‘Pennypot Lane’: A Short Story For The Christmas Season

Published on: 24 Dec, 2025
Updated on: 1 Jan, 2026

Noel is out on the streets on Christmas Eve. Maria and Joe have a flat in Pennypot Lane. Their lives become intertwined in a way they couldn’t have imagined.

This short story by Dragon reporter David Reading (pictured) provides a message of compassion for Christmas.

Pennypot Lane

By David Reading

Whenever a storm blew, Pennypot Lane was like a wind tunnel. The shops were only twelve feet apart and when a blast came from the North you could be blown off your feet, or so it seemed. Such a storm was coming now – Noel had seen the weather warning through the window at Currys – but he’d been on the streets long enough to know how to cope. Between the tattoo parlour and the nail bar there was a passageway where they kept the wheelie bins and if you hunkered down between two bins with your coat over your head, you could stay safe and maybe get some sleep.

Noel relaxed against the wall behind the bins and listened to the whistling sound the wind made as it blew through the gutters. A choir was singing Silent Night. There’d been a Salvation Army band earlier but they’d packed up around four. Everything would be closing soon, but people were still ambling along Pennypot Lane getting the last of their Christmas shopping. He heard the raucous sound of a male voice: Merry Christmas, darlin’. How about a kiss under the mistletoe? He assumed that she – whoever she was – declined the offer because the man’s tone became insistent. Eventually he gave up.

Noel hadn’t eaten that day and he thought that if the wind died down he would venture out and buy a pasty at the Star. He felt in his coat pocket and brought out the handful of loose change that had been tossed into his hat. Confronted by this bundle of rags on the pavement, most people looked at their feet or up at the sky when they walked by. A few threw in a coin or two. He had enough for a pasty and maybe a Coke as well.

He closed his eyes and tried to remember where he was last Christmas. Same town, different street. The weather was fine that time, but just as cold. There was a shelter in the park and that’s where he had slept for a few nights. You weren’t supposed to do that but he’d climbed over the gate hoping the police wouldn’t bother him. This Christmas was much the same, just different weather. He drew in his feet so they were covered by his coat.

Are you all right, young man?

It was a woman’s voice.

I hope you’re not dead. That would be inconvenient.

Noel opened his eyes.

Not yet, he said. Give it a couple of hours.

She was about 50, old enough to be his mother, dark hair, greying just a little. Wearing a blue hooded jacket.

You can’t stay here on Christmas Eve. Isn’t there a hostel or somewhere you can go to?

There was a hostel but it was noisy and he slept better if he slept alone. So long as the wind didn’t bring rain with it, he’d do OK. Noel thanked the woman for her concern and told her not to worry.

But it’s going to freeze later, what about family, haven’t you got family?

Noel did have a family, once, but he didn’t want to talk about that.

I’ll be staying with friends tomorrow. Don’t worry. I’m fine.

I don’t believe you. Look, I don’t want to come down here tomorrow morning and find you stiff as a board. You can sleep on my settee for the night as it’s Christmas. But one night only mind.

This took Noel by surprise. He’d never received an offer like this before, except one time from a man whose motives were obviously ulterior. Where do you live? he asked.

We have a flat above the nail bar. It’s a temporary arrangement. It’s relatively quiet and it’s comfortable and warm. So come on, on your feet.

Noel didn’t like the idea of accepting charity but maybe, maybe he could accept it just this once. As it was Christmas.

Moving briskly, she led him up a metal staircase at the back and ushered him in. The back door led to the kitchen. A man was standing there leaning against the fridge.

Who are you? What’s going on?

She answered before Noel had a chance to change his mind and disappear. It’s all right, dear, this young man will be sleeping on the settee tonight. We can’t let him sleep on the streets on Christmas Eve.

She turned to Noel. This is my husband Joe, and I’m Maria. Do make yourself at home.

He was quite a bit older than his wife: sixty or sixty-five maybe, tall and thin, full head of grey hair, dressed in a white sweater like the ones cricketers wear. I’m sorry, he can’t stay with us. We don’t know him from Adam.

It’s OK, Noel said. I don’t want to put you to any trouble. I’ll just go.

Maria ordered him to sit on the kitchen stool, grabbed her husband by the elbow and pulled him out of the room into the hallway.

Noel could hear some of what was said. It wasn’t exactly a blazing row, but it came close. I absolutely insist, Joe was saying, and she answered with an insistence of her own. He heard the word Christmas several times and heard the reply, I don’t bloody care.

Noel didn’t want to be the catalyst for a marriage break-up. After five minutes of listening to their arguing he got up to go. But the door opened. It’s settled, Maria said. You can have a shower and I’ll make you a sandwich. Do you prefer ham or cheese?

***

Joe had an early night saying he felt unwell. It was only eight o’clock so Noel knew he’d driven him away. He felt bad about that but he was warm, he had eaten and he was holding a glass of wine. Yes, Noel felt bad but he’d get over it.

Maria asked him why he was sleeping rough and he answered vaguely. I had a flat but things didn’t go too well and I ran out of money so here I am. That kind of thing. Nothing specific. When she pressed him, he answered in short sentences. Don’t worry about me. I’m fine. She went to bed at nine-thirty and Noel settled down expecting his best night’s sleep in years.

But sometime later – maybe around one – he heard a long, drawn-out groan. A man in terrible pain. He thought it came from the street, but then he heard Maria calling out in distress. Joe what is it? What’s the matter?

There was no comprehensible answer, just that deep groan. He heard her repeat the question. What is it? What’s the matter?

Noel got up, went into the hallway and listened at their bedroom door. Still that same noise, and still her anguished cries. How can I help you if I don’t know what’s wrong?

He opened the door. The room was lit up by a bedside lamp. Joe was lying on the floor beside the bed, squirming and struggling. Maria was standing over him in distress. She saw Noel in the doorway and said, He’s having a stroke, I think. She threw herself across the bed and reached for her phone on the bedside table.

Noel crouched down next to him and spoke gently. Sir, can you tell me what the problem is? It was becoming obvious, really. Joe was clutching his chest and he was sweating. He was breathing in gasps and letting out muffled moans.

I don’t think it’s a stroke, Noel said. It’s more likely to be a heart attack. Call 999 and say suspected cardiac arrest. Do you have aspirin in the house? Maria didn’t seem to hear the question. She was in a kind of trance as she tapped away at her phone.

Her husband’s gasps were getting more rapid, more frantic. And then suddenly there was no sound at all. Noel knelt beside him and put the heel of his hand in the middle of the chest. He put his other hand on top and began CPR.

***

Noel was on the sofa reading a magazine when Maria came back from the hospital. He’s out of intensive care and he’s stable, she said. He’s out of danger at least.

She sat down next to him and sighed wearily. Neither of them spoke for a while. Noel put down the magazine and wondered whether he should get up and leave. Finally she turned to him. You saved his life, you know. How did you know what to do?

He hadn’t intended to reveal anything about himself. He’d never made excuses for the state he was in. But now it seemed all right to talk. There was so much he could tell her if he wanted. But just the bare bones would be enough.

I was a paramedic, he said. My wife died three years ago and my life fell apart. I lost my job, the house, everything. But I never forgot what I was trained to do.

She put her hand on to his in a mother-son sort of way. Merry Christmas, she said. And Noel found himself crying for the first time in three years.