by Sue Watson
I tried to make contact with the outside world by calling a couple of other friends who didn’t pick up either. A man came on This Morning talking about money and I opened my purse and found a ten pound note. I wondered if I could still use any of my debit or credit cards. I called the bank – the answer was no.
I surfed the few channels Sam’s TV had (honestly it was like being back in the bloody 70s – no satellite, no Freeview – it was an outrage – I honestly don’t know how she survived).
I called Phaedra again, but there was obviously no signal.
Then Cash in the Attic came on and it had a lovely Christmas flavour with old tree decorations and a super wooden rocking horse. I thought about selling some antiques, but everything I owned was either at The Rectory or in black bin liners and it would take weeks to work out what was where – there was no way Sam would have labelled anything! I sat there among the bags of my life, Phaedra and Anouska still hadn’t returned my calls, and only then did it finally dawn on me... I was the new Mimi.
Mimi was the woman in our social circle that we avoided. She may have been rich and beautiful, but she was from the wrong side of the tracks – and unlike me had never tried to hide it, so had never been accepted. None of ‘The Real Housewives of Chantray Lane’ felt she was worthy and we never invited her to any of our soirées or deigned to attend any of hers. ‘NLU’ Anouska had said of Mimi. I must have looked puzzled when she said this because she explained; ‘Not Like Us, darling,’ then she giggled, and I’d giggled too at Mimi’s exclusion, which had made me feel more included. But it looked like I was the outsider now – I was ‘NLU’.
I texted Simon – I wasn’t sure how long my phone would remain connected and figured it would be cheaper to text the bastard. By 4 p.m. I had left several messages on his phone which started with polite requests for him to call me, and – I’m ashamed to say – descended into a tirade of unladylike abuse.
I wandered downstairs to talk to Sam. She was busy kneading dough, the bakery was quiet, the snow was falling more heavily and inside felt warm and cosy. I leaned against the kitchen worktops watching her work as she pummelled at the unrelenting olive-studded dough. Behind her on a shelf was a stunning white chocolate Christmas cake, and I felt a festive rush walking towards it, pure and white, stacked with truffles and Christmas roses, with just a suggestion of glitter. Then I realised it must have been meant for me.
‘You can still have it,’ she said, reading my mind.
‘I wouldn’t dream of it, sweetie. I can’t pay for it for a start.’
‘It was a gift,’ she sighed. ‘I was going to surprise you before your Christmas soirée, make it the centrepiece – you know?’
I nodded. I felt like the little girl that Santa forgot. It was stunning and would easily have served the sixty guests I would have been expecting... how I wished it was still mine.
‘Don’t sell it though – I don’t want Anouska getting her hands on it – or God forbid, Mimi ordering it and adding something tasteless and purple to the top,’ I added.
Sam rolled her eyes and threw herself back into the dough, giving it an unnecessarily hard punch. I almost felt it myself!
My biggest fear had always been a return to the way life had been as a child. No food on the table, no money for the electricity meter, and Dad, drunk. Christmas Eve had always been the worst... Mum and Dad would come home very late, we’d be in bed and then it would start. I’d lie upstairs listening to them. It began with just a monotone background noise of bickering and bitterness, spiking gradually until both their voices were fighting to be heard, to beat the other down. Then came the smashing of crockery, the yelling, the screams and the thumping of Mum’s head against a wall or a table, followed by the worst sound of all... silence. It was the silence I dreaded the most – it was like a knife in my heart. Sometimes, if I was feeling brave, I’d go downstairs and open the kitchen door, I’d hold my breath and close my eyes, unable to face what I knew was waiting. Mum lying on the floor, or staggering to get up, pretending she’d fallen, Dad glowering in the corner. ‘Just banged my head, love, I’m a silly billy.’ But we both knew the truth.
