The Apartment Store #24

Chapter 12, Part 2, in which Lydia gets what she wanted for Christmas

The Apartment Store is the story of Lydia, a little girl who lives in a ramshackle attic apartment, in a ramshackle apartment building, down the ramshackle end of town. All Lydia wants is a proper Christmas, but it doesn't seem likely until a new tenant arrives in their building and changes Christmas for everyone in it.

The Apartment Store is a book length Christmas story of twelve chapters, split into twenty four episodes for Advent.

Lydia was crying again, although she hardly noticed. She turned and ran back through the shoppers, not looking where she was going, back out into the street.

Nobody. That's all she was. Nobody. Nobody with nothing. All on her own, not a single friend. Not even Artie. No family, but her useless father. Not even a mother.

All Lydia wanted for Christmas was her mother. Not a new one, like her father, but her own, old mother, who, in her memory, was nothing but a presence, a warmth in the dark, a smile in the morning. The idea of a mother, which sounds lovely but that’s no good. An idea of a mother isn’t enough. An idea can’t spit on a handkerchief and dab at your nose, an idea can’t tie your shoelaces and tell you to pick up your room, an idea can’t hold you and love you and make it all ok.

Because what Lydia was crying about wasn’t really being told off by her friends, or all the business with the Lydian or that she was going to have another miserable Christmas, it was because she was a lonely little girl without her mother, who she missed and craved for more than anything in the world. A little girl with no one to look after her.

Apart from her father.

He was all she had. Her boring, irritating old father. Who did nothing to help at all (that she noticed). With his stupid, menial shop assistant job (that he had taken so he could be at home with Lydia). Trapping her in their stupid, tiny apartment (that he had taken to keep them with their friends). Sitting at his stupid, second hand, messy old desk (that he had to make because he couldn’t afford anything else). Doing nothing but making his stupid, pointless snow globes (that were tiny drops of memory, frozen moments of her own history, his carefully preserved love).

And Lydia suddenly realised that if the only person looking after her was her father, who was looking after him?

She came to a stop in the middle of the crowd. People pushed past her, hurrying in the drizzle, but she didn’t notice them.

She felt a smallness in her stomach, like the ground was suddenly dropping away beneath her. She was thinking of her father, whose wife had died, who’d been left alone with a tiny baby, who had given up everything for his little girl, quit his job to be at home with her, abandoned all his dreams and ambitions, his idea of fun, everything interesting or enjoyable, all for her. All for Lydia.

And she had wanted a different dad, a new one. She had said she wanted Artie Krampus for a father.

And then she heard, through the noise of traffic and carollers on the corner, charity collectors rattling their tins, the shouting and the bustling, she heard someone singing.

“She once swept an Admiral clear off his feet:

The ships on her hips made his heart skip a beat.

And now the old boy's in command of the fleet,

For he went and married Lydia.”

“Daddy!” she shouted and suddenly he was there, reaching down through the crowd and grabbing hold of her and lifting her up.

“You know,” he said, reaching up and parting the wet hair on her forehead, “Everyone has been going spare, everyone running around and shouting about Lydia being lost and how we’ll never see her again and I told them: I wouldn’t worry, she’d just gone shopping.”

Lydia suddenly realised where they were standing on the corner of the Krampus Department Store, right by the window with the red food mixer in it. She looked at it whirling and turning, bright and red and shining.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “I’m sorry I said those things.”

“So you should be,” said her father, “They weren’t very nice things to say, But I hope I know you better than to believe them.”

“Is everyone very cross with me?”

“They were until you ran away, so that was a cunning move,” her father grinned at her, “But I think everyone knows that you’re only a little girl and Maddie Sharpe isn’t.”

“I didn’t say those things, not really like that,” said Lydia, “And I didn’t mean them. And I am sorry.”

“And I’m sorry, too,” said her father, “I’m sorry that you’re stuck with your boring old dad and that I forgot that you were growing up and changing and maybe I wasn’t, and I’m sorry that your mum isn’t here.”

“I wish she was,” said Lydia.

“So do I,“ said her father, “Everyday. But at least I’ve got you.”

