In the times before paper was widely available, important news was shared on slabs of gingerbread.
I’m not going to the Mistletoe Dance, but somehow Saff’s done my make-up, Mum’s done my hair, and I’ve ended up in my 1950s Audrey Hepburn-style deep green dress.
Once the five-foot-tall nutcrackers were finished on Monday, with fondant eyes, teeth, and moustaches, a Toblerone lever on the back, liquorice whirls for buttons on their jackets, and edible gold decorations on their fondant-black boots, I didn’t want to run into Joss at Mistletoe Gardens, so Mum and Saff took them up to the gingerbread house in exchange for me agreeing to deliver the buffet food to the town hall before the Mistletoe Dance.
And apparently I’m not allowed to attend without blending in with the party atmosphere, so now I’m in the town hall right before the Mistletoe Dance starts, and I look for all the world like I’m going. But I’m not.
‘You will save a dance for me, won’t you, Essie dear?’ Mr Arkins is on a stepladder, using his dino claws to put a pin in a string of festive bunting that keeps making a break for freedom.
‘Oh, I’m not—’
‘I’m old, you know. We never know when our last Mistletoe Dance might be. You wouldn’t leave an old man standing forlornly in the middle of the dance floor, would you?’
Guilt prickles at me and I mumble something that’s neither an agreement nor disagreement.
The town hall is decked out in all its festive glory. There are streamers and foil garlands, and the main lights have been switched for low-light red and green bulbs that cast a festive glow across the room.
‘Oh, Essie, I’m so glad you’re here,’ Lynette says.
‘I was worried you wouldn’t come.’ Beryl embraces me like I’ve been away for three years, not hiding out in the bakery for a couple of days.
I expected my first post-Joss encounter to be full of questions, but none of them mention him, and I carry on setting out mini-sausage rolls, mince pies, and shortbread stars, and when my crates are unloaded, I stack them and go to move, but I’m surrounded.
‘Look at this photo on Instagram.’ Douglas pushes his phone under my nose, and I pull back and blink to focus on a photo of the gingerbread house that some influencer has posted. ‘She’s got 27,000 followers, you know. We might get that many by next year.’
‘Look at this headline, Essie.’ Another phone is pushed towards me, and Mr Chalke reads aloud. ‘Must have this Christmas – giant nutcrackers made of breakfast cereal. Have you ever seen anything like this? A life-size nutcracker you can eat!’ It’s written by an excitable young reporter and he repeats it in the same tone.
‘People have been phoning up to ask if they can book tickets for the Mistletoe Dance! Tickets! Like a real event! Usually it’s just a few of us lot, but looook, cars are already parking on the pavement!’
‘Oh no, that means I’m going to get blocked in. I need to get going…’ I look towards the door. There’s a sea of villagers between me and it, and they’re all thrusting phones and tablets in my direction. I honestly don’t think I’m going to be able to swim through them to escape.
They’re proudly showing social media posts about our gingerbread house, articles about money-hungry councils, and stories of children visiting Santa in the ‘most magical grotto in the UK’.
‘Mervyn’s going to make an announcement tonight,’ Lynette says excitedly.
I want to be here for that. And Mum’s right, it’s not like Joss is going to come. I wouldn’t imagine Joss is going to show his face again until he rocks up in Mistletoe Gardens in January with a fleet of excavators. Unless Mervyn’s announcement tonight says otherwise, and that I want to hear.
There’s something about Christmas that makes it a time for traditions, and coming to the Mistletoe Dance is one of ours. Mum, Saff, and I always come together. So does everyone else from Folkhornton. It’s fun, festive, free, and a nice way of wishing your neighbours a Happy Christmas and saying goodbye to another year in Folkhornton. Dance partners are swapped and you find yourself dancing with anyone and everyone, from elderly gents in dino costumes to tipsy old ladies who have had one too many mulled wines or gone a bit giddy on overexposure to Johnny Mathis’s Christmas classics.
Each dance ends with a peck on the cheek under a bunch of mistletoe, which is hung from the ceiling in a criss-cross pattern, so every available space is covered by a bunch of glossy green leaves and pearly white berries.
And what am I going to do instead – put a Christmas film on TV and eat seventeen times my bodyweight in After Eights and Cadbury’s Roses? Sit there alone, thinking about (a) Joss, or (b) how much fun everyone’s having in the town hall without me? Neither of those options sounds appealing.
