STOCKINGS AND CELLULITE

by Debbie Viggiano

  ‘Not sure if that will be possible with Morag’s assets,’ I arched an eyebrow while breaking cellotape with my teeth. ‘Come out of that larder Mr Mackerel and give me a hand with these presents.’

  Just after midnight we surveyed with satisfaction a sea of colourful packages.

  ‘Nightcap?’ asked Jamie.

  ‘Please,’ I stretched my arms up above my head, unkinking muscles. Neatly written name tags were taped on my pile of stocking presents. I glanced at Jamie’s contribution and froze.

  ‘Um, darling? Which present belongs to whom?’

  Jamie looked in bewilderment at his pile. ‘Gosh I don’t know Cassie. I just did as I was told and wrapped the blasted things.’

  ‘Yes but you were meant to label them. As in: To Jonas Love from Father Christmas.’

  ‘Well never mind. The children will just have to open them on Christmas morning and do swapsies.’

  ‘Uh-uh,’ I shook my head. ‘I’m not having Third World War breaking out because Livvy has unwrapped Toby’s Play Station game or Jonas has opened Petra’s lip gloss and nail polishes.’

  ‘Jonas is displaying all the signs of full blown rebellion. I’m not entirely sure he’d be displeased with lip gloss and nail polish.’

  ‘Get unwrapping.’

  ‘You’re joking.’

  ‘Am I laughing?’

  ‘You’re not laughing.’

  ‘So I’m not joking.’

  Suddenly it was Christmas Eve morning. Morag and I met up outside the Bridal Shop at Fairview. Morag had insisted we try on the dresses again to be absolutely sure the alterations were correct.

  ‘Well if they’re not, it’s too late to worry about it,’ I pointed out as I wiggled into the soft sheath of fabric. ‘Good heavens, did the seamstress alter this dress?’ I gazed in dismay at my abdomen. Carrying off a gown like this required a flat tummy.

  ‘Both ge-owns have been altered,’ the Manageress looked down her nose.

  ‘We’ll go to the lingerie shop,’ said Morag. ‘They do fabulous all-in-one body supports.’

  An hour later my figure was sorted.

  ‘Thank goodness for that,’ Morag heaved a sigh. ‘I must dash Cass, I’ve got a few last minute things to buy. See you tomorrow for Christmas dinner.’

  Back home, I unpacked my figure-saving secret weapon and laid it reverently upon the bed. The nude-coloured all-in-one was an ingenious work of engineering moulding bosoms aloft, tummies inward and botties upward.

  ‘What’s that?’ asked Livvy bursting into my bedroom without knocking.

  ‘Do not touch!’ I shrieked as her hand hovered over the all-in-one. ‘It’s special lingerie to make me look slimmer.’

  ‘Aw, you’re not fat Mum.’ My sweet child. ‘You’re just a bit saggy.’

  Livvy was right. I needed to join a gym. I’d make it my New Year’s Resolution. Sit on one of those rowing machines and whip the oars backwards and forwards so frenziedly that the blasted contraption would break its metal moorings and set sail right across the gym floor. My irritation was interrupted by a commotion coming from the kitchen downstairs.

  I hid the all-in-one under the duvet and went downstairs to investigate. All four children were excitedly clamouring around Edna who had set down on the kitchen table a whopping homemade Yule log so richly decorated that the very thought of putting a slice to my lips made me want to heave.

  By early evening all the Christmas presents had been stacked around the tree. There was such a glut of parcels we resorted to bricking up the tree with blocks of presents so that, eventually, only the star at the very top remained visible.

  Wallace and Gromit, instead of swinging from the banister, could now simply step off the staircase onto the uppermost ledge of parcels. I held my breath as the pair of them daintily tip-toed along, damp noses sniffing and exploring, waiting for instant demolition, but it never came. With nimble dexterity they concluded their investigation and threaded their way back between the staircase spindles. I slowly exhaled and sent up a silent prayer that both tree and presents would remain intact for the next twenty four hours.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Dinner that evening was a jolly affair until Jamie reminded us to wrap up warmly for Midnight Mass. The children instantly groaned. I almost groaned with them. All I really wanted to do was snuggle up in front of the telly cuddling a cushion and holding the remote control.

  ‘I’ll give it a miss if you don’t mind Jamie dear,’ murmured Edna. ‘It’s been a long day one way or another.’

