by Fiona Harper
‘Why don’t you go and see if Polly is awake, Josh?’
Josh immediately leapt off the bed and raced out the door. Jake made a move to follow him. ‘Shall I get Violet?’
‘No,’ Gemma said slowly. ‘I don’t think Violet wants to be woken up just yet.’
‘Why?’ Jake asked.
Gemma coughed and looked towards the door, thinking of Violet, and the fact she’d probably wish it was the end of the world rather than Christmas Day when she finally prised her eyelids apart. ‘Because she... Well, she had a late night.’
‘And you know what teenagers are like,’ a superior little voice said. Polly followed her brother back into Gemma’s bedroom, hefting her stocking with her, and sat primly on the edge of the bed while her brothers sprawled and crawled and generally fidgeted. ‘Violet’s practically nocturnal these days.’
‘But we always open our stockings together!’ Jake whined. ‘She’ll be cross with us. Violet is always cross with us at the moment and I don’t like it.’
‘I think she’ll understand,’ Gemma said. ‘And if she doesn’t, you can blame it all on me.’
The boys brightened at that prospect, and the lure of tiny toys and chocolate was too great. They dived into their stockings and started ripping the paper off the top presents. After a few seconds Jake paused.
‘Auntie Gemma, why are our presents all slippy and sticky?’
Ah. The Pritt stick. It still hadn’t dried.
‘Well, Santa has a lot of presents to wrap this year and he ran out of sticky tape,’ she told them. ‘And it’s greener to use glue.’ She wasn’t sure if that was true or not, but the way they pushed environmental stuff in the primary schools these days, she reckoned she could get the kids to do anything if she told them it was eco-friendly.
Polly humphed. ‘You’d think a man of his age and experience would be a little more organised,’ she muttered as she gingerly pulled the paper on her first present apart.
Gemma propped one of her pillows behind her back and sank back into it, smiling. She enthused with the children over each new discovery as the wrapping paper came off, even tried to cadge a chocolate coin or two. She was dog-tired, but happy. And now she could understand why Juliet rushed around buying all these little things. The reward far outweighed the effort.
When the kids were halfway down their stockings, Josh looked up at her. ‘Aren’t you going to open up your stocking, Auntie Gemma?’
She just smiled at him. ‘I haven’t got a stocking, sweetie, and I’m just enjoying seeing you open yours.’
‘Yes, you have!’ Jake exclaimed and pointed to the foot of the bed.
Gemma looked where he was pointing and, much to her surprise, there sat a handmade Christmas stocking with a large bow on the top. ‘How...? What...?’ She narrowed her eyes and looked at Polly and the boys. ‘Did you put this here?’
All three shook their heads.
‘How could we?’ Josh asked. ‘That’s Santa’s job.’
Gemma just stared back at them, and when Polly passed her the stocking, full of gifts in a wrapping paper she didn’t recognise, her throat grew thick. She hugged it to her chest, relishing the crackle of the paper and sense of giddy anticipation.
‘Aren’t you going to open the presents?’ Polly asked.
Gemma grinned. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes I am!’ And then she dived in, picked the top present from the pile and started ripping.
* * *
GEMMA WAS STARING AT the bread sauce recipe in Juliet’s notebook when she heard shuffling footsteps behind her. Since the little ones were in their bedrooms, playing with the toys they’d got for Christmas, it wasn’t hard to guess who it was.
They’d had breakfast and waited for Violet to surface, originally intending to include her in the main present-opening session, but by half past seven the twins had worked themselves up into a whirlwind and Gemma had cracked. Besides, like Juliet was always saying: people needed to deal with the consequences of their actions.
She put down the measuring jug that she was holding and turned to face Violet. ‘Merry Christmas,’ she said brightly. ‘How are you this morning?’ Violet winced at the sound of her voice and Gemma felt a twinge of sympathy. ‘That good, huh?’
Violet, who was looking a little grey and dishevelled, shrugged.
