On the day before New Years Eve, Mum and I popped into Hamleys on Regent Street. We were only meant to pick up something smalleither fairy lights or some tinsel, I cant quite remember now. But there, amongst all the toys and trinkets, I spotted the most wonderful dress. It was bright red, knitted, with a vivid blue trim along the hem and sleeves. I was instantly smitten.
I tugged at Mums sleeve and pleaded with her to let me try it on. As soon as I put it on, it fit perfectly, as if it had been made just for me. My mind began to whirl with daydreamsthere was a boy in my class I really liked, and the thought of him seeing me at our class party in that dazzling dress made my cheeks burn with excitement. The idea of taking it off nearly brought me to tears.
Mum noticed how taken I was and smiled softly, saying, I get paid soonlets treat ourselves and buy it. I could have floated all the way home, I was so over the moon.
That evening, we decorated our flat, put up the little artificial tree, and strung up what sparkly things we had. But when it came to the food, all we found in the fridge was a lonely knob of butter and a tray of ice.
We waited eagerly for Mums wages. Back in those days, even on December 31st, people worked a half day, so shed hoped to collect her pay packet in time for the celebrations. But when she got home, her face was pale and her eyes watery. Theyve delayed wages again, she told me, voice heavy, Im so sorry. She was deeply upset, not for herself, but because she felt shed let me down.
But it honestly didnt matter to me. The festive spirit was there all the same. I curled up in front of the telly, watching old black-and-white Christmas specials and rerunsthey only showed them during the holidays, and back then, there werent many channels to choose from anyway.
Mum boiled potatoes, stirred in some butter, grated a carrot, and sprinkled a bit of sugar on top. That was all we had. We sat across from each other at the little table. Mum tried to be brave, but then tears spilled down her cheeks. I rushed round to hug her, and before I knew it, I was sobbing toonot because there was no Christmas feast, but because I felt such aching sympathy for her.
We curled up side by side on the sofa under the same blanket and watched the big New Years Eve broadcast. When midnight struck, we could hear neighbours heading out onto the landing, clinking glasses and singing Auld Lang Syne at the top of their lungs. We didnt join in.
Suddenly, there was a forceful knock at the door. Mum went to answer it. At the threshold stood Mrs. Evans, our famously grumpy neighbourthe one whod always reprimanded me for skipping my turn with the bins or stomping too loudly up the stairs. Most of the kids called her Mrs. Dragon behind her back.
Shed clearly started her New Year celebrations awhile ago, and after a brief word with Mum, pushed her way in, eyed our humble table, and stomped out without saying a word.
About twenty minutes later, the door all but shook with kicks. Startled, Mum insisted I stay put and went to see what the fuss was about. Soon enough, back trundled Mrs. Evans, weighed down with bags and boxes. She barked at Mum to stop gawping and help her unpack: out came a plate of sandwiches, jars of chutney, a tin of fancy biscuits, a chunk of ham, a jar of pickled onions, cold chicken, a few chocolate coins, and even a couple of clementines pressed in between. Nestled under her arm was a bottle of bubbly.
Mum cried againthis time, tears of relief and gratitude. Mrs. Evans gave her a scolding for being silly, blotted her nose with a sleeve big enough for a tent, and disappeared again.
Afterwards, Mrs. Evans was the same as always, loudly keeping order in the block and bossing the kids and grown-ups alike. She never once mentioned that night. But years later, when we all gathered for her funeral, every last family from our building turned out, and it turned out shed quietly helped everyone at some point.
That night taught mekindness often comes from the most unexpected places, and those we think of as difficult are sometimes the ones who hold us up when were at our lowest.
