I Wish It Could Be Christmas Every Day - Milly Johnson Page 0,99
said her name. He elongated the ‘a’, an ever so slight roll on the ‘r’, the ‘y’ became more of an ‘e’ than an ‘i’. It made her sound like a lady, a countess, someone who wore a crown.
‘And thank you for the Christmas present you gave to me in the office, it was very kind of you,’ he went on. ‘I haven’t opened it yet so I don’t know what it is. It’s waiting at home. I was saving it for Christmas Day.’
She always took ages to source something to give to him for Christmas; this time she’d bought him a travel kit for overnight hotel stays. It was a mini hard-shell suitcase and had an atomiser for cologne, a soap pump, razor, nail clippers, scissors, a styptic pencil, even an emergency flannel that folded into a tiny magic square of material. It was a gift perfectly matched to him.
‘I hope you like it. It took me quite some time to find.’ She couldn’t resist emphasising the trouble she’d taken, the thought.
‘Did you open your present from me?’
‘Yes, thank you.’ Though the least said about that the better. She picked up the plastic guitar, added it to the mule’s load.
‘Remind me, what… what did I buy you for Christmas?’ said Jack then.
He couldn’t even remember. This decision to go was just getting easier and easier, thought Mary as Jack attached the gun holster to the saddle.
‘A tartan shopping bag, a matching headscarf and a box of jellied fruits,’ she said, imbuing the words with contemptuous neutrality.
‘What? Did I?’ said Jack. His mind rewound to the conversation they’d all had about crap Christmas presents and how jellied fruits were right up there with the worst of them. He swallowed. ‘What did I buy you last Christmas, can you remember?’
Did he go shopping in a trance, Mary wondered.
‘Erm… a folding rain hat and a colossal jar of mint imperials,’ she answered him.
‘What?’ His eyebrows were low, knotting together in the middle. ‘And the year before?’
‘A Flowers of the Valley talcum powder trio and a box of clotted cream fudge.’
Jack visualised the presents as if they were laid out in front of him in all their frumpy glory. He let out a long breath of annoyance before speaking again. ‘I’ve never known what to buy you, Mary, so since you came to work for me, I’ve always asked Kimberley to choose your presents on my behalf. She said she knew what you’d like.’
Well that explained it, thought Mary. Bloody Kimberley. She’d always had a chip on her shoulder and she’d climb over everyone to be first in the queue for the coveted position of Jack’s new PA as soon as it became vacant. It might have explained it, but it didn’t excuse it.
Mary picked up the dynamite, balanced it expertly.
‘Your turn, Jack.’
She flicked her eyes up to him and he thought that they really were beautiful: the colour of a blue lagoon with just a hint of green, with thick dark eyelashes. How could he have worked with her for so long and never noticed? How many other things had he missed from seeing only work in his line of vision? He was more of his father’s son than he wanted to be. He should have checked what Kimberley had bought and wrapped for Mary. Actually no, he should have chosen something himself for the woman who gave him the idea for vegan scones, who had the guts to tell him the ones he produced were awful, who reached out to him when his dad had died to comfort him, only for him to snub her, as his father would have done to a ‘silly young thing’.
‘Mary, I promise you, I shall have some severe words with Kimberley when we get back to work. I don’t know what she was thinking of.’
He sounded cross and she was sure he would take Kimberley to task, but she wouldn’t be there to see what she got for a present next year from him.
‘Don’t even give it another thought,’ said Mary sweetly.
‘Gather round everyone, we have a nice pot of tea for you all,’ Charlie announced as Bridge followed him in with a tray and so called a halt to their game. Just as the mule kicked off Jack’s addition of the water canteen, which looked remarkably like the sort of frumpy shopping bag that Kimberley had bought for Mary.
* * *
They all sat around the fire, drinking tea and listening to Radio Brian, who