Christmas at the Marshmallow Cafe

4. Elopement Plans

4

Elopement Plans

Debbie spat beer all over the carpet, drawing a scowl from Bonnie. ‘Christmas Land? Are you having a laugh? You’ve inherited a marshmallow café in a theme park called Christmas Land? Come on, this is hilarious.’

‘My dad used to tell me stories about it,’ Bonnie said. ‘He said it was in the north, and it was the most magical place in the world. He said it was a place you could visit all year round, but the true magic only happened at Christmas. When snow blanketed the ground, herds of reindeer would run among the shops and rides, and on Christmas Eve, Father Christmas himself would arrive, to hand out presents to all the visitors. He said that one day, when I was old enough to truly appreciate its magic, we would all go together.’

‘I’m guessing you never got there,’ Debbie said. ‘What happened?’

‘My dad died. Mum struggled to makes ends meet, so I worked part time after school. We didn’t really have any magic in our family after that. We got by, we loved each other, but life wasn’t easy.’

Debbie shook her head. ‘Life sucks,’ she said. ‘We’re literally put here to suffer.’

‘And then we go to heaven, right?’

Debbie shook her head. ‘Hell. Just to rub it in that we spent all that time feeling miserable, when in actually fact, that torment was the good part.’ She shrugged. ‘At least they should have decent music down there.’

Bonnie smiled. ‘Dad never mentioned Uncle Mervin actually lived at Christmas Land,’ she said. ‘No wonder he never visited. He probably couldn’t bear to leave.’

Debbie leaned over the computer. ‘Let’s check out the online reviews of this place,’ she said, grimacing as a reviews website took its time to load. ‘Ah, here we are. “If I could give it zero I would.” “Most rides were closed.” “Dirty, litter everywhere.” “Father Christmas was drunk and threw up over my kid.” “Overpriced and understaffed.” “They should bulldoze it. A landfill would be more exciting.” “The so-called turkey was chicken and it gave me food-poisoning.” “Christmasless Land.”’ She looked up at Bonnie. ‘What do you think?’

Bonnie grimaced. ‘It doesn’t sound too promising, does it?’

‘You reckon?’ Debbie’s eyes gleamed. ‘It sounds absolutely awesome. Come on, you totally have to jack in your job and go check it out. I’ll come with you if you like. I need to get my dole check just after nine but we can leave straight after.’ She nudged Bonnie’s arm. ‘Come on. You know you want to.’

Bonnie closed her eyes. From as young as she could remember up until her father’s death, she had dreamed of visiting Christmas Land. Forty years later, she now knew it existed, and she even had a reason to go. But … could she? There was no way the place could ever live up to the images that had once filled her head. She was headed for certain disappointment.

‘I’ll call the lawyer tomorrow,’ she said. ‘I’ll see if there’s some way I can donate the lease to charity or leave it in a trust. The whole thing is just silly. I can’t just take off halfway across the country on a whim. It’s not … me.’

Debbie put her beer can down on the coffee table with a c***k loud enough to make Bonnie jump. Swiping braids out of her eyes, Debbie shook her head.

‘Did I just hear you correctly?’

‘Yes—’

‘Come on, Bon. Stop thinking like an old fart.’

‘What?’

‘You’ve got to think like the youth.’ Debbie poked herself in the tunic with one black-fingernailed thumb. ‘Think like me.’

‘I’m not sure that—’

‘You don’t have to quit your job just to go and take a look. Pull a sickie. Or two. Or take a whole week. You have influenza. We’ll get my dole cheque, then we’ll drive up and check this place out, see what we make of it.’

‘I need a sick note to take a week off with flu.’

Debbie grinned. ‘You can get one off the internet. Well, not this internet, but one that works. I’ll print one off and bring it over in the morning. Until then, though, might be a good idea to look a bit sick, just in case your boss calls.’ She held up her can. ‘Down the hatch.’

Bonnie grimanced. ‘I’m fifty-two years old, I don’t do down the hatch.’

‘Well, take a matronly sip then.’

Bonnie lifted her glass. ‘I must be out of my mind letting you talk me into this,’ she said, taking as big a sip as she could handle. ‘When I got up this morning, I had no idea I’d be getting drunk with a girl young enough to be my daughter and planning to take off after a childhood dream.’

‘I didn’t talk you into it,’ Debbie said. ‘I just gave you room to convince yourself. It’s basic psychology, you know, brains and stuff? Delay the no long enough and it turns into a yes.’

‘Is that really ethical?’

Debbie shrugged. ‘Who knows? Are you going to eat those biscuits or not?’