by Shari Low
‘You know, Oprah says we all have to live in our truth…’
Hell no. Fridge open again. Salad back in. This was a whole pizza kind of night.
The timer on the oven dinged just as her mum was winding up the conversation. ‘So I’m going to suggest he comes to yoga with me in the new year. I feel it’s his last chance to make an effort.’
‘Good idea, Mum.’ Pizza cutter in action. Six slices in seconds. Glance at the phone screen. Nineteen minutes her mum had been on for. Pretty much standard.
‘Anyway, I’d better go, Yvie. I want to get some reading in before Graham Norton comes on. Keeps the mind active.’
‘Okay, Mum.’
Wait for it. Here it comes.
‘Right then. How are you anyway, pet?’
There it was. The question to which the only desired answer was…
‘I’m fine, Mum.’
‘Lovely! Right, I’ll talk to you tomorrow then. Cheerio.’
Click.
Yvie carried her plate and wine glass through to the living room and plumped down on the sofa, before flicking a few buttons on the remote control. What was she in the mood for? She consulted her Sky planner and went for Grey’s Anatomy. There was nothing in this world that couldn’t be solved by an interlude with Amelia Shepherd, Meredith Grey’s flawed, spiky, funny, and unpredictable sister. In her mind, they were kindred spirits – minus the alcohol addiction (Amelia’s), the trail of gorgeous lovers (Amelia’s), the size 8 jeans (Amelia’s) and the large chicken and sweetcorn pizza (Yvie’s).
The first bite of pizza had barely been taken when the phone rang again.
Verity. Sigh. Answer. She could hear what sounded like music and revelry in the background.
‘Hey, lovely, what’s up?’ Yvie answered.
A pause. A sniff.
‘Verity, are you crying?’
Another pause. Then a launch. ‘No, I’m not bloody crying, I’m bloody seething. Remember Ned?’
Yvie felt her teeth clench. What now? ‘Of course I remember Ned.’ She had met Mr Merton when, accompanied by a reluctant Kay (bribed with a bottle of plonk and a night’s babysitting into coming with her), she’d gone into Verity’s school to talk to the students on career day. She’d extolled the virtues of caring for others, talked about social responsibility (right over the heads of the younger classes) and how fulfilling it could be to play a part in restoring someone to health. At the end of the final session, she’d asked how many thought that would be a cool job and got zero hands up. None. Even the Just Eat delivery guy got three students who wanted to follow in his footsteps. Verity’s colleague, Ned, had joined them for impromptu consolation drinks afterwards and they’d ended up in a club until 3 a.m. It was a long story that she hadn’t entirely shared with Verity, because her sister’s early morning call expressing outrage that she hadn’t been invited and demanding to know every detail of what had happened had left Yvie with a very definite – and sinking – feeling that her sister had feelings for Mr Merton and would not at all be happy if she were to hear the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. The memory made Yvie’s toes curl and her stomach lurch.
Verity was still ranting though, ‘So we had plans to go out tonight, and what happens? Bloody Zoe gets dumped by Tom and she comes and gatecrashes our night.’
Yvie put her own feelings and opinions on Ned Merton to one side and focussed on what was important here.
‘Zoe got dumped by Tom?’ Yvie blurted. No way! They were great together. Yvie had ten quid in the sisters’ sweepstake that they’d go the full distance and they’d all be in salmon pink bridesmaid’s dresses by next summer.
‘Er, yes,’ Verity spluttered, and Yvie sensed that hadn’t been the point of the call.
Christ, Zoe would be devastated.
‘Poor Zoe. Is she crushed?’
‘No, she’s completely pissed and singing that bloody Mariah Carey Christmas song to Ned. I mean, how mortifying is that? The poor guy doesn’t know where to look. You can tell he’s mortally embarrassed and desperate to leave.’
