by Sue Watson
Tamsin Angel was gradually coming back into the building.
8
A Christmas Snow Storm
Tamsin
Seeing that snow dome had taken me straight back there, to the place we lived when I was six. Mum had placed it on the mantelpiece that Christmas Eve – she was still taking part in life then, we even had a tree that Christmas. I stood for ages turning the snow globe upside down, creating my own little wonderland of swirling snow, waiting for each snowflake to land and finally reveal the polar bear and the little igloo. I imagined what it would be like to live in a place like that, so pure and white and perfect. I remember Dad coming in with the tree and a bottle of sherry. It was Christmas Eve and he was in a great mood, shouting Ho Ho Ho and singing loudly. I giggled (with relief) and when he laughed too and ruffled my hair I felt such complete happiness. But as always my joy was edged in fear. As a young child I couldn’t comprehend the mix of my father’s emotions, and always walked carefully on the tightrope between his incredible highs and punishing lows. His jokes and teasing and tickling could change with a look; a smile could turn into a smack across the mouth just from a word or cup in the wrong place, a meal or moment that didn’t suit. And it was always down to the drink.
That Christmas Eve, with the winter wonderland dome on the mantelpiece I dared to hope we would have a happy Christmas. And when he told me I must sing ‘Oh Little Town of Bethlehem’ and he would teach me the words, I was delighted. Always desperate to please him, keep him calm, keep Christmas happy, I nervously repeated each line he gave me. Once or twice the words were wrong or muddled and I waited for the blow, but when nothing happened, I carried on, becoming more and more confident with each note. He’d told Mum things would be different now the new baby was here and I thought perhaps the terrible screaming and hurting was over. I didn’t see the significance of the opened sherry bottle he was swigging from and when he tired of my singing I gathered all my courage and took the snow dome down from the mantelpiece. I walked towards him on my six-year-old legs, smiling, wanting to share this wonderful white world with him. We would look together into a world where snow and ice and polar bears lived all year long – the dome would cast its magic spell and make him so happy he’d never hurt us again.
But as I got closer, the tone of his voice was already changing, escalating, calling Mum ‘an idiot’, and as he lunged to grab her by the hair, I knew the spell was broken. I saw the red-rimmed eyes, the angry mouth, and heard my mother’s screams as he grabbed her and I was inadvertently knocked to the ground. I landed in the mantelpiece, clutching my little snow-dome world to my chest to keep it safe. I didn’t feel the pain in my forehead as it crashed onto the stone fireplace, but I felt the pain as the snow dome bounced from my arms. Later, when Mum put a cold compress on my forehead and put me to bed, I kept the snow dome under my pillow. It was cracked from its fall, and so was I – but we had both survived him. I must have taken it to my grandparents’ for safekeeping, away from him and it had found its way into Nan’s old Christmas trinket box. And seeing it there at Sam’s, running my fingers along the fine crack creeping around the glass, I was reminded that however far you go, the scars don’t always heal.
I wanted to cry and rage against my father, against Simon and against my mother’s inability to protect me. I had trusted these people to love me and care for me and they had all let me down. I breathed deeply, as my therapist had instructed, and counted to twenty, then Jacob was holding that bloody paper fairy with its tin-foil crown and bent cardboard wings, handing it to me like he was giving me his heart. I wish I’d thrown all the decorations out years ago, it was just an unhappy reminder of the past, but for some reason I’d kept them. What Sam clearly didn’t remember was on the day we made that fairy in Nan’s kitchen, our dad had arrived unexpectedly and demanded he take us back home. Nan had tried to placate him, suggesting he leave us with them for the night, but he was drunk and looking for an argument and screamed at her, pushing her around the kitchen. In the end Granddad called the police and Dad was bundled into a police car; I remember watching from the front bedroom window as it drove off down the road and being confused and surprised at my own feelings. He scared me and I was relieved he was leaving, he couldn’t hurt us tonight – but he was still my dad and he looked so vulnerable in the back of that car, I cried for him.
