Saturday is spent cleaning the flat until it gleams and ironing all the bed linen.
Then Sunday I’m busy at the garden centre (as is everyone else in the world, apparently, buying in their festive trinkets and ornaments, and enjoying turkey and trimmings in the café).
Later, as it’s Barb’s last night before she heads off to her parents for Christmas, we buy a festive pizza and Christmas pudding muffins and toast each other with a bottle of fizz. We sit on the floor in the living room, in the glow of the Christmas tree lights, our little feast around us.
Barb’s favourite, the music from Mamma Mia, is playing energetically in the corner. She’s trying to eat and write last-minute Christmas cards at the same time.
I wave a slice of pizza at her. ‘Hey, I’ve never thanked you properly for doing up the Crap Closet. Brilliant.’
‘Yes, you have. Millions of times.’ She grins. ‘It’s getting a bit embarrassing, to be honest.’
‘I can’t believe you got so much done in a few short hours. Are you sure you didn’t have a TV make-over crew to help?’
Barb sits back and sucks her pen, smiling. ‘We did well, didn’t we? I put it down to great team work. Seb’s brilliant. He cancelled a meeting to get it finished in time.’
‘Did he? Wow.’
I picture them working together and having a laugh. Seb must really like Barb to rush to her aid like that, even cancelling a meeting to help.
‘Yeah, I said I’d manage the painting myself but Seb insisted,’ Barb says, her Christmas cards temporarily forgotten. Her slightly soppy smile is a bit irritating.
Barb doesn’t do soppy as a rule.
I quickly change the subject.
‘So are you looking forward to being back in the bosom of your family for Christmas?’
Her parents only live in the next village.
‘Oh, yes. But I’ll be back here now and again,’ she says, hovering over the two remaining slices of pizza and politely selecting the smaller one. ‘I want to say hello to your sister.’
‘Oh yes, of course, you and Rosie haven’t met.’
‘She sounds like she has the dream existence. Wall-to-wall sunshine. Running a café right on the beach. All those sexy Spanish guys to pick from.’
I frown. ‘It hasn’t been plain sailing for her. She went out there in the first place to be with Romeo and I don’t think she trusts men now.’
Barb sighs and stares pensively into her wine glass. ‘Yeah. Things very rarely turn out the way you want them to, do they?’
‘What do you mean?’
She shrugs. ‘Relationships. They’re so complicated.’ She puts the pizza down and hugs her knees pensively. ‘I suppose you won’t have a chance to see Jasper before your family arrives.’
I stare at her. ‘Barb, you keep talking as if Jasper and I are an item but we’re not.’
‘Aren’t you?’
‘No!’
‘But I thought you really liked him.’
‘I do. But I’m just not attracted to him. I found that out the night we had dinner together.’
She looks at me intently as if she’s trying to work something out.
‘You really don’t fancy him?’
‘No! I really do not fancy Jasper! So you can stop worrying that I’m going to lose my heart to another guy who’s as incompatible with me as Nathan was! Okay?’
She grins. ‘Okay.’
Chapter Nineteen
Monday morning rolls around and I’m in a state of nervous excitement.
All my planning and preparations have been leading up to this day and the arrival of my Christmas house guests.
Justine calls me first thing, sounding bright and cheery, to say she and Rob will be with me at eleven forty-five, depending on traffic (her stress levels rocket if she doesn’t have a schedule to work to) and not to worry if I don’t have decaffeinated tea and coffee because she’s bringing her own.
This makes me want to rush out immediately to the shops but Barb restrains me.
Dad also phones to confirm he and Mum will be here around eleven, which is great because it means I’ll have a chance to chat to them myself, before the others arrive.
Apparently Rosie and Josh are going to be later than planned. Their flight from Malaga has been seriously delayed and they’re not expecting to arrive into Newcastle airport until this afternoon. By the time Rosie has collected the hire car and driven over here, it will be later still.
I’d booked tickets to see the local amateur dramatics pantomime this afternoon, mainly with Josh in mind, but now it looks like they won’t be here in time.
