Jenny Lopez Saves Christmas

  ‘Oh, you’re staying with Erin?’ the man asked. As my eyes adjusted to the light, I got a better look at him and he didn’t look so bad. Sandy hair, blue eyes, light stubble. Just generic enough to make things hard for the FBI sketch artist. ‘I live right next door.’

  ‘You do?’ I was suspicious. There was no next door. And yet I was so freaking cold, I would probably slit my throat for him if he kept me hanging around out here much longer. And if he knew Erin, how bad could he really be? Unless this was all part of his plan. Unless he’d been posing as a perfectly nice and normal neighbour for, like, ten years, just waiting to find a friend hanging out in the snow on Christmas Eve dressed like a complete tool and carrying poultry.

  ‘Well, next door is kind of a stretch. We’re hardly the nearest of neighbours, but we’re the next house along on the lake. I’m Keith Cawston. Jump in,’ he offered again. ‘Or at least let me take the turkey home. If you’re planning on eating that bird, I really think you ought to get it out of the snow − all kinds of critters out here.’

  Critters? I had seen that movie as a kid and hadn’t been able to sit on the toilet without my mom standing outside the bathroom door for a month. Without another thought to my personal safety, I grabbed my bird and jumped into the passenger seat. Holy shit, he had heated seats. What a way to die.

  ‘Thank you,’ I said as he powered on the engine. No need to forget your manners despite your impending death. I would hate for him to end up on the stand and say I hadn’t been polite before he cut off my head. My mom would be mortified, but she’d also be really pissed if she had to organize a funeral over the holidays. God, I had to deal with so much internal conflict.

  ‘I’m having the worst day.’

  ‘He’s having a worse one,’ Keith Cawston laughed, gesturing towards the turkey as we crawled down the snowy road. ‘You all up here for the holidays?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said as the house came into view. I really had been very close. If he did kill me now, I was going to look really stupid. Stupid and lazy and dead. ‘There’s going to be a bunch of us. Lots of big, strong, strapping guys. They love shooting actually.’

  ‘Aren’t the holidays great?’ Keith asked without raising an eyebrow. ‘I love to hunt. You should give me a call when you’re going out − I can show your friends all the best spots up here.’

  As we pulled up right in front of my front door, I was forced to accept he probably wasn’t interested in hunting me. Which was a relief.

  ‘It’s so hard to get everyone together,’ he went on. ‘I haven’t seen my brother in months. It’s crazy − we’re twins, and I haven’t seen him since the summer. He lives down in the city. I’m guessing you too?’

  ‘I do,’ I said, relaxing a little as he clambered out of the car and raced round to open my door for me. ‘Thank you so much.’

  ‘You want to get that inside and then we’ll go see if we can’t get that car of yours started up again,’ he offered. ‘You know what’s wrong with it?’

  ‘Uh, yeah?’ I said, more than a little sheepishly. ‘It’s out of gas.’

  Keith laughed out loud, rubbing his hands over his red ears. ‘At least that’s an easy fix,’ he said before his face flexed into a frown. ‘Say, you always have a ten-foot fir tree on your porch?’

  ‘Do I always have a what?’ I asked, spinning on my hiking boot heel.

  Holy Mary, mother of God.

  Leaning casually against the side of the house was the biggest damn Christmas tree I had ever seen in my entire life propping itself up next to the door because it was too big and too cool to stand up straight.

  ‘At least they delivered it,’ I whispered.

  ‘I’d offer to help you with that,’ he said, pointing at the Tree Who Ate Christmas, ‘but I busted up my back pretty good shovelling the driveway this morning. I don’t think my wife would be too impressed if I hobbled back home and couldn’t get out of bed on Christmas day. I could send my brother over once we’ve got your car back?’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure I’ll be fine,’ I said right away.

  Clearly I was not going to be fine. How was I going to get thirty million feet of tree inside on my own? Sadie sure as hell wasn’t going to help, but at the same time I was pretty sure Keith and his twin brother had plans of their own and didn’t want to spend all of Christmas Eve babysitting me and my best-laid plans. I’d find a way. If it killed me, I would find a way.

  *

  ‘Hey, Angie!’

