This is Me

by Shari Low

  It felt like her eyes had only been closed for five minutes when Max and Jordy began jumping on the end of their bed.

  ‘Merry Christmas, boys,’ she chirped, immediately wide awake. As a teenager she’d always dreaded Christmas – it was the one day she was forced to stay at home and couldn’t go and hang out somewhere else to get away from the Ray and Denise show. However, since she’d had the kids this was her favourite day of the year and she didn’t want to miss a second of it. She cuddled Max, kissing him on the top of his head. ‘Merry Christmas, son. Can’t tell you how much I love you.’

  Her eldest boy hadn’t yet hit that age of being embarrassed about affection – she hoped he never would – and rewarded her with a tight hug. ‘Love you too, Mum.’

  His brother followed suit, then Sam sat up too, arms open and the boys immediately jumped into them.

  ‘Merry Christmas, you two! I’ve asked Santa to bring loads of stuff just for me this year because you two don’t need anything else.’

  Max and Jordy thought this was hilarious and, of course, a wrestling match ensued.

  Things with Sam might have gone off track, but nothing changed the fact that he was a great dad who adored his boys and they adored him right back.

  They got up and headed downstairs together, all in the Christmas pyjamas that Claire had given them the day before. When the boys came along, she’d been determined to create loads of new festive traditions. New pyjamas on Christmas Eve was one of them. Listening to Christmas songs while they opened their presents was another.

  The boys both cheered with delight when they spotted the two stockings hanging from the fireplace and the two sacks of presents below. Sam nipped into the kitchen and rustled up two quick coffees, while Claire got the fire and the music on. The boys, patient for five minutes, then descended on their gifts. As always, they opened them one by one, each of them taking turns so that everyone could see and appreciate what they got. The final present, a joint one for them both, got the biggest cheer.

  ‘It’s an Xbox!’ Max yelled, his face beaming with joy. He then launched himself at Claire, and then Sam. ‘Thank you, thank you, thank you, this is ace!’

  ‘Ace,’ Sam repeated to her, winking.

  The boys immediately rushed their new Xbox to the TV to connect it up.

  Claire decided to leave them to it, knowing that they played these at their friends’ houses all the time, so they were far more likely to know how to set it up than she was. She was just happy she’d put the batteries in the extra controllers, as well as in all the other gifts that required power. Nothing worse than looking for a packet of double-A batteries on Christmas morning. Instead, this had been perfect. Just perfect.

  ‘Erm, boys, have you forgotten something?’

  The two of them turned around, caught Sam’s eye and immediately realised what they’d omitted to do. They grabbed a large, gift wrapped rectangle from under the tree and presented it to her.

  ‘This is from us, Mum,’ Max told her proudly. ‘We totally picked it and everything.’

  Claire laughed as she began tearing open the paper, knowing full well that – as every year – it would be her favourite seashell chocolates and that – as every year – she would act surprised when she saw them.

  ‘Yes! Oh, boys, thank you – I love them.’ She smothered them both in kisses.

  Jordy then retrieved another parcel from under the tree and presented Sam with it. ‘We picked this one too, Dad,’ he said with a cheeky grin. Shy since he was a baby, he’d absolutely come out of his shell in the last couple of years and now had a lovely, impish sense of humour that made Claire howl.

  Sam made a big show about being delighted with his aftershave and socks too. Just as with the chocolates, they’d been buying the same gifts for the boys to give each other for years.

  Claire was about to fetch a bin bag from the kitchen to start tidying up, when Sam reached under his chair and pulled out another box, a small one this time, and handed it to her.

  ‘Merry Christmas, baby,’ he said, leaning in to kiss her.

  Claire tried and failed to hide her reaction as she realised to her horror that he was giving her a personal gift… and she’d completely forgot to wrap up his. In fact, she couldn’t even quite remember where she’d put it because she’d been hiding presents all over the house for weeks.

  Shit.

  Bollocks.

  Shit.

  How could she have done that? She’d been so concerned about making it the perfect Christmas for the kids that she’d completely forgotten to think about Sam.

