‘You could tell me you know, if there were,’ said Cat.
‘There isn’t, Mum, honestly.’ Mel picked up her history book and started looking at it. Cat hovered for a minute, before Mel looked up at her. ‘History GCSE, first thing Monday morning? I need to revise.’
Shut out. Again.
‘Oh, right,’ said Cat, nonplussed. ‘Far be it from me to come between you and your exams.’
‘Well if you want me to fail …’ said Mel grouchily.
‘It was a joke,’ said Cat, retreating with a familiar sense of failure. One day she’d get this parenting thing right. One day …
Pippa was humming cheerfully in the kitchen, baking bread while listening to the radio. She danced around the kitchen, making Lucy, who was jigging along in her wheelchair, giggle happily. You look silly, Lucy typed.
‘So do you,’ said Pippa and stuck her tongue out, making Lucy laugh.
The sun was shining and Dan had actually gone out to work on the fields with Gabe. He was off his crutches, and still limping a bit, but the improvement was vast. The boys were at cricket, Noel, who helped out with the boys’ squad, having kindly volunteered to take them. For once Pippa felt a real sense of contentment.
The letter box flapped open, and she heard the mail dropping through. She wandered out to get it. There were several letters, mainly bills. Great. Thank God for Dan’s sickness insurance, which had helped them through the last few months. If she’d had to worry about money on top of everything else, Pippa thought she might go off her head. The last letter was from the council: Social Services. Pippa looked at it with dread. Everything had gone quiet on the Sunshine Trust front, and she’d been hoping that nothing more would come of Lucy’s losing her respite care package. Burying her head in the sand of course. All the talk on the news for weeks had been about cuts to social services. She’d been grasping at short straws. She opened the letter and read:
Dear Mrs Holliday,
We regret to inform you that owing to budgetary restrictions for the coming financial year, it will no longer be possible to fund your daughter’s respite care package. This is not a decision we have taken lightly, but …
‘… there are more deserving cases, blah, blah, bloody blah.’
Pippa crumpled up the letter and threw it in the bin, her good mood evaporating in an instant. In the past she would have gone to Dan and they’d have raged together and worked out a game plan. But Dan, though much better, needed her support and couldn’t be relied on to give her his. It made Pippa feel lonely to think how much she’d lost since Dan’s accident. His ready empathy and calmness had gone – she hoped not forever – but it meant she could no longer rely on him, not the way she once had.
‘Come on Pippa,’ she muttered, ‘time to man up.’
She looked at Lucy who was still clucking and dancing along to the music. Her beautiful daughter deserved all the help and care she needed. And Pippa was going to do her damnedest to make sure she got it.
Chapter Seventeen
‘So what are we going to do?’ said Cat, at the start of the hastily convened meeting at Pippa’s house.
‘But what can we really do?’ said Mary Chambers, a small pale pinched woman, who looked as though the weight of the world was on her shoulders. ‘No one’s taken any notice of the things we’ve done up until now.’
‘Plenty,’ said Pippa decisively. ‘Cat’s already had several articles in various magazines about the work the Sunshine Trust does, which have helped raise our profile.’
Cat nodded.
‘It took a while for people to be interested,’ she said, ‘but the issue’s quite topical now. I am still holding out hope for a TV programme, but these things take time.’
‘Next, we’re going to have a protest meeting at the centre itself. I’ve finally got hold of Tom Brooker, our beloved local MP, and it turns out he’s against the cuts too, despite the party line. He’s even threatened to come along. The local TV bods are interested in covering it, so I’m hoping we can generate a wider story that people can tap into.’
‘But what will it achieve?’ said Mary. ‘We can’t save the centre with a PR campaign.’
‘True,’ said Pippa, ‘but I’m still trying to find extra funding. Where there’s a will, there’s a way. I’ve been speaking to Michael Nicholas about that, and he was telling me about a company he works with which likes to invest in social and ethical issues. I’m going to follow that up, and see if they can help.
‘I’ve also set up a petition on the House of Commons website, and I’d urge you all to tweet it, put it on Facebook. Whatever it takes. We all need the Sunshine Trust, and I’m damned if they’re going to take that away from us.’