I feel mildly alarmed that my carefully laid plans are already going awry.
But I tell myself all will be fine. We can still go to the panto without Rosie and Josh.
Barb makes me a chamomile tea to calm my nerves.
I wrinkle my nose. ‘Don’t fancy it. I feel sick with nerves.’
‘Drink it.’ She sets the mug on the table and eyeballs me meaningfully. ‘Justine’s coming.’
I take a few sips then pour most of it down the sink when she’s not looking.
It’s ridiculous, I know, but I’m so excited (or apprehensive, I can’t decide which), I’ve been unable to force anything down except a couple of strong coffees.
Barb, who’s getting ready to decamp to her parents, keeps assuring me the flat is beautiful and pristinely clean, and even the Queen would be happy to eat her turkey and stuffing off the polished laminate in the kitchen. But I dive out anyway to get the Hoover from the shed and give the floors a last go-over. (Barb and Seb shifted all the stuff in the Crap Closet, including the Hoover, out to the shed to make room for the Christmas Nook, as I’ve christened it.)
Then there’s just time for a plumping of cushions, a tweak of the ornaments on my beautiful tree and a spritz or two of exotic air freshener. Oh, and a final inspection of the bathroom (very clean, although worryingly, Art Arachnid appears to have gone AWOL).
Barb disappears soon after ten and when the doorbell goes at five to eleven, I rush to answer it, expecting Mum and Dad.
It’s Justine.
‘Gosh, you’re early,’ I blurt out.
‘Yes, well, I told Rob it would take less than two hours to get here, even allowing for seasonal traffic, but would he believe me?’ She shakes her head in exasperation. ‘And of course, we had to come in that ridiculous gas-guzzling Ferrari of his. Honestly, he loves it so much, I’m surprised he doesn’t bed down with it in the garage every night.’
I grin at her. My brother’s Ferrari is his one indulgence and he deserves it. He certainly works hard enough.
We ‘mwah mwah’ each other’s cheeks and I look beyond her to Rob, who’s hefting the luggage out of the car – three items in assorted sizes, if I’m not mistaken. He walks up the path, looking weighed down by life, never mind the huge case in each hand and the smaller bag under his arm.
‘Come in, come in,’ I cry, relieving him of one of the cases.
Justine walks in ahead of us, completely ignoring Rob, and I stare in surprise at her outfit. Justine is normally an ‘elegant pant’ sort of girl but today she’s wearing jeans – albeit very well-cut and possibly Chanel.
Rob hugs me and I lead them into the flat and show them where they’ll be sleeping.
I’m on my guard, waiting for Justine’s reaction to not having an en suite.
But she smoothes the lilac duvet cover and says, ‘Gosh, I wasn’t expecting anything so – well, pretty.’ She beams at me. ‘Clever old you!’
I feel ridiculously pleased. ‘Glad you like it.’
If I had a cap, I’d probably be doffing it in humble gratitude for the lady of the manor bestowing praise on me.
It annoys me that Justine has this effect. But I just can’t help it.
‘Oh, we love it. Don’t we, Rob?’
Rob grins, looking completely underwhelmed by my efforts. ‘Yeah, great.’
I’m glad Justine seems pleased.
<
br /> But I can’t help wondering, by her reaction, what sort of post-apocalyptic hell hole she’d imagined she was coming to. I guess the fact that the windows are intact and there’s no massive, smelly damp patch on the ceiling are major plus points as far as she’s concerned.
Oh God, maybe that’s why she’s wearing jeans. In expectation of slumming it for five days, she perhaps thought it prudent to dress appropriately and ‘get down’ with the natives? How mortifying.
‘I’ll put the kettle on while you settle in,’ I tell them cheerfully.
‘Wait a tick.’ Justine zips open the smallest case and produces a box of tea bags which I assume are decaffeinated. She holds them out and I have to cross the room to receive them.
‘If they’re good enough for royalty …’ she murmurs, handing over her precious cargo.
I laugh politely.
Rob’s bland expression doesn’t change. ‘Where’s the bathroom?’