Yvie immediately guessed that wasn’t an entirely accurate interpretation of the situation given that a) she’d already learned that Ned definitely wasn’t averse to a bit of female attention, and b) if there was a sister who was least likely to be rejected in any state, drunk or sober, it was Zoe.
Yvie stopped herself from contributing this information by taking another bite of pizza. Who needed the TV when there was the Danton family?
‘So what are you going to do?’
‘I’m going to put her in a taxi and insist she goes home, whether she likes it or not.’
Yvie laughed. ‘Yep, good luck with that. And if it works, be sure to make an official announcement that you’re the first person in history to make Zoe do something that she doesn’t want to do.’
‘Urgh, you always take her side,’ Verity sniffed, leaving Yvie completely bewildered as to how her last statement constituted side taking. Jesus. They were all circling both sides of thirty, yet sometimes it felt like nothing had changed since the days of teenage bickering.
‘Look, I’m not on anyone’s side, but try not to worry about it, Ver. It’s just one night. And even if she’s not acting like it, you know she must be gutted about Tom. She really thought they had a future. Go easy on her. She’ll need you.’
Yvie knew that would chip away the fury. Verity, for all her defensive irritation with the rest of them, and much as she’d never admit it, liked to be needed. She was the least emotional of the four, the most closed up and dismissive, but Yvie had sussed a long time ago that she also sometimes felt like the outsider of the group.
‘Okay, I suppose…’ The reluctant concession proved her point.
Another bite of pizza, then, ‘Call me later and let me know how it goes. I’m always here.’
‘I will. You know, you really need to get a life.’
And then she was gone, leaving Yvie wondering how in hell she was the one who came off that call feeling worse than when it started.
Two more things to do before she could relax. She picked up the phone and fired off a text to Zoe.
Hey… love you. X
As expected, there was no immediate answer. The phone would probably be in her bag, the sound of the incoming text drowned out by the noise of the pub.
Next, she pressed Marina’s number.
‘Hi,’ she answered, almost immediately. One word, yet Yvie could already hear that she was stressed, tired, brittle.
‘Hey, how’s it going?’
‘Oh, you know… usual. Not enough hours in the day.’
There was so much that Yvie could say to that. Marina was the only one of them who didn’t work, yet she never had a spare minute because she filled her days micromanaging every single aspect of life. Yvie knew the answer to the next question before she asked it, but she went ahead anyway.
‘I’m just checking if you need me to bring anything on Christmas Day? I mean, apart from my wit, charm and fondness for trifle.’
‘No, I’m sorted, thanks.’
‘Okay, well you might have to set one less place. Zoe and Tom have split up.’
‘What? Oh Christ.’
‘I know. She’ll be devastated.’
‘She will. Look, I have to go and check Annabelle and Oscar are in bed. I’ll see you Christmas Day.’
Yvie really hoped that the curt dismissal was compounded by a need on Marina’s part to get in touch with Zoe, although she very much doubted it. Practical help came under Marina’s area of expertise, emotional support not so much.
Everyone checked on, Yvie exhaled, stretched out on the sofa and tried to force her shoulders to relax.
She was on her fifth episode in the Grey’s Anatomy binge when her phone pinged. Zoe.
You still up? xx
* * *
Yup. You okay? xx
* * *
It’s over with Tom. Long story. Can’t believe it. Gutted. xx
*
* *
Oh hon, I’m sorry. Want to come here? xx
* * *
Thanks, but otherwise engaged. Another long story. Hurts tho. xx
Otherwise engaged at 2 a.m.? So Verity’s taxi home plan didn’t work then. No surprise there, really, but Verity would be fecking furious. Why did this have to happen at this time of year when they’d all be spending so much time together over the next couple of weeks?
All I want for Christmas is a peace negotiator.
