The Mother of All Christmases

by Milly Johnson

  ‘My Angharad says there should be a crèche for husbands in supermarkets.’

  ‘And she’s right. You lot get in the way.’

  ‘Until you want something reached from the top shelf,’ Effin threw back.

  ‘Ha, you’d be no good, would you? Some of my elves are taller than you, Effin.’ Nick laughed, a proper deep Santa guffaw and Effin’s laughter joined it. He felt good today, in control.

  ‘Behind the grotto would be ideal. We’d need to clear some trees for it.’

  ‘Next phase, next year,’ said Eve. ‘No rush. Come on then, Nick. Let’s see if my toy machine idea is feasible.’

  Effin went into his office and put on the kettle and whilst it was boiling he checked in his top drawer to make sure that he hadn’t bought himself any more cigarettes and matches that he couldn’t remember. Thankfully only paperclips, rubbers and other stationery items were present.

  ‘Your Aunt Evelyn would have loved all this,’ said Nick. ‘She handed the reins over to the right people. And I’m so proud that I’ll be conducting—’ He slapped his hand over his mouth. ‘Whoops.’

  Eve grinned. She knew that there was a wonderful conspiracy of silence going on behind the scenes about the wedding. She didn’t feel guilty about leaving it all to Jacques because whatever he would arrange would be wonderfully mad and if she interfered, she might bring some sanity to the proceedings and she didn’t want sanity this time around. She didn’t want sensible, she wanted full-on bonkers. And there was no man who could do bonkers better than her husband.

  ‘It’s okay, Nick. I kind of figured you’d be officiating anyway. In full-on Santa gear, I do hope,’ Eve said, lifting crossed fingers so he could see them.

  ‘I couldn’t possibly say,’ said Nick with an involuntary wink that gave the game away.

  They entered the grotto and switched on the light but it wasn’t working.

  ‘Better tell Effin to add that to the snagging list,’ said Nick.

  ‘What a nuisance.’ Eve pulled her phone out of her pocket and switched on the torch, shining it in front of her as they walked. ‘Anyway, we’re here now so I might as well show you what I mean. Look . . .’ But she didn’t finish her sentence because she fell, a second before Nick did, through the patched-up hole in the floor that Effin had mended only the previous day.

  Chapter 55

  Jacques sat beside Eve’s hospital bed, holding her hand. He had so many emotions blasting through his brain he didn’t know where to start untangling them. Concern being the dominant one, closely followed by anger. Eve hadn’t broken her leg, but she’d sprained her ankle and ripped a massive gash in her thigh. She’d also hurt her arm, breaking the fall of poor Nick, whose full weight had crashed down on Eve. He’d been shaken badly and was beside himself with guilt that he had let Eve lead the way with her torch when sense should have told him to insist they wait until after the lights had been looked at.

  ‘I’m going to have to tell Effin to leave,’ said Jacques.

  ‘You can’t do that to him.’

  ‘For his own safety,’ said Jacques, with a growl in his voice, ‘because if I see him again soon, I’m likely to throttle him. He told you that the floor had been mended, didn’t he? And he told me too. In fact, he stood in my office this morning and was rabbiting on about tap-dancing elephants being able to stand on it safely.’ He slapped his forehead. ‘I’m as much to blame. I should have checked it. Why didn’t I? After all that’s happened?’

  Eve didn’t know what to think, except that as much sympathy as she had for Effin, this was the third serious mistake and it couldn’t be ignored. She hadn’t even told Jacques about him losing all the wages on his computer twice now, and how she’d had to ask Arfon to sort out the snow machine that Effin was supposed to have fixed.

  Jacques was angry enough at the moment to tell anyone who had any connection with Effin to get out of his sight. She knew he would calm down but he was right, they’d have to insist that Effin took sick leave and found out what was wrong with him.

  Luckily for Effin’s neck the baby was fine. All the monitors connected to Eve were bleeping in the proper places, the Doppler machine reported that the baby’s heart was pumping ten to the dozen and the consultant was happy to let her go home that afternoon with a bandaged foot encased in a very unglamorous giant sandal; but, he’d said, to be on the safe side, he wanted her to have an ultrasound.

