‘Hello, Mr Robson,’ Sarah says, when he approaches the counter.
‘Sarah.’ He waggles his finger at her. ‘I don’t know how many times I have to tell you! It’s Jason. Or Jase. To my friends.’
She feels the discomfort of John’s eyes on her.
‘Sorry,’ she says.
‘I need a woman’s touch,’ he says, beckoning her to come from behind the till. ‘Tell me what I should get for Patty. Something nice and smelly. Expensive.’
She leads him down to the display she created earlier, and picks up the biggest lavender gift set. ‘These are lovely. Bubble bath, talc, bath salts, body lotion.’
Jason stares at her intently, as if he’s studying her face. ‘Mmm. What do you do with that, then? Body lotion?’
Sarah turns the gift over in her hands and picks up a tester bottle of body lotion. ‘You know. Moisturise your body.’
‘All over?’
‘Um, yes. But not your face. Just your body. Do you want to smell it?’ She opens the tester and offers it to him.
Jason puts his hand round hers and brings the bottle to his nose. He closes his eyes and breathes deeply. ‘Mmm. That really is nice. Can you gift-wrap it for me?’ He releases her hand.
She walks him to the gift-wrapping desk. ‘How’s Kate?’ she asks. She’s struggling to find the end of the Sellotape reel.
‘Well, when I left the house she was busy pulling out all the contents of her wardrobe. Meeting some new fella, apparently.’
‘Really?’ Sarah measures out a length of gold ribbon. She can’t believe Kate hasn’t told her about it herself. Maybe it’s that sixth former from the café. Christian. Christian the Christian.
‘Wouldn’t tell me anything about him, of course. Probably some spotty little oik. You got a boyfriend, Sarah?’
She glances up briefly, then starts to draw the ribbon over the blade of the scissors to make it curl. ‘No. Not really.’ She hands Jason the finished gift.
‘What a waste,’ he says, surveying the gift at all angles.
She frowns, worried he’s not happy with the wrapping.
‘I mean you not having a boyfriend. What a waste.’ Jason pays and leaves, pausing to wave over his shoulder as he passes through the front door.
‘Friend of yours?’ asks John.
‘He’s Kate’s dad.’ She walks away to tidy up the make-up stand at the front of the shop.
All afternoon, her thoughts return to the warmth of Jason’s hand around hers, the intensity of his blue eyes on her face. She wonders if Dante is missing her.
At five o’clock, Mrs Gilroy removes her lab coat and brings out mince pies and Buck’s fizz to offer to the final customers of the day. The dark High Street outside is lit up with Christmas bulbs looping from shop to shop, with the town Christmas tree sparkling brightly beside the war memorial. Mrs Gilroy lights some cinnamon candles and turns up the Christmas music. There are still about a dozen customers milling about the shop, picking up prescriptions and last-minute presents. They all congregate around the back till to eat their pies and chat.
‘Santa’s on his way,’ says John, nudging Sarah with his elbow as he walks past balancing a tray of drinks.
She can’t help laughing as her real excitement about Christmas starts to break through.
Her dad calls in on his way back from the butcher’s and he stops for a mince pie. ‘I’ve picked up the beef,’ he says holding up a white carrier bag. He’s wearing his tweed trilby and scarf. ‘It’s a fine cut.’
‘Would you like a drink?’ asks John, offering him a glass.
‘Good man!’ he replies, raising his glass. ‘Good man!’
‘He’s my dad,’ Sarah mumbles, and Mrs Gilroy obviously overhears, because she rushes over to shake his hand.
‘Mr Ribbons – lovely to see you.’
Dad shakes her hand vigorously. ‘Charmed,’ he says. He looks ancient.
Mrs Gilroy rests her hand on Sarah’s shoulder. ‘I think your father must be as fit as a fiddle, Sarah.’
Sarah turns to her dad, who looks equally puzzled. ‘How can you tell?’ she asks.
‘Because he’s an extremely rare visitor to the pharmacy.’
‘Aha!’ says Dad, touching his nose
Mrs Gilroy smiles graciously and moves on to see her other customers.
‘Righto!’ says Dad, brushing pastry from his cuffs. ‘See you back home. I’ll get the fire going!’ He bustles out of the shop, the butcher’s bag swinging at his side.