‘Oh, good, you’re here,’ Mum says, looking like a Christmas angel in her mid-blue chiffon dress.
‘Why do I think you engineered that, hmm?’
‘Me? Nonsense? The locals haven’t seen you for a couple of days, they had a lot to show you.’
‘And you happen to know that’s how I didn’t manage to zip in and out like I’d planned…’
‘Have you seen Mervyn yet?’ She looks around the room, deliberately ignoring my accusation. ‘Word is there’s an announcement being made tonight about the future of Mistletoe Gardens. You must stay and listen. It’s bound to be good news with the gingerbread house getting so much attention.’
‘So everyone’s saying. And Mervyn did say how much footfall is up, and Folkhornton has been swarming this week. He’d be stupid to push ahead, right?’
‘Well, he certainly won’t be getting a dance under the mistletoe with me if he does, or anything else, for that matter. Rather than post a quiet update on the website, he’s waited until everyone’s gathered together to share the good news. I’m sure of it.’
‘Right. Good.’ Although I’ve barely stopped thinking of Joss since Saturday morning, they’ve been thoughts of anger and feeling sorry for myself, but for the first time, I think about what it will mean for his company if he loses this job. The lads he employs mean the world to him. Will there be another job they can get involved in, or will he be back to square one? If the larger housing firm find out about Joss’s involvement in saving Mistletoe Gardens, will they penalise him for it?
I hadn’t thought of that before. With everything that’s been going on, it’s been easy to get caught up in the lies he told rather than the good he did. That gingerbread house wouldn’t exist without him, but Joss has compromised the guaranteed buy-out of his father’s company to help me with it.
Maybe it doesn’t matter either way. If Mervyn’s announcement is a positive one, then Joss will be leaving in January, and if it isn’t a positive one, then Joss will be demolishing Mistletoe Gardens and then leaving. The last thing I need to do is get any more entangled with the man.
The town hall is filling up rapidly. It’s the kind of Christmas party where there’s something for everyone, for young ’uns who want to dance the night away with a special someone, for the older residents who aren’t mobile enough for dancing any more and want to sit at the tables around the edge of the hall, have some drinks and nibbles, and catch up with their friends, and for people like me, who just want to concentrate on something that isn’t Joss Hallissey and appreciate so many others feeling the joy of Christmas, even when ‘festive’ is the last thing I’m feeling.
Just when I need something to take my mind off Joss, Mr Arkins, who had disappeared for a while, waddles up to me in his dinosaur costume. He’s managed to get a bowtie and a sparkly jacket on, and holds his T-rex arm out. The song is about to change, and I did promise him a dance.
‘This is the busiest Mistletoe Dance I can remember,’ I say as he leads me onto the dance floor. So many people have come that the town hall is at close-to-bursting capacity, and it’s not just locals – people have read about Folkhornton’s Christmas celebrations and turned out in full. There’s even a couple of reporters lurking on the sidelines. Our little local celebration of the mistletoe my great-great-grandmother planted so many years ago is now a newsworthy event.
Mr Arkins nods his dinosaur head but doesn’t otherwise respond.
The song that starts up is ‘Candlelight Carol’, Joss’s favourite Christmas song, and it makes my heart feel like a fist is being squeezed around it. At least Christmas is only once a year because this song is forever going to remind me of him. It’s a slow, touching ballad, and the dance floor around us is filled with happy couples, arms around each other, heads nestled on shoulders, loving looks into each other’s eyes… And here’s me – dancing with an elderly man dressed as a T-rex. Nothing has ever encapsulated my life in a more accurate way.
Usually Mr Arkins is chatty but he’s silent tonight. I know he’s got a wife, but I’ve never seen him with anyone, and if she’s here, she certainly doesn’t seem to mind him dancing with women half his age. Maybe she thinks the costume is enough to put anyone off.
One hand holds mine stretched out in front of us, his dino mitt curled around my fingers, and his other hand respectfully on my elbow, as we twirl around the dance floor, the dino suit so padded that it keeps a respectable distance between us as we dodge other couples who are waltzing to this melodic hymn.
How different tonight would’ve been if Joss was my date. How much I’d been looking forward to dancing with him all night, until our feet burned and our bodies ached and we definitely finished each dance with a kiss beneath the mistletoe.