  With the car fully fuelled up and the heating turned up as far as it would go, I waved my knight in shining plaid off on his way and feverishly fumbled around in the glove box for the in-car phone charger I’d picked up in Duane Reade. I wasn’t completely stupid − I knew I’d want to charge my phone on the drive up here. I just hadn’t taken into account the need for gas.

  ‘Jenny!’ I could barely hear her over the deafening music in the car when Angie picked up. Someone had got her Christmas spirit back. ‘We’re having car drinks! Jeremy is driving!’

  Okay, maybe just spirits in general.

  ‘That’s awesome,’ I shouted, leaning back in the car seat. ‘How far away are you?’

  ‘We’ve been on the road about three hours?’ she said. I could hear James confirming the timing in the background. ‘And I’m going to have to stop for a wee at least twice. So maybe, what, two more? Three, tops?’

  ‘Probably three.’ It was already almost four; they weren’t going to be here anytime soon. ‘That gives us plenty of time to get things ready.’

  ‘How’s the house?’ Angie asked. ‘Is there tinsel everywhere?’

  ‘I know all about your no tinsel rule,’ I replied. Sneaky bitch, trying to trick me. ‘Don’t worry, Angie baby, it’s going to be a tasteful Christmas shitstorm up here.’

  As long as I get the heating working, I added silently, otherwise we’re all going to die in the night. Festive.

  ‘I can’t wait,’ she said, the connection cutting in and out. ‘I’ve got your presents. It’s going to be awesome.’

  Presents! I pushed the thought of dying in the night out of my mind and concentrated on trying to will one of those presents into being a new pair of shoes. ‘See you soon, babydoll. You guys drive safe.’

  The entire car cheered and then began a rousing group rendition of ‘Jingle Bells’ for me. It was beginning to feel a lot like Christmas, but I was also beginning to feel a lot like I might get a migraine and there was only so much shit a girl could take at once.

  Chapter Eight

  I followed Keith’s tyre tracks all the way back down to the house, pretending that it wasn’t snowing harder and they weren’t halfway covered up already, and made a mental list of what needed to happen next.

  We had the food, we had the tree, we were halfway to a Christmas spectacular, but I still had to work out the power situation, email the presentation to Stephen and somehow work out how to reverse time and stop Joe C. Davies from succumbing to some terrible illness, which was clearly what had to have happened to him otherwise he would have sent me a goddamn text by now.

  ‘Crap!’ I let out a frustrated yelp, banging my fist against the steering wheel. ‘Crap crap crap.’

  I was so mad at everything. Why couldn’t Sadie be more helpful? Or, you know, any help at all? Why couldn’t the power just be working? Why couldn’t Stephen just give me the business without making me jump through his dumb pitch hoops, and why couldn’t I find the perfect man to pay half the mortgage on an amazing West Village townhouse and fill me full of babies?

  ‘Calm down, Jenny,’ I told my reflection in the rear-view mirror. ‘Everything happens for a reason. This is all making you stronger for some greater purpose.’

  Only I didn’t feel stronger. I felt tired and hungry and cold and I was definitely getting a headache. I was considering burying my face in the snow when my phone dinged into life. It was a text message. It was a text message from Joe. Okay, I looked up at the sky and acknowledged the miracle, not terrible timing.
I stared at the house waiting for the lights to come on. Nothing. We were on a ‘one miracle at a time’ schedule.

  ‘Holy Mary mother of God, please don’t let this be a photo of his junk,’ I said, closing my eyes and holding my phone to my heart.

  I’d talked to my guy friends: I knew they only sent pictures of their peen so you’d send your own PG-13 pic in return, but it really was such a turn-off. However awesome a penis might be, photogenic it was not. Giving myself one last supportive glance in the mirror, I unlocked my phone and opened the message.

  Ah. So, it turned out there was something worse than a dick pic.

  Right there on the screen, underneath my sexy Santa selfie, was the word ‘THX’.

  It wasn’t even a word. It was three letters. He couldn’t even be bothered to type out the word ‘thanks’. I’d been dissed and dismissed with an abbreviation. My heart and my self-esteem were sinking deep into the bottom of my hiking boots when three flickering grey dots appeared at the bottom of the screen. He wasn’t done! He was writing something else!

