A Christmas Gift

by Sue Moorcroft

  At midnight, Liam suggested they call a halt to discussions. ‘We’re not doing any good here. What we need to know is: are you ready to get the band stable again, JJ?’

  Joe was back to facing the questioning stares of the guys who had been his best mates for so long. ‘I wish I knew. I’m getting a kick out of doing something else for a while – but I hate the idea of never working with you guys again.’

  Silence.

  It was Raf who eventually suggested, ‘Let’s decide not to decide while JJ puts in time at his rock school. Pete can tell the record company we want the album launch put back – yeah, I know they’ll freak out, but Pete will just have to earn his money and deal with them because none of us is feeling like doing the promo. Let’s talk again after Christmas.’

  Joe turned the idea over in his mind. There seemed no downside. ‘If you don’t mind hanging on for a bit, OK. For now, I won’t formally leave the band.’

  But that was when Joe’s phone rang. Raf craned his neck to read the screen before Joe could retrieve the handset from the table. ‘It’s Billy!’

  Three pairs of eyes swivelled Joe’s way, daring him not to pick up.

  His hand hovered. Billy had to be faced sooner or later. So, sooner? Or later? Joe snatched up the phone on the sixth ring. ‘Billy.’

  Billy sounded astonished. ‘Hey, JJ. Hey, man.’ Then he went silent, as if actually reaching Joe rather than his voicemail had stymied him.

  Joe decided to take the initiative. ‘I was about to ring you,’ he lied smoothly, because he didn’t want Billy to leap onto his high horse and begin another unproductive row. ‘I’ve just told the others that I want more time to think. They’ve agreed we’re going to talk in the New Year.’

  ‘Oh. Surely we can get past this?’ Billy sounded uncertain, but he didn’t query why or how Joe had talked to the rest of the band without him. ‘We’ll put your version of the song on the album,’ he added in a rush.

  ‘We can’t flip-flop about over an issue that stems from something so fundamental to the band, Billy. If the album launch can be delayed—’

  ‘No!’ Billy interrupted, sounding panicky. ‘We won’t get money from the tour for ages. We need the album to go out on time. I apologise for trying to bulldoze you. I was just in a shitty mood that day and spoiling for a fight. Let’s just get this fucking album out.’

  Eyebrows raised around the room as, presumably, Liam, Raf and Nathan heard every word.

  Joe tried to read between Billy’s lines. ‘Thing is,’ he said experimentally, ‘I’m sort of committed to a volunteer project for a while. And we make such peanuts from album sales now and the initial payment’s split five ways—’

  ‘But it’s something,’ Billy muttered.

  Slowly Joe closed his eyes. ‘So, Billy, it’s about money?’

  After a pause, Billy laughed. ‘Isn’t everything?’

  ‘Not really. OK, we do need to talk.’ Fatigue swept over Joe. ‘I’ll email Pete to set it up. I don’t want to meet without him. It exerts some kind of control to have someone to keep us on topic.’

  ‘Pete’s in Spain till Friday. Taken his wife and grandkids to his villa,’ Liam said, raising his voice so Billy would hear.

  ‘Shit, that’s right,’ Billy said in Joe’s ear. ‘I’ll email him and ask for a meeting as soon as he gets back.’

  ‘I’ll do it.’ Joe leant forward to reach under the coffee table where he’d stowed his laptop. Ignoring Billy’s, ‘No, I’ll do it,’ he went to his email client and put his phone on speaker, leaving both hands free to type. ‘Right,’ he said after a minute of tapping. ‘I’ve asked for a round-table meeting with him ASAP to decide where we go from here. I’ve copied you all in. OK?’

  Liam, Nathan and Raf all said it was so Billy said, ‘Great. Yeah,’ though he didn’t sound super thrilled.

  As the call ended, Joe mentally bet himself a thousand pounds that Billy was now sending another email to Pete suggesting he come back to the UK for the meeting rather than making them all wait a week.

  Billy obviously felt the need to have everything back on track as soon as, but he’d be wasting his time. Joe would be returning to Middledip tomorrow.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Georgine faced Blair across the landing, trying not to plant her hands on her hips and be drawn into a sisterly spat. But failing. ‘If you dump your shoes on the landing then how is it my fault if I trip over them and hit my head on your door?’