I miss him. I wish we could go back to how things were a few days ago.
If only we could erase the last few days… No, the last few weeks, so Joss and I could meet again without this thing between us.
That deep, pulling sadness drags at me again, and Mr Arkins’s dino mitt squeezes my fingers like he can sense it.
‘Candlelight Carol’ ends and ‘Where Are You Christmas’ by Faith Hill begins, and Mr Arkins makes no move to dance with anyone else, and I appreciate his kind silence and the time without any expectation on me.
Saff looks like a princess in her deep-pink dress, and has been the recipient of many dance invitations tonight, so when I spot her alone when our fourth song ends, I excuse myself from Mr Arkins, who still hasn’t uttered a single word.
Mr Arkins’s shoulders slump, and somehow, despite being completely hidden inside the costume, he still manages to look disappointed. He lifts a claw like he wants to say something, but no words come out. Something weird is going on here tonight. Everyone in Folkhornton is fairly barmy anyway, but the excitement of Christmas and Mervyn’s upcoming announcement must have sent them all over the edge.
I make my way over to where Saff’s standing by one of the buffet tables. It’s the first time I’ve seen her since this afternoon. ‘You look beauti—’
‘Oh, never mind that!’ She gives me a hug, bouncing us both up and down like she’s going to explode. ‘I’ve got gossip I’m bursting to share and no one else is even vaguely interested! Did you know Mr Arkins and the MMM are married?’
‘Noooooo! No! Seriously?’ My eyes follow Saff’s gaze to where the MMM is on the other side of the room. ‘She’s the wife he’s mentioned? Oh my God, wait until I tell—’ I cut myself off. I can’t tell Joss. I shake my head at myself, annoyed at how desperately I want to tell him. He’ll never believe it.
‘How on earth did you find that out? And why isn’t everyone talking about it?’
‘It’s old news, apparently. Everyone’s known for years.’
‘I haven’t!’
‘I haven’t either!’
‘Are we unwittingly turning into my mother by standing here gossiping like a pair of old biddies?’
‘We might be, but I don’t care.’ She giggles and demolishes another cheese straw. ‘So?’
‘So… what?’ I ask in confusion at the charged tone in her voice, like she’s clearly expecting an answer.
She pushes both eyebrows forward and looks pointedly across the room to where the MMM is talking to an elderly man I’ve never seen before.
The MMM looks so different without her clacking horse head and cart full of clinking bottles. Even from across the room, I can tell her make-up is done perfectly, and she looks pretty in a sparkly silver dress, a world away from the hippy character she embodies most of the time.
‘I told you it was going to happen,’ Saff says.
‘What?’
‘Loooook!’
I look across the room, but I can’t see what she’s on about. ‘Saffie, either you’ve been at the mulled wine or you’re going to need to explain yourself.’
‘The man with MMM! It’s him.’
‘Him who?’ I squint at the man, but I don’t recognise him.
‘It’s Mr Arkins.’
I laugh. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. That’s not Mr Arkins. Mr Arkins is over there.’ I jerk my head over my shoulder. The dinosaur is still hovering at the edge of the dance floor where I left him.
‘He introduced himself just now. MMM had to give me a reviving potion, them being married and him taking his costume off was too much drama all at once.’
‘It can’t be. You’ve definitely been at the mulled wine.’ I laugh again, even though something niggles about the whole thing.
‘No, it really is, Ess.’
‘But if that’s Mr Arkins…’ My finger points at him and then turns slowly towards the dinosaur. ‘Who the hell is that?’
Things start to make sense. The lack of speaking. The movement of a much younger man. I’ve never understood the idea of a red mist before, but I’m suddenly so angry that everything takes on a red sheen and I let out a growl of my own. ‘Three guesses – it starts with “J” and ends with “I’m a tit”.’
I’m already stalking across the dance floor and the man in the dinosaur costume takes a step back warily.
‘Do you think this is funny?’ I demand when I’m standing in front of him, looking up at roughly where his face should be.
The dinosaur shakes its head.
‘I know it’s you, Joss.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he says, muffled inside the dinosaur suit. ‘I didn’t want you to go with a seventy-eight-year-old man dressed as a dinosaur.’
‘So you came as a seventy-eight-year-old man dressed as a dinosaur?’ I fold my arms.