  Shit.

  Bollocks.

  Shit.

  She unwrapped the box, then lifted the lid to see a beautiful gold heart-shaped locket. Picking it up, she opened it to see a photo of Max and Jordy’s smiling faces. It was perfect. The perfect present. Thoughtful. Kind. Generous.

  She’d got him a jumper from Marks and Spencer, she hadn’t even wrapped it and she had no bloody idea where it was.

  Epic. Fail.

  ‘I love it, Sam, thank you,’ she said truthfully, as she leaned over to give him a kiss.

  ‘Eeeeeeew,’ Jordy exclaimed, as always. He’d inherited his Auntie Jeanna’s aversion to PDAs.

  ‘Where’s your present to Dad, Mum?’ Max asked.

  ‘Erm, I’m going to give it to him later. I just need to get the lunch started first.’

  The boys thought nothing of it, happy to get back to setting up their games.

  Sam followed her through to the kitchen.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said, feeling absolutely terrible about what had just happened. ‘I’ve no idea where your present is. It’s hidden somewhere, and I totally forgot to look it out and wrap it.’

  The fleeting expression of hurt on his handsome face was swift but unmistakable.

  ‘You know, Claire, I don’t care about the present,’ he began, his voice more sad than annoyed. ‘But I care that you forgot about me. I think that says everything we need to know about where we are now.’

  She didn’t get a chance to say anything else, because, with a sad smile, he headed back into the living room to help the boys with their new games.

  Over the next couple of hours, there was no chance to apologise again, or repair what she’d done, or even go and search for the bloody jumper. Giving it to him now would just rub salt in the wound anyway. Better to do it later when it was just the two of them and she could apologise once more. Perhaps while naked and that way she’d be making up for both her festive failings.

  Instead, she got on with the lunch preparations, while Sam stayed in the living room with the boys, shouts and yells of excitement over some football game on the Xbox wafting through to her. The turkey was in the oven, she was working to schedule on the vegetables, and her best crockery and cutlery were out, ready to be set on the table. Christmas songs were playing on the radio in the corner and a huge box of crackers was waiting to be opened. It was all going according to plan – apart from the disgruntled husband, the gift wrapped guilt, and a woeful lack of seasonal joy.

  Sam’s parents called and lifted her mood for a little while. They were spending Christmas at home, in the gorgeous little casa on the beach in Andalucía they’d moved to after taking early retirement three years ago. Claire, Sam and the boys all missed them dreadfully, but Granny and Grampa Bradley called twice a week and flew back to Scotland every couple of months to see their grandchildren. It was the way grandparents should be – as opposed to her own parents, who’d never shown the slightest interest in the boys. They’d gleefully announced that they’d be spending Christmas in a five star resort in Tenerife and they were delighted to be doing so. ‘Just the two of us – it’ll be perfect,’ her mother had wittered. Claire eyed the turkey baster in her hand and had a sudden thought as to how it could be used in a violent act.

  Thankfully, the back door being barged open distracted her and in walked Jeanna and Giles. Two years into their marriage, Claire still hadn’t taken t
o Jeanna’s husband number two. There was something about him that reminded her of her dad: good looking, always immaculately dressed, liked to be the centre of attention but with an edge of conceit. Jeanna certainly wasn’t a woman like her mother, content to pander to him, so it invariably made for some bristly conversations between them at social gatherings.

  ‘The boys are all in the living room,’ Claire told him, after they’d exchanged Christmas greetings. He headed on in to join them.

  Jeanna’s troubled sigh of relief was loud and impossible to ignore.

  ‘You OK?’ Claire asked, basting the large turkey crown in the oven.

  Jeanna shook her head, her expression not matching the joyous, sparkly red sequins of her figure hugging dress. ‘You know that cliché about the excitement of the honeymoon period wearing off and people realising that they actually have little in common except mutual irritation?’

  Claire nodded.

  ‘Well,’ Jeanna went on. ‘I think we’re there.’

