Lucie smiled her assent. Thelma’s need to be in control, even over something as trivial as when she received her presents, didn’t surprise her. Last week Lucie had informed her father that she’d be away over Christmas, and he’d actually seemed a bit relieved. Possibly because it meant one less person to worry about when trying to negotiate Christmas plans.
“That’s great, thanks.” Lucie flashed a smile at Thelma, but her stepmother was fanning herself with a TV guide. “So what else do you have for me?” She hoped it was books. Sometimes her father picked up books he thought she might like from the second-hand book stalls at the market, and she liked his eclectic selection. They weren’t usually the kind of thing she’d have chosen herself but she enjoyed the challenge of reading something different.
“It’s a box of old things that I found in the attic the other day. Bits and bobs left over from your childhood. I’d forgotten it was there, but when I showed Thelma she said I should give it to you. ‘No sense in it being up there,’ she said. ‘It’s clutter,’ she said, and besides… she thought it was time you had some of your things now you’re settled in your own place and not likely to move for a while.”
Lucie watched her father carefully. “I am happy there, Dad. I love my flat.”
“And now that you’re… involved.” Thelma sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the sofa.
“What?”
Thelma nodded. “I saw Dale’s mother at the supermarket. She told me all about it. We’ve been waiting for you to tell us too!” She clapped her hands, her fragility apparently forgotten.
“He’s a good one that Dale. Always liked him.” Mark looked at Lucie and her colour rose.
“What did Glenda say, exactly?” Lucie glanced from Mark to Thelma and back again.
“That you two have finally admitted that you’re in love and that things look… well… You are going off to New York together for Christmas.” Thelma made a kissing noise and winked. “Why didn’t you tell us? You should have told us, Lucie. It’s not nice finding out things about my step-daughter second hand you know. I was positively mortified! Wasn’t I, Mark?”
He nodded. “Mortified.”
“So don’t do that, Lucie. Don’t keep such important matters from us. We are your parents, you know!”
Lucie swallowed a retort. She was too old to be biting back with you’re not my mother. It was clear that there was no point trying to deny things. It would only complicate matters. Better to let everyone believe what they wanted until after Christmas, then their fake breakup could be done for the benefit of everyone. If she admitted the truth here today, it might prove too much for the gossipy Thelma, and she could well take it all back to Glenda and Hank. And knowing they’d been deceived would be devastating for Dale’s parents. “I didn’t mean to keep it from you. Glenda found out accidentally. It’s just early days and we were going to tell you soon. I promise. But now I don’t need to.”
“We’re happy for you, Lucie. Really happy. Maybe you can enjoy Christmas this year, eh? Now you’ve got yourself a nice man to spend it with.” Her father leaned over and squeezed her hand then began to clear the mugs.
Lucie opened her mouth to agree, but her attention was captured by Mary Puppins racing into the room dragging a now very battered shoe. Then, as if deliberately mocking Lucie, the dog mounted her find on the rug, and proceeded to show Lucie exactly how much damage a Chihuahua could do to a flowered ballet pump.
* * *
Lucie finished drying the last dinner plate then folded the tea towel and placed it on the kitchen worktop. “That was a lovely lunch, thanks Dad.”
“No problem at all. I enjoy cooking now I’ve got more time.”
“Retirement suits you.” Lucie smiled at him.
“I’m glad I could retire at sixty-one. I know that the pension age for people of your generation will be much higher.”
“Work til you drop, eh?” Lucie shook her head. “It’s wrong, but with an aging population, things will be difficult.”
“Marry a rich man and you won’t have to worry.”
Lucie’s eyes snapped up, but her father was laughing. “Good plan! When you find one, snag him for me.”
“You’ve got Dale now and I’m sure he’ll be able to give you a good life and look after you. And it’s not just about money anyway, is it love? You need to be with someone who’ll love you and be true to you, someone who won’t…”
They fell into a silence that lasted for a few minutes, each of them lost in their thoughts. But Lucie suspected that her father was thinking the same thing she was. About Mum.
“Anyway, I wanted you to have that box of things, so I’ll go get it. You can make us another cuppa if you like.”
He left the kitchen and Lucie filled the kettle. She dropped tea bags into the pot and splashed milk into three mugs. Whenever she visited her father, she always drank at least six mugs of tea. She was glad that Mark seemed happy with his lot. After her mother had died, he’d been understandably distraught, lost and confused for a long time. He’d gone through the stages of grief with textbook predictability; his anger and frustration often giving way to bouts of despair and depression. But he’d always been there for Lucie when she’d needed him. She’d tried to support him too, tried to be a good daughter and to help him see that there was still fun to be had, that life could still offer enjoyment. But it had been hard. They’d both been so shocked.
Lucie poured the boiling water over the teabags, appreciating the familiar sound of water hitting the bottom of the teapot. Small things like that had helped her keep going when things seemed really bleak. As had her father. And Dale. She laughed as she recalled him pulling her into Glenda’s cloakroom to tell her that they had to pretend to be dating. And all because he was prepared to go to New York with her, to support her. Again.
