‘I love her, I love her!’ Vita declared, hugging her passionately to her chest.
The reindeer had long floppy furry legs with pink satin ballet slippers, but she couldn’t stand on them. I lifted the net skirt and saw a big hole.
‘Don’t look up her bottom!’ Vita snapped.
‘Um, Em’s being rude,’ said Maxie.
‘No, I’m not! I’ve just realized, she’s a glove puppet!’
‘You got it, Emerald,’ said Dad. ‘Here, Vita, let’s get to know her. We’ll see if she’ll introduce herself.’ He pressed her pink nose again to stop the ballet music and stuck his hand up inside her.
‘Hello, Princess Vita,’ he made the reindeer say, in a funny fruity female voice. ‘I’m Dancer. I was one of Santa’s very own reindeers. Maybe you’ve heard of my fellow sleigh artistes, Dasher and Prancer and Vixen? Then there’s the so-called superstar, Rudolph, the one with the constant cold. Such a show-off, especially since he got his own song. Of course I was always the leading runner, until I realized that all that sleigh-pulling wasn’t such a good idea. I have very sensitive hooves. Santa was devastated when I gave in my notice but we artistes have to consider our talent. I am now Princess Vita’s dancing companion and trusty steed.’
Dad made Dancer bow low and then twirl on her floppety legs. Vita clapped her hands, bright red with excitement.
I felt envious again. Why couldn’t I have had a puppet? Then Dad and I could have had endless games together. Vita and Maxie had such special big presents this year. Why did mine have to be so tiny? It was just like one extra stocking present.
‘Aren’t you going to open your present, Emerald?’ said Dad. He slipped Dancer over Vita’s hand, showing her how to work her. Vita waved her wildly round and round. Maxie laughed and tried to catch Dancer. One of her antlers accidently poked him in the eye.
‘Hey, hey, watch out! Oh Maxie, for heaven’s sake, it didn’t really hurt,’ said Mum, grabbing Vita’s arm and pulling Maxie close for a cuddle.
‘Yes, Em, open your present. Whatever can it be?’
I undid the wrapping paper, feeling foolish with them all watching me. I got my mouth all puckered up, waiting to say thank you and give grateful kisses. Then I opened a little black box and stared at what was inside. I was stunned. I couldn’t say anything at all.
‘What is it, Em?’
‘Show us!’
‘Don’t you like it?’
It was a little gold ring set with a deep green glowing jewel.
‘I love it,’ I whispered. ‘It’s an emerald!’
‘Not a real emerald, darling,’ said Mum.
‘Yes it is,’ said Dad. ‘I’m not fobbing off my daughter with anything less!’
My daughter! I loved that almost as much as my beautiful ring.
‘Don’t be silly, Frankie,’ Mum said. ‘Real emeralds cost hundreds and hundreds of pounds!’
‘No they don’t. Not if you go to antique fairs and do someone a favour and find a little emerald for a special small girl,’ said Dad.
He unhooked the ring from its little velvet cushion and put it on the ring finger of my right hand.
‘It fits perfectly!’ I said.
‘Well, I had it made specially for you, Princess Emerald,’ said Dad.
‘But however much have you spent on all of us?’ Mum said, shaking her head as if she’d been swimming underwater.
‘Never you mind,’ said Dad. ‘I wanted this to be a special Christmas, one the kids will remember for ever.’
CHRISTMAS AROUND THE WORLD
Did you know . . .
• In Italy, children write letters to Babbo Natale, to tell him that they’ve been good throughout the year. But the main day for giving presents is Twelfth Night, or the start of Epiphany, January 6th – and traditionally, those gifts are supposed to be brought by a good witch called La Befana. Legend has it that La Befana brings sweets and other treats in the middle of the night, and then sweeps the floor with her broom before leaving!
• In Brazil, some children leave a sock near a window. If Papai Noel finds it, he’ll swap it for a present!
• In France, the most important Christmas meal is called Reveillon, and it happens late on Christmas Eve or very early on Christmas Day, after people return home from Midnight Mass. A special chocolate log cake, called a Bûche de Noël, is often eaten.
• In the Czech Republic, the main Christmas meal also happens on Christmas Eve, but it’s traditional to eat fish soup, followed by fried fish and potato salad.
