The Christmas Calendar Girls

by Samantha Tonge

  ‘I’m sorry about last night,’ I said as a couple walked past. ‘At least let me give you a lift home. How did you get here so quickly?’

  ‘Taxi.’

  ‘Please, let me pay—’

  ‘Fern. No. I’m happy to help.’

  We walked around to the back of the pub. I started the car up straightaway, keen to get the engine and heating running. I couldn’t stop shivering. When we reached his Kit said to go in for a hot chocolate as the evening was still early. He offered to put my top through a quick wash. Twenty minutes later I was sitting next to him on his sofa, wearing one of his huge jumpers.

  ‘This is more like a dress for me,’ I chuckled, as I sat there, the bottom hem by my knees. I cleared my throat. ‘Does this mean we’re friends again?’

  He put his coffee down on the table in front and passed me a plate of biscuits. I picked one up and prised it apart before licking off the cream.

  ‘We never weren’t – right?’ he said.

  ‘Then I think we might have had our first argument.’ For some reason my eyes pricked. ‘I’m sorry. I’ve been tired lately, what with all the organisation and worry about the living calendar, but that’s no excuse.’

  ‘You’re doing an amazing job,’ he said. ‘And there’s no need to apologise. I should have explained. I wanted to tell you, Fern, about me and Paula, but I was worried if I did you’d… you’d think less of me.’

  ‘Why? Because of our kiss?’ I said, inwardly cringing with embarrassment.

  ‘No. It’s not that.’ He rolled his lips together.

  ‘You don’t have to justify yourself. Honestly,’ I said. ‘Being good friends doesn’t mean we need to know everything about each other.’

  ‘I want to. I’m ready to open up more about what happened in London. I’d become someone who felt like a stranger. I’d stopped recognising me as me.’ He screwed up his paper napkin.

  ‘I felt like that after losing Adam. I started drinking too much.’ I’d never told anyone that before. ‘I stopped doing the housework properly. Cried every night in bed. Lost interest is all my favourite things – apart from Lily. A tiny part of the old me still looked after and loved her and I clung to that, hoping that the whole of me would come back again one day – and slowly, it did.’

  But it was hard to forget all the sadness. Adam receiving the diagnosis. The night he’d died. My parents were looking after Lily. I’d been sitting by his bedside, in the hospital, for hours. Our hands together. For an hour or so he’d lessened his grip. His breath had become raspy. The nurse had shot me a kindly look. I knew that meant the worst was coming. I’d wanted to wail. Beat my fists on his chest to make him wake up and talk to me one last time; tell me that he was okay and none of this was really happening. But instead I lay on the bed, my head next to his, my arm around his chest. His mum and dad sat in chairs nearby.

  When they popped out for some fresh air, I sang our song – ‘At Last’ by Etta James. When we got engaged we both said we felt we’d been waiting for someone special to come into our lives and that tune had meaning. I’d whispered the lyrics in his ear, tears trickling down my cheeks. The nurse persuaded me to go and grab a coffee with my parents-in-law. And whilst I was out the room, the man who’d always brought out the best in me left for another place.

  The nurse said she’d often seen that happen. Dying patients didn’t want to put their loved ones through watching a death, so they didn’t let go until they were alone.

  That was the sort of selfless thing Adam would have done.

  The thought of it kicked off the shattering of my heart.

  Kit fiddled with a leather bracelet around his wrist. ‘I used to drink a lot too, but I hadn’t suffered a bereavement. It simply went with the job – or that’s what I told myself.’

  I nodded.

  ‘I slept around as well.’ He shook his head. ‘As far as I can remember, I didn’t hurt anyone – I tried not to. I hope I didn’t.’ He sighed. ‘Although I’m guessing I must have at some point. I couldn’t commit, you see, not to any person – only the business. Me and the others were so hell bent on getting rich and enjoying every penny we earned.’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with wanting success, Kit. I’m assuming you must have worked very hard. It sounds as if you just didn’t know when to stop… what about your family?’