‘He seems nice,’ says John, watching him leave.
‘He’s alright, I suppose.’ She looks at the clock over the back till. ‘Fifteen minutes to go!’
She looks across the shop to see Barbara’s daughter, Kim, pushing through the other customers as if she’s a VIP. Sarah notices she’s got a couple more gold chains around her neck since she last saw her.
‘Mrs Gilroy in?’ she asks Sarah, chewing gum and looking vacant. ‘’S’about my mum.’
Sarah locates Mrs Gilroy and brings her over to Kim, who’s leaning against the prescriptions counter with her arms folded. The shop lights bounce off her gold rings.
‘Hello, Kim. Any news?’
‘Well, yeah, actually.’ Kim’s trying to sound dramatic, but it just comes across as surly. ‘The docs say it’s a broken hip.’
‘Good lord,’ says Mrs Gilroy.
‘Yeah. She could be outta action for weeks, he said. My dad reckons someone oughta get done for that alleyway being icy like that. It’s a death trap.’
‘Well, you’re quite right, Kim. Sarah fell on the ice days before, didn’t you, Sarah?’
‘It’s really icy out there,’ she agrees.
Kim’s craning her neck to get a look at the mince pies and chocolates. ‘Yeah, a death trap. Mum says maybe I could help out in the shop, what with her being laid-up.’
‘Well. You give your mum our very best, and tell her not to worry about work. We’ve got it covered. And assure her that I’ll get on to the council about that alleyway, as it’s their responsibility.’
‘Can I have a mince pie?’ asks Kim. She’s lost interest in the conversation.
‘Of course! Take one for your mum, if you like.’ Mrs Gilroy wraps two pies in a serviette.
‘See ya,’ says Kim, scattering pastry crumbs on the floor as she leaves.
Mrs Gilroy starts to clear away the empty plastic cups. ‘Don’t suppose you’d like to do some extra hours after Christmas, Sarah? Perhaps the odd hour here and there after school, to fill in for Barbara.’
John grins widely.
‘OK,’ she says, ignoring him. He’s trying to make her laugh again. He does a silent cheering dance behind his mother. Sarah smiles and turns away.
‘Good!’ says Mrs Gilroy, clearing up the last of the plates. ‘I think it’s time to shut up shop, don’t you?’
Outside, John and Sarah wish each other a happy Christmas. For an uncomfortable moment she thinks he’s going to kiss her, so she moves away first, trotting down the steps to cross over to the other side.
‘See you next week,’ he calls out.
‘See you!’ Sarah is clutching her wage packet and a gift from Mrs Gilroy, wrapped in the shop’s red tissue paper. She thinks it’s one of the large lavender packs like the one she sold to Jason earlier. Sarah puts her head down and turns her collar up against the icy wind which blasts along the High Street, hoping that Dad has got the fire going at home. He’s probably laying out the tin of sweets and polishing the silver nutcracker at this very moment. She loves their little Christmas rituals. The same things every year: stockings by the fireplace, satsumas in a wooden crate, chocolates on the coffee table. Buck’s fizz in the morning, a late roast beef lunch. It’s the one day of the year when Dad won’t let her anywhere near the kitchen, when he does everything and she can lounge about looking at her presents and cuddling up with Ted by the fire.
She turns the corner at the end of the High Street and walks into Tina. ‘Whoa!’
‘Sar!’ Tina looks troubled.
‘What is it? Are you alright, Teen?’ Sarah puts her hand on Tina’s arm.
‘No, I’m fine!’ She scratches the palm of her hand through her glove.
‘No, you’re not. What’s up?’
Tina looks at the floor, then back at Sarah again. ‘Promise you won’t say anything?’
‘About what?’
‘Promise? Kate’ll kill me if she knows I told you.’
‘Told me what? Just tell me, Teen! You’re keeping me in suspense!’
Tina wipes her nose on the back of her glove. ‘I don’t know how to tell you this, Sar. I’m really sorry. But I just saw Kate and Dante together. Holding hands, going into the Coffee Garden.’
Sarah stares blankly at Tina. ‘You can’t have. You must have got it wrong.’
‘No. I saw them. They were walking along the street together, holding hands. Then Dante went in first, and Kate turned round and saw me. She looked really pissed off. She ran over and said, “You’d better not say anything, Teen,” then she ran in after him.’