“Good,” said Lydia, “I’ve got you too.”

“You found her!” said another voice, sounding out of breath.

Lydia looked round to find Mr Krebs shouldering his way through the shoppers thronging the pavement.

“Stan,” said her father, under his breath to Lydia, “Was terrified that it was all his fault. He’s the one got everyone over-excited about you running away. He worries about you, you know, he just doesn’t know how to show it.”

“You alright, little Lydia?” said Mr Krebs as he stumped up to them.

“Told you I’d find her, didn’t I?” said her father.

“I’m alright, Mr Krebs,” said Lydia, “Thankyou for coming to look for me. After what I said.”

“Everyone said things,” said Mr Krebs and waved his hand, “Glad we’ve got you.”

“And we better be getting her back, too,” said her father, “Show everyone else they can stop panicking now.”

He hoisted Lydia up onto his shoulders, something he hadn’t done for years.

“Yep, you’re definitely getting too big for this now,” he said, “You know, maybe you’re right after all. Time for some changes to be made.”

“I don’t want anything to change,” said Lydia, wrapping her hands round his head, “Not anymore.”

“Yes, you do, and anyway,” said her father, “You don’t get any choice in it.”

They started off across the street and up the hill, back into the winding streets Old Town, with Mr Krebs stumping along after them, silently.

“Everything changes,” said her father, “That’s what happens, that’s how the world goes, and you can never change it back. You can’t take whatever it was back, you can’t do it differently, that’s not how time works. You can’t take back what you said, I can’t have brought you up differently, your mum can’t have lived instead of dying. That’s how that is.

“The past can’t ever change but change is all the future ever does.”

“What’s going to happen?” said Lydia, “I don’t want to leave the apartment.”

“Oh goodness,” said her father, “Neither do I. That’s home, that’s where our friends are. Your mother loved that place. It’s her that found it and persuaded me and Fairy and John to move into it. We were all students back then, of course.”

“Were you all friends before?” Lydia had never actually thought about what might have happened before she was born, that there had been a world where her mother and father hadn’t actually been her mother and father. Hadn’t been anyone’s mother and father. Had just been a boyfriend and girlfriend. And there must have been a time before that when they hadn’t even know each other. All this long history of a world without Lydia in it, without all these people knowing she was going to be in it.

“Oh yes,” said her father, “John and I were friends for years and then we were all at art school together and Fairy introduced me to her friend Gwen and there we were.”

“And there we are,” said Lydia, suddenly seeing it all as one long story that she only came into after it had begun.

“Exactly,” said her father, squeezing her knee, “We’re still there. You and me, Lydia, you and me. What we have to change is how we are, how we get along, I promise.”

“It’s already changed, hasn’t it?” said Lydia, “It’s the Lydian now, you make toys, it’s all changed.”

“It’s all changing, things don’t just stop,” said her father, “And I’m afraid the Lydian can change too.”

"Dad," said Lydia, "What's a pitch?"

"A pitch?" he said, "Like a football pitch?"

"I don't think so," said Lydia, "I heard Artie say that the Lydian was a pitch."

"Ah," said her father, "Knowing him, he meant a sales pitch. The pitch is the thing you say to persuade something is worth parting with money for, talking them into buying it. He knew all about that."

"I saw him," said Lydia, "He didn't see me. They've given him the Krampus back."

"Well, that's a nice Christmas present for him, I guess" said Door.

"I think he was just using the Lydian as a way to persuade the Krampus to take him back. I think we were just his pitch."

"Hm, well, that doesn’t entirely surprise me."

"Then it was only ever a trick," said Lydia, on the verge of tears again, "He never really cared about it at all."

"Well," said her Dad carefully, "The pitch wouldn't have worked if the Lydian hadn't been successful, would it? And how could he not be grateful to the little girl that thought of it?"

"But it was supposed to be for everyone," said Lydia, "For all of us."

"I'm afraid people like Artie don't always see the world like that, Lydia," her father said, "They're more interested in what makes them happy and how other people can help them get it, rather than what might make those other people happy too. But right now we need to concentrate on what will make you happy again. And preferably a little lighter to carry."

