Driving Home for Christmas

And a local author is interviewed about her new crime book - that's me!

Photo by Josh Hild on Unsplash

Hello and welcome!

This week feels like the Christmas merry-go-round just got faster and faster, and I want to jump off. The spinning out-of-control feeling that washes over me at this time of the year sometimes borders on anxiety. Will they like the gifts I’ve bought them? When can we squeeze in a visit to deliver those gifts? Have I ordered enough food? And, on top of that, the office is crazy busy at this time of the year.

Every store I go into is crammed, floor to ceiling, with boxes of biscuits, chocolates and gift sets, none of which I would buy at any other time of the year. So what is it about Christmas that makes the supermarkets want to turn us into gluttons over the holiday season? Money, of course. What else drives them to bombard us with ‘delicious’ this and ‘heavenly’ that? It is one of their most profitable times of the year. But I’m not being lured in. Call me a bah humbug, but I don’t want to stuff my face with dozens of calorie-laden mince pies, chocolates and other sickly sweet goodies, only to spend the rest of the year trying to shift all those extra calories. Besides, I hate mince pies.

I’m tired of those schmaltzy adverts with an open log fire and elegantly dressed couples smiling at each other with even white teeth and perfect hair. Ripples of tinkling laughter as they sip champagne and pop hazelnut-covered chocolate balls into their cherry-lipped mouths with beautifully manicured hands. The reality is that most people spend the day rushing around, fretting about whether the turkey will cook in time and panicking about whether they have enough batteries for the kids’ toys to last until the end of the day.

Children screaming and arguing because one got a bigger/better gift than the other. Aunt Mabel has quaffed all the sherry before lunch and Mum forgot to dish up the roast potatoes. Nobody noticed because there were so many different vegetables on the table anyway. Besides, the kids have devoured so much chocolate that they can’t eat another thing anyway. Or am I just being cynical? I find this time of the year has become so commercialised that it detracts from the true meaning of Christmas. I love my family all year round and don’t need to shower them with expensive gifts they don’t need or want. So, I tend to buy practical gifts at this time of the year and save the expensive treats for their birthday. Don’t get me wrong. I enjoy Christmas and it is a magical time for children, but as we grow older, I feel the magic watching through the eyes of others.

As a young child, I remember watching a float go past the end of the close where we lived. It was snowing and my brother and I peeped out through the bedroom window when we heard ‘Ho, ho, ho,’ and the tinkle of the reindeer’s sleigh bells. Father Christmas was driving his sleigh right by our house! Our eyes were like saucers and our mouths agape. In those days, we were thrilled if we got an assortment box, usually in the shape of a Christmas stocking, which contained three or four small bars of chocolate, a home-knitted cardigan and a new set of paints or colouring pens. I would sometimes get a Daktari annual which kept me enthralled for most of the day as I turned the glossy pages of the beautiful hard-backed book, wondering if Clarence the cross-eyed Lion could see where he was going.

As a parent, I got such a kick out of watching my daughter unwrap her gifts on Christmas morning, but now that she is all grown up, I can reflect on those wonderful times, and be content in the knowledge that she is healthy and happy, enjoying this Yuletide season with the special person in her life.

Driving Home for Christmas

Giant snowflakes fluttered down from the leaden sky as Holly drove through the heavy traffic. An eerie light played tricks on her as she watched, mesmerised by the huge, papery flakes as they swirled around and floated down, settling on the road ahead of her. It was magical, and she felt like she was inside an enormous snow globe. But an uneasy feeling settled in the pit of her stomach as she watched the snow settle and thicken all around her.

It was Christmas Eve and shoppers, wrapped in thick woolly scarves and bobble hats, scurried along, laden with bags and boxes, and a group of youngsters tumbled out of a bar full of Christmas cheer and delight when they realised it was snowing heavily.

Holly was driving home to Greg to spend their first Christmas together in their new home, and she had just collected his gift. He would be delighted, she knew. All she had to do was get home safely.