‘Too true,’ piped up Jeanie Martin, a mother of two severely autistic children. ‘If we all get involved, I’m sure we can save the respite care.’
Pippa smiled. It felt good to be doing something. Better than sitting feeling sorry for herself and waiting for the axe to fall.
Dan came limping in from the fields. He looked tired – he was still not back to working at full pace – and not best pleased to see the kitchen overrun with Pippa’s friends.
‘Any chance of a cuppa?’ he said.
‘Sure,’ said Pippa.
‘What are all these people doing here?’ whispered Dan as she went to the kettle.
‘I told you, Dan. We’re having a meeting about the Sunshine Trust.’ One of the side effects of the accident was Dan feeling wary around large groups of people, which is why she had let him know this morning exactly how many people were coming and why.
‘Did you?’ Dan looked perplexed and rubbed his head. And she felt an overwhelming sense of pity for him. His short-term memory still troubled him sometimes. It must be infuriating.
She went to take his hand, but he shrugged her off.
‘Will they be here long?’ he said.
‘They’re just going actually,’ said Pippa, stung. Dan had always welcomed their friends into his home. She tried to remind herself it was part of his condition, but it was hard, when all she wanted to do was go back to normal.
‘Good,’ said Dan, taking his tea out into the yard. ‘And you know you’re wasting your time, don’t you? No one’s got any money. Lucy’s losing her respite care, and there’s nothing we can do about it.’
Pippa looked at Dan in dismay. She’d thought he’d take an interest in the campaign. In the past, she could have relied on his instant support. But now it seemed he’d gone the other way. He still cared about what happened to Lucy, but didn’t seem to think they could change anything.
The old Dan would never have been so bleak. It looked like they still had a long long way to go.
‘Look Mum, I’m really sorry, but we just won’t be able to come to you for Christmas this year. It was so stressful with the children last year, and I think they need to wake up in their own house on Christmas Day. We’d love it if you could join us of course …’
Marianne was sitting in the lounge on the phone to her mum again, while the twins played in their playpen. She’d decided to take the bull by the horns, and state her case about Christmas firmly. It had seemed like a good idea when she’d suggested it to Gabriel the night before, but it wasn’t going well. There was a deafening silence on the other end of the phone. She might have guessed. Marianne knew her mum wouldn’t – couldn’t – bear to give up the baton.
‘You might enjoy a year off from cooking the turkey,’ Marianne’s voice trailed off. What was she thinking? Her mother would be dead before she’d ever contemplate not buying a turkey for four that could feed ten.
‘Well there’s always Matthew,’ said her mother tetchily. ‘I’m sure he won’t let me down. And if Marcus is at a loose end, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind joining us, so your dad and I aren’t on our own.’
Sorry? thought Marianne silently, staggered at her mother’s blissful lack of self-awareness. Matt felt the pressure of family Christmases even more than she did, particularly s
ince he’d returned from his foreign travels and shacked up with his boyfriend Marcus, which suddenly put his lack of serious girlfriends into perspective. Of course, Mum had no idea of the true state of affairs, referring to Marcus as Matthew’s ‘friend’ if asked. It was totally beyond her to imagine that two men living together might be doing something other than flat sharing, particularly if one was her son. As far as she was concerned, Marcus was helping Matt with the mortgage by paying him rent, having no idea at all that Marcus’ name was actually on the mortgage. Neither had it dawned on her that her son’s house was unnaturally tidy, with an interior design to die for, for the full-blooded single heterosexual she fondly imagined him to be. Good old Mum, stuck in the dark ages.
Marianne gave up and turned the conversation to other matters before hanging up. It wasn’t as though they weren’t going to have variations of this discussion at least a dozen times before December. But at least she’d sowed the seed. Maybe by then, Mum would be telling everyone that Marianne had stayed in Shropshire at her suggestion. ‘So much less stressful for everyone.’ Marianne sighed. Gabe’s mum never put any pressure on them. She really wished her mother could accept that her daughter was grown up with a life of her own.