‘I promised to be your date and I didn’t want to break a promise. I just wanted to talk to you, Ess. This wasn’t supposed to go the way it has.’
‘It wouldn’t have gone any way at all if you’d told me the truth from day one. Do you know, I actually felt sorry for you just now? I actually started worrying about what you were going to do. I missed you. I wished I was dancing with you. And I actually was, but it’s another one of your lies. A woman should have a choice about who she dances with, and you knew that if you’d asked, the answer would have been no, so you took that choice away by pretending to be someone else in disguise.’
‘I’m sorry.’ He swallows hard, and I realise I can hear it because the room has gone deathly silent and every eye is on us. ‘I hadn’t thought of it like that. I didn’t mean it in that way.’
‘Take the head off, will you? I’m having an argument with a man dressed as a dinosaur.’
He reaches up until he can lift the dinosaur head from his shoulders. His dark hair is sticking up in all directions, but he doesn’t fix it. He tries to give me a smile but it’s halted by the glare I give him, and he tucks the dinosaur head under his arm.
‘Great, now I’m having an argument with a man holding a giant dinosaur head under his arm,’ I mutter.
‘I was going to speak as soon as we were alone, but I clammed up. I knew you’d walk away if you heard my voice. I’m sorry, it was meant to be a joke – padding in case you hit me. I honestly hadn’t thought about it in that way.’
I make a noise of frustration and Joss shoves a hand through his hair. ‘Please let me explain. This whole thing has gone so wrong, and it was never meant to be this way. Please talk to me, Essie.’
‘Why should I?’
‘I don’t know,’ he says eventually, looking downtrodden and defeated after the amount of time it’s taken him to come up with an answer. ‘Because something happened between us in Mistletoe Gardens? Because I don’t want our December to end like this? Please give me a minute. I made you something.’ He lifts a hand and beckons Mr Arkins over, although he hardly needs to because everyone is hanging on our every word, and Mr Arkins is already returning after collecting something from a side room.
‘Hello, Essie, it’s me,’ he says as he approaches, holding out a… something on a large plate.
‘What is that?’
‘It’s a gingerbread house,’ Joss says and then glances at it again. ‘Well, it was meant to be a gingerbread house. I think we can all agree baking isn’t my strong suit. It’s meant to be a replica of our gingerbread house. I was hoping I’d picked up enough knowledge from you to be able to recreate it. I wanted it to be a reminder, I guess. A way of saying “look what we did together” even though I’ve wrecked everything.’
‘It’s sort of collapsing.’ I go to poke it and then think better of it in case the whole thing crumbles at the slightest touch.
Mr Arkins, who has a shock of Albert Einstein-esque white hair that I’ve never seen before, holds the plate up and to be fair, it’s the saddest looking gingerbread house I’ve ever seen. Although it really is a perfect replica of our gingerbread house, complete with piped roof tiles, peppermint swirls, melted Glacier Mint windows, and a rainbow of gumdrops along the roof. He’s even piped green lines around the door to represent the marshmallow Christmas trees, and made a tiny wreath of gummy bears.
The only problem is that he clearly has no experience of making gingerbread, and the biscuits look much darker than they should be, but they’re also far too soft, so the walls are bowing inwards under the weight of the roof, and the edges are wonky so nothing joins up quite where it should. I didn’t expect it to make me emotional, but I can feel myself melting at the sweetness of this gesture.
‘I didn’t realise it was that bad,’ Joss says gently, and I pat my face to realise tears have leaked from my eyes. I thought I was holding it together better than that.
‘Borrowing the dino suit was my idea,’ Mr Arkins says. ‘Don’t blame Joss. I’ve been thinking about taking it off for a while now, since I spoke to you two in Mistletoe Gardens, and this seemed like the perfect time. I thought it might give you a chance to talk things over. It’s often easier to say things to someone you can’t see.’
I take the gingerbread house from Mr Arkins and he backs away to give us some privacy. ‘What am I supposed to do with this, Joss?’
‘I don’t know. I’d say eat it, but I’m not sure how edible it will be.’
I look down at the forlorn plate in my hands. Eating it definitely doesn’t sound like the best plan.
Joss sighs, and for the first time, I look up into his eyes and they look sadder than ever before, and that desire to hug him is still burning in me. I know this is all his fault, but I still care about him, and I still want to take that sadness away.