  Blair stood in her doorway, face creased from sleep and eyebrows knitted. Her pyjamas were dotted with cute cartoon snakes wiggling forked tongues. ‘It’s not even eight on a Sunday morning! FFS, Georgine! I’m really, really tired. How can you not see red shoes?’

  Georgine, dressed for a run, rubbed her stinging forehead. ‘It’s barely light at eight in winter so what difference does colour make? And anyway, who woke who up at one this morning?’ Georgine had lain awake listening to Blair readying herself for bed with no apparent regard for noise level.

  Blair gave an exaggerated sigh as she folded her arms – with difficulty as she clutched a red satin peep-toe stiletto in each hand. ‘I get that you’re my landlady now, but I don’t think it says anywhere in our agreement that I have to be in by ten.’

  ‘What agreement?’ Georgine demanded hotly. ‘The one where you turn up with nowhere to go so I let you move in?’

  Blair glowered. ‘I’m sorry if helping your sister is inconvenient. At least it should help soothe your guilty conscience.’

  Georgine experienced a lurch of exactly the guilt Blair alluded to, rapidly followed by a tide of shame. ‘Blair! I know you’re not good if you don’t get your sleep but you don’t have to use that against me. I live every day with what happened that summer.’ The summer she’d been nineteen and had condemned her family – well, most of it – to living on a shoestring.

  Contrition flitted across Blair’s face, but before she could reply the air was shattered by a prolonged peal of the doorbell followed by a loud knock. A familiar voice called, ‘Miss France? Miss France? Can we speak to you, please, Miss France?’

  Georgine peered down the stairs in consternation at two familiar-looking burly silhouettes visible at the front door in the glow of the street lights. ‘Debt collectors on a Sunday?’ Then the doorbell gave another riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing and her hold on her temper snapped. ‘Right! I’ve just about had e-sodding-nough of this!’ Without giving herself time to reconsider, she flew down the stairs and snatched open the door just as one of the debt collection agents leant on her doorbell again. ‘What?’ she bellowed into his startled face.

  The agent, a balding and bulky man in his forties wearing a white shirt and a black stab vest as if hoping people would think he was a police officer or bailiff, blinked. ‘Miss France? Sorry to disturb you—’

  ‘You so aren’t,’ Georgine snapped, the red mist so hot that it made her cheeks sweat.

  He blinked again. The other agent, smaller and thinner, was the one to chirp up. ‘We’re looking for Aidan Rustington—’

  ‘And he doesn’t live here, which you know, or you wouldn’t be shouting my name through my door, you’d be shouting his, wouldn’t you? He hasn’t lived here for months and you’re here to intimidate me into paying his debts or giving you his address. But he refuses to let me have an address because he’s scared of you gentlemen giving him as shitty a time as you’re giving me. I’ll give you his phone number though,’ she added, the idea occurring to her for the first time.

  Georgine snatched her phone from her pocket, pulled Aidan up on her contacts list and read the number out, repeating it for good measure while the agents fumbled to tap it into their own handsets. ‘And I’ll tell you his mum’s address too. He might easily be hiding out there,’ she said, wondering why she’d feared this confrontation so much as she reeled the information off. She was almost enjoying an opportunity to vent the wrath that had built with every visit from the debt collectors. Sorry as she might be for Aidan, she’d given h
im an opportunity to deal with this a better way and he hadn’t taken it.

  She shoved her phone away, allowing no opportunity for the agents to take control of the conversation. ‘That’s all the information I have. Now go away and don’t come back or I’ll call the police.’

  The thin agent ignored her threat with a placatory smile. ‘Now, Miss France, maybe you could tell me whether you have a Find My Friends app? Perhaps Mr Rustington—’

  Furious that he wasn’t creeping off with his tail between his legs as intended, Georgine whipped out her phone again. ‘Nine,’ she said, beginning to dial. ‘Nine—’

  The bigger agent began backing away. ‘We’ll try Mr Rustington’s number.’

  Georgine held up her phone to show her finger was hovering over the nine for the final time.

  The thin agent rolled his eyes. ‘Now, now, I really don’t think—’

  Georgine’s finger moved and he turned and hurried off in the wake of his colleague.

