by Suzy K Quinn
When Nick finally showed up, he had that wet-eyed smiley look that told me he’d already had a few drinks.
He did a double take when he saw me and said, ‘Wow. You look amazing.’
I was wearing a silk dress, cashmere coat and suede knee-high boots. And I did look nice, even if I do say so myself.
I didn’t tell Nick that he’d paid for my outfit.
Nick ordered a double Monkey Shoulder on the rocks, then slurred at me about how fantastic the other night had been.
I told him off for being late. Daisy was getting near shitty hour and would soon be crying inconsolably.
She’d already started grizzling like a fire alarm running out of batteries.
Nick gave me his dazzling Nick smile – the kind of smile he used in the old days. When we first got together. He said, ‘Look, listen. Are we really going to do all this legal stuff? Solicitors and all of that? I want you back, Julesy. I want my family back.’
He said that if it went to court, he’d be financially ‘well out of pocket’.
The trouble with being an actor, he explained, is that it comes with loads of expenses people don’t realise. Like buying drinks in swanky places. And nice clothes.
Nick said, ‘How about we put all that legal shit on hold? Then we can figure out when you’re going to move back in. Maybe you should be the one to break the news to Sadie. She gets pretty violent with me …’
He grinned at Daisy and said, ‘What do you think, Daisy boo? You think that’s a good idea? Mummy and Daddy together again? Good idea? Yes?’
He took my hand, held it to his chest and said, ‘Didn’t you love me once?’
I said yes. But not anymore. And I meant it.
Daisy’s little hand reached out and grabbed my finger.
She gave me the sweetest, loveliest little smile.
I thought, What am I doing here? With this idiot?
So I told Nick that this was a mistake. That I shouldn’t have come. And that from now on, if he wanted to speak to me, he needed to do it through my solicitor.
Nick didn’t answer. Just scowled at his drink.
I would have made a dignified, strong-woman exit. Except on the way out, Daisy grabbed some woman’s beige cashmere coat and rubbed her nose back and forth on the lining.
When I got outside, it was snowing. Really heavily. Big, fat snow flakes tumbled from the sky by the bucketload.
The privet hedges and black railings around Soho Square had turned white, snow twirled in the sky under bright yellow Christmas lights and London looked like a magical scene from Harry Potter.
For a moment, my head was full of poetic words about the majestic soft, swirling flakes.
Then I tried to push the stroller and started swearing.
‘Bloody, fucking … these wheels … come on! Stupid pushchair!’
It took me a full ten minutes to get to the top of the street.
Then I saw Sadie.
She must have been on her way to see Nick.
It was one of those horrible moments where we both saw each other at exactly the same time, so neither of us could do anything other than keep walking forward.
Except I wasn’t really walking. I was doing a sort of ‘shove, lift, shove, lift’ thing with the stroller in the snow.
Sadie looked awful. Pasty skin, spotty and pudgy looking. She definitely didn’t have the pregnancy glow anymore.
The smock maternity coat she wore was all bobbled around the stomach. Her hair was limp and thin. And she was lumbering along in Ugg boots, knees turned out. I’ve never seen her in flat shoes before. She’s got quite short legs really.
Sadie pretended to see something across the street and did a little waddling detour.
She really is a terrible actress. Very unbelievable. No wonder she only gets parts by sleeping with directors.
By the time I got to the train station, the snow was a blizzard.
I was covered. So was the stroller.
I was so worried about Daisy getting cold.
And then I discovered all the trains were cancelled.
Double bollocks.
Rang Althea, wondering if she had any bright ideas.
Althea is like an encyclopaedia of London transport. She always knows which train station you can detour from, or whether a bus would be better.
She told me London transport was ‘buggered’, including trains, buses and taxis.
Apparently, the roads around Great Oakley were blocked too.
I phoned Laura, and she said to stay put and she’d come meet me. But in the meantime, I should try and book myself a hotel.
