A traditional Christmas
The list in Cathy’s hand was nearly as long as the queue to the till. Her arms ached from the heavy bags she was carrying, and her feet even more from the miles she’d walked from shop to shop. And all the time, the same tunes were playing. So here it is, Merry ChristmasÉ
And then the checkout till jammed and a flustered assistant, her face as red as Santa’s hat, apologised profusely. The woman in front of Cathy in the queue turned to her.
‘Eh, love!’ she said, with heavy sarcasm, ‘don’t you just love Christmas?’
In other years, Cathy would have told her that yes, she did, that she absolutely adored it. She loved choosing presents and wrapping them; she loved all the secrets and surprises, buying all the wonderful food, and hearing the same old songs playing every year. And she adored all the carol singers, and writing and receiving cards, and all the pretty lights up everywhere…
‘She wasn’t going to cry, not on the bus.
