It was the day before New Years Eve when Mum and I popped into Hamleys. I wasnt expecting to find anything special, since we were only there for something smallfairy lights or maybe some tinsel. But then I spotted the most wonderful dress. It was red and knitted, with a bright blue trim along the hem and sleeves.
I couldnt take my eyes off it and begged Mum to let me try it on. As soon as I slipped it over my head, it fit perfectly, as if it had been made just for me. My imagination spun with dreams. There was a boy at school I likedliked a lotand I wished more than anything that hed see me in that dress at our class party. I stood there, not wanting to take the dress off, fighting back tears.
Mum noticed and sighed, Tell you what, love, my wages are due soon. Lets get it for you. I nearly floated home from the shop, grinning from ear to ear.
We spent the evening decorating our flat, hanging baubles, and dressing the Christmas tree. But by the time we finished, the fridge held only a bit of butter and some ice. We waited eagerly for Mums pay day. Back then, people went to work even on the 31st of December in England, though theyd get let off early before New Years.
Mum finally came home, but her face told me everything: she was upset, and as soon as she closed the door, she said her salary hadnt come through after allit was delayed. Her voice shook with disappointment, her eyes brimming. She felt terrible, thinking shed let me downno feast for the new year.
I remember thinking it wasnt the end of the world. The flat still sparkled and my heart still fluttered with anticipation. I sat in front of the telly, watching old Christmas films. Back then, we only had two channels, and holiday programmes were a rare treat.
Mum made mashed potatoes with the last of the butter, grated some carrot, and sprinkled it with sugar. That was all there was for tea. We sat at the table, and she burst into tears. I tried to comfort her, and, despite my best efforts, soon I was crying toonot over the lack of food but because I ached seeing how sad Mum was.
Eventually, we snuggled up under a blanket on the sofa and watched the New Years concert on TV. At midnight, the neighbours on our landing all came out onto the stairs with glasses of bubbly, singing and shouting Happy New Year to each other. Mum and I didnt join themwe stayed where we were.
Then came a sharp knock at the door, persistent and loud. Mum went to answer it, and there stood Mrs. Jenkins from next doorthe same lady who always scolded me for running in the corridor or not scrubbing the stairwell properly. She was a right old fusspot, and the other kids and I always kept out of her way.
Mrs. Jenkins, a little tipsy from celebrating, peered past Mum at our simple table, then left without a word. Twenty minutes later, the quiet was shattered againthis time with someone kicking the door! Mum forbid me from going near it and answered herself. In rolled Mrs. Jenkins again, only now she was lugging bags teeming with treatsplates of salad, thick slices of ham, a jar of Branston pickle, half a roast chicken, sweets, and even a few satsumas. Tucked under her arm was a bottle of prosecco.
She barked at Mum to stop gaping and help unpack, then pulled out all those goodies, filling our table. Mum cried again, but this time the tears were different. Mrs. Jenkins called her a silly thing, wiped Mums face with a sleeve, and strode back out.
After New Years, Mrs. Jenkins went back to her usual bossy self, never mentioning that night. Years later, when everyone in our building came together for Mrs. Jenkins funeral, we all realised how much wed grown to love our grumpy neighbourhow, in one way or another, shed helped each of us when it mattered.
That New Years taught me that kindness isn’t always soft-spoken or sweet. Sometimes, its hidden behind a stern voice or a sharp word, but its kindness all the same. And thats what turns a cold winters night into the warmest of memories.