‘I’m sorry, Ess.’ He says it so quietly that no one can overhear it. ‘I know I’ve messed up, but I’m begging you to give me another chance. I’ve been feeling… God, I don’t know… something for you. Something’s happened between us… please don’t throw that away because I screwed up. I know I should have told you and I’d do anything to take it back.’
He sounds so sincere, and I’m wavering. The gingerbread house is such a nice gesture. I didn’t realise something so simple would touch me so much, but that’s what Joss is like – little things add up to mean a lot, like a coffee each day. Something that on the surface means very little, but something so kind and caring that shows Joss to be the opposite of his reputation.
I can feel the eyes of everyone in the town hall on me now, waiting with bated breath for me to turn around, pull him into my arms and cry ‘all is forgiven’. I can hear people whispering as the silence goes on. Locals muttering explanations to strangers, residents mumbling between themselves, everyone watching me, expecting a happy ending to this Christmas love story, but it’s all too much.
‘How can I trust you? How can I ever know what was or wasn’t real? How can anyone ever know whose side you were on? Trying to save the gardens while also being the person employed to destroy it. How do I know you weren’t already working for them? How do I know that damage from the rain wasn’t caused by you? How do I know the gingerbread house isn’t yet another thing the council employed you to spirit away in the middle of the night? Because you were right, I didn’t see you lock up that night, but I trusted you’d done it… and you’ve proved that you cannot be trusted.’
He steps backwards like I’ve thumped him. ‘You think that was me?’
‘I didn’t. Everyone else thought it might’ve been, and I defended you. The point isn’t whether you did or didn’t lock up that night – the point is that I will never be able to trust anything you say because I don’t know if you had an ulterior motive.’
‘Essie, I didn’t…’ He stumbles for words, and I can tell I’ve hurt him. He looks crestfallen, and I instantly regret suggesting it. Joss might have lied about some things, but I know he didn’t do that.
‘Excuse me for interrupting?’ Mr Arkins comes over again. ‘I’m the one who left the tent open. I should have owned up days ago. I’m so sorry.’
‘You?’ Joss and I say in unison.
It’s so odd to see Mr Arkins’s face and how red it’s gone. ‘I’m sorry, you two. My wife and I are still the caretakers, we kept our own keys for security reasons, and I couldn’t sleep that morning and thought I’d come down and do some work on the dinosaur background, only I couldn’t figure out how those floodlights of yours work, so I opened the tent for some light from the streetlamps. It was only a bit of drizzle, I didn’t think anything of it, but then I couldn’t get the tent closed again. All the ropes had got tangled, and I couldn’t reach to undo them, and I felt like such a silly old fool. I didn’t feel steady enough on my feet to go up on a ladder, especially dressed like such a wally. I was so embarrassed by my old age limitations that I forgot to lock the gate behind me. I didn’t mean to do any harm. I had no idea the drizzle would turn into belting rain. I did try to phone the bakery when I realised how heavy it had got, but you weren’t there, Essie. I’m so sorry – both for doing it and for not owning up. I didn’t want people to think I was a daft old man dressed like a numpty, even though I am a daft old man dressed like a numpty.’
It makes me smile. Bless him. ‘It’s okay, we got there in the end.’
‘With a little help from our friends,’ Joss adds, inclining his head towards the room.
Mr Arkins gives us both a hug, and I catch Joss’s eyes and mouth ‘sorry’ at him. He gives me a half-smile that shows exactly how awkward things are between us.
Mr Arkins holds both our hands and gives each a good shake. ‘I’m sorry. I should have admitted it straight away.’
‘Don’t worry about it. You helped put it right – we couldn’t have done it without you.’ Joss gives him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. ‘Looking back, I can tell how awful you felt that day.’
‘Are we “all good” as the kids say?’
‘We’re all good.’ We both speak at the same time again.
‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that,’ I say to Joss when Mr Arkins goes back to the MMM.
‘It’s all right, I deserve it. I know I should’ve told you about the job, but once I didn’t on that first day, I didn’t know how to broach the subject, and the longer it went on, the worse it—’
‘Can I have everyone’s attention, please?’ Mervyn’s voice booms so loudly from the stage that he probably doesn’t need the squealing microphone he’s got.
