anneiskeepingbusy

Her mother has bad eyes, so Beverley writes her cards. Clemmie doesn’t use postcodes and strikes through names of friends lost since last Christmas.

“Says here, the Home Secretary’s parents would have struggled to be together under the new rules.

“Can he look his mother in the eye?”

She hasn’t bought any presents yet, but the shops are rammed. Instead, she sides with the Devil and, from the sofa, fires up Amazon.

“Come for a drink,” they say after the work Christmas lunch. In his paper-hat, Alfie agrees but in truth, he just wants to sleep.

A group of teenagers kick a football around the misty park. Two years ago, in Mariupol, they played in the snow with their fathers.

Getting everyone together on the 25^th is exhausting. Bless the family but secretly she misses Covid Christmas, when they all just stayed at home.  

Rishi cheers the passing of the Rwanda Bill. Meanwhile, in the Bibby Stockholm, they wonder how to trace the mother of the dead immigrant.

“You know you did these stories last year?” he says. “Everything is still bollocks, so what’s the point?”

She shrugs. “It’s all a puzzle.”

In the shadows of the candle-lit church, the soloists sings, “Once in Royal David’s City”. Beautiful but to us, no longer young, infinitely sad.

A bunch of old folk belt it out at the funeral. “Happy Christmas your arse, I pray God it’s our last”.

We’ll miss Shane.