A Christmas Gift

by Sue Moorcroft

  She directed him to where he could cut through on foot to Port Road and he lifted a hand in farewell as he strode away.

  Closing and locking the door, she attached the chain for good measure.

  It was much later in the evening, when she’d eaten a sandwich and watched a couple of episodes of Strictly that it occurred to her that turning up unannounced, like Aidan, was pretty much what Blair had done. No phone call to sound Georgine out, not even a text to say she was on her way.

  Blair had thrown herself on Georgine’s mercy and she’d taken her in. Aidan had tried a similar thing. Did it mean Georgine was easy to manipulate?

  Gnawing on this conundrum, she made two mugs of hot chocolate, checked the back door, then carried both mugs upstairs with the intention of talking to Blair. But when she got to the bedroom door she had to pause to balance one cup on the flat cap of the newel post so she could lift her hand to knock, and she clearly heard Blair’s voice saying, ‘Thanks for taking my shift tonight. My tum’s calmed down so shall I work yours tomorrow night in exchange?’

  Though conscious of eavesdropping, the moment she heard Blair end the call, she knocked on the door and went in.

  Blair glanced up from where she was lying on the bed.

  ‘Sorry to barge in,’ Georgine breezed. ‘I’ve brought you hot choccie. Couldn’t help overhearing … Have you taken an evening job? I thought you’d been out a lot.’

  Blair flushed. ‘Yes. A few evenings in a bar.’

  Georgine perched on one corner of the bed, conscious that her sister living in her house didn’t entitle Georgine to intrude on her privacy. ‘Can you cope with two jobs? It’s no wonder you get tired.’

  Blair sipped her chocolate. ‘Yes. I’m trying to stand on my own two feet financially. I thought you’d be pleased.’ She peeped at Georgine under her lashes.

  Slowly, Georgine nodded. ‘I suppose I am.’ She paused, wanting to say, ‘I might be able to help if …’ But this was the first time Blair had made any attempt to save herself from her overspending. It may have arisen from Georgine being more-than-usually potless, but it was a positive development. So she said, ‘What did you think of Joe?’ instead.

  Blair’s eyebrows gave a waggle. ‘He’s grown up hot, hasn’t he? I remember Rich as being a scraggy little thing.’ The eyebrows gave another waggle, more suggestive this time. ‘More importantly, what do you think of him, taking care of you and suggesting you get new locks? Bit protective, eh? Have you done anything you want to tell me about?’

  Georgine flushed but couldn’t help the smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth. ‘No.’

  ‘But …?’ Blair grinned, reaching out to dig Georgine in the ribs.

  ‘But nothing.’ Georgine moved out of poking range and sipped her hot chocolate so the steam gave her face an excuse to pinken. ‘’Night.’ In her head, a little voice said, But you never know …

  In her own room, throwing herself on her bed, she opened WhatsApp on her phone. She brought up Grandma Patty on her contacts and tapped in, Fancy a chat, Grandma? Grandma Patty evidently did, as her WhatsApp call came straight in, and Georgine spent a happy half hour chatting about the run-through of the Christmas show, a safe and happy subject and one where she felt in control.

  Grandma Patty declared, ‘You must send me some of the video. Oh, my, I so love Christmas!’

  ‘Having visited you in Christmases past and witnessed the house positively blazing with decorations, I know that!’ Georgine laughed. ‘But I love it too.’

  Her grandmother giggled. ‘I paid a neighbour kid ten dollars to set up my illuminated reindeer and sleigh on the lawn already. I wish you could come and see it, dear.’

  ‘Take a picture and send it over,’ Georgine suggested, not wanting to get into the ‘Why don’t you come for Christmas?’ conversation again. ‘Do you have snow? We’ve had flurries.’

  ‘Wouldn’t a white Christmas be lovely?’ Grandma Patty breathed. Georgine could picture her clasping her hands beneath her chin as she did when excited.

  ‘Yes – unless it stops people turning up to my show!’ Georgine exclaimed in mock horror. ‘Good news, by the way – we’re being given a load of costumes and stuff. I’m picking it up at the weekend. The wardrobe guy lives not far from Dad so I’ll be able to pop in and make him lunch first.’

