Mistletoe and Mayhem

by Catherine Ferguson

  She sounds so bitter. Suddenly, everything makes sense. The IVF roller coaster they’re on would put a strain on even the closest of couples.

  ‘Oh God, Justine, I’m so sorry.’

  Tears splash down her face, and when I cover her hand with mine, she allows it to stay there.

  ‘But would Rob have to sell the car? Couldn’t you remortgage the house or something?’

  She shakes her head. ‘Rob’s convinced this is the end of the road for us as parents. He says if it hasn’t happened after seven tries, it’s obviously not mean to be and we should just try to get on with our lives. Go on holidays, have fun together, just the two of us. But all that stuff just seems meaningless to me now.’

  She takes hold of my hand in both of hers and squeezes it tight. ‘I want to hold my baby in my arms, Lola. That’s all I want. All my life I’ve longed to be a mother. I should never give up on my dream, should I?’ Her eyes plead with me to give her the answer she needs.

  I shake my head. ‘No. I don’t think you should. But maybe there are other ways?’ I suggest gently. ‘What about adoption?’

  She slumps back in her seat. ‘That’s what Rob says. But I want my own baby, Lola. I know it might seem selfish and narcissistic, but surely every parent wants to see something of themselves in their child? Is it really so wrong to want to go down every possible avenue to give myself that chance?’ She sighs. ‘I even gave up work because I thought the stress might be the problem.’

  ‘Have you told Rob all of this?’

  She nods. ‘He won’t budge. We just end up fighting and I get really upset, which of course I shouldn’t because I need to stay relaxed if I want to give myself the best chance of getting pregnant.’

  I think of the healthy diet she insists upon. How everything has to be organic. I’d have been much kinder if I’d known what it was all for.

  ‘So does Rob know about this new procedure?’

  ‘No. But there’s no point telling him. He already thinks it’s ridiculous we’ve spent close to thirty grand on failed attempts. But you can’t put a price on becoming a parent, can you?’

  I stare at her helplessly, wishing I knew how to make it better.

  Everything is crystal clear now. Justine’s stroppiness in recent years, her self-absorption, the constant digs about Rob’s gas-guzzling Ferrari.

  She stares at a point over my shoulder. ‘I’ve actually started to think I might be better going it alone. If Rob won’t have a baby with me, maybe it’s my only option.’

  The door opens and Rob comes in.

  ‘What’s your only option?’ he asks sternly, and Justine blanches.

  Rob sighs. ‘Coffee anybody?’ He opens a cupboard door, sees it’s the wrong one and slams it shut again. ‘Is it me or is it freezing in here?’

  ‘Yes, it’s you,’ snaps Justine, scraping back her chair. ‘You couldn’t be more cold if you were a bloody block of ice.’ Clutching the blanket around her, she hurries out.

  Rob turns to me with a look of despair.

  But for once, I’m on Justine’s side. ‘She’s really suffering, Rob. I think you need to talk to her.’

  I follow Justine out and sink down on my bed.

  So much for the season of peace and goodwill.

  What a joke.

  Dad won’t answer his phone, Mum’s not speaking to me, and Rob and Justine’s marriage is hanging by a thread.

  And, to cap it all, I can’t stop wondering why Seb didn’t come back last night. My head is throbbing. I need to get out of the house right now, or I think my brain might explode.

  I shout to Rob to have a look at the boiler then grab my comfy boots and my coat.

  A brisk walk along to the lake will clear my head.

  It’s not yet nine o’clock but some eager shoppers are out and about already. I walk along the main street, hands deep in my pockets, blinking tears from my eyes that are only partly a result of inhaling the icy air.

  The pavements are clear until I reach the less trodden path beyond the village, and then the snow becomes thick and crunchy underfoot.

  I’m just turning right at the junction to head in the direction of the lake, when a car I recognise pulls up on the other side of the road.

  It’s Seb.

  He winds the window down and shouts, ‘Need a lift?’

  I shake my head. ‘Thanks but I need to walk.’

  ‘Want some company?’

