Calling Mrs Christmas Read online

  ‘What was lunch like?’ The servery was at the end of the hall.

  ‘Shit,’ Rozzer said.

  The education programme might be decent, but the food was never going to win any Michelin stars.

  ‘Here.’ Jim palmed a bar of Dairy Milk that he had in his pocket and passed it discreetly to Smudge. He’d bought it for the lads when he’d filled up with petrol at the garage on his way into work. It was against the rules, of course. But then this whole place was born of broken rules. ‘Share it.’

  Smudge’s eyes lit up. ‘Thanks, Jim.’

  Jim remembered those wide blue eyes when Smudge had first come to Bovingdale. They showed his terror at being banged up alongside relief that someone had rescued him from the streets. It was drummed into officers that they should at all times keep a professional barrier between themselves and the lads. A psychological process went on in any prison known as ‘conditioning’, where prison officers were sucked into personal relationships with the inmates. Sometimes it could be deliberate, sometimes it was subconscious, but it invariably ended in boundaries being crossed. For the last ten years Jim had managed to avoid being drawn to any of the prisoners, but it was hard to keep your distance when you got to know them the way he knew Rozzer and Smudge.

  At times the unit was so under-staffed that it was impossible to find time to get to know individuals. Sometimes they were inside for only six-week stints and it was hard enough to remember their names then. These two were different, though. They’d been in Bovingdale a while and they were both good lads. They toed the line and tried to keep out of trouble. That was a big ask. Encouraged by Jim, both had been signed up to the Listener Scheme, which was a peer-support programme run by the Samaritans to give prisoners someone to talk to if they were in need. Even with Bovingdale’s good record, the level of attempted suicide was shockingly high. Someone was always trying to hang himself. With Christmas coming, it always got worse.

  Rozzer had been trained as a listener for some time now. He was a bright boy, cocky, but level-headed beneath his bravado. He was solid, having learned how to stay out of the way of trouble. If all the prisoners were like that, it would make Jim’s life a lot easier. Rozzer and Smudge had become even closer since the younger lad had spent so much time availing himself of the Listener Scheme. Despite his repeated warnings to himself, Jim had warmed to them and in a way had taken both of them under his wing. They were both due out soon and he hoped that he wouldn’t see them back at Bovingdale again. At the same time, he’d actually miss them.

  Then the siren sounded and a bunch of officers charged along the corridors. Jim felt himself sigh inside. Someone had kicked off again. The whole place was a tinderbox and it often took only a very minor or perceived slight to ignite it. A fellow officer, Dan, stuck his head out of the Control Room. ‘Dirty protest on the top.’ He cast his eyes heavenward. ‘Shit up the walls.’

  Rozzer and Smudge gave Jim a sympathetic glance. Soon they’d be on lock-down while it was cleared up.

  Sometimes Cassie complained that he didn’t talk to her about his job but on days like this Jim wondered what on earth he could say.

  Chapter Eight

  I’m hardly back from Mrs Ledbury’s cottage when my phone rings again. ‘Calling Mrs Christmas!’ I answer, trying to sound like a chirpy little Christmas elf.

  On the other end of the line is a small company from the local industrial estate. They want me to buy and wrap gifts for all of their thirty staff. They’ve had a good year and want to give them a surprise Christmas treat. I like the sound of a company that does that rather than dishing out redundancy notices at Christmas as so many of them tend to do now.

  We sort out a budget and talk about the kind of gifts that they want and they agree to email me a list of their employees’ names so that I can individually address the gift cards. I thank them for their business and then dash to my trusty computer to see what I can source. For the ladies, I decide on some gorgeous handmade chocolates from a little shop in the Old Town. For the men, I find a limited-edition bottle of wine and manage to source it from an independent retailer also in the Old Town. Back in the car.

  I race to Paper Roses, a shop that I’ve always loved, to buy my first industrial-quantity batch of luxury wrapping paper, tags and bows, and double-sided tape. All the things that my internet tutorial told me were essential to make it look high-end. I load everything into my boot. While I’m out, I grab some salmon to grill for dinner and a pack of pre-prepared veg. Such decadence!

  When Jim comes home, I’m sitting on the living-room floor with gift wrapping and presents spread out all around me. I’ve got bright red and green paper with silver ribbons and bows. I’m trying to do all my corners neatly as I learned on YouTube, ‘fingerpress’ all my folds so that they lie flat and I’m doing invisible sticking with my double-sided tape. Who knew there was so much to it? I always thought my present wrapping was pretty hot. Now I realise I was a mere amateur. But not any more.

  ‘Wow,’ he says. ‘You’ve been busy.’

  ‘Second job of the day,’ I tell him, my excitement bubbling over. ‘I went to write some Christmas cards this morning for an elderly lady. I’m going back to dress her tree in a couple of weeks when it’s nearer to Christmas. And now this.’ I gesture at the mess. ‘Thirty prezzies for the staff down at Aveco on the industrial estate.’

  ‘Lucky staff. They look very impressive.’

  ‘You think so?’ I glow a little with pride. I’m quite pleased with them myself, I have to admit.