‘Huh, some chance,’ she said to the twins, who were sitting happily giggling away to each other. She wondered idly what was going on their minds. They seemed to be able to communicate with one another instantly, and were it not for the fact they needed feeding and changing sometimes she thought they’d survive perfectly well without her. One day they’d probably be moaning that she was putting pressure on them to come home for Christmas. She hoped not.
It was a blustery summer’s day, and she had the choice of sitting at home and attempting to tidy her pigsty of a house while the twins got under her feet, or taking them to the park and hoping that she could wear them out, so they’d go to sleep for long enough so she could tidy up. The park won. No contest really.
… so since the last time we spoke I’ve been hard it, slaving in my kitchen, preparing for the Christmas edition of Cat’s Country Kitchen, which is imaginatively entitled Cat’s Country Christmas. Well, when I say my kitchen, I assume you all know that it’s – shock horror – not really my kitchen, but a specially designed one set up in a studio, but I can assure you all the delicious recipes you will be seeing on the programme will definitely have been tried out chez Tinsall before they go out on air! …
Cat was updating her blog, something she rarely did now, to let people know that her new book, Cat’s Country Kitchen, would soon be available, whilst regaling her readers with little snippets about how the latest filming for her Christmas special Cat’s Country Christmas was going, and pointing out to Mrs J in Worcester, that Yes, she did in fact know meringues were made with egg whites and not egg yolks, but it was an unfortunate typo, which would be corrected on the next reprint of her last cookery book. While she had accidentally typed yolk instead of white (and, yes, everyone including Cat had missed it) the rest of the recipe did describe how the yolks needed to be separated off, so only an idiot would have actually whipped the yolks together. Maybe they’d made an interesting soufflé instead.
Mel was at home, upstairs in her room. Allegedly revising, but judging by the thumping music coming from upstairs, precious little study was going on.
Cat got out her latest batch of recipes to start typing up, but was getting increasingly distracted by the dulcet tones of Tinie Tempah. God knows how Mel worked with that racket. She certainly couldn’t. Taking a deep breath, she went upstairs, to knock on Mel’s door. There was no reply, so Cat tentatively poked her head around the door, to find her daughter in floods of tears.
‘Oh, Mel, sweetheart, whatever’s the matter?’ Any irritation dissipated immediately.
Mel looked up slightly horrified to see her mum, and switched off her phone, where she’d clearly been having a heated text exchange.
‘Mum, you could knock,’ Mel was still pugnacious, still full of attitude, even if she looked as though the world was ending.
‘I did,’ said Cat, ‘but your music, which I was coming to ask you to turn down, was so loud you didn’t hear me.’
She sat down on the edge of the bed. ‘Now come on, hon, what’s wrong? You look dreadful.’
It was true, Mel looked awful. Her hair was lack lustre, her eyes were red-rimmed from crying and her face looked paler than ever.
‘Is it a boy?’
‘No, of course not,’ Mel poured such scorn on her rebuttal, Cat couldn’t help thinking she was protesting too much.
‘What about Andy?’
‘History,’ said Mel. ‘And I wouldn’t waste my time crying over him.’
Okay. So it was a boy, partly. Whatever Mel said, Andy had clearly got under her skin. But going along with it, Cat pretended that Mel’s problems came from another source.
‘So what then?’ said Cat. ‘Is it your exams? Because you know, it’s not the end of the world if you fail. Dad and I want you to do well, of course we do, but you can always resit if you have to.’
‘It’s not my exams,’ said Mel.
‘What is it?’
‘Oh everything,’ said Mel, looking miserable. ‘Leaving school, and my mates, and Granny being ill. It feels as if everything’s changing and I hate it.’
Cat drew an inner sigh of relief. She could remember experiencing that anxious feeling of things and life moving on herself. If that was all that was wrong with Mel, she had been worrying about nothing.
‘Oh sweetie, I hadn’t realised you were so upset about Granny,’ said Cat.
‘Of course I am,’ said Mel. ‘Do you – do you think she’s going to die?’
