Not long now

A dark Christmas Eve shopping hell story.

Abby Finch was a practiced multitasker; for instance, right that minute, she was eating a biscuit, debating a stupidly high energy bill with an online helpdesk, responding to a text from an irate client who was outraged that she didn’t offer 24 hour shipping, stopping her kids from throwing spoons at each other, and generally trying not to scream.

And then her ex called.

That did it. She shoved the kids apart, ran onto the balcony and screamed the loudest and foulest curse she could come up with. A passing old lady looked up and gave her a disapproving scowl. Abby felt like giving her the middle finger.

Sour old goat, she thought, watching the woman flounce off in a huff. Why did people have to be so judgemental? Couldn’t they cut you a little more slack at Christmas?

Abby sighed and called back her ex: perfect Percy, with his double baralled surname and holier-than-thou-attitude. And she’d had kids with him. Hell, she’d almost married him. The mere thought made her shudder.

Percy answered the phone immediately, which was just like him. ‘Abby! How are you? Feeling festive?’

Oh piss off, you pompous prick. ‘A bit. What’s up?’ She didn’t say, how’s your gorgeous new girlfriend and accomplished stepchild, because she already knew the answer – peachy and perfect as ever.

‘I just wanted to see how you were getting on with your Christmas preparations.’ Something clattered in the background. ‘Sorry about that. Cynthia and I are on rather a baking spree at the moment. Say hello, Cynthia!’

‘Abby, honey! How you doing?’ Percy’s American girlfriend, all sweetness and light down to the core. Even on her darkest days, Abby couldn’t think anything bitchy to say about her.

‘OK thanks.’

‘Awesome! Percy, sweetie, I’ll take over the cookies, you chat to Abby!’

She bustled off. It occurred to her that Cynthia never thought of her as a rival for Percy’s affection. She was that trusting… or maybe she just twigged there was no contest.

There was a rustling at the other end of the line and the hiss of wind; Percy must have gone in the garden. ‘So how are you, really? Is everything OK? Because if it’s all too much…’

The silent implication hung in the air. I’ll have the kids. You’re clearly not up to it.

‘It’s fine.’ Abby dug her nails into her free palm. Just drop this Percy.

But Percy didn’t drop it. ‘It’s not that I’m judging. I don’t know how I’d function without Cynthia. It’s just I know you’re working a lot, and after last time…’

Abby gripped the phone so tight, it was a shock it didn’t shatter. How dare he bring up the turkey disaster of 2021. It wasn’t her fault the oven set on fire, though admittedly, trying to put it out with a bottle of Chardonny hadn’t helped. They’d evacuated the whole building, and everyone ended up having Christmas in the pub, which to be honest had been a lot less hassle.

‘I told you, everything’s under control. So don’t worry.’

A sigh down the line. ‘OK. But if you need anything, just call me. Anytime.’

What a twat, she thought, ending the call. Why did he have to be so damn nice all the time?

‘Mummmmmy!’

Abby turned. Kelly was standing in the doorway, tears streaming down her face.

‘Oh Kells, what’s the matter?’

The little girl sniffed loudly. ‘G-G-George says Santa’s not real. He’s not c-c-coming.’

Abby cradled her six year old daughter, giving her son a stern glare through the window.

‘Don’t listen to George. He’s just being silly. Of course Santa’s coming.’

The sniffles lessened. ‘And he’s getting me a Sparkly Princess?’

Abby, who’d been stroking Kelly’s head, stopped suddenly. ‘A what, sweetie?’

‘A Sparkly Princess.’ Kelly broke free of the hug, pouting. ‘Like I wrote in my letter. You posted it to Santa, remember?’

‘Yeah of course he is. Listen Kells, can you go back in? Mummy’s gotta make a few calls…’

Twenty minutes later, a haranged Abby shooed her sugar-hyped children into Auntie Jo’s house. They wanted to watch Christmas films in their pyjamas like she had (apparently) promised, and she’d had to bribe them with Haribo to get them in the car.

‘Thank you so much Jo. I owe you one.’

Jo, their retired neighbour from five years ago, lit the fag hanging from her mouth. She watched lazily as Abby’s kids chucked sofa cushions at each other.

‘I was planning on drinking gin on my own,’ she said, with a sarcastic drawl.’ Guess now I’ve got company.’ She blew out smoke and laughed huskily at her own bad joke.

Abby forced a smile and waved to the kids. ‘You all be good for Auntie Jo! I won’t be long.’

‘OK Mum!’

The door shut. Abby swallowed the lump in her throat.

It’s fine, she thought, peering through the curtains and praying George wasn’t trying to pull the Christmas lights down. Jo used to be a parent. She knows how to look after children. And the passive smoke won’t kill them – at least not that quickly.