I take him through and, before he goes in, we exchange a look of mild amusement.
I’d love to ask him about his relationship with Justine but there’s really no point. Rob is rubbish at talking about his feelings and an expert at skirting emotional issues. It’s frustrating because I have so many questions I’d like to ask him. Was it love at first sight? Are they still in love? How does he feel about the fact that Justine quite obviously doesn’t want children?
Is he happy?
My parents arrive and Justine takes the lead, marching to the door to greet them, never thinking that Mum might be exhausted after the upheaval of the morning.
‘Merry Christmas!’ she cries, and the three of them hug. ‘Which way did you come? Not the A1, I hope? Terrible road. Oh, you did? Oh, big mistake, Malcolm.’
Mum wriggles past the Justine road-block to kiss me and we exchange a knowing grin. That’s put Dad in his place and they’ve only just arrived.
‘Great to see you, Justine,’ Dad says. ‘Now, where’s Lola?’
He wraps me in a bear hug and I lead them through to the living room and get them settled before I nip to the kitchen.
I want to keep the magical Christmas nook a secret until tonight so that they can see it for the first time when it’s all aglow. A beautiful fairy light extravaganza. But as I’m getting out the best cups and saucers, I hear Justine’s heels clacking through.
‘I’d rather you didn’t come in.’ I smile to show it’s nothing personal. ‘It’s just I’ve got something special in here for you all later.’
‘Oh, I hate surprises,’ she says, with a dismissive flick of her wrist. ‘What is it? I want to see it now.’ A second later, she discovers the Christmas Nook.
‘Oh, come and look at this, you lot.’
She marches back into the living room and herds everyone through to the kitchen.
My heart sinks.
Surprise ruined. And poor Mum and Dad, only just arrived and enjoying a relaxing sit down.
I sigh. At least Justine hasn’t found fault yet with my arrangements.
I watch her linking arms and dragging over a slightly bemused Rob and pointing out Barb’s chandelier and the hanging snowflakes.
‘Isn’t it all marvellous?’ she cries. ‘Oh, it’s going to be a wonderful Christmas!’
I look at the spots of excited colour in her cheeks and suddenly remember how unexpectedly drunk she got the last time I saw her.
If it were anyone else, I’d just think they were going overboard, making an effort to get into the festive spirit for everyone else’s sake. But this is Justine. She’s not usually terribly bothered about people’s feelings.
But it’s great that everyone seems to be getting on. Even Mum seems fairly relaxed, admiring the nook and Justine’s jeans and chatting away to her about the fashions in the seventies when she was a girl.
Mum, Rob and Justine wander back into the living room, their conversation carrying through.
‘What a lovely tree,’ says Mum. ‘Don’t you think so, Justine?’
‘Well, it’s nice but I really don’t think that’s the right place for it. What about over there in the corner?’
I grit my teeth. She’d better not move that tree …
‘Of course, it’s very small. Not like the trees we have at The Gables.’
‘Small can be good,’ I hear Rob snap. ‘Especially when the bill arrives.’
I glance in surprise at Dad, who’s stayed to help with the drinks. Rob’s feathers aren’t usually that easily ruffled.
‘Should have got a bigger tree,’ I say light-heartedly, filling the sugar bowl. ‘I had a feeling I’d fall short sooner or later.’
I grin at Dad, expecting him to shrug it off with a smile and say something like, ‘Ah, Lola, it’s only Justine being Justine; she doesn’t mean any harm.’
But he doesn’t.
He’s leaning against the worktop, arms folded, staring at the floor. He looks desperately weary, as if he’s been up half the night.
And he looks old.
My heart jolts. ‘Are you okay?’
He looks up and murmurs something, so low I can’t catch what he’s saying.
‘What is it, Dad?’
He shakes his head. ‘If that girl dares to upset your mum …’ He trails off.
I abandon the sugar bowl and take both his hands in mine.
‘She won’t, Dad. She seems to be in a good mood. And Mum looks fine. We’ll have a lovely Christmas, you’ll see.’
He doesn’t look convinced.
Dad’s generally so easy-going. Nothing fazes him.