  Grandma Patty sighed. ‘I wish my boy would get better, Georgine.’

  Georgine agreed, though, personally, she’d settle for him not getting worse. There was no point upsetting her grandmother with the implications of that thought though, so before much longer she wound up the conversation.

  But when she did turn out the light she spent a long time staring into the darkness as if her worries had grown wings and were circling overhead.

  Aidan’s bizarre and embarrassing behaviour.

  Blair splitting up with Warren.

  Dad needing care.

  Money.

  Not having begun a single Christmas present yet, or written a card.

  She tried to turn her mind to A Very Kerry Christmas instead but then found she was thinking about Joe. After an uncertain moment, she let those thoughts continue. Despite his past, he’d matured into a self-confident man and a good human being. And he was definitely pleasant to think on. Eventually, she calmed enough to sleep.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Saturday was the first day of December and the weather celebrated with an iron frost, coating everything in what looked like fine white fur. Christmas trees had sprouted in many Middledip windows overnight. Joe noticed them from the taxi taking him to pick up his new car from a dealership on the edge of Bettsbrough.

  They drove through the nice part of town with its grey-and-brown stone buildings alongside the occasional mock Tudor. It wasn’t much like the shabby brick of the Shetland estate of his memories, with its layers of graffiti, where the policy had seemed to be to dump all the problem people in one place. When you were one of those problems, or their powerless offspring, the policy had condemned you to low expectations and provided few positive role models.

  When the taxi dropped him at the gleaming Mercedes showroom, he submerged the bad memories in the satisfying formalities of taking possession of a recent-model sporty black Mercedes GLA. Maybe it was because of his mood, but having time to kill before meeting Georgine, he drove to Manor Road where his mother, Debs, lived. He found a parking space at the rear of the fancifully named Whispering Court, which had been converted from two Victorian houses, The Court and Whispering Leaves. The drive and car park were edged with flowerbeds, the first three floors contained four apartments each and the attic floor two. The rear apartments, except for the ground floor, looked out over a park called Providence Fields and Debs and Mari occupied one of those.

  Joe played with a few of the buttons on the car’s dash before he finally left his new toy. It was a temptation to put it through its paces instead of going through with this visit, but that could wait until he hit the motorway en route for the meeting at Pete’s tomorrow. Three and a half weeks he’d been staying in his apartment at Acting Instrumental but he’d yet to tell Debs he was living nearby.

  Unfortunately, his conscience knew.

  Their relationship would never be warm but he understood now that alcoholism was a disease. Could you blame someone for suffering from a disease? He’d discovered he could at least forgive her … now she could no longer hurt him.

  He used his key to access the back way in to Whispering Court and took the stairs to the fourth floor, pausing on each landing to look out over Providence Fields. The bandstand’s domed lead roof was a paler grey on the shady side, where the frost had yet to melt. Horse chestnut trees stretched their branches as if to shake off the final few brown leaves. Although it was hidden from his view, he knew that the Shetland estate was less than a mile beyond Providence Fields.

  He carried on up the stairs. Time enough to face Shitland when he met Georgine there at two.

  Soon he reached the apartment whe
re a brass number fourteen shone on the door. He rang the bell, triggering a volley of excited barking from behind the door. As it was Debs and Mari’s home, he never let himself in, though he’d retained ownership of the place to prevent it ever being exchanged for a lifetime’s supply of lager.

  The door opened to reveal Mari’s beaming face and silver curls atop her plump body. At her feet, Bernie the black-and-white Jack Russell abandoned his enthusiastic yapping in favour of his friendship dance, pirouetting with excitement, ears back and tail a blur.

  ‘It is you!’ exclaimed Mari. ‘We were looking out of the window and thought we saw you getting out of a car.’ She stepped back to welcome him in, opening her arms.

  Joe gave her a hug. ‘Hi, good to see you.’ Mari had lived in Scotland all through his childhood, her husband’s career having taken them there. When the husband moved on in favour of, as Mari put it wrathfully, ‘a thinner woman!’ she was happy to move to Bettsbrough and be Debs’ stabilising influence. She also notified Joe if Debs sparked rows. It had been three years since Debs had been on a bender, but sobriety brought occasional mood swings when encountering certain neighbours or almost any sign of authority – from police officers to doormen.