I know, darling. If you need me, just call or come over. Love you xx
* * *
Love you too, sis xx
Yvie clambered up and took her plate over to the kitchen sink, a rising wave of emotions going with her. Poor Zoe. She’d be feeling it all the more because she’d never been chucked. Zoe was their goddess, their alpha female. She’d always been the one who set out her goals and then worked her arse off to get them. She’d somehow taken the scars of their younger years and used them as building blocks for a future on her own terms. A future, she’d just been telling Yvie last week, that included Tom. She must have been completely blind-sided by the break-up.
And poor Verity. She definitely had her knickers in a twist, and the fact that it was Ned…
Another twist of emotion as a memory emerged. Regret. Mortification. Desperate to squash the thought, she went for a distraction. The tub of caramel ice cream was out of the freezer and open before she was even conscious of her actions.
Ned was a very short chapter she’d rather forget. But, of course, she couldn’t share that with anyone. That wasn’t how the dynamics of this family worked.
Twenty years ago, a bomb had exploded in all their lives. Since that pivotal moment, Yvie had always been there for everyone else. Always. But it wasn’t a two way street. That was okay though. She didn’t need to bare her soul. She was fine. Completely on top of things. And at least focusing on the others left far less time to be worrying about her own problems or regrets. Especially the one involving Ned Merton.
5
Marina – Eighteen Months Before
Marina hung up. Dammit. Zoe and Tom splitting up left an odd number for the Christmas lunch. She’d been planning to sit Tom next to Graham’s mother. He’d always been so good-natured about listening to her mother-in-law droning on.
She called up her to-do list on her iPhone and made a note to send back his gift. Not only was he losing Zoe, but he was also losing a gorgeous cashmere V-neck in duck egg blue.
She spent the next couple of hours adjusting plans and noting everything that she needed to get done over the weekend. It was 11 p.m. when she finally went upstairs and checked in on her twelve year old twins, Oscar and Annabelle, both of whom were lying on their beds watching TV. Of course they were. Friday night was the only night that she allowed them a couple of hours off, after 9 p.m., to do whatever they liked – which mostly consisted of Annabelle watching some kind of trash TV and Oscar playing some inane game on his PlayStation. Now it was time for lights out. Annabelle had dance classes – contemporary and ballet – in the morning, Oscar had rugby, and Graham was away on business, returning on Christmas Eve, so she was on her own this weekend. Not that she minded, because she’d rather block out the rest of the world and focus on getting that to-do list sorted out.
The next three days, as with everything, went exactly how she planned. All thoughts of Zoe and Tom, or anything else for that matter, were lost as she spent her time planning, organising, decorating, cooking, preparing, cleaning and wrapping with a fervour that some might call obsessive. She preferred thorough.
All that mattered was that on the twenty-fifth of December, the setting for the family gathering was flawless.
And it was.
On Christmas Day at noon, Marina scanned their formal dining room with a critical eye. In the corner, the tree (real, of course) was glistening and tastefully decorated in silver and white. The fire was burning, with the Jo Malone candles on the mantlepiece giving off an intoxicating woody, Christmassy scent. The long walnut table carried on the colour theme, set for twelve, each place marked by a beautiful silver charger plate, ornate cutlery, exquisite, tall crackled wine glasses and cotton napkins edged with silver thread.
It could be a cover for the December edition of House Beautiful magazine.
‘Looks good,’ Graham said, as he came up behind her. ‘Have you put the white wine in the fridge and uncorked the red?’
It was only the swift use of superior breathing control, perfected over years of daily yoga, that allowed her to stop herself from visibly bristling. ‘Of course.’
‘Great. I’ll go and check on the kids. They should have finished clearing up in the lounge by now.’ Off he went, his leather Burberry slippers making a faint patting noise on the American walnut floors.
Marina cast her eye across the room again. How different this was from her Christmas experience as a child. Back then, the living room would be strewn with wrapping paper, and they’d spend the whole day eating, playing and generally causing chaos. Their dad loved Christmas, so – just as with every other special occasion – he would lead the fun, creating games and making sure they all had a fantastic day, while their mum would ignore the squeals and dramas as she pottered about putting together a makeshift lunch or took a nap to recover from their Christmas morning excitement. Looking back, it was all pretty pathetic. Thank God for evolution. And John Lewis.
