Jane woke suddenly, alert and awake. She opened her eyes. Damn, it was still pitch black. She lay there, thinking.  The quilt had slipped. She pulled it up around her, remember making it so long ago. Should she try to sleep again? Or should she give up, get up and make a cup of tea? These wakeful nights were really getting her down. They don’t tell you that about the menopause, she thought savagely. She turned to the illuminated clock; 2.57am glared in green. Night after night lately, she lay tossing and turning from early until about 6, when she could finally fall asleep exhausted. Of course, that was time to get up most days. Then, the noise of the day – cars revving, children calling, doors slamming, – reminded her that she was alone, and she would lie in her cosy bed surrounded by her home, feeling hollow. But they were more comforting than the night noises. Then, sound was magnified and she lay awake trying not to hear intruders in the innocent clicks and thuds of the settling house at night. She clicked on the light by her bed and picked up her book. The roomed glowed in the golden light, but there was no-one to share the cosy light with.

By 4am she was no more ready to sleep, so, sighing, she clambered out of bed and put on her long red dressing gown. The fleece was soft and comforting and her sheepskin slippers warm as she made her way quietly down stairs to the kitchen. Only one mug, only one teabag. Only one person awake, it seemed, in the whole world. She peered out at the road from between her curtains. Everywhere was dark, everywhere was quiet, everywhere was sleeping. She curled into her chair to drink her tea and glance at her tablet. Social media? The news? You Tube? Lots to do, and none of it mattered.

By 4.30, she was bored with the internet, her tea was finished, and the day was still a long way away. She went into the dining room and clicked on the light. Suddenly things didn’t seem so bad. Her machine sat on the table like an old friend, inviting her to sit. There were scraps of fabric piled on a dining chair and boxes of sewing from the attic on the table. Jane opened the top box and took out the work inside. Her embroidery…..that was a trip down memory lane! She looked through the fabric scraps left over from the bunting she had made for her next door neighbour’s daughter’s wedding, the teddy remnants from her friend’s grandchild, the shiny cushion cover cutoffs from the hospice charity fundraising effort. And there, underneath, the t-shirt quilt she had pieced, along with the soft fleece backing Patiently awaiting quilting. She had made so much over the years. It was only when John became ill that it had all been pushed away. So much had been put away. She hadn’t had the heart to dispose of it.

Red, green, cream…gold. Hhhmm…

Not much, but enough. She thought about a stocking. What else? She looked at the red embroidery floss and turned over the pieces of braid. Surely there was a box of haberdashery somewhere? Some fake fur? She sat down at the table, raised the t-shirt top to her face…..and time flew.

At 9am, the doorbell rang. The delivery guy waved as he departed down the path. “Sorry if I woke you”, he yelled. Chance would be a fine thing, she thought. She picked up the box and took it inside. Under the black plastic was brown paper, and under that, festive paper. Jane read the card: in wobbly felt tip, it read DO NOT OPEN UNTIL 25th! Dutifully, she put it aside, and went upstairs to get ready for the day. The house looked forlorn and uncared for, she thought. As if someone had gone out and never come back. She could clean later, she decided. It wasn’t as if there was anything she really had to do.

By 9pm, she was falling asleep, but she decided to stay awake to defeat the insomnia. She put on Love Actually. It had always been a lovely Christmas film, Jane thought, as the tears fell at the end. She and John had seen it so many times: it started the Christmas season of films for them. But there was no John this year. They had laughed at Gremlins. Jane smiled: she had said it wasn’t a Christmas film, John had said it was…and that was what started it all off. A film every night in December to laugh or cry to.

No John now, no daughter – safe in New Zealand with the grandchildren and their dad. No friends, all isolating in this horrible pandemic. No son: the last time she had heard from him, he had been working on the other side of the world. It was always difficult to reach him: she never knew where he would be. Jane could leave messages but she hated the tone ringing out as it often did. She imagined it ringing in an empty office, or a deserted bedroom, unheard. Faraway places and time zones did not make it easy to talk. Perhaps he would call? She hoped so. She straightened the pictures on the shelf:  Kayleigh and herself, John and Patrick, father and son, peas in a pod, so alike!  She turned off the TV, and went into the kitchen. All tidy, washed up. She put out her tea for the morning and went to bed.

