‘Yeah, it’s ace.’ His cheeks are rosy with excitement and fresh air. ‘Can we please have a hot chocolate?’
I grin at him and glance at Seb. ‘What do you think?’
Seb aims a pretend punch at Josh’s side. ‘Since he asked so nicely, how can we refuse?’
As we prepare to head for the café, the little five-year-old and his mum are coming off the ice too.
He has flaming cheeks and wisps of blond hair are escaping from beneath his bobble hat.
He reminds me of Jack.
Instantly, the familiar heavy stone sinks in my guts.
Jack should have been here. At twenty-one, he’d have been Josh’s adored uncle.
Jack never had a chance to skate.
The guilt weighs me down, as heavy as it ever was. It’s all wrong that I’m here and enjoying myself when Jack’s not.
Suddenly, all the magic of the night is gone …
Josh and I arrive back from the skating to find we have a new Christmas tree.
It’s much bigger and the ornaments are more showy.
On balance, I think I prefer mine. But maybe I’m just being sentimental.
I’ve been feeling a bit weird ever since I said goodbye to Seb at the door.
I thanked him for helping with Josh and he said he’d had a great time. I’d been planning all the way back in the car to ask him in for a drink, but, when I did, he looked at me apologetically and said he had a party to go to.
My insides took a dive, which puzzled me – until I realised I was probably still feeling down after seeing that little boy skating with his mum.
I wanted to know if he was taking anyone to the party, but it didn’t feel right to ask. So instead, I forced a smile and took Josh indoors.
Rosie has been in touch with an old friend, Becky, and she and Josh have been invited to a ‘winter supper’ tonight. Mum’s still languishing in her room, complaining of a headache and eating me out of fig rolls (her favourite). And Justine’s gone out.
Apparently she went off with the car once they’d returned with the new Christmas tree. She left Rosie and Rob to decorate it and didn’t even bother telling Rob where she was going. What’s worse, Rob doesn’t seem to care.
Maybe I can get away with putting pizza in for Rob and me, then having an early night.
‘Winter bloody supper indeed,’ laughs Rosie as she and Josh get ready to leave for her friend’s house. ‘Becky always did have delusions of grandeur. Even at school. No doubt I’ll spend the evening getting her perfect life shoved in my face.’
I nod grimly, thinking of Charlotte at the garden centre and how gritting my teeth and plastering on a fake smile is the only line of defence when she’s giving me a wedding monologue.
‘From where I’m standing, your life in Spain seems pretty perfect, too,’ I remind her.
She grins. ‘Well, the offer’s always there to come and live with Josh and me. You can help out at the café. Shake up your life.’ She winks and tries to hustle Josh out of the door.
‘I want to stay here with Auntie Lola tonight,’ he protests.
‘Well, we can’t always have what we want,’ says Rosie.
For some reason, I think of Seb and my heart contracts painfully.
‘But listen,’ Rosie’s saying, ‘Becky’s got a son your age called Charlie. And I’d bet you a packet of strawberry chews he’ll have a PlayStation.’
Josh brightens considerably.
‘Now, go and find your gloves and we’ll be off. I think it might be snowing again.’
While he’s away, Rosie murmurs, ‘Mum’s still in a sulk about Dad. Can you believe it?’
‘I know. You’d think she’d be really worried about him. But she’s too busy huffing over the fact he’s deserted her.’
Once they’ve gone, I wander through to the living room where Rob’s sitting in the chair by the window, reading his newspaper.
I’ve given up on the elaborate schedule of meals I’d planned. Most of it’s in the freezer and will probably stay there, at this rate. And after a stressful day like today, I’m so knackered that even thinking about making a beef and ale pie with home-made shortcrust pastry makes me want to go and lie down in a darkened room.
‘Pizza?’
Rob looks up from his paper. ‘Great!’
I give him a thumbs-up and head for the kitchen.
‘Need any help?’ he shouts after me.
‘You can open some wine.’
‘What colour?’ he asks, joining me.
I heave a sigh. ‘Don’t care. As long as it’s alcoholic.’