  ‘And stay away,’ Georgine bawled as they reached their white van. She stepped back into the house and slammed the door so hard she was surprised the glass didn’t break.

  Then she began to tremble as she deleted the nines from her screen. Holy crap. She’d just chased debt collectors away from her door!

  Blair’s voice, high and frightened, came from the top of the stairs. ‘When did you get so scary?’ And Georgine burst into tears.

  In an instant Blair was beside her, drawing her into a warm hug. ‘I’m sorry, Georgine. I’m sorry I was horrible and provoked you into facing them.’

  Sobs racking her, Georgine let Blair cuddle her, glad for the sisterly embrace and the cessation of hostilities. ‘You know how sorry I am for what happened—’

  ‘The past is past,’ Blair said firmly, as if she wasn’t the one who’d just raked it up. ‘Everything’s going to be fine. We’re going to get on with our lives and some day we’ll have all the money we need. I’ll buy my own house like you and we’ll both have new cars and go on four holidays a year.’

  Georgine sniffed, wiping her face with the heels of her hands. ‘How?’ she croaked.

  Blair gave her a squeeze. ‘Rich men? It’s worked OK for Mum with Terrence, hasn’t it? She’s always swanning off somewhere.’

  Knowing her sister wasn’t serious, Georgine managed a watery smile. ‘She gets holidays and new cars, but Terrence rules her. I’d rather work for every penny and know it’s mine to control.’

  Though Blair nodded, she sighed. ‘Not sure there are enough hours in the day to allow me to work hard enough. Anyway, sorry again. I’m cranky through lack of sleep. I’ll go back to bed.’

  After a final hug, Blair trailed up the stairs and closed her door. Georgine decided she was no longer in the mood for a run and headed for the kitchen. Coffee and her favourite breakfast of porridge with chopped nuts comforted her while she waited for her laptop to whirr through its start-up routine. She wished she could Skype Grandma Patty but it was five hours earlier in Georgia, America than in England.

  Leaving her bowl in the sink, she turned to her emails and a message from the Bettsbrough Players wardrobe person, Ralph, who was looking to get rid of all the group’s costumes and props. The morning began to pass in an absorbing exchange of emails and images to show Georgine what was available.

  I’m particularly interested in the pantomime stuff like the oversized foil Christmas decorations that collapse so ingeniously for storage. That black backdrop twinkling with glittery stars positively makes my mouth water, she typed rapidly. I don’t want to miss this opportunity so could come today, if the weekend isn’t inconvenient to you.

  Ralph’s reply pinged straight back:

  Weekend is just the job, but I’m on my way out to my grandson’s birthday party. Next weekend any good?

  She replied, Absolutely!, made arrangements for Saturday December 1st and signed off. The show was really coming together. Her schedule for the coming week was full of rehearsals, and production meetings.

  Even Errol had been enthused at the Friday meeting, joining in the buzz without any of his customary snark or sneers. It had been a pity Joe had been off on some mysterious meeting in London because a few nice things had been said about the value of his contribution. She’d already typed up the meeting notes and emailed them to him with a couple of thoughts about lighting. After a moment’s consideration, she forwarded this morning’s conversation with Ralph to him too.

  Just forwarding FYI. If that backdrop’s any good we could use it in Very Kerry Christmas.

  She found plenty more in her inbox or on her ‘to-do list’ to keep her occupied for the rest of the morning. Then, noticing her stomach grumbling, she checked the clock and paused for lunch. Thinking back over the debt collection agents’ visit and feeling sorry for the way things had ended up with her and Aidan, she texted Grandma Patty.

  Are you up? Can we Skype today sometime? xxx :-)

  She opened Skype ready for Grandma Patty’s call while she washed up and commenced a blitz on the kitchen. The call came in just before two in the afternoon and she hurried to seat herself at her laptop as a window opened up and her grandmother materialised, smiling, on the screen.

  ‘Hello, Grandma! How are you?’ It was common in north Georgia to call grandparents grandmommy and granddaddy, but with the children growing up in England, Grandma Patty and Grandpa Earl had been chosen instead.

