jml297

It was one of those breathless nights when the heat from the day lingered past sundown. Cheryl had the front window open and was stuck to her vinyl recliner as she waited for the southerly buster to arrive.

‘Did you see the flyer that was left in the mailbox?’ Barry’s voice boomed through the common wall. He was so loud that sometimes Cheryl felt her neighbour was in the same room. ‘Christmas lights competition. The first prize is $500. We should give it a crack, love.’

Cheryl couldn’t hear Alice’s response, just the low-pitched whine of her voice.

‘The only other person in the complex who puts anything out is her next door. And even that’s just a tattered old Christmas tree in the window. We’d be a shoo-in.’

Alice replied, and although Cheryl couldn’t hear the words, it was a fair bet that they weren’t complimentary. Cheryl rolled her eyes. Neighbours by necessity, not by choice.

‘Yeah, she’s no competition at all,’ Barry guffawed. Cheryl raised a finger in silent protest, hidden by the wall.

Later, Cheryl lingered at the hallway cupboard, her hand hovering over the handle. Boxes, battered and taped, held the ghosts of Christmases past. The tangled tinsel, faded baubles, and dusty lights had seen better days. Nestled in the tinsel was an old snapshot of her boys, faces radiant with laughter as they posed in front of the decorated tree. She traced their smiles, remembering carols sung off-key and the thrill of unopened presents.

‘Bring it on,’ she said softly.

The next morning, she checked her letterbox and found the flyer with the details. It would be just like Barry to wind her up over something like this, but it looked legitimate. Cheryl felt a flicker of excitement.

Within days, the complex was transformed. Christmas decorations appeared in front windows, along narrow balconies and in the tiny patches of sun-beaten grass that were dubbed “gardens” by optimistic real estate agents. Cheryl mapped out her decorations, careful not to overwhelm her small space. She timed the lights to tell a story, each one flickering to life in gentle procession.

At dusk, Cheryl wandered the grounds. Barry had opted for a riot of bright, flashing lights which threatened to burn retinas. Other residents in the complex had crafted clever scenes. Cheryl snapped a photo of her own modest display and sent it through to her boys. Their reply – a pair of thumbs-up emojis – brightened her day.

When the winners were announced, Cheryl took second prize which was a dinner voucher for two at the local RSL. She pressed it into Barry’s hand, catching Alice’s surprised glance.

‘Merry Christmas,’ she said, and a moment of goodwill flashed between them.

The next day Cheryl found a small box at her door—a homemade fruitcake and a card signed by her neighbours. “Thanks for the Christmas spirit.” Cheryl smiled, her heart lighter as kindness and festive cheer filled the air around her.

This was written to a prompt at a local writing group.

Photo: a selection of Santas