They came up into the little square where the Lydian faced the Delian across the rainy cobbles. Fairuza was standing outside the Lydian and started waving to them when she saw them.

“One emergency is solved - hallo Lydia, you and I shall have to have a talk later - and another one is brewing,” she said, helping Lydia down from her father’s shoulders.

“I’m sorry I said those things,” said Lydia.

“Apology accepted,” said Fairuza.

“Even if the newspaper made up a lot of it,” said Lydia.

“Don’t go ruining the apology already,” said Fairuza.

“I think I am a good foot shorter,” said Door, stretching, “What’s happening, now?”

“It’s the Misses Pleasaunce,” said Fairuza, “You better come and see.”

Lydia walked into the living room of the Misses Pleasaunce apartment and stopped dead in her tracks.

Apart from a single, spindly settee and a tiny occasional table, the room was quite, quite empty.

What was suddenly obvious was missing things, where things had been. There were pale patches all over the walls, where pictures had been hanging, bare patches in the dust on shelves and sills where objects had stood for years, dimples in the carpet where heavy furniture had settled in. The room suddenly seemed tiny, echoey, lonely. And wedged in together on the little sofa, both determinedly looking straight ahead, not at each other, the Misses Pleasaunce both looked tiny and lonely themselves.

Fairuza, Lydia and Door stood and looked back at them, not knowing what to say.

“You found her!” came a voice from behind them and Ivy came rushing in and seized on Lydia, squeezing her intently, “I was so cross and then Mr Krebs came knocking and I’d never seen him actually worried before, not about anything, not even that time my lights caught fire which was terrifying and that just made me all worried too and I’m so sorry I was so angry, I know that that dreadful woman at the newspaper made it up and I shouldn’t have believed any of it and… what on earth has happened here?”

She stopped at stared at the Misses Pleasaunce.

“We have opened our own store,” said Pansy.

“You sold it?” said Fairuza.

“We sold it all!” said Peony and started crying.

“Oh no,” said Door.

“All those lovely things,” said Lydia and then wished she hadn’t when Peony started crying even louder.

“People kept asking,” said Pansy, sadly, “We rather got carried away.”

“Everything’s gone!” said Peony.

“This is awful,” said Fairuza, “What are we going to do?”

“Artie,” said Ivy, “Artie will know what to do.”

“I can’t find him,” said George Joseph, coming in behind them, “I thought the same thing. I went looking for him but I can’t find him anywhere. And his trunk is gone. Even his model of the Krampus store is gone. I think he’s moved out.”

Door reached down and squeezed Lydia’s hand.

“Did you actually take money?” said Door, “I mean did you actually sell everything?”

“Well,” said Pansy, “No. It was all more… informal than that.”

“Then it’s not a sale,” said Fairuza.

“But everything’s still gone,” said Peony, sobbing “All of it, all of our lives gone.”

“But that means we can still tell people to return things,” said Fairuza, “Tell them it’s not actually for sale.”

“No it’s not, Peony,” said Pansy, “That wasn’t all our lives. That was just things.”

“Those were memories,” said Peony, wiping her nose. Pansy took her hand.

“Those were things that reminded us,” she said, “We still have the memories. And a lot of photographs,” she added.

“We’ll get everything back,” said Door, “We all know who’s been here the last couple of days, all the customers, we can get it back.”

“Thank you, Theodore,” said Pansy, “You’re all so kind.”

“But it’s Christmas,” said Peony, “Tomorrow is Christmas Eve and it’s all bare and everything’s gone.”

“Well that,” said Fairuza, “We can do something about, can’t we?”

That night Lydia and her father walked up the stairs together to the attic and bed. They stopped on the landing and Lydia looked at the closed door of Artie Krampus’ apartment.

“I can’t believe he’d just go like that,” she said, “Without saying goodbye or anything.”

“It certainly doesn’t seem like him to miss out on the chance to make a speech,” said Door, “I’m sure he hasn’t gone for good, Lydia. I’m sure he would want to say goodbye to you at least. We’ll see him again. He’ll turn up.”

