by Sue Watson
Fortunately Jesus was as loyal as ever; ‘I never betray you and go to the other side,’ he said in that lovely Portuguese accent.
‘Thank God there’s still one man I can rely on,’ I sighed putting down my phone.
‘If Jesus is the only man you can rely on then you’re truly lost,’ Sam sighed.
I feared she might be right.
5
Designer Shoes and Profanely Priced Face Creams
Sam
Tamsin was understandably sad when I arrived the morning after the night before. She was all over the place, shouting about Anouska stealing Heddon and Hall and Jesus for Christmas – it was as though she hadn’t taken it in, that this wasn’t her life any more. I said that she had to think of her life as pre-bailiffs and post-bailiffs – and that everything was different now.
After several cups of coffee and some encouraging clichés from me she still wasn’t budging, so I suggested we pack her stuff together. I wanted her to have the possessions she loved and needed with her. I didn’t care that my van was small and my flat was tiny, I just didn’t want Tamsin to lose any more of her life than she had to. If that meant bringing all the family photos and every precious memento she treasured, then so be it.
‘So, what’s precious that we need to pack?’ I asked, guiding her out of the kitchen like she was a little old lady suffering from dementia.
‘My jewellery’s worth a fortune... and my art,’ she muttered, looking around helplessly.
‘Yes but is it of value to you? I don’t care how much it’s worth we just need to make sure we get the stuff that matters... that’s precious to you and the kids.’
The bailiffs had said the repossession order was for the house and cars only... these were now owned by the bank. The furniture, clothes, jewellery and computers still belonged to the family and were therefore moveable, but there was only so much we could take that day. ‘We can come back tomorrow and get more, we’ll hire a big van and move it all... you will be able to keep your things,’ I said gently, ‘but for now just bring the precious stuff,’ I repeated, watching Tamsin gaze longingly at the stunning white Christmas decorations.
I ushered her through to the main sitting room. ‘My winter white seating,’ she said, lunging towards it like it was the crown jewels.
My heart sank, there was no way I could fit three white leather sofas in my van or my flat. ‘Perhaps we’ll leave those until we can organise a removal van?’ I suggested. ‘Let’s just take the personal stuff for now. We’ll start in the bedroom.’
I guided her up the fabulous staircase, expecting her to stamp her feet and refuse to go along with me, but she followed like a lamb. I was unsure of this bowed Tamsin who showed weakness and vulnerability, this was the side Simon must see, I thought. I was used to her being there, fighting our corner, acid-tongued and demanding; I kept taking sidelong glances wondering if the real Tamsin was still in there.
We reached the bedroom; I’d forgotten how beautiful it was. The bed throw was pure, baby-blue mohair, the walls a pale gold with several beautiful paintings. Her dressing table looked like the perfume counter at Harrods, and I wondered at the cost of all her designer candles dotted around the room – they were probably worth more than my second-hand van!
We were both standing in the doorway, it was as though she was scared to go in.
‘So what do you need to take?’ I asked again, rallying her.
‘Well... I need my diamond bracelet... and the platinum ring, it’s worth a fortune…’
‘Okay,’ I said calmly. I didn’t point out that the word I’d used was ‘need’ and no one ‘needed’ a diamond bracelet or platinum ring that wasn’t a wedding ring. I let it go – jewellery wouldn’t take up any space and if it made her happy.
‘What about photos, stuff from your wedding, the kids’ first shoes – all those things?’
She looked at me blankly; ‘Oh... yes...’
‘And your quilt? Pillows? A warm dressing gown?’
‘Don’t you have quilts in your guest room?’ she asked, incredulous.
‘Tamsin, I don’t even have a guest room.’
‘Oh I’m sorry – I forgot. Everyone has a guest room.’
‘No they don’t. Now what else do you need?’
‘I have to have my creams and serums, I will die without them.’
‘No you won’t.’
‘I will, I’m over forty - my skin will dry up and I’ll be like a wizened old husk in about two days. You have no idea how miraculous they are.’
I picked one up and saw the price on the base of the jar – I almost fainted – it would have to be ‘miraculous’ at £200 plus a pot.
