Christmas Lights

Michelle carried the ladder, which was not as heavy as Andrew had always made out, down the side path. She steadied it against the wall and climbed high enough to fasten the LED ‘flying angel with trumpet’ to the gutter.

She jiggled and budged, but the angel hung precariously, its wings obscuring the back of Santa’s sleigh mid-flight to the chimney.

Bugger it, she thought. It’s Christmas Eve. The lights will come down soon. It’ll do.

Michelle stepped back down the ladder. She plugged the cord into the outside power point they’d had specially installed, flicked the switch to on and ‘flying speed’ to high. She could just make out the wings flashing vigorously up and down in the fading sunlight.

Michelle’s neighbour Emma powered past, pushing her toddler in a stroller loaded with green bags.

‘I didn’t think you’d find room for another one,’ Emma called out from the footpath.

‘Always room for an angel!’ Michelle said back, too brightly.

‘Angel!’ shouted the little girl, wiggling her legs and pointing. ‘Angel fly!’

‘Yes Gabby, the angel is flying,’ said Michelle.

Emma pushed the stroller and excited child faster, disappeared through her front gate and up the next-door path. ‘I’ll keep the fire brigade on speed dial in case it all goes up in flames, ha ha.’

Michelle rolled her eyes behind the camellia.

The year they moved in, Sammy was an 18-month-old rocket with a saggy nappy and vegemite mouth. She and Andrew felt so smug for giving him his own room and a patch of grass — property owners! They had never thought of Christmas lights.

Then Sammy fell in love with a starburst on the next block. Those long evenings Andrew was working late, or pretending to, things at home could turn from bliss to screaming mess quicker than a heartbeat. Michelle would take him to watch the star work its silver and blue LED magic — little, bigger, biggest — and he would point and say ‘Star! Star!’ and the world would slow down for a blessed moment.

The next year, Andrew bought their own flashing gold star. They hung it in the centre of the porch, drank real champagne and toasted Christmases to come.

Michelle poured a strong gin and tonic in the kitchen and took it out to the footpath for a last look at her house before the sun was fully down and the parade of spectators arrived.

The gold Star Zero was in its place over the porch.

Attached to the front of the fence was the red and green Merry Christmas they’d bought next, light swooshing along the cursive letters as though the final text was going to be a surprise, like skywriting.

The candles with holly were on the front grill. They were as ugly as ever. Andrew had made a point of buying them from the cheap rack because wasn’t it time she went back to work? They were on one income and Sammy was about to start school, for crying out loud.

The inflatable snowman taking up too much of the front yard was Sammy’s choice. She’d questioned if snowmen were actually Christmassy but it was the year she had two miscarriages and finally gave up trying for another baby. If Sammy wanted the snowman that was fine. They called him Stumpy and she couldn’t remember why. At least they wouldn’t have to add a room, or move.

Michelle bought the glass birds glistening in the camellia — fairy wren, rosella, lorikeet, cockatoo — the year she got a new job and then a promotion five months later. Andrew said they were much less Christmassy than Stumpy, but they were expensive and handblown and she loved them.

The LED waving Santa — Flat Santa aka Hello Santa — was in his place on the front wall next to the window. His arm seemed to emerge from his pants and Michelle lived in hope someone would say, ‘Is that a candy cane in Santa’s pocket?’ They never did.

The centrepiece, Santa in his sleigh with four reindeer stretching across the narrow width of the red tiled roof, was from the year Andrew found a text on her phone saying Good night beautiful, which she insisted was a wrong number but wasn’t. The Santa sleigh and growing enthusiasm from neighbours got them into the Daily Telegraph’s Top 10 Christmas Streets feature that year and she still had the framed clipping on the wall — SANTA’S HELPERS: Michelle and Andrew with son Sam (12) light up their neighbourhood with Christmas cheer.