  ‘Oh, honey, I’m so sorry,’ she said, hugging her friend.

  Jeanna laughed. ‘No you’re not – you’ve thought he was a tosser from the start. You’re a rubbish actress.’

  After a shocked pause, Claire conceded the truth of that.

  ‘OK, that may be true, but can I just point out that you’re a life coach? You’re supposed to be the person that makes a plan, takes action, solves problems and is always the best version of themself.’

  It was a fair point. After years working in various jobs – she’d been everything from a restaurant manager, to a personal assistant, to a misguided stint as a nail technician that faltered because she ‘couldn’t listen to people telling her about their plans for the weekend every fucking day’ – Jeanna had finally decided to capitalise on her naturally bossy and intolerant personality and apply them to a job in which they would be an asset. She’d trained as a life coach and built up a bank of professional clients, who paid her money to keep them in line when it came to their finances, their fitness and their future plans. It was the job she was born to do and she loved it.

  Right now though, she folded her arms, unimpressed by this home truth.

  ‘Yeah, well you’re a dressmaker and you haven’t worn anything flattering since 2002.’

  Claire glanced down at her Rudolph jumper and Santa leggings and shrugged. ‘Rudolph is the new black this year.’

  The two of them were still laughing when Doug and Fred came in the back door. Doug and Fiona were having a trial separation and she’d headed to her folks in Inverness for the festivities. For the last three months, Doug had just been his usual self, not giving much away about how he felt about it, but Claire could sense that he wasn’t happy. She hoped he would manage to enjoy the day regardless of what was happening with his marriage.

  Claire gave her grandad a tight hug, setting off a coughing fit.

  ‘Sorry, Grandad,’ she yelped.

  He waved away her apology. ‘Don’t worry about it, ma darlin. It’s not you, it’s ma fecking lungs.’

  His laughter then set off another coughing fit.

  Claire took his arm and supported him as she led him into the living room to join the others.

  Jordy spotted him first. ‘Grandad!’ He ran over and threw his arms around his great-grandad and Claire had to blink back the tears. Max followed suit and Fred beamed as he gingerly lowered himself into the chair.

  Choked with emotion, she hugged him again before she went back to the kitchen.

  Jeanna and Doug were still in there, although they stopped talking when Claire entered.

  ‘You OK?’ Doug asked her.

  She nodded. ‘Just worried about grandad. He’s getting frailer all the time.’

  ‘He is,’ Doug agreed.

  Claire shook off the melancholy. ‘Anyway, he’s here today and that’s all that’s important. Right, what am I doing here?’ she asked, turning her attention back to the food.

  ‘How can we help?’ Jeanna asked.

  Claire ran through a checklist in her head. ‘I just need all the stuff in from the freezer in the garage. Roast potatoes, croquettes, pigs in blankets, a cheesecake and a pavlova.’

  ‘I’ll get them,’ Doug offered.

  ‘I’ll give you a hand,’ Jeanna said.

  The two of them trooped off to the garage at the end of the drive.

  Busy with everything else, Claire lost track of time, but it was a good ten minutes before they were back, maybe longer.

  ‘Thought you’d got lost out there,’ she said. ‘Was ready to round up some Sherpas to come and search for you.’

  ‘The bloody things were right at the bottom of the freezer. Took us ages to find them,’ Jeanna said.

  Distracted, Claire didn’t give her reply any thought.

  Instead, she got busy preparing the best Christmas lunch she’d ever made, with her brother by her side, singing Christmas songs while they cooked. Her earlier worries about his happiness disappeared – he was definitely getting into the festive spirit. It was great that being here with them today was having such a cheery effect on him.

  When they sat down to eat three hours later, she scanned the room, realising that every single person she loved was right here.

  She had no idea that by the following Christmas, two would be gone and one would be changed forever.

