by Shari Low
‘Lovely,’ she went along with it before lifting the carrier bag from the kitchen worktop to do her own investigation. She’d only given him a tenner to buy something from the corner shop last night, so she was fairly confident he was kidding. She opened the bag. A box of Quality Street and a yule log for Josh’s mum, Karen, and a six pack of Freddos for the boys. ‘Good work,’ she told him, before enveloping him in a hug, which he succumbed to with a pre-teenage sigh, but little resistance. ‘I’ll miss you,’ she told him. A few years ago, she would have kissed the top of his head, but now that he’d bypassed her 5’8’’, she had to settle for a kiss on the cheek instead. Again, he humoured her by not wiping it off with his sleeve. This was progress. ‘I love you,’ she said.
‘I love you too, Mum.’
When he grinned he looked even more like his dad. Chrissie swallowed hard, banishing that thought and the pang of sadness that came with it. Was she really ready to open herself up to a situation that could end with the same world of pain as last time?
For a fleeting moment she considered cancelling tonight and just going to the cinema with Ben instead. For the purposes of this indulgent moment of weakness, she overlooked the fact that he’d rather be hanging out at his mate’s house, destroying civilisations on the Xbox, than sitting in the multiplex on a Friday night eating popcorn with his mother.
Not that he’d admit that, of course. It had always been just the two of them, so they’d been a team for a long time, one that stuck together and looked out for each other. Ben’s dad had left when she was pregnant and sometimes she felt guilty that she hadn’t made a conscious effort to meet someone and give him a family unit, but she knew he’d had a happy childhood and he’d turned out to be as balanced and grounded as she could ever have hoped. Just as long as the vodka and Benson & Hedges comment was definitely a joke.
‘Nip through and tell Val we’re ready to go then,’ she told him. ‘I’ll meet you at the car.’
Before he got to the back door, it opened and Val, their next door neighbour, poked her head around.
‘Are you ready, love?’ she asked breezily.
Chrissie smiled, delighted as always to see one of her very favourite people. ‘We were just coming to get you.’
Val’s gaze had already moved on to Ben. ‘Morning, sweetheart. Did you get caught in a wind tunnel or have you not done your hair yet, son?’
Ben giggled at the familiar tease and headed to the door. Chrissie knew their relationship with Val and Donald next door was the biggest blessing of moving to this estate. When they’d first come here two and a half years ago, Val and Donald had been straight in to introduce themselves, and they’d looked out for her ever since, taking Ben under their wing, too. That was just Val’s personality and their connection had been instant. Her heart was as big as the platinum blonde bob that was teased and sprayed to within an inch of its life, the perfect dressing for her blue eyeliner and baby pink lipstick. On anyone else, her look would be hopelessly outdated, but on Val it was the perfect reflection of her luminous, bright force of nature, one she managed to maintain despite suffering some real tragedies in her life.
Val’s daughter, Dee, had been killed by a drugged-up driver almost three years before. It had taken Val a long time to come to terms with it and she still hadn’t forgiven the junkie who was now in jail for causing Dee’s death, but she had somehow managed to find a way to deal with the loss. Chrissie and Ben had moved in next door a few months after Dee passed, and despite her sorrow, or perhaps as a way of focusing on the positives, Val cared for people, helped others out. The last two years would have been a real struggle without her. Val and Don had looked after Ben more times than Chrissie could count, and they absolutely loved being his surrogate grandparents. The feeling was mutual. Ben adored them too.
‘Did you hear from Mark?’ Chrissie asked, while she grabbed her coat and bag.
Mark was Val’s son, and he’d just left with his Australian wife Tara and daughter Claudie to spend Christmas with Tara’s parents in Sydney.
‘Landed safely a couple of hours ago. Only been gone a day and I miss them already. Might have to confiscate Ben to keep the house busy until they get back.’
‘That’s a contravention of my human rights,’ Ben said, trying to act serious and suppress a giggle.
‘I’ll share the tin of Quality Street that’s sitting under my tree,’ Val bribed him.
Ben gave in to the giggles as he agreed to the deal. ‘Done.’