‘Oh God, it’s like that, is it?’ He peers at me. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing. Just watching my carefully planned Christmas going down the toilet, that’s all.’
‘I quite like this, actually.’ He grins. ‘Vegging out in front of the telly with pizza. Can’t beat it.’
I glance at him. He looks more relaxed than I’ve seen him since he arrived. I wonder if that’s because Justine’s not here.
‘So what’s Justine up to?’ I ask lightly.
Instantly, the shutters go down.
‘Haven’t a clue.’ He turns away to open a bottle of red.
‘Rob?’
‘Mmm?’
‘Are things all right with you and Justine?’
He doesn’t turn round. ‘Yes. Why wouldn’t they be?’
I shrug. ‘You don’t seem very happy, that’s all. You used to have her in fits of laughter all the time with your bad jokes. These days, it seems as if you barely talk to each other.’
He heaves a sigh. ‘That’s marriage for you, sis. You can rub along together fine as long as there’s a degree of compromise. But once that flies out the window, you can forget about it.’
‘What do you mean?’
He turns. ‘Exactly what I say.’
‘Yes, but who’s stopped compromising? You? Justine? And what about?’
He looks at me, as if he’s weighing up whether to take me into his confidence.
Then he grins wearily and hands me a glass of wine.
‘Don’t ask. It’s way too complicated.’
Irritated, I flick my eyes to the ceiling. ‘Yes, of course, I forgot. We don’t talk about things in this family, do we? We keep them all bottled up, pretending everything’s fine, until the day it all comes to a head and we explode.’
We exchange a tense look, and I know he’s thinking about Dad, too.
‘Lola?’ Mum calls from the bedroom. ‘Lola?’
Rob sighs. ‘Look, Justine and I – we’re having problems, okay? Well, one big problem, actually. And I don’t for the life of me know what’s going to happen.’
I stare at him in alarm. ‘What sort of problem?’
‘Lola-a-a-a-!’
I grit my teeth. Mum probably wants supper. Why the hell can’t she just come through and ask instead of shouting for me.
I feel like a servant in my own home!
‘Carry on,’ I urge Rob.
‘Lola! Lola! Can you come through, please?’
We look at each other and smile, but I am far from amused by the Queen of Sheba in there.
‘Better go and see what she wants,’ I mutter, turning away.
He grabs my arm. ‘Look, it’s something Jus and I have to sort out ourselves. Maybe we’ll weather it. Or maybe we’ll end up going our separate ways. I honestly don’t know.’ He smiles ruefully. ‘But please don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.’
I put the glass down and give him a hug.
He squeezes me extra tight and I can feel his emotional pain.
‘Right, go and see to M’Lady.’ He grins. ‘And I’ll put the pizza in.’
I nod and head for Barb’s room, plastering on a cheery smile. I’m really not in the mood for any more of her Malcolm bashing.
‘Hope I wasn’t disturbing anything,’ she says, when I enter. ‘But hunger always brings on the most dreadful migraine.’ She touches her temple.
Mum sighs. ‘I’m not sure I can eat a thing. Your dad’s disappearance has definitely put paid to my appetite.’
I reach over for the empty plate and quip, ‘But not your appetite for fig rolls, I see!’
She looks at me sharply. ‘What does that mean?’
I sigh and sit down on the bed. ‘Look, Mum, I don’t think you realise how upset Dad was the other night. We were all really, really shocked. He’s obviously been holding a lot of grief inside and—’
‘Yes, well, he’s not the only one!’ she snaps.
I take her hand. ‘I know that. But Dad’s been brilliant, looking after you all these years. I’m just saying perhaps it’s time we all looked after him for a change?’
She snatches her hand away.
‘And what do you expect me to do? I don’t drive so I can’t go after him, can I?’ Her eyes are glistening with tears. ‘You don’t understand, Lola. I’m frightened without him. Really frightened. You’re right, he has always been there. I’ve come to rely on him utterly. What the hell am I going to do if he doesn’t come back to me?’
