more determined to keep going.

  It didn’t take long for a garda officer to come over. He picked up her coat and told her she would be better to go home and ‘sleep it off’.

  She reluctantly accepted her defeat and walked behind the nativity scene to find me trying to stay out of sight.

  “What are you doing now?” she asked.

  I stood up and proudly displayed the bump under my coat, which made me look heavily pregnant.

  “Thanks to your impromptu concert, everyone was busy looking at you and didn’t notice my stealthy self, pinching this guy.”

  I pulled the hard plastic baby out from my coat and felt proud of my achievement.

  “You’re going to hell,” she said as she folded her arms and shook her head disapprovingly.

  “I need €50 for petrol, I’m not going to bankrupt the Catholic Church and as soon as I have a bank card again, I’ll go to mass and put €100 in the collection,” I said, “Does that ease your guilty conscience? Otherwise I’m going to be spending Christmas in your place.”

  She seemed to be weighing up the situation and finally got on board with my dubious solution.

  “What do we do now?” she asked.

  “Ok, we just leave a note in the church saying they’ve got to 9pm to leave €50 in the manger or they’ll never see Jesus again. When they leave the money, we’ll give it back to them. It’s simple, easy and no one gets hurt.”

  “This is a terrible idea.”

  “It’s all my drugged brain can come up with right now so we’re going with it.”

  “I’d bet if we just went to a priest and explained the situation, they’d give you the money,” she replied.

  “This isn’t a Christmas movie, Helen, people don’t just hand over money to strangers. Trust me, I’m going to get a napkin and pen from that van and leave the note in the church. All you’ve got to do is mind Jesus and don’t lose your nerve and put him back. Understand?”

  She nodded, but didn’t look remotely happy about her part in the plan.

  To be honest, I didn’t think this plan was going to work either but the brownies were still in my system and I really didn’t care, I just needed to do something.

  I scribbled the note on a napkin and lifted the heavy church door in order to leave the note somewhere someone important would find it.

  There were a few people dotted around the church, all kneeling and silently praying. I decided it looked less conspicuous if I walked down to the front of the church and lit a candle so I had a better view of the place and figure out where I could leave the note.

  There didn’t seem to be a priest present but I noticed an open door past the left side of the altar.

  I took a big breath and made a beeline for the door but just as I was about to sneak into the room, my way was blocked by a young man.

  He had a kind face and was wearing a bright read Christmas jumper with a Santa face knitted onto it. The jumper also had a flashing red nose.

  “I also hate novelty Christmas jumpers,” I whispered to myself.

  “Can I help you?” he asked.

  “N..n..no,” I stuttered, “I must have got turned around on myself and thought this was the exit.”

  He eyed me suspiciously and led me away from the door.

  “Are you sure?” he asked, “If you’d like to talk to someone, I’m told I’m a good listener, my name is Father Declan.”

  I couldn’t think of a worse time to come face-to-face with a priest. I was high as a kite, hell-bent on leading a life of crime to fund my petrol to go home to family I didn’t particularly want to see.

  I wasn’t sure if it was his smiling face or the drugs in my bloodstream but I felt like I was standing with an angel.

  “Probably the drugs,” I thought.

  I crumpled up the note and stuffed it in my pocket. I resolved to get out of there as quickly as possible and get the baby Jesus back in the crib before anyone noticed.

  I realised I’d thumb it to Cork, if I had to, before I tried to ransom off a plastic Messiah.

  I gave him a weak smile and started to run down the aisle as fast as my legs would carry me. I searched the busy street
to see if I could spot Helen until I remembered that I’d left her huddled behind the stable.

  She waved in my direction and I ran towards her to get the baby back.

  “Did you forget where you left me?” she asked.

  “I guess my memory has been a little impaired. I wonder why that is?”

  She ignored my passive aggression and returned to nursing the baby. She had taken off her coat and was beginning to swaddle it up when I shook her out of her role play.

  “You know this isn’t a real baby, right?” I asked.

  “Yes, but I’m trying to minimise our conditions in hell by making sure he’s taken care off.”