The next day was bright, sunny and clear; a lovely Winter morning, with frost on the rose hips and crisping the lawn. She had slept all night! She felt a new hope lifting her heart. The dining room was a disaster of bright cotton, reels of thread, wrapping paper, a box of freezer paper uncurling on the windowsill; a hoop balancing on a pile of cardboard boxes. But the machine powered up and purred like a happy cat, and for the first time in a very long while, Jane wanted to purr too.

By Christmas Eve, she was ready. She looked at the clean, polished furniture, the spotless carpet. The tree glowed in the corner. Everything as it should be. Ready for Christmas. Pretty cotton dresses for the New Zealand summer to show her granddaughters when she zoomed them on Christmas Day, too late to send now, and she had sent presents; neighbour gifts sets of snowflake table mats done. (Mary-next-door was bound to check on her; she had been so kind since John had died.) Cheerful stockings full of sweets for the kids along the road she lived in, and the lovely fleece-backed t-shirt patchwork throw to send her son lovingly parcelled up in a recycled red ribbon. Perhaps she would get through to him today? Carols on the radio, breakfast laid out properly, (not just grabbed on the go), a dress and make up! She hadn’t used that in months!

As she washed up, on Christmas morning, the doorbell went. Mary-next-door stood back as it opened. “ You won’t be affronted if Bill pops round a dinner for you later? I know we can’t mingle, but….  I always cook too much, as you know,” she said hopefully.

“That is very kind,” Jane replied, “and while you are there, I have something for you…” and she produced the snowflake table mats she had made with the rest of the bunting material.

“Oh, how lovely,” Mary said. “ You really shouldn’t have.”

As she closed the gate, the Jackson kids shouted over the fence. “ Merry Christmas, Mrs M!.”

“You off out for a walk?”

“ Yes, Eric wants us out of the way so he can do dinner,” Neema Jackson called back. My cooking-free day. I am taking this lot out to the park to tire them out. They have been up since 6!”  She groaned.

“Well,  hang on….before you go,” Jane hurried away, coming back with 4 stockings. “ Only to be eaten when your Mum says: you have to look after your teeth”. She grinned at the crestfallen face of the toddler attached firmly to Neema’s hand by reins. He grinned back, pearly little teeth gleaming, as his siblings chorused ‘thank-you’. They set off, clutching stockings: dog, kids, and Mum, a happy family , on Christmas Day. Jane watched them, smiling. She was remembering…oh so many happy Christmases, parties, games, food and drink, presents, after lunch walks in the countryside,  Midnight Mass and the blockbuster on the TV.

The kitchen tidy, she started clearing the dining table. It helped to sew. But it helped to keep to normal things too. Job done, she sat down with coffee and a piece of stollen. Thank goodness for deliveries! The bell rang again. Was there someone she had missed? She peered through frosted glass; ….she shook her head and swung open the door. For a moment… it was John….or was it?

”Patrick? “What on earth are you doing here?” Then the tears started. Her tall, handsome son caught her up in his arms, “ Oh, Mum, we didn’t want to upset you! It was supposed to be a surprise! We had a few hours sleep and drove up. Nothing on the road at 3am!”

“But how are you here? You’re ….!”

“We had to make some big changes; then there was a problem with borders closing. So the whole unit came home all together on a chartered flight. We have been in isolation for weeks. Boring as hell.” He laughed. But we couldn’t leave you alone this Christmas!” He turned, “Here’s Kate too. Her parents are visiting her brother -new baby and all! We bought all the food, so you can put your feet up and enjoy the day! We wanted to surprise you!” Behind him, his beaming girlfriend Kayleigh raised two carrier bags  in her hands. “ It is so lovely to come home,” she said.

And suddenly, the sun was shining, the day was full of promise, and they were talking sixteen to the dozen, laughing, crying, in the kitchen, making coffee, switching on the oven, piling goodies on the worktop,  and it was going to be a lovely day.

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