Snow Angels, Secrets and Christmas Cake (12 page)

I
think
what struck me most about being ‘poor’ at this time of year was that everyone else seemed to be ‘doing Christmas’ except me. The bakery was all about the festive season, with glittery toppings and sprigs of holly and snowflake-shaped cookies. The TV was sheer torture, with commercials for glittering liqueurs, breathtaking chocolates and delicious perfume ads where you didn’t recall the perfume, just the beautiful woman wandering through it. There was no escape, and for someone who was used to having the money to just buy this stuff, it was a special kind of hell.

I thought about how different this year would be from last, I’d always insisted on the family eating together when we could – and Christmas was the epitome of this. I loved that we spent time together on Christmas Day, but the rest of the year we all seemed to go our separate ways. I wanted to be a ‘proper’ family and chat about our day over a meal together. But often it would end up with Simon and I at the table alone as the kids gobbled their food and abandoned us. Hugo would be prostrate on the sofa, watching something inappropriate on TV and Hermione would disappear to her bedroom.

Before they broke up for the Christmas holidays the kids were from a wealthy family. They didn’t have the usual student worries about paying for rent and food because we covered all that and more. But their new term in January would be quite different... and thinking about it – that might just be the making of them. Only the day before, Hugo had made everyone beans on toast at Sam’s – something he’d never have done before. Hugo never cooked and wouldn’t have touched baked beans. ‘I need to practice,’ he’d said. ‘No more take-aways and restaurants when I go back to Uni – we can’t afford it now.’ I felt so proud and hearing that I realised my son would be fine and step up to this new, challenging time ahead.

Being a mum and going through my own kids’ growing pains had made me aware of Jacob’s problems too. Of course Sam denied he was having problems, but I’d collected him from school and he was always on his own. Sam knew that he didn’t make friends easily and some of the kids made fun of him but was so close to it she hadn’t really looked at the situation from both sides.

Before I moved in, I’d sometimes walked to school with Sam and Jacob before meeting Phaedra or Anouska for coffee. I’d seen the withering looks from the designer-clad yummy mummies hanging around in the playground in nasty little clusters. Of course they weren’t in ‘real’ designer, it was all rather faux. But I suspected their snobbery and meanness was far more real than their cheap knock-off Gucci handbags.

Sam was attractive, a little younger, but wore huge, baggy jumpers and sometimes even flip flops or sandals in winter. When it was warm she wore vests that showed off her pert figure and you could see the jealousy in their over-made-up eyes. They resented her because she was different – and the fact she didn’t even try to join their gang bothered them the most. It was the same at school, I can’t count the times I’d had to threaten or hit some bullying madam who didn’t understand my sister and saw her as an easy target to mock or threaten. How I longed to do the same for her and Jacob now – wait by the school gates at home time and sort out the bullies.

I loved the fact that Sam was a free spirit and didn’t care what people thought – but I worried it was affecting Jacob. One evening, I went into his room and sat on the end of his bed for a chat. I missed bedtime with my own children, who had friends, and probably lovers now, and didn’t need Mum.

‘Do you like school Jacob?’ I asked, tucking him in.

‘I don’t know.’

‘Well... do you have friends who make you happy when you go there? Do you like your teacher?’

‘Mrs Robinson’s nice, but Josh is a dick.’

‘Oh, that’s not nice, to call someone that.’ I tried not to reveal my shock at such a vulgar word coming from my nephew’s rosebud lips.

‘No, but that’s what he calls me. He says my jumper’s too big and my hair’s too long.’

‘Would you like to get your hair cut?’

‘No.’

‘Why?’

‘Mummy likes it.’

‘But do you like it?’

‘Daddy likes it.’

My heart broke. I could see he was suffering in his own little six-year-old way but I hadn’t yet worked out how I could help my nephew. So after a rather confusing chat about something called ‘Minecraft’, I kissed him goodnight and left him to go to sleep. Sam was baking downstairs so I joined her and tried to broach the subject of Jacob’s hair and being Sam she behaved like I was suggesting he join a cult. She went on and on about him being an individual and accused me of all kinds of evil.

‘I just think you could make life easier for him by getting his hair cut,’ I reiterated.

‘Keep out, Tamsin. Jacob is a good and happy little boy and he is what he wants to be. I will not have him changing for someone else – if some of the kids don’t like his hair then hard luck.’

I understood that Jacob’s identity and Steve’s memory were wrapped up in all this and I knew it was important, but to whom?

‘I wasn’t suggesting you change his personality,’ I said, but a haircut would have been a start. I respected her principles and ideals about being an individual – but at his age, Jacob just wanted to be like his friends, he didn’t want to stand out.

‘His long “girl’s” hair is all the other kids see,’ I said.

‘Jacob loves his hair like that... it reminds him of his Dad.’

‘It reminds
you
of his Dad,’ I said, without thinking.

She glared at me, ‘Ask him... ask him then if he likes his hair like his Daddy’s.’

