Christmas at the Cupcake Café

It got quite blurry after that, but he’d made it back to the hotel in one piece. It wasn’t an evening he was particularly proud of. Great. Happy Christmas. And here he was, awake at an ungodly hour of the morning and all by himself. Brilliant. Well done, Austin, with your great new successful life and new successful career. It’s all working out brilliantly. Well done.

He guessed he’d better go and get Darny. His PA hated him, it was clear; fortunately this was fine by him and he’d already put in for an urgent transfer for Janet, whose only son lived in Buffalo. Still, MacKenzie had asked him if he wanted any Christmas shopping done; apparently this was normal behaviour from support staff. So he’d asked her to get what she thought a fourteen-year-old boy would like (Darny wasn’t even twelve yet, but Austin figured this would probably suit him) and she had come back with a pile of gift-wrapped shapes that she had thrown on his desk, so he didn’t actually have the faintest clue what Darny was getting for Christmas. But the subways were running all day, so he was heading out to Queens to see Marian. It seemed on the one hand absolutely ludicrous that he was spending Christmas Day with his ex’s mother. On the other, she’d assured him that they didn’t do Christmas, that they would be eating Chinese food in a restaurant and they were quite welcome to sit on the sofa watching movies in their pyjamas all afternoon, which compared to Merv’s exhausting schedule of party games and family in-jokes sounded just the tonic. He hauled himself out of bed and took a very, very long bath.

It was definitely droplets of steam on his face, he told himself. He absolutely and positively wasn’t crying.

‘Only to bring you peace …’

The song was playing again on the radio. Issy had peeled four thousand potatoes and was about to start on three thousand carrots. But she didn’t mind really. There was something about the repetition of the work, and the forced bonhomie of the DJ, who was, presumably, at work on Christmas Day all by himself, and the sweet familiarity of the songs – ones you liked (Sufjan) and ones you didn’t (Issy was done with travelling spacemen). Then she switched channels and listened to the boys singing carols from King’s, even though listening to the boys made her think of Darny and even though Darny actually hated to sing anyway.

The turkey was glistening and turning golden in the oven, along with a beautiful glazed ham; the Brussels sprouts were ready to go, as was the red cabbage. She had tins of goose fat to make the best roast potatoes, and was planning on whipping up a fabulous pavlova for dessert; she liked to get the meringue just right. So everything was ticking over perfectly. Fine. Lovely.

At eleven, everyone started to file in; first Pearl, who had been up for a long time, and who immediately put on her pinny and wanted to clean. Issy tried to stop her. Louis was dancing along in her wake, full of chatter about church and the sweets the minister had given him and the singing and how Caroline had come to pick them up in her BIG CAR (‘I like you more now I saw your car,’ he had announced, to Pearl’s utter horror, but Caroline had, amazingly, laughed it off and rumpled Louis’ tight curls); then all Ashok’s family had piled in, and Issy regretted immediately making all the vegetarian food, or indeed any food at all given the sheer heft that they had brought, and everything in the kitchen downstairs took on a spicier, more unusual tang and Caroline opened the first bottle of champagne.

Then, first things first, everyone scuffled around quickly under the tree so they could put out each other’s gifts. Then everyone went very shy and said you first, no, you first, but actually it was totally obvious that it should be Louis first, so Issy went in and found his packages and hauled them out.

‘Well, that’s odd,’ said Helena.

And it was. Because there were five large square packages, all exactly the same size and shape. Louis’ eyes were like saucers.

‘I said Santa would pass by here,’ said Pearl, sending him forward. He ripped into the first one – Pearl’s, with the beautiful silver wrapping and the huge red ribbon.

There was an enormously long pause. Then Louis turned round to his mother, his eyes huge, shining with unspilt tears, his mouth hanging open in shock and amazement.

‘SANTA BWOUGHT ME A MONSTER GARAGE!’

Then everyone looked at the four other, identically shaped parcels, and realised immediately what had happened.

There was one from Issy, who had spent her lunch hour running down to Hamleys and paying a fortune for it. There was one from Ashok and Helena, who had ordered theirs online months ago. One from Caroline, beautifully wrapped. Pearl’s, of course. And the last one Pearl couldn’t figure out at all. Then it dawned on her. It was from Doti. She shook her head in disbelief. She thought it was because everyone loved Louis so much. She didn’t realise that it wasn’t only Louis.

‘Santa’s made a mistake,’ she said, cuddling him. ‘I’m sure we can take the others back.’ She waggled her eyebrows furiously at the others.

‘I believe Santa trades things in for other toys,’ said Issy loudly, digging in her wallet for the receipt. ‘No wonder there was such a shortage.’

Louis didn’t say anything at all. He was lying down right across the shop, oblivious to everyone else, making all the different monster noises and car noises and monster truck noises and talking to each monster in turn. He was completely in everybody’s way. Nobody minded at all.

Pearl slipped off to text Doti. Then she added at the end, ‘pop round if you’re free xx’. Just as she was about to send it, a movement at the window caught her eye. She glanced up. It was Ben, whom she hadn’t seen since that fight. He was looking apologetic, with his hands open.

She went to the door.

‘Hey,’ she said.

‘Hey,’ he said, looking at the ground.

‘Look,’ he said. ‘You were right. I shouldn’t have had that damn garage. I bought it off a bloke in the pub.’

‘Ben,’ said Pearl, bitterly disappointed.

‘But I took it back, all right? I knew it was dodgy. I’m sorry. I’ve been working late shifts. It’s only as a security guard, but it’s work, right? Look, I’m still in my uniform.’

She looked at him. He was.

‘It suits you, that uniform.’

‘Shut up,’ he said, running his eyes up and down the curves of Pearl’s soft old wool dress, the best thing she owned. It still suited her.