I’m not going to give her a lecture, because people can’t help being regiftaholics, can they? It’s probably a genetic thing, which they’ll do scientific research about one day. But this year, I vow, I’m giving Janice something she can’t regift. Some kind of luxury perishable food, perhaps. Ooh, maybe a lobster. I can’t help grinning at the idea of presenting Janice with a live lobster, and at once she says, “What is it, love?”
“Nothing.” I put down my cup. “Come on. Let’s shop!”
We head into the food section, which has the massive advantage that they give away stuff. Every single stall has something to taste, from cinder toffee to Christmas cake to festive vodka.
“Is festive vodka a thing?” I say uncertainly to Janice, but she’s already got us two little sample glasses.
“Of course it is, love!” she says, swigging hers in one go. “Look, there’s tinsel on the bottle. Shall we try all the flavored ones? There’s lemon. And cinnamon!”
Vodka does feel fairly festive, if it’s spiked with cinnamon and you drink it singing along to Mariah Carey. We move on to festive gin and then festive traditional “mead,” and then Janice starts going back and asking for seconds. If I don’t say something, she’ll stay in the booze section all day.
“Janice,” I say at last. “We have to move on! We’ll try the mulled wine another time, OK?”
As I’m tugging at her arm, I spot a nearby stall selling smoked salmon, which is actually on my list. There’s a massive queue, which is a good sign, so I quickly join it. And I’m craning my neck to read the sign about applewood smoking, when another glint of silver catches my eye and I swivel round in hope—
It is! It’s the silver llama must-have ornament! It’s hanging from the handle of a toddler’s buggy, and I bet you anything his mum bought it here.
I’m not missing it this time.
“Janice,” I say hurriedly. “Could you possibly buy my smoked salmon for me? Here’s my credit card.” I hand her my Visa card and add in a whisper, “The PIN’s four-one-six-five. Pay whatever it costs. I just need to make a quick purchase.”
“Of course, love!” says Janice brightly. “How much? I don’t know what the prices are like….”
“Don’t worry about the price, just get lots. Or, at least, why not see if there’s a special offer?” I can see Janice drawing breath to ask something else, but I hastily add, “Thanks!” and dash into the crowd. I’ve got to track down that llama.
I jog along, fighting my way past groups of people, until I see the mother with the buggy. And there it is! The silver llama, hanging on a velvet ribbon loop. It has long glittery hair, and world peace is beautifully embroidered on the side. I can totally see why it’s this year’s must-have ornament.
“Excuse me!” I gasp, touching the woman on the shoulder, and she wheels round.
“Yes?”
“Did you buy that here?” I gesture at the llama.
“Yes,” she says. “Stall over there.” She jabs a finger toward the far corner of the hall.
“Thanks so much,” I say, as she starts wheeling the buggy off. “It’s this year’s must-have tree ornament, you know!” I add over my shoulder. “Sold out everywhere! Very rare!”
As I’m hastening in the direction she pointed, my phone bleeps with a text.
Love, do you want “oak smoked,” “applewood smoked,” or “cold smoked”? Janice x
I hastily pause and type a reply:
Doesn’t matter! Applewood, maybe? Bx
Then I start hurrying on again, but at once my phone rings and Janice pops up on the display screen.
“Hi, Janice!” I say breathlessly. “Is everything OK?”
“There is a special offer, love!” she says triumphantly. “They do bundles, twenty, thirty, or forty pounds. Only I know you said don’t worry about the price, but I don’t feel I can make that decision—”
“Thirty, please!” I hastily cut her off. “Perfect! Thank you so much.”
I dash on as quickly as I can and manage to get to the next corner before Janice pings back another text:
Sorry, my mistake, they can’t do 30 in the applewood smoked, love. Janice x
Honestly. As if anyone will tell the difference after a few glasses of Buck’s Fizz. Trying not to give away my impatience, I text:
Get any bundle any kind. Thanks so much, Janice, really appreciate it!! Bx
The path ahead has miraculously cleared, so I increase my pace to a sprint, not even pausing when my phone bleeps again. It’ll be some random question about packaging or something. Janice will have to decide that on her own.
I reach the far corner of the hall, look around wildly—and there it is! It’s hanging on the side of a stall: a silver llama with world peace in pink on its side. Yay!