  The thought of being with Seb – talking to him and getting his take on everything that’s bothering me – makes the blood start racing around my veins and perks me up instantly. But he’s just back from that party. He probably wants to go to bed, not have to spend time talking to me. So I pretend I didn’t hear him.

  A car door slams. Footsteps crunch after me.

  ‘Hey, wait up,’ he says, and I turn with a brisk smile.

  ‘Good party?’

  He looks surprised. ‘Er, yeah, it was okay. If you like watching Kevin from accounts make a complete arse of himself on the mulled wine which, by the way, was disgusting.’

  ‘So did you go on somewhere after the party?’ I ask, trying to sound casual.

  He shakes his head. ‘I knew I had this breakfast meeting to go to at eight.’

  ‘Oh, right.’ A huge wave of relief surges through me. I feel like laughing out loud.

  ‘I got in about one then I was up again at seven. I was hoping I wouldn’t wake you.’

  I smile. ‘You didn’t.’

  ‘Have you heard from your dad?’

  ‘Only a text to tell us not to worry.’

  ‘And did it do the trick? Have you stopped worrying?’

  Sheepishly, I shake my head.

  We walk in silence for a while.

  Then he gestures back towards his car. ‘Come on.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘I’m taking you to see him.’

  ‘Dad?’ I stare at him in surprise. ‘But he lives in Manchester.’

  Seb shrugs. ‘Straight down the M6. We could be there in a couple of hours.’

  My heart starts racing.

  The thought of actually going to the house and seeing that Dad’s all right with my own eyes would be such a massive relief.

  ‘But I can’t let you … It’s Christmas Eve tomorrow,’ I blurt out. ‘Haven’t you got things to do?’

  He laughs. ‘Apart from all my Christmas shopping? No, nothing at all.’

  I stand there, still hesitating, and Seb starts walking away.

  ‘Coming?’ He turns and gives me the smile that turns my legs to cotton wool.

  ‘Yes. Thank you.’

  I hurry to catch him up.

  We drive to Manchester in almost complete silence, for which I’m grateful.

  I’m really not up to making conversation.

  My stomach feels twisted in a tight, anxious knot. All I can do is stare out of the window, thinking about Dad. I’m desperate to see him, but, at the same time, I’m worried about what we’ll find when we arrive at the house.

  What if he’s not there?

  What then?

  Seb puts Dad’s address into his satnav, which is a relief because I’m hopeless at giving directions.

  As we get near the house, my heart starts beating uncomfortably fast. I point out the pub, just round the corner from Mum and Dad’s. ‘You could wait there for me if you like? I can walk from here.’

  But Seb insists on driving me right to the house and even comes with me to the front door. It’s a huge relief to see Dad’s car parked in the driveway. I ring the bell and we wait, looking through the bevelled glass panel for signs of movement.

  ‘This is so good of you—’ I begin. But he shakes his head.

  ‘Happy to do it. Maybe he’s out.’

  I glance upwards.

  He’ll be in his shed, working on his beloved matchstick models.

  A second later, we see a shadowy figure through the glass and Dad opens the door.

  ‘Lola, love.’ He pulls me in
to a hug, holding me a little tighter and a little longer than usual. ‘It’s so good to see you.’

  I’m already in a tearful mess, but I manage to blurt out, ‘Dad, this is Seb. Seb, my Dad.’

  They shake hands and Seb says, ‘Great to meet you but I’m going to leave you to it. I’ll find that interesting-looking pub we passed a minute ago.’

  ‘Come in,’ offers Dad, standing back.

  ‘No, don’t worry.’ Seb glances at his watch. ‘It’s never too early for a pint of real ale.’

  ‘Absolutely.’ Dad grins. ‘The sun’s always over the yardarm in some neck of the woods.’

  I smile gratefully at Seb and we watch him sauntering down the path and along the street, hands thrust into his jeans pockets.

  ‘Nice man.’ Dad gives me a speculative look.

  ‘So how are you, Dad?’ I ask, aware of a blush staining my cheeks. ‘We’ve all been frantic.’

  ‘Sorry. The last thing I wanted to do was worry you,’ he says, leading the way through to the kitchen. ‘How’s your mum?’