  ‘How is she?’ he murmured, pulling off his coat then giving in to Bernie’s desperate pleas for attention and crouching down to pet him.

  Mari replied in an under-voice. ‘Bit emotional. No lapses, though.’

  Joe nodded. ‘Lapses’ was the term Mari used to indicate Debs drinking alcohol. Mari and Joe did their best to help avoid ‘lapses’ by controlling Debs’ finances and keeping out of her orbit small items of value that might easily be sold for ready cash. Luckily, Debs saw Mari as her dear friend and ally, and far from resenting Mari’s company, was happy for them to spend most of their time together. Joe thought Debs would probably be dead by now if not for the benevolent guidance of her cousin.

  ‘Is that you, Johnjoe?’ called an uncertain voice from the sitting room.

  With a last pat for Bernie, who bounded ahead as if it was his job to announce visitors, Joe made his way down the hall. ‘Yes, it’s me. How are you doing?’

  ‘All right.’ Debs was curled at one end of the sofa. She didn’t get up to embrace Joe. If he really scoured his memory he thought she’d probably last cuddled him when he was five. Joe could still hear Garrit snapping, ‘Don’t coddle the boy, he’ll grow up soft.’ Joe had grown up hard enough not to stoop down and hug her either.

  He sat down on a chair instead, accepting with thanks Mari’s offer of a cup of tea, not because he wanted one but because drinking it would give him a reason to stay for a worthwhile period. ‘Bernie looks well,’ he observed.

  Debs brightened. ‘He’s a lovely little boy. Aren’t you, Bern?’ Her voice became a coo. ‘Who’s my ickle boy?’

  Bernie jumped up on her lap, waggling his entire rear end in joy at his human’s sugary tone. Obviously, Joe thought idly, he should have been born a Jack Russell. Debs fed Bernie twice a day and hardly ever lost her temper with him. Lucky Bernie. ‘I suppose walking him gets you out most days?’

  Debs’ smile broadened. ‘Yes, we take him to the park, don’t we, Mari? Or we go out in Mari’s car and take him with us. We went to Hunstanton in September. He loved the beach.’

  Joe accepted a bright blue mug from Mari and took several sips of tea, the sting of the scalding liquid preferable to voicing his thoughts. If he hadn’t known that he was on the beach when his father drowned, he’d believe he’d never seen the sea for his first fourteen years.

  Deep breath. Quell the bitterness. She’s an alcoholic. She probably feels safe expressing love for a dog. Dogs are uncomplicated. They offer unconditional love. You don’t offer her love at all. ‘I’m working up here for a bit,’ he said, and talked about Acting Instrumental and the Christmas show. Debs didn’t express interest in attending and he didn’t invite her.

  ‘What about The Hungry Years?’ Her hands moved constantly, caressing Bernie’s silky ears.

  ‘Tricky stuff to sort out there,’ he said briefly.

  Mari joined in the conversation. ‘We’ve got nice fresh ham, if you fancy lunch.’

  Probably because the band’s name made him think of hunger, and hunger reminded him of how Debs had let him down, he was a touch too hasty in his refusal. ‘Thanks, but I have plans.’ A shadow passed over Debs’ face. Her hands changed their rhythm, stroking Bernie with long movements from his head to haunches, faster and faster. Bernie dipped his back as if not certain he liked it.

  Joe recognised the signs of agitation but didn’t alter his decision. It wasn’t that Debs really wanted Joe to stay for lunch. Reading a slight into his refusal was a sign that she was feeling combative. ‘Do you hate me because I let Shaun Blackthorn take you away?’ she demanded suddenly.

  ‘No,’ he replied frankly. She occasionally confronted their joint past like this and he’d never skirt the issue, even if she seemed to be spoiling for an argument. That would be protecting her from her failures to protect him. ‘It was the best thing you could have done for me.’

  Bernie wriggled out from beneath Debs’ stroking hands, jumping to the floor and giving himself a good shake before trotting off to his bed beside the radiator.

  Debs regarded Joe fiercely. ‘Before I met Garrit I was reduced to living in a car. With you. Life wasn’t easy.’

  Joe nodded. ‘Perhaps you could have told the Blackthorns about me? They might have paid you an allowance to enable you to bring me up.’