Cat paused for a moment. The thought was never far from her own mind.
‘I don’t know,’ she said honestly. ‘Sometimes, yes, but then Granny’s very strong. I don’t think she’ll give up without a fight.’
‘Oh.’ Mel looked so bereft, Cat hugged her like she used to when Mel was little. Back then it had been easy to promise she could make everything better. Now things were different. But for once, Cat was relieved to notice, Mel responded to her hug. Even big girls needed their mum sometimes, it seemed.
Chapter Eighteen
‘It looks like it’s going to be a glorious day, today,’ Marianne said to Gabriel over breakfast. The sun had come up early, and courtesy of the twins, she had witnessed a gorgeous sunrise over the valley. There had been so few days like this of late, it seemed a waste not to make the most of it.
‘Shall we have a barbie? Get Pippa, Dan, Noel and Cat over with the kids? We can get the paddling pool out and they can all splash about.’
‘Great idea,’ said Gabriel. ‘I’ll be out all morning, and might have to go back out around six, but I can probably escape for the afternoon. I’m sure Dad can come over if necessary.’
‘Good, I’ll ring round everyone.’
Gabe went off to work and Steven mooched along after him. Steven had spent more time with Gabriel recently, Marianne was pleased to note. She wondered if the reality that Steven would be leaving home in September was beginning to hit him. Whatever the reason, Marianne was glad. Gabriel and Steven had always had a strong bond, and she would have hated to see it broken.
‘What can I bring?’ was Cat’s immediate offer, when Marianne called to invite her to the barbecue.
‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘You deserve a day off cooking. Just bring yourselves and some booze.’
‘We’ll all come, except Mel probably,’ said Cat. ‘She’s a law unto herself these days. Are you sure I can’t bring anything? I’m happy to. I hate going anywhere empty handed.’
‘Oh go on, if you must,’ said Marianne. ‘You could bring your couscous salad. It’s really delicious and I haven’t got a hope in hell of making it like that.’
Pippa sounded frazzled when she rang.
‘Sorry, Lucy’s meant to be having respite this weekend, but they cancelled at the last minute,’ she said, ‘but yes, we’
d love to come. Can I bring anything?’
‘No,’ said Marianne firmly. ‘You bring yourselves. I think you’ve enough on your plate without cooking for us. Have a day off.’
‘If you insist,’ said Pippa.
‘I absolutely do,’ said Marianne.
She got busy the minute the twins had gone down for their nap, making salads and preparing kebabs. She dug out homemade burgers and sausages from the fridge – living on a farm certainly had its uses. Though Gabe specialised in sheep, he often took meat from Dan to make up into sausages and burgers. Even Marianne had got adept at the sausage making machine, something she could never have envisaged in her former life.
By the time Gabe and Steven came back at lunchtime, she had everything ready.
‘Okay, get yourself cleaned up,’ she said ‘and you can take over.’
‘A barbecue being a man’s job you mean?’
‘Of course,’ said Marianne, ‘while it’s my job to sit in the sunshine drinking Pimms.’
Gabe came round and gave her a hug.
‘As you should, my darling, as you should.’
‘Ugh,’ said Steven as Gabriel kissed Marianne lightly on the lips. Marianne laughed and sent them both upstairs to get changed as she started clearing up the kitchen. It being such a fine day, she had the doors open, and the sun was streaming in, along with the sounds of the country. The twins were cheerfully banging their spoons on their high chairs, and Marianne felt a huge swell of contentment. However tough life might seem at times, she was very very blessed.
‘Hope we’re not too early.’ The entire Tinsall clan were standing on the doorstep. It was an overwhelming sight for anyone, thought Cat, especially now they were bigger. James had really shot up in the last few months, exchanging his angelic looks for lanky teen boyhood, though luckily for him, minus the spots. Paige was more appropriately dressed for clubbing and Ruby was jumping up and down with excitement like a yo-yo, while Mel slouched sulkily behind. It was a brave person who let them all in, and Cat was always grateful to anyone who invited the whole family.
A Merry Little Christmas Page 15
