12 Days 'til Christmas ✓

chapter nine

n i n e

*

Casper isn't on the till when Mum and I make it to Java Tea. Julio serves us with a bright smile and his Santa hat at a jaunty angle, his light-up necklace still blinking. When I ask for a mint hot chocolate and Mum orders a chai latte, and a couple of cakes to share, he repeats the order in his thick Spanish accent and says, "That will be seven pounds."

"I think you forgot to add the cakes," Mum says. "One of the chocolate yule and one cinnamon bun."

Julio winks and says, "I didn't forget." Looking at me, he adds, "You have been very good to my best employee. He tells me of what you have done for him. Free cakes for you and your sister."

Mum laughs and blushes, even though – no offence to her – it's pretty clear we're a good thirty-three years apart, and don't look remotely similar. It's no wonder Julio's built up his loyal customer base, with his charm and undeniable good looks, a silver fox with eyes that sparkle. He isn't even fully grey yet, his hair more of a salt and pepper even though I know he celebrated his sixtieth a couple of years ago.

When we take a seat with our drinks and our free cakes, Mum leans across the table and whispers, "He's like a Spanish George Clooney!"

"Shush!" She's not wrong. But she is loud, and the only reason Julio doesn't hear her is because he's dealing with another customer. Chuckling to herself, she stirs her latte and cuts the yule log and the cinnamon bun in even halves.

"So, where's your wise man?"

"Probably in the back. Most likely plotting a way to get rid of all the Christmas decorations while Julio's busy."

Mum frowns. "Why would he do that?"

Ah. I may have missed out an important snippet of information. "He ... uh, he kind of hates Christmas."

Mum's gasp is enough to draw the attention of several other customers, whose heads snap up to check whether there's a threat nearby. "What?"

"Yeah. He's not a fan. I call him the grinch," I say, trying to downplay it because if I'm a Christmas fan, my mum's a fanatic.

She cannot comprehend people whose hearts don't fill with glee at the sound of Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree; she was utterly baffled when a Jewish family moved in next door and didn't put up decorations and a tree, and I learnt that she had no idea what a menorah was. It was only after a Chanukah education that she came to terms with it; and the couple's daughters, Rachel and Hannah, have been on my not-Christmas card list ever since.

"Why not? Is it a religious thing?" she asks, her expression one of total confusion.

"Nope. He just doesn't like it. As far as I can gather, though I've yet to get a solid explanation, I think he thinks the whole holiday is a commercial mess."

"Oh, gosh." Mum puts her hand over her heart, shaking her head. "So sad. Are you sure that's the kind of person you want to live with? At this time of year? Goodness, Beth, he must hate your house!"

I laugh and nod, my lips pressed together. "He was a bit taken aback by the tree, but I think he'd rather live with me and my decorations than be homeless. So, good news, he likes having somewhere to live more than he dislikes the holidays."

"Maybe he'll see the light. Poor boy. I've found life is a lot nicer when you open your heart to the holidays; maybe he's just been doing it wrong. You can show him what it's all about." She nods firmly, as though she has just made an executive decision, and I can't help but chuckle at her sincerity.