  Twenty-Six

  Denise – 2019

  Denise padded back out of the kitchen, holding a mug of coffee in her hand. She’d had to stop for a break before she delved into the next file of bank statements, because the pain in her head was crushing her temples and making her eyes hurt. She’d popped two paracetamol and brewed an Americano on her built in coffee machine. Almost five hundred pounds it had cost when Ray had bought it nearly five years ago, the last time they’d redone the kitchen. ‘Can’t put a price on quality,’ he’d said, and he was right. The rest of the room was gorgeous too, as expected for a man in his trade. He’d taken loads of pictures of it and used it in his adverts, so it was tax deductible and brought in new clients at the same time. He was always so smart that way.

  Denise loved the room. Oversized, cream quartz tiles gleamed on the floor, the perfect contrast against the white gloss cabinets. The coffee machine sat below an integrated microwave, and in the adjacent larder cabinet, there were two high-tech ovens, one above the other. Not that she ever used the two of them. She only ever cooked for her and Ray, so one oven was more than enough. The hob was ceramic and could do all sorts of things that she’d completely forgotten about too, because, at most, she only ever used two rings at a time. She knew she should eat something now. How long had it been? A day? Two? Three? Didn’t matter. She wasn’t hungry anyway.

  Halfway down the hall, she stopped as she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror above the glass and gold console table. She barely recognised the person she saw there. Her cheeks were sunken into the side of her face, shadows forming underneath the side of her mouth. Her brow, only Botoxed a couple of months ago, was puckered into frown lines between her bloodshot, swollen eyes. There were dark circles under her lower lids and her mouth was so pinched and drained of colour that it was almost invisible. She bore absolutely no resemblance to the beautiful, vibrant, healthy woman she’d been only a week ago. Ray would be so disappointed in how she’d let herself go.

  Sighing, depression oozing out of every pore, she slowly walked back into the office. The fear and panic had been joined by a lethargy, a detachment from reality and a dawning realisation that she had no energy left to fight whatever was happening to her. It had to be a dream. A nightmare. He was going to walk back in that door any minute and this would be over.

  Sitting back in the office chair, she put the coffee down on the closed business file. Ray had loved this desk, so she had to ensure the mug didn’t leave a ring mark on the wood.

  Pulling the file with the personal statements towards her, she shook her head, trying to clear the fog from her mind. OK. Concentrate. There was a si
mple answer in here somewhere. She just had to find it.

  She picked up the statement on the top of the pile and saw that it was the most recent one. The ‘transactions in’ column was straightforward. One transfer on the first of every month, from RH Construction, of £6,000. That was exactly what she expected. Good. It was making sense.

  The temporary rise in her spirits rapidly plummeted to earth when she switched her focus to the ‘transactions out’ column.

  There was a £1,000 monthly payment to Ray & Denise Harrow – his third account, the one that was in their joint names and that she used for all her outgoings. Everything from groceries and daily expenses, to her yoga, gym, nails, beauty and hairdressing costs. She also used it to buy the odd item of clothing, but that was pretty minimal because Ray treated her to gorgeous new outfits so often that she rarely shopped on her own. That absolutely tied up with what she knew. The last transfer had gone over a couple of weeks ago and there was still a few hundred pounds in her account.

  Other than that there was…

  She stopped, checked again. That couldn’t be right, surely?

  She snatched up the statement for the previous month. Then the one before that. Then every single sheet of paper that had been sent in the last year.

  Yep, every one of them said the same thing.

  One more debit. On the second of every month. For £5,000. Cash.

  And it was too much to have been withdrawn from an ATM machine so that meant he’d gone into a branch every month and withdrawn the money himself.

  A fleeting thought. Maybe it was scammers. Someone pretending to be him? You heard so much about identity theft these days and that was absolutely possible.

  Or not.

  She discounted the theory as quickly as it had come. Ray had been getting these statements every month for a year. He would absolutely have noticed the transactions, and if there was anything dodgy going on he’d have been straight down at the bank reading the riot act.

  The panic was winning the battle of emotions again. What the hell was going on? What had Ray done with all that money? Had he been in trouble? Planning something spectacular for them? Moving it elsewhere for a reason?