No magic at all
New Years Eve was hurtling towards me like an express train roaring through the English countryside.
The speed of it all was dizzying. I felt as if I were standing on the windy platform at Paddington Station, ticketless and certain Id miss my trainnot just to a party, but to happiness itself. Any trace of festive cheer seemed well out of reach.
Why did I even agree to host people? Who wants to spend New Years Eve with a hopeless case?
***
The 31st began with what I can only call a minor domestic disaster: after a decade of lint and noble duty, my loyal washing machine decided to retire, flooding the bathroom in the process.
To find a plumber in London on New Years Eve is some sort of twisted challenge. Still, after exhausting a small fortune in phone calls and nerves, I managed to arrange for one, sighing with relief and hoping my bad luck was over for the day.
But oh, no.
That afternoon, my cheeky ginger tom, Olivera self-proclaimed connoisseurdevoured the entire bit of ham Id set aside for the potato salad, leaving me little more than a handful of peas and some pickled onions.
Apparently unsatisfied, Oliver next decided to chase a blue tit that, for some reason, had alighted on our open sash window.
My enormous ficus crashed from its perch, grabbed onto the Christmas tree, and in its descent, extinguished the beloved old fairy lights Id cherished since my childhood in Oxford.
Bits of pottery and shattered baubles, which Id treasured for years, tangled with soil and pine needles on the floor.
Fighting back tears, I cleared up the ruins.
What followed was a smashed whisky decanter, a charred roast chicken, and, finally, the last straw: just as my friends were nearly at the door, I realised in horror that Id forgotten to buy a pudding. In a panic, I called my sister.
Kate, Im doomed! Theres not a single pudding in the house!
Calm down! came her upbeat reply. Im outside. Come downlets get one together.
Wait, youre here?
I told youIm parked out front.
When I got downstairs, I was greeted by a true British tableau: standing next to Kates car were my best mate Molly clutching a giant bag, and Auntie Gloria carrying a vast basin covered in cling film.
Whats with the jelly? And such a giant dish? I gaped.
Just in case, darling! Auntie Gloria said with her usual authority, always loving to offer unsolicited advice. I know what your cookings like. We have the whole evening ahead! Theres still potato salad, isnt there?
My shoulders sagged with exhaustion.
While we girls dashed off to Tesco for pudding, Molly hung glittering garlands round the lounge, with Oliver promptly entangling himself so thoroughly he looked like some sort of alien invader.
Kates husband, Ian, just back from work, arrived in time to rescue the cat.
Oliver didnt protest until he saw me; then he dashed over so enthusiastically he left a bleeding scratch on Ians arm.
We patched up the wound, and Ian, being the gallant sort, volunteered to help in the kitchen.
His help mainly consisted of philosophical musings: Salads a state of mind, not a mere list of ingredients! But, for Kate and I, that was quite enough.
Molly, whats this box? she called from the sitting room. Happy New Year! it says. Ooh, theres something on the side: To open after midnight. Granny Violet.
I hurried in.
Oh, I nearly forgot! Kate, Gran left that. She said we should open it at New Year, about two in the morning. Promised it would be a surprise.
Wonder whats inside? Kate eyed it. Should we peek now?
I shook my head. Shell ask! You know she will. What if theres some puzzle lock or something? Wed spoil it all. Lets do as she asks.
The anticipation became infectious. Even Auntie Gloria pulled up a chair, eyeing the box as if it were crown jewels.
***
Later, after watching the Prime Ministers address and toasting with prosecco, we ate Olivers potato salad, laughed, squabbled, and at last
Its two oclock? I checked. Perfect. Time for Granny Violets surprise!
The honour of opening the box went to the only man in the room.
Ian fiddled with the ribbons and lifted the lid.
Inside, on a bed of cotton wool, were dozens of tiny scrolls, each bound neatly with a colourful ribbon and adorned with a sticker bearing a name.
What on earth? Ian murmured.
I picked the one labelled Sophie and read aloud:
Sophie, my dearest granddaughter. Did things go awry again? Washing machine splutter out? Cat eat your salad? Never mind! Remember, every problems just an excuse to order in pizza and watch your favourite series. The pudding can wait until morning. What matters is whos beside you to help you eat that pizza. Love you to the moon and back. Yours, Gran Violet.
For a moment, the room fell silentthen everyone burst out laughing.
I laughed until I had tears streaming down my cheeks.
How did shehow did she know?!
Its magic, whispered Auntie Gloria.
Give mine here! Kate demanded, snatching her scroll.
She read:
My darling Kate. Stop bickering with Ian over silly little things. Give him a cuddle. Hes a good man, even if he tends towards the philosophical. If he starts up again, just kiss himits the only defence against man logic. Kisses to you both.
Ian turned as red as a double-decker bus and kissed Kate amid thunderous applause.
Molly giggled as she unfurled her own:
Lovely Molly. Seek love not in pubs, but in the library, or at your corner Sainsburys. Good people are right where you are. They just dont wear tight designer jeans. And, stop dying your hair purpleyour natural colour suits you best!
How on earth does she know about my hair? Molly gasped. I only dyed it two days ago!
At last, it was Auntie Glorias turn. She unfurled her note as if decoding royal secrets.
Dearest Gloria. I know youre the wisest among us, always in the know. But heres a secret for you: kindness and advice are lovely, but now and then its better to simply keep mum and have another slice of pudding. A big hug to you, darling.
Auntie Gloria flushed, muttered something under her breath, nabbed herself some pudding, and stayed silent. For the first New Year in living memory, she offered not a single suggestion.
Laughter and chatter brightened the flat until dawn.
We called Granny Violet on FaceTime, and there she was, smiling in another city, telling us, My loves! Im so pleased you enjoyed the surprise! No magic at all. I just know you so welland love you dearly!
The next morning, as I cleared away the remains of the party, I gathered the scrolls into a pretty biscuit tin and set them where Id always see them. They werent just notes. They were a recipe for happiness from my gran: dont fear chaos, laugh at your troubles, cherish your people, eat what you like but dont stuff yourself. And, most importantly, remember: the best gift of all is knowing theres someone out there who loves and truly understands you. Always.
