Joy To The World

It was a hectic time of year, but Beth was counting her blessings

Apretty box of shiny crackers, bottle of sherry and a dozen deep-filled mince pies. Beth smiled at the elderly lady at the other side of the check-out.

“That’s £14.75, please.” She tried to make it sound less than it was, watching as the lady handed over a ten pound note and rooted in her purse for the rest.

“I have it here, I’m sure.” She began counting coins into Beth’s hand. Her fingers were gnarled with rheumatism. The long queue behind her fidgeted with annoyance. “Sorry to keep you.”

Beth found a new patience – a sympathy – with this customer; she’d already waited her turn in one of the queues that snaked right to the back of the store. Several part-time cashiers had been dispatched along the lines with free offerings from tins of festive toffees and biscuits.

“Something to keep them sweet,” the manager had instructed and laughed at his own joke.

“Don’t worry about it,” Beth now assured the customer. “Between you and me, I’m glad of a bit of a break.”

“There…” the coins were found, the till pinged open and the lady began to pack her items into a faded bag that had seen its fair share of Christmases. “That’s me sorted, in case the family calls in.”

Beth reached to tear the receipt from the jaws of the printer.

“Always a lot to do at this time of year,” she remarked. And stopped there, conscious that this customer had not sounded sure about her family visiting.

The woman had given up trying to fit the crackers into her bag. Behind her, a fraught-looking mother was loading the first of two trolleys of groceries onto the conveyor belt. A tottering mountain of food was already juddering to a halt in front of Beth.

“Thank you.” The older woman became even more flustered, dropping the receipt in her haste. Beth retrieved it from the back of the printer, where it had fluttered and come to rest. “There you go… no worries.” “Very kind – I don’t know how you keep going,” the woman remarked. “What time do you finish?”

“Close of play – eight o’clock tonight.” Beth smiled and tried not to think about the frantic hours ahead.

“Goodness! On Christmas Eve, too! Well, enjoy your break – you’ve earned it.”

The next customer was bearing down on Beth so there was little time to wonder what sort of Christmas the previous lady could expect. Would she feel lonely? Forgotten? Or be happy with a quiet Christmas, watching what she wanted on the TV, eating when she wanted – choosing food that she actually liked and not trying to force sprouts and stuffing onto fellow diners for the sake of tradition?

Beth smiled at her new customer. “Hello – do you need help with your packing?” and received a curt headshake and a frown of grim determination in return. This woman was unfolding huge trolley bags with military precision, suggesting even her shopping must conform. Beth imagined a Christmas table set early on Christmas Eve, children folded into bed at a sensible hour and the morning’s present-opening regimented, documented and no nonsense.

“You’re working on Christmas Eve and Boxing Day?” Her husband had been incredulous when Beth confirmed her schedule at the beginning of the month. Her wages helped bolster the

family budget and all the demands of their two teenage boys. She couldn’t say no.

He set his mouth into a thin line of acceptance when she produced a timetable plan of the build-up to Christmas.

“What on earth is this?” he muttered, scanning the sheet.

Beth had wanted to point out that it was the written version of the list every female carries in her head from the start of December. Instead, she said, “It’ll help me get everything sorted… Make sure we have a good Christmas, even if I am working all those hours.” She hadn’t realised the impact… The Christmas decorations had been the first surprise. Stumbling up the path late on the evening of the 14th December, Beth was wondering when she’d find the time to decorate the six-foot tree. Her thoughts were interrupted by the pretty welcome wreath on the front door.

“Ta-dah!” The door opened with a flourish and three grinning faces greeted her with a cup of tea and a warm mince pie.

“And look what else we did…” At thirteen, Will was eager to lay as much claim to the evening’s work as his older brother. “Dad and Cal got the stuff out of the loft and put the tree together,

“TA-DAH!” The door opened and three GRINNING faces GREETED her

but I did most of the decorating!”

Beth was virtually pushed into the lounge, where Christmas had clearly arrived and was shining merrily around her. Not a storage box in sight. She caught her husband’s eye and he winked. “Santa’s little helpers have been busy this evening.” He smiled.

“Thank you – so much.” She managed to speak without betraying how tearful she felt at their kind gesture.

It was such a sweet thing for the three “men” in her life to do and it gave Beth a new impetus for writing cards and buying presents. Will took it upon himself to stick on the stamps and trek to the post box.

Cal, her calm, unassuming, gangly first-born, loped around with rolls of holly paper and even found a penchant for icing the cake and trying his hand at baking… And when Will whispered that his dad’s persuasiveness included preparing the turkey and vegetables while she worked on Christmas Eve, her happiness knew no bounds…

Now, her second trolley unloaded, the harassed customer had assumed a frenzied bag-packing pace and Beth was whizzing through enough food to feed an army for weeks. The scanner beeped, the packets kept coming and the regimentation of the purchases continued until Beth noticed the next customer bar and a very unhappy-looking man at the end of it all.

The printer went into overdrive to produce a scroll-like receipt and Beth tore it off with a flourish.

“Have a lovely Christmas,” she said cheerily as she handed over the receipt.

“You’d think so, wouldn’t you – judging by this lot,” the man muttered darkly, folding the receipt into his wallet. “Just hope they all appreciate it…” and he reached for a well-stacked trolley and began pushing with effort, following his wife through crowds of shoppers.

“Hello – do you need help with your packing?” Beth started on another stream of groceries, last-minute gifts and decorations. She worked on towards her break and beyond, greeting and smiling, chatting a little, hearing the many stories of Christmas past and present…

“Do you know, he’s not written a single card in twenty years of marriage?...” Beep beep. “I’m not getting as much stuff this year… so much waste, isn’t there? I mean, do we really need to eat so much more on one day in December?” Beep beep. “I just love Christmas, don’t you? All these festive songs all over again. And the sparkle…” Beep beep. “Don’t know what all the fuss is about… It’s just another day with a load of rubbish on the telly…” Beep beep. And on and on. Until the message passed along the line that the doors had closed and the tannoy warned customers to make their way to the tills.

Beth looked up. The queues had dwindled. The Christmas music was turned off. Lights in the bakery and butchery departments were dimmed. Finally, it was over. Beth pulled her woolly hat low, waved goodbye to the Christmas Eve team and stepped out into the cold night air. And there it was: Christmas waiting in the darkness. Night-revellers and excited children and coloured lights. Thousands of different Christmas Day plans all waiting to be unwrapped and burst open like crackers. So many ways to spend the day, so many hopes and possible tears.

Beth had heard her fair share of those plans, seen the work and effort, the great intentions and the small kindnesses. She walked a little quicker tonight, eager to be home. For, however short her Christmas might be, she knew it measured up very well. It was everything she wanted.