Christmas Eve, Alone and Not

Most of my friends think it's sad that I work on Christmas Eve. I tried explaining once that it isn't, that I choose to, and I watched them nod in that sympathetic way people nod when they've already decided what they think. So I don't explain anymore. I'll explain it here instead.

My family is complicated. I love them from a distance and I see them on Boxing Day, which is enough. Christmas Eve used to be the loneliest night of my year, the whole city bright and busy and me eating noodles in front of carols on the television. Then, four years ago, a regular asked if I'd be available that night, a little embarrassed, and I said yes, and it turned into a small tradition.

The booking

He's a widower, early sixties, with adult kids in London and Singapore. They ring him on Christmas morning, their time, which is the middle of the night his time. So Christmas Eve is his hardest night too. We are, in a way, keeping each other company.

This year he brought a small plum pudding from a bakery in Manly and a jar of brandy butter. I had set the table with a red cloth, candles and a bowl of cherries. We ate the pudding with teaspoons, far too much of it, and watched the harbour through the window where the ferries were strung with lights.

We talked about Christmases past. His childhood in the Blue Mountains, carolling in the snow that didn't come. My memory of one perfect Christmas when I was eight, before everything got complicated. He said, "Do you know, this is the only night of the year I don't feel old." I said, "Me too, and I'm not old." He laughed so much he coughed.

What followed was warm and gentle and ours.

Midnight

He left at quarter to twelve so he could be home when the calls came. At the door he pressed a small wrapped parcel into my hand and told me not to open it until the morning.

I sat on the balcony and listened to the bells from the church down the hill. The air smelt of frangipani and someone's barbecue. I didn't feel alone. I felt like someone who had given and received exactly the right amount of kindness.

Christmas morning

The parcel was a small silver bookmark engraved with a single word: company.

It's the best present I've had in years.