  ‘I gave up visiting because every time I did I could sense their concern. Mum and Dad never got over me dropping out of university. Not because they were trying to live their dreams through me but because they felt I wasn’t reaching my potential. Looking back I can understand their worry. I’d often turn up hungover. And my sister and I used to be so close. But at the end she’d call me out for my behaviour in a way Mum and Dad wouldn’t. She told me I was flushing my life away down a high-end drain. In the end I almost completely flushed away Mum and Dad’s lives too.’

  His eyes glistened.

  ‘I’m sure that’s not true,’ I mumbled. I’d noticed this before. The pain when he spoke about his parents.

  ‘Wasn’t your sister a bit harsh?’

  ‘I thought that at the time, but I can see now that she was right. I didn’t invest in property or take up hobbies. It had always been a childhood dream to travel. Mum and Dad could never afford holidays abroad when I was little. So there I was, finally visiting all these wonderful countries, but I never saw the sights, all I did was party hard and spend the next day in a hotel room… I… I could have treated my parents to so many things but all I thought of was myself. They live in a modest terraced house with a backyard for a garden. It’s beautiful with flower pots and Dad put up decking. But I could have bought them a detached place. I knew Mum had secretly always wanted that. They never asked for a penny. Not even when she lost her cleaning job and had to look for another one.’ He leant back. ‘Sorry. All of this is probably too much information.’

  No. It made sense. Slowly I was beginning to understand why he thought he was such a bad person. I nodded encouragingly for him to continue.

  ‘But that’s not the worst of it. I think I told you I began gambling at university to keep up with my new well-off friends. But… but then…’ He looked sideways at me. ‘It became a bigger problem – ironically, when I didn’t need the money and the party planning venture was doing well. The gambling was online at first. Then over the years I started to bet on the horses. I didn’t need that extra cash but it helped me maintain a certain lifestyle. I wore the best clothes, ate at the best restaurants and bought a sports car even though I hated driving in London. In the end I lost all of my own savings and made some bad decisions at work that nearly bankrupted my business partners.’ He said the last part very quickly.

  Wow.

  Kit, a big-time gambler?

  The man I knew watched every penny.

  ‘Rightly they got angry. I left the business. But still that wasn’t my rock bottom. I hurt my parents thoroughly before I reached that and moved here.’

  I raised my eyebrows.

  ‘I don’t bet any more,’ he said, as if reading my mind. ‘I got help. Gambling, like any addiction, it’s an insidious disease.’

  ‘It must have been incredibly hard to stop.’ I looked in awe at him, seeing extra hidden strengths behind the ones I knew he already had. ‘Why did you do it? Although please, if you don’t feel like—’

  ‘No, it’s fine… I… I’ve had to dig deep about this during therapy. Understanding my motives has really helped me get back control. At university there was a purpose, to earn my own money and be able to compete with my friends. And towards the end of my addiction, when I’d had to start borrowing to pay my debts, it was about getting cash as well, to earn back what I’d lost. But before that, when the business was doing well, when I had savings… it was about the kick. That buzz you get when you win. It gave me a real high – felt like an escape.’

  ‘An escape from what?’

  ‘I know on the surface I had it all. But inside I didn’t like the pers
on I’d become. Increasingly I felt like an imposter – as if the outside playboy, party animal wasn’t reflecting the inside me. And the job was stressful, despite all the fun. So that buzz if I won, that few seconds of adrenaline helped me forget everything – as did the nervous excitement whilst I waited to see if a gamble had paid off.’

  ‘It sounds just like my drinking after I lost Adam. A bottle of wine helped me blot out reality.’ I shook my head. ‘It sounds pathetic but I used to feel excited about the first glass. That first mouthful. That gave me a high too. So I think I understand.’

  ‘But all the money I lost… you aren’t shocked?’ he said and clasped his hands together. ‘I would be.’

  ‘Yes, a bit,’ I said truthfully.

  His face fell.

  ‘But Kit, you were young when it started. Ambitious. So, you lost your way for a while. We all make mistakes.’

  He looked up. ‘But I let down my best friends. And Mum and Dad… I didn’t treat people right. I completely understand if it gives you a different view of our friendship.’