Tamsin was wandering around aimlessly, clutching at a silk robe which probably cost what I paid for a month’s rent on the bakery.
‘Do you have anything warmer?’ I asked.
‘It’s Agent Provocateur.’
‘Does that mean it’s warm?’
‘No.’
‘Well then it’s no use where you’re going.’
‘I’m going to your flat, not the bloody Antarctic,’ she snapped, the old Tamsin coming through strong. I was almost relieved.
‘No but I can’t afford to have the heating on all day and night like you do.’
‘But it’s winter. It’s freezing, how on earth do you and Jacob cope?’
‘We put a jumper on, welcome to the real world love,’ I sighed.
She clearly didn’t want to envisage the horror that awaited her back at my flat it was all a little too real for our Tamsin. So she busied herself around the room.
‘I need this too,’ she said, reaching up and trying to take down one of the huge artworks.
‘You don’t really “need” it, do you? Besides, it won’t fit anywhere. Tamsin you just need your mementoes, warm clothes, towels and bedding for now.’
I stomped into the bathroom and grabbed a whole pile of towels. They were thick and fluffy and in every shade of grey to match the Italian bathroom.
‘You can’t take those to your place,’ she said, horrified.
‘Why, are they too good for me?’
‘No, but your bathroom’s avocado, the grey will look positively ludicrous.’
‘I’ll take my chances. If people want to come and have a laugh at my “ludicrous”’ bathroom they’re welcome,’ I snapped. ‘Now get a bloody move on.’
‘I refuse to go anywhere without this,’ she yelled from her dressing room. I bit my lip, held my breath and stormed in, dreading what she was pitching for.
‘No. No. No,’ I said, shaking my head and my finger at her.
‘But I can’t go anywhere without them.’ She was pointing at a whole wall of shoe boxes. Each box was labelled and the designer shoes (of which there must have been 200 pairs) were all colour and season co-ordinated.
‘You don’t need all those shoes,’ I gasped. A couple of pairs will be plenty.’
‘A couple of pairs? Are you mad? Well, I’m not leaving here without them,’ she stood, arms folded, the vulnerable little lady from ten minutes before now gone in a puff of smoke and bluster.
‘Tamsin, don’t forget you also “need” all your designer gowns too. I mean, you never know when I’m going to throw an impromptu drinks party in my bijou flat above the bakery,’ I said sarcastically. For a moment she looked at me quizzically, she never quite got my humour. ‘No, Tamsin, I won’t be throwing any impromptu parties, just pack your jumpers and jeans and let’s get out of here.’
It transpired, to my horror, that Tamsin didn’t actually possess a pair of jeans because she apparently ‘never had cause to wear them’. I sighed and wandered through into the main bedroom before I lost my patience. I had to remember what she was going through, but watching her pile up boxes and boxes of shoes and designer gear she wasn’t going to wear was a test. ‘I’m going to start downstairs,’ I said, leaving a pile of empty bin bags on the bed. ‘You can bring from here what you can carry and no more.’
I went downstairs and into the dining room where a huge contemporary white sideboard filled one wall. I got down on my knees, opened the doors and inside were rows and rows of boxes, all different shapes and sizes and all labelled. How very Tamsin, I thought with a smile – she was so organised, not like me who shoved everything in draws and cupboards only to fall out every time they were opened.