  ‘Good idea,’ I nodded. ‘I’ll stay behind and keep you company Edna.’

  ‘Don’t be daft Cassie. Mum’s going to have an early night. There’s no need for you to keep her company.’

  Edna smiled. ‘Of course you must go Cassandra dear, I wouldn’t dream of spoiling your family time.’

  ‘Oh. Well, if you’re absolutely sure.’

  Jamie was in high spirits as we drove to St Michael’s.

  ‘Isn’t this wonderful?’ he enthused, seemingly impervious to the wall of stony silence within the car. ‘We’re about to pay our own personal homage to Baby Jesus.’

  ‘Will it take long?’ asked Petra as the car swung into the church’s grounds.

  ‘About half an hour,’ replied Jamie ignoring his daughter’s sulky face as he led the way into the church.

  Ignorantly I’d been expecting a meagre gathering. Instead the church was packed with people. The congregation sat, eerily quiet, heads bowed, palms pressed together, as they silently conversed with Him. The air was thick with the smell of incense and the only light was that which issued from hundreds of flickering candles. The very pores of the ancient stone walls reeked of holiness.

  I glanced about fearfully, half expecting Angel Gabriel to swoop low and soar over my shoulders. Instead I spotted Nell in the front pew and – good grief – wasn’t that Rocket sitting next to her? I couldn’t see Ben and Dylan but that was hardly surprising as church wasn’t Ben’s cup of tea. Nell’s pursuit of religion had intensified recently, along with her crush on the funky vicar who counted pets amongst his faithful followers.

  My eyes pinged back to Rocket. No! Surely a dog wasn’t here to take Communion! Sure enough, a second sweeping glance of the congregation revealed a few other pooches sitting quietly by owners’ feet. There was even the odd cat blinking owlishly within its travelling basket. Which could only mean one thing – the ghastly Clive was about to take Midnight Mass.

  I opened my mouth to tell Jamie but at that precise moment he pushed me toward the last available pew and, before I could utter one word, the choir appeared at the entrance. They launched into a chanting incantation so hauntingly beautiful the hairs on the back of my neck prickled.

  Dressed from head to toe in long red gowns, white collars and cuffs, the choir walked in a steady line with hymn sheets held aloft before filtering both left and right of the altar, all the while maintaining their melody. Somewhere a lonely flute joined in and a few bars later a piccolo struck the higher sweeter notes. For a while I was completely lost.

  Half an hour later a monumental desire to fidget took over. The choir were still chanting. The children had fallen asleep. Eventually three bespectacled men appeared at the rear of the church, dressed not dissimilarly to the choir, but bearing what appeared to be copper buckets attached to fishing rods. I watched as they glided down the aisle, buckets clanking, wafting incense. The scent caught in my throat and I immediately went into a paroxysm of coughing.

  ‘Ssh,’ whispered Jamie as a woman in front turned to glare disapprovingly.

  I’d just about recovered when Clive made his entrance. A vision in cream damask and gold stripes, he stood framed in the imposing archway looking like a cross between the Archbishop of Canterbury and a games show host. Mincing imperiously down the aisle, he ascended the pulpit as the choir ceased their song.

  We were now forty-five minutes into a service that had clearly only just begun. Clive opened his mouth to speak
but for some reason his speech came out as song. Not melodious you understand. No. It was just the one note. Initially I didn’t understand a word. It sounded like ‘Give me an Eeeeee’. The congregation were all knowing because, pitching perfectly, they responded likewise. Except instead of singing ‘Eeeeee’ they sang ‘Aye’. Or possibly ‘Yea’.

  I concentrated on the tuneless mumbo-jumbo. Ah. Clive appeared to have welcomed everybody to St. Michael’s. And pets too. He then monotonously sang out his best wishes hoping the congregation would have a warm and wonderful Christmas in the bosom of their families. I immediately thought of Morag and wondered what effect her bosoms would have on Stevie over Christmas dinner.

  Hymn after hymn unfolded broken up only by bible readings. The children slept on. Eventually Clive invited the congregation to form two lines for Communion and a blessing. I noted with alarm that even the animals were queuing. First in line was Nell with Rocket sitting obediently to heel.

  ‘Come on,’ Jamie nudged me.

  ‘I’m not drinking from that chalice after Rocket’s slobbered in it.’

  ‘Rocket isn’t taking Communion, she’s just having a blessing.’

