Christmas at Snowflake Lodge

2. Fugitive-2

It was freezing outside, as might have been expected for mid-November. All the news programs were claiming a monster winter this year, a dump of snowfall unheard of in living memory. The very thought of it sent shivers down Jessica’s spine, and not just because she wasn’t a fan of the horribly cold and wet stuff. It meant a slew of cracked pipes which would keep her busy right over the holiday season. As a plumber who specialised in unsociable work hours for people who couldn’t arrange to be home during the day, she ought to be pleased, but she had been looking forward to over-eating, getting drunk, and doing all the things everyone else got to do. While crawling under a porch at midnight to inspect a burst pipe was fine during the summer months, the prospect was a lot bleaker during winter.

And this Christmas season was a special one, too. Turning thirty in January, it was her last as a young woman. After January, she was officially middle-aged. ‘Washed-up,’ as Doreen—still only twenty-six—liked to put it. ‘Might as well start playing for the other team,’ her lodger was fond of saying. ‘I’m not saying we have lower standards, but you’re not likely to get much of a boyfriend now, are you?’

She walked up the high street, past the Tesco where she preferred to shop, all the way down to the LIDL on the edge of the town centre, just before her Bristol suburb gave itself over to bland new housing estates. She looked up at the geometric rows of boring houses, most of which had perfect water systems which wouldn’t require her services until she was due to retire, and wondered whether they’d only added street signs to stop people getting lost.

She picked up Doreen’s beer, grumbling under her breath for having forgotten to bring her own bag and having to buy one instead, then made her way back up the high street, past several small shops which already had Christmas decorations displayed in the windows, fairy lights glittering brightly against backdrops of snowy winter scenes, plastic Father Christmases, nodding wire-framed reindeer, and electric candles in the shape of elves—all of which appeared of the same tribe; a likely result of Pound Stretcher further up the street having a sale on last year’s stock.

The little paper craft shop which had long been Jessica’s favourite—not because she ever bought any paper crafts, but because it was so quaint and unique—had a new sign up in the window.

OUR LAST CHRISTMAS

Get your paper crafts now

Closing December 31st

Thanks for 30 years of business!

Something about it made Jessica sad, and she reached into her pocket for her phone, needing the comfort of social media, or perhaps even a call to someone she knew. Instead, there was a missed call from Dad. She picked it up to reply, just as her battery died.

The thought of using a phone box made her grimace, but by now Doreen and her meathead mates would have taken over her flat to watch the game. Ignoring the one outside the Wetherspoon’s pub which no doubt doubled down as a urinal, she headed up the street, past her own road, to the small park at the end. A pair of phone boxes stood next to the park gates, so she squeezed into one and pulled a handful of change out of her pocket.

‘Jess, is that you?’ came Benjamin’s voice. ‘What happened? Are you in hospital or something? A car accident?’

‘My phone battery died. What’s up? Your message said to call you urgently. Have they found Grandpa yet?’

She could almost hear Dad umming on the other end of the line, wondering what to say. With Grandpa having gone on the run from police and been missing for two weeks now, both Jessica and her mum were convinced Mavis’s death had been murder. Doreen was certain old Ernest Lemond, a famous TV comedian from the nineteen-fifties, was set to kill again. Dad, however, wouldn’t hear of it. While Mavis had been a tyrant, a fitness freak with a penchant for spending her elderly husband’s money, Grandpa, in his advanced years, had held her in something like affection, even if the rest of the family despised her. And in any case, Mavis had outweighed him by twenty kilograms. There was no way he could have pushed her off that ladder.

‘No … the police haven’t found him.’

‘Okay. Is that good or bad?’

‘It depends on how you look at it. However, a postcard arrived yesterday.’

‘A postcard?’

‘Yes. From Scotland.’

Jessica lifted an eyebrow, her genetically inherited sense of humour unable to miss the opportunity for a bad joke. ‘Really?’ she said. ‘I didn’t know you and Scotland were such good friends.’

‘Jess … you’d put the old man into his grave with something as poor as that,’ Benjamin said, squeezing out a reluctant laugh. ‘From your grandfather in Scotland.’

‘What’s he doing there?’

‘Evading the police. And he told me he’s got a job over the Christmas season as the in-house comedian at a ski lodge.’

‘Do they have ski lodges in Scotland? I didn’t realise they had that much snow.’

‘Obviously his postcard didn’t contain much detail, but it seems they must do. Especially if they’re in a position to hire a professional comedian, even if he is ninety-two.’

‘Well, good luck to him.’

Dad sighed, and Jessica knew his own punchline was coming. ‘Look. You know your mother and me have that cruise booked in the Fjords through December. We really don’t have time to go rushing off to Scotland to bring Grandpa to justice. However, I was wondering….’

Jessica tapped the phone receiver. ‘Come on, Dad, I’ve only got one more quid. I can’t go and charge my phone because Doreen’s mates are round and one of them might steal it. Let’s hear it. What do you want me to do?’

‘I was wondering if you could go up there and, well, just check on him? You don’t have to force him to turn himself in, but just make sure he’s all right. He is ninety-two, after all, and he is my father. You’d do it for me, wouldn’t you?’

‘Bring you to justice if you knocked off Mum?’ Jessica smirked. ‘Of course I would.’

‘Do you think you could go, then?’

‘Dad, I have to work … I need to find somewhere else to live—’

‘Really?’

‘Doreen’s kind of outstayed her welcome.’

‘Doreen? That lovely girl you’ve got staying with you?’

Jessica rolled her eyes. Doreen had done a number on her parents on the only time they’d met. Dad now wouldn’t hear a bad word about her.

‘I’m afraid we have a couple of … personality clashes,’ Jessica said. ‘And she really likes the flat, so it looks like I’ll have to find somewhere else. I was kind of counting on the Christmas rush to fund it.’

Dad was silent for a few seconds, and Jessica sensed a guilt trip coming. Of course, they wouldn’t change their plans, but she was expected to change hers.

‘He’s ninety-two,’ Dad said quietly. ‘He could be dead by this time next year, or at best, behind bars. I had a, um, lifetime of him, but you … well, you did miss out a bit when you were young.’

‘He was doing a residency in Vegas. I could hardly expect him to show up on my birthdays with a Barbie and a card.’

‘No, of course not. So now’s your chance to get a bit of quality time with him.’

Jessica sighed. Dad wasn’t about to relent. Even if she missed the Christmas rush, it might be nice just to escape Doreen for a while. Plus, if this ski lodge had given Grandpa a job, it might give her one, too. Especially if the coming winter was as bad as the weather forecasts were predicting.

‘Okay, tell me the name of the place and I’ll look it up online. No promises, though.’

‘Sure. Hang on a minute.’

Jessica heard the rustle of papers as her dad searched for Grandpa’s postcard.

‘Ah, here it is. Are you ready? Do you have a pen?’

‘I have a brain that’s still young.’

‘No need to be sarcastic. Right, I’ve got the name now. Oh, isn’t it quaint.’ Dad gave a little chuckle, and Jessica was tempted to just hang up and walk away.

‘Dad?’

‘Snowflake Lodge.’