Carol was sick to death of the crowds—the pulsating, relentless crowds. She was sick of the sticky little children wandering around with chocolate-encrusted hands, leaving muddy footprints across shop floors and touching things they shouldn’t. She was also sick of the saccharine music being pumped out of every speaker, the songs mixing in the air above the crowds, competing, congealing into a thick, bilious soup of meaningless sentimentality.

Humbug, thought Carol. She passed a charity chugger collecting for guide dogs; the chugger had put a Santa hat on her prop dog. It looked pathetic, its plastic mouth lolling open and revealing a faded pink tongue. People are so fake around Christmas, thought Carol. They’re only giving to make themselves feel better. Where’s their charity the rest of the year? Where’s my charity? I’m in need. I need.

She reached the grand golden doors of Nandy’s, the department store, which was gridlocked with human traffic. She huffed and puffed and jostled her way through the bodies, muttering, ‘Excuse me,’ and, ‘Do you mind?’ When she reached the Returns department, she was thrilled to note the absence of a queue. She was ahead of the curve—come January, Returns would look like a polling station.

The man behind the desk was very tall and quite fat, his belly hanging out underneath a too-small Nandy’s t-shirt. He was wearing a Santa hat too, and had the same pathetic look on his face as the plastic charity dog. Moron, thought Carol.

‘Hello miss!’ beamed the man. He had a messy brown beard and wore half-moon glasses. ‘How can I help?’

‘I’d like to return some items, shockingly,’ said Carol. She pulled the socks out of her bag and dumped them on the counter. 

‘Right-o,’ said the man, ignoring her sarcasm or maybe missing it entirely. ‘Do you have a receipt, love?’

‘No. I ordered them online and your pants customer service said I had to bring them here in person. You should have a note of it.’

‘Ah, sorry about that. We’ll get it sorted for you.’ He looked genuinely pained for her. ‘Still, you can do some extra Christmas shopping while you’re here!’ Carol’s face was stone. ‘Right…’ said the man. ‘What’s the name, please?’

 ‘Carol Greene.’

 ‘A Christmas Carol!’ the man wheezed, giggled. ‘How lovely! It’s your time to shine.’ He grinned like an idiot.

‘Do you genuinely think I’ve never heard that before?’ snapped Carol. ‘I’m in a rush, so if you don’t mind…?’ she gestured at the socks.

‘Of course, madam.’ The man turned his eyes to the till. ‘I’m afraid we can only give you store credit. I hope that’s alright.’

‘Whatever,’ said Carol. She took the gift card from him (a king’s ransom of £10) and turned on her heel.

‘Merry Christmas!’ the man yelled after her. She did not turn around. 

*

Every step felt like a herculean effort as Carol stomped up the stairs to her flat. She turned the key in the lock and tried to flick the light switch, but the bulb went, leaving the flat in pale grey relief. Carol surveyed the landscape: boxes were still piled up from moving day in the far corner of the open-plan kitchen and living room. Had it really been a whole year? This still wasn’t home. The flat had the clinical air of an art gallery, with bare walls and a couch sitting in the middle of the floor, cut adrift. Leftover pizza from last night gathered flies on the kitchen counter. Fuck this, thought Carol. She quickly grabbed a bottle of orange juice from the fridge and made a bagel before diving out of the flat again, slamming the door behind her.

*

As she turned onto the dual carriageway, every radio station was making a concerted effort to drive Carol crazy by playing nothing but Christmas songs. She flicked the dial, skipping from Bowie and Crosby to Lennon, Live Aid to Slade. Finally, mercifully, she found a news programme discussing the trade implications of a blockage in the Suez Canal. She felt a weight being lifted, but her rage swelled again as the presenters began asking, through giggles, what the blockage might mean for Father Christmas. For fuck’s sake, thought Carol.

*

The woods were quickly becoming Carol’s favourite place. There was no one there to bother her. Sometimes she wished that she could live there full time, like a lumberjack or bigfoot. 