  A porter wheeled her down to the department half an hour after she’d drunk two large glasses of water, Jacques at her side carrying the crutches that would be her friend for the following couple of weeks at least. Eve felt ridiculous and indulgent being transported in a chair. Bathtime was going to be fun, she thought.

  Jacques picked up a magazine and offered it to Eve, but she refused it. She preferred to people-watch. A woman approached the reception desk asking, in a none too happy tone, when her scan was going to happen because she was bursting for the toilet and couldn’t hold out much longer. A doctor presumably, judging by the stethoscope around her neck, walked briskly past talking medical lingo into a mobile. An older woman was trying to control a toddler bouncing around. ‘Tierlon, come ’ere and behave.’ Where the hell did that name come from? mused Eve. She wondered if he’d grow up to like his name or change it to something ordinary like Duncan, as Zowie Bowie had done. Then the door to one side of her opened and a male doctor came out and behind him a young pregnant woman with ash-grey hair and a complexion to match. It was Palma from the Christmas Pudding Club. Eve opened her mouth to call, but something stopped her. Palma’s head was bent; the doctor had his hand gently on her back and was speaking softly to her now, whilst Palma was flicking tears from cheeks that looked red and salt-burned. Then they turned down the corridor and disappeared from sight.

  Chapter 56

  Jacques was ridiculously excited about going to his first Christmas Pudding Club meeting.

  ‘I don’t know what you expect to be there other than adults, yoga mats, tea and biscuits,’ said Eve, reaching for her crutch.

  ‘It makes the baby so real,’ said Jacques, clapping his hands and jumping up and down.

  ‘Isn’t this real enough for you?’ said Eve, pointing at her massive baby bump.

  ‘I mean hearing how to prepare for the big day, knowing what to do to help you,’ said Jacques, lifting up Eve’s handbag.

  Eve wondered if Palma would be there. She didn’t have a partner so maybe not. If Annie and Joe were there though, she’d ask if everything was okay. It hadn’t looked good news from what she’d witnessed.

  They were the last to arrive. Palma wasn’t there but all the others had their partners with them. Eve was surprised to see the love god that was Di’s husband. She’d imagined someone in the mould of Ben Affleck, based on how Di had described him. She wished she had the same glasses that Di owned because all she could see was Stan Laurel’s lankier brother. But they were holding hands as they sat in the circle and Di looked radiant and smiley, so did it really matter that her descriptive powers were slightly askew.

  ‘Getting near now, ladies and gents,’ said Sharon. ‘Anyone getting tightenings around their fundus?’

  Jacques stuck up his hand and everyone laughed.

  ‘Braxton Hicks. Your stomach will feel rock hard but it’s not uncomfortable, just odd. It’s your body gearing up for the birth.’

  ‘How will we know the difference between these Braxton Hicks and the real thing?’ asked Cheryl.

  ‘Trust me, you’ll know,’ said Raychel at her side.

  ‘Your Braxton Hicks contractions may start to get stronger now and so it’s a good time to practise your breathing. And I’m delighted you’ve all brought your partners along today. So can you move your chairs so you’re all facing your loved one.’

  ‘Or your husband,’ said Di, then she nudged him and added, ‘Only joking, darling.’

  ‘I’ll never remember all this,’ said Joe.

  ‘There’s always a fact sheet,’ said Annie.
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  ‘Breathe out and as you do so, imagine your breath as a thin thread leaving your mouth,’ guided Sharon. ‘Visualisation helps you to focus and move your mind away from the pain.’

  ‘Did you do this last time?’ Ben asked Raychel.

  ‘No, I fast-tracked to Pethidine,’ she replied.

  ‘Now imagine a contraction coming, take a deep breath to prepare yourself for it and then pretend you are trying to blow out your birthday candles on a cake,’ said Sharon. ‘Imagine every time a flame goes out, it takes your pain with it.’

  ‘My pain will be nothing to the pain you’ll be in if you get caught in another snowstorm,’ Raychel warned her husband Ben, before taking in that deep breath.

  ‘You’re breathing in through your mouth and blowing out through your nose, Di,’ said her husband Lee. ‘You sound like a horse.’

  Fil’s husband Henry was taking it all so seriously it was giving her the giggles and she ended up doing more snorting than breathing.

  ‘Let’s try some panting,’ said Chloe.

  ‘I do a lot of panting,’ said Di, with a cheeky grin. ‘I should be good at this.’

