And if anyone knew just how annoying the child was, it was me. Because I was the child. Annoying Green Christmas Elf was me. And every Christmas that stupid lyric haunted me.
“Happy holidays from the cutest little elf in the whole wide world!”
I’d delivered it with such enthusiasm too. And I really shouldn’t have. My wobbly front tooth meant I whistled my way through the Ws.
My six-year-old self had thought being on a set with fake snow in the summer was the coolest thing ever. Which it was, until after a few years of being a slow burn, the song started to get popular. And as the world discovered “Love Your Elf!”, they also discovered the video and the “cutest little elf”, and for the next few years, as Christmas rolled round, so did the shouts across the playground about my “elf-esteem” and strangers asking “was it easy being green”. Having the surname Bell really didn’t help either. And every year, as we got closer to December, the more I started to panic.
Eurgh. The only thing that had made it any better was moving to Bromster five years ago and keeping my elf identity a secret. Since being here I’d managed to avoid all things Christmas, and done everything I could to prevent raising any elfy suspicions, including not being seen out with my parents, just in case someone recognized us. But the hard work had been worth it. Now I was fifteen, I’d finally managed to get back to being normal Molly, and I hadn’t been the butt of a joke about “elf and safety” in years. Just the way I liked it.
Grace looped her arm through mine. “Soooo, if we’re not talking about Christmas, which judging by that face we’re not.” Oops. Time to shake off the elf-rage and get back to being better company. “Any news back from Zaiynab?” She said it even more cheerfully than normal. “Cos I’m ready to bail on the whole dancing thing and become a full-time POWR-nat-or…” She trailed off. “POWR-natic?” She shrugged. “Or whatever their fans are called.”
I wasn’t sure The POWR had a fandom yet – even if they were my favourite band of all time. Zaiynab and Matt went to our school and were two years above – and together they made the kind of indie-retro music I loved. Which is why, even though I was too intimidated to even look at them at school, when they’d said they were looking for someone to help behind the scenes on production, I’d sent them some of my lyrics and beats (well, Grace had been the one to actually press send, but teamwork makes the dream work). Behind the scenes was exactly where I wanted to be! But I hadn’t heard anything since.
“No news.”
“Yet.” Grace jumped right in. She always had my back.
“Yet. And remember when you see them, my parents know NOTHING.”
The less they, or anyone else, knew about me and my life the better. Grace was my only safe space.
“Sure thing, Mol.” We turned down to the path by the river. It was freezing, but I always went this way as no one else from school did, so it was easier to get home without any unwanted conversations. “Although…” Grace stopped. “You know what works wonders for de-stressing when waiting to find out if you got a place in the best band in St Augustine’s?” I coughed. “Sorry, the world…” Better.
Grace reached into her back pocket and pulled out … nothing. She waved the nothing in the air. “Two tickets to see Sleigh Another Day. With me! Next weekend!”
Face – be kind! Do NOT look horrified. It’s so nice seeing Grace happy for a change, do NOT ruin it! “The … Christmas romcom?”
“Mrghhhhhh.” Grace made a noise like a melting horse, a soppy grin on her face. “THE Christmas romcom, with that guy I was telling you about. God’s gift to eyes.” Grace loved all things film and had filled me in – it was the first major movie for this new actor, and by the way Grace had gone on, I was expecting big things. Big, super-hot, great hair, perfect smile, weirdly alluring forearms kind of things. “And Maeve Murphy. Style icon. Legend. All-round goddess.” Even I, who knew nothing about movies, knew who Maeve was. She was a few years older than us, and a total badass who took no nonsense from anyone. “Apparently their chemistry is a-maaaa-zing.”
“Are we talking Grace and Simon amazing?” I asked, knowing it would make Grace smile even more. Yup, there it was. The big dreamy smile. Happy-dazed blinking (resulting in me emergency-manhandling her out of the way of a bin). “Doesn’t Si want to see it with you?”
Grace shrugged.
“Simon said it’s not his thing…” Why was this making her smile even more? “Have I ever told you, he looks really cute when he’s disinterested.”
“You may have mentioned it.” She really had. And done a photo presentation as “evidence”. See also Simon looking cute when he a) used a vending machine, b) took off shoes and c) sneezed. “What about your dad? He loves cinema trips with you…” I trailed off. “Even if he thinks carrot sticks are a legit snack.”
I loved Mr W but claiming they were as good as popcorn was just factually wrong.
Grace’s smile disappeared. “Don’t think he’d be up for it this year. You know he said we shouldn’t do presents for the first time ever?” I nodded. “And our Christmas party is off too?” I didn’t know that bit. They had a friends and family party every year, and it was the only festive thing I actually enjoyed going to. Or went to at all. She sighed. “Last night he said we aren’t even getting a tree.” Ouch.
I instantly felt rubbish for not just saying yes to the film. Terrible friending. Grace’s house, Grace’s family, normally rivalled Father Christmas and his grotto when it came to going all out for Christmas. Grace lived with her dad and granddad, Grampy G, who loved Christmas more than anyone I’d ever met. Grampy G normally decorated every inch of their house – even the loo had a Santa hat – dressed up as Father Christmas and had a tradition for every single day in December. Some for November too.
Grampy G was the one who made their Christmas cake. The one who made sure the Christmas tree farm always picked out the best tree for them. The one who made sure Grace and her dad still hung up stockings every single year. The one who organized our local primary school to design Christmas lights for our village, which were guaranteed hilarious and made drivers come from all over the country just to take photos. Grampy G was even the one who first got me into baking, with all his Christmas biscuit recipes.