• Norway gives the UK a very special Christmas present every year: an enormous Christmas tree. It’s given as a thank you for the help that the UK gave to Norway during the Second World War, and it always stands in Trafalgar Square in London. There’s a big ceremony when the lights are switched on!
• In Spain, December 28th is called Día de los Santos Inocentes or Day of the Innocent Saints, and is like April Fools’ Day in the UK. People try to trick each other into believing silly stories and jokes, and even newspapers and TV programmes join in.
• In Germany, one tradition is for a small group of children – the Sternsinger, or star singers – to go from house to house, singing carols. Three dress up like the Wise Men, and one carries a star, as a symbol for the Star of Bethlehem.
• In Iceland, Gamlárskvöld – New Year’s Eve – is considered a very special and magical night, where all sorts of strange things are rumoured to happen. Legend has it that cows can talk, seals take on human form and the elves move house!
I WENT ROUND to Jamie’s house and hunted through the Victorian books – and found a great big fat one with lots of recipes called Mrs Beeton’s Book of Household Management. I flipped through it until I found the perfect cake.
It needed quite a lot of ingredients but that was no problem. (For reasons I will divulge later!)
It took ages to make the special cake. I had to make this special lemon jelly and then pour a little bit into a big tin and then stud it with glacé cherries like jewels, and then I did another layer of jelly and stood sponge fingers all the way round the tin and then I made a special eggy custard and poured that on and let it all set and THEN the next day I dunked the tin very quickly in hot water and then, holding my breath and praying, I gently tipped it out onto a pretty plate like a little kid turning out a sandcastle. You know what often happens with sandcastles? They crumble and break, right? But my special Victorian cake came out whole and perfect, easy-peasy, simple-pimple.
It was a bit of a mega-problem getting it to school, though. I had to carry it on a tray and hope it wouldn’t rain. My arms were aching terribly by the time I got to school. I was a bit late too, because I’d had to walk so carefully to keep my cake intact.
‘Charlotte Enright, you’re late for school,’ said Miss Beckworth.
‘Only half a second, Miss Beckworth. And it’s in a very very good cause,’ I said, propping my heavy tray on a desk and peeling back the protective tinfoil I’d arched over it.
‘And what’s this very good cause, might I ask?’ said Miss Beckworth.
‘You!’ I said, pulling the last of the foil off with a flourish. ‘I’ve made you a cake, Miss Beckworth. Well, it’s for all of us at the disco, but it’s in your honour and you’ve got to have the first slice. It’s a Victorian cake. And you’ll never ever guess what it’s called!’
Miss Beckworth looked at my wondrous masterpiece. She blinked her all-seeing eyes. They twinkled as she met my gaze.
‘I can guess,’ said Miss Beckworth. ‘In your own ultra-irritating phrase, it’s easy-peasy, simple-pimple! It’s an absolutely magnificent Charlotte Russe.’
She really is all-knowing! We shared the cake-cutting ceremony when it was nosh time.
I got a bit worried my Charlotte cake would collapse, but it stood its ground splendidly. And it tasted great too, mega-yummy. It was all gone in a matter of minutes – just a lick of lemon jelly and a few sponge crumbs left on the plate.
I made
sure all my special friends got a slice. Then the disco started up. It wasn’t a real evening disco with a proper DJ and strobe lighting. It was just an afternoon Christmas party in the school hall for Year Six, with the headmaster playing these mostly ropy old discs. Hardly the most sophisticated exciting event of the century – though you’d maybe think it was, judging by the fuss Lisa and Angela and some of the other girls made.
We were allowed to change into our own home clothes, you see. The boys didn’t think it much of a big deal. They looked worse out of school uniform.
I didn’t try too hard either. I was too busy creating my cake to fuss about my outfit. And I can’t actually win when it comes to cool clothes way in the front line of fashion. My kit comes from the label-free zones of Oxfam, Jumble and Car Boot Sales, especially nowadays. Though this might change soon. (Second hint of changes in the Enright family fortunes!)
Lisa and Angela and lots of the other girls tried very hard indeed. Lisa looked particularly lovely.
But Angela was the big surprise. She usually wore ordinary old jeans and jumpers when we were hanging round after school. But now her mum had bought her this new party-time outfit down the market. Angela’s got too tall for kids’ clothes so this was really grown-up gear. And Angela looked ultra-adult in it too.