As she pulled into the car park, a line of swaying hornbeam trees greeted her from across the way, shading the muddy path. The car park itself was deserted, and relief washed over Carol in a cool wave. She got out of the car and leant against the closed door, listening to the engine ticking as it cooled, softer and softer, until that sound—the sound of civilisation, of stinking people—died and was replaced by the wind rustling the trees. The sun was already beginning to go down behind a duvet of clouds. Sharpish, thought Carol, and she stamped forward towards the path. 

It wasn’t long before she abandoned the path completely, not paying particular attention to where she was going, just obeying a compulsion to go deeper, deeper into the woods, further away from the flat and the radio and anyone at all. As her heart clanged and her ears stung from the cold, she spotted a fallen log in a small clearing and set after it. She sniffed violently to clear her nostrils, span around, and perched her bottom on the log, stretching out her aching calves. She shrugged her backpack off and pulled out her lunch, gulping down the orange juice before delicately unwrapping the bagel from its foil, the wild shock of orange smoked salmon and thick white cream cheese looking alien surrounded by all the brown and dark green of the woods. 

She craned her neck to look up at the naked branches crisscrossing above her, and she felt wonderfully small. I could disappear here, she thought. She bowed her head and raised the bagel to her mouth.

A red robin fluttered down from a nearby branch and perched on the log next to Carol. She eyed him suspiciously, the bagel suspended in mid-air next to her half-open mouth. ‘You’re not getting any of this,’ she said.

‘Sorry,’ said the robin. ‘I didn’t mean to disturb you.’

‘Ahh!’ yelled Carol. ‘What the fucking fuck?’

‘I said I’m sorry for disturbing you.’

‘Jesus fucking Christ on a cross! You’re talking!’ I must have finally flipped my lid, thought Carol. About time, probably.

‘I… I don’t usually talk to strangers, but you looked a bit lonely.’ Carol tried to stop her head from spinning. A robin was speaking to her, and, and … smiling? Yes, in a kind way, like a proud grandfather. His head was cocked to the side.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Carol. ‘What?’

‘You looked lonely,’ said the robin. ‘Are you alright? You might want to get your hearing checked.’ His voice was posh, like a radio presenter’s or the Queen’s. He’s definitely not from around here, thought Carol.

‘I’m not talking to a fucking talking robin,’ said Carol.

‘Why not?’

‘Because you’re not real, you tit.’

‘I’m not a tit. I’m a robin.’

‘This is exactly the kind of thing I was trying to get away from.’

‘What kind of thing?’

‘I… Everything.’

‘Well, this is certainly the place to do that. I’m Robin,’ said the robin, and puffing out his chest feathers proudly.

‘Course you are,’ said Carol.

‘And your name is?’

‘Carol.’

‘How wonderful! A Christmas Carol!’ beamed Robin.

‘If one more person says that to me, I’ll slit my wrists.’

‘Crikey,’ said Robin. ‘That’s a bit extreme, if I may say so.’

‘I hate this time of year. Every Christmas, people say the same bloody thing: “Ooh, a Christmas Carol!”’

‘That’s a silly reason not to like Christmas,’ said Robin.

After a pause, Carol said, ‘That’s not the only reason.’

‘But there are so many reasons to love Christmas. What could make you despise it so?’

‘It’s… Hang on, this is getting a bit personal. I’ve just met you, and you’re a talking Robin, for fuck’s sake.’

‘You don’t meet a lot of Robins?’

‘Not as a rule. Most of the Robins I’ve talked to have been human.’

‘Well, I’m dreadfully sorry,’ said Robin. His puffed-out chest fell, and his little head drooped towards the log. The sound of Robin’s fellow birds fluttering and tweeting punctuated the silence.

‘I’m sorry too,’ said Carol. ‘I don’t mean to be rude. It’s like I say, I just find this time of year a bit difficult.’

Robin sighed deeply, a soft whistling emanating from his tiny beak. ‘It is a time of great joy,’ he said. ‘But, it is true, also a time of great sadness. Take the forest.’ He gestured with his wing. ‘We have the summer, with the leaves coating the trees, the sun kissing the treetops. Animals of all shapes and sizes walk the forest with their children, carried by the warm breeze.

