A Fairy Tale for Christmas

by Chrissie Manby

  ‘She’s on target to do well in her GCSEs,’ said Linzi proudly.

  ‘So,’ India began. ‘I’ve got to choose my options for A Levels. I’ve already chosen English Literature and French – I’m definitely going to do them – but I’ve got to come up with one more. I know what I want to do, but—’

  ‘No way. It’s a waste of time,’ Stu interrupted.

  Linzi looked between Stu and India nervously. Kirsty sensed then that this was what India had been getting stick about before she arrived.

  ‘What are the contenders for third subject?’ Kirsty asked.

  ‘Well,’ India lowered her eyes to the tablecloth. ‘Dad is suggesting Economics.’

  ‘That sounds like a good choice. Very sensible,’ said Kirsty.

  Stu nodded enthusiastically. ‘It is. There’s always a job for economists.’

  ‘Or Politics,’ India continued. ‘That’s another one.’

  ‘That could be interesting,’ Kirsty agreed.

  ‘It’s a good thing to know how the world really works,’ said Stu.

  ‘But …’ India took a deep breath. ‘What I really want to do is A Level Drama and Theatre Studies.’ The words tumbled out all at once.

  ‘Drama,’ said Kirsty. Her face lit up and she was about to tell India that was the best idea of all when—

  ‘It’s a waste of time,’ Stu jumped in.

  ‘Kirsty doesn’t think that,’ said India. ‘Do you?’

  Kirsty could suddenly see storm clouds gathering. She didn’t have a clue what to say that wouldn’t kick off a fight. She tried to remain neutral. ‘I didn’t actually ever study Drama,’ she said carefully.

  ‘But if you’d had the chance, you would have, wouldn’t you? If Dad hadn’t made all your decisions for you, like he’s trying to do with me.’

  ‘I’m not making your decisions for you. I’m just guiding you in the right direction.’

  ‘Drama is the right direction as far as I’m concerned.’

  ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re not supposed to be choosing subjects based on your hobbies, you’re supposed to be choosing subjects that will help you get a job.’

  ‘I want to get a job as an actress.’

  ‘I don’t think Theatre Studies was even an option at my school,’ Kirsty tried to bring the temperature of the discussion down.

  ‘But Dad even stopped you doing it outside school,’ India reminded her. ‘And look how hard it’s been for you to catch up from that. You were thirty-two before you finally got to do what you wanted. It isn’t fair. You should have been allowed to be an actress and singer when you were a kid. And I should be allowed to choose my own options. I don’t want to be an economist. I don’t want to be a politician. They’re all shits.’

  Stu glared at his daughter.

  ‘Well, they are,’ said India. ‘And I’m not interested in going into the corporate world. I want to be an actress. I know where my talents lie and Dad is trying to stop me from developing them. It isn’t fair. It’s none of his business. It’s my life.’

  ‘It is my business while you’re living in this house and I’m paying for it,’ Stu thundered in reply.

  ‘Then I’ll leave home,’ said India. ‘There’s nothing you can do to stop me now I’m sixteen. I’ll leave home and get a job and get my own place and study Drama at a sixth form college.’

  ‘You have no idea,’ said Stu.

  ‘Kirsty’s made it all by herself. I can do it too.’

  ‘Kirsty worked for an accountancy firm.’

  ‘Because she had to. Because you gave her no choice. If she’d been allowed to take those advertising jobs when she was a child, she would have been able to pay her own way through drama school when she was my age. She could have gone straight into the arts.’

  Kirsty was surprised that India knew about the advertising jobs Kirsty’s mother Nicole had put her forward for. She wondered who had told her. Surely not Stu. Unless he held them up as an example of ‘what not to do’.

  ‘You’re an idiot, Dad,’ India continued, making her mother and sister blanch. ‘All you care about is money and stability.’ India made little inverted commas with her fingers when she said stability. ‘There’s more to life than that. What about living in your own way? Being happy? Being authentic?’

  ‘You try being authentic when you’ve got a mortgage to pay. Life is not school. You don’t get to be “authentic”.’

  Kirsty tried to calm things down by interjecting. ‘I’d say that none of the people I’ve met in show business actually studied Drama at school,’ she tried.