I tried not to be dragged back into the past because it didn’t help to dwell on the negative memories – but losing everything had forced me to confront things I’d never faced before.
I discovered the diamanté angel brooch in the bottom of the decoration box, it was embedded with glitter dust and I hadn’t recognised it at first. But then I remembered, it was a Christmas gift from my dad when I was about ten years old. I’d loved that little angel, but when it went missing after Christmas I’d assumed Dad had pawned it like everything else. Like the snow dome I’d taken the brooch to my grandparents’ as it was the only place anything was safe – the only place I ever truly felt safe. But she’d survived – just like I had, and somehow in all the darkness, that little diamante angel had given me hope. I wasn’t the frightened little girl any more, I was a strong woman with two beautiful kids and somewhere out there was a future for me. I wasn’t quite sure what that future held, but it was going to be very different from my past.
* * *
The morning after the Christmas tree was decorated – Simon called. I’d just had a bath and was wondering how Sam’s skin seemed so soft with no bath oils or gels. She never had a massage or a facial and I told myself that when all this was over I would take us both on a lovely spa weekend to thank her for everything. Then I remembered there was no ‘when all this was over’ because this was my life from now on and spa days wouldn’t even figure anymore. Suddenly my phone rang and I heard the voice of the architect of my devastation on the other end.
‘Tamsin... Tamsin... I don’t know what to say.’ He sounded like he was addressing an employee about a minor business issue.
‘You could say “sorry I’m a selfish, cowardly tosser”?’ I suggested. My anger overwhelmed me – a few days before I would have been so happy to hear his voice, to say let’s sort this together and get back on track whatever that means – but now I resented him, I was filled with hurt and betrayal. Looking down my knuckles were white, my fists clenched, how could he leave us like this?
‘I don’t blame you for your anger... I just lost it. I didn’t know which way to turn, I even thought about taking my own life, Tam.’
I doubted this was true – it was probably his way of gaining sympathy and wriggling out of everything – but this wasn’t just about his life and his pain.
‘What about your family? And what about the people that work for the company? Where do they stand in all this?’
‘There’s insurance, thank God, they will get payments, but obviously there’s no work now, that’s why I tried to keep everything going... for them and for you.’
‘And you,' I said. ‘Let’s not forget you in all this, Simon.’ He was king of his own little universe – the rest of us were simply accessories.
‘You have no idea how I’ve suffered... I couldn’t tell you because I wanted to protect you.’
‘You wanted to protect me? But you hung me out to dry, you left without any warning, what did you think would happen?’
‘Look... I came to France because there was this last ditch hope, I had to make a deal with a Parisian property agency... but...’
Again ‘I’ figured largely in his sentence. Why had I never faced up to the fact that this selfish man was my husband?
He was also an optimist, convinced his ship was coming in – which explains why, according to our accountant he drained the company of hundreds of thousands of pounds. He did it believing that he could make the money back – like a gambler he just kept throwing more money at it hoping it would eventually pay out, but of course it didn’t.
‘You should have told me! Before you sneaked off you could have said, “Tamsin
we’re in trouble, bolt the doors, the bailiffs are on their way, but I’m okay, I’m off to fucking France.”’ I started to cry, I didn’t know if they were tears of hurt or rage, but I felt both.
‘I knew you’d be devastated and I couldn’t face you... or anyone else. Tam... you know how important it is to me, how I’ve struggled to get us where we were. You must remember how hard it was for me to break into that circle? The guys at the golf club, The Rotary... you know how it feels. I wanted to be part of that world, like you did...’
I couldn’t answer him. I was too angry and upset.
‘Tamsin, can you imagine me having to tell them all at the golf club our house had been repossessed? Imagine having everyone know that I failed the business... lost everything?’
