“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.
Who wants to see giant man-parsnip crooning? Ew. Even the phrase “man-parsnip” made me shudder.
“C’mon, Mols?” Grace was hopping around. “We’ve never been. And there’s space at the back to hide…”
Every bit of me wanted to run away. But Grace was doing some kind of Christmas bop, and a picture of Grampy G giving me one of his looks flashed into my brain.
“The very back?” I asked, optimistically. Too late. Grace was already dragging me down the cobbled street. I spotted some lads from school and pulled my hoodie up. I already regretted this. Oh and great, there were my netball team, filming The Rocking Stockings, laughing their heads off, and not in a good way. I, however, found it less funny.
Because The Rocking Stockings were my mum and dad. Which was why my life was one big carefully constructed plan to make sure no one knew we were related. The Rocking Stockings, who were now kissing under some fake mistletoe, were the reason I always walked the long way home. That I said “no” whenever my parents offered to pick me up from school. Or town. Why I’d told them our netball matches didn’t allow supporters.
My only small victory was that when we moved, I’d got them to agree to switch the name of their band from The Brussel Shouts to The Rocking Stockings, so no one knew they were behind “Love Your Elf!”
I grabbed Grace’s bobble hat and pulled it on.
“No eye contact. No waving. And absolutely no talking to them afterwards.”
“I know the drill, Mol … though the offer to be a dancing roast potato for them still stands.” I flared my nostrils. “Tell me they don’t look amazing up there?!”
She’d never seen them in action before.
“They do not look amazing up there.” I felt a bit bad. I did actually love my parents to bits. I just wished they could be more … less. I crossed my fingers and willed them to remember our deal. That if they ever saw me when they were like this, they HAD to ignore me. One forgetful wave and the last five years of carefully getting back in control of my life could be over.
“SO, WHO IS READY FOR…” My breathless dad drummed the mic on his knee. “REQUEST TIME?!”
The crowd cheered and started shouting out suggestions. “‘Love Your Elf’!” someone screamed. And again. I glared at Dad. There was NO way. They’d agreed NEVER to play it in public ever again!
But the crowd were clapping and chanting it over and over. “ELF! ELF! ELF!”
Mum and Dad scanned the crowd. Were they looking for me? They KNEW the rule?!
“Grace,” I panicked. “Can we go?” But she’d disappeared to hunt for some free churros.
And like a giant out-of-control sleigh careering towards me, my nightmare smacked me in the face. The Rocking Stockings were playing “Love Your Elf!”. The crowd were singing. And … was my mum trying to prove a turkey could twerk?!
“OK, THAT…” Zaiynab appeared out of nowhere, her perfect black bob swinging under her chin. What was she doing here? And why was she talking to me?! And why was Matt with her? And could Grace please come back?! “… is exactly NOT what our band is looking for.” She laughed.
“Hahahahaha!” I panic-howled like I’d never heard anything funnier. “Yes, absolutely. Awful,” I said in a total flap. This could not be happening?! Graaaaace. I tried to summon her with my mind.
“And this song?” Zaiynab looked like she was personally insulted by it.
