Page 7 of So This is Christmas
SOPHIE
Sophie and Bea got to work on the Christmas letter for Greta first thing, before it was even light outside.
Sophie was on the early shift, but had come in before it started and managed to get to Bea’s room without being spotted by Amber, who would likely send her off on some task, regardless of whether Sophie had clocked in yet.
Sophie typed the letter as dictated by Bea in fits and starts, breaking every now and then to look at photographs they could include.
They added a picture of the sunrise succulent with leaves in pinks and greens on Bea’s windowsill that added a pop of colour.
Sophie had given her that for her birthday this year.
Sophie had also taken a picture of the Christmas tree in the residents’ lounge and the nativity scene at a property down the street, and they added those in.
‘Why don’t we include the photographs from the arboretum in the autumn?
’ Sophie suggested. With her laptop in front of her she brought up the pictures from the outing and Bea, with the aid of her magnifying glass, selected her favourite, which was one of the pictures taken during their woodland walk.
In the photograph she was smiling, her cheeks blushed in the cool air, her hair shining beneath the sun as she rested on an enormous tree stump, having let go of Sophie’s arm so Sophie could take some pictures.
‘Are you happy with the layout of the letter?’ Sophie asked once she’d added the photograph in.
‘I trust you.’
‘Okay.’ She saved the document again just to be sure and watched Bea closely. She seemed more tired than usual but then again, they had started this super early.
‘Greta will love it.’ Bea smiled. ‘Will you print it here or at home?’
‘I think I’ll do it here without Amber catching me, use her printer ink rather than my own. How does that sound?’
‘It sounds like a good idea to me.’ Bea’s soft chuckle brought a smile to Sophie’s face. ‘Now promise me you will go and see the Wynters some day.’
‘We’re back to that, are we?’
‘You’ll love Vienna and you’ll love the Wynters. Greta is always reminding me to talk you into it in her letters.’
‘I know.’ Sophie smiled. ‘I read them all, remember.’
‘We’re hoping the powers of persuasion will work.’ Bea had her eyes closed and opened one. ‘Have they worked yet?’
‘Not yet.’ Sophie checked her watch. She had enough time to get this letter printed before her shift started, as long as she checked Amber’s whereabouts first.
‘The Wynters have big hearts, Sophie. If you ever need anything, they’re the people to turn to.’
‘Oh, I nearly forgot!’ Sophie reached into her bag and took out the comfort teddy she’d been working on for months. She didn’t think it was anywhere near as good as the ones in Greta and Walter’s pictures, but she hoped it was good enough for someone to love.
Bea took it in her hands, the blue, green and red teddy bear with a smile sewn on to its face. ‘You made this?’
‘Yes. What do you think?’
She hugged it close to her cheek. ‘I think it’s wonderful.’
‘I was inspired by Greta and Walter. I thought perhaps I could give it to a visitor here, if we have someone who looks like they might need it.’
‘Or you could take it over to Vienna to add to their collection.’ Her eyes twinkled.
‘You don’t give up easily, do you?’
‘He’ll need some friends, Sophie.’
‘Okay.’ She grinned, shook her head. ‘One step at a time, eh?’
‘Well, if he isn’t going to Vienna, why don’t you leave him with me? I’ll keep him safe, and when you see who you want to give it to, come back and fetch him.’
‘Deal. Now I’d better sneak off and use the printer.’
She took her memory stick and managed to have the letter printed and in her hand without being sprung by Amber. Back in Bea’s room, she put it into an envelope and used the snowman stamp to cover the seal on the back. She’d pop the address on later, but right now she had to start her working day.
It was time for breakfast and Sophie delivered Bea’s meal to her. Sometimes residents liked to eat together at the tables in the lounge, but not always. She took Helena’s to her next – much easier than having Amber try to do it and then moan that Helena wouldn’t eat anything.
In Room 1 Helena grumbled, ‘It tastes funny.’ And then, lowering her voice, she added, ‘Amber is trying to poison me.’
‘I made your breakfast myself.’ As she’d collected Helena’s breakfast she’d seen Amber chatting with Irene, the resident in the room furthest away, most likely so she couldn’t be called upon to help with any more of the meal distribution.