She got in the car. An hour round the shops, tops, then she’d rescue the kids. Just get in, grab the doll, get out. Simple.

Only it never is that simple.

The warm wet weather had flooded one of the roads, so they crawled through traffic. When they finally got going, she was so distracted, she drove through a red light and had to swerve when a car without lights came out of nowhere.

Her hands were still shaking by the time she parked (on double yellow lines) in town. She shivered in her crappy unwaterproof coat, which was both too cold and too warm at the same time. The last place on earth she wanted to be was here.

But how can you disappoint a six-year-old at Christmas?

She fought through the sweaty crowds. Apparerntly, everyone on earth seemed to be out tonight, and the Christmas spirit was sorely lacking; half of them looked openly hostile, blocking the pavement with bulging bags of shopping and daring anyone to say anything about it. Abby had no doubt that some of this lot would willingly gouge out an eye or bruise a rib if you got in their way.

Well, she’d break multiple limbs if she had to.

Channelling her inner bargain-hunting granny, Abby skillfully elbowed aside her competitors, fixing her eyes on the prize. At last, the toy shop shone before her, glittering in all its overpriced, plastic glory. She hurried towards it.

The door was shut.

Abby tugged harder. Still the door wouldn’t budge. ‘Hello?’ She hammered on the front. ‘Is anyone in there?’

No one responded. What the hell was happening? Who closes a toy shop on Christmas Eve?

A sadist, that’s who. Someone who enjoys punishing unprepared parents, shaming them for the failures they are. They probably had a webcam set up, so they could watch the hope dash from their faces in real time.

A passing sixty-something in a padded purple winter coat gave Abby a sympathic smile. Abby tried to ignore her, but the stranger stopped in the middle of the pavement, sagging under the weight of her bags. ‘Christmas Eve shopping too, huh? Nightmare, isn’t it?’

Abby shrugged. She didn’t want other people witnessing her humiliation.

‘Let me guess. You’re after a Sparkly Princess?’

‘Yeah.’ She didn’t want to be drawn in, but she couldn’t help but be curious. ‘How did you know?’

The stranger smiled, kindness and reassurance radiating from her rosy cheeks. ‘My granddaughter’s a girly girl too. It’s princess this and princess that.’ She chuckled warmly. ‘They’re so set on things at that age.’

Abby shook her head. ‘I can’t believe I forgot until today.’

The stranger laid a gentle hand on Abby’s shoulder, and Abby remembered kindly dinner ladies and sympathetic primary school teachers, helping her up when she’d scraped her knee.

‘You know,’ said the stranger. ‘I know a place that stocks dolls. It’s open late. We can go together, if you want?’

Abby nodded. In a dream, she followed this magical woman, who glided through the shoppers like she was a fairytale princess herself. Abby tried to stay close, hoping a little magic might rub off on her.

It wasn’t long before the made it to their new destination. The automatic doors of the shop opened before them, revealing a bright warm glow. Like firelight in the winter dark.

‘What is this place? I’ve never heard of it.’

The stranger didn’t answer. Abby followed her inside, half expecting a winter wonderland. What she was an ordinary discount supermarket, piled high with boxes and boxes of assorted, almost random goods. Feel good Christmas tunes played in the background.

‘Ah there it is,’ said the stranger, already halfway up the aisle.

She was holding a box, containing pink doll with white hair and a puffy, rainbow dress.

‘I believe this is for you,’ she said with a smile.

Abby ran towards her and grabbed a doll. The plastic film of the box crinkled in her grip. An intense rush of gratitude filled her soul. It was like Santa had rocked up beside her and granted all her Christmas dreams.

‘Thank you,’ she shouted, almost ready to hug this kind stranger. ‘Thank you so much!’

The stranger only beamed.

They joined the queue together. Abby felt ecstatically happy. Was this the Christmas spirit they always talked about in cheesy films? She’d never felt it before and now, she just wanted to put a smile on everyone’s face.

Abby shuffled forwards, humming All I Want for Christmas under her breath in time to the music. The queue was moving at a glacial pace but at least it was moving. There’s nothing worse than a queue that doesn’t move at all.

She messaged Jo: ‘Nearly finished. Kids OK?’ then scrolled idly on her phone for a few minutes. Behind her, an old lady cleared her throat; the queue had moved up several paces.

‘Oh God. Sorry.’ Abby moved up. The old lady muttered something. Never mind. One grumpy person couldn’t spoil her mood. She had what she needed, and Kells wouldn’t be bawling her eyes out on Christmas morning. For once, everything was coming up Abby.