‘Then, of course, Autumn comes. A veritable explosion of colour—nature’s crescendo, if you will—blustery days kicking up the fallen leaves and making them rain from the sky like flakes of gold. Squirrels hide their food deep in the rich earth, and the bears become fat and find friends to hibernate with.’

‘I didn’t know we had bears in this country,’ said Carol.

‘Of course we do,’ said Robin. ‘Don’t interrupt,’ he added. ‘Winter. At first glance, the forest is a barren wasteland. Many of us pass away so that our young might live. It is a time of hardship and sacrifice. And yet it is also a time to prepare for the renewal of spring, a time to marvel in a constant cycle of self-renewal. Life and death—we cannot have one without the other. This is a time to retreat to our warm burrows, cosy nests… houses, flats… and think of those who we love, whether they’re still with us or not.’

Carol was silent for a minute. In a very small voice, she asked Robin, ‘What if you don’t love anyone, and… and no one loves you?’

 After weighing this up, the Robin replied, ‘There are almost nine million species on this planet. There are eight billion humans alone. There’ll always be someone there to hold you—if you’d only extend your hand.’

 ‘As if!’ scoffed Carol. ‘It’s not that easy.’ Her eyes were watering. It was probably the cold, or the low winter sun.

 ‘Well, let’s try this,’ said Robin. ‘I’m feeling a little peckish this afternoon. Would you share some of your delicious bagel? It is Christmas, after all.’

 Carol looked down at the bagel in her hand. She carefully tore off a tiny piece, making sure to get a cross-section of bread, salmon, and cream cheese. Despite the tininess of the morsel, it practically towered over Robin when she placed it down on the log next to him. 

 ‘Thank you.’ Robin’s dark eyes were glittering too. ‘So much. I hope that I can now call you “friend”, and that you can do the same. I’ve enjoyed our little talk.’ With that, he picked up the bagel morsel in his beak and flapped his miniscule wings in stop motion, flying off towards a high branch above.

 ‘Wait!’ shouted Carol.

 Robin perched on a branch. Over his shoulder, he called, ‘Share and share alike. Perhaps you might do something similar. We’ll talk again.’ And with that, he was off.

Right, thought Carol. Don’t think I’m mad. It’d probably be good to have that checked out, though. Then again, maybe it can wait until the new year…

Before she knew what she was doing, she trudged back through the forest to the car park, got back in her car, and headed towards town. The Christmas songs coming on the radio didn’t seem to bother her as much as before. She even began humming along to a song from years ago, the singer calling, ‘Merry Christmas’ over and over as guitars and bells rang out. 

She parked in the shopping centre and headed towards a churro stand, like a puppet on a string. It was only when she reached the door to Nandy’s that she knew what she was going to do.

* 

‘Hello,’ said Carol. She was in the Returns department, looking at the man from before, his belly still hanging out. 

‘’Lo there, Carol. Everything alright with that gift card?’ 

‘Yeah. N-no problem at all. Well, other than… What I mean to say… Look. I’m sorry. I haven’t been very good with people recently. I tend to take stuff out on them, and that’s not fair.’ She felt lightheaded.

‘Away with ya now,’ said the man. ‘Don’t be daft. We all get stressed out sometimes.’

‘Thank you. I—well, I got you something. To make up for being such a tit.’ Carol held out a cone of churros. 

‘Ah, you’re alright actually,’ said the man. ‘I’m watching me weight.’ He patted his belly and waved the cone away.

‘Oh god,’ said Carol. ‘I’m sorry!’ She felt pinpricks on her cheeks.

 ‘Am I fuck!’ said the man. ‘Get them over here.’ He grinned. ‘It’s Chris, by the way.’

 ‘Chris,’ repeated Carol. She was smiling too. ‘Your last name isn’t “Mass”, is it? You must love this time of year!’

 They laughed, standing there in the Returns department of Nandy’s, as the first snow began to fall outside. In the distance, if you listened closely, you might have heard baby birds chirping, excitedly greeting their father, who was bearing a gift.