Sarah’s chest is throbbing.
‘When did you last see Dante?’ asks Tina. Her eyes are full of apology.
‘Um. Saturday.’ She blinks at Tina. ‘We kind of argued. Well, not argued. But I walked out.’
‘Kate said you’d split up.’
‘Honest?’
‘I swear.’
The two girls stand for a moment, Tina wringing her hands, Sarah gazing into the distance as her mind whirrs and judders.
‘I’ve gotta go,’ says Tina, finally. ‘I’m really sorry, Sar. I shouldn’t have said anything.’
‘No. No. You’re a real friend, Teen. Thanks.’
They smile awkwardly at one another and walk away, in opposite directions. Plumes of smoke billow out from the chimneys on Seafield Avenue, creating mist genies beneath the lamplight. Sarah passes Dante’s house, all lit up, with the curtains open. Christmas lights sparkle in every window. She runs the last few hundred yards to her house, unlocking the front door with unsteady hands. Inside, she breathes in the mushroomy scent of the Christmas tree, feels the warmth of the fire from the living room, hears the uplifting carols of King’s College Choir. Everything’s just as it should be.
‘Here she is!’ bellows her father, appearing from the kitchen with Ted by his feet. He holds his arms outstretched, a glass of sherry in one hand.
She gives in to his warm, stout embrace as Ted pads around their legs in small excited circles.
‘Here’s my favourite girl in the world.’
After breakfast Sarah and Dad walk their traditional Christmas Day circuit from East Selton to Tase Head. On the outward journey they take the top path, passing the holiday bungalows and converted railway carriages of East Selton, which gradually give way to the grander houses and sweeping gardens of West Selton. The wind was up last night, and this morning there’s kelp and mermaids’ purses strewn across the grassy footpath, making it slippery underfoot. Sarah breathes in the salt air which whips around her pink cheeks, as she tries to push away thoughts of Dante and Kate.
Dad cups his hand against the bright sunlight. ‘One of the Rolling Stones lives in that one,’ he says, pointing to a vast hedge sheltering a large house.
‘I know,’ replies Sarah, giving him a shove. ‘You told me last time we walked here. And the time before that. And the time – ’
He puts his arm round her shoulder and pulls her close as they walk. ‘I like my new hat,’ he says.
‘Good. It suits you.’
Eventually they come to the sand dunes, where they trudge up and over the grassy marram mounds with Ted running ahead, before turning down on to the seafront for the walk back again. The tide is far out, and the sunlight grazes over the gentle motion of the water. There are lots of other families and couples doing the Christmas Day walk, too. They all greet each other, ‘Happy Christmas.’
‘It’s weird, isn’t it?’ says Sarah. ‘How people get all jolly and say hello to each other for just one day in the year. Normally people would just ignore each other on the beach. It’s weird.’
‘I think it’s rather nice.’
‘Yes, it is nice.’
As they near home, they stop to collect flat stones and crunch down to the water’s edge for their annual pebble-skimming contest. Each has an arsenal of twenty stones, which they take turns in casting out.
‘Yes! Did you see that one? Six bounces!’
Dad throws another.
‘Useless!’ Sarah shouts, preparing to throw. Her pebble leaps across the water twice and sinks.
‘Foul!’ calls Dad. ‘A successful throw will bounce for a minimum of three full jumps, or be deemed a foul. It’s in the Rule Book.’
‘What rule book?’
‘The Pebble-Skimming Rule Book. What else?’ He throws his last stone and stands with his hands on his hips. ‘I suppose we’d better get home to peel those vegetables.’ He whistles and Ted comes running back from the hole he’s been digging at the edge of the breakwater.
‘I still won, though, didn’t I?’ says Sarah, happily dusting the sand from her gloves.
‘That you did, that you did.’
Back at home, she builds up the fire, while Dad starts preparing lunch in the kitchen. Ted’s chewing on a lamb bone that the butcher sent home with Dad last night. He’s making contented little grunts as he tries to get his small jaws around the large knuckle.
‘Need any help, Dad?’ she calls from the living room.
‘No! Have another chocolate!’