  ‘More importantly, you look as if you’re enjoying yourself.’

  ‘If I can make any money at this, then it’s quite possibly my dream job. It doesn’t even feel like work.’

  ‘Organising the pants off stuff and all things Christmas. Sounds like you’ve struck gold,’ Jim agrees. ‘How many weeks are there to the big day?’

  ‘Not enough.’

  ‘Is it going to be like this all the time from now on?’ He throws a despairing look at the flat.

  ‘I hope so,’ I admit. ‘I’m going to try to get these all wrapped up tonight, so that I can drop them off tomorrow. I want to stun them with my über-efficiency.’

  ‘So my intentions of ravishing you on the rug in front of the gas fire will have to wait?’

  I laugh. ‘Maybe later. Come and give me a kiss.’

  ‘I’m a bit stinky,’ Jim says. ‘You might want to wait until I’ve had my shower.’

  ‘Bad day?’

  He shrugs. ‘No more so than usual.’

  I pause in trying to wrestle the wrapping paper into submission and look up at him. ‘You seem quiet.’

  A sigh. ‘Two of the lads that I’ve grown fond of are due to leave shortly. I’m worried about them.’

  ‘You old softie.’

  ‘Yeah,’ he agrees. ‘That’s me.’

  ‘Rozzer and Smudge?’ Jim doesn’t talk much about his work but these names have cropped up more regularly over the past months.

  He nods. ‘They’re just kids, Cassie, and they’ll be turfed out onto the streets right before Christmas with very little support. They’ll have to sink or swim on their own merits. I hope for their sakes that they don’t end up back in the unit.’

  ‘They’re repeat offenders?’

  ‘They’ve both been in already. Sometimes, even with all the downsides, it can be easier on the inside. At least someone keeps you warm, feeds you and gives you medicine when you’re ill. Out in the big bad world, you’re on your own.’

  ‘No family?’

  ‘I suspect it’s because of their families that they’re in there. At least in one of the cases.’

  ‘Nothing you can do to help?’

  ‘You know me,’ Jim says, his voice weary. ‘I’d bring half of them home if I could. Some are lost causes who’ll never be any bloody use to society, but others just need a chance to change their lives.’

  ‘It’s a hard time to be out on your own, just before Christmas.’

 
; ‘I know,’ Jim says. ‘It’s hard any time, but it does seem worse then somehow.’

  ‘Need a drink tonight?’

  ‘It wouldn’t go amiss. Have we got anything?’

  We always used to keep a few beers on hand, maybe have a wine box on the go, but we’ve stopped all that.

  ‘I got a great deal on this wine,’ I tell him, holding up a bottle. ‘So I got one for us too.’

  A long and grateful breath leaves his lips. ‘You’re a star.’

  ‘I think my first day back at work being gainfully employed is a cause for celebration. We deserve a bit of a treat.’

  ‘You’re my clever girl,’ he says.

  ‘I love you,’ I say, suddenly teary. ‘I know I’ve only done two little things, but already I feel better about myself. I’ve got a reason to get up every morning.’

  ‘You’re my reason to get up every morning,’ he tells me and I know in my heart that he means it sincerely. ‘And as soon as I’ve had my shower, I’m going to show you my everlasting gratitude.’

  ‘What does that involve?’

  He wiggles his eyebrows. ‘You’ll have to wait and see.’

  ‘I’m not sure that I can.’

  ‘I won’t be long.’ Jim disappears towards the bedroom, stripping off his sweatshirt as he goes.

  Before I turn back to my wrapping, I notice that there’s a weary slump to his shoulders. He’s got a lot on his mind, I can tell, and he’s been such a brilliant support to me in my hour of need. I promise myself that this year I’ll do all that I can to make Christmas truly wonderful.

  Chapter Nine

  Then I have a week or so when nothing much happens. I get a couple of calls about organising catering for Christmas events and I do my quote speedily and efficiently, but never hear back from either of them. I begin to wonder if I’ve made a terrible mistake. Is money so tight for everyone that people are cutting back this year rather than splashing out on the luxury of a Christmas concierge? I try to hold the faith, but faced with a silent phone and an empty diary, it’s tough. I start to scour the job ads in the local paper once more.

  Jim is nothing but encouraging. ‘It’ll kick in,’ he assures me. ‘You wait and see.’

  And he’s right. Just as my knees are getting really shaky and I’m checking the bank statement online every day, October clicks over into November and my telephone goes mad. It never stops ringing from morning until night. I’ve got trees to dress, presents to buy and wrap, cards to write, cakes to bake. All the things that you’d do for your own Christmas, just multiplied by a million. I had no idea when I started that the business could be so busy, but I’m really delighted that it is.

  I’ve taught Jim how to do calligraphy too and we both spend most of our nights writing out cards. Most of them are for small businesses that want their Christmas greetings to look more personalised than sending out printed ones with mass-produced labels. Nice touch.

  I glance up at Jim. He’s sitting with the coffee table in front of him, cards spread out. I’ve bribed him with a glass of whisky and he pauses to take a sip. He can feel my eyes on him and stops dead, looking guilty. ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing,’ I laugh. ‘I just really appreciate you helping me so much.’