Gemma turned back to the recipe. Half a pint of milk... She tipped the bottle up and measured out the required amount, then tipped the milk into a saucepan and put it on the hotplate on the Aga. While she returned the milk bottle to the fridge she said to Violet, ‘I think you owe Will a big thank-you when he comes round later.’
Violet’s eyelids lowered slightly. ‘Whatever.’
That one little word got right under Gemma’s skin. She’d been prepared to be jovial and understanding, but the very least she expected from Violet was an apology, and maybe a little gratitude for rescuing her sorry hide.
‘You gave me a real panic last night, you know,’ she said, trying to keep her tone light and finding she was struggling. ‘You put a lot of people out with your reckless behaviour. Why didn’t you answer your phone?’
Violet shrugged again. ‘Left it in my coat pocket.’
‘And you were supposed to be home at ten fifteen. What happened about that lift we organised?’
‘Keira’s mum decided to stay and have a chat with Abby’s mum before we came back,’ Violet said. ‘She sent me upstairs to find my coat.’
Ah. So that had been the other woman in the kitchen. Gemma remembered the size of the drink she’d had in front of her, and was suddenly very glad Violet hadn’t had a lift home with her.
‘Were you sick in the night?’ Gemma asked.
Violet shook her head.
Lucky girl. Gemma folded her arms and waited. This was supposed to be the bit where Violet said ‘Thank you, Auntie Gemma, for dashing out at almost midnight to come and get me. Thank you for not bawling me out, and making sure I was safe from physical harm, from boys who’d have taken advantage and a possible teenage pregnancy’, but Violet just scuffed the kitchen floor with her sock, then looked up, eyes blank, totally unconcerned.
‘Well...?’
‘Well, what?’ Violet replied. ‘I’m hardly the first teenager in the world to get drunk at a party. Lighten up, will you?’
The milk was starting to bubble and spit on the Aga behind her, and Gemma discovered she was feeling much the same. Here she was, running around like a headless chicken, trying to make Christmas perfect for Vi and the other kids, and the girl was taking the whole thing for granted.
‘I can’t believe you’re being so selfish,’ she said in a tight voice, and at exactly the same time she heard Juliet saying the words inside her head. It was a rather bizarre kind of déjà vu, where she’d had this conversation before, but now she was standing in the other person’s shoes.
Violet shrugged again, but this time Gemma looked more closely, saw the shame and guilt in her expression before she looked away.
It hit her like a slap in the face. This was exactly how Juliet felt every time Gemma downplayed one of her own slip-ups, every time she pretended it was no big deal and that Juliet was just blowing it all out of proportion.
No wonder it made the veins on the side of Juliet’s temple throb.
She drew in a steadying breath and decided to try another approach. She hated it when Juliet came out with all guns blazing. It always put her on the defensive, which made her do things to drive her sister even crazier. And here was Juliet’s eldest daughter, similar to her aunt in so many ways, and obviously developing the same kind of conflict-handling skills. As much as she wanted to rant and yell or make sharp little comments, she forced herself not to.
‘Listen,’ she said softly. ‘I know you’re feeling bad about it, and I know it seems easier to pretend that
it’s no biggie, but sometimes you need to be honest about your mistakes. Sometimes you need to own up and say you’re sorry when you mess up. That way everyone can move on peacefully instead of letting all the resentment fester deep inside.’
Violet bowed her head and nodded. ‘Sorry, Auntie Gemma. For being rude...and for last night.’
Gemma felt most of her anger whoosh out of her on her next breath. ‘That’s okay. We’ll talk about it more later, but now I think you need to go and get...’ she’d been going to say dressed but Violet was still in her jeans and T-shirt from the night before ‘...changed, and then come down and have some breakfast.’
Violet started to pull a face, but Gemma quickly added, ‘It’ll make you feel better to have something stodgy. Believe me, I know what I’m talking about.’
* * *
WHEN JULIET WOKE THE sun was slanting through the sheer curtains. She smiled. It was Christmas Day.
