Christmas Wishes

by Sue Moorcroft

  The bridesmaids’ ‘dresses’ were actually jumpsuits, Hannah had been dismayed to discover. OK, it was dramatic and different but jumpsuits made going to the loo a pain. It had been Amanda Louise’s idea. Maybe she had the bladder of a horse. She certainly drank because when they’d had the final fitting at the bridal shop she’d put away three glasses of champagne followed by a bottle of wine over lunch.

  From Hannah’s laptop screen, Jeremy’s eyes twinkled beneath his receding fringe as he made his first contribution to the conversation. ‘The camper van’s ready! Can’t wait to start our travels after the do. And did you know Rob’s invited Nico Pettersson to the wedding? You remember him, don’t you?’

  Hannah nodded. ‘I was about to say – he called at the shop this weekend because he’s in Stockholm on business.’ She described Nico revamping Hannah Anna Butik, rather than mentioning that Rob had sent Nico to check up on her. Mo’s default setting was to worry about Hannah and it would fuel that if she realised Rob was worried too. Probably nobody in the family believed Albin couldn’t make the wedding because of work but were pretending to accept it out of respect for Hannah’s feelings … and they, and the aunts, uncles, cousins and old friends would enjoy it better without him. Hannah added, ‘Apparently Nico and his daughter Josie are booked into Port Manor.’

  ‘Rob didn’t tell me Nico would stay at the hotel itself.’ Mo sounded aggrieved at the oversight. ‘Did he tell you, Jeremy?’

  Hannah’s dad shook his head. ‘Don’t think so.’ Jeremy frequently made non-committal responses such as ‘don’t think so’ or ‘not that I remember’ in the face of his spouse’s forceful commentary on life. He was a dear, delightful dad and Mo holding so many opinions probably saved him the bother of forming his own.

  ‘Nico’s split up, hasn’t he?’ Mo demanded.

  Although Hannah knew full well her mum meant Nico was divorced, the phrase made her visualise him in pieces. Metaphorically he had been, if his wife becoming pregnant by another man had triggered the eating problems that had winnowed the flesh from his cheeks and turned his neck and hands to cords and bones. ‘I think it happened two or three years ago. His ex has another daughter,’ she answered. Then she thought maybe Nico wouldn’t appreciate being part of Mo’s avid interest in the lives of others. ‘I’ll send you photos of what Nico did to the shop.’ She paused to WhatsApp the pictures from her phone.

  ‘Ooh, lovely,’ Hannah’s mum breathed when the colourful images popped up on her own phone moments later. ‘Rob said Nico works in promo. I’d have expected him to be doing something to do with ice hockey. Some hockey players in America are millionaires.’

  ‘I didn’t even ask him about ice hockey.’ And neither had he volunteered any information, Hannah realised, which was a far cry from when he’d lived and breathed the sport. She shrugged. ‘I suppose making it as a pro player’s mega competitive.’ She changed the subject. ‘Is Nan OK? I rang her early in the week and I thought she was quiet.’

  Mo gave a gusty sigh. ‘She and Brett have fallen out. She says she “doesn’t want to go into it” but she’s obviously unhappy.’

  ‘No!’ Hannah breathed. ‘I thought they were a fixture.’ Hannah barely remembered her grandfather, who’d died when she was small.

  ‘Something’s changed,’ Mo confirmed sadly. ‘I thought he’d be here for her while we were away so it’s bad news all round.’

  They said goodnight a few minutes later and Hannah got ready for bed worrying about her indomitable little grandmother. She knew Nan wouldn’t want her parents to miss their trip of a lifetime but couldn’t somehow imagine her mum staying away for the weeks and months currently planned if Nan didn’t have Brett’s company and support.

  By the time Albin finally arrived home it was past ten and she was more than half-asleep in their six-foot bed. He padded into the bedroom, flicked back his curtains of dark hair, kissed her temple and whispered, ‘Don’t wake up, I’m going to have a drink and unwind in front of the TV. I don’t have to be in until eleven tomorrow.’ She made a drowsy noise of agreement.

  They’d developed a habit of creating a buffer zone after he’d been hunting because Hannah loathed it. She didn’t see his contention that ‘elk would take over the country if they weren’t hunted’ made bloodlust less distasteful or less alien to his otherwise citified, sophisticated lifestyle. As a result, he hadn’t introduced her to a single one of his hunting buddies and kept his gun in a friend’s gun safe.