This is it. The moment we find out that the gingerbread house was all worthwhile. The moment that Mervyn announces the housing development is off and Mistletoe Gardens gets to stay.
Except… Mervyn looks nervous – more nervous than he’d look if he was about to deliver good news. There’s a sudden sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach and my hands are shaking where they’re holding onto the plate.
I tell myself not to be so silly. Folkhornton has been crammed lately. The Mistletoe Gardens opening night was the busiest anyone had ever seen it. Parents have been bringing children from miles away to visit Santa in the gingerbread house and stopping for a wander around a town they’ve never been to before. Footfall is up. Takings are up. Every number that the council will have been crunching is going in the right direction. There can only be one outcome – surely, surely, they won’t still destroy the place after all this?
‘I’d like to say a few words about the ongoing efforts to save Mistletoe Gardens…’ Mervyn gulps and has a sip of water. ‘I know some of you will be hoping for a different outcome, and while the campaign has been amusing to watch and done a great deal of good for our beloved town, I’m sorry to inform you that the council’s position has not changed. Mistletoe Gardens will be pulled down in January to make way for an exciting new housing development, which will see us welcome many new friends and neighbours. Although the gardens are a much-loved part of town, and we appreciate—’
‘You patronising bas—’ Mr Chalke goes to shout and Beryl wallops him round the head.
‘Demand for property is at an all-time high,’ Mervyn continues unperturbed. ‘It would be unforgivable for us, as a council trying to do what’s best for Folkhornton—’
‘What’s best for your own pockets, more like!’ someone else heckles from the crowd.
‘Right, well, this will bring more money into Folkhornton in the long run, and I’m sure you’ll join me in welcoming many new residents, which will have a knock-on effect on the local economy and grow your businesses overall, and I’m sure we all want that, don’t we?’
‘I’ll give him something to knock his effect on!’ Mum yells, unseen, from the other side of the room.
Like that old saying that you could hear a pin drop, well, in this room, you could hear a snowflake land. The absolute silence looks like it unnerves Mervyn more than abuse would have, and he quickly signs off and scuttles away from the microphone, presumably to go into hiding for the next few years… A couple of centuries should do it.
There’s so much devastation throughout the room. I knew everyone loved Mistletoe Gardens, but I hadn’t realised how much until this moment. No one expected things to go this way. The gingerbread house has captured imaginations far and wide, more so than I ever thought it would, and everyone expected the council to react accordingly.
And now people are blinking at each other in shock.
The stone that started in the pit of my stomach feels like it grows into a boulder and sinks right through me, making me feel desolate and defeated. We tried so hard and I loved every minute of it because I was so sure it would be worth it in the end.
And it isn’t. It wasn’t enough.
‘Despicable!’ Someone finally breaks the silence.
‘It’s our fault. We should have used it more. We’re all guilty of rushing through Mistletoe Gardens but never stopping to appreciate it.’
‘Money-grabbing beagles!’ Someone else shakes a fist towards the stage, even though Mervyn is nowhere to be seen.
Lynette has got a nail file out of her handbag and looks like she’s using her nails to sharpen it. Douglas is turning over a beer coaster, looking like he’s contemplating how much bodily harm he could do with it.
And Joss has… got his phone out.
Why has he got his phone out? It’s not exactly a moment to capture for posterity, is it? ‘Did you always know this would be the response? At the beginning of this, you were adamant they wouldn’t change their minds. You had insider info even back then?’
‘I knew they expected protests and wouldn’t be swayed by them, but things changed. The gingerbread house has brought so many tourists in and got so many people talking online – the sensible thing would be to embrace that, not demolish it, not now. I thought we had a chance.’
‘So did I,’ I mutter, meaning it in all senses of the word. A chance of saving Mistletoe Gardens and a chance of something special happening between us. ‘But I’ve been wrong about a lot of things lately.’
I hold up the plate in my hands. ‘Thank you for the gingerbread house. It will probably last longer than Mistletoe Gardens.’
With that, I turn and stomp out, leaving the wide double doors swinging behind me. I know the loss of the park is not his fault, but so much of this could’ve gone differently if he’d just been honest from the start.
