Christmas and Other Things I Hate Page 6

  “That doesn’t sound like much of a deal.”

  “It’s all I can commit to right now.”

  Before I could give my answer, Santa appeared in the doorway and called for us to follow him again.

  Helen followed close behind him and all I could do was follow after them both.

  When I caught up with them Santa handed us each a pair of ice skates.

  “There can’t be an ice rink here,” I said.

  “This is Santa’s grotto, there’s magic everywhere,” he replied with a twinkle in his eye.

  We both eagerly pulled on our skates and pushed open the door in front of us. Technically it was an ice rink but it was about the size of a small office.

  I couldn’t help but laugh at how small it was, but I realised that to children it would seem bigger and Helen and I were not actually meant to be using it.

  I watched as she took off onto the ice. I assumed she would be good at it, based on her confidence, but she didn’t make it to the far side of the room without falling on her bum.

  “Maybe this wasn’t a good idea if your sister is sick?” said Santa.

  “No, this is a great idea; she was a champion ice-skater when we were younger, she’s just a bit rusty.”

  He didn’t look too convinced but I decided to get onto the ice before I talked us into trouble.

  I held onto the edge of the barrier and made my way around the room, never considering loosening my grip on the safety of the rail.

  At the same time, Helen tried and failed to get onto her feet. At one stage she crawled over to the other end of the room to get her hands onto a barrier.

  She pulled herself onto her feet and as soon as she got her balance she took off again in another attempt to skate.

  “What are you doing?” I shouted, “Just hang onto the barrier.”

  “Where’s the fun in that?” she replied, “I’m never going to get anywhere hanging onto that thing. Let go and skate towards me.”

  “Absolutely not,” I said, “I will fall flat on my face and probably knock out my front teeth.”

  “Jane, live a little!” she replied with a wry smile.

  I sighed in defeat and gingerly pushed myself towards the centre of the ice.

  I managed two strides on the ice before I reached Helen’s waiting hands at which point I slipped and pulled her down with me.

  We collapsed into a heap on the ground. We were getting colder and wetter by the second so Santa took it upon himself to intervene and help us to our feet.

  “I don’t really think skating is for you,” he said, “Let’s get warmed up with some hot chocolate and you can tell me what you want for Christmas.”

  “Lead the way Saint Nick,” I said.

  He helped to pull us both off the ground and back onto the safety of the carpeted floor.

  My teeth began to chatter and I was relieved to be able to put my shoes back on and walk properly.

  “Well, that was a disaster,” said Helen.

  We followed Santa into the final room. There was a large open fire crackling in the corner and enough decorations to rival Helen’s front room.

  There was a beautiful tree, which filled the air with the scent of pine and a welcoming sofa for us to sit on.

  Santa handed us both a mug of hot chocolate, complete with marshmallows and offered us a blanket to help heat us up once more.

  “Now, who wants to go first?” he asked.

  “First?” I replied, “I’m good, I’m just here for moral support.”

  “Don’t be such a sap, you were as giddy as anything when you saw those dogs, go back to that happy woman that came here.”

  “Fine.”

  I sat down my hot chocolate and walked over to Santa, who was sitting on a large wooden seat that reminded me of a carved throne.

  “I’m not sitting on your knee,” I warned, “This is all weird enough as it is.”

  “Agreed,” he replied as he gestured to a cushion at his feet.

  He did a little cough which seemed to signal his full transformation into Santa mode. When he next spoke his voice was a full octave lower.

  “Have you been a good little girl this year eh, sorry what’s your name?” he asked.

  “Jane.”

  “Ok, have you been a good little girl this year, Jane?”

  “Maybe less of the ‘little girl’ thing, it kind of feels a bit creepy.”

  “Stop sexualising Santa, you perve, and answer the question,” called Helen.

  I shot her a scathing look and returned my attention to Santa.

  “Well, not exactly.”

  “I’m sure you couldn’t have been that bad,” he chuckled.

  “In the last 24 hours I’ve robbed the church, tried to ransom Jesus, tricked a holiday maker into giving me money which he thought was going to charity and now I’ve gate-crashed a Santa’s grotto under the pretence that my friend is dying. Do I still get to be on the good list?”

  The silence was deafening and Helen continued to sip at her drink for an unnatural amount of time as she waited to find out if we were going to get kicked out.

  “I’m not an idiot,” said Santa, “I knew you weren’t really dying. Just like you know I’m not really Santa. I just thought you both must be pretty desperate to have some Christmas magic in your life if you were willing to lie about why you wanted in.

  “As far as the other stuff? I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation but I’d rather not know about that, you know, just in case the garda comes knocking. The less I know the better.”

  He did a big belly laugh and for a second he really looked the part.

  “What would you like from Santa?” he asked.

  “I’d like another day,” I said.

  “I don’t understand?”

  “She does,” I replied, as I pointed to Helen, “You hear me over there? That’s my Christmas wish, I want another day.”

  “That wasn’t the deal,” she replied, quietly.

