Martin and Celia were successful but discreet members of the Oxford Orpington Set. Martin, although living semi-retired in the country, still needed to cultivate his Hedge in the City. Celia, on the other hand, was a character from A Fish called Wanda. Frightfully British, terribly on it, but just not terribly aware.
“Should we go? It’s only two days before Christmas.”
“Have to darling, all the important people will be there. Come on, it’s Paris!”
“Much as I love Paris, we really can’t just leave the kids. What about Christmas?”
“The kids will be fine. Marsha is perfectly sensible. Besides, we’ll be back on Christmas Eve.”
Thus, are words spoken in haste to repent at leisure.
Marsha was nonchalant at first.
“Fine, Mum – whatever.”
“I need you to be at home to look after the others.”
“Babysitting rates then?”
Celia sighed.
“It is Christmas, darling.”
“Sure, it is. But it’s your choice to abandon us.”
The others did not really catch on until the following morning.
“Where’s Mum?” asked Johnny, aged 13, who surfed every opportunity to escape household life into his own world and preferably beyond.
“They’ve gone to Paris. Where were you?”
“On the Xbox, silly,” squeaked Millie, the youngest and the cheekiest by her estimation.
Johnny rolled his eyes.
“What were you playing?” asked Marsha suspiciously, “something age appropriate I hope?”
“Forza 5 actually. It’s a racing game.”
“Hah!” grunted Stephen, who was also scrolling his phone. “I’m a cod fish.”
Stephen was older than Marsha but – she knew – somewhat on the spectrum.
“I hope not Stephen, you know what Mum says.”
“What are we going to do if they don’t come back?” said Millie.
“They said they would be back tomorrow for Christmas Eve.”
“That’s what they said, but what if they don’t?”
Millie’s words turned out to be prophetic.
Marsha’s phone sparked into life early on Christmas Eve.
“Darling, are you all right?”
“Fine, Mum.”
“And the others?”
“They’re fine, Mum. I got the Shepherd’s Pie out of the freezer.”
“Oh, well done.”
“Where are we in the preparations?”
“Never mind that. – What about you?
“Darling, we are stuck. Absolutely stuck. We can’t leave the hotel. There are climate protestors everywhere. Ugh! The last get together of the great unwashed! Even if the airport is blockaded – not that we can get there.”
“Does that mean you are not coming home for Christmas?”
“We are trying, darling, we really are, but it isn’t looking good.”
Marsha shared the news at the breakfast table as her siblings straggled in.
“Serves them right,” said Stephen.
“How can you say that?”
“It’s their generation that have ruined the planet.”
“Never mind the planet, what about Christmas?”
“We’ll be fine,” said Marsha.
“We haven’t got the tree,” said Stephen, peering temporarily out of his spectrum. “And what about the turkey?”
“Yeh, Marshy, what are we going to do about that?” said Johnny who was gleefully squashing a banana into his Weetabix. “No turkey, no tree!”
“Don’t be silly. Of course, there will be a turkey. And there will be a tree.”
“It’s the end of the world, and not only in cod fish.”
Millie had started to cry.
“I want my mummy!” she wailed.
Timmy the dog picked up the mood and let out a mournful howl.
“Mummy’s not here, Millie. Christmas is up to us now.”
“Just think, Millie,” said Johnny. “You can play Star Stable all day long. I can play Forza 5 and Stephen can play with his cod fish if he wants to.”
“But we can’t do Christmas without Mummy and Daddy,” sniffed Millie.
“Yes, we can,” said Marsha. “It’s not as if we have never done Christmas before.”
Stephen put his phone down.
“OK. What do you want me to do?”
“You and Johnny go to the farm and collect the tree from Mr. Caruthers.”
“But it’s over a mile away!”
“You have wellingtons, just drag it.”
As the boys set off, Johnny stopped outside the shed. There was a glint in his eye.
“You do know how to drive, don’t you?”
“Yeah, sort of, why?”
“Got the keys to Dad’s Land Rover.”
Stephen looked at him warily.
“We can’t take it on the road.”
“But we could take it over the fields and back over the down.”
“What if I dent it?”
“It’s a Land Rover. Dad will never notice.”
For a moment Stephen contemplated the gear box as if he had never played with X-Box or any other such devices.
With a grinding of the gears they set off up the track.
“This is way better than Xbox. Can you drift it?”
The Land Rover slid wildly across the field, accompanied by shrieks of delight and a revving engine.
“Will you let me drive it?”
“Not on your nelly!”
“Oh, come on. I won’t dent it.”