I wondered if this was yet more stuff Tamsin ‘needed’ or could some of it be thrown away? We had nowhere to store any of it, the way things were going there wouldn’t even be room for me and Jacob once Tamsin and her shoes moved in. Looking through quickly, there were boxes filled with birthday and Christmas cards she’d liked and bought and never sent. Boxes filled with glassware, some china and a lot of cutlery – all labelled, all very expensive. Then I came across a box labelled ‘Xmas Trinkets’, and as she already had enough ‘Xmas Trinkets’ for the next hundred years getting rid of the box may be a good kick start to a declutter. I pulled it out from under other boxes and opened it up. I couldn’t quite make out what was in there at first, it seemed to be mainly stuffed with old, yellowing newspapers, but once I’d delved deeper, I opened up some of the now crispy balls of paper to find a glass owl. I held it up to the light, remembering how every Christmas we would hang it on Nan and Granddad’s tree. I delved into the newspapers, finding more old Christmas ornaments from my grandparent’s home. Then I found the little wooden rocking horse, and my favourite as a child, the blue Cinderella slipper. I wondered why she’d kept them, because Tamsin would never use them on her own tree. They weren’t fashionable or beautiful enough, but as I opened each one it took me straight back to that cosy little terraced house on Hyacinth Street. I shook the lovely snow dome, noticing a faint crack across the glass as the snow storm erupted; I discovered baubles I’d long forgotten and a fairy that had once stood on top of the tree. I smiled, Tamsin and I had made that fairy together from paper and foil. It was a lovely Christmas memory, a little sparkle in the darkness of everything that was happening around us. I put each decoration back carefully in its paper tomb. They’d obviously been put away one Christmas and never been out of the box since.
I explored further in the huge cabinet and, lo and behold, there was my grandparents’ dusty old tree. ‘It’s meant to be,’ I said under my breath. I put the box and the tree in the pile of things to go back to my place; this would be the first year since Steve had died that we would have a tree. Jacob would love it.
I wandered into the kitchen and my eyes filled with tears as my sister’s great loss hit me. This room had been her pride and joy. Tamsin had loved being in this kitchen where she’d been the star of her own show. Another family would sit here now, someone else would drink wine on her island, cook unpronounceable French meals on her Aga and fill the air with the fragrance of fresh coffee.
I stood there for ages until Heddon and Hall appeared in the doorway and I was filled with such gratitude I hugged them both. ‘Thank you so much for coming, it will mean a lot to her.’
‘She’s a wonderful woman and has been very good to us over the years, we owe her,’ Heddon said. ‘I’ll go and give her a hand.’
Orlando put his arm around me. ‘She’s got bags and bags of stuff,’ he said, nodding in the direction of the sitting room. ‘Are you in that little white van with cakes all over it?’
I nodded. At this point Gabe appeared, he was covered in snow, stamping his boots on the Amtico flooring while Mrs J’s voice chastised him, saying something about ‘her ladyship’s disapproval’. I had to smile – Gabe shrugged and carried on; he didn’t give a toss.
‘I can take a lot of the stuff in my truck,’ he said, like a knight on a charger. He was big and broad and dependable and I could see why the housewives of Chantray Lane all had the hots for him. If he wasn’t so unkempt and didn’t smell so strongly of Monster Munch I’d have fancied him myself, he definitely had something. I wasn’t alone in my thoughts either, glancing at Orlando who was licking his lips and looking Gabe up and down.
Gabe rubbed his big hands together. ‘I’ll load it up. Come on Orlando let’s get humping,’ he said over his shoulder.
Orlando shuddered with delight and raised a perfect HD brow. ‘I’m coming, you big brute,’ he called after Gabe, then as he was leaving, winked at me and whispered, ‘every cloud and all that.’
‘Tamsin’s paid a fortune for Christmas decorations we haven’t even used yet,’ said Heddon, who wandered back into the kitchen clutching a white hankie to one tearful eye. ‘We had merely scratched the surface last night with our switch-on it was only Phase One of Project Christmas. There is a stunning, white, life-size reindeer, a collection of exquisite angels... giant snowflakes, a veritable landscape of ENORMOUS baubles... and...’ he was clearly quite upset.
‘I’m not sure I can fit all that into my van,’ I sighed, resting my head on my hands on the worktop.
‘Don’t even think about it, my lovely, Orlando and I will put it all in the spare downstairs room here, it’s fine for the next fortnight. If it’s still here after that, we’ll store it in our shop until she needs it.’
I thanked him and as Gabe, Orlando and the kids began loading things onto his truck, I packed Tamsin’s designer clothes. I was stuffing hundreds of pairs of colour-and-season-co-ordinated shoes into my van when I felt someone tapping my shoulder – it was Tamsin.
‘Sam... please don’t put November in July’s pile. Can you imagine the chaos and confusion that will cause?’