  Stu and India were taking no notice. Stu was giving his younger daughter both barrels.

  ‘You’ve got no idea what’s waiting for you in the real world. I’m trying to protect you from yourself.’

  ‘I don’t need that kind of protection. I want to be me.’

  ‘India,’ said Linzi. ‘We’re supposed to be having a nice family dinner. We don’t need to talk about this now.’

  ‘Then when?’ India cried. ‘When is anybody actually going to listen to me?’

  ‘We listen to you all the time,’ said Stu. ‘Going on about how you want to be famous. Do you really think you’re that special? Do you really think you’re going to be the one who makes it big? There are families having discussions like this one all over the country. There are thousands of teenagers just like you who think it’s going to be different for them. Well, guess what? It’s not. I had to work my arse off to get where I am today and it’s going to be far harder for your generation. So I’m not going to let you make mistakes on my watch. You’re not doing bloody Theatre Studies. You’ll thank me one day.’

  ‘Or maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll be like Kirsty, having to wait thirty years to do what I want and hating you all the time.’

  ‘I don’t hate …’ Kirsty tried but India was on a roll.

  ‘She had talent. That was picked up when she was seven years old. Imagine how far she could have gone with your support.’

  ‘She’s hardly Helen Mirren,’ was Stu’s reply.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Kirsty, quietly.

  ‘Sorry, Kirsty,’ said Stu. ‘But you know what I mean.’

  ‘I’m not sure I do …’

  Linzi quickly grabbed Kirsty’s hand and squeezed it. ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘I need you in the kitchen. Now.’

  Kirsty gratefully followed Linzi out.

  ‘I am so sorry,’ said Linzi. ‘I’m so sorry. I’m really embarrassed for your dad. You know he didn’t mean it?’

  ‘He’s right,’ said Kirsty. ‘I am no Helen Mirren.’

  ‘I’ve never rated her anyway!’ said Linzi in desperation.

  Kirsty managed a smile.

  ‘He’s just so worried about India. I’ve told him to calm down and let her win this battle. She’s doing French and English. They’re both good, solid subjects. But he’s scared she’s putting herself out of the job market. It doesn’t help that his firm has been talking redundancies.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘They’re going to make an announcement right before Christmas. He’s pretty sure he’s for the chop. That phone call he was taking when you arrived …’ Linzi dabbed at her eyes. ‘That’s what it was about. His whole team is likely to be made redundant. He’s so stressed-out.’

  Kirsty knew how much her father’s work meant to him.

  ‘He just sees the world as a big bad place and he wants to keep India safe,’ Linzi continued. ‘And because he’s always tried so hard to protect her from life’s harsh realities, she doesn’t have a clue. She just keeps pushing and pushing until he pushes back and ends up saying something really awful.’

  ‘Like the Helen Mirren thing.’

  ‘He didn’t mean it. He’s really proud of you. I know he doesn’t always show it …’

  Kirsty shook her head. ‘You don’t need to say anything. Look, I should go. I’ve only had one glass of wine. I’ll be OK to drive back.’

&nb
sp; ‘What, now? But it’s the middle of the night. I’ve made up the spare room.’

  Linzi’s eyes were swimming with tears. In that moment, Kirsty couldn’t help feeling more sorry for her stepmother than she felt for herself.

  ‘Please stay. Stu will be so upset if you go. I’ll be upset too. And India.’

  ‘OK,’ said Kirsty. ‘I’ll stay.’

  ‘Oh, thank you, sweetheart. Thank you. Will you help me carry these dishes in?’ she asked. ‘Hopefully they’ll have stopped arguing.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Kirsty.

  ‘This is doing my head in,’ said Linzi. ‘You know, I really don’t remember you ever arguing with your father like this.’

  ‘You’ve got a short memory,’ said Kirsty.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Stu and India did seem to have agreed a temporary truce and Stu apologised again about the ‘Helen Mirren’ crack, but even after Kirsty assured him she hadn’t taken offence, the echoes of the argument still hung in the air and made it difficult to choose a new subject to talk about. Kirsty was conscious that talking about the pantomime might cause India to segue onto Drama and Theatre Studies again. Likewise, school in general was out of the question. She now also knew she shouldn’t ask her father how his work was going.