It’s not like him to look so – I don’t know – defeated.
I guess he’s really worried about Mum. This is the time of year she dreads most and we all walk on eggshells around her. Dad especially.
‘Was Mum all right on the journey?’
He nods. ‘Oh, she’s fine in smallish spaces with people she knows. It’s just when she has to go out somewhere unfamiliar that she can start to feel panicky. Generally, though, as long as I’m holding her hand, she’s okay.’
‘Will she manage the panto, do you think?’
He frowns. ‘We’ll make sure we get aisle seats, then if she starts feeling bad, I can whisk her back to the car.’
‘Oh, Dad, I wish I could cheer you up.’
He rubs a hand over his face and grins. ‘Don’t mind me, love. I hate driving in Christmas traffic, that’s all. Your mum says I turn into Basil Fawlty’s grumpier brother behind the wheel.’
‘Abandon the tea and have a whisky, then.’ I smile. ‘That’ll put things nicely in perspective.’
‘Oh, go on, then. It is Christmas.’
I pour him a large drink and he downs it in one.
That’s not like Dad, either.
We all decide we’d like to see the pantomime – even Mum – so after lunching on my home-made carrot and coriander soup with fresh bread rolls, we get ready to go.
Mum has a wobble at the door and decides she wants to stay behind. Justine’s about to butt in and command her not to be so silly, but she sees the look on Rob’s face and manages to keep her comments to herself for once.
Dad says he’ll stay behind with Mum. But then she suddenly changes her mind and says that as long as she can link arms with Dad and me while we’re out and she can get an aisle seat, she’ll be fine. Our grins stretch from ear to ear – we all know this is a big step for Mum.
I travel with Rob and Justine in their car.
Rob and I chat away about their journey down and I give him the gossip about the few people he remembers from when he lived here. Justine just stares out of the side window.
‘Great soup, big sis.’ Rob grins at me in the rear view mirror. ‘And those rolls were a massive improvement on the ones you made for that picnic. Remember?’
I laugh. ‘Thanks for reminding me. I was only about ten at the time. But yes, they were duck stunners all right.’
Rob says, ‘You’ll have to explain what a duck stunner is to Justine.’
; ‘A what?’ Justine turns.
‘Duck stunners,’ I explain. ‘As in, if thrown at a duck in a pond …’
‘Oh.’ She looks at me vaguely. ‘I used to love feeding the ducks when I was little. Did you, Rob?’
‘I did.’ He smiles tenderly and reaches for her hand.
She lets him hold it but she turns away and stares out of the side window.
I’m sitting behind her so I can see her profile.
I also catch the single tear that rolls down her cheek.
The pantomime turns out to be great fun.
It’s Cinderella, which is my favourite anyway, and the jokes are fresh and topical, not corny.
Every time Buttons makes an entrance, he’s wearing a codpiece that’s slightly larger than the one before.
I know it’s silly but it cracks me up. Rob’s enjoying it, too, and Mum and Dad, who are sitting on my right, are also having a right good giggle.
I’m not sure Justine understands what’s going on because she hasn’t laughed once. She’s just staring ahead at the stage, with a slight frown. Every now and then she glances at her watch. She’s clearly bored to death.
I’ve always thought Justine had a peculiar sense of humour – or at least, different to mine and Rob’s – and this just proves it.
Then I remember how she was in the car. Distracted. That tear sliding down her cheek. Perhaps she’s still upset about whatever it was. An argument with Rob, perhaps?
Or maybe it’s worse than that.
Could their marriage be in trouble?
But I’m probably just exaggerating that tear out of all proportion. Relationships are full of ups and downs. It doesn’t mean the marriage is headed for the rocks.
A burst of laughter from the audience brings me back to the performance.
The codpiece has expanded to the size of a dustbin lid and Buttons is struggling to keep a straight face. The audience is in hysterics.
Justine nudges me. ‘It’s the finale,’ she says, stating the obvious, and looking a bit perkier. She sneaks another glance at her watch.
Mistletoe and Mayhem Page 18