  ‘Well I’m still not drinking from that vessel,’ I dug my heels in. ‘The thought of all these people,’ I waved my arms expansively, ‘slurping from the same cup with their gingivitis and germs-’

  The woman in front turned round indignantly. ‘Why did you bother to come?’ she bristled furiously.

  ‘I do apologise,’ Jamie soothed whilst steering me into the aisle. ‘She’s not quite herself at the moment. Brought her here for healing as a matter of fact.’

  ‘Jamie let go of my arm!’ I hissed as he manoeuvred me to the far side of the church.

  ‘Cassie would you just stay here and try not to upset anybody, okay? I’m going to wake the children up.’

  We drove home in silence, everybody shattered. Jamie ushered four white faced children up the stairs while I retrieved hidden Christmas stockings. But as I walked through the kitchen I let out a gasp of dismay. Edna’s chocolate Yule log, left on the kitchen table, had been dissected by Wallace and Gromit. They looked at me guiltily from under the table. Chocolate sponge had been dragged across the worktops and fondant paw prints smudged across the floor. The robin, made entirely of marzipan, had been mistaken for the real thing and lay in a mangled mess next to Gromit.

  ‘You naughty cats,’ I admonished just as Wallace regurgitated a sprig of plastic holly.

  It was gone three in the morning by the time I’d cleared up and staggered, exhausted, up the stairs. Jamie was still awake. ‘Father Christmas has delivered the stockings,’ he grinned.

  ‘Yes, I spotted them hanging off the kids’ door handles,’ I replied kicking off my shoes.

  ‘And ho ho ho! What is Father Christmas hiding under the duvet?’

  My shoulders sagged. The last thing I wanted was a sexual marathon. I would have to bully Morag into another supply of aphrodisiac pills. I’d bet my last pound that even now she was bonking an exhausted Matt absolutely senseless. Probably dressed in a baby doll Santa outfit with strategically placed pom-poms.

  ‘It’s only tiny Cassie.’

  ‘Is it?’ I asked in surprise.

  Jamie flipped back the duvet revealing a small square box.

  ‘For you darling,’ he nudged it toward me. ‘And what’s this little mound hiding under the cover? A gift from Mrs Christmas? Good Lord Cassie, what on earth is this?’

  ‘Give that to me,’ I snatched the all-in-one dangling between his thumb and forefinger. ‘That cost the best part of eighty quid.’

  ‘But what is it?’

  ‘My body.’

  ‘Your body?’

  ‘It’s a special item of clothing to make me look thin,’ I tucked the garment into a bedside drawer.

  ‘Er, right. Well are you going to open this? Happy Christmas darling!’

  I lifted the lid and bit my lip.

  ‘Oh Jamie. It’s gorgeous.’

  ‘Try it on.’

  The platinum eternity ring contained an uninterrupted circle of diamonds. I slipped it onto my third finger where it beautifully complimented my engagement ring.

  ‘Wow,’ I exhaled slowly.

  ‘I know Christmas Day will be manic so I wanted to give this to you in a quiet moment. After Christmas we’ll sort out our wedding, okay?’

  ‘Okay,’ I smiled up at him. ‘And now for your present darling.’

  ‘Is it that body thing?’ asked Jamie nervously, ‘I mean I’m chuffed to bits if it makes you feel thin and fab Cassie, but really and truly it’s not my cup of tea. I’d much prefer the sexy French Maid approach or even a Naughty Nurse or – ouch what are you doing? I didn’t mean it – aargh – geddoff, I love your body, especially the all-in-one body, just stop beating me with that pillow.’

  And suddenly it was Christmas Day proper.

  After four hours of sleep, I was awoken by excited whoops and shrieks issuing from various bedrooms along the landing. Seconds later the children burst in with Jamie bringing up the rear, bearing a breakfast tray.

  ‘I didn’t hear you get up,’ I rubbed the sleep from my eyes.

  ‘Not surprised, you were snoring for England.’

  ‘Look Mum!’ squeaked Livvy biffing me on the nose with her lumpy stocking.

  A happy ten minutes followed as all the kids quickly emptied their stockings. Thankfully the Gadget Shop and Claire’s Accessories did their stuff.

  Jamie emerged from the bathroom, washed and dressed.

  ‘Right,’ he rubbed his hands together enthusiastically. ‘A quick trip to the stables I think. You’re coming too Cassie.’