  Linzi did her best to ride to the rescue by talking about a cookery programme she was keen on. She announced that she wanted to try cooking one of those ‘bird within a bird’ roasts for Christmas lunch. But that only made India frown and say that she could never eat duck. In fact, she was thinking of becoming a vegetarian. And that prompted Stu to say, ‘Another of your faddy ideas.’

  ‘It’s not faddy!’ India went from nought to furious in less than a second. ‘Apart from the fact that farm animals are kept in appalling conditions, there’s tons and tons of medical evidence to suggest that eating meat is really bad for you.’

  ‘What are you going to replace meat with?’ Stu asked. ‘More crisps?’

  ‘Stop it!’ Linzi put her hands over her ears. ‘Stop it, both of you.’ She started to clear away the dessert dishes before anyone had actually finished.

  With the table prematurely cleared, Kirsty tried a peace-making mission of her own. ‘Come and see what I got you for Christmas,’ she said to India. ‘You might as well open it now so I’ve got time to change it if it’s wrong.’

  India followed Kirsty into the living room. Stu came with them. Kirsty proudly handed India her parcel. Kirsty had gone to great lengths to make the gift look especially pretty. India cooed over the wrapping, which featured a skull and cross-bones in a Santa hat as a recurring motif. ‘This is really great. Where did you get it?’

  ‘A little shop in Newbay. They sell all sorts of goth stuff. I thought you’d like it.’

  India ripped the paper off. She unfolded the playsuit and held it up.

  ‘Oh wow!’ she said. ‘Wow. This is amazing.’

  ‘I hope it’s the right size.’

  India inspected the label. ‘It is. It’s perfect. I’m going to try it on right now.’

  ‘What is it?’ Stu asked. ‘Is it pyjamas?’

  ‘It’s a playsuit,’ said India, not bothering to hide her disdain for her father’s lack of fashion savvy.

  ‘A playsuit?’

  ‘Like a jumpsuit with short legs. I’m going to wear this to the end-of-term party.’

  ‘You’re going to wear that outside the house?’ Stu asked.

  ‘Er, yeah,’ said India.

  ‘Oh, no,’ said Stu. ‘You’re not wearing that in public. It’s too short.’

  ‘It’s meant to be short. You wear it over tights.’

  ‘I don’t care. Kirsty, you’ll have to take it back.’

  ‘I don’t want her to take it back. I love it.’ India clutched the playsuit to her chest. ‘I’m going to put it on.’

  ‘Let Kirsty take it back to the shop. I don’t know what she was thinking anyway.’ He turned to address Kirsty directly. ‘It’s hardly appropriate for a sixteen year old. It looks like something one of your showgirl friends would wear.’

  ‘And that means it’s not respectable, right, Dad?’ asked India.

  Kirsty got up from the sofa. ‘I’ll take it back and get you some vouchers,’ she said to India.

  ‘No way.’ India quickly ripped the sales tag off, instantly rendering the playsuit impossible to return. ‘I’m keeping it.’

  Kirsty couldn’t help offering India a quick complicit smile.

  ‘Well, you’re never wearing it,’ Stu roared. ‘So that’s just a waste of bloody money.’

  ‘It’s what everyone’s wearing this year,’ Kirsty tried. ‘They’re really not that racy.’

  ‘You could try to back me up,’ said Stu. ‘You’re supposed to be an adult. But I suppose I’m expecting too much from you.’

  ‘Right,’ said Kirsty. ‘I really am going this time.’

  Thank goodness she’d switched to drinking water after the ‘Helen Mirren’ jibe. She knew that family tensions are never improved with alcohol.

  ‘Kirsty,’ Linzi pleaded.

  ‘Look, I’ll give you a call at Christmas. I just don’t think it’s a good idea for me to stay here a moment longer. I don’t want to say anything I might regret and I’m sure you feel the same way, Dad.’

  ‘Nobody listens to me anyway,’ he lamented.

  ‘We’ve listened to far too much of you tonight,’ said Linzi, suddenly venting her own pain.

  Kirsty gave India a hug.

  ‘I can’t believe you’re leaving me here on my own,’ India sobbed. ‘You were supposed to be my ally.’

