On Christmas morning, Frances Mountbatten stumbled down the stairs from her second-floor bedroom and gazed at her glowing Christmas tree in front of the bay windows. Piles of wrapped packages sat beneath it. She already wondered which presents would be returned and what deals she could find the day after Christmas on Boxing Day.
As she looked out the window of her Notting Hill Gate flat, snow covered the red telephone box on Lansdowne Crescent. She could only hope that this Christmas would be better than last year. Her boyfriend Spencer Arthur was due to arrive at any moment.
“Frances, is he here yet?” her mother called from her upstairs guest bedroom, as Frances waited for a knock on her door.
“You could do better than Spencer,” her father called. “Besides, we could be spending Christmas at home in Cambridge.”
“I didn’t tell Spencer that you were coming,” Frances explained. “So, stay upstairs until I figure out what’s going on! I’ll bring you Christmas breakfast in bed.”
After feeding her parents, she waited for her boyfriend and prepared a full breakfast to share with him: bacon, poached eggs, fried tomatoes and mushrooms, fried oatcakes, black pudding, baked beans, and fresh orange juice. She hoped Spencer would like it. Sometimes, he was extra picky.
“Oh, where is he?” Frances asked, as she watched the clock. “He’s always late. It’s so rude.”
“I see his Volkswagen from the window. He just parked outside!” Mrs. Mountbatten called. “Try to stay calm.”
“He’s only an accountant,” her father snapped. “You need a big ring!”
Then, Frances heard a knock at the door. Her heart leapt with anticipation when the doorbell rang.
“Coming, dear!” she called to Spencer, her longtime love. Through the window, she could see him as he stood at the door with a pile of packages.
This has to be the year that he would finally ask her to marry him. All of her family and friends expected him to propose, and it embarrassed her that he kept dragging it out.
On the side table sat a stack of Frances’ romance novels. She was one of Britain’s most famous authors. She could write the best romances, but she hadn’t been able to get married.
“Merry Christmas, love!” Spencer said to Frances as she opened the door. He kissed her on the cheek and handed her his armful of gifts.
“Oh, I wonder what’s in these boxes!” Frances said and placed them beneath her Christmas tree. “Wait until you see what I got for you! I hope you love it,” she said. “I just finished making breakfast . . .”
“Brilliant!” Spencer said with a smile. He looked at the feast placed around Frances’ kitchen table. A Santa Claus tea pot with a candy cane handle sat in the middle of the food.
“Do you want to open gifts first or eat breakfast?” Frances asked. She kissed him and wrapped her arms around him.
“Why don’t we open gifts first?” he said and hung his jacket on a hook. “We can open them quickly, so the food doesn’t get cold.”
“Oh, good!” Frances said. She had a knot in her stomach. “I’m so excited.”
After Frances had opened all five boxes from Spencer, she had a pearl necklace, a wool sweater, an ink pen, a journal, and a Christmas stocking full of toffees. “Anything else that I missed?” she asked. She bit her lip, breathed deep, and exhaled slowly.
“No, that’s everything, dear,” Spencer said to her. “Hope you like your gifts! Now what did you get me?”
Frances shook her head and thought of all the years she watched her other girlfriends get married, some even at Christmas. Then, she caught her parents trying to tiptoe down the steps without Spencer noticing them. As his back faced the staircase, he stared out the window. She shooed her parents away before he saw them.
“Definitely open this gift first,” Frances demanded, stiffly handing Spencer a large, heavy box with a large bow.
He ripped open the gold wrapping paper, pulled off the lid, only to find a pair of red boxing gloves. Frances grabbed the gloves and shoved them on her tiny hands. She said, “These are for me!”
Then, she punched Spencer on the cheek and knocked him over in one full swing—he toppled onto the wooden floor. It looked like he fainted with shock. Moments later, when Spencer regained consciousness, he held his head.
“What did you do that for?” Spencer cried. “It’s Christmas! I love you. I really do love you.”
“The gift that I gave you is a set of boxing gloves for me!” Frances said. “Tomorrow morning, on Boxing Day, Harrods is having sale. It starts at 10 o’clock sharp. You are buying me an engagement ring, or I’m knocking you out for good!”
“Well, I was planning to do just that thing,” Spencer said, but Frances could tell he was lying by his tone of voice. “But really, are you sure that you don’t want to go to a rugby match with me instead? I’m even up for a horse race!”
Frances felt more irritated by the minute and suspected he was stalling from making any real decision about their relationship. It was no different than last year.
“I’m not taking off the boxing gloves until you put a ring on my left hand!” Frances insisted. “Do you understand me?”
“Of course, darling, anything you want,” Spencer said to her. “Can I have some ice for my eye?”
She looked at the stack of unopened gifts that sat beside him and wondered if they could be re-gifted. As far as she was concerned, he didn’t deserve another gift until she got a ring. She handed him the ice and hoped that it was freezing cold.
Then, Mrs. and Mr. Mountbatten tiptoed down the stairs, even after Frances shooed them away. She knew they were trying to protect her from more heartbreak.