  I shake my head to suggest we’ve had quite a time of it. ‘But she’ll be fine,’ I assure him. The last thing I want is Dad feeling guilty about his Great Escape.

  He’s clearly had a lifetime of putting Mum before himself.

  Add to that Justine’s thoughtless comments and the growing tension over what would have been Jack’s twenty-first birthday, and it was no wonder my lovely dad erupted like a volcano.

  ‘I knew she’d go to pieces if I wasn’t there to prop her up,’ he says calmly. ‘But quite frankly, Lola, I’ve had enough.’

  I’m about to tell him I know exactly what he means, but then he says, ‘I’m so sorry I stormed out like that without a word, but something inside just snapped. And I’ve done a huge amount of thinking since. It’s high time I started living my own life for a change. I’ll pack a bag and be gone by the time she gets back.’

  His words startle me so much, my mouth falls open.

  I watch him filling the kettle, my head in a total spin.

  I’d thought that when Dad had time to think, he’d feel bad about walking out on Mum and be keen to make amends. That’s just the sort of person he is. Thinking of others all the time.

  I certainly wasn’t expecting this.

  His pain and frustration must have run deeper than any of us suspected.

  ‘Tea?’ he asks. ‘Or something stronger?’

  ‘Something stronger, please,’ I gasp.

  ‘What would you like?’

  ‘Doesn’t matter. Anything.’

  Oh God.

  I’m starting to wish I’d gone to the pub with Seb.

  Dad pours me a whisky and I gulp some gratefully. It’s like liquid fire burning its way down my throat but the warming after-sensation is comforting.

  ‘Come upstairs. I want to show you something,’ Dad says.

  ‘I’ll be there in a sec,’ I tell him, fumbling in my bag as if I’m looking for something.

  When he’s gone, I quickly unscrew the whisky bottle and slosh some more of the amber nectar into my glass.

  Upstairs, I stare in amazement at Dad’s latest creation.

  It’s a pirate ship. But built on a far bigger scale than his usual vessels.

  Has he been working on it all this time he’s been away?

  ‘Wow, Dad, it’s incredible.’ Fascinated, I bend closer to examine the tiny details. The porthole windows. The intricate rigging. The billowing, blue and white striped sails. Goodness knows how many matches he used to make it.

  ‘Do you think he’d have liked it?’ Dad asks.

  I look up at him and the expression on his face makes my heart lurch.

  ‘It’s Captain Hook’s pirate ship,’ I whisper. ‘The Jolly Roger. Jack’s favourite toy.’

  Dad nods, his eyes glistening at the memory.

  Jack refused to go anywhere without his pirate ship. I remember we lost it once in the park at the lakeside and he was totally inconsolable until we eventually found it hidden behind a tree stump.

  ‘It’s taken the best part of a year to make,’ Dad says. ‘It was a bugger, actually, especially all that fiddly work with the sails.’

  ‘Oh, Dad.’ There’s a big lump in my throat, picturing him working away on it in secret all this time.

  A twenty-first birthday gift for his youngest son.

  ‘Jack would have absolutely loved it.’ I set my glass on the workbench and go to give him a hug, and we stand like that for a long time, me with my face buried in Dad’s jumper, which smells reassuringly of the same old aftershave he’s used for years.

  Afterwards, we go downstairs and drink tea in the kitchen. And quietly, without any self-pity or melodrama, Dad explains what it’s been like all these years, being Mum’s carer.

  ‘After Jack died and she had her breakdown, I was there for her one hundred and ten per cent. That’s what marriage is all about, standing by each other through thick and thin. She would have done exactly the same for me. But as the years passed and she went on refusing any sort of psychotherapy or counselling, her fear of life just kept increasing until eventually, she couldn’t go anywhere without me. And I kept on supporting her because I love her. Simple as that.’

  ‘It must have been really hard, though, Dad,’ I murmur.

  He shrugs. ‘It was a way of life. If you’ve never known any different, you don’t know what you’re missing.’

  ‘So what changed?’

  He sighs heavily and stares out of the window, thinking.

