Stardust Diaries 2007

by Swan, Tarn

  While loitering my mobile rang. It was Twinks. He'd seen the most gorgeous, and darling I mean gorgeous, present for Lulu. It was divine.

  I could hear his lips draw audibly together in lemon sucking mode as I asked the question: “how much it?”

  “Cost,” he icily stated, “is not the issue here, Tarn darling. Cost should not be the thing uppermost in one’s mind when choosing a gift for a treasured friend, more than a friend, virtually my sister.”

  It might not be uppermost in his mind, but it was uppermost in mine. “I know, sweetheart, but all the same how much it?”

  “Don’t you want to know what it is?”

  “I can hazard a guess given the shop you’re in. How much is it?”

  “It’s a corset, a beautiful Victorian style corset in palest pink and black. It’s fully boned with hook and eye fastening down the front and black laces at the back. Lulu will look sensational in it. It’s pure class. You can’t put a cost on class.”

  I gave up trying to get the price out of him. Ending the call I took a deep breath and entered the knicker shop. The corset was indeed nice, very pretty, and, I gazed at the price tag in dismay, very expensive. One hundred and eighty nicker if you’ll pardon the expression. In other words it was way beyond budget. I said no.

  I wasn't being mean for the sake of it. You have to draw a line somewhere. To my mind almost two hundred pounds for a single Christmas present was too much. It's an expensive enough time of year and far too easy to end up in debt.

  Twinks wasn't suited. He said he'd buy it for Lu on his personal credit card. I said no again. We ended up having one of those sotto voce arguments that nonetheless convey to all around that you're having a disagreement.

  He had a quietly manipulative tantrum. Fine, he wouldn’t buy the corset for Lulu. He’d buy it for himself, a Christmas present to him from him, as knowing me and my tight arsed frigging inclinations the present I'd buy him would be something from Asda's bargain rail.

  That was it. Game over and so was the shopping trip. I’d had enough. I told him we were going home. Uncaring of interested eyes I grabbed his hand and, as they say, Tarn and Jonathan left the building and the shopping centre.

  The weather outside was mild, but the temperature inside the car was low enough to transport snowmen. Things thawed as we neared home and in one of those sudden turnabouts he can have he said he was sorry for being a rude bitch. He hadn't meant what he said. I always gave him lovely presents. I was right about the corset too. It was too much to spend on one Christmas present and besides Lu had gorgeous corsets galore.

  Once home he trotted off upstairs to unpack the goodies we had purchased and do a bit of list ticking and transfer the things still needed onto a fresh list. I trotted off to the kitchen to make coffee. I was prising the lid off the shortbread tin when shattering screeches caused me to drop it in fright, sending its buttery contents skedaddling across the table and onto the floor.

  I raced upstairs, horrible visions of another break in by our tormentor assaulting my mind's eye. He was in a real state, clutching the side of his head and sobbing. It took me some time to calm him down enough to tell me what was wrong.

  His ear had felt itchy so he'd poked a cotton bud inside to scratch it, just gently mind, only there must have been wax there. He'd pushed it into the ear canal with the bud and gone a bit deaf and dizzy.

  At that point a sensible person would have decided the wise thing to do was to leave well alone and visit the doctor as soon as possible to get some drops to loosen the impacted wax. Not Twinks. Oh no. He decided to poke the cotton bud in harder and deeper to try and gouge out the annoying and uncomfortable wax. He poked so hard the end of the bud snapped off. It must have been faulty. He panicked and tried to poke it out with another bud and succeeded only in pushing it in deeper.

  He looked terrible, white as a sheet, shaking and in obvious pain. Hospital time.

  Casualty was a nightmare. It took an age for us to be seen. By the time his name was called he was so overwrought that an examination of his ear was hell for all concerned. Irrigation to remove the bud was ruled out because water might cause the cotton bud to swell and make it even harder to remove. A doctor made several attempts to use forceps to pull it out, but without success. Twinks shrieked like a banshee as soon as the forceps went near his ear.

