Part 1 (1/2)
THE PROMISE OF DECEMBER.
K.L.Jessop.
Tamzin.
Age 9.
”Tamzin, sweetheart what's wrong?” Gran called in concern.
I ran in through the door and up the stairs on a cold afternoon in late November, heartbroken at how mean the girls from school had been. I was never one of the popular kids. They often looked and treated me differently being raised by older' folk rather than the parents that stood in the playground talking about what holiday abroad they were going on next. Made fun of me because I'd never been on a plane or didn't even know where the Caribbean was. I don't know what other parts of the world look like at that age. London was my home and that's all I knew. My grandparents were never ones to travel abroad. We just had to make the best in the holidays we could afford down by the coast. Every year we explored a different part of Cornwall to try and find whiter sand than the last. I loved my life. My grandparents didn't have to raise me but they did, and I wouldn't have changed it for the world. They'd taught me the respect I needed to give others as well as the rights and wrongs on how you portray yourself in the world. Just because they were older in their years to the other kid's parents didn't jeopardise my upbringing anymore than it would the younger couple next door.
But Lucy Marshall was a nasty girl. Always had been. And the words she had spoken to me in the playground broke my heart in many ways.
”Tamzin, honey, what's wrong?” My grans sweet voice hit my ears as I cried into the pillow. Hot and sweaty as the tears streaked my face, I sat up to face my gran who's sat in her floral dress and red ap.r.o.n. The house smelled of crumble and pastries.
My childlike voice was feeble as I choked out my hurt. ”Lucy said that he wasn't real.”
”Who, sweetheart?” Her voice was always soothing and pretty.
”Santa. She said that none of it was true and that it's your mum and dad that bought you presents and that I won't get any anymore because I don't have parents.” I sobbed, feeling confused. My grandparents made no secret of the fact my mother had died but Santa always brought me presents at Christmas.
”Tamzin, look at me.” I wiped my tears with the sleeve of my green school jumper and looked up at her, her eyes twinkling in the light, her short blonde hair rolled back in curls from where her hair rollers had been placed. ”I think it's very unkind for Lucy to say those things. Take no notice.” She paused, looking into my grey eyes as if she was contemplating her next words. ”Let me tell you something. Christmas isn't just about Santa and presents. It doesn't matter who brings them, how they get here or how many you receive. It's more than that. Christmas is about the magic and the belief. It's about spending that special time with those you love and care for, and helping out those who are unfortunate to be alone. It's about the build up to the special day, believing in what you have and holding onto that forever.” She placed her hand on my chest. ”It's about what's in your heart. The love that you share and what you feel. You just have to believe.” She stroked my long blonde hair and smiled. ”Do you believe in the magic of Christmas, Tamzin?”
I sniffed back my tears and nodded with a weak voice. ”Yeah.”
”Then that's all the matters.” She opened her arms out for a hug and I entered her warm embrace, knowing that my grandmother was a wiser woman than what Lucy Marshall would ever turn out to be. ”You just have to believe, Tamzin. Always believe in the true magic of Christmas.” She kissed my head and held me tight as she rocked us. ”Always believe.”
Tamzin.
”THREE, TWO, ONE. IT'S CHRISTMAAAAS, WOOO HOO!”
And so it starts.
The run-up to Christmas where everyone seems more enthusiastic to get out of bed on a cold dark morning than what they did a month ago. I don't see what's so great about December. It's a month that brings hyperactive children, frantic last minutes shoppers and annoying Christmas songs that have been on repeat since Halloween. I loathe everything about it. The only good thing is you can eat as much food as you want, and people never judge you for opening the Vodka after breakfast.
But here I am torturing myself at yet another Christmas works party, where the coloured lights outside our building has just had its grand switch on and illuminates the night sky to match the rest of the city's festivities. Mr Thompson, the elderly man that is my boss, is a strange one to work out. He is a nice man that keeps himself to himself, but as soon as you mention the word Christmas it's as if someone has pulled his cracker and makes his eyes sparkle. Sometimes just watching him is exhausting.
”Eeeek! Isn't it exciting?” Evie squeals, gripping my arm with a tight excitable squeeze, reindeer head boppers bouncing up and down on her brown hair as she rocks the h.e.l.l out of a skinny black dress.
”Yeah.” I sigh, rolling my eyes, fed up with being here already. ”Terrific.”
”Jesus, Tamzin, liven up. Where's your Christmas spirit?”
”Over there in that bowl of punch. Merry Christmas, I'm off to get s.h.i.+t-faced.” I push my way through the crowd that congregates the office building ground floor, twirling for yet another fat guy dressed as Santa that's grabbed my hand, faking my smile of happiness while my own head boppers keep slipping over my eyes.
The punch looks more like something the dog brought back up than anything appealing, a mixture of Brandy, Vodka, cinnamon and orange juice fills the large bowl alongside a note that says Keep away from Dave, he gets frisky after too much'. I can't help but chuckle to myself, anyone that goes near Dave has to be on the brink of desperation or blind.