Both sets of parents had taken some convincing that she and Greg wanted to spend their first Christmas together alone, just the two of them. But in return, they had to agree to meet up on Boxing Day for a big family gathering. It was being hosted by Greg’s Mum, who had earned the nickname of Mary Berry because of her amazing culinary and hostessing skills.

Chris Rea’s ‘Driving Home for Christmas’ was playing on the radio as Holly manoeuvered her car slowly and carefully through the heavy traffic, her tyres scrunching on the freshly fallen snow. The queue of cars ahead of her suddenly came to a grinding halt. She quickly checked her phone: no missed calls or messages. Greg was working late this evening and that fitted in perfectly with her plans. She had to get home before him and had never been so excited about Christmas before. This one was going to be extra special. She cranked up the heater, but not too much.

The traffic started moving slowly and she was aware that the roads were becoming treacherous. Hopefully, she would be home before the heavy snowfall forecast set in for the night. She pulled up at an intersection and waited as the lights turned from amber to red. The traffic seemed haphazard going in all directions as if drivers were distracted by the falling snow. She hated this junction at the best of times but tonight, it seemed more chaotic than ever. The lights changed from red to amber and then green. She slid the car into gear and moved off, singing along with Chris Rea, ‘Driving in my car. Driving home for Christmas.’

As she reached the brow of the hill, a car suddenly appeared from nowhere. She screamed and jammed her foot down on the brakes. It all happened so quickly. The car slammed straight into her, side on, sending her car spinning round and round until it finally juddered to a halt. There was a deafening crash, the sound of metal on metal, and a horrible grinding noise. An alarm was going off. Holly was dazed and felt like she was under water. Everything was white and she couldn’t see a thing. A loud whimpering sound broke into her confused thoughts as she realised that her head was buried in the air bag. Then she passed out.

Greg laid another log on the open fire and warmed up some mulled wine. He wanted everything to be perfect. He was surprised that Holly wasn’t home already, but it was Christmas Eve. Everybody goes crazy, grabbing last-minute gifts and meeting up with friends for a last-minute pre-Christmas drink. He put some Christmas Bossa Nova piano music on and turned the lights down low, the pretty Christmas tree twinkling perfectly in the corner of the room. When the doorbell rang, he thought Holly must have mislaid her key or was so laden down with goodies that she was unable to rummage in her bag to find it.

When he opened the door, a policeman was standing where he expected to see his beautiful, happy, smiling wife.

‘Mr. Dodds? Can I come inside?’ the police officer asked, taking off his hat and tucking it under his arm.

Greg stepped to one side and let the man in, a feeling of dread washing over him.

‘I’m afraid I have some bad news. Your wife has been involved in a road traffic accident and we found your dog in the back of the car.

‘Oh my God! Is she OK?’ The devastated look on the handsome young man’s face touched the policeman’s heart.

‘Your wife was taken by air ambulance to Rotherford General Hospital. I think you had better get over there right away. I’ll take you. The roads are pretty rough out there.’

There was something in the police officer’s voice that Greg didn’t like. He grabbed his coat from the hooks near the front door and was about to leave when the policeman kindly suggested that he go around and turn everything off. ‘You’d be surprised how many….’ he began, but Greg wasn’t listening. He was darting around switching everything off. The police officer thought better of sharing the shocking statistics of how many fires are started by Christmas tree lights. ‘Let’s get you to the hospital,’ he said, ushering Greg out in a fatherly sort of way.

When they arrived, the policeman made inquiries at the front desk and was informed that Holly was in the Intensive Care Unit. Greg felt like he was on autopilot; robotic, as the policeman accompanied him to the ICU. The bottom of his world had dropped out and he felt like he was losing grip on reality, the harsh strip lighting of the hospital corridors adding to his sense of foreboding.

‘Can I speak to a doctor or somebody who knows what’s happening? I need to see my wife,’ he demanded, his voice rising several octaves as he pleaded with a young nurse. The policeman had already left but had pressed a piece of paper into Greg’s hand with the name and telephone number of a local animal rescue sanctuary on it. ‘But we don’t have a dog…’ He said, confused. Then his voice trailed off as he looked down at the piece of paper and realised what his Christmas present from Holly was.