‘I don’t have to “imagine” anything,’ I spoke calmly, regaining some control over my inner rage. ‘I don’t have to imagine being ripped from my home with nowhere to go. I don’t have to imagine my friends blanking me and not returning my calls, because it really happened, Simon. It happened to me!’ I looked down and my whole body was shaking.
He said nothing. What could he say?
‘So what exactly are you planning to do, now?’ I asked... and whereas a few days before I would have begged him to come home - I suddenly knew what I wanted from all this, my independence. I had to start getting my own life back on track, have some control over it rather than blindly believing in my husband as I had for years - but in order to do that I needed to know what his plans were.
‘I... er... just need some time and space...’ he said.
‘Oh, YOU need some time and space? Well, I need time and space from you – for the rest of my life,’ I snapped, ‘and yes, me and the kids are homeless but fine, thanks for asking,’ I added before slamming down the phone. I sat for a few moments numb and bruised and empty. Then I rushed into the kitchen and got the Gaggia on... it was my drug of choice and all I had left – I couldn’t now go shopping at times of distress and a pre-lunch Prosecco was but a distant memory.
I sat on the sofa and sipped on my Sumatra Wahana but couldn’t think straight – it was such a mess. I’d used money to make myself feel better and now I was going cold turkey. A new designer dress and a lovely bottle of perfume made me feel whole, it plastered over the wounds and as Phaedra always pointed out, ‘nothing says ‘love’ like a new Chanel clutch bag.’ I wondered who would love me now – because Chanel wasn’t an option.
Later, Sam came up from the bakery. She was tired and covered in flour but seemed happy.
It struck me that I’d always appeared to be the successful sister – but Sam was the one with all the answers, she was the real success, in spite of what life had thrown at her.
‘You are my little sister – but so much wiser than me,’ I sighed. ‘I was so easily seduced and in those early years I felt like a success. My shiny happy money-filled new life was like Christmas every day.’ What I didn’t tell her was that for a little while it had drowned out the noise of my mother’s head thumping on the kitchen table.
But for now, I told myself, no more dwelling on the past. I would try to look forward, and though the present was pretty bleak I had to start to think about what was ahead for me and the kids. I had to regain my strength and my confidence – and what better way to do that than to put on a pair of my fabulous designer shoes – in scarlet.
9
The Phone Call From Hell
Sam
It wasn’t easy sharing our cramped little flat with my sister and as she became stronger over the next few days she became quite assertive again. She’d strut round in her designer stilettos, commenting on everything from how I cooked to how I spoke to Jacob to how I conducted my ‘sexual liaison’, as she referred to it, with Richard.
‘Oh... you should make it more permanent with him, he’s lovely,’ she’d said. ‘Don’t keep saying no or he’ll find someone else.’
And, ‘Mmm I wouldn’t put that pasta in now, I always wait until the water’s boiling...’
Or, ‘Oh, do you allow Jacob to watch TV after 7 p.m.?’
She’d also suggested on more than one occasion that I have Jacob’s hair cut because, ‘he isn’t fitting in.’ I was quick to point out to her, ‘He doesn’t want his hair cut – and who says he wants to fit in and become boring and small-minded like other people?’
She seemed to have missed the fact that his hair was reminiscent of Steve’s and therefore this was about more than just a haircut. I was beginning to find her presence claustrophobic – every time I walked in the living room she was there watching TV or reading a magazine. She saw no one and refused to go anywhere and I worried she’d never move on. She’d heard nothing from any of her so-called friends who, in her time of need, hadn’t even bothered to pick up – let alone take the trouble to call her. She was no use to them now she had no money, but even I was surprised at the speed they’d dropped her.
One evening her phone rang and she just ignored it. ‘Why don’t you pick up?’ I said. ‘It might be one of the girls.’
‘It’s not – it’s bloody Mimi. She’s been calling me for days. God, she just doesn’t know when to give up.’
‘Well, she might be nice to go for... a drink with?’ I said, sounding like a mother suggesting her sulky teen start socialising. ‘She’s the one who’s married to the football manager, isn’t she?’
