The Ghost of Christmas Past

 

The Ghost of Christmas Past doesn’t appear glowing softly at the foot of the bed.

He reminds you of an office you once worked in, somewhere you haven’t thought about for years. He turns up to the sound of David Bowie's Fashion. Rod Stewart's Passion.  And he's called Dave. 

That 19th December, I was twenty-one.

I worked in an office. Dave was the accountant. He was twenty-six, tall, neatly parted light brown hair, a moustache I didn’t like. He’d asked me to see a band in the autumn and I’d said yes without really meaning it. I didn’t fancy him much — or maybe I did, but only because I wanted something to turn out right.

I was single and a bit bruised. I had a habit of picking men who didn’t quite pick me back. Ian had messed me around for months. Steve cheated. By summer I’d started laughing again — nights out with friends, my first foreign holiday with the girls. I should have been confident. Instead, I was hopeful in the wrong directions.

The office Christmas party was always chaos. The respectable meal out, a polite drink in the pub, then the real thing back at work. Too much alcohol, party food everywhere, cards and board games, people becoming louder, looser versions of themselves. I remember whisky. I remember green ginger.

I don’t quite know how it happened, but suddenly I was in Dave’s office, kissing him for most of the afternoon. He might have been boring to look at, but he was a good kisser, and at twenty-one that felt like enough.

That night he took me to the Sir William at Grindleford. Beef stroganoff and rice — rich, warming, oddly memorable. Then on to Dawn’s twenty-first at the Big Tree. All my friends were there. I was drunk enough to slide down a wall. I don’t remember getting home, but Dave must have driven me.

Then Christmas itself. Two weeks off work. Too much time to think.

I sent him a card.
You give the best Christmas kisses this side of the Pennine Way.

I cringe now, but at the time it felt hopeful, almost brave. I spent Christmas wondering if he’d ask me out in the new year. I even thought he was better than me — that being with him would somehow elevate me.

The night before we went back to work, I didn’t sleep.

Now I know this: if a man wants to be with you, nothing stops him. Back then, I didn’t know that. I thought maybe I just had to wait, or try a bit harder.

In the new year I dressed up. I lingered. I flirted. I asked for lifts home and stayed late at work, pretending I had things to finish. I orbited him, mistaking proximity for promise.

In early February, he finally asked me out after work.

We went to the Stag across the road. One drink. He drove me home. We kissed again — the same kind of kiss that had made me believe in Christmas.

Then he said,
“I hope that’s got me out of your system.”

I was mortified. Blushing, stammering, shrinking into myself. Why wasn’t I good enough? Had I embarrassed myself at the party? Had I misunderstood everything? I didn’t know how to behave or what I’d done wrong. But the feeling of shame lingered far longer than it deserved to.

Eventually, a night out in Leeds did what time hadn’t yet managed. Loud music, a packed club, laughing until something loosened inside me. It felt like a line being drawn — the same way it had been with Ian before. 

I didn’t know he’d been seeing Cat from work. They got engaged. They married. They divorced after he cheated. He married again.

He dropped dead on his honeymoon.

That’s when the Ghost of Christmas Past steps back into view — not to shock, but to teach.

What haunts me isn’t him. It’s the girl I was then. The girl who thought being wanted was the same as being valued. The girl who believed men set the price and women waited to be chosen.

I learned, eventually.

If someone wants you, you don’t have to chase them, linger, hint, or haunt them to be seen.

And that is what the Ghost of Christmas Past came to show me.