He knew I knew and as I’d help mum onto her feet he’d spit some insult at me, ‘You’re just like her... nothing.’ And that’s when I decided to prove him wrong, I hated him with such rage, such anger it ate away at me night after night. Once, when I couldn’t take it anymore I'd tried to wake Sam, I couldn’t bear the burden alone and wanted to share it with his perfect child, who believed he was the perfect father. 'Can you hear him, downstairs?’ I asked.
‘Who, Father Christmas... is that his reindeers I can hear, Tamsin?’ she’d said, sleepy eyed while the thumping continued. I looked at her for a while, wondering whether to tell her what was going on, but didn’t have the heart and just nodded. ‘Yeah... it’s Father Christmas and his reindeers,’ I whispered. ‘Now go back to sleep.’ She’d had no idea – and I’d never told her, and I’d kept the truth from her ever since.
Two children, sisters in the same house, the same family – both with very different childhoods, and very different memories. I remembered my father as a man who drank too much and was emotionally and physically cruel to his wife and eldest daughter. Our mother was a weak person, who'd been ruled by her own father and when faced with the same life as an adult had also turned to drink. I felt like the observer, the only sane person in a mad, beat-up world of drink and anger. I didn’t resent Sam because she’d had it easier – but I did resent the fact that I was alone and had no one to tell. I’d spent years trying to make up for my childhood, make a better life for myself and Christmas was my chance to create some sparkle, some magic to erase the past. I worked hard and if I’m honest I’d never really achieved the kind of Christmas I dreamed of. And now there was no chance of a decent Christmas ever again - I was back to right where I started, with nothing.
I dragged my mind away from it all. Sam was still beating up the dough like an angry wrestler and I figured we were both a bit stressed. ‘Come on, let’s have a cup of delicious, fresh coffee,’ I said, heading upstairs to my Gaggia and sticking two fingers up to my past.
7
The Tea, the Tarot and a Film Star Lost in Suburbia
Sam
Poor Tamsin was really out of her comfort zone at my place. Everyone stared at her emerging from above in designer clothes and huge sunglasses – well it was the middle of December! I was busy serving, but noticed as everyone in the bakery turned round. Looking like a film star lost in suburbia, she stopped in the doorway and peered around (for the paparazzi?). She seemed stiff and awkward, like an alien lost in another world, and swept back upstairs with just a nod to Mrs J who I’d invited to work at the bakery as she now had no work with Tamsin. Mrs J tried to engage her in conversation, but Tamsin wanted to escape and diva-like swept back upstairs. I had to smile – there had always been a touch of Gloria Swanson about my sister. Even when we were kids she used to watch old black and white films on the TV and pretend she was Bette Davis or Joan Crawford.
I sometimes marvelled at how our lives were so radically different. My days were spent baking, serving in the shop and looking after Jacob and I was beginning to feel like I’d finally found myself. Just when my sister's life was falling apart.
Where once my sister would spend her days ‘doing lunch,’ with friends at overpriced bistros and a spot of retail therapy she now spent her days wandering around upstairs, drinking her special ground coffee and watching Jeremy Kyle and Loose Women on a loop.
After her third day of DNA results, menopausal humour and overpriced caffeine she looked very pale. I asked if she was okay and she’d nodded, lethargically... clearly the caffeine wasn’t working.
‘I wish I knew what was going to happen to me,’ she sighed. This wasn’t like Tamsin, life didn’t ‘happen’ to her, she ‘happened’ to it.
‘Don’t be down, just take a few days to come round and make some decisions. None of us know what’s round the corn
er... even Mrs J, despite her skill with the tea and the tarot.’ I giggled and reminded her of a reading she’d had from Mrs J after which she hadn’t been able to sleep for weeks because of the cards that came up for her.
‘Mmmm that death card was a knife through my heart,’ she nodded vigorously.
I smiled, remembering the late night phone calls, the will, the emails filled with music playlists and internet links with glossy shots of preferred canapés to be served at her funeral. There was also a detailed email about the red Gucci shift dress she wanted to be dressed in - along with her favourite Louboutins in red (‘not black darling no one wears black to funerals anymore’).