  ‘I think I’m just making matters worse. I’ll see you soon,’ Kirsty said. ‘Thanks for a lovely dinner, Linzi. Dad …’

  Stu had his back to her. He actually turned the television on and was flicking through the channels as Linzi and India saw Kirsty to her car.

  Kirsty managed to wave quite cheerfully as she set off. It was only when she was a couple of miles down the road that she started to cry. She pulled her car to the kerb and sat there with the hazard lights on for fifteen minutes.

  ‘No Helen Mirren.’

  That was one insult it would take her a long time to shake off. And from her dad! All she’d ever wanted to do was make him proud.

  He was right, though. She felt it deep inside. She was chasing a dream that would never be hers. He had seen that when she was a child. All those restrictions he’d placed on her were to protect her from finding out too late that she really didn’t have it after all.

  When Kirsty got home, Jon complained that she had woken him up.

  ‘I thought you were staying overnight.’

  ‘I decided to drive back and be with you instead. I’d rather wake up here tomorrow morning.’

  There wasn’t much point telling him about the row. Kirsty told herself she didn’t want to talk about it anyway. Least said, soonest mended. She certainly didn’t want to say the words ‘Helen Mirren’ out loud and watch for any hint of agreement on Jon’s face. He’d already suggested that she should go back to office work.

  She found what she really wanted to do was tell Ben.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Jon left early on Saturday morning to catch the train to London. Kirsty didn’t have to get up when he did but she decided she would, to show him some support. While he showered and dressed, she padded about the cold kitchen making him a packed lunch. Sandwiches – cheese, ham and pickle. Like she’d made for Ben, only not so thick. She added a packet of crisps and one of the forbidden Penguins she could not allow herself while she still had to fit into Cinders’ ballgown/Bernie’s wedding dress. She tucked them all inside a Tupperware box with a couple of sheets of kitchen roll in lieu of a napkin. Then, while Jon was still making himself look interview ready, she cut a piece of paper into the shape of a heart and wrote on it: ‘Break a leg!’ She put that inside the lunchbox too, hoping he would find it later in the day and it would give him a boost to know that she was thinking of
him.

  Not that she really wanted Jon to get this job. While Jon had been waiting to hear about Dubai, Kirsty had received some work-related news of her own. Her agent in London had arranged for Kirsty to audition for a part in Les Miserables at the Jubilee Theatre in nearby Westhampton. It was a provincial theatre but a large and prestigious one and to play there would be a stepping-stone to the West End. A role in such a big show was top of Kirsty’s wish list. It would be a dream come true. The audition wasn’t until January. If she was successful, the work wouldn’t begin for a couple of months after that. But if she did get the part, from March onwards, Kirsty would be very busy indeed and she would still be in Devon. If Jon got the job in Dubai, they wouldn’t see each other.

  Unless … Kirsty didn’t take the Les Mis job. She hadn’t even told Jon about the audition yet, let alone won the part. Jon had so many other things to think about, what with the panto and with preparing for today. She didn’t want to burden him with her dilemma. There would be time to discuss it in the weeks to come. If she was even good enough to be cast. And if Jon didn’t get the Dubai job, there would be no need to worry at all. He could stay in Newbay with her.

  Kirsty sealed the lid on the Tupperware box again just as Jon walked into the kitchen.

  ‘How do I look?’ he asked.

  He looked great. In his smart suit he was every inch the professional theatre director. At least, every inch the professional theatre director dressed to impress a wealthy client who probably had f-all idea about the filth and clutter of real life back stage.

  ‘You’ll knock ’em dead,’ said Kirsty.

  ‘I hope so,’ said Jon. ‘This could be a serious career-changer,’ he continued as he looked into the little mirror by the back door and rearranged his hair. ‘Not to mention the money. I’ve got to get it.’

  ‘I’m sure you will,’ said Kirsty. ‘Look.’ She picked up the Tupperware box. ‘I made your favourite. Cheese, ham and pickle. There’s a Penguin too.’

  ‘I hope you didn’t have one yourself at the same time,’ Jon said.

  ‘Of course not,’ said Kirsty.

  ‘It is a fast day.’