Chrissie gave Val an impromptu hug.
‘What was that for?’
‘Just because we think you’re fab,’ Chrissie said, aware that while Val was the most loving, caring individual she’d ever known, she wasn’t one for gushy sentimentality.
Right on cue, Val patted her hair, checking that the steel consistency of her coiffure hadn’t been dented by Chrissie’s embrace. ‘Aye, well thanks, love, but careful you don’t crack ma bob,’ she said, feigning alarm.
A hug didn’t even begin to cover everything Val had done for her. She had found Chrissie her first full-time job since Ben was born. And she was the one who had pushed her into agreeing to go out tonight, on her first date in twelve years.
Chrissie experienced a stomach lurch so violent she had to pause for breath. A date. With a real person. Who wasn’t Channing Tatum and on screen in a movie where he took his top off.
Oh God.
What had she been thinking when she arranged this? A flood of anxiety made her throat tighten. Maybe she shouldn’t be thanking Val after all. Why was she putting herself through this?
It wasn’t too late to pull out.
‘You’re not pulling out,’ Val said, as Chrissie reached her at the door.
‘How…?’
‘It’s all over your face,’ Val said, teasing her. ‘You look like Bambi, in the presence of one of those twats that goes hunting for fun.’
‘Yeah, you’re not backing out, Mum,’ Ben concurred, as the three of them made their way down the path in front of their row of terraced houses to the car park at the end. ‘Just make sure he’s not a serial killer. Or one of those blokes that goes out with ten women at a time and cons them out of all their money.’ Chrissie wondered if she should be concerned that Ben was so relaxed about her entering the dating world, then decided instead to just be grateful that he was such a grounded, easy going guy. Serial killer comments aside.
‘Thanks for the tip,’ Chrissie replied, taking on board the first point and ignoring the second. If a man was after her for her money, he was going to be sorely disappointed. Although he was welcome to her overdraft, her credit card bill and her Tesco Clubcard points.
Chrissie’s job had hugely improved their finances, but they still weren’t splashing out on new cars and foreign holidays. After Ben had been born, and with his dad absent and no other family around, Chrissie had had no childcare, so she’d applied for a grant to cover the fees, and used the time to take an Open University degree in business management. As soon as he’d gone to school, she’d signed to a temp agency and spent the next few years working when she could, but had needed the flexibility to have school holidays off with her son. It was only when she’d moved in next door to Val, and her neighbour had offered to look after Ben for free whenever he was off school, that Chrissie had started looking for a full-time job. Initially she came up empty. Apparently no one wanted to hire someone in their late twenties with no comprehensive employment track record.
That’s when Val had stepped in to help them yet again. When she’d recommended her for a job in Sun, Sea, Ski, the one stop holiday clothes and accessories shop her daughter Dee had owned with her best friend Jen, Chrissie had been beyond grateful. Two years later, she still loved every single day there.
Val helped out occasionally in the shop too, and was popping in to see Jen today, so had offered to give Chrissie a lift, dropping Ben at school on the way.
They chatted non-stop on the journey, laughing when they pulled into the ker
b and he realised that they’d put him in a potentially life changing situation.
‘I’ll just stop here, Ben, right in front of all your friends,’ Val chirped knowingly.
‘No, it’s OK. We can go on a bit further,’ he said, his alarm obvious.
‘Not at all,’ she countered. ‘They’re right there. No point making you walk.’
A smile played at the corner of Chrissie’s mouth. She knew exactly what Val was doing. How many times had Val dropped him off and then mortified him by shouting endearments as he raced into school?
Ben sat for a moment, contemplating his options before offering a deal. ‘I’ll give you my first selection box and I’ll hoover for a week if neither of you kiss me or shout out the window that you love me,’ he said, his face beginning to flush.
Val made eye contact with Chrissie. ‘What do you reckon?’
‘As long as I get the Curly Wurly, I’m in,’ Chrissie agreed reluctantly.
‘Och, you’re spoiling all my fun,’ Val moaned, with mock irritation.
His relief was all over his cheeky face. ‘Thanks, Mum!’
‘I do love you, son,’ she added. ‘So, so much.’