Tamsin was miles away. ‘But on her last reading, she’d said, “Big changes are coming. Vultures are circling.” Mrs J may be more psychic than we thought. I might get her to do another reading... knowledge is power at a time like this.’
‘I thought I was supposed to be the hippy dippy one,’ I said, trying to lift her mood.
She took my hand and squeezed it. ‘I don’t know what I’d do without you Sam, hippy dippy or not... suddenly my whole world has come crashing down and there you are my lifeboat in the wreckage.’
‘Yes I ’m here for you and I think one of the keys to this is keeping everything as normal as possible, which reminds me, I’d promised Jacob we could put the tree up tonight.’ I hadn’t, but I thought it would take her mind off things – even though she would baulk at the dusty old tree and unfashionable baubles. I knew my sister though, and before long she’d be dictating what went where and how we should put the lights on – I never thought I’d say it, but I wanted the old Tamsin back.
I rushed into the bedroom and pulled out the cardboard box I’d found at her house.
‘I hope you don’t mind me rescuing these,’ I said, plonking the box in the middle of the room, ‘they’re from Nan and Granddad’s.’
‘No, I don’t mind. God I thought I’d thrown that lot out years ago...’
‘It seemed a shame to leave them in a cupboard – all these lovely memories,’ I said, feeling a frisson for Christmas I hadn’t felt in years. ‘Come and see, Jacob... we’re decorating our Christmas tree,’ I called. He was delirious with excitement at this and was soon head down in the box, discovering the Christmas treasures. The old tree was wrapped in bin liners and as I peeled them off, half the tinsel ‘pine needles’ came away with them. This didn’t seem to bother Jacob, who shrieked with delight as the tree was slowly unfurled. It was so rickety and old and frail, I suddenly felt a wave of nostalgia for Christmas past and my lovely grandparents who’d always been so caring.
We dragged everything through into the living room, together turning the box upside down and shaking all the glittery Christmas detritus onto the carpet.
‘Oh, I’m not sure you should be using this old stuff... it’s so dusty,’ Tamsin complained, but couldn’t help herself and was soon on her knees looking through the baubles and tinsel with us.
Once I’d secured the tree in the corner of the room, Jacob and I dived into the box, rummaging through the treasure it contained.
I picked up the glass owl. ‘I often wondered as a child the significance of owls at Christmas,’ I laughed to Tamsin, who was gazing at the snow dome. She reached for it and held it in both hands, caressing it gently, looking into it like it was a crystal ball.
‘Are you okay, love? Is all this a bit much for you?’ I asked. Perhaps it had been a bit tactless of me to dress the tree when she was going through so much turmoil. I knew how much she loved her Christmases at The Rectory and this one would be quite different.
‘No... it’s fine. I was just remembering this,’ she held the dome up to the light, there were tears in her eyes. I put my hand on her shoulder, ‘Let’s put it on the mantelpiece like we used to at home?’ I suggested, but she didn’t want to.
‘It’ll look better over there, near the lamp,’ she said and placed it over on the bookshelf, which couldn’t have been further from the mantelpiece.
‘What’s this?’ Jacob held a scarlet and gold Japanese fan, a remnant from one of Tamsin’s themed Christmases from a couple of years before. I looked over at her to remind her of the madness of Mrs J in fancy dress serving up dim sum platters in black kohl and blue kimono. But Tamsin was miles away again, now holding a white glass angel with a broken wing and looking like she was about to burst into tears. I let her have her space and time to think while I concentrated on Jacob.
I showed Jacob how to waft the oriental fan, making him giggle, and within seconds he was back searching for more treasures, almost disappearing into the box.
‘Mummy, look at this – a beautiful lady,’ he said, emerging from the box waving a paper fairy in the air. ‘Can Auntie Tamsin keep this fairy? I think she’ll like it.’
He got up, and clumsily staggering over the baubles and tinsel, he held out the fairy, looking intently at Tamsin’s face.