“What’re you chuckling about?” Mark asked as he came into the kitchen carrying a battered cardboard box. Scrawled on the side in thick black marker was written: FOR LUCIE.
“Oh, nothing. Just a joke I heard recently.”
He nodded as if he knew what she meant, then put the box on the table.
“Don’t pour one for Thelma. She’s gone for a nap.”
“Oh. Okay.” Exactly how much napping and lying down did her stepmother do? It was a wonder she got anything done around the house.
Lucie filled two mugs with tea and took them to the table.
“Thanks, love.” He stared at the surface of his tea. “You know, Thelma needs me.”
“I can see that.”
“And it’s good for me. Can you understand that, Lucie?” He scanned her face with his blue eyes, so much like her own. “I never really felt that your mother did. It was as if she was holding something back. But Thelma… well, she is who she is. She might be a bit of,” he lowered his voice, “a pain sometimes. Don’t tell her I said that.” He winked. “But I know that she loves me and needs me. She’s not always like this… ill and so on. We do have fun. We enjoy watching TV together and going shopping and… you know… lots of things old people do.”
“You’re not old, Dad! But I do know you’re happy together. And I know that you love each other madly. Life is short, and you have to grab happiness while you can.”
“That’s why I’m glad you and Dale have finally admitted your feelings for each other. He’ll have your back, Lucie. He’ll look after you and that’s all a man can ask, for his daughter.”
Lucie didn’t want to lie to her father, but it was too late to tell him the truth. Besides, Dale did look after her, so it wasn’t a complete lie, just bending the truth a little. “So what’s in the box?”
“Things you should have had long ago. Things from your childhood, from your mum.”
“I wish she’d known her own parents.”
“Me too. It was something she carried with her always. That sadness from being shunted from one foster home to another…”
“Pam was always keen to prove herself, desperate to en
sure that people saw her worth.”
“You think that’s why she…” Lucie bit her lip, unable to voice her thoughts.
He nodded. “Quite possibly, love. When my parents were around, though, she did love them. And they completely adored her. She was just eighteen when we met – so wild and rebellious. I was bowled over by her, obsessed even. After we first met, I couldn’t stop thinking about her and I went to the phone box about ten times a day to call her. I must’ve spent a fortune just to hear her voice. When she finally agreed to go out with me, and I took her home, Mam and Dad fell for her too. They used to treat her as if she was their own daughter… Dad was always slipping her money to get her hair done or to buy things for you.”
“I miss Granny and Grandad. Even after all these years.”
“Me too, love. Every day. Just like I miss your mum. When my parents died, your mum missed them too, and losing them had a lasting impact upon her. She’d never had that type of unconditional love and losing it broke something inside her. She was never the same afterwards. I tried so hard to make her happy, to be the husband she wanted me to be, but I just don’t think I had what she needed.”
Lucie slid her hand over his. “You can go through the box now or take it home and look through it in your own time. There’s quite a bit in there. Might be a bit emotional, you know.”
“Thanks, Dad. I think I’ll leave it until later then. I need to get going soon anyway.”
“Of course.”
They finished their tea, then Lucie went to search of her shoes. Mary Puppins had fallen asleep on her soft pink bed, next to the sofa in the lounge. Her tiny ribcage rose and fell, and each time she exhaled, her tongue poked out from between her teeth and waggled. Lucie located her shoe under the coffee table then sneaked back out of the room. As she was gingerly slipping her foot into the sticky pump, her father came out into the hallway carrying the box. He handed it to her. “I’ll tell Thelma you said goodbye, shall I?”
“Please, Dad.”
She leaned forwards and pecked his cheek, inhaling his familiar spicy aftershave. He patted her shoulder, awkward now with his adult daughter. “Take care, Lucie, and have fun in New York. Be very careful if you go on that subway mind, as I’ve read that it can be dangerous at night. All sorts of undesirables travelling on it just waiting for the next naïve tourist to attack.”
“I think that’s scaremongering, Dad, but I promise I’ll be careful. And Dale will be with me. Not many people are going to mess with him, being the size he is.”
“Say hello to him for us and make sure to bring him round for dinner when you get home.”
“I will.”
Lucie smiled at her father then walked to her car. She was relieved that her father hadn’t expected her to go through the box in front of him. It was something best done in her own home, alone. And that was what she intended to do.
* * *
Lucie switched on the lamps in the lounge, casting shadows across the wooden floor. The afternoon was dark and it felt much later than three-thirty. A light drizzle was falling, and it made even the inside of her flat feel cold and damp.
She was about to sit down when the tree Dale had bought caught her eye, so she went over and turned the fairy lights on. They twinkled agreeably, giving her lounge a warm glow, and she silently thanked her friend for being so considerate.
Once she’d made a mug of tea, she took it into the lounge and sat on the sofa. For Lucie.
What was inside the box?
She wished that someone was with her so she could ask them to look first. If Dale was here, he’d do it. But he wasn’t. And her curiosity wouldn’t wait until he was.
She needed to do this now.
As she reached for the lid, her hands trembled slightly. But she knew that she had to look. She absolutely had to.