  The doctor, who had developed a nervous tick, prescribed an oral sedative for Twinks. I suspect he also took one himself. Once the medication kicked in and Twinks calmed down he managed to remove the bud using a suction machine, which also removed the wax. Twinks eardrum was inflamed, but not perforated.

  As soon as we got home he flopped down on the couch and treated me to a drug relaxed smile, saying he could do with a nice cup of tea and a bit of shortbread.

  My nerves were in shreds. My blood pressure was still hovering in the candidate for a stroke zone and there he was, hysteria over, smiling and wanting a nice cup of tea and a biscuit.

  I went off like a dropped can of coke bawling that I needed more than a cup of fucking tea after his antics. I needed a Valium injection and trauma counselling. I warned him if he ever, EVER, put a cotton bud near his ear again I would skin his hide.

  Smiling affectionately he held out his hand and said, “you do get yourself all in a tizzy over nothing don't you, love. Come on.” He patted the couch cushion. “Sit down and have a cuddle.”

  Cuddle? I glared at him. I didn’t want a bloody cuddle. I wanted to slaughter him. It was a close run thing, but in the end I opted for the cuddle followed by a nice cup of tea and a shortbread biscuit retrieved from the kitchen floor.

  Speaking of a nice cup of tea I fancy one, and seeing as he and Lulu are busy sewing sequins onto a dress it looks like I'll have to make it myself.

  30th November ~ Watching and Waiting

  We came home from work last night to find a note from our mailer mate. The pasted words spelled out a cryptic little message: I am coming. Twinks rolled his eyes curled his lip and said the message proved what we had long suspected, the sender was a wanker and we could only hope that by ‘cumming’ they’d feel some relief and be less inclined to bother us.

  Scrunching the note into a ball he shoved it to the bottom of the kitchen waste bin. I swatted him and retrieved it, smoothing it out to stick in the drawer with the rest of the nasty epistles from the sick creep. They’re evidence.

  It’s approaching the time of year again when the good people of Ivy Close feel obliged to turn their homes and gardens into light saturated wonderlands. The giant blue Smurf has already put in an appearance and Brownlow has his giant snow globe on his front lawn waiting to be inflated when he can muster enough hot air to fill it.

  Smurf and globe are both hideous. I wish the council would bring in a bylaw banning such apparitions. Twinks claims I make the Grinch look affable. I don’t care.

  Frank’s festive offerings are in a different class to Smurfs and Snow globes. He’s been planning this season’s light show since last January. As per usual he roped Twinks in as ‘design consultant.’ Last night was the night designated to begin the task of giving paper plans a physical reality. As soon as dinner was over Twinks left me to do the washing up and headed next door to help Frank unpack and test hundreds of fairy lights and ornaments to make sure they were in pristine condition before being put in place.

  I was watching the end of the ten o clock news when he crashed home, literally. I jumped a foot in the air as the front door burst open and slammed closed again. He lurched into the living room looking like he’d seen a ghost. I quickly stood up and asked what was wrong.

  Clutching at me he announced someone was watching the house. He’d clocked them from the corner of his eye as he left Frank’s front garden to come home. They were standing well back in the shadow of the privet hedge over the road. They were wearing dark clothes, a long coat or cape or something. He’d seen it flapping in the wind.

  Switching off the living room light I hurried to the window and
tweaked the blinds open, staring out into the darkness. At first I could see nothing. There wasn’t a soul in sight. Then I saw a movement by the hedge. He was right. Someone was there. Anger surged through me. I told him to stay put. Without bothering to shove on shoes I darted outside in my stocking feet sprinting across the road like a madman, expecting the figure to make a break and run for it. It didn’t. As I got close I saw why. It wasn’t a person. It was a large black plastic bin liner caught in the straggly branches of the privet hedge. I grabbed it and ripped it free.

  We laughed over it, at first. It was relief laughter, but then Twinks cried. He felt a fool for being afraid of a bin liner. He thought it was our tormentor, ‘come’ for us.

