I Wish It Could Be Christmas Every Day - Milly Johnson Page 0,104

of resignation on a sheet of Figgy Hollow headed paper that she’d found in the drawer of the dressing table.

26th December

Dear Mr Butterly

Please will you take this letter as notice of my resignation. I realise that I do have to work a notice period but have holidays untaken which could be offset against it, so I would like to be released at your earliest convenience in order to enable me to start my new position.

I have greatly enjoyed my time at Butterly’s and wish you and the company all the very best for the future.

Yours sincerely

Mary H.C. Padgett.

It was straight and to the point, no emotional content. She wouldn’t waste any more of that on Jack Butterly.

* * *

Everyone was singing ‘The Twelve Days of Christmas’ along to the radio when Jack walked back into the lounge carrying first, a plate of warmed mince pies, then on his second trip, the pan of cider and a ladle. Someone had got the glass cups out in readiness from behind the bar.

‘Come on Jack, join in for the last bars,’ said Luke. ‘We’re all singing a line clockwise round. Five go-hold riiinnngggsss.’

Robin covered his ears. Luke really did have the most appalling singing voice.

‘…And a partridge in a pear tree,’ they all sang together, Jack included, and applauded themselves.

‘We thought we’d build up a bit of a thirst,’ said Robin.

‘And some more facts about Christmas that you might not be aware of,’ said Radio Brian. ‘Did you know that Boxing Day gets its name from the money collected in boxes in churches to give to the poor on this day? And servants were allowed to go home after they’d looked after their employers on Christmas Day and these rich people would box up presents for them to take to their families, although hopefully no jellied fruits.’ Brian laughed heartily and Jack thought that he was pushing this jellied fruits joke too far now.

‘…And tradition has it you should eat at least one mince pie on each of the twelve days of Christmas for luck.’

‘I like that idea,’ said Charlie.

‘…And Rudolf’s red nose could be the result of a parasitic infection of his respiratory system.’

‘Brian, that’s gross,’ Bridge wrinkled her nose up in revulsion.

‘How can a fictional reindeer have a parasitic infection?’ asked Luke. ‘It’s like saying Snow White has crabs.’

‘Dirty bint,’ said Robin. ‘I always thought she seemed too whiter than white to be true.’

‘I’m sure this cider has grown more potent overnight,’ said Bridge, taking a glug. ‘For the record, I’m not complaining.’

Luke bowed in his seat. ‘Thank you, madam.’

‘Are you going to be doing a Plant Boy mulled drinks range then, Luke?’ asked Mary.

‘I very much doubt it. It’s all about getting healthier and I’m not sure my diet over the past few days fits in with the Plant Boy manifesto.’

‘Well I feel the best I have in ages,’ said Charlie. He certainly matched his claim with his pink cheeks and bright eyes; even his hair seemed thicker and lusher. Sitting regally in the armchair, he looked every inch the subject of a Renaissance portrait in oils.

‘How many of you listeners have popped the question at Christmastime, or even got married at Christmas?’ asked Radio Brian. ‘I married my wife in the heat of August’s blaze, hoping for a guarantee of good weather but it absolutely threw it down with rain. We were drenched.’

‘Bridge and I got married at Christmas,’ said Luke.

‘Did you? And was it lovely and romantic?’ asked Robin.

‘Depends what your definition of romantic is,’ said Bridge. ‘The registrar had a really snotty cold and Luke’s foster grandad couldn’t find his braces and his trousers kept falling down.’

‘My suit came from a supermarket, Bridge’s dress came from the PDSA charity shop.’

‘I made my bouquet from plastic flowers bought in Poundstretcher.’

‘We had our reception in the Little Mermaid fish and chip shop. Six of us. Us two, the best man, my foster dad, foster mum and her father.’

‘We went to a beautiful hotel in Matlock for our one-night honeymoon, which Luke’s lot paid for.’ The bed was enormous. Enough room for an orgy, Bridge remembered Luke saying as they sat in it drinking house champagne and eating complimentary popcorn.

‘It was a bloody brilliant wedding,’ said Luke. ‘Snow fell like confetti when we were having the pics taken outside; the Salvation Army were playing carols and we washed the fish and chips down with pots and pots of tea and a bottle of their finest Liebfraumilch. God, we felt so