  “Give that thing over to me,” I replied, “I didn’t leave a note, you’re right this is a stupid plan. I’m going to get it back into the manger before anyone -”

  “Oh my goodness!” cried a voice from the far side of the stable, “Someone has taken Jesus.”

  “Perfect,” I said.

  A crowd began to form around the woman’s voice and I was surprised to see that people actually cared that much about it.

  Helen crawled towards the far side of the stable to get a better look at the scene as it unfolded.

  “I don’t think you’re going to have much luck sneaking him back in now,” she whispered.

  “How many people are out there?”

  “A lot. Seems like they were gathering here for something.”

  At that moment the large church door swung open and Father Declan, now changed from his Santa jumper to a more traditional dog collar, walked towards us while trying to pull out a small speaker and microphone.

  “Quick,” hissed Helen, “hide the kid.”

  I finished swaddling it up inside Helen’s jacket and stood up before Father Declan spotted me squatting on the ground.

  I pulled Helen up onto her feet with my free hand and handed her the bundle. We walked around to the other side of the stable to try and mingle into the crowd so we could also pretend to be shocked by the unfolding drama.

  Father Declan switched on his microphone to address the crowd.

  “Thank you all for being here to celebrate an evening of prayer for sick children,” he began.

  “Ah feck,” Helen and I said, in unison.

  “Now, I see there’s a bit of a commotion here about the baby Jesus being missing but remember, it’s only the 23rd; he hasn’t been born yet.”

  The crowd gave a weak laugh. As he smiled at the crowd he locked eyes with me.

  “Now, I’m sure that whoever is responsible for moving the baby will soon be putting it back where he belongs and they’re very sorry for making anyone worry.”

  I gulped and tried not to let guilt show so obviously on my face but the overwhelming sense of paranoia was becoming unbearable.

  I glanced at Helen, who wasn’t going through any sort of similar shame spiral but had her head pushed backwards and her tongue stuck out, as if she was a small child trying to catch snowflakes.

  I nudged her in the ribs and she jumped back into the moment.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “The lights are falling and I’m trying to catch one, I think if I eat it, I’ll feel better. What are you doing?”

  “I’m freaking out, that’s what I’m doing. The priest knows we took it.”

  “We?”

  “You’re an accomplice now, whether you like it or not. Just roll out the baby and put it beside the stable, it’ll look as if he just rolled away or something.”

  “Why don’t you do it?”

  “Because you’re holding it.”

  “Fine,” she conceded, “Cover me.”

  The crowd of families started to sing ‘Away in a manger’ and for some reason it made the panic gathering in my chest much, much worse.

  I opened my coat and put my hands in my pockets, spreading my arms out as wide as they could so I could cover Helen.

  A few of the children standing close by, started to look at me so in order to make things seem less strange, I swayed along with the music.

  In my attempt to make myself look like less of spectacle, I failed miserably. The parents pulled their children closer to them to keep them away from the strange woman dancing by herself.

  “I dropped him,” she said.

  “Is it broken?”

  “No, he just seems a bit dazed.”

  “He’s plastic, it’s just the way he was painted. Just start walking backwards and get out of here.”

  I kept my coat open, so it looked like I had a wingspan and she continued to crouch behind it as we both backed away from the singing families and the scene of the crime.

  Once there was enough room between us and the church we turned around and started to run as quickly as we could back towards Helen’s flat.

  The relief of getting away from there and not being caught by a mob of disgruntled parishioners was immense.

  I started to laugh and couldn’t stop.

  “I can’t keep track of my emotions because of this stuff,” I said, in between laughs.

  “Yeah, this wasn’t the relaxing evening I had planned,” she replied, “Are you going to phone the garda about your bag?”

  “What’s the point? It’s long gone and I’ve no insurance on my phone so I can’t claim anything to get it back. I’ll have to cancel the cards, that’s going to be a nightmare.

  “Happy bloody Christmas.”

  “That’s a poor attitude,” she said, “Let’s get into the flat and we’ll figure something out. Maybe we could track the phone?”

  “Can you see us confronting a mugger?”