Her breathing is slightly ragged and I’m suddenly afraid she might have one of her panic attacks.
‘Of course he’ll be back, Mum.’ I hold her shoulders gently. ‘He loves you. And you’ve got us to look after you in the meantime.’
She shakes her head. ‘None of you understands what it’s like to be me. I’m scared all the time, Lola. Of everything.’
‘Well, that’s why it would be good for you to speak to someone who really does understand,’ I tell her softly.
‘What do you mean?’ she snaps. ‘A psychotherapist?’
‘Well, yes, I think that would be—’
‘You know how I feel about that idea!’
I shrug helplessly. ‘But, Mum, you’ve just told me you’re scared of life—’
Angrily, she shrugs off my hands. ‘Lola! I do not need a psychotherapist!’
Tears spring to my eyes. ‘But that’s the thing, you do! Mum, it’s seventeen years since Jack died and you’re still no nearer coming to terms with his death than the day it happened.’ My shaking hands are clenched so hard in my lap, my nails dig painfully into the palms. ‘It’s nothing to feel ashamed about. Really it’s not. And you won’t be sent to hospital, if that’s what you’re worried about. Dad’s been marvellous, looking after you. But Mum, you need professional help.’
‘Go!’ she orders, pointing at the door with a trembling hand. ‘If you can’t be on my side, just go!’
Horrified, I stare at her pinched, white, implacable face. ‘But I am on your side. We all are. Especially Dad.’
‘Oh yes,’ she scoffs. ‘And that’s why he’s here right now holding my hand, is it?’
She scrambles out of bed surprisingly fast for one whose terrible migraine has rendered her legs useless. She opens the door and stares at me pointedly.
And I have no choice but to walk out.
‘Go and see her,’ I whisper to Rob, who’s outside wondering what the commotion is all about. ‘She won’t talk to me. I dared to suggest the “p” word.’
‘Psychotherapist?’ he murmurs and shakes his head. ‘Bad girl.’
He grins at me, which makes me feel slightly better and washes away some of the guilt.
Then he enters the lion’s den …
An hour later, I’m lying in Jasper’s bed, wondering what the hell happened to Christmas.
This was supposed to be the best festive season ever. But all we’ve had so far is heartache and chaos.
Rob and Justine seem close to splitting up.
And, incredibly, so do Mum and Dad.
And me? After my confrontation with Mum, I’m feeling utterly wretched.
And Seb’s not here.
It must be a good party because it’s nearly midnight and he’s still not back.
I’m staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep, waiting for the sound of his key in the lock.
It’s not that I need to talk to him right now.
It would just be so nice to know that he’s here …
Chapter Twenty-Five
Next morning, I wander hopefully into the kitchen but when I check the kettle, it’s clay cold. An empty feeling settles in my gut.
Seb obviously didn’t come back from the party last night.
And, when I go down to the flat, I find the air is icier than the Snow Queen’s fridge freezer. I can literally see my breath in the air.
A quick check of the boiler reveals ‘the usual problem’ which Barb is great at fixing but I’ve never been able to master. I try fiddling with some buttons to no avail. I’ll have to wait until Rob is up. Not that he’s brilliant at DIY but he is a bloke (is that sexist?).
Luckily, I had a text from Rosie saying that she and Josh had decided to stay overnight at Becky’s.
I make some tea and pour Mum’s into our best flowery china cup and saucer. I’m feeling guilty about our quarrel last night. I should never have crossed the invisible line and talked about Jack.
But when I go into the bedroom, she’s lying on her side, turned away from me. Even when I rattle the teacup in the saucer quite loudly, she doesn’t stir.
Great.
She’s obviously still in the huff.
Merry Christmas to me.
I go through to the kitchen and bash the boiler a bit to get rid of my frustration – then instantly regret making a din when Justine appears a minute later, wrapped in a blanket.
‘What’s all the commotion? God, it’s freezing,’ she says, making her teeth rattle theatrically. ‘Are you economising or something?’
I put the kettle on to make her weird-smelling brew. ‘The heating’s on the blink, I’m afraid.’