Satisfied her breakfast hadn’t been touched by Amber, Helena cautiously picked up the spoon to carry on eating the porridge.
Sophie had only made her a small bowl just in case it wasn’t to her taste.
It wasn’t true that she and Margo were the only ones who could get Helena to eat.
Helena just needed a bit of patience, some understanding, and no implication that she was imagining things or being too fussy.
‘Would you like a couple of slices of toast next?’ Sophie asked her.
‘I’d love some, but one slice will be enough.’ Helena smiled. ‘And could you open a window in here? Amber’s trying to suffocate us all with the heat.’
Sometimes Sophie wondered how Amber had ever got the job she’d been in for a decade. Maybe she was a different person back when she’d applied, or perhaps she was as cunning as she seemed and knew when to switch on the niceties and when to turn them off.
She carefully leant over the five Christmas cards lining Helena’s windowsill and opened the window. ‘You’re a popular lady, it’s only early December.’
‘My cousin Agnes is always the first to send a card. Hers is the one on the left.’ She gestured for Sophie to pick it up and read it for herself. ‘The next one along is from an old friend, Moira. I thought she was dead till I got her card.’
Sophie tried not to laugh at the frank response. Some of the residents really told it like it was. Perhaps that came with age.
As a little girl Sophie had lined her cards up like this on her windowsill in her bedroom.
Classmates at school had exchanged cards so she’d had quite the collection, but she’d known what would happen to them if she tried to put them on display downstairs.
They’d end up in the bin just like every other Christmas-related thing.
She shivered slightly with the cold air flowing inside the lodge. ‘I’ll go get that toast, shall I?’
On her way to the kitchen she took in the decorations, the cheer they added.
She’d taken charge of getting them sorted before the end of her shift the day before and now there were twinkle lights around the reception desk, more along the hallways.
A big tree in the residents’ lounge had ignited a lot of discussion and much glee, which made Sophie feel warm right through.
Soon it would be time for the carol concert, which was always popular, then the minibus tour to see the local lights.
It was a wonderful time of the year, something Sophie had craved for such a long time and hadn’t managed to really find until she reached adulthood.
Sophie hadn’t been neglected as a child.
She’d been safe, she never went hungry, and she’d tried to be grateful for that, but she’d always felt that something was missing.
Over time she’d witnessed the little exchanges between her peers and their parents, the gestures, smiles and hugs, the family idiosyncrasies that hers had never had.
She’d missed out on something, a magic not just for Christmas but a magic that came with feeling like you were a part of something whole.
Sophie’s childhood had been stable but not particularly happy, and even as a young girl she’d known it wasn’t the same in her household as it was in others.
Christmas in particular had highlighted the flaws.
That special time of the year, the one that put smiles on the faces of her friends, their siblings and their parents, had been a non-event in Sophie’s house when she was growing up.
Her mother wasn’t religious so that didn’t determine what her mother did or didn’t do around 25 December and they’d never talked about why she hated that time of year so much.
Sophie could only put it down to the fact that her father had walked out on them in December the year before Sophie turned two and he’d never returned.
Word came a couple of years later that he had passed away but again, her mother never shared what had happened or her feelings about it.
And towards the end of her life, before she died a few years ago, dementia had taken away even more of the only parent Sophie had ever known.
When they’d decorated the care home yesterday, Sophie and Jessica – who was a colleague and a very good friend – had also strung lights in a few of the trees in the garden behind the lodge.
Those lights twinkled back at her now when she looked out of the window in the kitchen as she waited for the toast to pop up.
It reminded her of the times as a little girl when she’d scurry up to her bedroom at the top of the house, kneel on the windowsill and peer out across the neighbourhood.
She’d see how many Christmas trees she could spot in windows, how many lights she could see on the outsides of houses, the fun other families had, like the house with the Father Christmas on the roof with a big sack slung over his shoulder.
She longed to be a part of one of those families and she’d dream that maybe some day that was what she would have.
But come Christmas morning there would be no stocking, no smell of a Christmas roast snaking through the air.
There were no gifts, no hugs and well wishes. It was just another day.