CHRISTMAS CRACKERS
What sweet surprises lie in store for Megan on a festive shopping trip...
The scent of cinnamon and mulled wine lingered enticingly in the air as Megan emerged from her car. She had parked in the secret spot that she always used for her quick forays into town. She glanced at her watch, relieved to see she was in plenty of time. She only needed a few minutes for the brisk walk through the winter darkness to the bright shop fronts on the high-street.
Megan joined the throng in the market-square just as the countdown for the lighting ceremony began. She raised her voice in unison with the rest of the crowd, the familiar sense of excitement building. The gasps of awe and delight rippled back through rows of craned heads, as the bright chains of stars and angels sparkled into life above them.
Megan had been watching the switching on of the Christmas lights in the small seaside town where she had grown up for almost as long as she could remember. In the old days of course, her father had lifted her up onto his broad shoulders, like so many of the excited children in front of her.
Megan felt a pang of sorrow. She missed her gentle father. His loss had been an unexpected blow. It was the main reason why she had left her high-powered job in the city, despite the pleas of friends and colleagues to stay. Moving closer to her mum had helped both of them to cope.
Megan strolled back up the high street as people began to disperse, stopping to glance in the windows of her favourite shops. Experience had taught her that it was never too early to start buying Christmas gifts. In a few weeks the queues would be tediously long, turning the whole present buying business into a headache.
Soon Megan’s capacious handbag was brimming with the surprises she had found for different members of her family. She had come almost full circle and allowed herself a break at the tiny café on the square. Despite the cold, the owner had placed tables outside beside the towering Christmas tree. Megan inhaled the smell of pine from the branches above her while she cupped her hands around a steaming mug of hot chocolate. She had time for a bit of people watching now.
These days there were fewer faces that Megan recognised among the busy shoppers passing by. An elderly neighbour gave her a wave but most of Megan’s old school-friends had been lured away by better job prospects elsewhere. She glanced over at a craft stall in front of her, where a cheerful but exasperated man was helping children to make their own Christmas crackers. There was something familiar about him, Megan thought. The tall figure opposite seemed to feel the heat of her gaze and turned to look straight across at her. They both grinned at once.
“Matthew Turner,” Megan muttered under her breath in triumph, proud that she could still recall his name. He had never been in any of her classes but she had always admired him from afar. Come to think of it, her mother had mentioned him only recently. Wasn’t he a primary teacher now or something? Megan was not quite sure. She fumbled in her bag for her mobile to check her messages. She did not want to embarrass herself by staring. When she risked looking up again, he was standing right next to her.
“Megan, isn’t it?” he asked politely, running his fingers through an untidy shock of dark hair. She nodded, surprised he had remembered her, and grasped his outstretched hand. Megan shook it firmly, with a feigned confidence.
“It’s good to see you again, Matthew,” she replied. “You look like you might have your hands full over there!”
He laughed and shrugged his shoulders in mock despair. “Come and meet them if you dare,” he challenged and led Megan over to join the chaos, before she could change her mind.
The small group of children parted to let her in. Before she knew it, Megan was passing tissue paper, glitter, and glue down the line. They chatted easily over the children’s heads while they worked. As parents arrived to collect their offspring, Megan turned to go. Matthew pressed one of the crackers he had been making into her hand as she left. She thanked him and scurried off.
It was only when she reached the car that Megan paused to read the tissuepaper missive in her hand. Call me, the sticky label on it said, in Matthew’s sloping handwriting; under it he had written his mobile number. Megan smiled. Perhaps this Christmas will be different after all?
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