Christmas In July - A Short Story

Fluttering Flakes of Wonderful

Paul stepped off the bus.....

Giggling was what he heard. Feminine, wickedly lovely, giggles. She bopped up from her hidden possie and threw another snowball at the bus but it was now disappearing 'round the corner.

"Bollocks, as Sara would say" Nat grumbled to herself. All the fun was over. Pelting the white stuff at a bench was lovely for a moment or two but when those people looked out the bus window of that shiny sided bus which momentarily settled at the kerb it was like the dartboard at the pub. Bullseye after bullseye of fun.

A fast-moving object slapped into her tummy. The slap of snow striking mid torso surprised her, the hit making her groan out an 'oomph'

"Bullseye!!" Paul called from across the street, he must be somewhere behind that bench she had used for target practice. Nat had no idea he was even there and jumped a good foot in the air at his sparkling voice ringing out through the crisp night air.

"Where are you!?!"

"Wouldn't you like to know!" Another snowball sailed past her, she ducked back down quickly and dragged more snow up toward her to shape.

"Aha! The bench. Chicken!" She threw her freezing cold blob back, bits and pieces lost along the way. The bench saved Paul from the flakes that remained of her soft ball.

"Aussies aren't very good at making snowballs! Here try this!" Paul flogged his newest snowball over in the Nat's general direction.

"Ouch!" Nat yelped and laughed and jumped up and down at the freezing cold snow that was now beginning to permeant the coat she wore. She wasn't freezing just yet but the heat of her body melted the snow as it made its way through the material.

"See, they should do that on impact" Paul taunted and laughed and gathered the fixings of another ten balls.

"This is fabulous!" Nat yelled as she scored a direct hit from a high lob that dropped the ball on Pauls head. His hat tilted and snow dampened his scalp. Bloody cold it was.

Another dozen or so snowballs blazed through the chilly night air. Each participant ignored the call of a fireplace and warm drink. They were adults being kids. Even though they didn't know each other from a bar of soap, they were doing something wild and fun, being in the moment. No grouchy sticks in the mud frowning at them as they behaved like idiots. They carried on and on; laughing, smiling, yelping and even spruiking!

Nat squeezed her fingers back and forth. They were like icicles, her gloves were soaked, her fingers were sore. She had ignored and ignored the warning signs because tonight was such fun.

And the railing was just a railing. She stood contemplating the fact for a good ten minutes, muttering to herself about being an idiot for venturing so far. Venturing to see a piece of metal and bits of wood. A millisecond of her time was spent with eyes closed and she imagined. Imagine those men leaning over and smirking happily down at her. Can't even recall one of their names and their faces are all a muddle. Lou would say I told you so when she got back to uncle Kevin's, the words burned her ears already.

"Truce" the man called out when he hadn't heard any snowball splatter in the long silence. It was late anyway and bed was beckoning, a good hot shower and a glass of scotch too.

He stood at the same time as she emerged from behind the red phone box across the street.

"Truce?" Nat called back timidly, not really knowing if this was a naughty boys' ploy to get the foe out in the open. Her fingers hurt like buggery now, flex, flex, rub, rub. Nat blew in the fist of her hands she had pressed together. She did it all as she stood uncertain in a deserted street, in a deserted Brough of London, across the snowy street from a stranger.