  But, with a sinking feeling, Hannah knew that wasn’t the reason he didn’t shower and get into bed with her.

  She turned over and smothered a sigh. Their breathless, dizzy dance was over and their relationship was moving to the slowing rhythm of the last waltz.

  Chapter Three

  Back home in London on Tuesday morning, Nico ran eight kilometres on the treadmill in his bedroom then jumped into the shower, still breathing hard. He was tight for time and performed his hamstring stretches at the same time as soaping up.

  Emelie, his younger cousin who lived with him while ‘doing uni’ would be getting Josie up and dressed. Nico would then enjoy breakfast with his daughter before Tilly, the nanny, arrived at seven-thirty and Nico zipped off to work. He loved Josie as fiercely as any parent had loved any child, ever, but he had to earn money. A Josie-centric mini-economy of home and household depended on it.

  His new boss at SLS, Anders, had not so far shown himself to be overly sympathetic to Nico’s situation as a lone parent. Or sympathetic to any staff member’s needs outside devoting themselves to SLS.

  He hadn’t minded spending the two-hour flight home from Stockholm last night typing emails ready to send on landing, along with a text to Rob Goodbody. Saw Hannah. Seems OK. Afraid she realised you’d sent me but no explosion ensued. Call me if you want to chat more. Once home, he’d been too tired to do much more than fall into bed but now Hannah’s clumsy but well-meaning attempt to feed him revolved in his head. After towelling off, he forced himself to stand naked before the bathroom mirror.

  Shit. He was thin. Unhealthily so. He was saved from puniness by his exercise habit but his cheekbones jutted, his jawbone was a blade and he could count every rib. Angry with himself he shaved, dressed in a white shirt and charcoal trousers then went online and booked a haircut at Trimsters Male Grooming at two. He could use the lunch hour he didn’t usually take.

  He paused. Stared at his reflection again. He’d get his hair cut and eat. If he got stern with himself he could eat sensible food three times a day and he should do, for Josie’s sake. He knew this. He knew about structuring his diet and pacing food intake, writing down what he ate so as not to kid himself about calories required for healthy weight. He needed to accept that Loren was not going to be an easy ex and find ways to live with life’s stresses other than undereating.

  Inside, he acknowledged that he’d called his parents lately, instead of FaceTiming. Yeah. He’d known he looked skinny and they’d freak.

  He jogged downstairs and made himself a bowl of granola. Black coffee only breakfasts would now be out because they were a bad example to Josie. He sighed. No: they were out because he needed to be healthier. Then he heard Josie coming down the stairs, chattering to Emelie about it nearly being Halloween. He checked his phone calendar. October thirty-first was Saturday and Trick or treating was scheduled from six p.m. with two of her friends and their mums. The mums were dressing up too, apparently, but Nico planned to simply wear dark clothes and carry the haul of sweets the kids accrued. He was used to being in the background especially when, like in this situation, he was the lone male. The mums sometimes tried to include him in the conversation but he was always too conscious of them making an effort to find subjects he’d be interested in to feel comfortable with that. A couple had hit on him and he wasn’t comfortable with that either. Imagine starting something with one of Josie’s friends’ mothers and then it ending and affecting Josie’s friendships.

  He didn’t enjoy Halloween and taking
kids door-to-door to ask for sweets. The Swedish Allhelgonadagen, All Saints Day, was more his thing, the opportunity to remember those who’d passed and the earthly feel of welcoming winter. Josie would have been aghast at missing out, however, and she hadn’t settled at school this term so wanting to be with school friends should be viewed as a positive.

  Just as he was wondering whether Josie minded that it was always he who was her supervising parent at Halloween and other red-letter days, she bounced into the room. ‘Dad! Tilly’s taking me to buy new face paints because I’m going to be a witch on Saturday.’

  He smiled at her excitement, swung her up and kissed both her petal-soft cheeks. Emelie had brushed her fair hair into a ponytail and she was wearing a half-term outfit of pink fluffy jumper with jeans. ‘That’s exciting.’ He hadn’t actually taken a spoonful of his granola yet but he got up and made Josie’s Weetabix with raisins, knowing exactly how much milk she liked.