  ‘Just lately, she’s grown more demanding. She used to let me know how grateful she was for all I did for her. It’s not that I needed her gratitude because I was happy to be there for her. But I’ve realised that her expressing her thanks – in lots of unspoken ways – kept the relationship a healthy one. But lately, she’s started taking me more and more for granted. I don’t seem to matter to her the way I used to. I’m her carer, pure and simple.’

  I shake my head. ‘I’m sure that’s not true. She loves you, Dad.’

  He grunts. ‘Well, she’s got a funny way of showing it.’

  ‘Maybe – maybe getting older is making her even more fearful of life,’ I say, trying to understand. ‘And she’s taking it out on you?’

  Dad sighs. ‘Maybe. All I know is I can’t go on like this. I’ve reached the end of my tether and I’m tired of the whole wretched set-up. I want my life back, Lola.’

  I stare at him in horror.

  His mind is made up.

  ‘I’m sorry if that sounds selfish, love, but there it is. I’m going to have a life of my own. There’s not much of it left so I’m going to enjoy it while I can. Obviously, your mum can have the house and I’ll organise for a care agency to make regular visits so she’ll be well looked after.’

  This sends a bolt of shock through me.

  ‘You’ve thought it all through. So where will you go? What will you do?’ I’m trying to remain calm and not panic. But Dad can always see through me.

  He takes my hands in his and holds them tightly. ‘Hey, don’t worry. Your mum will be fine. I’ll make sure of it. I still love her, you know. That’s never going to change. And you don’t need to worry about your old dad, either. I’ll be fine. I’ll stay at a B&B until I’ve found a place to rent.’

  ‘When are you moving out?’ I can’t believe I’m asking him this.

  ‘Soon. I’ll be gone by the time your mum gets back.’

  I feel numb on the journey home.

  Thankfully, Seb seems to sense I need silence.

  He just drives and leaves me to my thoughts.

  When I let myself into the flat, it’s gone eleven and everyone is in bed, apart from Rosie. She’s in the kitchen, wrapping presents at the table.

  ‘Hi! I was waiting up for you,’ she whispers and I shut the door. ‘How’s Dad? I was hoping you’d bring him back with you.’

  I shake my head and sit down opposite her. ‘He’s not coming back.’

  R
osie flicks her eyes to the ceiling. ‘Oh great, so we’ll have Mum being a prima donna and feeling sorry for herself for another few days yet, then.’

  ‘No, Rosie. Dad’s not coming back.’

  She frowns. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘He’s leaving Mum.’

  ‘What? But he can’t!’

  I slump back in my seat. ‘Apparently he can. His mind is made up.’

  ‘Oh, shit.’

  We stare into space.

  Then Rosie looks at me and says, ‘So are you going to break the news to Mum? Or shall I?’

  I shudder at the very thought. ‘How has she been?’

  Rosie groans. ‘Terrible. We thought she was going to have a panic attack at one point this afternoon but she wouldn’t let us call a doctor.’

  ‘Is she all right now?’

  ‘Fast asleep when I looked twenty minutes ago.’

  ‘It might be the last good sleep she has for a while.’

  Rosie gives me a look of despair and I know exactly what she’s thinking.

  How on earth are we going to tell her that Dad is leaving her? That her marriage is over?

  When I head to Jasper’s flat, Seb is still up.

  He offers me a nightcap and looks surprised when I ask for a whisky.

  We go through to the living room and I drink it, standing up, in three large gulps. Then I put down the glass with a sigh. ‘Good stuff, that.’

  He grins. ‘Looks like you needed it.’

  ‘I did. Life’s a bugger.’

  ‘You’re not having a great time of it,’ he says gently. ‘Did you speak to your mum?’

  I shake my head. ‘She’s asleep. So that particular joy will have to wait until tomorrow morning.’ I slump down on Jasper’s black leather sofa.

  Seb gets up to refill his glass and offers me a top-up.

  I shake my head. ‘Better not. I’ll need a clear head for tomorrow.’

  He sits back down, his long legs stretched out, holding his glass up to the light to study the amber liquid.

  ‘Love can be a cruel thing,’ he says. ‘You can’t always have your heart’s desire.’

  ‘That’s very true,’ I say fervently, thinking of poor Mum and wondering what she’s going to do.