  ‘Kit. Don’t be silly. And you’re different now. Holding down a job. Going to the gym. Throwing drinks around in pubs. You’re completely trustworthy.’

  He didn’t smile. ‘Still, I’d understand if… if you’d lost respect for me and didn’t want us to hang around together so much any more.’

  ‘Stop right there.’

  ‘But look at you – a successful journalist, a brilliant mother…’

  ‘Yes, and my nightly drinking could have so easily got completely out of control after Adam died. Lily was a lifesaver. I had to think of her. Whereas if I’d been totally on my own, who knows? Kit, I consider you one of my most important friends. Please. Don’t ever say anything like that again.’

  We held hands across the table.

  ‘So, I’m a little confused… what’s this got to do with Paula?’

  ‘I’ve asked and she doesn’t mind me telling you. Paula and I know each other from Gamblers Anonymous. My treatment centre recommended I go there. So I do, every Wednesday evening, sometimes more often. I got to know her there over the first couple of months and then we bumped into each other at the gym. We’ve become quite good mates. We meet up now and again if either of us feels wobbly – usually for a coffee or maybe a jog, as she’s now so much into fitness. That’s why she wanted to go ice-skating.’ He took my hand. ‘I would have mentioned her before but I couldn’t break her confidentiality.’

  ‘Of course not. I understand.’

  Wow. Poor Paula. This all explained why they’d both looked shifty that evening and he hadn’t introduced her – to avoid explaining about their gambling. And that’s why she’d said he was easy to confide in. The online Bingo she’d told me about – it must have got out of control.

  ‘I’m glad you’ve got each other,’ I said and squeezed his fingers as relief flooded through me. Kit wasn’t dating Paula. She was just his friend. He pulled a clean tissue out of a box on the coffee table, leant forwards and wiped my mouth.

  ‘Cream everywhere,’ he said and electricity sparked between us for a few seconds.

  But then he turned away and threw the used tissue onto the table.

  ‘I made such a mess of my life in London – Gamblers Anonymous is great. You realise you aren’t the only one to make mistakes.’ He fell into silence and stared into nothing. I got the feeling there was something else he wasn’t telling me. The comment he’d made about almost flushing his parents’ lives away – what had he meant? And why was he never in touch with them?

  I turned to face Kit and gave him a tight hug, not thinking about any romantic feelings, just trying oh so hard, in some small way, to make him feel better.

  The washing machine bleeped. He pulled away. The moment had passed before I could ask any more questions but I was beginning to realise why Kit – wrongly – thought he wasn’t good enough for a relationship.

  26

  I woke up Monday morning after the weekend of Tinder dates. After the night of Kit really opening up. His vulnerability had made him even more appealing and superheroes weren’t my thing anyway. Not that just occasionally the idea of having some man swoop in to save the day didn’t appeal. Well, not even to save the day – just to help would be appreciated. Although I’d never admit that to anyone. Mums didn’t. They were supposed to cope with everything. Grazed knees. Unkind school friends. The rising cost of living. All whilst looking celebrity groomed with well-tended bikini lines and airbrushed bodies. But now and again, I missed being one of a pair. Modern women could easily do it for themselves if they had to, right? Sassily and with style.

  Yes. This was true. Most of the time. As best we could.

  That wasn’t to say lonesomeness didn’t strike.

  In fact, of late, when my daydreams have included Kit, they’ve been about the ordinary things that meant so much when you haven’t got them any more. Like Friday nights curled up on the sofa. Blustery walks, holding hands, through parks. Fighting over the last slice of pizza. Arguing over who really won at Scrabble.

  I pulled the duvet over my face for a few moments. Losing Adam had taught me one thing. Time did heal. I’d get over never having another kiss with Kit. Perhaps, when the moment was right, I’d meet another great guy like that Neil.

  ‘Time to get up, Lily,’ I shouted and headed for the shower.

  I buried myself in work all day. The evening soon came around. Tonight, the advent calendar was at Cara’s. I stood outside her compact terraced house, chatting to Kit as I held a tray with one drink left on it. Hannah and Lex had begged him to attend. He was far more relaxed than when he’d been at mine, dressed as Father Christmas, with parents winking at him.