That hardly seemed possible. To Juliet, Christmas morning had always been about dark skies, a chilly house, the sense of comfort from wrapping up warm in a fluffy dressing gown and having her kids crowded round her, as they all dragged their home-made stockings onto her bed and shredded the wrapping paper off the tiny gifts she’d anonymously placed there.
She stopped smiling and reached over to the bedside table for her phone. She missed them so much! They’d agreed she wouldn’t phone, realising it would probably just make the separation harder on all of them, but this morning she couldn’t escape it. She tried to ignore the tight sensation in her chest and blinked a couple of times as she picked up her mobile.
The phone rang a couple of times then Violet picked up. ‘Hi, Mum!’
She sounded happy. That was good, right?
‘Happy Christmas, darling,’ she said softly. ‘Are you having a good day?’ It must be late morning there already.
Violet chuckled. ‘It’s been eventful, that’s for sure!’
Juliet tried not to panic. ‘What does that mean?’
Her daughter sighed. ‘Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Mum. Everything’s fine. We’re all up and dressed and Auntie Gemma is cooking the dinner...’ she paused to guffaw and Juliet closed her eyes and prayed.
‘Are Polly and the boys there?’
‘Sure,’ Violet said, and Juliet could hear thumping, like she was running downstairs.
A moment later squabbling could be heard and shouts of Me first! and My turn! When the commotion abated a bit it was Polly’s voice she heard.
‘Hello, Mother. How are the tropics? Do you have malaria yet?’
Juliet had to smother a laugh with her hand. Polly would get very upset if she knew she was giggling so hard her stomach was shaking. ‘Merry Christmas, sweetie,’ she said, hauling in a breath and steadying herself. ‘The tropics are wonderful and, no, I haven’t got malaria. It’s not something you have to worry about in St Lucia.’
‘Humph. Well, I’ve been looking it up so I knew how to take care of you when you came home. Are you sure you don’t have malaria?’ She almost sounded disappointed, but Juliet couldn’t be upset. Polly just liked to do stuff for other people, be properly prepared.
‘Quite sure,’ she said. ‘But I may be jet-lagged when I get back. Do you know anything that could help with that?’
‘Not yet,’ Polly said, but the tone of her voice said she’d perked up considerably. ‘Why don’t you talk to the boys while I go and check my research folder?’
And then she was gone, and the boys were fighting for the phone, and Violet had to intervene and put it on speaker so they could both talk at once. Juliet thought she heard something in there about presents and even more about chocolate and something funny Auntie Gemma had done. Jake was about to say more, but then Violet shushed them loudly and they just started giggling. She eventually told Violet to take her off speaker and prepared to say her goodbyes. She didn’t care if this call had cost her a thousand pounds, it had been worth it.
‘Are you sure you’re all okay?’ she asked Violet. ‘Has Auntie Gemma been...? I mean, has everything been...?’ She searched for the words to ask (without actually asking) if the house had burnt to the ground, or any of her offspring were missing limbs or whether Aunt Sylvia had to be retrieved from the top of the Christmas tree in the town centre, but came up empty ‘...okay,’ she finished lamely.
Violet just laughed. ‘Everything’s fine, Mum.’
‘Good,’ she said quietly. ‘I’m glad. I love you, Vi, and tell Polly and the boys I love them too.’
‘We love you too, Mum. Have a great Christmas Day. I hope it’s perfect for you.’
Juliet nodded. She couldn’t speak for the tears flowing down her face. She heard a sniff on the other end of the line too, and both she and Violet let out a chuckle in unison. ‘Bye, darling...’
Juliet didn’t hang up, Violet did. Juliet just pulled her phone away from her ear and stared at it, listened to the annoying buzz of the dialling tone. Eventually she hit the button, placed the phone back on the bedside table and sighed.