”Holy mother of G.o.d,” I wheeze, grasping my chest. I choke down the rest of the punch, squeezing my eyes close as the never-ending burn slides down the back of my throat.
”Good, huh?” Evie chuckles. ”I'd advise not to go near a naked flame.”
”I think I've just lost a layer of my oesophagus.” Even though I can already feel the effects of the alcohol, I pour myself another, anything to get me out this h.e.l.l hole that my brain is currently trapped in.
”According to Will, Dirty Dave put a bottle of Whisky in it too; I think he's wanting a Christmas angel to get lucky with.”
We turn in the direction to where Dave is stood in the far corner of the office, sleazing over every woman that walks past and trying his hardest to look s.e.xy in his thick-framed gla.s.ses, comb-over hair and a Christmas jumper that looks like something his grandmother knitted in the 70's. Dave is a complete d.i.c.k head that would give Where's Wally' a run for his money. The only difference with this Dave is his pathetic jokes, bad body odour, and trousers so tight they burn him a new a.s.shole as he walks. He's such a geek.
”I wonder when he got laid last?” Evie questions, tipping her head towards mine.
”I don't think he ever has.” I shudder from another mouthful of punch that's going straight to my head. ”He'll need medical attention to help remove those trousers and see if his d.i.c.ks still intact first.”
Evie's giggles. .h.i.t my ears causing me to laugh along with her. In spite of my lack of festive cheer, she never fails to bring out the happy in me. We've been friends since the first day I started working at H.T. Limited. The second we met was a disaster, I slipped on the wet floor and threw my coffee all down her white dress. She called me a stupid b.i.t.c.h, I called her a mouthy tart and we've been best friends ever since.
She pulls on my arm. ”Come on, Sue and the mob are playing twister.”
”You go.” I say, feeling my mood dive further as the alcohol fills my blood. ”I might call it a night.”
”You will do no such thing; It's Christmas. Besides, I plan on showing Anthony what he's missing.”
I pour myself another punch. ”Yeah, because sticking around to play the third wheel makes the evening so much better.”
”Oh don't be so dramatic. A few more drinks and you might even enjoy yourself.”
I laugh sarcastically. ”Like f.u.c.k I would. h.e.l.l would have to freeze over first and even then it's highly unlikely.”
I've worked at this recruitment company for five years, with the exception of some we treat each other like family and I wouldn't change my job for the world, except for when the festive session hits. My pain never gets any easier as each month pa.s.ses by, but it is December I dread the most. No matter how hard I try, the days fill with memories that never seem to fade and the empty hole in my heart gets bigger over time.
I used to love this time of year, the open fire on a cold winters day, the buzz outside Santa's Grotto on a weekend and the overall air of festive excitement that lingered around every corner. I had that giddiness inside of me. That sparkle. But it stopped the year I lost my grandparents, leaving me to become alone, lost, and the female version of Scrooge at the age of twenty-five.
Evie's attempt at twister is priceless. Her body's bent like a bridge with her a.s.s in the air. On the next turn, Dirty Dave has to move his left foot to a yellow spot. My giggle becomes snorts at the look on Evie's face as the only free spot available is between her legs, making him positioned so her face is at his crotch.
Within minutes, my amus.e.m.e.nt is brought to a halt and I curse aloud to the change of song. Why was is it that when you're feeling alone this time of year Elvis likes to remind you with his Blue Christmas'? a.s.shole!
Swaying my unsteady body back to the drinks table, I fill up my gla.s.s, feeling more drunk than I expected as the room starts to blur. I lean against the wall looking out toward the room which becomes a wave of colour as the laughter from others pounds against my ears. Maybe I could try and enjoy myself. Make them proud of the girl they left behind. See what I've been missing out on all this time and bring the spirit back I desperately crave. It can't be that hard, right?
Ha! Yeah, who the h.e.l.l am I kidding?
More Punch it is then.
Noel.
She's s.e.xy. Like, knock you on your a.s.s s.e.xy. And from the minute I walked into the building, I thanked my father for his invitation. H.T. Limited is my dad's recruitment company that specialises in helping people into the private sector. Built solely by himself thirty years ago, Dad worked his a.s.s off over time to make the company one of London's top businesses that everyone wanted a piece of. As for wanting a piece, my desires are now steering toward the girl across the room.
Her short blue dress clings to her body like a glove, and her celebratory head boppers rest effortlessly on her beautiful blonde hair. Hair I want to lace my fingers through to see if it's as silky as it looks. Flawless legs I want around me as I bury myself deep inside her and make her mine. I don't know who she is but I want every part of her. She is not a woman to go unnoticed, every guy in the room has been eye-f.u.c.king her at one point. But something is missing. An unblemished woman like her shouldn't have a look of solitude on her shoulders.
”How are you getting on, son?” Dad inquires with a slap on the back. ”Anyone noticed you're here yet?”