  ‘No worries. I quite enjoy it. Doing this fancy writing is surprisingly relaxing. My twiddles are coming along a treat.’ He takes a moment to admire said ‘twiddles’. ‘Who would have thought that Calling Mrs Christmas! would take off so quickly? What will it be like when we hit December and people realise how close we are to Christmas?’

  ‘I had a heartsink moment when I thought it wouldn’t work,’ I admit.

  ‘I knew you could do it.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be able to manage without you.’

  The intercom goes and I abandon my cards to go over and see who it is. ‘Only me,’ a voice says when I press the button.

  ‘Come in!’ Seconds later, I open the door to the flat and Gaby breezes in.

  ‘Mince pies,’ she says. ‘Loads of them.’

  ‘Ten dozen, I hope.’

  They’ve been freshly baked for an event run by Hemel Hempstead Means Business trade organisation. They’re having a Christmas launch party tomorrow evening for local businesses and retailers. Yours truly is going to decorate the room I’ve hired for them at the Old Town Hall and provide champagne, mulled wine and mince pies. It’s my first proper event and I have to say that I’m quite nervous about it. When I was a secretary, I organised a lot of drinks-and-nibbles affairs so I shouldn’t be too worried. But now they all seem very low-key compared to this. Tomorrow’s event is for over a hundred of the town bigwigs and I want it to be fabulous. My own business will be very much on show and, if it goes well, it could generate a lot more leads for me.

  ‘All present and correct,’ Gaby says, holding up a box. ‘My poor oven doesn’t know what’s happening. These are just a sample.’ She proffers her mince pies. ‘The rest are in the car. I thought we could switch them over to your car rather than lug them up here. I’ve got the two Christmas cakes you wanted too. They’ve turned out nice.’

  I kiss her cheek and then peek into the box she’s brought. ‘The mince pies look gorgeous.’

  They’re golden brown and dusted with icing sugar. I know from past experience that Gaby’s pastry is always light and crisp. She says the secret is adding ground almonds to the mix and who am I to argue with that? ‘Good enough to eat?’

  ‘I did put in an extra three for us so we could have them with a cup of tea. We have to road-test them, don’t we?’

  ‘That is why I love you and am happy to call you sister.’

  ‘Wait till you see my invoice.’

  ‘Make sure you’ve covered all your costs,’ I insist. ‘This is a business and they’ve been quite generous with their budget. I don’t want any of us to be out of pocket. It might be the season of goodwill but we’re in this for the cold, hard cash.’ We both have a giggle at my newfound, ruthlessly commercial streak.

  ‘Listen to you,’ Gaby chuckles. ‘You sound like flipping Lord Sugar.’

  It’s true that I have to keep reminding myself that it’s a business as I’d happily do all this for nothing. I love it! Being Mrs Christmas has definitely released my inner Christmas elf, I think. ‘You’re still all right to come along and help me tomorrow night?’

  ‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world.’

  ‘Go in and see Jim while I put the kettle on. He’s busy addressing Christmas cards.’

  ‘He’s such a saint.’

  ‘Tell me about it. I couldn’t have done any of this without him. His calligraphy is coming on a treat and he’s had a couple of lessons on cupcake decorating.’

  ‘Have you sold lots?’

  ‘More than I ever thought and I don’t think that the busy period has even kicked in yet.’

  The shops this year seem to have been later starting than normal. Most of them are only just getting into gear with their displays and special offers. The supermarkets are setting up their arrays of Christmas goodies. Which is nice. There’s nothing worse than when Christmas starts in July. I think a good, brisk sprint to the finish line is the way to go. Plus I’m thinking of all those lovely people who are totally disorganised and will be picking up the phone to me during the last week before the twenty-fifth.

  ‘It’s amazing how this has taken off this week,’ Gaby says.

  ‘I know. I wish I’d thought of it years ago.’

  All that wasted time when I was frightened to take a risk. Bizarre that I had to wait to be made redundant before I had the courage to try out my wings.

  ‘Do you need a hand getting ready tomorrow? I finish work at one,’ Gaby says.

  ‘I should be OK. I’m going to get everything organised in the morning and I can start setting up the room at two. The reception doesn’t start until six, so that should leave plenty of time.’

  ‘You know where I am if you need me. Both of the kids are going to play with Sylvia’s two down the
road straight from school, so I’m a child-free zone for a couple of hours. Ryan can always pick them up when he comes home.’

  ‘I might take you up on your offer then.’

  I wish you could see our spare bedroom. It’s an avalanche of paper. There are spreadsheets for just about everything. The last thing I want to do is drop a ball when it’s my job to be organised. This has taken over our entire lives and I know that it will be all hands to the pump for the next two months. Perhaps when we’re done Jim and I could take a little holiday somewhere. Even if it’s just a weekend break in this country, that would do. This flat has felt like a prison over the last nine months. There are times when I think that I could have gone mad just sitting staring at these four walls. Well, all that’s changed now. Thank goodness for Christmas!