  ‘Or they might have taken you away!’ Her eyes began to redden.

  Joe kept his voice even. ‘Which they did in the end, so you could have saved us all a lot of trouble. This isn’t a new conversation, Mum.’ He watched her pick up a sofa cushion and squeeze it. Maybe Bernie knew what he was doing when he jumped down before she reached the squeezing stage.

  ‘I was too young when I had you. I was scared of the Blackthorns. They didn’t like me.’

  ‘I know.’ That was the truth. ‘It doesn’t matter how many times we go over it, we can’t change the past, Mum. At least my childhood taught me to be self-sufficient and to appreciate life when it was good. And we’re both in a better place now.’ He drained his cup and rose, relieved that he’d been there for nearly half an hour and could leave. ‘See you in a while. Take care.’

  ‘Bye,’ she said, heaving a sigh and tucking the cushion between her cheek and the wing of the sofa.

  Mari and Bernie both got up to see Joe to the door, Mari looking uncomfortable. ‘In some ways it’s easier when she pretends that part of your lives never existed,’ she said softly.

  ‘Easier on her state of mind, maybe,’ he agreed. After saying he’d be at the end of a phone if Mari needed him, he ran lightly down the four flights to ground level and into the car park. He jumped into the car and pressed the button that made the engine burst into life, then he bowled out of the car park. Perhaps it made him a horrible person but he felt relieved his duty was done.

  The clock on the dash said it was nearly one, which left an hour before he was to meet Georgine. He drove to a new retail park he’d noticed near the town football ground. There he had a choice of a pub, McDonald’s and Pizza Hut. He chose the pub because, it being Saturday, the other two would be overrun with kids getting overexcited at the Christmas decorations festooning every shop and shouting optimistic Christmas lists to each other.

  In the pub he took a small table in the restaurant and ordered the Christmas panini, which proved to be chopped turkey and sausage with stuffing, and fries. It wasn’t the healthiest option on the menu but, hey. Christmas spirit. He even drank cranberry juice.

  While he ate, he read Kerrang!’s website on his phone, checking out who was headlining at Reading and Leeds next year. The Hungry Years had headlined at Leeds last year as Fall Out Boy and Panic! at the Disco were this year—

  His mind jumped tracks. Shit. The Hungry Years would know those triumphs again, but would he be part of the line-up?


  He examined his feelings. For a moment there he’d almost known his mind, known he wanted to sort things out with Billy, Nathan, Raf and Liam, even with Pete the Beat. Then he thought of tomorrow’s meeting leading to him leaving Acting Instrumental, not seeing A Very Kerry Christmas through to opening night.

  Not seeing Georgine …

  Georgine! He looked at his watch, waved at the waitress to show he was leaving twenty pounds on the table for his meal, acknowledging her delighted smile at his overpaying by more than eight pounds. An early Christmas tip.

  He was soon on his way to the Shetland estate and even the sight of two familiar water tanks on familiar blocks of flats didn’t blacken his mood.

  Here it was, he thought as he pulled into a car park and switched off his engine. Shitland. He got out and locked his car, looking around. Everything looked better than he remembered. There was hardly any graffiti decorating the walls and he couldn’t see a single burned-out car. Several of the old blocks of flats had been replaced with long rows of terraces or maisonettes with their own garages underneath.

  A hundred yards away he could see a children’s playground and a grassy area currently home to a noisy bat-and-ball game. He didn’t realise Georgine had arrived until she spoke from behind him. ‘Nostalgic?’

  He spun around. She wore a green knitted hat and it brought out the colour of her eyes. ‘No!’ he said. ‘But the estate looks a lot better these days. I didn’t hear your car.’

  She pushed her hands up the sleeves of her coat, a sort of bronzy, puffy thing with fur around the hood. Her hair blazed in the winter sun. ‘I’ve just cooked Dad lunch. He lives in one of the blocks of flats for over sixties. They’re on the edge of the estate, but not far enough away to make it worth moving my car yet.’

  His eyes followed her pointing finger. At the top of a flight of concrete steps stood some newer blocks with their own parking area, heavily decorated with disabled notices. It looked pretty OK, but he still had trouble imagining the Randall France he remembered living on the Shetland estate.