They’d have pizza tonight, she decided, pizza and ice cream. They’d eat out the boxes and scoop from the tubs with giant spoons. Screw washing up.

At some point, her phone buzzed: Everything was fine, it seemed. After running around and causing chaos, they’d settled down enough to built a pillow fort.

Abby sighed. Pillow forts – there was something nostalgic about that, though she’d never done it herself as a kid. It felt wholesome and whimsical. She admired the creativity of her own children.

Her phoned buzzed again.

‘Now George making fart jokes LOL.’

That was more like it. Abby put her phone away, moved up a foot more. It did seem to be a pretty long queue, but that was the Christmas season for you. You just had to be a bit patient.

Another Christmas tune came on – she was pretty sure they were playing the same album, over and over. Poor staff, she thought. Must be driving them mad.

Abby went back to her phone. She got into a rhythm after a while, looking up every few seconds then inching forwards just that little bit more.

It really was taking a long time. They’d been here 40 minutes already, which was a bit much, even for Christmas Eve. This was a shop, not a theme park.

As if catching her thought, the stranger in the purple coat turned her heat

‘Christmas queues be crazy, huh?,’ she said, gesturing at the queue. ‘Not long now. I can see the front.’

Abby craned her neck. Try as she might, she couldn’t see the front, but perhaps she was at a bad angle. The end must be round the corner.

They moved up again. If she was better at small talk, she’d have gotten chatting with her kind-hearted saviour, asked her about her granddaughter, their Christmas plans, anything. But Abby had never been good at that sort of thing. She felt on edge, which put other people on edge, or she’d say something too rude or too honest and the other person would start looking away and making excuses.

No, it was better to keep quiet. Besides, she didn’t even know the woman’s name.

Percy would have asked her. Or Christie. Even Kelly. Your six year old has better manners than you.

She shrugged her shoulders a few times, trying to shake away the thoughts.

The Christmas songs were starting to get on her nerves; there’s only so many times you can listen to Wham! and Michael Buble. She ground her teeth, wishing she had headphones. Behind her, the grouchy woman started to whistle in a piercing, off tune fashion. She’ll stop in a minute, Abby told herself. But she didn’t.

At last, Abby couldn’t stand it. ‘Will you stop?’ she snapped, whirling round.

The old lady’s eyes went huge. Was she having a heart attack? No, she was just smirking.

‘No,’ she said. And started whistling all over again.

Abby groaned, then tapped the stranger on the shoulder. ‘Are you sure we’re nearly there? It’s just my kids are being babysat and it’s Christmas Eve and, well, I don’t want to be too long.’

‘Of course. I understand.’ That soft smile, soothing Abby’s soul. ‘Not long now.’

Abby smiled back. Yes, now she looked at it, there weren’t that many people ahead. Just because she couldn’t see the front didn’t mean it wasn’t around the bend.

And yet, godammit, that whistling was really driving her crazy.

She looked down at the doll. Was it really worth all this? It was just a doll. Just a silly plastic thing. She could get it for Kelly after Christmas. Or give her the original gift idea, a jumper. It was pink, wasn’t it, with a unicorn? And soft. And warm. Everything a six year old could want.

Her phone buzzed again. A small part of her heart leapt; Jo was getting bored looking after the kids, or maybe George had tried to jump off the wardrobe and bumped his head. Spending hours and hours in A&E was somehow preferable to this.

But it wasn’t Jo. It was Peter.

‘Hope you’re having a good Christmas Eve! Lots of love from us all. xxx’

The picture that followed showed Peter next to a giant, tastefully decorated Christmas tree, one arm looped around Christie, the other around his stepchild, Olivia. Olivia was ten, with golden hair parted straight down the middle. She wore a cream turtleneck, a silver gingham skirt, and a little black handbag with a silver chain across her shoulder. A little Christie in minature. The girl grinned so wide, it was obvious to Abby that none of the happy family vibe was fake. This was a kid who was loved, cherished, had the entire world ahead of her.

She thought about George and Kelly the year before last, sitting with their legs dangling at that pub table, picking at Sahara-dry Christmas turkey while surrounded by laughing strangers. Two bored tired kids who just wanted to go home, to be with a real family.

I’m a bad mother.

The thought boomed in her mind, steamrolling over the warbling background Mariah Carey. She gripped the plastic toy box tightly.

Bad mother she might be. But she wasn’t going to crush her Kelly’s dreams on Christmas. She’d wait here all night, if she had to.

The queue kept moving. So did Abby.

How long had they been waiting? She’d stopped checking her phone. The idea of checking her phone, of knowing how much time had elapsed, was too much to bear. The old lady had stopped whistling, thank God, but now someone else was squeaking their foot on the floor, edging it slowly and deliberately to create a purposefully irritating sound. They wanted people to hate them.