‘Love you too. And you, Val,’ Ben said with a grin, grabbed his bag and fled the car before she changed her mind.
Val dissolved into giggles. ‘That’s a special boy right there,’ she said.
‘Yep, I got lucky,’ Chrissie agreed.
Val smiled at her. ‘Don’t think luck has anything to do with it, love.’
Chrissie smiled at the compliment and said yet another silent prayer of thanks that she’d met this woman sitting next to her… even if she did seem intent on pushing Chrissie right out of her comfort zone. Tonight being a case in point.
Her date this evening had started off as a Facebook connection. A guy from school who had sent her a friend request. Chrissie vaguely remembered him. Davie. Tall. Played football for the school team. May have snogged him once, very briefly, under mistletoe at the third year school disco. Hung around in the same extended group. Hadn’t seen him since the last time she walked through the school gates about fourteen years ago.
They’d messaged each other on Facebook over the course of the last couple of months and that was as far as Chrissie had planned to take it. Things were getting good in her life. She and Ben were fine. Doing great. They didn’t need anyone else. And if she introduced a guy into their lives, it would potentially open up a whole minefield of questions around Ben’s absent father. No, that was the last thing they needed. Single life was just fine.
Unfortunately Val and her best friend Josie didn’t agree. They’d badgered her into submission, until she’d finally agreed to Davie’s suggestion that they meet up for dinner. Tonight was the night, a lovely little Italian restaurant just down the street from the shop, and every time she thought about it the butterflies in her stomach went on a spin cycle. She’d deliberately picked somewhere she was familiar with, figuring it was one less thing to be excruciatingly nervous about. With a bit of luck, it would be chock-full of Christmas parties and the melee would make it so difficult to hear each other that he wouldn’t realise she had absolutely no dating game whatsoever. None.
Now she just had to get through the next eight hours or so without panicking, cancelling, or hyperventilating from the anxiety over having to make small talk in a potentially romantic situation with a bloke she barely knew and hadn’t seen since she was carrying maths books and coming up with excuses to get out of PE.
Val’s cheery chat made the rest of the journey fly by and as always, Chrissie’s heart swelled a little when they climbed out of the car in front of the shop. Situated in the Merchant City, a lovely niche area of upmarket boutiques, bars and restaurants, the front windows were stunning. She’d spent a whole day on them last week, creating a spectacular Alpine winter scene, complete with fairy lights, fake snow, a mountainous backdrop and spotlighting their latest range of gorgeous skiwear. The benefit of stocking everything anyone could need for a summer or winter holiday – clothing, luggage, cosmetics, travel products – as well as maintaining an online store and a popular blog highlighting ideas for destinations and excursions, was that the shop was busy all year round. And Chrissie looked forward to every day.
The ding of the doorbell made the two people in the shop look up as Chrissie and Val entered. Jen, the shop owner, had her usual sunny smile, but it was the older woman, with the grey spiky hair, dressed in her trademark ninja black polo neck, trousers and leather stiletto boots that put Chrissie’s senses on high alert. Val was around sixty, while her best friend, Josie, was in her mid-seventies, but it appeared that no one had informed her of this. She looked more than a decade younger, had the vocabulary of a thirty year old sailor and came with an incorrigible sense of mischief, daring and a fondness for the shocking. Chrissie adored her, but to see her here this early in the morning, with an expression of indisputable mischief, was definitely a cause for concern.
‘Morning luvlies,’ Josie greeted them. ‘It’s a fine day for an ambush.’
‘What… ambush…?’ Chrissie stuttered, a feeling of dread rising from her bright pink snow boots.
Val and Josie wore matching knowing smiles.
‘Oh bugger, no. No way. I’m not for being ambushed today or any day by you two.’
‘Ah, but you are,’ Josie countered. ‘Oh yes, the plans we have for you today. They’re so exciting that if my nipples didn’t point at the floor, they’d be on full beam right now.’
Chrissie turned to Val for help, but she was met with a cheeky smile.
‘Better get started then. Right, love, you’re coming with us. We are going to get you date ready and so entirely shaggable that this bloke will fall in love with you at first sight.’