  At the end of the session, Di made an announcement. ‘It’s my thirty-fifth birthday on Saturday. Anyone fancy having an afternoon tea with me because I’m not sure that I’ll be back here again. My belly button is sticking out. They think I might be a bit further on than they first thought. Four o’clock, Sunflower Café, Pogley Top. Don’t bring a present, just bring yourselves.’

  ‘That sounds nice,’ said Eve. ‘I’d like that.’

  ‘That’ll be lovely,’ said Cheryl. ‘I know it well.’ Oh, she had some happy memories attached to that place.

  ‘Right, see you all Sat’day then,’ and off Di waddled towards her man.

  ‘And what happened to you?’ asked Annie, nodding towards Eve’s bandaged foot.

  ‘I fell down a hole in Santa’s grotto on Monday,’ she replied. ‘And Santa fell on top of me.’

  ‘Avoiding all the jokes I could make, I presume you’re all right?’

  ‘Sprained ankle, cut leg, bruised arm, that’s all; Santa is totally okay but then he had a soft landing. I went to hospital straightaway obviously, but the baby’s fine.’ She paused, hoping she wasn’t about to break any confidence. ‘I had an ultrasound and I saw Palma there.’

  ‘Really?’ replied Annie. ‘That’s worrying. She’s been off all week. She felt sick so I told her to rest up.’

  ‘I didn’t try and get her attention because she looked very upset.’

  ‘I rang her yesterday to see how she was and she didn’t mention anything. You’re sure it was Palma?’ Annie asked, but she knew that Eve wouldn’t have mistaken her.

  ‘It was definitely her, Annie, and I’m not just saying this, she was with a doctor and she was crying.’

  Annie nodded. ‘Thank you for telling me. I’ll call round and see her on the way home.’

  ‘For obvious reasons I won’t be at Aqua Mama tomorrow,’ Eve said with a smile. ‘So see you on Saturday for afternoon tea?’

  ‘See you then,’ said Annie.

  ‘Give my love to Palma. I hope she’s okay. And if she isn’t, let me know if I can do anything.’

  *

  Effin wasn’t up for any visitors. Not even Cariad would have got past his threshold at the moment. He had booked a crisis appointment with Alex Cousins for first thing in the morning and he just wanted to go to bed and kill time until then, which really hit home as an indication of how low he was. So when he heard the knock at the door, he wasn’t in the best of moods and went to tell whoever it was to bugger off. Then he opened it and standing on his doorstep was MacDuff, of all people. What did that stupid haggis want? He asked him, in Welsh, forced out a smile, made it look as if he was saying a polite hello.

  ‘Be ti ishe, yr hagis hurt?’

  Davy gave a small laugh, shook his head in a ‘give me a break’ way and answered him. ‘Daeth yr hagis hurt yma i dy helpu di, ond gei di fynd i grafu nawr!’

  Effin looked suitably gobsmacked. Not only had MacDuff understood him but had replied in fluent Welsh. He’d said that ‘the stupid haggis came here to help you, but you can get stuffed now.’

  ‘Eh?’

  Davy answered his shocked expression.

  ‘My mother and my granny, who lived with us, were Welsh speakers. I was raised tri-lingual: Glaswegian, English and Welsh – listed in order of importance.’

  Effin tried not to wince. He couldn’t count the number of Welsh insults he’d flung at MacDuff in front of his face and the haggis had understood every one. Duplicitous bastard.

  ‘Come to gloat, have you?’ said Effin, defensive walls up.

  ‘Not at all, quite the opposite. I came to ask you a question.’

  ‘No, you can’t run my teams, is the answer,’ said Effin, anticipating the only question he thought MacDuff might pose. ‘There’s loads of people I’d ask before you and that includes the fucking owls.’

  Davy ignored the insult. ‘My question is, do you have any enemies working at Winterworld?’

  ‘What?’

  With more patience than he felt, Davy repeated the question. ‘Do you have any enemies working at Winterworld?’

  ‘You’re all my enemies,’ snarled Effin. ‘All of you wanting to take my money for doing bugger all work.’

  ‘Drop the façade, Effin, for fuck’s sake. I’ve been watching you.’