The doorbell cut through her thoughts, followed by stampeding thuds as Oscar and Annabelle stormed to the door to greet the visitors. The twins’ hopes for toys had long since been replaced by requests for technological gadgets that would command their attention and prevent any need to physically interact with the people who were actually under the same roof. Marina had caught herself texting Annabelle to come downstairs for dinner last week and, even then, there had been a full-scale argument because her daughter had decided that the ‘no phone at the dinner table’ rule was ‘like, seriously oppressive’. Almost as oppressive as the fact that despite allowing Annabelle to have social media access before the age of thirteen, she was required to share her passwords for Facebook, Instagram and Snapchat with her mother. According to her daughter, this was an ‘invasion of privacy’ that would leave her ‘scarred for life’. Well, scarred for life she may be, but at least Marina could monitor everything they got up to, protect them from unwanted advances, ensure they were making the right kind of connections and check they didn’t do or say something so imbecilic they’d end up a viral laughing stock who would never get into the right university because they’d been caught calling someone a repulsive fucker when they were twelve.
Nope, not on her watch.
She hadn’t dedicated the last thirteen years of her life to creating the perfect home, the perfect family, and the perfect marriage…
The last thought derailed her. Hardly the perfect marriage, but there was no point in dwelling on that right now. Not when she had a perfect Christmas Day to pull off.
‘Mum! Auntie Verity is here!’
Of course Verity was first. She was the only other person in this family who paid any attention to punctuality. Out in the hall, Graham was already taking Verity’s coat.
‘Merry Christmas!’ Marina greeted her, with a kiss on each cheek.
‘You look lovely!’ she said, meaning it. Verity was wearing a simple red shift dress, with sleeves that reached her elbows and a hem that went to just above the knee. Classic. Stylish. Conservative. And very typically Verity.
‘Isn’t Zoe with you? I thought you were picking her up on the way?’
A flicker of something crossed Verity’s face and Marina recognised it immediately as a subdued frown of irritation. Marina quelled an inner sigh. For God’s sake. After all the effort she’d put in and already there was some kind of tension between the sisters. If they spoiled today, she’d bloody kill them.
Before she could probe, the doorbell rang again and Yvie – still in her hospital scrubs – and Zoe boomed in, clo
sely followed by her mum, Marge, and her husband, Derek.
‘Merry Christmas,’ Yvie exclaimed, setting them all off on a flurry of hugs and festive greetings. ‘I’ll just nip to the loo and change into something that doesn’t smell of NHS cleaning fluid.’
Off she went as Derek handed over a bottle of red and Marina rewarded him with a kiss on the cheek. Marina never thought of him as a stepdad – Marge’s third husband had come on the scene when she was already an adult with children of her own – but he was nice enough and he always brought decent plonk.
When Oscar had taken all the coats as he’d been primed to do (there may have been a small financial bribe involved), Marina shooed them along the hall.
‘Head into the lounge for drinks and I’ll be right with you. I’m just going to check on things in the kitchen.’
Graham led the visitors in the direction of the drinks trolley, playing the perfect host as always.
In the kitchen, Marina realised Verity had come in behind her. ‘How can I help?’
That sent Marina’s suspicions meter straight to high. Yvie helped. Zoe occasionally pitched in. Verity was far more likely to go off and get into some discussion with Graham about the property market or the dire state of the pound against international exchange rates. Marina would rather poke her eye out with a salmon fork than join in.
Now, she raised an eyebrow, as she glanced at her sister while continuing to roll the sushi starters. Not traditional Christmas fare, but she liked to introduce a bit of interest into the menu. Plus, it gave her a chance to show off the skills she’d picked up at the sushi preparation course she’d attended every day onboard their cruise around the Caribbean last summer.