As predicted, Mum’s car is landlocked on the pavement outside, seeing as I’d only popped by to drop off the food, a few long hours ago now. This evening feels like it’s simultaneously been going on for days and has lasted about ten minutes. The anticipation of the last couple of hours, knowing that this was the night we’d find out it had all been worth it, and then the crushing disappointment of that. Mervyn’s cold and heartless speech, and Joss. Joss in the dino suit. Joss being involved in this. Joss knowing from the very beginning that this was the likely outcome. He even told me. He told me, and I didn’t believe him.
The passenger side door opens and I have a brief moment of panic that thinking about Joss has somehow summoned him, but a pink satin-covered leg slides in, and Saff plonks herself into the seat next to me.
‘Well, that was a Mistletoe Dance I won’t forget for all the wrong reasons.’ She reaches over and gives my knee a squeeze. ‘I’m sorry about the gardens. I didn’t think it would go that way.’
I nod mutely, because I’m biting my lip to stop myself crying, and the tears are going to break loose if I unclamp my teeth.
After all our years of being best friends, she can tell. ‘Did you see your mum and Mervyn dancing?’
I nod again, appreciating the question to take my mind off the things that will make me cry. ‘They’ve barely taken their eyes off each other all night. I have a strong suspicion that might have changed since his announcement though. Wouldn’t be surprised if he’s missing a few limbs and at least one appendage by now.’
‘The point is, you and I have been trying for years to get them to admit their feelings for each other. Joss managed it in a few short weeks. He can’t be all bad.’
‘You knew he was going to do that tonight? That’s why you were so desperate for me to go?’
‘I didn’t know he was going to dress up as a dinosaur. To be fair, no one would’ve seen that coming, but your mum told me earlier that he’d be there.’
‘Mum knew?’ I say in surprise. ‘All of that pushing to get me there and she knew Joss was going to turn up?’
Saff nods to the plate on my lap. ‘He made you gingerbread. That’s sweet.’
I break off the chimney and pop it into my mouth, and Saff reaches over to break a corner off the roof, and her face slowly shifts into revulsion and she opens the car door to spit it out. ‘Oh my God, that’s disgusting. What has he done to that?’
‘At a guess, he burnt the butter, sugar, and syrup mixture, then put the oven on too high a temperature, so he’s somehow managed to charcoal the biscuits on the outside while leaving them soggy on the inside. It really is impressively bad.’
‘It’s a lot of effort to go to. The gesture is sweet, even if the execution… suggests he shouldn’t give up the day job, ever.’ She shudders again and then her eyes soften when she looks at me. ‘I’ve watched something really special blossom between you two in the past few weeks. Are you sure that’s worth walking away from over a little white lie?’
‘It’s not just one, though, is it? Everything he said was under false pretences. He knew it would never work and he went along with it anyway. I feel like a child being indulged, like he’s let me have my fun while knowing full well it would come to nothing. And tonight in the stupid costume. He could’ve just walked up to me and asked me to dance, but no, he even had to steal a dance.’
‘For what it’s worth, I don’t think he meant it to come across that way. It’s quite funny, really.’ She glances at my face. ‘I mean, maybe not right now, but in time, you might be able to laugh at it.’
She reaches over to pluck a gumdrop off the roof. And then a Smartie that acts as a miniature version of the peppermint swirls. Generally, anything Joss hasn’t baked is safe to eat. ‘Are you blocked in?’
I nod, my mouth full of really, truly awful gingerbread.
‘That’s Mr Selman’s car, I’ll go and get him to move it.’
‘Never mind. I’ll walk. I want to go through the gardens for one last time.’
Saff chews her lip. ‘It doesn’t have to be the end. We must be able to appeal. A petition, maybe? The bandstand is quite old, maybe we could apply for a listed status or something?’
‘It’s the end, Saff. If building a giant gingerbread house didn’t do it, nothing will. That’s it. The council have made up their minds. There’s nothing left to try.’ I leave the plate on the seat, get out of the car and cross the road. I lean on the railings that separate Mistletoe Gardens from the main road and look in. The trees are lit up and the cluster lights are glowing blue around the bandstand roof.
‘I’m sorry I couldn’t save you,’ I whisper to it as I let the tears fall, finally letting loose all the emotions I’ve been pushing down since I found out about Joss the other day. This December felt important, not just for saving Mistletoe Gardens, but for me and Joss as well. It feels like we came so close to something magical happening, but in the end, love, Christmas magic, and giant gingerbread houses belong in a storybook, and it’s time for me to stop believing they can ever be part of real life.