‘Jen, save me,’ Chrissie begged.
Jen shook her head. ‘There’s a limit to my powers. I could maybe take one of them down, but I’ll never defeat them both,’ she said, laughing as she gestured to Josie and Val.
Chrissie wanted to turn around, to back out slowly, to flee the shop before she got roped into whatever madness the two women were planning.
Instead, she allowed them to take an arm each and march her right back outside. They turned right and headed towards the centre of the city, so quickly that Chrissie didn’t even get a chance to survey the scene in front of her.
If she had, she might have spotted that the little café across the road had a customer sitting at a table next to the window. She might have seen that it was a guy with a familiar face. She might have seen that he was staring right at her. And she might have realised that today was going to be the day that every wall she’d built would come tumbling down.
Four
George
I’m dying. I just want to say that straight out. Or as the young ones would say, “put it out there”. Bloody nonsense, some of the phrases that folk use nowadays. What’s wrong with just plain speaking?
The boy thinks I don’t know he’s here, but I can hear and feel him fine. Tom. The boy. That’s still how I think of him even though he’s gone thirty now. Fine lad he’s turned out to be. I couldn’t be prouder. It’s a bloody miracle when you consider his feckless father.
I can hear that lassie, the nurse, too. Liv, that’s her name. Cheery thing. She’s got one of those voices that reassures everyone who listens to her. Not that there’s much reassurance to be had for me now. A painless exit is about as much as I can hope for, and these drugs that they’re pumping into me are taking care of that. Don’t half take the wind out of my sails though. Between the medicine and this damned disease, it’s getting harder and harder to open my eyes.
That said, I’m not in any rush to leave this world. I’ve never been one for impatience. I’ve lost track of the days, and I hate to keep asking the nurse, but I’m fairly sure it’s close to Christmas. The sound of festive songs has been drifting in from the corridor – Blue Christmas by Elvis was always my favourite – and on the few occasions I’v
e managed to open my eyes, I’ve noticed people walking by the window with gift wrapped presents. It’s always been my favourite time of the year, especially when our Tom was a boy. We would have Christmas morning at our house and my son Norry and his first wife, Catriona, would bring the boy round first thing. Catriona was a fine woman and so much more than that sour faced one Norry replaced her with. She was a smashing mother to Tom, too. It shames me to say it, but every bit of compassion and kindness in that boy came directly from her, not from that son of mine.
Anyway, where was I? Christmas. My darling Betty would cook and organise games and make it the perfect day for everyone. It was at times like that Betty and I wished there’d been more of us, a bigger family for the boy to share the day with, but Norry had been our only son, and then he’d repeated the pattern by only having Tom. Of course, there was more kin out there – I had two sisters, Annie and Flora, that I lost touch with long ago. Those memories pained me, and our Betty knew that, so we left them in the past and we never spoke of them, not to Norry, not to Tom, not to anyone. That doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten them though. In fact, now I think of them more than ever.
Tom is shaving me now and I’m glad about that. No excuses for a shabby appearance, that’s what my father drilled into us and I’ve always lived by it. I hope it’s the only thing of that man’s that I’ve taken to heart. By God, there was a father that ruled with an iron rod and wasn’t one for sparing feelings. There were no tears shed when Billy Butler went to his maker, although it saddened me when my mother went only a few weeks after. Influenza afflicted the both of them. I wish she’d had a chance to live without him, even for a short while, to breathe without walking on eggshells, waiting for the next rage or rant. All of us kids – Annie, Flora and me – knew the feeling of fear and I vowed that I would never be that kind of father with Norry.
Instead, I tried to be the man who led by example and instilled decency and compassion in his offspring, but I’m sorry to say I failed. It’s always been a great sadness that Norry was more of his grandad’s ilk than of mine. A selfish boy, self-centred and prone to nastiness, who grew into an arrogant bugger of a man. It gives me no pleasure to say that of my own son, but one of the gifts of these last days is honesty. If I can’t be truthful with myself, then what’s the point? These are days of reckoning, of reminiscing, of looking back on eighty years that were well lived but not without mistakes.
