No Magic At All
The New Year was charging closer with relentless speed, like a great steam engine thundering through a foggy English landscape.
Evelyn felt her breath catching at the pace of it all. In her minds eye, she stood alone on a windswept platform in Liverpool, watching the oncoming train, realising she hadnt a ticket, nothing would fall into place, happiness was nowhere in sight and almost certainly never would bejust like the festive spirit itself.
And why, oh why, had she invited guests? Who in their right mind would want to ring in the New Year with a hopeless case?
***
On the 31st of December, disaster was the first to greet herher faithful old washing machine, which had served her for ten whole years, decided to retire, creating a proper flood in the bath.
Finding a plumber on New Years Eve was like searching for the Holy Grail. Still, after a wild goose chase and a sackful of nerves spilt, Evelyn succeeded and exhaled, hopinghopingthat this would be the last of the days woes.
But
In the afternoon, her ginger tomcat, Lord Whiskersa self-professed connoisseurdevoured all the sausages she had artfully prepared for the potato salad, leaving Evelyn nothing but a lonely, sour-faced tin of petit pois and a jar of pickled gherkins.
Apparently that wasnt impudence enough for him, for Lord Whiskers then fancied himself a hunter: he lunged at a blue tit that had decided, inexplicably, to perch on the open casement window
With a theatrical crash, her enormous rubber plant crashed from its post, snagged the Christmas tree, and snuffed out the string lights Evelyn had loved since she was a child.
Shards of pot and the shattered baubles shed treasured since her first Christmas found themselves tangled in wet soil. The sight was enough for Evelyn to nearly burst into tears as she carefully swept up what had once been festive beauty.
Next came a shattered decanter, a burnt roast chicken, and, finallythe breaking point. As her guests drew near, Evelyn clapped a hand to her head: in a rising panic, she realised shed forgotten to buy a trifle. Snatching up her phone, she rang her sister.
Abigail, help! Complete disasterIve no trifle!
Calm down! came her sisters cheery voice, Im just outside. Come on, well nip to the shop, sort it all. Easy!
And youre where?
Told you, right outside your building!
Descending anxiously, Evelyn beheld a most surreal tableau: her sister Abigails car idling by the pavement, her best friend Charlotte balancing an enormous carrier bag, and Auntie Margaret herself, clutching in her arms an entire basin of prawn cocktail.
A prawn cocktailreally? And in a whole basin? Evelyn gasped.
Just in case! Auntie Margaret declared, in the solemn tone of someone who adored bestowing advice nobody wanted. I know what your generations like with cooking! And weve a whole night ahead! Please tell me youve got the potato salad ready?
Evelyn managed a vague shrug
As the ladies dashed for trifle, Charlotte draped paper chains about the sitting room. Meanwhile, Lord Whiskers tangled himself headlong in the streamers and, emerging from the festoons, resembled a sentient alien entity.
Abigails husband, Philip, arriving straight from the office, undertook the heroic task of extracting the cat. This operation proceeded amicablyuntil Lord Whiskers, catching sight of Evelyn, launched himself at her in delight and carved a red reminder on Philips arm.
First aid was tendered, and Philip, brimming with fortitude, offered to help in the kitchen. His assistance, to be fair, consisted mostly of delivering philosophical lectures on the subject, a salad is a state of mind, not just a list of ingredients, but for Evelyn and Abigail, this was quite enough.
Eve, whats this box? Charlottes voice echoed from the drawing room. It says Happy New Year. Oh, and something on the cornerTo be opened at midnight. Gran Rose.
Evelyn nearly sprinted over.
Oh, I forgot! Abigail! Gran gave it to us before she left! She insisted we open it in the small hours on New Years, around two, promised a grand surprise.
I say, what on earth could it be? Abigail examined the box. Lets open it now!
Evelyn shook her head with conviction.
Dont you dare! Shell knowwell never hear the end of it. She probably rigged it with a pin code for all we know! No, well do as she said. Wait for itdont ruin the surprise.
The mystery only made them more eager. Even Auntie Margaret hovered closer, eyeing the box with barely contained curiosity.
***
They listened to the Queens speech, sipped Prosecco, ate the cats potato salad, laughed and bantered, unaware of the moment drawing close.
Is it two already? asked Evelyn. Then its time! She held up the box with a sense of ceremony. Gran Roses surprise!
The task of unlocking its contents was bestowed on the sole gentleman present.
Philip fiddled and unlidded itand inside, nestled on a bed of wadding, lay not pound notes, not old photographs, but dozens of rolled-up, ribbon-tied slips of paper. Each note wore a sticker with a name.
Whats all this then? Philip asked, eyebrows arched.
Evelyn grabbed the first slip bearing her name and read aloud:
Darling Evelyn, my lovely granddaughter. Everything gone wrong again? Washing machine broken? Cat eaten your salad? Never mind! Remember: every problem is just a reason to order a pizza and binge your favourite sitcom. The trifle can wait till morning. All that matters is youve got someone to help you eat the pizza. I love you to the moon and back. Your Gran Rose.
For a heartbeat, silence fell across the room, thenit was shattered by gales of laughter.
Evelyn laughed until tears sparkled at the corners of her eyes.
How did she how did she know?!
Magic, Auntie Margaret whispered reverently.
My turn! Give it here! Abigails impatient hand shot out.
She unravelled her own note:
Abigail, sweetheart. Stop bickering with Philip over nonsense. Give him a cuddle instead. Hes a good sort, even if he loves a rambling thought. If he gets started againkiss him, quick! Its the best weapon against man logic. Love you both.
Blushing grandly, Philip complied with great ceremony, planting a kiss on Abigail amidst the clapping of all assembled.
Charlotte, unrolling her note, giggled:
Charlotte, my pretty girl. Stop hunting for love in pubstry the library or supermarket. There youll meet the right people, good souls like yourself. They just dont wear skinny jeans. Oh, and enough with the purple hair dye. You look beautiful natural!
How on earth? Charlotte exclaimed, I only changed my hair again two nights ago!?
Last came Auntie Margarets turn. With trembling hands, as though she were decoding a royal cipher, she opened her slip.
Dearest Margaret. I know youre our wisest and always up to date on everyones affairs. But heres a secret for you: kindness and good advice are wonderful, but sometimes its better simply to keep quiet and enjoy a slice of cake. Hugs, my dear.
Auntie Margaret eyed the slip, cheeks reddening gently, mumbled something entirely indistinct, helped herself to a slab of trifle, and said not a word more for the rest of the evening. It was the first night in memory she dispensed no advice at all.
The laughter and chatter drifted on until dawn.
On New Year’s morning, they rang Gran Rose over video from some distant village, where she sat in her armchair, beaming: Oh my darlings! Im glad the surprise went down well! No magic neededI simply know you all far too well. And I love you with all my heart!
When tidying away the remnants of the revels, Evelyn gathered those slips into a decorative jar and set it where all could see. They werent just well wishes, they were her grandmothers guide to joy: never fear chaos, laugh at misfortune, treasure your loved ones, eat what you fancy, but dont let gluttony get ahead of you, andabove allremember, the finest gift there is, is knowing that somewhere out there, someone loves and understands you. Always.
