A Non Christmas Tale
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A Non-Christmas Tale
We were dressed in black and white stripes. There were piles of sweets on the table. And behind us was a banner explaining exactly what was going on. “The Humbug Stall.” Surely that should be enough of a clue?
“Hey what’s the deal here?”
Jen leaned forward, the bobble on top of her stripey hat wobbling. “Selling humbugs, innit? You want some mate?” Her torso blocked the free sample bowl in front, her confrontational vibes daring the man to say yes.
“Is this some kind of joke?”
Jen stared him in the eye. This wasn’t going to help. She should show him, the packets of humbugs, the striped hats and scarves, the moneybox and the card reader. It was a stall for humbugs.
“This is a Christmas Fayre! Why aren’t you…”
“More Christmassy?” She looked out. Yes, there was a stall selling cards and wrapping paper, and the scent of mulled wine could be made out. But the bead and jewellery stall, the local authors, the carved signs and posts, the toys and games – well, they had tinsel taped to the display. Yet it was the same goods as they brought to every fayre.
“Christmas is about being merry…”
“You know what happened to the last idiot who went about with ‘Merry Christmas’ on his lips? He was boiled with his own pudding, and buried with a stake of holly through his heart.”
For an instant I think she’s gone to far, then something clicks. “Oh I see! You should be careful or you’ll be visited by three ghosts tonight.”
“Four ghosts,” corrected Jen but the man had grabbed a bag of humbugs and slapped his card on the reader which bleeped. Then he walked off.
“Do you have to be so mean,” I asked her.
“Bill, we’re an anti-Christmas stall at the Christmas Fayre. What do you want from me? You want me to be merry and bright?”
I was about to suggest that we could be sweeter, hand out some candy when the whistle went off. “Oh, there we are.” Steam enveloped us from the giant cauldron hidden behind the banner. “Pudding’s done then.”
Jen grimaced. “Right. Time to get the holly.”
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