The golden curtain of lights hanging from eaves to ground were a present from Andrew the year she found text messages on his phone. Hi sexy! [Headless torso in lace underwear]. He didn’t pretend they were from a wrong number. Anyway, the name was right there — Megan Guitar Teacher. He was sorry, he’d made a terrible mistake and they changed guitar teachers for Sam without telling him why. The long, fine strings of lights formed a beautiful shining net, or cage.

No new Christmas decorations were added during their long year of marriage counselling.

The candy cane solar torches planted in the ground around Stumpy were from the year her mother said, ‘You know, I would have left your father years ago if I’d had the guts. There are no prizes for being miserable.’ What?

She had bought the plastic nativity scene (vintage) set up on the porch at a garage sale after Andrew announced Megan was six months pregnant and they were having a baby. It was only three months since he’d left the family home. Michelle asked if that made him Joseph or God, he said it made him sorry she couldn’t be happy for anyone but herself.

Earlier this year, before leaving interstate for uni, Sam had given her a George Jensen gold heart on a red cord. It was only February but she’d hung it over the front window, which had always been Sam’s room, where it had stayed.

Sam’s gold heart was going to be the last new thing.

But the Facebook algorithm knew her too well. When the angel popped up in her feed at 2am she’d clicked and Apple-paid before taking a minute to consider that she could admire Christmas bling without putting it on the front of her house.

As she looked at the angel, dangling from the corner eaves, wings flapping, she knew it wasn’t the only thing tipping her display from charming to eccentric, but it didn’t help.

Michelle sat in her chair on the porch, behind the golden curtain, the glow of lights getting brighter as the sun went down.

Christmas Eve was always the buzziest night for light-viewing — kids wired and parents desperate to channel that Santa energy.

‘Can you see Santa? He’s coming when you’re asleep tonight!’ ‘Max, look at the reindeers on the roof! There’s Rudolph and Dancer and Prancer and what are the others called?’ ‘Can we put some carrots out?’ ‘Can we get a snowman like that, Dad?’ ‘What colours can you see, Bubby? Red! Blue! Gold! Green! Pink! Pretty!’ ‘Better get your sunglasses out for this place, babe.’

Emma sometimes appeared in her unadorned front yard on these warm nights, saying: ‘The real estate agent never told us the street becomes a theme park in December!’ or ‘We need traffic control around here at Christmas!’ or ‘I just can’t justify using so much electricity!’ But there was no sign of her tonight.

Michelle’s phone pinged.

Sure you won’t join us for lunch tomorrow? We’ve got a place for you [clinking glasses emoji].

It was Julie, who she didn’t think of as a best friend until this past year when she had leaned into Michelle’s new status as single empty-nester, when so many others had leaned out.

Thankyou lovely but I’m all sorted [Smiley, folded hands, kiss].

Sam was spending Christmas with Andrew and Megan and his little half-sister. They’d invited him down the coast. He’d asked would she mind and she’d said of course not.

December 25 was just another day after all and Michelle took the chance to sign up for Self Care Christmas™, which she’d heard about on a podcast. ‘I take care of me!’ the American host had enthused to gasps and applause of an unseen audience. ‘I know that I won’t ever give up on me. I will never abandon me. The one person I need is right here!’

‘The one person I need is right here,’ Michelle said to herself in the bathroom mirror as she cleansed, moisturised, tied back her long hair. She pictured herself waking fresh in the morning, enthusiastically tackling the schedule sitting in her inbox, subject line: Nurture yourself to wholeness and joy this Christmas!

But Michelle didn’t wake fresh, even though she hadn’t had that many gin and tonics on the porch. She was already behind schedule when she set the timer for the first activity: ’30 minutes journaling’.

She made a coffee, and another. The instructions said don’t think and let the first words in your mind flow to the page, clear any blockages, discover your true voice. She stared at the blank page, changed her timer ringtone to ‘chimes’ then ‘crystals’ and was relieved when it finally went off. She crossed journaling off her list and ’30 minute walk or jog’ as well. No-one would know.