‘Look at Angela!’
You couldn’t help looking at her. Everyone did. It was as if she’d become an entirely new girl to match her new outfit. When she danced the boys all circled round. Even Dave Wood.
Jamie’s jaw dropped when he saw Angela too, but he didn’t try to dance with her. He didn’t dance with anyone at first. I danced with lots of people. Then I went and stood near Jamie. I waited. It started to get on my nerves.
‘Come on, Jamie. Let’s dance,’ I said commandingly.
‘I don’t think I’m very good at dancing,’ said Jamie.
He was right about that. He just stood and twitched a little at first.
‘Let yourself go a bit,’ I said, jumping about. Jamie let himself go a bit too much. His arms and legs shot out all over the place. I had to stay well back to stop myself getting clouted. But I suppose he was trying.
Lisa was standing near us. I prepared myself for some ultra-sarcastic comments. But Lisa’s eyes were a little too bright, her smile showing too much teeth. She wasn’t watching Jamie and me. She was watching Angela and Dave.
‘Hey, Jamie. I want to dance with Lisa for a bit,’ I said.
‘Good! I need a rest,’ Jamie puffed.
So I danced with Lisa for a bit. And then I danced with some of the other girls. And some other boys. So did Lisa. And at long last Dave Wood came slithering up to her, because he’d been elbowed away from Angela by the rest of the boys. I expected Lisa to send Dave Wood off with a flea in his ear. I’d have added a swarm of stinging wasps and a buzz of killer bees. But would you believe it, Lisa just gave him this stupid smirk and danced with him devotedly. Lisa has got a very pretty head but it contains no brain whatsoever.
‘Do you want to dance again, Charlie?’ Jamie asked eagerly. ‘I think I’m getting the hang of it now.’
He was a little optimistic. But we had fun all the same. The party ended at three and we were allowed to go home then.
Lisa and Dave Wood went off together, so she was happy.
Angela went off with half the boys in our class, so she was happy.
I decided to go back to Jamie’s house because I was still a bit peckish in spite of my Charlotte Russe (the other refreshments weren’t up to much) and I fancied one of his brother’s toasted cheese sandwiches. We walked along Oxford Terrace together. I peered up at all the attic rooms right under the roofs and imagined Lottie looking out.
Jamie kept walking closer and closer to me, so that his schoolbag banged my shins several times. I turned to tell him off – and he kissed me on the cheek!
‘What are you playing at?’ I said furiously.
‘I – I – well, you kept sticking your chin up and looking up in the air so I thought you wanted me to kiss you,’ Jamie stammered.
‘Well, you got it seriously wrong, matie,’ I said, giving him a shove. I scrubbed at the little wet patch on my cheek with the back of my hand. ‘You do that again and I’ll clock you one,’ I said.
‘Don’t worry, I won’t,’ said Jamie. He sighed. ‘I wish I could figure girls out. I especially wish I could figure you out, Charlie.’
‘It’s part of my deeply mysterious feminine charm,’ I said, chuckling.
Jamie’s brother came up trumps with another toasted sandwich and his mum asked if Jo and I could go round to their house on Boxing Day. They have a party every year. Jo got a bit worried when I told her and said she didn’t think it sounded her cup of tea – well, glass of punch – but she’s agreed to come with me because I’ve been astonishingly agreeable about her Christmas plans.
I shall give Jamie his Christmas present then. I’ve bought him a big fat paperback Victorian novel. Jane Eyre – by Charlotte Brontë, and inside the cover I’ve written: This is a present by a Charlotte, from a Charlotte!
I’m going to make Jamie’s mum a special cake to eat at her party. I’ve got it all worked out. It’s going to be a square cake, iced all over with a cake lid on top and marzipan ribbon, so it looks like a special gift box – for Boxing Day, get it?
I’m going to be so busy busy busy making cakes in the Christmas holidays. I’ve got to make one for Grandma and Grandpa when Jo and I go over there on Christmas Eve – yuck! I had all sorts of good ideas but Jo talked it over with me and she thinks they’d like an ordinary conventional Christmas cake, white icing and HAPPY CHRISTMAS, boring boring boring – but I’ve said I’ll do it.
I’m making one more cake – and this one’s a special one.