The tree was brought back to the house in record time.
“That was fast.”
“We ran,” said Stephen, smirking. “Johnny very nearly wet himself.”
“No, I didn’t. If anyone wet themselves, it was you.”
“Get back to Forza 5!”
“Cod fish!”
“Oh, honestly, you two!” said Marsha. “How are going to get this tree to stay up!”
“Der,” said Stephen, “let’s hook it to the bannister.”
“Oh, brother of mine! You are so handy with a piece of string.”
“I may be on the spectrum, but-”
Marsha had finally taken charge of the string and scissors when Millie came running into the living room.
“That was Mum! – They are not going to get home in time….”
Millie’s face crumpled, and she began to cry.
Marsha tried to give her a big sisterly hug; instead, she managed to prick her with the scissors.
But it was the anarchist in Johnny that really set her off.
“Ah, poor diddums! Give a dog a bone!
Going to spend Christmas Home Alone!”
“Oh, shut up, Johnny, and let her speak. Did Mum say anything else?”
“Yes. She said to make sure that we got the presents to everyone.”
“Everyone?”
“Yes, everyone in the village. They’re in a box under the stairs. The wrapping paper is there, too.”
“Well, we can do that together, can’t we, Millie?” said Marsha, wiping away a tear.
“I suppose so…”
There were several boxes under the stairs, but the first one seemed obvious to the girls as it contained wine.
“This looks like a very nice present, I must say,” said Marsha.
“Chateau Palmer 2005,” said Johnny, picking up a bottle and pretending to be Dad peering over his spectacles.
“Did you say Palm oil?” asked Stephen.
“No Stephen, not Palm oil. It’s a red wine from France.”
“Wonder what the carbon footprint is on that… According to this app…”
“Oh, do stop it!”
“What’s for supper?”
“No idea, go and look in the freezer.”
They finished wrapping the bottles, and then set out in scarves and coats in the last light of the day to deliver them to each house in the village.
Timmy barked with delight as he was let off the lead. Four Holier than Thou Wise Men following in his wake.
“Lovely, dearie. Thank you so much, and a Happy Christmas,” said Mrs. Mayweather at the last house. “Would you like to come in for a mince pie?”
Mince pies would not cut it, but a chocolate brownie did the trick.
Mrs. Mayweather bashed out a couple of carols on the piano, and they sang lustily but in discomfort while Timmy spread mud all through her house.
Back at home after a feast of frozen burgers and chips heated up in the oven, they squabbled over the TV remote but eventually settled down to watch Macauley Culkin grappling with extinction in Home Alone.
“Pity we haven’t got any burglars,” said Stephen.
Johnny wasn’t so sure.
“Watcha doin’, kid?” said Stephen in a corny American accent as Johnny opened the back door into the yard.
“It’s going to freeze tonight,” said Johnny.
Johnny walked out into the yard and stuffed an old tea-towel into the drain.
“What are you doing, dude?”
“You’ll see.”
Johnny turned the tap on, and they went back in to watch the rest of the movie.
When the movie was over, however, Millie didn’t want to go to bed. She wanted to stay up and watch the next one, which was called Bad Santa.
“Anyway,” she said, “Santa doesn’t exist.”
“Yes, he does.”
“No, he doesn’t.”
“Of course, he does. But he won’t come if you don’t go to bed. Don’t you agree, boys?”
“Yes, he does exist,” said Johnny. “Unfortunately, he is very bad.”
Christmas day arrived with a bing, bong and a bang.
“Santa’s been!” shouted Millie, charging into her sister’s bedroom.
Sure enough, every child had a stocking filled with gifts, trinkets and chocolate. Even Marsha who had snuck into all the rooms as the substitute Santa Johnson.
After they had emptied them all out and picked over the various gifts as well as consuming a chocolate Santa in Timmy’s stocking, they rushed downstairs to the tree which had slumped over in the night like a drunk uncle Toby. But its hastily strung lights still twinkled merrily, and there were gifts underneath, courtesy of the substitute Santa who had found them, under instructions, at the back of Dad’s wardrobe among the shoe boxes and cricket gear.
“Wow – Christmas is really here!” shouted Millie, forgetting that her parents definitely weren’t.
“What’s next?”
“Christmas Lunch, but you all have to help me.”
“Ok, but can we give the sprouts a miss?”
“Skating….” whispered Johnny.
“What do you mean skating?”
“I flooded the yard last night.”
“Did you turn the tap off…?”
Johnny suddenly went red.
They rushed to the back door.