Looking at the bedside table reminded her of what was sitting inside the drawer—Gemma’s present. Probably a little trinket from her travels. Gemma was good at finding little things Juliet would like from all around the world and bringing them back to her. Previously, Juliet had always been a little bit irritated by them, thinking they were just guilt presents to make up for the lack of visits, but now she thought about it, she realised how well Gemma always chose. And Juliet knew how much thought and effort went in to selecting the perfect gift. So why had she never realised that Gemma had done that?
Because you didn’t want to let yourself realise the situation wasn’t black and white...
Juliet drew in a breath, acknowledging the truth of that thought. She was really tough on Gemma, wasn’t she? Always had been. Why? When had sisterly love solidified into something much more ugly? She had a feeling she half knew, but that she wasn’t quite prepared to look under that rock deep inside herself, probably because she knew wasn’t going to find anything pretty there.
She pulled open the drawer of the bedside table and removed the little package. Even though the gift inside was probably perfect, the wrapping was all Gemma. However, the cheap paper and hastily stuck scraps of Sellotape didn’t bother Juliet as they usually did. She carefully peeled off the bits of tape and unfolded the paper to reveal a small square, flat box. It looked as if it might hold a bracelet or a keyring, but when Juliet eased off the lid her mouth dropped open. This was no pretty beaded ethnic jewellery or hand-carved trinket.
Sitting on a nest of cotton wool was her grandmother’s engagement ring.
She pressed her palm to her chest and stared at it. Once again, Gemma had chosen perfectly.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
WILL KNOCKED ON THE door just after ten. He handed Gemma a roasting tray, covered in cling film. ‘Merry Christmas.’
She accepted it from him with a dry laugh. ‘No one has ever given me a raw chicken for Christmas before.’
He looked round the kitchen, now resemble the site of a small controlled explosion. ‘Do you need help?’
Gemma really wanted to say yes, but she had a feeling this was something she needed to do herself. Not just to prove Juliet wrong about her, or to keep herself out of trouble, but because she wanted to.
‘It’s okay. I’ve got a list, detailing exactly what we’ve got to cook and when it needs to go in the oven.’ She turned and smiled weakly. ‘Juliet would be proud of me.’
He gave her one of those no-mouth, all-eyes smiles and she felt it right down in her knees. ‘Yes, she would.’
She bustled away, ignoring the warmth, bracing her knees and telling herself this was no time to be developing inappropriate crushes on men that really weren’t her type at all. And inappropriate it was—he liked Juliet. And she had
a sneaking suspicion Juliet liked him back. Nothing could happen.
‘I’ll see you when you come back at twelve thirty with Mrs Waterman,’ she said and gently closed the door.
She turned round and put her hands on her hips. ‘Kids!’ she yelled.
Silence. They were all too busy messing around with their Christmas presents, which was all well and good, but they had a Christmas lunch to cook. She had a feeling she wasn’t the only one in the family who’d got into the habit of taking Juliet for granted, and she could definitely do with the extra pairs of hands today.
She tried again. ‘Chocolate!’ she yelled up the stairs.
Four eager faces appeared on the landing within seconds. Gemma smiled at them. There would be chocolate, but not just yet. First they were going to have to earn it.
She set the twins the task of clearing up the wrapping paper in the living room and showed Violet how to wind the streaky bacon round the chipolatas. She utilised Polly’s maths skills by getting her to work out how long each of the packs of party bites needed in the oven and at what temperature so they’d have a steady stream of canapés once the guests arrived.
By the time noon rolled around, everything was ready to go. Carrots were peeled, potatoes boiled, and the table was laid and ready, even if the twins had a rather haphazard approach to which side the knives and forks went. She was starting to feel they might actually be able to put something edible on the table. And it wasn’t just the bread sauce she’d made from scratch, either. She’d done her mother’s famous stuffing and was planning on glazing the carrots, something Juliet didn’t usually do, but she’d spotted a recipe when she’d been looking for something else and it hadn’t seemed that hard.
She was just giving the kids a high-five and their chocolate reward when Uncle Tony and his girlfriend arrived.