She gently lifted the lid. She scooted to the edge of the sofa then peered in. It all looked innocuous enough – lots of pieces of paper, brown and white envelopes, and what appeared to be a photo album.
It couldn’t hurt to look, could it?
She removed the album first and ran a hand over the bumpy green cover. It seemed to be made out of lots of narrow strips of thick paper or card all woven together. Her name was on the front, written in gold foil and covered with cellotape that was peeling up at the edges. As she opened the cover, a waft of memories flooded through her as the scent of violets emerged.
“Mum,” she whispered, her throat closing over. Her mother had always worn a distinctive perfume and somehow, the fragrance was captured within the pages of this album. Then she saw why. There was a sprig of flowers taped to the inside of the front cover, tiny dried violets that were brittle with age and storage. She touched one gently and it crumbled beneath her fingers, the dark purple dust staining her skin. “Mum,” she said again, as pain rose in her chest. She took a few deep breaths to calm herself, well aware now that this would not be easy.
The first page of the album showed her mother and father posing for the camera. Her mother had a Bonnie Tyler eighties haircut, permed and backcombed. Her skin glowed from time spent in the sun – no doubt without sun-cream – and her eyes were bright green against her tan. Next to her stood Lucie’s father; taller and skinnier than she’d ever seen him, his face radiating happiness. Mark’s hair was thick and spiky, and in his face Lucie could see her own. It was a strong resemblance, apart from the long, golden moustache which sat above his top lip, testament to the fashion at the time. One arm was wrapped around her mother’s back, but his other hand rested on her mother’s protruding belly, proud and protective. Lucie smiled at the hope in their faces, at how they clearly thought they had a lifetime ahead of them, starting with the imminent arrival of their first child.
Turning over the page, she found several photographs of her early days, in which her parents both had that pale, exhausted and terrified look of new parents. The shock of being responsible for another human being had evidently affected them enormously, as had the sleep deprivation. But there was also love in their expressions, deep, protective, overwhelming, terrifying love. As they cradled her in their arms, sat next to her crib, or pushed her in the big old-fashioned pram, their feelings for their new child showed in the way their bodies were turned towards her in every shot.
The next few pages charted her toddler years, featuring a potty, a ride-on car, a white and green checked highchair with long wooden legs and a red harness, as well as moments captured with her grandparents. Some of the photographs were Polaroids, with their thick white borders. Her grandmother wore glasses that were now trendy again, with thick black frames. Seeing family members that were no longer around made Lucie feel strange, as if a dark cloud had settled over her, yet occasional rays of sunshine broke through. It was so good to look back on happy times and run her eyes over their faces, remembering little details, yet it was also painful, because it brought home how real they had once been. Her grandparents and her mother were just like her; people with hopes and dreams and futures ahead of them. Until they weren’t. And one day, perhaps someone would do what Lucie was doing right now, look back at photographs of her and wonder how she used to feel, what she had wanted and what her dreams had been. It made her want to run out and grab hold of the people she knew and loved, to hug them tight and remind them how much she cared about them; that whatever happened in life, they were once there, with her, alive.
Just over halfway through the album, she found a blank page. Beneath the sticky see-through plastic were two squares that were lighter than the rest of the page. She stared at them for a moment, wondering why someone had removed the photographs. From somewhere in the deepest recesses of her mind, a whisper of a memory surfaced. At first blurry, undefined as smoke, until the scent of violets and the mustiness of the album itself, lent it shape.
*The baby! *
Her little brother.
Stillborn seven months into the pregnancy, when she was six.
The nights she’d lain in her small single
bed listening to her mother crying, the sound muffled by the walls and the pillow that Pam had buried her face in.
But still. Lucie had heard her. Lucie had known.
There had been a second pregnancy, but there had been no second child. How devastating that must have been for her parents. Life-changing. How did people come back from that?
Perhaps they never really did.
The missing photographs were of her mother during that second pregnancy, taken from the album by Pam herself, or perhaps by Lucie’s father. Who knew? It had been done to protect Lucie, to protect her parents. To save them all the pain of looking at the promises that had been made, things that had been possible, but were lost before they’d even had a chance to begin. There had been no pictures of the baby, no evidence of his existence except for those photos taken during Pam’s pregnancy.
After everything Pam had suffered growing up, to think she was creating her perfect little family, then to have it taken away, must have destroyed her. And Mark. But wasn’t that how life worked? Other people’s lives could look perfect from the outside, yet in reality they were just as sorrowful as the next. Everyone had troubles to bear.
Lucie flicked through the rest of the album, registering her childhood, yet unable to ignore the sadness in her parents’ eyes, the lack of joy in their smiles for the camera, the sense that something was missing. Someone was missing. Something had fractured and everything had changed.
And at that moment, she understood her mother a little better.
And her heart ached.
* * *
“Thanks for coming round.” Lucie walked through to the lounge and Dale followed, then slumped onto the sofa next to her.
“Where else would I be? I mean, you’re my girlfriend now, remember?” He squeezed her shoulder.
“My father and Thelma think so too.” She tucked her legs underneath her.
“They do?”
A Very Merry Manhattan Christmas Page 8