The yard was now a smooth frozen rink. The tap was still glugging away, and water had flooded down the drive.
“Brilliant. Let’s get the skates!”
But Marsha was not having it.
“Turkey first,” she said, arms folded like an aspiring Master Chef.
After consulting Siri (Millie), the turkey was stuffed (Johnny and Millie) and placed safely in the oven (Stephen, Millie and Marsha), the timer was set (Stephen, Millie and Marsha); they all strapped on their skates and went out into the yard.
The boys had taken the Brussel Sprouts with them, and they now entertained themselves by hurling them at each other and the girls until Millie started screaming and Marsha got cross, which set Timmy off. He ran around barking, then squatted in the middle of the yard.
“Timmy, did you have to?”
“Mum and Dad will have a bit of a job getting up the drive,” said Johnny, suddenly remembering the tap. “Perhaps it will have melted tomorrow.”
Marsha had suddenly noticed the Land Rover.
“Why is the Land Rover parked in the field?” she asked.
“Search me,” said Johnny. “Shall we take it for a spin?”
“Certainly not,” replied Marsha, “unless of course I’m driving.”
They all piled into the Land Rover, and Timmy hopped onto Millie’s lap. Then mischievous Johnny insisted on tickling Millie who squealed with laughter; which only set Timmy off again.
“Stop it, Johnny! I can’t hear myself think.”
“More likely you can’t find first gear,” said Stephen. “You’ve got to feel it, Marsha!”
“Yes, Marsha, feel it!”
“Don’t be so disgusting, Johnny!”
“Yes, Johnny, can’t you let Marsha drive.”
Eventually, Marsha found the tipping point between clutch release and gear, and they shot off up the hill with the engine straining under its revolutions. From afar the Land Rover looked like it might have been in a sheep herding trial without the critical element – the sheep. It spun and slalomed across the field amid shrieks, barks and shouts until Marsha decided that was quite enough excitement for one day, and they headed back to the yard. As they swung passed the hedge, at the corner of the garden, Marsha dinked the wheel. There was a loud crunch under the car.
“Oh, no!” cried Stephen.
“You ran over Cyril!” wailed Millie. “Dad will be so upset!”
“Did I? How very careless of me.”
Then the Land Rover hit the ice. – It slid until it hit the brick wall by the gate with a crunch.
“Oh, Marshy!” said Stephen, not without a hint of glee in his voice.
“Serves you right,” said Millie. “Cyril’s got his own back!”
As senior responsible child Marsha blushed deeply but said nothing. She climbed out to inspect the damage to the Land Rover’s bumper and then the garden gnome.
Cyril had lost most of his head and much of his torso.
“Never mind, Marshy,” said Johnny. “We can always say we were just trying to get out.”
Marsha had nothing to say to that. Fortunately, lunch was ready.
The menu read:
Turkey, roast potatoes, spaghetti sauce, broccoli and ketchup.
“What a feast!” exclaimed Stephen.
“Better than Mum’s,” said Millie, tipping the ketchup over her broccoli.
They pulled the crackers, put on the hats and told all the terrible jokes terribly badly. And Stephen sneaked a beer out of the fridge.
Then the phone rang.
“Nearly there, darling. We have landed at Heathrow,” said Mum.
They all looked at each other.
“The Land Rover!”
They all ran outside; Stephen beat Marsha and climbed into the driving seat.
“I’ll drive this time,” he said with an ironic leer at his sister who blushed again.
“I’m never going to live that down, am I?”
The Land Rover started no problem! Then with a little bit of rocking and slithering Stephen drove across the yard and into the shed.
“Dad will notice.”
“No, he won’t.”
They cleared lunch and were about to settle down to a film when Johnny found more Brussel Sprouts.
One sailed over the kitchen table and bounced off Marsha’s head.
“Sod off, Johnny!”
Timmy chased the second one into a pile of washing in the utility room.
“JOHNNY…!!”
“…skating!”
And he was gone.
The others came out to join him on the yard rink until the cold got to them and they had all had enough.
“I know, let’s light a fire and have some crumpets and jam.”
“Yeah! – What about chestnuts?”
Dusk fell gently through the crisp air, the trees shimmering in the last light.
“That was such a fun Christmas day!” declared Marsha from the window. “They should go away more often.”
The phone rang.
“Never mind that, they are back.”
“Darling, the Volvo is stuck at the bottom of the drive – it’s a complete ice sheet – we can’t get up.”
“No problem, Stephen can get the Land Rover out and come and get you.”
“Oh, I am not sure that’s a good idea. Does he know how to drive it?”