  Despite his discomfort, he’d carried through his promise. To save the food bank. That made him the very best kind of hero.

  I thought back to my late teens and early twenties, before I’d met Adam. My heart wasn’t immune to wounds but seemed more resilient. My first love dumped me for my best friend. Mum mopped up the tears. A holiday to Spain soon distracted me.

  But perhaps after the death of a life partner, the heart couldn’t self-repair. A liver could, if you took the toxins away – my Uncle Greg was proof of that. His got better after months of drinking a litre of whisky a day. But I reckoned hearts were different. Take away the love and they couldn’t cope. Poison was easier to remove whereas an excess of goodness left its mark – the memories and that warm, fuzzy glow.

  Someone took the last drink off my tray and dropped a donation into the plastic beaker. I looked at my watch and went over to Lily. Two minutes to six. Over the weekend temperatures had dipped even more and we were both wearing thermal vests and our thickest scarves. I’d wanted to keep Kit’s huge, cuddly jumper. Cara’s cold was much better but a sniffle still hung around as if to signal winter was well and truly here. Audrey had been handing around orange cookies whilst Cara was busy putting the white chocolate cinnamon flapjacks on plates. Hannah and Lex importantly carried around a plateful of pocket-money priced biscuits. Audrey’s ankle was practically back to normal – a visit to the fracture clinic with Cara, this morning, had confirmed that. But the consultant had said she needed to build up her confidence and dishing out the refreshments helped. Music played out front. As I listened to the lyrics I noticed Cara’s songs were all food-themed… we all want some figgy pudding, food glorious food, chestnuts roasting on an open fire…

  The turnout was getting better as nights progressed and something was in the air like an… an invisible community spirit. Despite the initial phone calls I’d received, there’d been no formal complaints about litter or noise and the chat increased every night as the same attendees got to know each other. Today I’d been to the bank to change the first seven days’ worth of donations into notes. I’d give it all to Ron in cash after the last night of the calendar. People had been generous. However it was becoming clear that the fair had to be a huge success for us to have any chance of paying two months’ wo
rth of the food bank’s rent.

  Parents had been contacting me and Mia with ideas for the auction – she’d offered to help organise it. One dad worked in a shoe repair shop and donated a voucher for a free re-sole and re-heel. Another owned her own cleaning business and offered a spring clean.

  ‘Right everyone!’ Cara stood by the front door that bore a large, green number eight. She sneezed and blew her nose. ‘Keep your eyes on the window.’ She disappeared inside. A hush fell. The curtains twitched. Lex ran to hold her granny’s hand and jumped up and down. Gasps rang out as the curtains parted to reveal the most delicious advent window yet. Cara’s music now made sense. The cardboard painting burst with colourful depictions of Christmas food. In the middle was a big pudding with real holly stuck to the top. There were gingerbread men with funny faces and green felt sprouts with little legs. Real satsumas hung from the ceiling on string, along with star-shaped cookies threaded with ribbon. Cupcake shaped fairy lights flicked on around the edge of the window. I knew those were from Hannah’s bedroom.

  ‘Oh bravo, Cara. It looks wonderful,’ said Audrey as Cara eventually appeared in her duffle coat, carrying two plates of her white chocolate treats.

  Cara’s face beamed as parents congratulated her and everyone laughed about the cute little sprouts. But the duffle coat hung off her. Her soft curves had gone. I took one of the plates. Eager small hands escaped gloves and took the delicious flapjacks. Except something wasn’t right. The kids pulled faces apart from Tommy who asked for another one.

  Adults looked at each other. Children let their flapjack fall onto the ground.

  ‘Yuk,’ said Lily. She passed me hers. I smelt it and took a bite and immediately let it fall out of my mouth and into my hand.

  ‘Curry powder? How has that happened?’ Cara’s eyes filled with tears that only I saw. Anyone else would have put the wet eyes down to her cold. She took such pride in her cooking and couldn’t bear to look as the plates re-filled with discarded food. John took them inside.