Which he did.

The next day, as Peony had pointed out, was Christmas Eve and it was one of the happiest Christmas Eves Lydia had ever spent, much to her surprise, because she spent it busy. They were all busy because they were bringing Christmas to the Misses Pleasaunce.

Lydia’s father and Mr Krebs spent the day fetching furniture up from the store room, including a large number of chairs and then assembling a massive table out of old sideboards and doors and bits of bookshelves.

John, Mrs M and Granny M, meanwhile, were cooking. Granny M was baking everything she could think of, covering all the tiny Ms in a light dusting of icing sugar as they fetched and carried and licked out bowls. Anything Mr M could bring upstairs, John was roasting and grilling and steaming and mashing, covered in splashes of gravy and sauces, singing to himself in the midst of great billows of steam.

Everyone else was decorating. The Ms had donated their tree which was now the centre piece of the Pleasaunce living room and Lydia was decorating it while George Joseph was teetering around the room on a stepladder, hanging paper chains and being taunted with mistletoe by Ivy.

Fairuza was in charge of the art. She brought in armfuls of her cards to cover the mantlepiece and window sills and then her own posters to hang on the walls. And when they ran out she raided her art history books, cutting out and mounting the glowing insides of impressionist cafes and wintry Dutch snowscapes and glittering medieval illuminations. Finally she locked herself away for the rest of the afternoon and emerged with a drawing of the Misses Pleasaunce sitting side by side on their sofa, which she hung in pride of place over the fire.

“Look!” said Peony, “She’s got it all, Pansy, it’s all in there.” And it was. Fairuza had drawn their living room as it had been, all the furniture and pictures and decoration. It was like looking at a mirror reflecting a place that had disappeared.

At last the room was finished, all covered in pictures and cards and ribbons, candles on every shelf and lights shining on the tree. And the table was set, too, with dishes and cutlery from every apartment in the building, all glittering and glowing in the flickering light.

“Now, this is what Christmas looks like,” said Door.

And finally everyone was assembled. Mrs Krebs was helped up from the basement, everyone took their places at the table, with the Misses Pleasaunce at the head, and they prepared themselves to attack the enormous Christmas meal everyone had been preparing. Then the door opened and Artie Krampus walked in.

“Been looking for you all everywhere,” he said, “But I followed the jollity and found you at last.”

“Artie!” said Lydia.

“Lydia, everyone, I’m afraid I have some news,” said Artie, “I’m not sure if it’s good news or bad news. Some of you, I suspect, will think it’s good news, some of you, I hope, will think it’s bad. I, personally, am not which it is. I suppose it’s both. I’m moving out of the Lydian.”

“We thought as much,” said Door.

“They’ve offered me my old job back at the Krampus,” said Artie, “The Delian was the sign: they knew I was onto something and they wanted a part of it. And that part of it is me. And that, my friends, is down to you. Which is what I wanted to say. I wanted to say thank you.

“When I arrived here, I was washed up, a has been, a done for. You, all of you, changed that. You gave me an opportunity to rediscover myself, remember what it was I did, who I was, and I want to thank you all for that.

“I’m so glad turning our apartment building upside down has done you so much good,” said Fairuza, crossly. She was evidently aware of where she was sitting and just what the Apartment Store had led to for the Misses Pleasaunce.

“I hope not just me,” said Artie, taken aback, “Look at you, Fairuza, you’re not just a freelance designer any more, you’re an artist too, you’ve got customers who value your work because it’s by you. I do hope I’m not the only person who’s found something new.”

“I have,” said Ivy, “I have really, I mean I know it hasn’t all been wonderful, but I’m a proper fashion designer now. People love the clothes I make, actual people who wear beautiful things think my things are beautiful. That’s amazing and that couldn’t have happened without Artie. Or everyone else, of course, or Lydia.”

“You are all so talented,” said Artie, “And such wonderful people and…”

Then Pansy stood up and he fell silent.

“I would like to say a few words,” she said, “I think we can all agree that our lives have changed enormously since Mr Krampus came to live with us. And change, I’m afraid, is never easy. Some of us have made mistakes along the way. We have fallen out with each other. We have argued. We have competed.