  Emelie joined him at the fridge, reaching for Josie’s apple juice. ‘I’ll get that. You eat.’ Emelie gesticulated towards his breakfast, which probably meant she’d noticed he wasn’t eating properly too and wanted to capitalise on him actually having prepared food for himself. Her hair hung in a thick plait over one shoulder. She had a serene smile, a sunny nature and what Nico privately thought was a fairly undemanding lecture schedule, so living with them worked brilliantly. The exchange of accommodation for acting as a part-time au pair greatly reduced her student debt and enormously helped Nico’s childcare problems.

  Tilly wasn’t a live-in nanny, though she did stay over in the fourth bedroom occasionally if Emelie couldn’t cover Nico’s trips to Sweden. In the last year she’d begun a side business as a gardener and now spent Josie’s school hours mowing lawns and trimming hedges. He wondered if she earned more money from gardening because her attitude to nannying had certainly slipped. She’d become almost offhand sometimes, which was a shame because ensuring Josie had himself, Emelie or Tilly whenever she wasn’t at school or at her mum’s was a constant challenge for Nico, demanding adaptability and flexibility from all concerned, except Loren.

  Loren wasn’t one of life’s copers. If he asked her to keep Josie even an extra couple of hours she’d respond with anxiety and maybe a hand clapped over her eyes in a ‘I can’t take any more!’ gesture. She’d needed time off work with stress recently and sometimes went back on plans for a weekend with Josie, saying she wasn’t feeling up to it. He worried ‘not feeling up to it’ translated to her old behaviour kicking in. She’d made a big effort with her drinking when pregnant with Maria – partly because she’d realised alcohol had led to the hook-up responsible and partly because she’d hoped Nico would relent and they could stay together. Loren’s withdrawals troubled him but at least she seemed to look after Josie OK when she did have her. He kept in close touch to ensure it, though he worried that it was making both Josie and Loren cling to him.

  He tried not to judge Loren’s limitations. Stress had his body turning on itself by ruthlessly suppressing the desire to eat, after all. But, understanding as he tried to be, his ex-wife’s issues left him with extra on his plate … figuratively speaking. He toyed with the analogy that the more he had on his plate emotionally the less he sat down to a plate of actual food. He couldn’t immediately see a way to reduce what was on the emotional plate so it was up to him to increase portions on the real one.

  He took up his spoon. ‘Am I allowed to say you’ll make a great witch?’ he asked his daughter gravely. ‘Or would that be rude?’

  Josie clambered onto the chair next to his, giggles bursting from her like musical bubbles on the air. ‘Witches are cool, Daddy. Tilly’s going to buy me a long black cloak, too. And a little broomstick.’

  He smiled to see her sparkling eyes. ‘Fantastic. After trick or treating on Saturday I’m taking you to Mum’s and she’ll be able to see you as a witch too.’

  ‘Am I staying overnight?’ Josie frowned as if trying to remember.

  ‘That’s the plan,’ he agreed. Loren owned a flat a ten-minute walk away. Maria’s father played no part in Maria’s life other than to pay minimal child support but Loren had inherited from her grandparents in time to buy a place for her and Maria. Just as well, as Nico was stretched enough meeting an Islington mortgage originally based on the earning power of two. The cost of a nanny, even if not full-time, was crippling, and the household bills were like boulders on his shoulders.

  ‘Can I come home, instead?’ Josie asked, tiny lines still puckering the space between her soft eyebrows.

  Nico hesitated, trying to sense what was behind the question. Checking whether Nico wanted her around? Prodding boundaries? Did she not want to visit her mother? It wouldn’t be the first time and while he hoped it came from a wish to be in two places at one time his radar always beeped in case there was more to it. ‘Don’t you want to go?’ He made it a casual question, hoping for a genuine reaction.

  ‘Yeah, if Maria will still be up,’ Josie said, after a moment. Having tested the Weetabix had reached perfect sogginess, she scooped the first spoonful.

  ‘I don’t know Maria’s bedtime.’ Nico crunched granola, reflecting that Josie was a better example to him than he was to her, eating-wise.

  She wrinkled her small brow. ‘I think it depends on how Mummy’s feeling. Maria always wants to share my room.’

