Page 1 of A Winter in Wonderland
Prologue
Summer
~ Then ~
Perhaps it was the hot weather, the sizzling heat and bright sunshine that made my hay fever a billion times worse and the far-off thunderstorms creep closer. Perhaps it was because I felt a little on edge, a little guilty, for walking out of yet another job in the middle of the day. That’s the whole reason I was even in the card shop, to buy a ‘sorry’ card for my agent at the temp office.
It’s not like it was unusual to see small hints of Christmas appear in shops when it was still summertime, but this time,this year, the tall display of red and green and snow-white cards really bothered me. I hadn’t been expecting this today, this feeling of foreboding, not while I was still wearing shorts; not while I was sipping on the last Frappuccino I would be able to afford for a while, so had got extra pumps of raspberry sauce and whipped cream. Not while it was stillAugust.
It made me want to do something very bad, very badly.
My fingers twitched as I imagined pulling down the cards from the display and throwing them in the air; in my mind I watched them flutter to the ground, raining down around me like cherry blossom. Like a slow-motion scene in a movie, sales assistants would be racing over, other customers protecting themselves from the downpour while I just stand there with my arms wide in blissful rejoice. It would be beautiful.
Hold on. Stop. Let me just clarify something.
I’m not a horrible person. I don’thateChristmastime. I don’t self-righteously mock people that celebrate Christmas. It’s just that, for me, all the worst things that have happened in my life have occurred at this time of year, so I like to avoid it – at all costs.
The other reason I like to keep away from all the festivities as much as I can is to protect my friends and family, because I am, I know, a buzz-kill. Christmas just brings up bad memories for me, so I have simply closed the door on it. No, thank you; not today, Santa.
A breeze – polleny and warm, like the gust of a hairdryer – wafted in from the open door of the card shop and tickled the dark waves of my hair and made me sneeze.
Get a grip, Myla.I really mustn’t pull down the display; that would be a very unlike-me move. I should just leave.
Jingle! Jingle! Jingle! Jingle! Jingle!
Over the shop radio came a jingle-themed jingle, like the sounds of ten tiny reindeer prancing over my dead corpse.
‘Here in Big Bag of Cards, it’s never too early to start thinkingabout Christmas,’ came a chirpy, pre-recorded voice. ‘Check out our fantastic stock of Christmas cards today, for all your loved ones, or even the Scrooges in your life! Stock up now, and make this year your best Christmas ever, and a Christmas to remember. CHRISTMAS!’
I fanned myself from the heat prickling my body. The weather was turning, some blobby, dark clouds rolling in to release a hot, summer rain shower. But it didn’t seem like it was just the outside temperature causing me to feel like this. My mouth was dry, the Frappuccino shaking in my damp hand. My breathing turned shallow. I had to get out of there.
People may call me Scrooge, or Grinch, or even the ‘least festive girl in England’ according to a mug my sister gave me a few years ago, which she’d wrapped in birthday paper lest I burn my fingers on candy cane printed foil wrap. But each year I know what I need to do. And what I need to do is to avoid Christmas until it’s over, because that way, I can survive it.
To the tune ofjingle jingle jingle!I ran from the shop. I ran all the way home. And in silent protest, I ran right into my garden to sunbathe in the hot, smattering August rain.