  “No, maybe not, but we could give the details to the garda. The thief shouldn’t just get away with it.”

  I followed behind her, not concentrating on where I was going. I just wanted to sit down and go to sleep.

  By the time we arrived at her home, I was acting like a zombie. My feet dragged along the ground and I collapsed face-first onto her sofa.

  “What time are you leaving for your mum’s?” I asked.

  “It was meant to be first thing in the morning, but it can wait until we figure out what you’re going to do. Didn’t you say you had a sister?”

  “Yes, so? I don’t know her number either. I haven’t memorised a single number since mobiles were invented.”

  “Does she have a Facebook account? You could send her a message and tell her what’s going on? Maybe she’ll have a better idea about what to do than two stoned women?”

  “She doesn’t have one but -”

  “But what?”

  “But her fiancé does, I could contact him.”

  “Great, now we’re getting somewhere.”

  “I’m not asking him for help. I’d rather wander the streets of Dublin.”

  “You’re being dramatic.”

  “He’s my ex-boyfriend.”

  “I knew it!” she exclaimed.

  “You knew nothing, this is not like your Christmas movie theory. I have zero feelings for him. It ended years ago and just because I prioritised my work for the last few years doesn’t mean I was substituting love for my career.

  “In fact, that’s an archaic stereotype that is just damaging to women. If a man behaved the way I did, he’d be applauded, but because I don’t get all dewy-eyed over wedding magazines or want kids, I get this ice-queen label. Grow up.”

  “Wow, Jane, have you been practising that little speech for long?”

  “No, I just hate this bloody holiday and hate the fact that every year I go home to my family and just because I don’t bring someone with me I get the ‘maybe next year’ look. Does it occur to people that I don’t particularly want or need anyone else? I am complete on my own or that I enjoy working the way that I do? No, I need to do exactly what my sister does and every year that I don’t is another year closer to spinster city and another failure. Never mind the fact that I was the youngest person in my company to be head of a department or the countless systems I designed to streamline
HR as a whole, across the whole company.”

  “Why did get made redundant you then?”

  “Because even after everything I’ve done and everything I’ve achieved I was still bloody expendable to them. I was thrown out like last season’s highlighter and now I have to go home and explain that I’m still single and now the one thing that I was proud of has also gone.

  “So, if you think I’m sending a message to Lucas to start this pity party off early then you’ve another think coming.”

  “That’s a lot of information to get when I’m this high,” said Helen, “I can’t believe you’re a pencil-pushing, desk jockey.”

  “Was,” I corrected, “Now, I’m a single, unemployed stoner who was mugged and is now stranded in Dublin with a woman who is scarily obsessed with Christmas.”

  We sat, side-by-side, listening to one of the decorations play Santa Baby and didn’t bother to speak until it was finished.

  “Listen, I have to be with my mum. It’s really important that I go, but you’re welcome to stay here for as long as you like,” said Helen, “You can even take down the decorations if you feel like it and whenever you figure out what you want to do, just post the key through the letter box.

  “I wish I could stay and figure this out with you but I’ve promised I’ll be with her and I don’t want her to get lonely over the holidays.”

  “I understand,” I said, “this is a really lovely offer and maybe I’ll take you up on it when I’m sober, but I can’t think straight until this crap is out of my system.”

  She stood up and switched on the television, then disappeared into a different room. When she returned, she was holding a large duvet, which she dropped on top of me.

  “You may be miserable and feeling like a failure but I have a guaranteed way to make you feel better,” she announced, picking up a remote.

  The picture was black and white and I found myself watching It’s a Wonderful Life.

  “You’re still pushing your Christmas agenda on me then?” I asked.

  “Yes, I am. This movie is guaranteed to put a smile on your face.”

  The words she said sounded positive but I couldn’t help but notice a twinge of sadness in her voice.

  I ignored my amateur attempt at profiling my hostess, let out a heavy sigh and resigned myself to my fate. I pulled the duvet up to my chin and settled onto the sofa. Helen joined me and put a large bowl of crisps in my lap. Before I put any in my mouth I asked, “Just to be sure, these aren’t laced with acid or anything?”