  ‘Do you like that?’ Nico knew that Maria was a good sleeper and eater because, during civilised conversations as Nico picked Josie up or dropped her off, Loren would droop and sigh and murmur, ‘It’s a good job Maria’s an easy child or I don’t know what I’d do.’

  He’d murmur, ‘Yes, good job.’ What was the point of observing acidly that her choices had put her in her current situation of bringing up Maria alone and being glad to let him have the major responsibility for Josie?

  He was glad too. He’d have been miserable to only see Josie at weekends and for a holiday. Single parenthood was a hundred times better than that, even if holding down his demanding job and ensuring Josie was happy left him feeling as if his treadmill was set to its maximum and he could only just keep up.

  ‘I don’t have to go to school today, do I?’ Josie said suddenly, through her Weetabix.

  ‘No, it’s half-term. Back on Monday.’ Nico took another mouthful of granola, though he wanted to put down his spoon when he saw the apprehension that pinched Josie’s face. Till this year, Josie had loved Barrack Road Primary School, a couple of streets away. Having lapped up pre-school work books she’d had a head start on reading and writing, had made friends readily and come home babbling about the games they played.

  This year school meant anxiety and isolation.

  Another school, St Kits, had been suffering falling rolls and then the ageing school building had developed problems at about the time the head teacher wanted to retire. A decision had been made to erect temporary buildings in the grounds of Barrack Road and amalgamate the two schools, meaning two classes to each year group. Josie, unfortunately, had been chosen to balance numbers in a class of mainly St Kits children who’d already formed their friendship groups and, transplanted, clung to them.

  She didn’t care for her new teacher, Mrs Calcashaw – also late of St Kits. Her objections were vague: Calcashaw was a funny name or Mrs Calcashaw’s shoe had a crack in it. Josie yearned to be allocated to the other class, taught by Mrs Symonds.

  Now she sighed. ‘I suppose I have to go back next week, don’t I?’ Her eyes shone with tears.

  Hardly able to bear even this tiny sadness, Nico wanted to scoop her up and declare that she didn’t. He wouldn’t go to work, he wouldn’t travel on to Surrey for a meeting about a new ice rink and snow dome and how sports teams could be encouraged to make it their home turf. He’d stay at home with Josie and fend off any dragons trying to bring her grief.

  But that wasn’t pragmatic. ‘Hey,’ he murmured softly, rubbing a back that felt so small and vulnerable that he could distinguish every bump of her backbone. ‘T
ell me what’s making you sad, sweetheart.’

  Josie sniffed. ‘Don’t know.’

  ‘You can tell me anything.’ Nico reached out and picked her out of her chair. He should be heading for work but he wasn’t leaving Josie like this. His twanging heartstrings would yank him back like elastic.

  In slow motion, Josie’s face crumpled. Her eyes scrunched shut and her mouth stretched wide as words tumbled out. ‘Jessica doesn’t want to be my friend any more. She says everyone in Mrs Calcashaw’s class is dirty and stupid. She told Sadiq and Ira not to be my friends either. And I won’t have anyone to play with at playtime after half-term,’ she wailed.

  ‘Oh, baby.’ Nico rocked his slender daughter, his heart clenching in rhythm with her sobs, aware of Emelie giving a soft ohhhhh of sympathy. ‘That’s not a nice thing to happen, is it? But you know that Jessica, Sadiq and Ira aren’t your only friends. Who’s coming trick or treating on Saturday?’

  Josie sniffed. ‘Steph’nie and Martha. If Jessica doesn’t stop them.’ A shudder ran through her.

  ‘I don’t think she will and if Stephanie and Martha are your friends to go trick or treating with then they’re your friends to play with at playtime too.’ Nico decided to contact the school when it reopened to reiterate his concerns and wished kids came with a manual, giving parents a shot at doing and saying the right thing. ‘Sometimes when children are difficult it’s because they’re upset about something quite different. It makes them cross and they say things they don’t mean.’

  Josie met this in silence. Nico didn’t blame her. His words hadn’t given her anything helpful and positive to go on. He cast about for something more constructive. ‘I think Jessica, Sadiq, Ira, Stephanie and Martha are in Mrs Symonds’s class, aren’t they? Who do you like in Mrs Calcashaw’s class?’