by C. J. Skuse
‘This is absolutely the one that I want.’
‘Wonderful. Well, why don’t you try it on and then we can start thinking about veils and if you would like to, you can browse around our shoe shop next door to find the perfect accompaniments.’
And I’m standing there, staring at myself in the mirror, stroking the long white sleeves and patting down my feather skirt at the sides, turning my ivory white silk shoes on their heels to look at myself from every possible angle, when I spy someone watching me from outside the window. My heart sinks – it’s Vanda, on her way to work. I should be on my way to work too. She sees me, there’s no hiding it. She looks daggers. And then she laughs, exaggeratedly, and walks on. I think she’s going to come in the shop but she doesn’t. But for once, I’m not that worried.
I could stand and look at my dress forever, and I get a few admiring glances and comments from other brides-to-be in the shop. A young blonde called Antonia, who’s about my age and is also getting married in the spring to a guy called Toby.
‘Toby and Toni, they call us,’ she laughs.
‘My fiancé’s called David,’ I say. ‘He’s a marine biologist.’ First job title that comes into my head.
‘How wonderful. Well congratulations, hon!’
‘You too! Good luck with it all!’
‘Thanks.’ Her mum, Theresa, tells me I look beautiful. And for once I believe it.
‘How are you getting on?’ mews the assistant, Alice, shuffling into the shoe cave noiselessly in her ballet pumps.
‘I’ll take it,’ I say.
The dress makes me feel better. It’s the same kind of ‘better’ as when I eat the doughnuts. I want them, ravenously, for about five minutes. Then I eat them and it’s pure ecstasy – grease and sugar and dough. And then I feel satisfied. And then horribly guilty. When it’s the doughnuts it’s just fat. Yet another artery sighs and clogs.
But this is £4,000 worth of dress. There are people starving in the world, homeless cats, and I’ve wasted £4,000 in one morning on a dress I’ll never wear.
And then I realise it doesn’t matter. Because I’m going to die today anyway.
Trevor and Sabrina are in the staff office when I arrive at work. I don’t clock in.
‘Where’s Vanda?’ I ask them.
‘She headed to the kitchen,’ says Sabrina, clocking me up and then down. ‘What you got there?’
‘A wedding dress,’ I say.
‘What for?’
‘For my wedding,’ I say and I hear them laughing all the way up the corridor towards the kitchens. Vanda’s checking some rota with the chef, Alexander.
She starts on me immediately. ‘You are late, again. And what the hell are you doing trying on wedding dresses at 9 a.m., you freak girl.’
I hold out the dress bag. ‘Not only trying them on. I bought one.’
She laughs. ‘You bought one? Who are you marrying, Invisible Man?’
‘Vanda?’
‘What?’
‘I’m leaving. Today. Now, actually.’
‘Good. Weird girl. You need to sort shit out. You… crazy in head.’
And I want to say it. I want to say it so badly. And because I know I’ll be dead by the end of the day, I do.
‘You’re a bully. You’re all bullies. I just wanted you to know that.’
Christmas school holidays, eighteen years ago…
14
Christmas Eve Eve
It is my birthday today – I got some Harry Potter Lego, a couple of Barbies, books, loads of Play-Doh, some scented rubbers for my pencil case, three Disney films and Auntie Chelle made me a cake with my name on it and loads of little handmade cats made from icing. Paddy and Isaac got me a new helmet for my bike and Foy got me a sparkly make-up set and a plastic sword so we can play Knights.
Just after the pub closes, we’re in the treehouse drawing our wedding dresses. She draws mine and I draw hers.
‘And you absolutely have to wear it,’ says Foy.
‘I will, I promise,’ I say. ‘Make it all feathery at the bottom, I like feathers.’
‘I will,’ she nods, colouring in the little ruby ring on the picture finger.
Dad appears at the bottom of the tree. ‘Girls, do you want to come into town with me? Need to pick up a few things for Christmas.’
‘Do we have to?’ I say.
‘Yeah, I need your help. Secret mission. I need my two wingmen.’
‘We’re girls, Dad.’