Regaining my breath, I approach the stall and beam at the woman behind it, who smiles sweetly in return while polishing her gold spectacles. She has a lanyard around her neck, and I notice that she’s called Yvonne Hanson.
“Hello, Yvonne!” I greet her. “Lovely stall.”
“Thank you,” she says complacently. “I do my best. How can I help you?”
“Could I please have a silver llama?” I say, trying not to sound too urgent. “In fact…several? In fact…all your stock?”
“I’m afraid the llama’s sold out,” says Yvonne pleasantly, replacing her spectacles. “I’m so sorry.”
Sold out? But there’s one right in front of me.
“Could I buy that one, please?” I ask politely, pointing at it.
“Ah.” Her brow creases. “I’m afraid not. That one is for display purposes only.”
I stare at her in slight bewilderment. “But you’ve sold out.”
“Exactly.” She nods in agreement. “As I say. Sold out.”
“So…couldn’t I buy it?”
“This is a display llama,” she says in slow, distinct tones. “For display.”
“I don’t understand,” I say, trying to stay patient. “If it’s sold out, why are you displaying it?”
“Because it’s part of the range.” She smiles. “Very popular.”
“But no one can buy it!” I say in frustration. “It’s sold out! So this is misleading. You’re luring people to your stand like a mirage in the desert! You’re toying with people’s hopes! Is that fair? Is that just? Is that human?”
Abruptly, I realize I’ve raised my voice, and a few people are staring at me, including Yvonne, whose smile has become a little rigid.
“I’m afraid the llama’s sold out,” she repeats politely, as though beginning the conversation again. “Would you like a turtle instead? Lovely sequins, very popular.”
I glance briefly at the sequined turtle—which doesn’t hold a candle to the llama—then back at Yvonne. For a few moments I’m silent. I’m not a vengeful person, but I have taken against Yvonne, with her gold spectacles and power trips.
“May I look at the llama, please?” I ask after a few moments.
Yvonne’s eyes narrow, but I can tell she can’t think of a reason to say no, so eventually she replies, “Certainly you may.” She lifts it off its nail and places it in front of me on the stall, adding, “As I say, it’s sold out.”
“Of course.” I match her pleasant tone. “I absolutely understand that it’s sold out and you can’t sell me this one even though it’s right here in my hands. It makes total sense.”
Yvonne doesn’t reply, but as I dart a glance at her I can see it plain in her face. We’re enemies.
“It’s lovely, isn’t it?” I say, running my hand gently over the silver metallic hair. “So beautiful. How strong are these fronds, I wonder…?” I run my fingers through the metallic strands a few times—then carefully snap one off. At once I gasp in apparent horror. “Oh no, I’ve broken it. How could I be so careless?”
“What?” Yvonne makes a grab for the llama, but I swoop it out of her reach and open my eyes wide.
“What a terrible accident! I do apologize. And now it’s damaged, of course you won’t be able to display it, so I simply must buy it, to repay you.” I meet her gaze innocently. “At full price, naturally. I insist.”
“It doesn’t look damaged to me,” chimes in an elderly lady who has just joined me at the stall—but Yvonne and I both ignore her. This battle is mano a mano.
“How much is it?” I add, reaching for my purse, but Yvonne doesn’t reply. As I look up, I see a kind of glinty triumph in her eyes and feel a sudden qualm.
“Oh, I would never sell a damaged item,” she says, her smile even sweeter than before. “I’m afraid it will have to be removed from display altogether. Could you give it to me, please? I would rather not have damaged goods on view, as they compromise my high standards.”
She holds out her hand and I glare at her, trying to think of a response, before reluctantly handing over the llama.
“It looks perfect!” says the elderly lady—but neither of us flickers. I can’t believe Yvonne outwitted me.
“May I not buy it as damaged goods?” I make a last attempt. “Surely you don’t just waste damaged items?”
“But it’s not damaged!” says the elderly lady, sounding perplexed.
“I will be holding a damaged-goods sale in June,” snaps Yvonne with an air of finality. “You may consult my website for details.”
She drops the llama into a nearby cardboard box and Sellotapes it shut for good measure, shooting me a victorious look as she does so.
“Fine. Well, happy Christmas,” I say darkly, hoping that she can detect my subtext message: “You don’t deserve one.”