  ‘Some guys aren’t great texters,’ I reminded myself quickly. ‘Some guys are better in person.’

  But then the little grey dots disappeared and no message replaced them. I waited, counted to ten and then to twenty. But still nothing. Somehow, Joseph C. Davies had found the only way on earth to make his message worse – he had thought about saying something else and then decided I wasn’t worth the effort.

  ‘Let this forever be a lesson to you,’ I muttered under my breath. ‘Never sleep with a guy on the first date and never send a selfie of yourself in a sexy Santa costume. You dumb-ass.’

  Christmas could suck my dick.

  Once upon a time I’d prided myself on knowing exactly how to play any guy, but at some point during the last couple of years I’d completely lost my way. Part of me blamed online dating, part of me blamed Apple for the invention of the iPhone, but a big part of me knew I had just got distracted. It was easy to invest yourself in flirting in your early twenties when nothing mattered. Dating was fun and easy, boys were dumb and easy, there was no pressure. Now everything mattered. Every day I woke up and heard the tick-tick-ticking of my biological clock, a sound so loud the only thing that drowned it out was the desperate cry of the crazy cat lady within wailing ‘I’m so lonely’ at the top of her voice. But I still couldn’t work out the magic formula. Someone had changed it without telling me, and no matter how many ingredients I threw into the pot, I couldn’t get it right. I was so busy with work, with my friends, with online banking and online shopping and working out with my headphones in, I’d completely forgotten how to interact with guys unless it meant swiping right or left.

  As per, the universe didn’t give me too long to feel sorry for myself and my phone began to ring in my hand, Erin’s face beaming up at me out of the handset.

  ‘Hey, are you there? Are you having the best time?’ she asked when I answered. ‘I hate my children. Do you want them?’

  ‘Yes, not really and hell no,’ I replied. ‘Didn’t you get my message?’

  ‘I haven’t had a chance to look at my phone,’ she said before pulling away to admonish one of her kids for throwing something at someone. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘The electricity is out.’ I pressed my fingers into my temples, trying to drive my headache inwards. ‘Nothing works.’

  She didn’t need to know about the tree or the food or my dragging a turkey half a mile through the snow while dressed like one of Santa’s slutty hiking helpers.

  ‘Oh crap,’ she sighed. ‘I’m sorry. It’s probably one of the circuit breakers. We keep meaning to get the electrician out. Most of the time it’s fine.’

  I rolled my eyes at my reflection. This was the problem with being in a couple. When problems like this came up, neither of you actually fixed it because you figured the other one would. When you were on your own, you got used to taking care of business. Not that I had to worry about the circuit breakers in my upstate country mansion, but when a light bulb went out in the apartment, I totally fixed it myself. Usually within a month.

  ‘There’s no way we’ll get anyone out tonight,’ I said, trying not to sound accusatory when I felt completely accusatory and completely justified. ‘Point me in the direction of the fuse box and I’ll go take a look. Maybe they just tripped or something.’

  ‘Yeah, maybe, that happens sometimes too,’ she said. Funny how she hadn’t mentioned that her house was a death trap before she sent me up there. ‘They’re down in the basement.’

  Sure. Of course they were down in the basement. I’d survived a car ride with a complete stranger, why wouldn’t she send me down into the basement of an old lake house with no electricity on Christmas Eve?

  ‘If you go round to the back of the house, there’s a door underneath the porch. Do you have a flashlight?’

  ‘Yes, because I always walk around the city with a flashlight in my purse,’ I replied. ‘I have my phone, Erin, like normal people.’

  ‘I was going to say there’s a flashlight in the kitchen, smartass,’ she said. ‘I’ve got to go − these kids are driving me crazy and if they don’t behave I’m telling Santa to take all of their presents back to the North Pole.’

  I heard some non-gender-specific whining in the background, followed by a shriek, followed by a sob.

  ‘Shit, TJ fell down. Honey, are you bleeding? Are you bleeding, honey?’ Erin said, her voice panicky. ‘Let me know if you can’t fix it. Bye.’

  ‘Bye,’ I said to the dead line. ‘Great talking to you.’