  The letter we’d received had done its job. It had made us anxious despite our best efforts to ignore it. It violated our sense of safety and made us fear shadows and see things that weren’t there. I wish I could remove the writer from our lives as easily as I removed the bag from the hedge. He or she says they’re coming. Good. I’ll be waiting.

  7th December ~ Masks

  It's been a frenetic week. My department is changing location, so we've been busy labelling and packing stuff up. It's nothing like the proposed area change earlier in the year. It’s a change of building. We’re moving to a modern purpose built unit by the river.

  The location is pretty, but I don’t care for the new office. Unlike our present building the new one is well lit, well heated, air-conditioned and totally without character. It's neutered. I know it has a lot of advantages, but I must admit to feeling a pang at leaving a building that has a lengthy and varied history.

  Too many of the older buildings in our towns are being demolished or left to go to ruin instead of being preserved as a valuable part of our architectural and social history. Work at the new glass and metal monstrosity begins on Monday.

  Karen begged my services as a babysitter today. She wanted to Christmas shop in peace without Dom flinging a paddy because he was bored. I was more than pleased to oblige. Dominic is lovely, he really is. I enjoyed looking after him, but I have to say I'm knackered. How the hell do parents cope every day with a lively toddler, or more than one?

  I took him swimming this morning. He adores the swimming baths. Twinks and I regularly take him although Twinks doesn't really care for the water. For a start he hates the chlorine. It dries out his skin and hair and makes his eyes sore. He isn’t a strong swimmer and tends to panic if he can't feel the bottom of the pool with his feet.

  I believe his fear of water stems from the way his hateful old bastard of a grandfather used it as a means of humiliating him, regularly dunking him in cold baths and under freezing showers. However, the warm water in the shallow baby pool is just up Twinks’ street. He loves playing with Dom and pushing him round on his dolphin float.

  My mother came to the pool with me this morning after I assured her Twinks was at work and wouldn't be there. They fell out last weekend and still aren't speaking. Their spats wear my nerves out they really do.

  It was good having her along to help this morning. It meant I could get in a few proper lengths of the pool while she kept Dom safely occupied and vice versa. He in frocks recently made a remark about me developing love handles again. I reckoned a good long swim would do me the world of good.

  I used to swim regularly, often doing a dozen lengths of the local baths before going to work on a morning. It kept me fit and toned and once or twice I even scored a date with someone I met during the early bird stint. Then I met Twinks and once we got into our relationship proper there was something to keep me in bed on a morning. Swimming lost its appeal. I fell out of the habit.

  I do need to take up a regular form of exercise again and at least swimming doesn't put too much strain on my leg. I might try and get back into a before work swimming habit.

  After our swim I took mum home and stayed for a coffee. We chatted while Dominic wrecked the kitchen, dragging stuff out of the cupboards so he could play shops. Mum and I obediently obeyed his instructions to be customers. It's weird how you develop a knack of operating on two levels simultaneously when there are young kids around. In between being a customer and shopping in Dom’s store mum told me she was worried about Maryann. The relationship with Callum seemed to be making her miserable more than happy.

  I had to agree. I've been worried about my sister for a while. She’s more in love with Callum than he is with her and she’s getting depressed over it. She’s crying far too much these days. I’ve been trying to persuade her to visit her GP.

  Mum also seemed a bit down and after some persuasion confided she wasn't looking forward to spending Christmas Day with Prissy's eldest daughter. She said: “I’d rather spend it with you and that viper-tongued brat you took as a wife.”

  I tried to pour oil by telling her she'd probably enjoy the day once she was in the throes of it. She gloomily asserted she wouldn't and neither would anyone else. It was a recipe for disaster. They'd all be wearing masks and pretending to be something they weren't while aching for the day to be over before someone said something embarrassing and regretful about men in frocks and unattended weddings. Why did Christmas make folk want to spend a day with people they spent the rest of the year avoiding? A just question often asked.

