Page 3 of So This is Christmas

SOPHIE

Sophie thanked the postman as he passed her a pile of letters held together with an elastic band. After a brief exchange about the cold snap gracing London and its surrounds, he went on his way.

The door to the foyer of the Tapestry Lodge where Sophie worked as a care home assistant slid closed, shutting out the November chill.

She undid the bundle before delivering the letters one by one to the residents.

She saved the letter addressed to Bea Kern until last. She wasn’t supposed to have favourites, but she couldn’t help it; Bea definitely fitted that category.

She stopped at Bea’s doorway. The eighty-year-old was contentedly sitting in her chair, her head moving ever so slightly to the sounds of ‘Hark the Herald Angels Sing’, the carol playing softly so it wouldn’t disturb anyone else in the care home.

Bea’s sight might be a problem but her hearing was no issue at all; she said she was blessed.

She was the sort of woman who, no matter what came her way, exuded positivity.

Bea had no family, she had nobody apart from the people she knew at the lodge who were a family of sorts.

Sophie liked thinking that way. Everyone deserved a family after all, because not having one was painful and lonely in equal measure.

Sophie tapped gently on the open door. ‘Knock knock.’

‘Come in, my dear.’ Although Bea’s eyesight couldn’t make her out, she recognised Sophie’s voice. Bea reached for her radio and turned the volume right down.

‘Don’t do that on my account,’ said Sophie. ‘I love carols.’

‘I’ll leave it on low, we can still hear it.’

‘I have something for you.’ Sophie sent a smile Bea’s way as she leaned closer, holding the envelope in front of her. ‘I do believe this has an Austrian postmark, and—’ she flipped the envelope over ‘—a festive stamp.’

Bea clapped her hands together. ‘It’s not even December yet! What a treat, getting my Christmas letter nice and early. Although I shouldn’t be surprised; Greta is usually first to send hers. I need my magnifying glass.’

Sophie found it on top of the chest of drawers and passed it to Bea.

As Sophie held the envelope, Bea held her magnifying glass and looked at the stamp on the back. ‘It’s a reindeer. How wonderful! Thank you, Greta.’

‘And Walter,’ said Sophie. ‘He’s in charge of the printing and the fiddling with the images, remember.’

‘Oh yes, Greta has never been one for technology. Not that I can talk. Even if my sight were better, I suspect I’d still have you help me with my Christmas letter, Sophie.’

‘And I wouldn’t mind at all.’ Putting together a festive letter for Bea each year was one of the nicest parts of her job and she really enjoyed it.

Doing something so personal was all part of getting to know a resident, and it was what Sophie had always loved about being a care assistant.

Anyone who knew her probably wondered where she’d got the caring gene from, because it certainly hadn’t been passed down from her mother, nor the father who had left when she was a baby.

‘Would you like me to do the honours?’ Sophie held out her hands to take the letter now Bea had opened the envelope and pulled out the sheets of paper.

‘I would love that, Sophie dear.’ Her face, anticipating news from her native Vienna, had already lit up as if she were transporting herself over to Austria and fond memories of a different life.

She preferred to close her eyes and be read to – at least for the first time – and then later on she could pore over the letter and the pictures at her leisure using her magnifying glass.

Sophie pulled over a stool and lifted the bottom of her tunic out of the way so the front didn’t tug and try to strangle her as she sat down.

She’d been reading Greta’s letters ever since they first started arriving at the Tapestry Lodge shortly after Bea’s admission and in that time, she’d seen Bea brighten whenever she heard from her very good friend, whether it was by letter, or in a card, a phone call, or a video call.

Not only that, but Sophie also felt as though she had begun to get to know Greta and Walter Wynter.

They were kindness personified; they seemed to genuinely care about Sophie’s happiness even though they didn’t know her that well.

The Wynters seemed to know the real meaning of family, something Sophie had missed her whole life until she’d had her own child.

Once she’d become a mother, rather than Christmas bringing up painful memories, it had become a fond reminder of the special times she’d shared with her son Hayden when he was little.

She was about to start reading when an unwelcome interruption came from the doorway behind her.

‘Did you deliver all the letters, Sophie?’ asked Amber – a woman who didn’t seem to have many caring bones in her body despite her job as care home manager.