‘Wing girls then. I’ll buy you both a book…’
He leaves that suggestion hanging because he knows it’s a guaranteed way of getting us to throw our pens aside and immediately climb down the ladder.
We spend most of the time in Debenhams and don’t actually see most of the stuff Dad gets. When he’s at the perfume counter, the jewellery counter, and chatting up the make-up lady, me and Foy are off pretending we’re Queens – Queen Ruth and Queen Betsy today – and we’re directing our invisible servants to buy everything we like the look of, like Elton John does.
‘Yes, I’ll have that bag and three hats and that brooch, no ten brooches and five pairs of boots, a pair in each of the castles for when I stay,’ says Foy with a snooty look.
‘Mmm yes, and I’ll have every bottle of aftershave in the shop for all my lovers,’ I add, and we both curl up in hysterics then run up the escalators to the toy department.
When Dad catches up with us he’s loaded down with bulky bags. ‘There you are. Come on. We need Woolworths next, then Waterstones, then a quick strawberry milkshake and then back to the pub.’
By the time we get across town to Waterstones to select our books, we’re both pretty tired. But Dad keeps his promise and gives us five pounds.
We’re so excited by the time we get back to the pub that we burst into the upstairs lounge to tell Chelle all about our shopping trip and the books Dad has bought us. But she has a weary look about her. And she rubs her mouth a lot.
‘Okay, girls, I’ll have a look at the books later.’
‘He bought things for you as well, Mum,’ says Foy, chewing her straw, then realises she’s starting to spill the secret. ‘I can’t tell you what though.’
And Chelle’s face darkens again. ‘Tea’ll be in half an hour.’ ‘Shall we go back to the castle?’ I suggest.
‘Yeah,’ says Foy. ‘Let’s finish our dresses.’
Christmas Day
I wake up far too early. I’m on the zed-bed by the window in the back bedroom and the curtains are thin and the moon big and low. It shines down all silvery onto the car park and beer garden. The window is cold to the touch and I wrap my duvet around me tighter. I can’t hear Dad’s snoring. I look across to the big bed but it’s empty.
Then something outside catches my eye and I look out to see someone in a red robe and black boots – Santa? – scurrying around the beer garden. Climbing up the rope ladder. Rooting through the pampas bush. Climbing on the skittle alley roof. He creeps across the car park and opens the door of the skittle alley, disappearing inside.
The clock beside Dad’s bed says 2.37 a.m.
I wait as he appears again, closes the skittle alley door behind him, and walks back across the car park towards the beer garden. He stops and looks up at my window. He holds his belly, cries ‘Ho Ho Ho,’ then runs past the window and disappears.
I may be ten years old with a vivid imagination but even I know it’s Dad. ‘What on earth is he doing?’ I say, misting up the glass.
It’s ages before he comes back in the room and by this time, I pretend to be asleep. I hear a crinkling sound at the bottom of my bed where he places my stocking – oh my God, I’ve got a stocking this year! – and I’m so excited I get the squiggles in my chest but I’m determined not to open my eyes and spoil it. It’s so hard to drift back off, but by the time Dad is snoring again, I must do because when I next open my eyes…
It’s Christmas Day!
Daylight floods the room and before I can lever myself up in
bed, Foy has already run in with her stocking, shouting for us to ‘Wake up! Wake up!’
‘Ten more minutes,’ Dad grumbles groggily, but I grab my stocking and fling on my dressing gown and we run down the corridor towards Paddy’s room. He’s already awake, his normally styled hair a little bird’s nest on his head and his eyes are all narrow. He grabs his stocking and his dressing gown and we run down the corridor towards Isaac’s room and jump on his bed until he gets up. We all open our stockings together. All cuddled up, snuggled up together, this is my paradise.
We’ve nearly opened them all when Auntie Chelle comes in, all fluffy, unstyled curls, and wearing her pink marshmallow dressing gown.
‘Happy Christmas, guys!’ she says and kisses all of us in turn, pretending to be surprised by all the presents Santa has brought us. Uncle Stu appears moments later and does the same. But there’s no sign of Dad. Until we get into the kitchen.