‘Don’t cry Auntie Tam... Father Christmas is coming soon.’
She gently took the paper fairy from his hands and drew him close, hugging him and kissing his cheeks.
‘Ew... you made me wet with your cry,’ he said, coming over all tough guy for a second. Then he bent down putting both hands on his chubby little knees and looked right into her face.
‘It’s okay, Auntie Tam... you can do a sleepover with us all the time, you don’t need a house.’
I bit my lip and my heart melted at my little boy’s kindness. ‘That may or may not be what you want to hear just now,’ I smiled.
‘It’s just what I want to hear,’ she said, hugging Jacob once more, burying her face in his neck for a long time.
‘Can Horatio sleep over too?’ he said. Jacob loved that dog, but there wouldn’t have been room for him at the flat so one of Richard’s friends had taken him for now.
‘One day, when we’re all back in our own homes and Horatio’s home too, you can come and sleep over with him, how about that?’ she said.
Jacob nodded enthusiastically, and extricating himself from Tamsin’s hug, she passed the fairy back to me.
‘We might need to give her a makeover,’ I laughed, looking at the fairy who seemed every bit as unloved and dishevelled as my sister.
Her silver foil crown was askew (the fairy’s, not Tamsin’s) and looking at the scribbled-on eyes, the yellow wool hair and the bent wings took me straight back to my nana’s kitchen. It had been freezing cold and Tamsin and I were sitting by the oven for warmth, while Nana buttered toast and made mugs of steaming tea. It didn’t matter how cold it was outside, it was always warm and safe in that kitchen. And there was always something cooking on the stove or in the oven. Fruit pies, soups, mashed potatoes, all the comfort food I loved now had been fed to me there, forever associating it with warmth and happiness.
I remembered sitting at the kitchen table drawing the fairy really carefully, while Tamsin waited to cut it out with the scissors. I was about Jacob’s age and she would have been about twelve, old enough to be allowed to be in charge of the scissors. How I admired the way she cut the shape of that fairy – I longed to be an almost-teenager like Tamsin. My big sister knew stuff and had lots of friends... one of them had even been to Spain on her holidays; they were so sophisticated and grown up. I loved my sister, she was so clever and I remembered as she cut out the fairy she’d made her ‘talk’ in an American accent. I recall roaring with laughter as the paper cut-out stomped up and down the table saying, ‘Happy Holidays’ and whistling carols.
‘Mummy, let’s put the lights on,’ Jacob lisped excitedly, dragging me back into the present. As we finished the tree together, I worried Tamsin would be secretly horrified, there was no sense of style or theme or colour scheme.
‘I hope this isn’t making you feel worse,’ I laughed. ‘It must be causing all kinds of feng shui problems for you, Tamsin.’
She smiled and walked over to the tree. Putting one arm around Jacob, she surveyed our Christmas mash-up and then placed a glitzy little a
ngel on one of the branches. She’d been holding it in her hands as we’d dressed the tree – I wondered why she’d been looking at it so long.
‘I don’t remember that,’ I said, puzzled.
‘I do, I thought she’d gone a long time ago – she’s a brooch really, but I think she belongs here.’
‘Oh... was it yours, Tam?’
She nodded.
We all stood and gazed at the spectacular tree, laden with lights and memories. It was a cocktail of everything Christmas should be, crazy messy, uncoordinated and fun. I felt a rush of happiness, almost childlike at the sight of our little tree – I’d been so caught up in Jacob’s exuberance I hadn’t thought about how I felt. Yet here I was feeling a sense of happiness I’d long buried.
Jacob clapped his hands. ‘Yeah... I think we all deserve a big round of applause,’ I said, joining him.
‘Hang on a minute,’ Tamsin said, one finger in the air. She reached in and moved Cinderella’s glass slipper up a branch and fluffed the feathers of a glittery bird then looked at us both.
‘NOW we can clap.’
