Page 93 of A Winter in Wonderland
Chapter 41
I’d reallymessed everything up. Not only had I come to winter wonderland when I had a huge Christmas aversion, but thanks to my shoddy husky-sledding skills I now couldn’t do my job, even though I was just getting the hang of it, just starting to actually let myself like it.
And now I’d let myself open up to heartbreak.
I was filling in as an elf and I just knew I was doing the worst job in the world, my best friend here was pissed off at me, and Shay was going to be so mad when I told her I was leaving early.
Well. If I was going to piss off my sister by leaving early, I’d better not waste her Christmas present to me too.
With Esteri not talking to me, and a long, dark evening until bedtime, I needed to get out of there. Grabbing my coat, my wallet and my phone, and before I could think too much about my decision, I left the staff chalet and marched to the activities’ lodge, where I called for a taxi to come from Luosto to pick me up. Within the hour I was standingoutside the ice bar, which rose from the thick compacted snow as if it were carved straight out of the scenery. Soft glacier-blue lighting guided me to the doorway where I stood in a warm zone with other patrons awaiting their timeslot. I blended in as a tourist and after being kitted out with some extra layers was told I, and the other visitors during this time slot, had thirty minutes in the frozen bar to enjoy an array of icy alcoholic drinks.
Perfect. Thirty minutes was all I needed.
It doesn’t take much to get me tipsy. So when I entered the minus five degrees bar, which felt like stepping into a giant, crystal blue ice cube complete with ice sculptures lit from below with vibrant pink and purple bulbs, I went straight for an ice-cold vodka shot. Served in an ice shot glass. And I sat on a stool made of ice while I knocked it back.
As the cold liquid slithered down my throat, burning and scratching as it went, in seeped the first memory I’d been trying to hold back …
CHRISTMAS 1999 ~ AGED EIGHT
I glared at Shay from the other side of the living room. We were like two wrestlers in our corners, panting, red-faced, lips curled into snarls. Outside, rain beat against the windows. Inside, Home Alone 2: Lost in New Yorkplayed on the TV, though neither of us were paying attention.
Tinsel framed the picture frames. Cards from friends and family lined the mantelpiece. A solitary bauble dropped from the tree, falling with a tinkle on the floor, like a bell ringing for the next round to start.
Shay picked up a cushion from the sofa and gave it an intimidating punch, so I let out a guttural screech and, wielding the tube of wrapping paper, advanced towards her ready to strike.
Thwack, scratch, bite, pull, rip.
‘What is going on in here?’ My mum’s horrified voice cut through our anger, and I turned, leaving my guard down just as Shay whipped a length of tinsel across my cheeks.
She scratched my cornea with that tinsel, and my, how I wailed. Especially after falling back and bumping my head. And so that year I spent Christmas in hospital.
My mum was still furious, even while I sat up in the hospital bed happily munching on fistfuls of grapes, wearing an eye patch. ‘What on earth were you arguing about?’
‘Father Christmas,’ I replied, spitting grape juice down my chin.
‘What about him?’ Mum side-eyed Shay.
‘Shay said he wasn’t real.’ Shay looked close to tears, and I added, ‘She didn’t mean to be horrible, it doesn’t matter, Shay, it is what it is.’
‘It is what it is’ was a phrase I’d heard Dad say a few months back and now I used it all the time, though I didn’t really get what it meant.
‘I shouldn’t have said anything,’ Shay said, shame etched all over her little face.
‘You shouldn’t have got into a fight,’ Mum scolded both of us.
‘Sorry, Mum,’ we chorused.
I wasn’t angry at Shay for telling me about Santa, I’d had suspicions anyway and she clearly felt terrible. I was more upset about spending Christmas Eve in hospital, and when I was told I’d need to stay through until Boxing Day, that’s when I startedcrying again. Big, gulping sobs at not being allowed to be at home for Christmas.
Dad stayed in the hospital with me that night, and Mum and Shay returned first thing in the morning along with a pile of presents for me and some for them all to open too.
Late on Christmas Day, when Mum and Shay had gone home again, Dad took my hand and helped me out of the hospital bed, and we went on a little walk around the ward. He thought it would be nice for me to say Merry Christmas to some of the other children, and perhaps make some friends. Some of those children hadn’t been home in a long time and I was pretty quiet when Dad and I were alone together again.
‘Are you OK, love?’ he asked me.
I nodded. ‘Do you think the other children had a nice Christmas?’ I asked, afraid of the answer.
But Dad smiled and said, ‘I think they did. I heard a lot of laughing as we were going around. I think the doctors and nurses have made this a very nice place to spend the holidays. But, I’m sure they and their families would prefer to be at home, like you would. So maybe we should remember that.’