And last year, he was the one who cheered up all the residents in his care home, Holly Hospice, by organizing a huge Secret Santa with presents for every single one of them.
But … and it still hurt so much to think about it. Last year, Grampy G had passed away a few days before Christmas. December 22nd.
I looked back at Grace – she was twiddling the silver bracelet he’d given her when she was little. We’d all known it was coming, and the staff at Holly Hospice had been amazing, but it was so awful. So, so awful. And Christmas had passed by like a gloomy Monday in January.
And I realized right then, that this year, how I felt about Christmas could take a serious break. As much as I’d hate it, it was time for me to channel my inner Grampy G. Be the Christmas buddy Grace needed, and un-cancel Christmas just for a few weeks.
“Count me in. For the film.” Grace looked at me like I’d just been body-snatched. “Sounds great.”
“Count you in for … the super Christmassy romcom?”
I nodded. Luckily Grace was too busy whooping and hugging me to see the fear in my eyes. I was just going to have to lie very low at the cinema. So low I was horizontal. Anything festive was a high-risk zone. “And maybe I can try your hot chocolate after all. It smells TOO good.”
“Yes, Mol! We love to see it!” Grace grinned as she watched me take a sip. “Who knows. You might love the film?” A cheesy Christmas film where everyone lived happy ever after? All signs were pointing towards no. “It’s got everything. Giant snow globes. A high-speed snowy sleigh chase through the snow in Lapland. A hot snog by Edinburgh Castle in the snow.”
So lots of snow then. If there was one thing Grace loved more than Christmas, it was films. Well, that and Simon. If there was a movie about Simon at Christmas in the snow, she might actually explode. She’d been counting down to watching Sleigh Another Day ever since it was announced. I’d only been half-listening, as I assumed I’d never see it in a million years, but had picked up that it was this year’s big British festive romcom. Something to do with a guy who hated Christmas, but who moved in next door to a girl whose family made festive decorations for a living. So of course they were going to fall in love. Of course it was going to be super cheesy and full of sleigh bells and perfect snow. And of course they were going to live happily ever after. Had anyone in real life ever had a snowball fight and ended up more in love? No, they ended up soggy, with wet gloves, numb hands and socks full of snow … and regret.
But Grace was rewatching the trailer on her phone. She held out a reindeer-shaped earbud.
“Honestly, this bit where Joseph D Chambers dresses up as Santa…” She trailed off. “Is it OK to fancy Father Christmas? Asking for a friend.”
“Well, tell your friend, who is one hundred per cent definitely you, it’s probably illegal in ten countries but I’m not judging.”
I left her to it and flicked through social media. I never posted, just lurked. Today’s clip that was everywhere was Daisy, a girl I played netball with, chatting to a friend as a seagull lands on her head and she shrieks. It already had its own dubstep remix, over 3,000 likes, and the top comment said Daisy should now be known as Cliff.
And that was why no one could ever, EVER know about Elf Girl. I shoved my phone in my pocket. Grace was watching a dog in a snowman costume trot past, the sad look in her eyes back again. Animals in festive costumes were Grampy G’s fave.
Right, time to step up Mission Cheer Grace Up.
“Grace, just a thought… If you and your dad aren’t doing presents how about I ask for donations to Grampy G’s fundraiser too? Instead of any for me?” I paused. “We can just borrow my sister’s stuff and pretend it’s ours? Win win.”
But it worked. Grace stopped getting teary-eyed at the snowdog. “You’d really do that? Aren’t you holding out for that art subscription box?”
I grinned. “And that’s why having a February birthday can be very useful.”
She gave me the biggest hug, my puffy coat taking the impact. “You are the absolute best, you know that?” But this could be the perfect way of giving our fundraiser a boost. All year we’d been trying to raise £500 for a Christmas party fund for the residents of Holly Hospice, to help Grampy G’s legacy live on. But despite putting everything into it, we’d only got to £326 and things had completely stalled.
“WELL. HELLOOOO THERE BROMSTER CHRISTMAS LIGHTS FANS!” A man’s voice wafted down the path from the cathedral. “IT’S TIME TO GET ON DOWN TO SOME SANTA-TASTIC CHRISTMAS CHOOOONS!”
Oh no. Oh no, oh no?! I knew just what this was.
Normally not much happened in Bromster except the time we hit the news for being the only place in the UK to run out of gherkins in McDonald’s. But at Christmas they threw a huge street party to turn on the lights. Complete with cheesy Christmas karaoke.
I normally avoided it like a herd of stampeding reindeer. But Grace was full meerkating, trying to work out where the voice was coming from. With a roar from the crowd the band launched into “I Wish It Could Be Christmas Every Day”. Did anyone ask for a banjo cover of it? No. Were they getting it anyway? Absolutely.
And Grace was … walking towards it?! Had she not realized what this was?!
Yes, I was going to try for some Christmas cheer, but this was too much! Too soon! She was walking towards the ultimate danger zone.
“Grace?! It’s…” I nodded to the huge crowd dancing around the stage. “You know what!”
The second to last Friday in November, aka Bromster’s annual Christmas lights switch-on. Complete with most embarrassing band in the world, The Rocking Stockings, doing their one performance of the year. And there they were: a giant six-foot-seven parsnip on guitar and a very enthusiastic Christmas turkey on banjo. Last year the local paper had described it as “an eaten-a-whole-Toblerone-on-Christmas-Day hallucinogenic experience” and that was being polite.