  Effin smiled nastily, opened his mouth to spit some choice Welsh at him and then stopped himself because it would be no fun now, knowing that MacDuff was in on the game. Instead he delivered it in English. ‘I knew it. I knew you’d been watching me. I could feel your beady haggis eyes on me.’

  ‘And you should be glad I was, because I checked the snow machines after you’d mended them and they were working fine.’

  Effin’s hands came to his substantial waist. ‘Oh you did, did you? How very thoughtful of you to check to make sure I’d done them corr—’

  ‘Oh shut up, Effin and listen. I checked them straight after you did them,’ said Davy again, ‘but when Arfon tried them, they were strangely broken again. There seemed to be quite a few things you’d worked on that suddenly stopped functioning soon after. It flagged up to me, so I thought I’d . . . trail you for a wee while.’

  Effin’s face was starting to glow. The cheek of the man. That he could . . . Then he realised what Davy was saying to him. As comprehension dawned, his mouth opened and closed wordlessly like a confused fish.

  ‘If I’d known you were going to mend the grotto floor, I’d have checked that as well but I didn’t know until it was too late.’

  Effin remembered something then, and he looked accusingly at Davy.

  ‘Was it you up in Winterworld, loitering about when I left on Sunday night?’

  ‘Nope. I was tucked up in bed with a wee lassie,’ and he winked.

  ‘Cariad?’ Effin’s eyes widened so much they almost popped out of his head.

  Davy gave him a mischievous lop-sided grin. ‘I wish. My landlady’s white cat. I’m in charge whilst she’s sunning herself in Lanzarote, so you can hold your fire. I, like you, only have Cariad’s best interests at heart. It’s quite possible for a man and a woman to be friends, Effin. But you need to take a look at your friends, pal, because one of them has it in for you. And it’s not me. So I’ll park that with you and be on my way.’

  And with that, Davy turned from him and walked to his car, leaving Effin dazed by his benevolence. Or was it merely a ruse by the haggis to screw with him? He didn’t know – his brain was fried.

  *

  After the Pudding Club meeting, Annie dropped Joe off at home before going over to Dodley Bottom by herself. She knocked on Palma’s door, prepared a smile in readiness. Palma opened it a slit, half the length of the chain, and said a cheery, ‘Hello, Annie.’

  ‘I brought you a fact sheet,’ Annie said, holding it aloft. ‘You missed a very funny session and probably Di’s last appearanc
e there. She’s invited us all for afternoon tea for her birthday on Saturday.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Palma’s hand came out through the gap to take the sheet. Annie wanted that door open so she kept it out of her reach.

  ‘Aren’t you going to let me in?’ she asked.

  ‘The house is a bit of a mess, Annie.’

  ‘Let me in, Palma,’ Annie said, gently but firmly.

  Palma slid the chain across and opened the door fully. She looked terrible. Pale and poorly and her eyes were puffy and sad.

  ‘Sorry, I haven’t tidied up,’ she said, apologising, moving bags off the sofa to allow Annie to sit down.

  Annie couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Baby things were everywhere; on the dining table, under the dining table, against the sofa, piled up in the corner. A toddler buggy, a beautiful pink Moses basket and a Tell-the-Time child’s clock in a box. She noticed the baby jigsaw and the plush octopus with every foot a different colour and texture.

  ‘Can I get you a drink of something?’ Palma asked as Annie sat down in the armchair.

  ‘A glass of juice, anything you have.’ Palma went into the kitchen and Annie looked around. Something was not right here at all. The lounge was chaos, the room equivalent of Dorian Gray’s portrait, offsetting something, but she didn’t know what.

  ‘I never had the chance to ask you about Joe and what he said about Clint O’Gowan,’ said Palma, as she poured out a glass of orange squash. Her voice had a forced normality.

  ‘He said it made him feel guilty for wanting him gone,’ said Annie, but her mind was on her immediate surroundings and not on O’Gowan. There was nothing normal about this situation. There were bags of baby clothes at her feet, all with the labels still attached.

  ‘I heard . . . heard that he’d got on the wrong side of a family who live in Maltstone. Real hard-nuts. He handed himself to them on a plate, coming to this end of town.’

  ‘Where did you hear that?’ asked Annie, wanting to believe it was true.

  ‘Someone who’d know told me. Someone from Ketherwood that I . . . I bumped into. Sorry, I haven’t been shopping, I’ve only got orange.’