After dragging the stroller to every hotel around the station and finding them full (I even tried the King’s Cross Dalton and humiliatingly name-dropped Alex and Zachary), I sat on a bench in King’s Cross with a howling Daisy in my arms, wondering what I was going to do.
More and more people bundled into the station, covered in thick snow. It really was coming down. And it was freezing cold. Daisy’s cheeks were a sort of bluish colour. She had a snuffly nose and kept doing little fairy sneezes.
A band of church carol singers started singing by the coffee kiosk, I think in a bid to cheer us all up. But actually, the low tones of ‘Silent Night’ had an eerie Armageddon quality.
To be honest, I was feeling a bit scared. People were getting angry, shouting about the end of days. And some teenagers smashed WHSmith’s window.
I tried to call Laura again, but the signal was down. The whole network was jammed. I texted to say I was still at King’s Cross, but got no reply.
Daisy and I sat and waited – me eyeballing the train timetables like a crazy woman. But the same message kept flashing up over and over:
‘Happy Christmas! All Services Cancelled.’
I cuddled Daisy inside my coat, but I was still worried about the cold.
I knew things were bad when the Red Cross turned up with blankets – threadbare ones that looked distinctly Victorian orphanage.
I always thought I’d be dignified and polite in an emergency. But as soon as I saw the Red Cross man, I started yelling, ‘Over here! OVER HERE! HEY! I HAVE A BLOODY BABY, I NEED A BLANKET MORE THAN HE DOES!’
Then a deep voice behind me said, ‘Juliette. Here. I have a blanket for you.’
I turned around.
It was Alex. All tall and handsome in a black wool coat and leather gloves. Holding a fluffy beige blanket that looked a lot warmer than the Red Cross ones.
I said, ‘What are you doing here?’
He wrapped the blanket around me and Daisy and said, ‘Your sister told Zachary you were stuck. And he knew I was in the area. I’m taking you to the King’s Cross Dalton.’
I said, ‘But it’s full.’
Alex said, ‘Not for me it’s not.’
The hotel was like being in a Christmas movie – huge roaring log fire and big, thick carpets.
Lots of people were pretending to read newspapers. I got the feeling they weren’t actually staying in the hotel, but had snuck in to hide from the storm.
Daisy fell asleep as soon as she felt the warmth of the fire.
Then Alex took us to the Royal Suite on the top floor.
It was twice the size of Helen’s London apartment.
I kept saying thank you, but Alex got annoyed and said, ‘I heard you the first time. And the fourth.’
Then he asked about Daisy – whether she’d be okay sleeping in a strange place.
I told him she’d be fine. In fact, once I saw the suite, I decided she probably wouldn’t want to go home.
One bedroom (yes – there was more than one) was made up with a cot and a load of posh baby things. Organic cotton wool, brushed cotton babygros, herbal baby shampoo …
Daisy woke up and looked a bit scared. I could tell she was getting ready to howl, so I started bending my knees and shushing her.
Alex said, ‘Here. I’ll do that. You’re tired.’
I said, ‘I really don’t think that’s
a good idea. She doesn’t like new people when she’s tired.’
But Alex just said, ‘I’m not a new person.’ He put Daisy on his shoulder and within a minute she’d fallen asleep again.
After Alex had laid Daisy in the cot, he asked if I wanted supper.
I said, ‘Is supper like tea?’
He said, ‘Tea? As in a cup of tea?’
I said, ‘No. Tea. The meal you have in the evening.’
He said, ‘You mean dinner?’
I said, ‘No, you have dinner at lunch time, don’t you?’
He said, ‘No. That would be lunch. Dinner you have in the evening.’
I said, ‘What’s supper then?’
He said, ‘Informal dinner.’
I still don’t quite get it …
But anyway, supper turned out to be beef stew with dumplings, a cheese board and a chocolate fondant pudding. Under big silver dome things.
Before the food arrived, Alex poured me a glass of brandy.
I said, ‘You should have one too.’