‘All done – everyone has their post,’ Sophie told her with a forced smile.

The pair had been clashing on and off for years.

If they were like a family at the Tapestry Lodge, providing comfort and company for those who needed it the most, what did that make Amber? The evil auntie, the wicked stepmother?

Amber’s pinched look was followed by the instruction, ‘Can you please see to it that Helena in Room 1 eats some breakfast? She refused earlier and I’ve tried twice. Margo has left. You two seem to be the only ones who can convince her to eat, so…’

‘She likes full fat milk on her cereal.’ She’d told Amber this before, but the message obviously hadn’t got through.

What Amber seemed to forget about her role as manager was that she was supposed to do more than budgets, paperwork and fundraising – she had a duty of care to actually care about the people here.

Amber left them to it, muttering something about having one more go, but that ‘milk was bloody milk’.

Bea lowered her voice. ‘Perhaps that’s what Amber really takes offence to, the dreaded full fat.’ She gasped and put a hand against her chest, doing a well-practised impression of Amber. ‘Get that stuff away from me! Just looking at it makes me fat.’

Sophie laughed. ‘Stop it, you’ll get me into trouble if she hears us taking the mickey.’

‘I bet I’m not wrong. Now, the Christmas letter if you would.

’ She shuffled in her chair, ready to listen to a treasured piece of correspondence from her dear friend, her fingers lightly finding the jigsaw puzzle-piece pendant on the necklace she wore every day.

From Greta’s very first letter, Sophie had learned that it was Greta who had bought the necklace for Bea when they were both in their early twenties.

It was the last Christmas they spent in Vienna with their families before they went their own separate ways, and while Bea’s solid 14-carat gold jigsaw piece pendant had a B engraved on it next to the sapphire gemstone, Greta’s had a G.

The pieces, if they were pushed together, would fit perfectly.

Bea’s eyes glistened with anticipation. Her head briefly turned in the direction of the framed photographs on the windowsill.

As well as a picture of her late husband Anthony, his arms wrapped around Bea, there was a photograph of Bea and Greta, smiles on their faces, arms linked with each other, dressed in winter coats and hats.

It had been taken decades ago but the black and white print captured the way Sophie bet they both still felt, like those two young women with the world spread out before them.

Their friendship had stood the test of time. It was special.

Sophie unfolded the letter, teasing as if she were a storyteller. ‘Are you sitting comfortably?’

‘You know full well I am. Just get on with it.’

‘Very well, then I shall begin.’

My dearest Bea,

Season’s greetings from across the miles!

I hope this letter finds you well and that the Tapestry Lodge is getting ready for Christmas, the most wonderful time of the year.

Vienna has already done us proud and is quite stunning, but of course you must remember that from our younger days.

Those years seem so long ago and yet in some ways it feels like only yesterday that you and I would dress up in our winter clothes and deliver our Christmas cards door to door.

I must decorate the apartment soon – seeing all the festivities outside of the building makes me feel terrible that I’m so late to do so.

I know how much you love to hear about our beloved city, so I’ll tell you all about it.

The markets at Schonbrunn Palace are as magical this year as ever, with stalls having the backdrop of the palace and its stunning baroque architecture.

I mustn’t spend too much money but there are so many wonderful gifts, it’s hard not to.

The Rathausplatz Market has begun for another year and draws a big crowd daily.

I’m not quite as agile as I once was, but do you remember racing from stall to stall, too excited to stop and appreciate the wares in the way our parents did?

‘I remember.’ Bea beamed across at Sophie. ‘I think there are more and more stalls every year now. You really should go and see for yourself. There’s nothing like it, Sophie.’

Of course, both Bea and Greta had told her this several times. Perhaps she would go one day – not that she’d ever had a holiday on her own. For years she’d had holidays with Hayden but now he’d flown the nest and gone to university, maybe it was something to think about.

She continued reading.

The Wynter Hotel looks delightful at this time of year.

I know you can picture it in your mind – I’m so glad you once got to stay there with Anthony.

Sophie is always welcome to visit, and I would recommend the hotel particularly for its wonderful spa, although please do warn her that these Europeans aren’t shy and like to go in totally naked!

I might be European myself but even I’m not used to that, and Walter certainly isn’t.