  “I don’t care what the deal was. I want another day and I want you to promise here in front of Santa that you’ll give me it.”

  She looked me squarely in the eye and asked: “Why?”

  “I told you, because it’s my Christmas wish.”

  “I’m not your problem Jane, none of this is.”

  “I know you’re not. I’m just trying to make sure you don’t spoil my Christmas. You pissing off to die will really put a dampener on my turkey dinner and this way you get to sample my mother’s epic stuffing balls.”

  She burst into laughter and said ‘yes’ to my request.

  “To be clear, Santa, I would like much easier Christmas wish.” she added.

  “Ok, my dear, what can I do for you?”

  “Well, if I’m here another day, I’ll take a couple of grand and a sports car.”

  “Wait,” I shouted, “Can I change mine to that instead?”

  “Bitch!”

  “You know I’m joking, now finish that bloody hot chocolate and let’s get back on the road, we still have a long way to Cork.”

  She drained her drink and stood up to give Santa a hug.

  “Thank you for indulging a dying woman,” she said as solemnly as she could.

  “You realise I know you’re not dying?” he replied.

  “Yes, but when you tell people this story I will be, you’ll look like a great guy and when Santa delivers all that cash to me, I’ll make sure to get some to you to cover the cost of today, before I check out of here.”

  They hugged again but I refused to get in on the love-fest and offered him a handshake instead.

  As we headed back to the car I felt hopeful that I was getting somewhere with Helen. I was confident that I could convince her she didn’t have to go through with anything. It felt like my new-found surety was glowing from my skin and Helen noticed.

  “What are you so happy about?” she asked.

  “Ah nothing, I’m just happy.”

  “Wow, that’s new,” she teas
ed, “Perhaps I should take advantage of this good mood.”

  “And do what?”

  Before I got my answer she pulled me round to face her and smiled. She looked into my eyes and then to my lips, took a big breath as if she was steadying her nerves and kissed me.

  Chapter 6

  “Are we going to talk about what happened?” asked Helen.

  “I don’t think there’s a need to.”

  “It’s not good to bury things, Jane, you don’t want a skin breakout over Christmas.”

  “I find it curious that someone who can have such a positive outlook and is obsessed with trying to get me to display healthy coping mechanisms was contemplating suicide this morning. Shall we talk about that?”

  We fell back into an uncomfortable silence as I concentrated on the boring road ahead and she looked out the window.

  When she kissed me it took a few seconds for my brain to engage and put a stop to it.

  There were countless reasons why getting involved with Helen was a terrible idea. The fact that she was in a vulnerable emotional place was at the top of the list. One of us had to be responsible in this twosome and it fell to me.

  This was made immensely more difficult when my mind kept drifting back to the feeling of her lips on mine.

  “I got caught up in the moment,” she said, “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable, I guess I was just getting a…vibe. I got it wrong and I’m sorry.”

  “A vibe?”

  “Yeah, I mean we had just had the most romantic time in that random little grotto and you want me to stay around so I just got carried away and thought that all this meant something more than it did.”

  “I want you to stay around because it would be a tragedy for you to kill yourself out of guilt. I like you Helen, I really do, I just don’t ‘like’ like you.”

  In my head I thought that reply would come across a lot more tactful than it sounded but she didn’t seem too upset. I definitely didn’t want to hurt an already fragile person by rejecting them.

  “No worries,” she replied with a shrug.

  “No worries? Are you sure that’s all you want to say, I mean I basically rejected you and trampled on your heart?”

  She began to laugh, quietly at first and then got steadily louder.

  “Ok, it wasn’t that funny,” I continued, feeling a little stung by her reaction.

  “Jane, it was just a kiss. I’m not latching onto you to replace the emotional void left by my mother or anything. It was a nice moment and I read it wrong. Let’s leave it at that.”

  I continued to sulk at her reaction, despite knowing I should have been relieved that the situation was no longer complicated by an ill-advised hook-up.

  “How was it?” I asked.

  “How was what?”

  “The kiss. It’s the first time I’ve ever kissed a woman and I just wanted to know if it was ok.”

  “How do you know it wasn’t my first time too?”

  “Was it?”

  She tapped the side of her nose, letting me know she would be keeping that information to herself.

  “Just so you know, if it wasn’t great, that isn’t a true reflection on my kissing skill. You just took me by surprise.”

  “Ok.”

  “No, really, I’m just saying if I knew we were going to kiss I would have been less shocked and therefore better.”

  “Ok.”

  “And it was really dry in that grotto and my lips were basically cracked because winter is awful on my skin. So again, if I had have been prepared I would have put on some Vaseline or something.”

  “Ok, Jane.”

  “I’m just saying -”

  “For someone who doesn’t ‘like’ like me you seem to be pretty obsessed with making sure I know you can kiss better.”

  “I’m not obsessed, I’m just making sure you’re aware that I’m better.”

  “What does it matter?”

  “I don’t know, it just does.”