‘Yes. She’s also the one who pole dances. She slept her way to Chantray Lane and now expects to be accepted by the other wives. Ha.’
I sighed. It had been a long day, I was tired and quite frankly fed up of Tamsin’s mountain of bin bags, pile of magazines, fancy shoes, face creams all over the bathroom and the incessant gobbling sound of her bloody Gaggia. This comment about being ‘accepted’ was the final straw.
‘Well... you have something in common with Mimi, you’ve both been ostracized by the Stepford Wives,’ I replied, which was a bit mean, but she was being so judgemental about Mimi it made me cross.
She went on the defensive immediately. ‘The girls are giving me chance to settle in, and when I have, they’ll call – people are embarrassed when things like this happen and don’t know what to say…’
‘Mimi isn’t.’
She huffed and pretended to be engrossed in the previous July’s edition of Vanity Fair that she’d ‘rescued’ from the house. I knew she wasn’t really reading it – she wouldn’t normally touch an out-of-date magazine.
‘Of all the “wonderful” friends you had, isn’t it funny how the only one who bothers to call you is the one you all treated so badly?’ I said softly.
My sister gave herself to everything and her heart to everyone, but I think she’d been so obsessed with being part of the gang, she’d allowed herself to behave against her nature. I was amazed that she’d been so unkind about Mimi – despite her obvious flaws my sister was one of the kindest people I knew. I’d taken Steve’s death so badly I’d had a minor breakdown, I hadn’t slept or eaten for days and my body and mind had just collapsed and I was rushed to hospital. She’d been so supportive, despite sending in her flaky life coach Fifi who was so irritating she almost drove me to suicide. Anyway, Tam needed me now, I had to be there for her, however infuriating she might be. I was on the floor wrapping some of Jacob’s presents and she was lying full length on the sofa pretending to be interested in an article about luxury swim wear... in the middle of December.
‘That’s so last summer,’ I said, trying to bring her round.
‘It’s all I’ve got,’ she snapped. ‘Or had you forgotten?’
‘So have you heard anything else from Simon?’ I asked, trying to ease the tension in the room.
‘Mmmm, he called this morning as a matter of fact.’ She didn’t look up.
‘Really? Any news?’
‘No. I already told him I wasn’t speaking to him ever again, we’re now talking through solicitors – when we can afford to get them.’
‘So why did he call this morning?’
‘What the...? To quote Hermione, WTF?’
‘He said I had no right to leave abusive messages on his parents’ home phone.’
‘Did you?’
‘Do I look like the kind of woman who would say “you fucking bastard you ruined my life” down my in-laws’ telephone?’
‘Mmmm no... so why do they think you said that?’
‘Because apparently it came from my mobile...’ she went back to her magazine, hoping I’d drop it. As if...
‘Oh My God. It was you who called them, wasn’t it?’
‘No. Oh... yes okay, so it was me,’ she snapped.
‘Why, Tamsin?’
‘I didn’t do it deliberately. I’m not some psycho, I’ve always tried hard to get along with Simon’s parents.’
‘Which begs the question why you would leave abusive...?’
‘Okay. I was angry after it all happened and when I couldn’t get hold of him I called a few times and sent several texts.’
‘Saying “you fucking bastard you ruined my life”?’
‘Yeah and other stuff...’
‘What?’
‘About... oh it doesn’t matter.’
‘Oh it does, Tamsin, you have to tell me.’
‘Okay... I may have said something about his manhood.’
‘You’re kidding me? Why would you talk to your husband’s parents about his dick?’
‘Don’t be crude, Sam. I was under the impression I was texting him, but “Simon’s Phone” and “Simon’s Parents” are next to each other when you scroll down on my phone. I was upset, I didn’t have my glasses on... and sent the texts to his parents’ landline instead.’
‘If you text to a landline a voice reads out the text when they pick up the phone, doesn't it?’