  I offered the opinion that perhaps his daughter had issued the invitation as a conciliatory gesture for her own peace of mind. Her father’s transvestism is obviously something she’s finding hard to come to terms with. That she was prepared to try proved she must love him. Mum disagreed, not about his daughter loving him, but about her trying to come to terms with his transvestism. Pretending it didn't exist wasn’t coming to terms with it.

  Family life can be complicated there's no doubt about it.

  I took Dominic home for lunch, after which we kept busy. You don't have any choice with a toddler. Busy is a way of life. We went for a walk, played footie in the garden, played card games, read umpteen books, watched Postman Pat videos and put together a pile of wooden jigsaws. Twinks phoned several times to make sure I was looking after his godson properly and to have little chats with him.

  By the time Karen collected Dom I was beginning to flag. He tends not to have an afternoon nap these days. I must say I miss that peaceful interlude. The house looked like a swarm of Auks had passed through it. I was ready for a lie down. It was all worth it for the big hug and loving if sticky kiss he gave me when he left.

  Twinks has been murderously hard work this week. It's his birthday this Sunday. He's already working himself into a state over it as he does every year.

  He’s also emotionally wrung out and is being torn this way and that because Maurice and Teddy are in the process of splitting up. It isn’t a harmonious parting. The last straw for Maurice was Teddy selling the Alpha Romeo sports car he’d bought him to help fund his shop venture. He raged about Teddy profiting from something he hadn’t even fucking finished paying for. I can see his point. It was he who left Teddy to move back in with his parents until he can find a place of his own. Both are demanding the reassurance, loyalty and support of friends.

  Teddy in particular is on the phone to Twinks every five minutes to either boast about the shop or weep over his abandonment and badmouth cruel Maurice.

  To make matters worse Twinks’ wretched sister Caroline is back on the scene. She's been away. I was hoping she'd stay away. She called in at the shop last Wednesday to let him know she was back. It soured my day when he told me.

  I've met her once. Twinks invited her to join us for lunch one Saturday so he could introduce us to each other. They look alike in some respects. There’s a definite family resemblance though Twinks is the prettier of the two. His eyes are a warm brown, but hers are a pale blue with a cold calculating light to them that reminded me of her grandfather. I loathed her on sight.

  She made every effort to smile and be pleasant, shaking my hand and gushing how ‘Johnny’ had told her all about me and how pleased she was that her brother had found happiness
with someone.

  As we lunched and chatted in the pub I tried to put my antipathy into perspective. Perhaps I was guilty of prejudice and of bearing a grudge because I knew she was the one who removed Twinks’ floral tribute from his father's grave and dumped it on our doorstep along with a nasty, hurtful little message. I decided she needed to be given the benefit of the doubt and made every effort to be pleasant to her in return. It was a short-lived resolution.

  I got up to go to the bar to buy a second round of drinks, wine for her and soft drinks for us, in respect of him working and me driving. I got served and was returning to the table when Twinks got up to go the toilet, and that’s when it happened. Her mask slipped. My blood ran cold and I almost dropped the tray of drinks as I saw the contemptuous look she directed at Twinks’ back. It was as chilling as a steel blade.

  She must have sensed me approaching because she turned her head. Our eyes met. She smiled. The mask was put back in place. She thanked me as I set the drinks on the table and sat down. I couldn’t bring myself to smile back. I felt quite shaken by what I’d seen. I was on the verge of asking what her game was when Twinks reappeared.

  I think she knows I don’t like her. I think she may have sussed I saw her unmasked, because she’s been careful to avoid any further contact with me. She never calls our house. She goes into the shop to see him or calls his mobile and texts him.

  There’s something about her, something rotten. The whole reconciliation thing feels wrong to me. It feels like a set up, but a set up for what? I keep trying to convince myself I’m being paranoid. Maybe I imagined that hateful look in the same way Twinks imagined the watcher outside our house. My mind like his was primed because of what had gone before and I was seeing things that didn’t exist on the strength of it? The trouble is I don’t believe it.