She smiles and lays out her presents in front of the fire. The Virginia Andrews box set; a Terry’s chocolate orange; the Meat is Murder album by the Smiths; a satsuma; a selection box; some rose bubble bath; and some black and grey striped fingerless gloves. Her main present remains beneath the tree, waiting to be unwrapped after lunch. She opens her selection box and stretches out lazily, popping chocolate buttons into her mouth one at a time.
The phone rings. She jumps up, feeling inexplicably guilty, recalling Tina’s worried expression as she scurried off into the night. She imagines Dante and Kate holding hands and her stomach lurches.
Before she can reach the phone, Dad strides in wearing his red apron, looking irritable. He runs a floury hand through his white hair. ‘It’s Christmas bloody Day,’ he says, and picks up the receiver.
Sarah stands with her back to the fire, rolling her foot over Ted’s white and pink belly.
‘Deborah?’ says Dad, turning away from Sarah to face the window. ‘What is it? Just – just slow down a bit – what is it?’ He listens quietly.
She strains to hear what’s being said, but already Sarah knows that Christmas is ruined, now that that woman has invaded their day with her phone call.
Dad glances round at her. ‘Could you go and check the vegetables aren’t boiling over, Sarah-Lou?’
She goes to the kitchen as she’s asked; the vegetables aren’t even on the hob yet. She waits. It’s cold in the kitchen, and her breath is white before her face. She closes her eyes and hugs her arms around her body as she waits for Dad to finish.
He clatters into the kitchen and picks up the vegetable knife to start chopping the peeled carrots.
She opens her eyes and stares at him. ‘Is it cold in here?’
‘Not really,’ he replies, looking bemused. He puts down the knife. ‘Now, Sarah-Lou. Don’t be upset. But, that was my friend Deborah on the phone.’
‘Mm-hmm.’ She clenches her arms tighter around her body.
‘Well, you know her husband only passed away a couple of months ago, so she was meant to spend Christmas with her daughter. But she’s just had a hell of a row with her son-in-law. He’s a complete swine by the sound of things, and he’s told her she’s not welcome.’
‘So?’
‘So, we can’t let her spend Christmas Day on her own.’
‘Why not? It’s just a day. We never have visitors on Christmas Day. Ever.’
She kicks a stray bit of Brussels sprout across the broken tiles of the floor.
‘Well, I’ve invited her to join us. You’ll like her. She’s great fun, and a lovely woman.’ He looks at her sideways. ‘Sarah-Lou?’
‘It’s Sarah, Dad. Not Sarah-Lou. Just Sarah.’
‘Sarah, please,’ he says, brushing his hands down his apron. ‘Please, just do this one thing for me? Be nice?’
She shrugs. ‘I don’t suppose I’ve got any choice, have I?’
Dad slides the carrots into a saucepan and starts peeling the potatoes.
‘Thought not,’ she says. ‘I’ll be in the other room.’
Just after two, Deborah turns up with puffy eyes, clutching a bottle of red wine. Her dark hair is streaked with grey, and her large bosom sits confidently beneath a red mohair sweater. Dad introduces them in the living room, and Deborah hands him her coat and scarf as if she’s done it a hundred times before. He seems stiff and unnatural.
‘God, I’m so sorry about this, Sarah. What a way for you to meet me for the first time. You must think I’m completely awful.’ She kisses Sarah on both cheeks, pulling her in by her shoulders.
Sarah smiles.
‘I haven’t even got you a present! If I’d known I was coming – ’
‘It’s fine!’ says Sarah, waving a hand in the air.
‘Drink?’ says Dad. He’s frowning and scratching the hair behind his ear.
Deborah looks relieved. ‘Yes. Please!’ She collapses on to the sofa as if she’s just run a marathon. ‘I could really do with a sherry.’
Dad takes a glass from the cabinet and searches about in the drinks cupboard. ‘I’ll just check the kitchen,’ he says, leaving Sarah and Deborah alone.
Sarah pokes the fire and puts another log on. She sits down on the sofa opposite Deborah.
‘So,’ says Deborah, crossing her legs. She’s wearing black leggings with shiny little ankle boots. Sarah notices how thin her legs are, compared with her large bosom.
‘Chocolate?’
‘Mmm. I love the toffee fingers,’ says Deborah, taking the tin from Sarah. ‘And the toffee coins. Oh, I don’t know which one to choose.’
Hurry Up and Wait Page 10