  All Grandma Patty’s laughter lines creased, her silver hair piled up untidily on her head, dark eyes brimming with life. ‘Well now, isn’t this a lovely way to begin the day?’ Her voice was soft and slow. ‘I’m looking forward to hearing all your news, dear.’

  Georgine beamed back, loving the opportunity to chat with this emotionally close, if geographically distant, member of her family. As usual, knowing Grandma Patty was always anxious to hear it, she began with her father’s health, which had been static for some time now, reassuring her grandmother that she usually saw her dad a couple of times a week. Once she thought Patty’s mind was put to rest, she moved on to her own doings. ‘The Christmas show’s really getting into gear. The students are working hard. It’s only just over three weeks to opening night.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘And I just frightened myself to death saying that out loud!’

  Grandma Patty laughed. ‘I have every faith in you. I wish I could see the show myself.’

  Sadness made Georgine’s chest heavy. ‘I wish you could too. Do you still feel travel would be unwise?’

  Patty’s smile faded. ‘I just haven’t felt like it since your Grandpa Earl died, Georgine. My lung condition makes it tricky and you know I had to have oxygen once, so now my doctor doesn’t recommend air travel, which invalidates my health insurance.’

  Not wanting to make an elderly lady feel guilty about her quite understandable limitations, Georgine answered cheerfully. ‘I understand, although it would have been lovely to have you.’ Then she remembered her little sister, who still hadn’t emerged from the only spare bedroom. ‘Blair’s here for a while, but I would’ve sent her to camp out at Dad’s if you visited.’

  Patty’s eyebrows flew up, making her forehead divide into soft lines and furrows. ‘What happened to Warren?’

  Georgine explained, dropping her voice in case Blair had woken and could overhear. ‘We’re still in what I think we should call “a period of adjustment”,’ she concluded wryly.

  Her grandmother gurgled with laughter. ‘I’ll just bet. The two of you have quite different personalities.’ Then she brightened. ‘Say, why don’t you come here soon? It’s been way too long since we saw you. How about on your spring break?’

  ‘Um—’ Georgine felt her heart getting ready to leap for joy, but reality chained it in place. ‘Maybe.’ She’d love to see America again but was totally unable to envisage it unless she won the lottery. And she knew Dad would love to ‘go home’ for a visit. Easter provided her with more than two weeks off. Maybe she could get casual work to earn a little extra and begin a holiday
fund? Her dad wasn’t walking well since his last stroke, but she could ask his doctor’s advice.

  At that moment, the sitting room door opened and Blair wandered in, still in her cute-snake pyjamas, but wearing a much cheerier expression. ‘I heard you say “Grandma” – are you Skyping her?’ She hurried around to stoop over Georgine’s shoulder. ‘Hi, Grandma Patty!’

  Georgine shifted to one side of the chair so Blair could perch on the other, making a three-way chat possible. Blair was always excited by ‘getting in touch with her American side’ as she termed it, demanding details of what was going on in Georgia and letting little Americanisms creep into her speech.

  Patty tried to draw Blair out about Warren. ‘And is there someone else?’ she asked when Blair had given her a brief summary. Grandma Patty had a talent for sounding like a fun confidante rather than a nosy older relative. ‘If not, it won’t be long. You’re so pretty, dear.’

  Blair blossomed under compliments so Georgine let her have the whole chair while she drifted off to put the finishing touches to the weekend clean up in the kitchen, where she could still hear the conversation, returning to the laptop only to bid farewell to Grandma Patty, who had a coffee date with girlfriends to prepare for.

  After the Skype call, Blair proved she was over her morning-grouch mood by making coffee for them both and they curled up on the sofa to chatter about how well Grandma Patty looked. Georgine was happy to let their irritation with each other drift away on the joys of a lazy Sunday afternoon. She was getting used to having her little sister living with her.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Joe was now used to getting himself out of bed at seven a.m. on weekdays, but on Monday he was glad he only had to jog down the outside stairs from his apartment. The icy morning caught his breath as he unlocked the door and gained admittance to the college building.

  It felt great to be back at Acting Instrumental. He hurried along the corridor, encountering Oggie coming the other way, a pen behind one ear. ‘Are you too old to be told to walk instead of run?’ Oggie asked, eyes twinkling. ‘Or are you trying to impress Georgine with punctuality?’