‘Carnage,’ I said, pushing her into the van and slamming the door.
Heddon rushed to the passenger side and hugged Tamsin, before rushing round to me in the driver seat. I wound my window down and he clutched emotionally at my shoulder; ‘That woman is a bloody saint... she’s moving me to tears,’ he gasped.
‘Mmm me too,’ I said under my breath before setting off through the late afternoon snow.
Hugo and Hermione hitched a ride with Gabe and I took Tamsin, who didn’t utter a word all the way to mine. On arrival we helped her inside and I told Richard what had happened while we moved furniture in the flat upstairs to make room for everything.
‘Will you be able to live with her?’ he whispered, his brow furrowing.
‘Yeah... well, no.’
‘You’re the most easy-going person I know, but she’ll drive you up the wall. Why don’t you and Jacob move in with me, and Tamsin can stay here?’
‘Thank you, but no, Richard,’ I smiled. He asked me to live with him on a daily basis, and it was now becoming a bit of a joke between us. I cared about Richard and there were days when I thought it would be nice to live together with Jacob, just the three of us in out own home. But I couldn’t allow another man into my life – what if I lost him like I had Steve?
Richard shrugged. ‘Oh well. You can’t blame a man for seeing a chink of opportunity and giving it another go,’ he said.
‘You know how I feel.’
‘I do,’ he enveloped me in his arms and it felt good. After all the chaos of the last couple of days he was my safe harbour and he understood me so well, which made it even harder to say no to him.
‘It’s not just me, it’s about Jacob too. We’re both still healing,’ I said, but then we heard people coming up the stairs and I pulled away. Richard went downstairs to help Gabe unload while I explained to a very excited Jacob (who’d just been delivered from his friend’s house after tea) that his auntie and cousins were doing a sleepover. I tried to make Tamsin and the kids comfortable and kept telling them it was all a big mistake and it would be over soon. And while I was saying it I was really thinking what the hell is going to happen to them? I couldn’t imagine a life where Tamsin wasn’t rich and didn’t live in a big house in a life of utter luxury. My sister oozed money and glamour, breathing in designer labels and French perfume – her whole life was spent worshipping at the altar of money – it was her religion. How would she survive in any other life?
I suggested Tamsin lie on my bed and I�
�d bring her some tea. The kids both had sleeping bags on the living room floor, but said they’d stay with friends if this ‘homelessness’ went on more than one night. ‘It’s not fair on you, Auntie Sam,’ Hermione said. She was tearful, but brushed everything off with ‘it’s going to be fine, it’s all fine,’ just like her mum. Hugo was older and more independent from the family, he’d been at university for two years (unlike his sister who had only left home for university three months before) and apart from the financial implications, his life wouldn’t be affected as much.
I went downstairs and opened the front door where Richard and Gabe were still standing by his truck, they’d unloaded lots of stuff and filled the upstairs with it, but there was still so much more.
‘It’s a good job I’m not a tidy person, I’d be driven mad with all those shoes and clothes lying around. We’re going to have to climb into my little rooms.’
‘Is she okay?’ Richard asked. I shrugged.
‘Shame, she loved that house,’ Gabe sighed, lighting a roll-up.
That was an understatement, but then Gabe seemed to be king of those, nothing seemed to faze him. I considered myself to be laid-back, but even I was amazed at his calmness and ability to just go with the flow. The rest of us were all traumatised and Tamsin’s stress was infectious, but he was immune, just leaning against his truck taking a long, slow drag of his cigarette.
‘She’ll be fine. She’s a tough lady,’ he said, breathing a lungful of smoke and blowing it slowly out into the cold air.
He was right, but at the moment she was definitely a little wonky. I was glad to be there for her in her moment of need – especially as none of her so-called friends had turned up. Mind you I’d met all her friends and there wasn’t one who would be happy to hurl bin bags onto a truck on a freezing cold morning in December. I almost smiled at the thought of that ‘up herself’ Anouska with her highlighted hair and always perfectly made up face. She was so thin she’d break if you handed her a filled bin liner.
