mum that?”
“ Of course not. She’s still keeping up this ridiculous pretence with the meat each Sunday.”
“Yeah, that has kind of gone on for a bit long now.”
“Exactly. At first I knew she was doing it to make me feel better, so I went along with it. And now I can’t exactly admit that I know what she’s been up to all these years, can I?”
N ick drew an arm back and threw the hook and worm out into the water. It landed with a plop then sank slowly.
“I guess not,” he said.
Willow sighed and reached out to pick a handful of daisies. She started piercing holes in the stems with a fingernail and threading them through each other to make a daisy chain.
“I don’t know,” she said. “It’s all too bloody complicated.”
Chapter eleven
A week and later Maggie could no longer ignore it.
It started when she drove through Main Street on the way to the supermarket and saw council workers hanging strings of coloured fairy lights in the big Angel Oak, on top of the ones that were still hanging in there from the night of the market.
“Surely not,” she said to herself.
Then at the supermarket, near the checkouts, she saw displays of chocolate advent calendars, marked down to clear.
“ It’s a bit early isn’t it?” she muttered. “And why are they reduced?”
Then, back at home , as she was unpacking the groceries in the kitchen she turned on the stereo for a bit of background noise and the unmistakable opening notes of men singing stopped her in her tracks.
“No, it can’t be,” she said, her face ashen.
But it was.
“T urn it up!” said Dot. ‘”I love this song.” Then she danced around the lounge room singing along to Snoopy’s Christmas. “ Christmas bells, those Christmas bells, ringing through the land –”
Maggie watched her mother twirling for a minute , and then she crossed to the fridge and studied the calendar.
“No,” she squeezed her eyes shut and opened them again but the fact remained the same. There were only just under three weeks left till Christmas.
“Where did the time go? How can it be upon us again already? So soon?” she asked no one in particular, as she sank into a kitchen chair and dropped her head into her hands. The song finished and her mother turned the stereo down and wandered into the kitchen. She flicked the switch down to boil the jug.
“Don’t be so dramatic,” she told her daughter. “This is the most joyous time of the year.”
“Yes I’m aware you feel that way mother. You say the same thing every year.”
“And every year you grumble and groan and act like the Grinch who got nothing but a potato in his stocking.”
“I do not.”
“You do too.”
“Whatever.”
Dot put two teabags in mugs and poured hot water over them. While they soaked she regarded her daughter, who had started flicking through one of the many brochures advertising potential gifts that got stuffed into their mailbox this time of year.
“Look at all this rubbish,” Maggie said cynically. “Designed to drive people broke trying to outdo each other to see who can buy the best present.”
“Says you , who counts on the Christmas sales of your soaps,” Dot says with eyebrows raised.
“That’s different and you know it. I don’t push my products on anyone, they seek me out. My soaps actually help people, not like this plastic crap,” she pushed some of the brochures lying on the table in front of her, “that breaks down three days after Christmas. And my prices aren’t so bad you need to take out a second mortgage come January.”
“ Some people and companies see Christmas as a commercial cash cow, yes,” Dot admitted. “But it doesn’t have to be all about money, you know that. Don’t you remember the Christmases I gave you when you were young? The magic you sensed, the wonder you felt?”
Maggie sighed. “Yes, of course I re member. It’s just hard to sustain the magic when you’re an adult trying to pay the bills.”
Ah,
“ Of course not. She’s still keeping up this ridiculous pretence with the meat each Sunday.”
“Yeah, that has kind of gone on for a bit long now.”
“Exactly. At first I knew she was doing it to make me feel better, so I went along with it. And now I can’t exactly admit that I know what she’s been up to all these years, can I?”
N ick drew an arm back and threw the hook and worm out into the water. It landed with a plop then sank slowly.
“I guess not,” he said.
Willow sighed and reached out to pick a handful of daisies. She started piercing holes in the stems with a fingernail and threading them through each other to make a daisy chain.
“I don’t know,” she said. “It’s all too bloody complicated.”
Chapter eleven
A week and later Maggie could no longer ignore it.
It started when she drove through Main Street on the way to the supermarket and saw council workers hanging strings of coloured fairy lights in the big Angel Oak, on top of the ones that were still hanging in there from the night of the market.
“Surely not,” she said to herself.
Then at the supermarket, near the checkouts, she saw displays of chocolate advent calendars, marked down to clear.
“ It’s a bit early isn’t it?” she muttered. “And why are they reduced?”
Then, back at home , as she was unpacking the groceries in the kitchen she turned on the stereo for a bit of background noise and the unmistakable opening notes of men singing stopped her in her tracks.
“No, it can’t be,” she said, her face ashen.
But it was.
“T urn it up!” said Dot. ‘”I love this song.” Then she danced around the lounge room singing along to Snoopy’s Christmas. “ Christmas bells, those Christmas bells, ringing through the land –”
Maggie watched her mother twirling for a minute , and then she crossed to the fridge and studied the calendar.
“No,” she squeezed her eyes shut and opened them again but the fact remained the same. There were only just under three weeks left till Christmas.
“Where did the time go? How can it be upon us again already? So soon?” she asked no one in particular, as she sank into a kitchen chair and dropped her head into her hands. The song finished and her mother turned the stereo down and wandered into the kitchen. She flicked the switch down to boil the jug.
“Don’t be so dramatic,” she told her daughter. “This is the most joyous time of the year.”
“Yes I’m aware you feel that way mother. You say the same thing every year.”
“And every year you grumble and groan and act like the Grinch who got nothing but a potato in his stocking.”
“I do not.”
“You do too.”
“Whatever.”
Dot put two teabags in mugs and poured hot water over them. While they soaked she regarded her daughter, who had started flicking through one of the many brochures advertising potential gifts that got stuffed into their mailbox this time of year.
“Look at all this rubbish,” Maggie said cynically. “Designed to drive people broke trying to outdo each other to see who can buy the best present.”
“Says you , who counts on the Christmas sales of your soaps,” Dot says with eyebrows raised.
“That’s different and you know it. I don’t push my products on anyone, they seek me out. My soaps actually help people, not like this plastic crap,” she pushed some of the brochures lying on the table in front of her, “that breaks down three days after Christmas. And my prices aren’t so bad you need to take out a second mortgage come January.”
“ Some people and companies see Christmas as a commercial cash cow, yes,” Dot admitted. “But it doesn’t have to be all about money, you know that. Don’t you remember the Christmases I gave you when you were young? The magic you sensed, the wonder you felt?”
Maggie sighed. “Yes, of course I re member. It’s just hard to sustain the magic when you’re an adult trying to pay the bills.”
Ah,
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