  At Matt’s yard it was almost like any other day as stable girls whisked about swiftly mucking out looseboxes, but there was an added sparkle in the air. As Jamie led us down the L shaped yard he paused between two stable doors. As if on cue, Smokey stuck his head over the door, munching hay and dropping it untidily everywhere. His ears pricked forward dislodging some tinsel decorating his head collar. A handwritten label dangled from the collar’s buckle. Seconds later a larger and rather more superior equine head emerged over another door. This horse also wore a decorated halter with an identical label.

  ‘Happy Christmas kids,’ said Jamie gruffly.

  ‘Oh my God!’ screeched Petra. ‘It’s Honey. Oh Dad! Is she really ours?’

  Petra flung her arms around the mare’s neck. ‘Matt’s been letting us ride her, she’s wonderful.’ She kissed the mare’s nose delightedly as Jonas, his face wreathed in smiles, patted the mare’s neck.

  ‘Liv? Toby?’ prompted Jamie. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘You mean Smokey is ours?’ asked Livvy in disbelief.

  ‘Have a peek at that label and see what it says,’ replied Jamie hugging me tight. I squeezed him back. Hard. Resorted to rapid blinking as my eyes seemed to be watering rather dramatically.

  Back home, Edna had already manhandled two turkeys into the range and was up to her efficient armpits in potato peelings.

  ‘When can we open the rest of the presents?’ the children clamoured.

  ‘When our guests are here and after dinner,’ said Jamie.

  The children made themselves scarce whilst Jamie and I pushed tables together, arranged chairs and stools, folded napkins, polished crystal and decorated the table centrepiece with an enormous phallic candle.

  The doorbell rang. Heavens, were guests arriving already?

  Morag and Matt came into the hall, four teenagers trailing in their wake. Morag was already rosy cheeked with a head start on alcohol. She tripped over the doorstep and giggled tipsily before rearranging her ample décolletage within the confines of a plunging sweater. Our children greeted Matt’s offspring like long lost soul mates and spirited them away upstairs. Seconds later the sound of Florence and the Machine reverberated through the house.

  ‘Let’s go into the lounge,’ Jamie invited. ‘It will be quieter and a little more civilised.’ />
  ‘Oh let’s not be too civilised,’ gushed Morag prodding Jamie playfully in the chest. ‘It’s party time. Let’s crack open the bubbly eh?’

  Matt dumped half a dozen bottles of ice-cold champagne on the sideboard.

  ‘Chilled and raring to go,’ he declared as the first cork shot off with a bang.

  The doorbell rang again. This time it was Stevie and Charlotte.

  ‘Enchanté,’ gushed Stevie taking Morag’s hand and bending over to impart a lingering kiss on her knuckles. His eyes immediately swivelled up and alighted on her enormous attributes. There is only so long a man can boggle at bosoms without being over obvious. Regrettably, words like tact or discretion were never part of Stevie’s vocabulary. His expression was an open book as his face registered the more simplified jargon of tits, big tits and whopping great tits of which Morag’s were most definitely the latter.

  His behaviour was not lost on Charlotte. She stood there looking pretty amazing herself but wearing a distinctly chilly expression. Sensing trouble, I zoomed over and pressed a champagne flute into her hand just as the doorbell rang again.

  ‘Nell!’

  ‘Cass!’ she shrieked as we hugged.

  Ben and Dylan followed Nell in with Rocket bringing up the rear, wagging her tail politely. And then my eyes alighted on an unexpectedly familiar man’s face. A man that surely Jamie hadn’t invited and I certainly hadn’t.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind,’ Nell hissed in my ear, ‘but he has no immediate family.’

  ‘Hello Clive,’ I said stiffly.

  ‘I told you she wouldn’t mind,’ Nell beamed up at Clive. ‘The more the merrier eh?’

  The more the merrier? With the Ratty Reverend? I was amazed he’d even deigned to dangle a polished brown brogue across my threshold.

  ‘Clive!’ Jamie stepped in to rescue the awkward moment. ‘Jolly good to see you matey,’ he pumped the vicar’s limp hand. Clive appeared to swoon.

  Not for the first time I wondered which way the vicar swung. Nell also appeared to be swooning. Her pupils were dilated with eye lashes batting faster than a cricket team as she visibly palpitated in Clive’s direction. Clive appeared to be mimicking Nell, but his own hot looks were being lobbed in Jamie’s direction.