“But this room, this wonderful room that has been a home and a memory and a life for Peony and I, is a splendid example of what we have all done. For what we have done we have done together. Peony and I got carried away with Mr Krampus’ idea and made a terrible mistake, and all of you have made it better. All of our friends.

“You are right, Mr Krampus, we have been reminded of who we are. We are friends. So, I’m afraid, I - we - would like to thank not you, but the person who made us all friends in the first place, the person who has always brought us all together.

“Lydia,” she said, picking up her glass of wine, “Thank you.”

“Lydia,” said everyone and “I forgive you,” whispered Fairuza across the table.

Lydia did not know where to look and so looked at Artie, who was looking at her.

“To Lydia,” he said, “Thank you. And a happy Christmas. Happy Christmas to all of you.”

He nodded, turned and left. Lydia got up and followed him out.

“Artie,” she said, “Wait.”

He stopped at the top of the stairs and turned round.

“I wanted to say thank you,” said Lydia, “It has been exciting, it really has, even if it wasn’t all fun.”

“It has been, hasn’t it?” he said with a gleam in his eye, “And it’s only just starting. I’ve got great ideas for the Krampus, Lydia, and so much of it is thanks to you. You have to promise me you’ll come and visit.”

“I will,” said Lydia, “But you have to come and visit too. You have stock things we make in the Lydian.”

“You owe it to them if nothing else,” said Door coming out onto the landing.

“I’ll do it because you all make such splendid things,” said Artie, “If any of you will want me to.”

“We still have rent to pay,” said Door.

“Well,” said Artie, “I, for one, am glad I met you all.”

“And I’m glad I met you,” said Lydia, “I’ll see you soon, won’t I?”

“You better,” said Artie, turning and starting down the stairs. And then he stopped suddenly.

“Oh my word,” he said.

“What was your mother’s name, Lydia?” he said without turning round.

“Gwen,” said Lydia, “Why?”

“I never forget an employee and I never forget a name,” said Artie, turning round again, “Even if takes me a while. Never. Two young designers. Won a competition to design a Christmas window at Krampus. Did a terrific job. Theodore and Guinevere. Door and Gwen. Am I right?”

“We called ourselves artists at the time,” said Door, “But the window was terrific, yes.”

“I wanted you to do more the next year,” said Artie, “I remember telling everyone to get hold of you, but they couldn’t.”

“Things change,” said Door and put his hand on Lydia’s head.

“They do,” said Artie, “And then they change again and again and keep on changing. You ever want a change Door, you know where to find me.”

“We still have rent to pay,” said Door.

“Don’t we all,” said Artie, “Happy Christmas.”

And he disappeared down the stairs.

“Merry Christmas,” said Door to his retreating back.

“Dad,” said Lydia, as they returned to the Misses Pleasaunce, “Did you and Mum really design a Christmas window at Krampus?”

“Just the one,” said Door.

“But you could do more, couldn’t you?” said Lydia.

“Like the man said,” said Door, “Things do keep changing.”

It was still only Christmas Eve but after they had all eaten and drunk and laughed and shouted, Door announced that they were going to do presents now while they were all together instead of on Christmas Day.

Everyone got presents from the Apartment Store, of course. The Misses Pleasaunce had Fairuza’s portrait, of course. George Joseph got a tie that Ivy had made for him with a pattern of numbers on and John got a pastry recipe and all the ingredients from the family M, while he gave Mr Krebs and his mother a Christmas pudding. The Family M’s present came from Mr Krebs and consisted solely of an envelope, but inside were plans for remodelling their apartment if they wanted to keep the Christmas room as part of the Olympic. Door gave Fairuza a snow globe he had made of her and John. 

But there was no snow globe for Lydia this year. There was an enormous parcel in green and gold paper, with a gold ribbon around it and inside was a brand new, gleaming, bright red food mixer.

“You claim I don’t pay attention,” said her father, “But sometimes, sometimes I do. It’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

She squeezed his hand.

“Oh yes,” said Lydia, “This year I have got what I really wanted for Christmas.”