I’m expecting her to stride over and fix it with the press of a button and a stern glare. But she sinks down on the nearest chair with a sigh.
I bring our drinks to the table, thinking how pale and exhausted she looks. What the hell was she up to last night?
Did she tell Rob where she’d been when she got back?
She stares gloomily at her tea and I brace myself for criticism. I’ve probably put it in the wrong-shaped mug or something.
‘Actually, do you mind?’ she says suddenly, swapping my cup for hers.
I watch her in alarm.
‘But it’s coffee, Justine. And not even fresh coffee. It’s granules.’
She shrugs and takes a dainty sip, shuddering at the shock.
‘Are you all right?’ I ask worriedly.
She takes a large glug of coffee, grimaces and sets the mug down.
Then she stares vacantly at me.
‘Rob says I’m going mad. I think he might be right.’
I wait for her to explain but she just remains slumped over the table, staring at my nose.
The silence stretches on.
I check my face for foreign bodies.
But she’s not really examining my nose, I realise. She’s staring right through me.
‘I thought talking to Emily would make things clearer,’ she says suddenly. ‘But I’m more confused than ever.’
‘Emily?’ She’s not the only one who’s confused. ‘Who’s Emily?’
Oh God, maybe Rob’s the one having the affair. And Justine’s been tracking down the other woman.
She looks up, as if she’s just remembered I’m there.
‘Is that where you were last night? Seeing that woman? Seeing – Emily?’
She nods. ‘Twins. She’s managed to have not one baby, but two. Can you imagine?’
There’s an anguish in her eyes that makes my heart miss a beat.
‘Twins? Are they Rob’s?’ I ask aghast.
‘What?’ She peers at me. ‘No, of course they’re not Rob’s.’
My face must be a study in total incomprehension. ‘Yo
u’re going to have to explain, Justine.’
She knocks back the rest of the coffee and shudders violently. ‘I want a baby, Lola. We both do.’ Her eyes are shining with tears.
I stare at her, struggling to understand. ‘But that time at Mum’s, you kept saying how glad you were that you didn’t have kids.’
‘What?’ She looks puzzled for a second. Then her face clears. ‘Oh, that.’ She laughs bitterly. ‘That’s called reaching a dead end and trying to convince yourself you prefer things the way they are.’
‘So you really do want kids?’
She swallows hard. ‘More than anything, Lola. But the IVF isn’t working.’
‘You’ve had IVF? But I’d no idea.’
She smiles sadly. ‘No one knows. We decided to keep it a secret until I got pregnant. We were so hopeful and excited at the start. Our dream was to have two. A boy and a girl. But when you’ve been through the heartache of the monthly disappointment, followed by years of drugs, injections, mood swings and false hope, it ends up taking over your whole life. And not in a good way.’
‘How many times?’
‘Seven.’
I stare at her in disbelief.
‘You’ve had seven rounds of IVF?’
‘I know. Horrendous, isn’t it? Rob says I’m obsessed and I suppose I am now.’ She looks at me challengingly. ‘But I’m not giving up.’
She’s trying to sound strong but her chin is trembling.
Softly, I ask, ‘So who is this woman you went to see?’
‘Emily. I saw her in a TV documentary a few weeks ago. The fact that she lived so near you seemed like a sign. I was determined to talk to her and find out how she succeeded. Emily went through all the same things as me. The string of early miscarriages, the doctors discovering her fallopian tubes were damaged and useless, and the rounds of IVF, every single one ending in failure and total devastation. Then she went for this pioneering new treatment. And bingo! She got pregnant and actually stayed pregnant.’
A single tear slides down her cheek. ‘At four months, she found out she was expecting twins.’
‘So can’t you have this treatment?’
‘It’s expensive. You’re talking tens of thousands. And Rob won’t do it.’ She shrugs. ‘He says it’s because the drugs are wrecking my health and my sanity. But secretly, it’s because he can’t bear to part with his bloody Ferrari.’
Mistletoe and Mayhem Page 24