  I saw a small smile form and she went back to looking out the window. I tried to keep my eyes on the road and concentrate on the journey ahead but the motorway was so boring it was hard not to let my mind wander.

  I’d dated a few guys since Lucas but none of them lasted longer than a few months. I told myself I wasn’t a relationship person but I just felt scared that there was something broken in me.

  The longer the relationship went on the more they wanted from me. They wanted a connection that I couldn’t, or didn’t want to, give.

  Maybe the missing connection wasn’t down to the fact that there was something wrong with me, it was that I was with the wrong sex.

  It wasn’t something I’d ever seriously given much thought to. Fleeting fantasies, drunken pecks with girl friends at a nightclub in my teenage years but I’d never thought of consciously looking out for a woman as a potential partner.

  The more I thought about it, the more I realised that I wasn’t panicked about this. It was as if Helen had caused a light bulb moment and now I had no idea how I should act around her.

  If I was considering going further down the rabbit hole with this theory then it couldn’t be with Helen, or at the very least, not now.

  The most important thing for her was to get to a place where she felt safe in living her day-to-day life without the guilt of going on without her mum. The last thing she needed was a new relationship, especially with someone else who didn’t completely know what they wanted in any aspect of their personal or professional life.

  This was a mess.

  I volleyed all the conflicting thoughts and emotions around in my head for a few more miles before I tried to shut it all down. I had to be practical and that meant going back to this just being a road trip with a new friend who needed a bit of support. That’s what it started out like and that’s what I knew I could handle.

  “Jane!” shouted Helen.

  “What?”

  “There’s Christmas trees, real ones, why don’t we stop and bring one back to your parents’ house?”

  “They already have one. It’s the same one they’ve had since I was a child.”

  “Precisely, it’s ancient. How nice would it be to arrive home with a lovely real one?”

  “Are you going to let up with this?”

  “Nope.”

  “And the fact that we’ve no money is?”

  “A small technicality. Like you said, once you get your bank cards and things back we’ll reimburse everyone we’ve ripped off.”

  I pulled off the motorway once more and followed the small slip road back to the business park where she had spotted the trees. It didn’t take us too far back but I really didn’t want to spend all day stopping at every Christmas themed activity she spotted between here and Kilkin.

  I vowed to indulge her this last time then I would have to be a stricter captain.

  She had already jumped out of the car before I had even got my seatbelt off and was racing over to the first salesman she saw.

  She was talking animatedly and using her hands, which made me worry about what ridiculous lie she was telling the poor man.

  I didn’t bother to get out of the car, simply because I’d done enough things to feel guilty about the last few days and I didn’t want to add ‘ripping off a local business’ to the list.

  She came back to the car and opened her door.

  “Right, we’re all ready to go. He’s going to get some rope to tie this bad boy onto the top of the car and we can be on our way,” said Helen.

  “No, we can’t.”

  I got out of the car and walked over to the man who was readying the tree.

  “Excuse me, I’m not sure what that woman told you but she isn’t dying and her final wish isn’t to have a real Christmas tree,” I said, “I’m sorry she has wasted your time.”

  I felt bad that I was refusing Helen’s request but I was sick of being in this moral grey area and I needed to get back in control of who I really was.

  “She di
dn’t say anything about dying,” he said, “She told me you were mugged and lost all your bank cards. That’s a terrible thing to happen on Christmas Eve.”

  “Well, yes, technically it happened last night, but it’s still a pretty crappy thing.”

  “We’re down to our last fifteen trees and we’re going to be cutting the prices to next-to-nothing in about an hour. I can stretch to donating one to a couple of women who are down on their luck. It is Christmas after all.”

  I didn’t know what to say. I felt guilty that I thought the worst in Helen and didn’t want to have to look in her direction, so I thanked the man and tried my best to help him get the tree on top of the car.

  “Now, I’ve got some tarp that can go over it if you’re going back on the motorway but you really should be driving on the smaller roads. You don’t want to have to slam on the brakes and for it to fly off and cause an accident.”

  “We’re an hour away from home, but I’m not a fast driver. We’ll be ok,” I reassured him.

  Tree well secured, we got back in the car and headed back onto the motorway to face the last part of the journey.

  As we continued on the drive, both of us were lost in our own thoughts and I already felt the familiar feeling of dread that usually set in when I reached this part of the trip. As soon as I started to see the familiar signs for Cork city, I knew it was only a half-hour before we’d reach Kilkin then a mere seven-minute drive past the seaside town and we’d reach the farm.

  My father was a dairy farmer, just like his father and although I never shared the passion for following in his footsteps I definitely admired the sheer amount of work he put into it, every single day.

  The more I thought about my family the more I realised how much I missed them. They weren’t horrible people; I just put this barrier between us because I never felt like I belonged with them. They always seemed so confused by any of my decisions but were never vocally negative about my career or lifestyle – except the fact that I wouldn’t hurry up and get married and have lots of babies. Even with that, my parents would never outwardly say that’s what they wanted me to do, they would just look disappointed that I wasn’t bringing a potential husband home with me on any of my visits.