So she started popping her cheeks, just for the hell of it.

After a few minutes, the old lady tapped her on the shoulder. Abby didn’t stop. The old lady dug her fingernail in.

‘You!’ The old lady’s voice was loud and shrill. ‘Stop that!’

Abby turned around, flashed a sharkish smile. ‘No,’ she said. And she carried right on doing it.

It felt good for a few minutes. But after that, the popping got boring and she stopped.

‘Not long now,’ said the stranger again.

How many times had she said that? Fifty, a hundred? Abby’s legs were aching. They must have been standing for hours.

‘Listen.’ She poked her own finger into that soft, pillowy purple coat. ‘Can you really see the front?’

‘Of course. Why, do you think I’m lying?’

Abby didn’t know what to think. All she knew was she was going stir crazy back here. She scraped the floor with her boot, which turned out to be rather satisfying. So she did it over and over again, until she got bored with that too.

Time passed. The queue moved.

Abby shook her hands. Her skin on her fingers was going dry and red, the cracks deepening. They must be near the refridgerated section.

Wait a minute. Haven’t we already been past there?

Abby craned her head. Sure enough, there were the bags of frozen chips, the peas, the deep pan pizzas. Her stomach growled. She could really do with some pepperoni stuffed crust.

No, don’t get distracted. Think!

Abby thought. The queue moved and she didn’t.

‘Move along!’ barked the old lady. Tuts and grumbles rumbled behind her. If only this queue blocker would move up, the muttering seemed to say, we might get somewhere.

But Abby wasn’t going anywhere just yet.

They had passed the frozen section. It was probably what inspired her to think of ordering pizza. And it had been more than once, she was certain of that. Her eczema was flaring; a sure sign of cold exposure.

She turned to the old lady. ‘Have you seen that before?’ she asked, pointing at a nearby stand merrily displaying 75% off crackers.

The old lady peered over her see through frames. ‘My goodness,’ she said, eyebrows raised. ‘What a bargain! And this close to Christmas.’

Abby peeked at the old lady’s basket. It was stuffed full of cracker boxes. They were piled so high that some had fallen out and were scattered across the floor. The trail of dropped cracker boxes extended far behind them, disappearing into nothingness. And it extended ahead of them, as far as Abby’s eyes could see.

A horrible sick feeling sunk through Abby, seeping from her thoat right down to her gut. Her legs wobbled, threatening to give way.

The old lady, oblivious to the trail of crackers, went right up to the stand. She plucked out a box and placed it triumphantly at the top of her basket. Two more boxes fell out.

‘That’ll do,’ she said with a smile.

The queue moved again. Try as she might, Abby couldn’t make herself go with it.

‘Go along now,’ snapped the old lady, jabbing her finger into Abby’s shoulder joint. ‘I’ve not got all day.’

Abby quavered. She wanted to move, really she did. But she was held in place. She kept staring at the cracker stand, the silver gold paper winking mockingly at her beneath the bright store lights.

The old lady sniffed. She drew herself up to her full four four ten height. ‘If you won’t move,’ she announced, in a loud, demanding voice. ‘I’m going to have to just go right on ahead of you.’

Approving murmurs and cheers came from the rest of the queue. ‘Well done you!’ a voice shouted. ‘Someone ought to do something about this hold up.’

Abby sunk to the floor. She couldn’t face standing any more. As long as she stayed down here, nothing bad could happen. She wouldn’t have to do anything. She was safe.

She shut her eyes, listening for the sound of footsteps. Perhaps the queue really was going on without her. Perhaps that was for the best. She could go home now.

And yet…

What if she was wrong? What if someone really had seen the end? She couldn’t miss out now, could she, not when she’d waited so long.

I have to do something, she told herself. One way or the other, I have to make a decision.

Abby opened her eyes. As she’d expected, the stranger in the purple coat was smiling down at her, holding out a warm, cushiony hand.

Abby looked at the hand. And she was a child again, lying on a playground, huddled over in a ball. The bigger kids had pushed her over and an angry scrape had bloomed into life on her kneecap, studded with gravel pieces. She’d screamed in fury and the kids ran away. Now she was alone again, like always. Having to pick herself up and carry on, no matter what.

Only this time, someone came. She didn’t have to carry on alone after all.

Abby took the hand. The stranger pulled her up, led her back to her place in the queue. They shuffled forwards together.

‘Not long now,’ said the stranger, smiling.

‘Not long now,’ said Abby, smiling back.

The queue kept moving, in its slow, relentless circle.

Thanks for reading this year! Have a lovely Christmas and stay away from queues.