Jo fixed a beautiful red breakfast in bed for us on Sunday (ruby grapefruit and raspberry Danish pastries and cranberry juice). When we’d eaten it all up we cuddled down in bed again and I started up one of our games and Jo tried to join in but I could tell she wasn’t concentrating.
‘Jo? What is it, eh?’ I could feel her tense.
‘Well . . . I want to talk to you about something,’ she said.
I felt as if all the delicious red food inside me was being whisked in a blender. This was it. I knew what she was going to say. I wriggled away from her and lay stiffly in bed, waiting.
‘It’s about . . . Robin,’ she said.
‘And Mark,’ I said, through clenched teeth.
‘Well. Yes, I suppose so. Oh, Charlie. I don’t know how to say this.’
‘I’ll say it for you,’ I said. ‘It’s easy-peasy, simple-pimple. You and Mark are going to get married and Robin’s going to be my little brother and you’ll be giving up all your jobs to look after him full-time and we’ll have to sell our flat and go and live with them and I expect you want me to make you a flipping wedding cake as well, but if I have to come to your wedding I warn you, I won’t throw confetti, I’ll start throwing rocks at you,’ and I turned over on my tummy and started to cry.
‘What?’ said Jo. ‘What?’ And she started to laugh.
‘It’s not funny!’ I sobbed. ‘I want to stay here. With you. Just the two of us.’
‘So do I,’ said Jo. She shoved my tangled hair out of the way and said it straight into my ear. ‘So do I! That’s what we’re going to do. Now listen, Charlie! You’ve got it all wrong. Mark and I aren’t getting married. He’s still too fussed about his first marriage – and I don’t think I ever want to get married. OK?’
‘So you don’t love him?’
‘I don’t know what I feel. I just want to let things develop. Slowly. In their own time. I hope I’ll still see a lot of Mark and Robin – but I might not carry on working there. You know this Christmas job?’
You don’t know about the Christmas job. Jo’s stopped working at the Rosens’. The last big electrical goods shop in the town advertised for part-time staff to help them out over their busy Christmas trading time. Jo jumped in there
and they took her on right away, working from nine to three. So we’ve got enough to keep up the mortgage payments – and a bit over. That’s what I was hinting at earlier.
‘You mean it’s too tiring, working there and then going to look after Robin?’ I said, leaning up on my elbows.
‘The thing is, the shop manageress is going to have a baby. She wants to start her maternity leave in January – and even though I’m only temporary they’re asking if I’m interested. It won’t be for ever, of course, though she might decide she wants to stay at home with the baby – but it would still be great to get back to the work I like. But of course it would be full time, through till half past five.’
‘I see. Well. You’ll have to take it, Jo. I mean, it’s great. But . . . what about Robin? He likes you a lot.’
‘He likes you even more, Charlie. Mark hopes he’ll be able to juggle his working hours and pick Robin up from school himself. Or maybe he’ll have to find another child-minder. But in an absolute emergency I said you could always pick Robin up from school and look after him until Mark could come.’
‘Mark wouldn’t ever trust me with Robin!’ I said.
‘Yes he would. He knows that you’re really very sensible and responsible,’ said Jo.
‘Me?’ I said. ‘OK. Tell Mark he can count on me. As long as he pays me!’
‘Charlie!’
‘So we can really stay here in our own flat, Jo?’
‘You bet.’
‘And we’ll have our first Christmas here, just us two?’
‘Ah. Well. That’s the other thing I wanted to discuss.’
This time I did guess right.
‘You want Robin and Mark to come round here for Christmas?’
‘If that’s all right with you, Charlie?’
I didn’t want Mark to come at all. Still, it might be fun to have Robin bobbing about at Christmas. So . . . I decided I’d better come up with something pretty special for our Christmas cake. I baked a square fruit cake and then carved out part of the front and made up a brown butter icing and did this posh basket weave all over to make it look like . . . a stable! With a big gold marzipan star and a fat pink marzipan angel perched on the roof. (I’m going to get to eat the angel on Christmas Day – because I’m currently so angelic!) Then I made a marzipan Mary (Jo can eat her) and a marzipan Joseph (I suppose I might offer him to Mark) and a dear little marzipan baby Jesus clutching a white marzipan lamb (specially for Robin).