Next up was yoga. She rolled out her mat on the small back deck but sounds floating through the fence — furniture dragged over pavers, squeals of present-opening delight — were much too distracting.

She skipped ahead to ‘festive bircher muesli’ (soaked oats and chia with berries, not that festive) and then ‘Present time. Slowly and lovingly unwrap your gifts to yourself’. She hadn’t bothered wrapping her presents to herself because she knew what they were — yellow sandals with silver buckles, a book about old growth forests from her work Secret Santa (she suspected it was a review copy sent to the office) and a giant Toblerone she had bought for Sam but switched to her own pile yesterday.

She put the sandals on and flicked through the book. Those are some impressive pictures of trees she said to herself, trying to feel more grateful. Tall. Old. Mossy.

She postponed ‘creative time’ (how could she sketch in the garden with all that noise?) and ‘healthy feast’ because she knew what the schedule wanted her to cook and it was not a feast.

Laughter and wafts of baked ham pushed through the fence and followed Michelle to her bedroom where she put her headphone on, lay on the bed, pulled up the covers and opened the Toblerone.

When the noise next door finally died down and afternoon faded to dusk Michelle got up, poured a gin and tonic, opened the front door and walked out to her chair on the porch.

She started when she saw Emma sitting there while little Gabby played with the nativity set. Emma jumped up, red-eyed.

‘I’m sorry, it was so quiet here. I thought you were having Christmas out.’

‘Stay there, I’ll get another chair. Are you ok?’

‘Oh all good, thanks,’ Emma hovered, unsure whether to sit back down. ‘Gabby stop that, be gentle.’

The child picked up each piece of the nativity set and examined it, banged it against the concrete lip of the porch, then put it back. Lamb — bang bang bang. Mary — bang bang.

‘It’s ok it’s just plastic,’ said Michelle, but the two women winced as the child banged baby Jesus in his manger against the concrete. ‘Sounds like you had a big day?’

Emma sighed and sat. ‘It’s exhausting. Dom’s family is so big and loud and they expect the works for Christmas lunch. They bring mountains of plastic crap for Gabby even though I try to set limits. It’s too much. His parents are still there, I just had to escape for a moment.’

‘Can I get you a G and T?’

‘No, I’ve still got the dishes. Actually yes, maybe I will if you don’t mind?’

Michelle went into the kitchen, realising it was the longest conversation she’d ever had with her neighbour. The family moved next door in June — Emma, who left the house each morning in a navy suit; her husband Dom with his odd hours and uniform, probably a nurse or ambo; and their fierce and enchanting two-year-old Gabby, whose tantrums alternately delighted and appalled Michelle through the fence. After initial introductions they’d settled into largely ignoring each other’s presence out the front, a pattern only interrupted by the younger woman’s disdain for the Christmas lights.

Michelle returned to the porch with a chair and another full glass.

They watched Gabby climb down the three front steps and into the garden, where she poked and patted Stumpy, hard.

‘Did you see your family today?’ asked Emma.

‘Well I decided to try something new and have Christmas to myself this year.’

‘Oh my god that sounds amazing!’

‘Um yeah it was great, very relaxing.’

Dom stepped out of the front gate next door and did a double take when he spotted the women on the porch. ‘Oh there you are,’ he called out to Emma. ‘I just came to see where you and Gab got to.’

‘Excuse me a sec,’ Emma said softly as she walked down to the fence. Hissed highlights from the couple’s exchange floated up to the porch. ‘No respect’ ‘I’m her mother’ ‘they’re my parents’ ‘minute to myself’ ‘you’re not the only one who’s tired’. It was a familiar volley and Michelle closed her eyes and relaxed into the gin and oddly soothing backdrop of another couple’s discord, smiling at the thought she could play either side convincingly. Her eyes shot open as Dom shouted ‘Shit’ and the timer for her light display ticked over, the house lighting up like a casino.

Emma’s giggling broke the silence as their faces flashed green and red and gold. ‘Gabby, see the crazy lights honey? Hang on. Gabby where are you Princess? She was just here a minute ago.’