“Oh, Noah, sir, I didn’t know you were here!” Spencer gasped.
“Amelia and I have definitely been here for days,” Frances’ father mumbled.
“We thought that Christmas might be merrier this year!” her mother said.
“That’s what I thought, too!” Frances said, as she held up the boxing gloves again.
Spencer held ice on his face. Frances secretly hoped that he wouldn’t go blind from her right hook. Although she was very angry at him, she did love him, or so she thought. Under the watchful eye of the Mountbattens, Frances enjoyed a calm breakfast with Spencer. He noted that it was “the best Christmas breakfast he had ever eaten.”
“You’re no longer going to be a bachelor!” Frances said to Spencer. She raised the red gloves in his face. “I can’t believe that I have to fight you like this!”
Frances managed to hold a fork while wearing the boxing gloves and enjoyed her poached eggs with oatcakes. She watched her parents fume at the seams while Spencer squirmed.
“Darling, we’ll meet in the Christmas World section of Harrods in the morning,” Spencer agreed. “Pick anywhere for a honeymoon. I want you to be happy. I should’ve proposed before now, but I was just so nervous . . .”
“Well, you don’t have to be nervous anymore,” she said. “We’ve been together for almost seven years.”
As Christmas Day went on, Frances fell asleep on the couch with the boxing gloves covering her hands, and her parents dozed off on the rocking chairs next to her. While they were sleeping, Spencer slipped out the door before Frances and her parents could stop him.
By the time morning came, Frances still had the red boxing gloves on her hands, ready to fight Spencer to fulfill his never-ending empty promises. She was hopeful she would now be an engaged woman with a very large ring on her hand.
“Don’t get too disappointed if Spencer doesn’t show up!” Amelia told her daughter as Frances headed out the door.
“I never liked him!” Noah blurted out. “There are lots of eligible men at Cambridge.”
“Please, let me handle this myself,” Frances said and waved her boxing gloves in the air.
So, on the second day of Christmastide, Boxing Day—a British holiday—Frances took the Tube to Harrods in Knightsbridge. Gifts were piled high for the homeless men and women who lived in the subway tunnels. Passersby dropped donations into the Salvation Army’s red kettles as bandsmen played Christmas carols and rang bells.
“Boxing Day has a new meaning for me,” she said, as she wore the boxing gloves all the way to Christmas World despite odd looks from strangers. “Saint Stephen help me! At least my gloves are red for the Christmas season!”
While walking down the street to Harrods, she watched through the store windows as servants and tradesmen received Christmas boxes from their employers as gifts. She wished this Christmas had not been so dramatic. She loved this time of year and would have rather celebrated in peace.
When she arrived in Christmas World, she took a seat next to Santa Claus’ house and waited for Spencer. As noon arrived, Spencer had still not arrived, and she started to cry. Several Harrods’ shoppers gave her tissues. Spencer was a coward for not showing up.
After she had enough of waiting around for Spencer, she saw a handsome gentleman from the distance. It seemed like he would be the best solution to her problems.
“I’d love to take you up to the second floor for lunch at The Tea Room,” Frances blurted out to the stranger. He had a blue handkerchief sticking from his pocket.
“My dear lady, it’s Boxing Day! Everything is on sale. Please don’t cry,” he said, as he gave her his handkerchief.
“Yes, I know, it’s Boxing Day! Look at my gloves,” she sobbed. She grabbed his tissue with the boxing gloves and blew her nose.
“I’d love to have tea with you, dear,” the gentleman said. “It’s Boxing Day, and I don’t want to fight with you!”
“My name is Frances Mountbatten,” she said, as she stopped crying.
“My name is Harry Williams,” he said. “It would be my pleasure to spend the day with you. In fact, I think I’ve read your novels. I work in publishing.”
“Really?” she said, amazed that anyone cared about her writing at a time like this. For a moment, Harry overshadowed the disappointment that Frances felt for Spencer.
As Frances composed herself, Harry helped her take off the boxing gloves and left them in Christmas World for Santa. They had a warm lunch together, and Frances tried not to think about Spencer. Days later, when Spencer appeared unannounced at Frances’ flat to propose, Harry quickly put on the boxing gloves as Frances wearily considered the proposition.
“Darling, don’t even consider a thing that crazy man is saying!” Harry said, as he sent Spencer away once and for all. “I want to date you. You’re gorgeous.”
“Brilliant,” Frances said. Then, she kissed Harry. Spencer had put her through enough. “I need you more than I could ever need him.”
Frances called her parents the next day to tell them about Harry, and her father could not have been happier. She knew her mother and father were relieved that Spencer was gone.
By summertime, Harry proposed on one knee with a sparkling ring, and Frances married him on Christmas Eve in St. Paul’s Cathedral. Frances made sure that Spencer only heard about the spectacular wedding.
Happier than ever, Frances never put on boxing gloves again, but she did make sure to catch the good sales with Harry on Boxing Day—the most brilliant shopping holiday.
Copyright 2016 Jennifer Waters
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