He said, ‘No. I should be going.’
I said, ‘Oh go on. It’s so nice to see you.’
He sort of half smiled. And poured himself a brandy.
We stood by the window and watched the snow falling.
London was totally still and silent. No cars. No people. Just soft, white flakes falling on tiles and red brick.
I’ve never seen the city so beautiful. All the sharp edges gone and everything was soft and white. Snow twirled past the windowpane while Alex and I watched it dancing.
Then Alex asked why I hadn’t thought to check the weather forecast before coming to London.
I told him I was meeting Nick.
Alex went all stern and said, ‘Didn’t he think to check the weather?’
I told him he was mistaking Nick for someone considerate.
I said, ‘Listen, about Nick –’
Alex said, ‘Look, I understand. The best man is Daisy’s father. And always will be. I’m not going to interfere.’
I tried to explain again about Nick coming round that night, but Alex got all angry and said, ‘I don’t want to talk about this anymore, Juliette.’
Then he said he had to go. The hotel was swamped and he needed to help out, but he told me to call room service if I needed anything.
Felt really sad when he left. Because I could tell he’d sort of closed himself off from me. He was all cold and distant. And I realised how much I missed the old Alex. The one I went running with.
Still. I made the best of things.
Ate all the stew, cheeseboard, fondant pudding. Drank quite a bit of brandy. Watched The Real Housewives of Orange County on the great big flat-screen telly. And generally had a nice time, except I couldn’t help wishing Alex had stayed.
Sunday December 20th
Daisy slept in until half past seven this morning!
Must be something to do with the big thick hotel curtains.
Had fresh croissants for breakfast, courtesy of room service. (Daisy made a real mess of hers – it took AGES to pick croissant crumbs out of the thick-enough-to-lose-your-shoes carpet).
Before we left, I asked the receptionist if Mr Dalton was around so we could thank him. But she said he’d left earlier this morning.
I felt like a soggy balloon.
Alex had arranged a car to take us back to Great Oakley.
Apparently, he’d been very insistent about putting the baby seat in the back. And having water and food in the car, in case there were any delays on the road.
Then the receptionist went on about how thoughtful Alex was and how she loved working for him. ‘He’s a wonderful employer,’ she said. ‘Always thinking of other people.’
I’m not sure I can handle thinking of Alex as a nice man. It was bad enough when he was just drop-dead gorgeous. But nice too?
The car ride back was lovely. But all I could think about was Alex. And at times, what Alex looks like with no clothes on.
Monday December 21st
Will NOT text Alex or anything stupid like that.
I’ve tried to explain about Nick. He doesn’t believe me. And as Althea says, that should tell me everything I need to know.
She said, ‘If a man doesn’t trust you, forget it. Move on. Find someone better.’
The trouble is, I can’t think of anyone better than Alex.
Still haven’t done my Christmas shopping.
I used to be so organised.
It’s like my brain has been stolen and replaced with Nana Joan’s.
Which reminds me – Nana Joan!
Need to arrange getting her to the pub for Christmas dinner.
Because so many kids think Santa’s Grotto is in our back garden, Dad put his Santa suit on today and let the kids in for some free (only slightly out-of-date) packets of crisps.
He was the most efficient Santa I ever saw, getting the children in an orderly queue and giving them all exactly one minute and thirty seconds to tell him what they wanted for Christmas.
Then Mum came out with a big bowl of pick-and-mix sweets and let them all go mad on Callum’s big trampoline.
When the kids left, we had baked Camembert with cranberry bread, lit the coal fire and sang carols for Callum and Daisy. It would have been a perfect, twee family moment, except that Callum switched the word ‘Christmas’ for ‘poo’ in every song.
Tuesday December 22nd
Bad night with Daisy. Couldn’t face braving the shops for Christmas presents.
Saw Nana Joan instead.
The manager at Nana’s care home is very progressive and has banned tinsel from the building. She’s persuaded a local artist to do modern, minimalist decorations.