‘Right, who’s for a fry up?’ says Dad, fully dressed with his chef’s hat on and ‘Top Chef’ apron tied around him. He has everything out on the breakfast bar – bacon, eggs, pancakes, waffles, maple syrup, beef tomatoes and the thickest sausages.
‘Cor, not half, Dan,’ says Uncle Stu, rubbing his hands, noticing a letter propped up against the salt and pepper pot. ‘Post hasn’t been today, has it?’
‘Dunno,’ says Dad, tearing open the bacon. ‘Came through the door.’
‘That’s odd,’ says Chelle.
Stu looks puzzled too and we all stand there in various states of undress and orange juice-pouring as he laughs and then reads it out.
Dearest Keetons, one and all,
Happy Christmas Day,
To find your presents you will need,
To hunt for them, okay?
To start your quest, I must insist,
You go where birds do sing,
Up up up and away you look,
To see what gifts I bring.
‘What the bloody hell?’ Stu giggles, handing it to Chelle.
Auntie Chelle looks wary. ‘What’s all this?’
‘I guess breakfast will have to wait guys,’ says Dad, grinning and putting the bacon down. ‘Shall we?’
And what follows is a two-hour treasure hunt around the pub, inside and out. Dad must have been hiding the presents all night. Once we have the first clue, which Paddy finds in the treehouse, we work out the next one must be somewhere in the Inglenook in the main bar, so back we go, all seven of us in our slippers and dressing gowns, across the car park, all breathing excited clouds of white air.
‘What have you done all this for?’ says Chelle, a begrudged smile on her face.
Dad cuddles her in. ‘It’s not me, sis. It’s Father Christmas, all this.’
Chelle isn’t sure at first but by Clue 3, she’s into the swing of things and us kids are so excited it’s hard not to be infected. Chelle finds presents for her – a rose gold watch with diamonds around the face, a soft pink jumper and the biggest size perfume bottle, in the scent that she loves but never treats herself to. Stuart finds a bottle of his aftershave and a Bristol City season ticket and a George Foreman grill cos he’s always on about those as well. Paddy gets a phone. Isaac gets a PlayStation. And me and Foy get books, dolls, cooking equipment for the castle, felt tips, sparkly nail varnish and a complete set of Beatrix Potters for me and a complete set of Roald Dahls for her.
The last clue, Clue Number 25, has us stumped until Isaac points out that Long run could mean skittle alley, so the four of us race across the car park and right down to the other end of the alley where we find a shiny red box covered with fairy lights. Paddy is first to reach it and he just stands there.
Isaac joins him. ‘Go on then,’ he says breathlessly. ‘See what it is.’ Paddy tears open the box, while Isaac yanks free the tissue and they pull out a plain white envelope.
‘Open it then, Pads,’ says Stu as we catch up with them.
So Paddy does. He tears into it. Then he frowns. ‘It’s tickets.’
‘It’s seven tickets to Florida,’ adds Isaac, eyes glinting in the fairy lights.
Chelle’s hands go to her mouth and her eyes fill with tears. ‘Oh my God.’
‘Oh my shit,’ says Uncle Stu.
But the four of us kids scream. We dance back down the skittle alley and into the beer garden and we don’t care about anything else – we’re going to Disney World. All of us. Together. It’s more happiness than any kid can bear. And for a split second, I catch Dad’s face and his eyes are shining and I think he must be so happy too.
It only occurs to me much later on that it’s not happy tears.
Not once that morning as me and my cousins are dancing around the beer garden or as we’re planning what Disney characters we’re going to meet or as we’re putting on each other’s glitter cheeks and getting into our new party dresses, do we consider the consequences of such gifts. Do I consider why Chelle has to keep leaving the table during lunch.
Do I consider why Dad has treated us all to such an unforgettable Christmas.
15
Friday, 1st November
There are several things one must get in place before one kills oneself. I found a list online. First things first – consider those you will be leaving behind.
And seeing as Emily is just a doll, I realise she doesn’t need taking care of or leaving on anyone’s doorstep. I wrap her in her blanket and put her in her car seat inside the wardrobe. And I close the door.