  Sitting in the driver’s seat, hot phone in my cold hand, I looked up at the lake and considered my options. I could either turn on the engine and drive straight into the icy water to my certain death, or I could go round back and try to figure out the circuit breakers and save Christmas. It was a tougher choice than it should have been.

  It would be one thing to be murdered by a serial killer, but everyone would be super pissed with me if I killed myself on Christmas Eve, I reasoned. And Angie did say she had presents for me.

  Plus, driving into a lake was all a little desperate fifties’ housewife for my liking. If I was going to go out, it could at least be doing something a little more glamorous, not that playing electrician in the pitch-black was that sexy. You hardly ever saw tradesmen in People’s ‘100 Most Beautiful People’ issue.

  *

  Finding the door to the basement was pretty easy. Finding the balls to open it and go inside was a different matter entirely. Unzipping my coat to give me more manoeuvrability, I tiptoed down the steps. Years ago, when I was a hotel concierge, I’d snuck into Johnny Depp’s room and spent ten minutes holding his underwear. Of course that was before he broke the world’s heart by hooking up with a woman half his age, but at the time it felt very brave. If I could risk my livelihood to touch Johnny Depp’s unmentionables, I could risk my actual life to turn the goddamn central heating on. I was a rock star. I was a superhero. And I was really, really afraid of the dark.

  The basement was one big room the same size as the entire downstairs of Erin’s house. In other words it was enormous, and it was going to be impossible to find my way round with the pissant light on my phone. I should have gone back in and looked for the flashlight, but my righteous indignation was in too much of a hurry to get this done. I paused on the stairs for a moment and waited for my eyes to adjust to the dark, waving my flashlight around to get a general idea of the space. The general idea of the space told me nothing other than that there were lots of things on the ground for me to fall over and lots of nooks and crannies where a psychopath might hide. A psychopath or Santa Claus. In case he needed a break on his rounds. I would much rather run into a fat man with a beard than a stabby man with a chainsaw.

  ‘Nothing to worry about down here,’ I sang in the world’s most pathetic ‘please come kill me’ voice as I trip-trapped down the stairs. ‘It’s just a little old basement of a little old house. I’m totally safe.’


  I froze, my shoulders squeezing together as I heard something rustling in the corner of the room. Spinning the light from my cell phone across the room, I breathed a sigh of relief. Thank God, it was just a rat. A big fat black rat running straight towards me.

  ‘Rat!’ I screamed, hopping from foot to foot and trying to remember the fastest way out of the basement.

  ‘Rat?’

  Either there was an echo or someone had followed me down into the basement.

  ‘Omigod!’ I screamed, running smack into someone’s chest. There was someone there! Someone was in the basement!

  ‘Shit!’ that someone shouted, their hands grabbing my shoulders.

  Without thinking, I began to swing and kick, arms and legs and knees flying like fists of fury. I’d watched plenty of cop shows in my time − there was no way I was going down without a fight. Tossing my phone to the floor, I reached up, clawing at his face with my hands. You had to get DNA under your fingernails to ID them, it was all about the DNA.

  ‘What are you doing?’ my attacker squealed as I raked my left hand over a stubbly cheek. ‘Stop it!’

  ‘I’m kicking your ass!’ I yelled back, bringing my knee up between his legs and hitting the soft spot, hard. ‘I’m gonna pop your eyes like grapes, little man. Merry fucking Christmas!’

  He hit the floor like a brick before I could come good on my threat, doubled up and clutching his family jewels. I grabbed the opportunity to grab my phone, but I was so shaky with adrenaline I couldn’t get my lock code right. Why did Apple make these things so difficult? I could have been dead by now.

  I looked up at the house, hoping Sadie had heard the commotion and called the police already. Or maybe Sadie was dead! Or, more likely, maybe Sadie was still fast asleep on the sofa and didn’t give two shits about my life or death situation.

  ‘Wait, wait.’ The mystery assailant rolled towards me on the floor, stretching out a hand. I stamped on it and then kicked him in the stomach for good measure. He groaned loudly. ‘Jesus Christ, woman.’

  ‘And stay down!’ I shouted. ‘The police are already on their way, you’re going to the chair, my man.’