Page 25 of Christmas Ever After
We both automatically drift closer to the sound of an after-school choir practice. The shed is strung with fairy lights and a few parents are huddled in scarves and coats outside, watching on, as the teacher leads the children through a rendition of ‘Silent Night’.
Streetlamps are on, and although the shop windows are darkened now, every building is decorated with twinkling lights, and tinsel sparkles from every lamppost. Above our heads, hanging cascades of icicle lights criss-cross the road, and glowing blue and white snowflakes of different sizes dangle down at seemingly random intervals.
It’s one of those perfect December nights where it’s dry and cold, the sky is crystal clear and the stars are sparkling, and it feels magical to stand there in the dark, watching the illuminated interior of the shed and listening to the young voices singing carols that I remember singing when I was their age.
I don’t know when my eyes closed, but I’m standing close enough to Raff to be almost leaning on him. I can’t remember the last time I simply stood and listened. The school choirs come every year, from the first week in December until schools break up, a couple of different ones a day during working hours, and then it’s free for after-hours practice sessions, and I usedto make a point of going outside to listen, but in recent years… they’ve barely even registered on my radar. Rather than looking forward to the Carollers’ Cabin arriving, I’ve not paid any attention to them. It might be Christmas year-round on this part of Ever After Street, but when did I stop noticing when it reallyisChristmas?
‘I’ll miss this.’
The words are like a punch in the gut. He’ll miss this. He really is resigned to losing this competition he’s helping me to win. ‘It’s only early December. There’s still time to get those matches made. You don’t have to keep helping me every day. Go back to your own shop, do your magical matchmaking thing, and then…’ I trail off.And thenI get evicted instead. It doesn’t seem like we’re in direct competition with each other, and yet, weare, and I don’t want either outcome. I don’t want to lose my shop, but I don’t want him to lose his either.
He doesn’t reply, and I bite my tongue because this is all my fault. The other shopkeepers might be getting annoyed with his bad reviews, but I doubt anyone would have suggested evicting him, until I came along with my big mouth and complained very loudly and very publicly to the council bosses, and goaded them into starting this ridiculous scheme.
Thinking about it has replaced the joy of the carollers with a melancholy feeling, and Raff inclines his head towards the car park. ‘C’mon, we should go.’
We walk towards the car park, past the mangled wreckage of the Christmas Ever After arch that I brought crashing down. It’s been moved aside onto a grassy verge but no one has done anything about it yet, not even had it collected for scrap metal. It’s an unwelcome reminder every time I see it, and I can see Raff watching me as I try to avert my eyes while being simultaneously compelled to look at it and relive the humiliation of that day.
Raff’s car is small and red and it smells of his aftershave and the dry wood he’s been turning, and every time we get in it, he immediately puts a Christmas radio station on. Tonight, rather than driving me home, we go in the opposite direction, and it doesn’t take long before he turns off the motorway and pulls into maze-like residential streets, houses twinkling with festive light displays and bright living room windows with their curtains open and their trees on show inside. It reminds me of when I was young and my parents used to drive around just to see the Christmas decorations, before things went so wrong.
‘Pretty neighbourhood,’ I say as he pulls up outside the prettiest and most festive-looking house of all. It’s a large detached property, with garlands everywhere and lights along every eave of the roof and strung around the trees outside, along with glowing reindeer decorations on a small front lawn, and giant light-up candy canes lining the path to the door, which has got an illuminated wreath hanging on it. ‘Do you livehere?’
‘Nope, I live there.’ He takes a hand off the steering wheel to point to a darkened building on the other side of the driveway that looks like it must be a garage turned into a flat. ‘My mum lives here.’
‘Your mum? You live on your mum’s driveway?’
‘I live in a converted garage annexe that’s also my workshop and happens to be on the grounds of my mum’s property. Totally my own place which is also conveniently close should my family need anything.’
That’s actually surprisingly sweet. With a fractured family of my own, I’m just thinking how much I like how family-orientated Raff is when a realisation hits. ‘Wait… your mum? We’re not having dinner with your mum, are we?’
‘Of course not.’ The words sound alarmingly sarcastic as he bypasses two other cars in the driveway and stops in a spaceoutside the garage-flat. ‘My sister and her family are coming too, by the looks of it.’
‘What?’ Immediate panic sets in. ‘I can’t go for dinner with your family! I can’t hold utensils, Raff! I can’t use a knife and fork! I can’t eat in public! Dardenne public, at that!’
‘Oh, don’t worry, we keep our horns and cloven hooves hidden at meal times.’ He turns the engine off, unbuckles his seatbelt, and opens the door.
‘I didn’t mean it in that way.’ I scramble out too. ‘I meant that I barely know you. I had no intention of meeting your family. Why didn’t you tell me?’
He meets my eyes across the car rooftop. ‘Because you’d have said no and I wanted you to say yes.’
It makes me feel warm, and I appreciate his honesty, even though I would’ve appreciated the chance to say no too.
‘Look, there’s no better way of recovering lost Christmas spirit than meeting my mum. She’s Mrs Claus personified. I told her about you, about the accident, and she insisted on meeting you. When my mum insists on something, there’s no option in the matter.’
The car beeps as he locks it and walks towards his own flat. ‘Come in for a second, I need to strip these overalls off and she’ll crucify us if we don’t wash our hands.’ He glances at my splint. ‘Or wash one hand and wet-wipe the other.’
Before we get a chance, there’s a hammering behind us, and a little girl is silhouetted in the window of the big house, waving wildly.
Raff waves back. ‘That’s my niece, Sofia. You’ll meet her in a minute.’
I try not to panic. The thought of meeting his family fills me with fear, especially now, when I feel so incompetent and unlike my usual self. The broken fingers have knocked my confidence, as well as my ability to do most things, and I am so utterlyunprepared for this. What if they hate me? Two weeks ago, I would have been fine with being hated by Raff’s family, but now, it seems vital that we get along.
I don’t get enough of a chance to look around Raff’s flat. ‘No Christmas decorations?’
‘My mum has enough Christmas decorations to decorate thirty towns. I spend most of my time over there, it doesn’t make sense to put them up in here as well.’ He jerks a thumb towards what must be a bedroom. ‘Gimme a sec to get out of these. Make yourself at home.’ He turns lights on as he goes and leaves me to poke around.
It seems like an annexe built onto a garage and the original garage is still behind it somewhere. There’s no upstairs, just a living room and a kitchen, and when I poke my head into a doorless hallway, there’s a bathroom, and another door with a big sign in child’s crayon writing that reads, ‘Uncle Raff’s Top-Secret Workshop. Keep Out!’ and has a colourful drawing of a snow globe on it. I feel an almost unfamiliar urge to go and have a prod around and see if I can uncover his snow globe secrets, and I’m almost relieved when Raff returns before I’ve had a chance to creep down the hallway and at least see if the door is open.
When we’ve both cleaned ourselves up, he invites me to step outside and places a warm hand on my back, guiding me gently across the driveway and along the path up to the front door.
