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Sophie walked the short distance home. Her flat was on the other side of the green and down a narrow lane, the brook running parallel. She thought about Kate and Lulu’s suggestion. A solo was the dream. Maybe if the acoustics in the town hall resembled those in her shower, she might have a chance. But even if Sophie had a chance of getting the solo – which she didn’t – she knew that on the night she’d struggle to find her voice. The lights, the music, the people, her anxiety – they’d conspire to make her look like a fool. Besides, she’d be far too busy organising the concert. She wouldn’t have time to worry about anything else in the run-up to Christmas.
In the comfort of her flat, Sophie poured herself a glass of wine and put on her pyjamas. She loved that last hour of the day when she got to snuggle up on the sofa under a blanket and relax in front of the television. She may not go out dancing any more, or have exciting social plans every week, but for Sophie, this was how she liked it. It really was.
Sophie’s flat was one of a small block that sat overlooking the green. In the evening, especially on a weekday in the run-up to Christmas, the townspeople would still be out in force, scurrying around to take advantage of the late-night shopping and meeting friends. Sophie liked that she could kneel on her sofa and look out of the window, watching the people scuttle by. And if she leant out the window a little further, she could just about see far enough to get a glimpse of the town’s Christmas tree.
Only last week, the entire town had come together to watch the Christmas lights being switched on and now, as Sophie settled onto the sofa, she gazed out of the window and looked upon, by all accounts, the biggest Christmas tree they’d ever had in Cranswell. It was decorated with hundreds of tiny white lights and oversized rainbow-coloured baubles. At the very top, a great golden star stood tall, albeit at a slightly disconcerting angle, and cast its own brilliant light show down onto the grass. Albert and the rotary club really had surpassed themselves this year. At least poor old Albert had got something right. She pushed the niggle about the flyers to one side in her mind.
A screaming child caught her attention, and she looked in the little girl’s direction only to see that she was actually giggling as her father chased her across the green, her stringed mittens poking out the bottom of her duffle coat and flapping in the breeze. When he caught her, he flung her into the air as other siblings raced across the green to join them. A couple wandering hand in hand and wearing matching bobble hats looked on with smiles.
Sophie turned back to her desperately empty flat. With a sigh, she picked herself up from the sofa and refilled her wine glass. Sophie’s flat was tiny, but cosy. She loved it. It was just the right amount of space for someone to bumble around in on their own, even if she ended up bumbling around by herself more and more these days. Sipping her wine, she settled down on the sofa and flicked through the channels. Now that the town Christmas tree was up, there was nothing to stop her indulging in her first Christmas film of the season.
Just as she was deciding between It’s a Wonderful Life and Miracle on 34th Street (the original black and white versions of both, of course), a steel drum rendition of ‘Silent Night’ rang out from her phone. Her ringtone was always seasonal and she and Kate had discovered at a Christmas gift fair that steel drums and Christmas music made for a brilliant mix. She couldn’t help but smile. A smile that dropped when she realised who was calling.
She let it ring off, but a minute later the steel drums were back. She put it under a cushion and settled down as the titles for It’s a Wonderful Life began to roll. But after another minute or two, the cushion vibrated as the persistent caller refused to give up. Sophie picked up the cushion, braced herself and answered the phone.
‘Why weren’t you picking up?’ asked her mother. ‘Is everything OK?’
‘Sorry, I was in the middle of something,’ Sophie lied.
‘Didn’t you see it was me calling?’ she asked.
Well, yes, thought Sophie. That’s why she’d not picked up. ‘Sorry, Mum.’ She willed the conversation to move on and for her mother to get to the point, of which there was always one.
‘How are you?’
‘Good, th—’
‘Things are crazy here.’
June was a fan of the monosyllabic answer when it came to conversations with Sophie. Sophie assumed it was to give her more time to talk about herself. She downed her glass of wine and poured herself another while her mother talked.
‘It’s always hectic in the run-up to Christmas, you know. People want to give at Christmas, which is lovely, but it makes life very busy for me.’
Sophie nodded her understanding and realised that her mother couldn’t see her. Not that it made any difference. She’d barely paused for breath since she’d begun talking anyway.
‘And people ask you for the fundraising packs so last minute, as if I haven’t got my own Christmas shopping and organising to do. Goodness!’
Sophie opened her mouth to say that the choir had agreed to help raise money for her mother’s charity through the Christmas concert, but then she closed it again. She wasn’t entirely sure that during this particular rant, June would be pleased. She’d probably just see the extra work it would entail rather than the funds it could generate.
‘How’s that friend of yours?’ June asked, ‘umming’ as she tried to recall her name. ‘You know, the pregnant one.’
‘Kate?’ Sophie threw her head back to retrieve the dregs of her second glass of wine. They’d been small measures, she told herself.
‘Yes. How’s she getting on? She must be nearly ready to burst by now!’
Sophie twisted the bracelet on her wrist and shifted in her seat. ‘Not quite yet.’
‘Does she know what she’s having?’
‘Not sure.’
‘I know it’s hard for you, love.’ June hesitated before carrying on, her tone softening. ‘I just wanted to give you the chance to talk, you know, if you needed to.’ Her mother waited in a rare silence at the other end of the phone.
‘I don’t.’
‘Well …’ Her mother let the word hang in the air. No doubt a last-ditch attempt to give Sophie the opportunity to talk. She didn’t. ‘I should probably go. Lots of fundraising packs to send. We’re always so busy in the run-up to Christmas.’
‘You said. Are you still coming to the new flat for Christmas?’