The three adults peered into the small front yard, but the child wasn’t there.

‘Maybe she went back home?’ said Emma, running up the neighbouring path.

Dom called up and down the street, ‘Gabby, Gabriela. Where are you sweetie?’

‘I’ll see if she’s gone inside,’ said Michelle. She did a sweep of the short hall, glancing into each room. Not there.

Turning the lights off could help, she thought. What if she was there all the time and they just couldn’t see her for all the flashing and carrying on? Michelle walked back out to porch, down the front steps and around to the side path, calling softly, ‘Gabby? Gabby, are you down here love?’

There was no sign of the child, until she heard a small voice above. ‘Angel fly!’

The girl was nearly at the top of the ladder she’d left against the wall yesterday. She was reaching for the angel’s dangling, flashing wing.

Michelle froze. ‘Come down now,’ she said softly, wary of frightening her. She climbed a couple of rungs but the ladder wobbled and she stepped back down.

‘Come down Gabby, we’ll go out the front and look at the angel.’

But the girl was determined. She reached and grabbed the angel’s wing, stepped off the ladder and hurtled towards Michelle, slowed only by the electrical cord catching on the down pipe.

The toddler landed hard against Michelle’s chest, the force pushing her backwards. But she caught her! She caught her!

‘Angel fly,’ breathed Gabby, hot against her face, as the woman and child clung to each other.

Anxious calls came back into earshot: ‘Gabby! Where are you? Come to Mummy.’

Holding the little girl tight, Michelle looked up to see the angel twisted out of shape and the Santa sleigh sliding off the roof. She switched the power off and the lights fell dead.

‘I’ve got her! All good, she was just around the side,’ Michelle called out, trying keep her voice steady. She lowered the girl to the ground and led her through the dark out to the footpath.

‘Oh cheeky monkey,’ Emma ran towards them, picking up her daughter. ‘We didn’t know where you were! Dom, Dom, she’s here! Come see Nonna and Poppy and we’ll have some ice cream.’

As her neighbours disappeared into the darkness, Michelle took the half-drunk gins inside and tipped them down the sink. She lay on the couch and tried to breathe, just breathe. But as she closed her eyes all she could see was the child’s face rushing at her fast and hard. Michelle breathed and breathed until her breaths turned into gasps and gasps into sobs and she wept from a deep lake that might never empty.

Michelle woke up on Boxing Day, still on the couch, feeling fresh.

Before putting the kettle on, she went around the side of the house, climbed the ladder, disentangled the twisted angel from the gutter and lowered it to the ground. Since Andrew left she’d been getting someone in to install the Santa sleigh on the roof. But now Michelle climbed up on to the roof tiles and cut the rope attaching Rudolph to the chimney. The sleigh and reindeers fell to the ground.

She climbed back down and leaned the contorted angel and sleigh against the fence, mentally marking them ‘for the tip’.

She made coffee and got to work on the front of the house. First, she wrapped the glass birds carefully, placing them in a box, put them in her bedroom cupboard. Then she took down Star Zero and the ugly candles, the Merry Christmas and Hello Santa, stacked them on the nature strip with a sign saying In working order — Please take! She pulled up the candy cane torches and cut the ties holding the curtain of golden lights in place under the eaves, folding the long strands into a plastic tub. She packed the nativity scene with its sheep and wise men, virgin mother and surprised father into a cardboard box. She deflated Stumpy and folded him into a Coles bag. All on to the pile.

She took Sam’s golden heart from above the front window, took it inside and hung it from the picture rail above her bed.

She texted Julie: Any leftovers?

[Thumbs up.]

I’m on my way.

Michelle went inside and wrapped the old growth forests book for Julie. She put on her yellow sandals with a blue dress. As she walked out to her car, she could see Emma carrying the boxed nativity scene inside; the LED Merry Christmas propped up on her porch. They pretended not to see each other.