The lounge area was hung with stainless-steel stars and reinforced glass icicles.
There had been a complaint about the decorations though, because mad Joan tried to attack another resident with a glass icicle.
Nana was in good spirits but won’t come round for Christmas dinner. She’s got a dodgy stomach and is ‘farting like an old horse’.
These days she only eats bananas and boiled sweets, so has constant bowel trouble.
I told her nobody would care if she farted.
She said, ‘This isn’t just farting, love. It’s bloody tribal drums. Anyway, the care home is holding a séance on Christmas Day. I don’t want to miss it. I’m looking forward to talking with your granddad.’
Thursday December 24th
Morning
Last minute Christmas shopping is SOO stressful.
Ended up on Oxford Street, ramming the crowds with the stroller, trying to fling whatever I could into my bags for life (Remembered them! YESSSS!).
I wondered if I should buy Alex a present. Sort of a thank you for everything he’s done for me this year. But what do you buy a man who owns fifty hotels? So I decided just to buy for family and Althea.
The shops were REALLY busy, so cleared my head with a cup of coffee and a jumbo chocolate teacake.
Two hours later, I still hadn’t bought anything. And the shops were looking bare.
Ran into British Home Stores and filled my basket. All logic left me and I just bought whatever I could lay my hands on.
In the end I bought:
Bottles of real ale called things like ‘Old Fart’ and ‘Geriatric’ (most stupid purchase ever, since parents own a pub and get really good quality beer at trade price).
A walking stick full of jelly beans (like Callum doesn’t get enough sugar).
A ‘grow your own’ Venus flytrap.
A little vending machine of Cadbury’s chocolate miniatures (Mum will be happy at least).
A mojito set (one glass, one mini bottle of Bacardi, one sachet lime flavouring – £25. Feel a bit ripped off.).
A foam moustache on a lolly stick.
Afternoon
Got the train home with lots of other sweaty, irritable shoppers.
Daisy cried the WHOLE train journey.
We g
ot stuck in a tunnel for half an hour due to a fatality.
I know you should feel bad when someone dies on the train track, but … I mean, it’s pretty inconsiderate to kill yourself on Christmas Eve when people need to get home and wrap presents.
Daisy SCREAMED in the tunnel. No amount of cuddling or shushing would calm her down.
Everyone looked pretty annoyed, except one hippy man who said, ‘It’s okay. She’s just saying what we’re all thinking.’
Got home and realised I STILL had to wrap everything.
ARG!
It took an hour. Daisy kept trying to eat the sellotape.
Evening
The usual Duffy Christmas Eve tradition – glass of sherry while putting candles in the window for everyone we love who has passed away.
We all had a cry for my two Granddads, Aunty Karen, the baby Mum miscarried before she had Brandi and our old childhood dog, Pastry.
After that, we put Callum to bed 18 times. Getting him under the duvet was like trying to wrestle a puppy into one of those doggy outfits.
In the end, Mum had to sit on him until he fell asleep.
Friday December 25th
Christmas Day
Morning
Christmas DAAAAAAAY!!
Mum woke me up at 5am, wearing her Christmas elf pyjamas and singing ‘Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer’.
She’s always the first one awake. Then she gets grumpy, because we won’t let her open her presents until everyone else gets up.
Callum woke up next, delirious with happiness because his stocking was full of presents from Santa.
He kept saying, ‘I can’t believe it. I wasn’t a good boy at all.’
We all ended up opening our presents around the dining table, and eating smoked-salmon and cream cheese bagels amid a sea of wrapping paper.
Then we all watched The Snowman, and comforted Dad because he always cries at the end.
Afternoon
Leetle bit merry.
As Mum says, it wouldn’t be Christmas without a double Baileys.
Nearly phoned Nick this morning for Daisy’s sake. Spirit of Christmas and all that. But then I thought … well, he knows my number.
Then spent all morning feeling annoyed that he hadn’t called.