But the cats are different. I have to do the right thing by them.
The local RSPCA centre sends out a man in a van and he arrives around quarter past twelve. He’s wearing a navy uniform and a white shirt and I watch him get two cat boxes out of the back of the van. The name on his badge says Sean Lowland. I’d seen him down at the centre when I took in an injured duck last month, but I think he’s more out and about. He seems young but as it turns out he’s the exact same age as me.
‘Yeah, I’ve been working there for three years now. I love it. I love animals.’
‘I love animals too,’ I say, handing him a mug of tea.
‘I think I’ve seen you before,’ he says. ‘Down at the centre. Didn’t you bring something in a few weeks back?’
‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘A duck. He had a broken wing. I think he’d been hit by a car.’
He brightens. ‘Yeah, I thought so.’
‘Was it alright?’ His lips go tight. ‘Oh.’
‘They always do their best,’ he says. ‘But broken wings are a bit tricky. I’m sorry.’
‘That’s alright,’ I say. ‘I didn’t know the duck personally or anything.’
He smiles. I don’t know what’s funny but it makes me smile too. He’s got curly brown hair and kind eyes. ‘So how many cats have you got then?’
‘Three. They’re not exactly mine. I found them all, on the streets. Half-starved they were, all of them.’
‘Oh right,’ he smiles. ‘So you saved them?’
‘Yeah, I saved them. The white one I found in a tree. The other two were huddled up under a wheelie bin by the pier a few weeks ago. They looked awfully scraggy so I took them in, fed them up, brushed them, got them flea treatment.’
‘Well really it’s best to give us a call straight away,’ says Sean. ‘There are a few worried families around here.’
‘Are there?’
‘Oh yeah, there’s posters up all over. A few people have come into the centre asking if we’ve had them in.’
‘Were they children?’
‘Um, yeah, one of them was. It’s alright, I’m sure they’ll just be pleased they were being looked after so well.’
He seems so friendly and nice. So I tell him. ‘There might be more.’
‘More what?’ He slurps his tea.
‘Cats.’
‘Oh. Where?’
‘Here.’
‘Okay. How many?’
‘One or two.’
‘Two?’
‘Three.’
‘Oh ri
ght.’
‘Well, four. But that’s it. There are seven of them in all.’
Sean seems dumbstruck.
‘Princess Tabitha has put weight on since she’s been with me. They were definitely under-feeding her. And Prince Rupert had conjunctivitis. I got him treatment for that, me.’
‘Why not bring them in for us to look after? Why put yourself through the trouble and expense of looking after someone else’s cats?’
‘I just wanted… something to look after myself. I wanted them.’
He drains his tea and stands up. ‘Yeah, I know what you mean. Right, well if you could show me where they all are I can get them loaded into the van. I think I’ve got enough boxes. Might have to put the two smallest in the one box. The centre’s not far.’
‘Are you going to call the police?’
‘Eh?’ He turns to me.
‘Because I stole them.’
He frowns. ‘I should. But you’re giving them back now. And they’re all looking good. So no real harm done.’ He smiles at me. I smile back. He’s only being friendly.
The next twenty minutes are spent rounding up all the cats and I can’t help it but every time one goes into a box, I cry as I’m closing the cage door. I post a treat through the wire and tell them it’s been an honour to look after them, all quiet so Sean can’t hear me and think I’m even more of a freak than he already does.
We find them all except The Duchess, she’s nowhere to be seen, and I realise I haven’t seen her for a couple of days. She’s not in any of her usual places – under my bed, on the back of the sofa, or curled up on the towel stack in front of the bathroom radiator. I don’t know why but it’s fun looking for them all with Sean. Even though he most probably thinks I’m this weird girl who steals cats and lives like a pig and has a doll in a car seat in her wardrobe, I like being with him. It’s a nice way to spend a morning. It makes saying goodbye to the cats a lot easier.
Sean’s taking the last of them – Tallulah von Puss – out to the van and I watch him closing the doors and making his way back up the front steps.