After what seemed like an interminable wait, when nobody seemed to know what was going on, Greg was finally ushered into a small side room near the ICU by a doctor wearing green scrubs and a pair of black Crocs. He gave Greg a well-practised, sympathetic look, his surgeon’s mask dangling loosely around his neck.

‘Your wife has sustained some serious injuries, Mr Dodd, but she is stable, so we are optimistic, but the next twenty-four hours are crucial.’ The surgeon’s voice faded into oblivion as Greg tried to process the terrible news.

“When can I see her?” he asked, his voice barely audible.

“A nurse will come and find you in a few minutes,” the surgeon informed him. More waiting around, Greg thought. He couldn’t stand it. He had to see Holly. He paced back and forth impatiently, a million thoughts running through his head. This isn’t supposed to be how they spent their first Christmas together. God, he hoped she was going to be okay.

Greg had thanked the surgeon, shaking his hand profusely as he left to go back into the operating theatre. He had a busy night ahead, by all accounts.

Greg sat back down, a turmoil of emotions running through him. He dropped his head into his hands and prayed that Holly would pull through. Eventually, a nurse appeared at the doorway and he was taken through to see her.

He was shocked at what he saw. His beautiful young wife lay motionless with her eyes closed and wires and tubes snaked in and around her body. A monitor by her bedside was beeping and a drip was in the back of her hand. She looked so delicate, and fragile. Like a porcelain doll.

‘Hey,’ he said, taking her hand gently in his, careful not to dislodge the tube.

There was no response. Holly was lifeless.

Christmas was put on hold. No roasted turkey, no crackers, and no silly hats around the table as everybody read out corny jokes. The family rallied around taking it in turns to doggy sit Luna, the Springer Spaniel puppy that Holly had bought for Greg.

Greg kept vigil holding Holly’s hand on one side of the bed while her Mum sat on the other side, opposite him. Neither had slept properly for days and everybody had lost track of time.

Holly’s Mum’s phone pinged and she took it wearily from her bag. ‘Ah, look, Greg.’ She handed her phone to him across the bed where her daughter’s lifeless body lay. He tapped the screen for the video to play.

Greg smiled halfheartedly as the cute little puppy yelped and dug his snout into the snow, running around in frenzied circles, yapping excitedly and wagging his tail, clearly thrilled to be playing in the snow. He handed the phone back to his mother-in-law, who played the video again, more for a distraction than anything else.

‘Jan! Did you see that?’ Greg shouted, jumping up. ‘Her eyes flickered!’

Holly’s Mum discarded the phone and took her daughter’s hand in hers, lifting it carefully from the bed. She squeezed it gently once. Holly squeezed back. Then she squeezed it twice. Holly responded with two squeezes back.

Tears streamed down Janet’s face as her daughter squeezed her hand tightly, this time, not letting go. Then she opened her eyes.

‘Oh Holly! Thank God! I love you so much.’ Greg was all choked up as he stood over his wife, stroking her cheek gently with the backs of his fingers. Holly smiled and looked straight into his tear-filled eyes. ‘I’ll look after you, Holly, I promise,’ he whispered, his eyes searching every contour of her beautiful face.

Janet went to find a nurse and as soon as Holly was able to speak, the first words she was able to croak out of her mouth were, ‘Is the dog okay?’

Greg smiled. ‘Yes, the dog’s fine.’

I hope you enjoyed that Christmassy-themed short story that I have adapted and, hopefully, improved from a previous version I wrote, and had called Christmas Eve.

I would like to say a huge thank you to

Rose

from Memoirist in the Museum, a fellow Substacker, who I had the pleasure of meeting when she kindly came along to my book signing in Shrewsbury. Rose interviewed me, from one author to another, and I can’t thank her enough for her very kind and flattering words. It means so much. Thank you!

You can read the full interview here

A Cosy Mystery turned into a Cosy Success