‘No. Because that’s a loaded question... you’re putting your own loss onto that child. He was twelve months old when Steve died, he doesn’t remember what his Dad’s hair was like,’ I tried to say this gently but she wasn’t happy.

‘Stop telling me what to do... how to run my life. And keep out of my relationship with Jacob too!’ she yelled, running upstairs to the flat like a teenager.

I was only trying to help. I don’t know why I bothered, she never took my advice anyway. It wasn’t just the way she was with Jacob, she didn’t know how to cook pasta, she had sex on the floor and her hands looked like an old man’s with bitten nails, but would she get a manicure? I dared to mention it and she bit my head off like I’d told her she had to fly first class to Cannes in her lunch hour.

Then there was the pierced navel and her refusal to marry lovely Richard. I knew it was difficult for her to take another man into her bed (though not the floor apparently) and I understood her reasons. I’d held her hand through it all, but I felt it was time she moved on, cut her son’s hair, say ‘yes’ to Richard – and no to any more piercings.

I hadn’t meant to hurt her, but I had to address the hair situation because I believed her own grief might be hurting Jacob. I had to help my nephew – in the same way I’d helped Sam after Steve’s death.

After only a week in the hospital she was discharged and I brought her home with me. She’d been a total mess when I collected her, calling for Steve, only wanting Jacob. I’d made sure she had a beautiful private room with apricot walls and matching bed linen, but in spite of all this she was still desperately unhappy.

My friends said I should book her into a really good spa, apparently there’s a wonderful one somewhere down south. But I brought her back to the bosom of my family on Chantray Lane and installed Fifi, my life coach on suicide watch. Fifi practically saved my sister’s life. Five years later, here she was with her own business, a lovely kid and a nice boyfriend. She’d done so well and I didn’t want her to fall at the final hurdle.

I
t was just
before closing time and Mrs J was reading Heddon and Hall’s tea leaves in a rare quiet moment when I got the phone call from Tamsin. ‘I can’t get it to go,’ she shrieked down the phone, followed by a loud ‘OH MY GOD IT’S STOPPED! I assumed she was referring to the van, which Mrs J confirmed with a nod.

I put down the phone. ‘If that was in the leaves you might have told me sooner, Mrs J,’ I said.

‘I’ve only just seen it. But there’s worse to come I can tell you that.’

Great, I thought, and thanks for breaking it to me so gently, and I went to greet my hysterical sister whose screams could now be heard over the van shuddering to a halt outside the bakery. The bonnet was smoking and Tamsin was yelling for help. So there was worse to come... worse than this? Really?

Fortunately Heddon and Hall placated her while I called the garage.

‘Call the fire brigade, my love, we need those boys - it could all go up at any time,’ cried Heddon, clinging to a tearful Tamsin. But that wasn’t necessary – I knew he just fancied a parade of lusty firemen with his frosty macarons and coffee.

Having calmed Heddon, Hall AND Tamsin, I spoke with Fred at the garage, whose opening line was, ‘Sounds like your big end’s gone, love’; I felt like it had too. I held on to the phone, not understanding a word of his garage-speak, just wanting to know the bottom line – would I have a van for deliveries in the morning? To my despair, the roundabout answer seemed to be ‘no’, and even worse – no van the following morning or the one after that either. Still clinging to the phone, my mind everywhere else, I tried not to cry as Fred talked worryingly about big ends, back ends and front ends, expensive parts, transmission systems and drive belts, which was just a list of unrelated sounds to me.

‘Just... Fred how much? How much and when can it be fixed?’ I asked.

Again I was given another list of engine-related words and sounds, but all I heard was ‘about a grand’.

‘But the van isn’t even worth that,’ I protested. Then I cried.

I didn’t have the money. Everything I’d made in the bakery had been ploughed straight back into the business or used to pay basic living expenses, and what little I’d put aside was for Christmas gifts.

I didn’t want Tamsin to see how upset I was because it would only upset her. I could see by her face she was now taking on the guilt and responsibility for the problem.

‘I feel terrible, we won’t be able to do any Christmas deliveries,’ she was sobbing.

‘Please don’t feel terrible. It’s an old van and I’m sure we can find a solution,’ I wiped my eyes, tried not to vomit and patted her leg... her other body parts were being comforted by Heddon and Hall. Mrs J was making more tea and Tamsin went on to talk through her ‘trauma’ like she’d been physically attacked.

‘For God’s sake, Tamsin, the van broke down, you’re fine, get a grip,’ I sighed, wondering what the hell I was going to do.

‘I’m sorry,’ she sighed. ‘You’re right, I’m being a prima donna, but I’ve never broken down before, never known the horror of that terrible black smoke coming from the engine.’

‘No. Well that’s because you’ve never driven a car older that twelve months old,’ I said, trying not to sound bitter.

‘Sam. It’s not a crime to own a new car, you know – just because you choose to drive some dilapidated old...’

‘Well isn’t that just typical. The very fact you say that I “choose” to drive an old van says it all. You think I have a choice, Tamsin, but I don’t, because I can’t afford a newer, more reliable vehicle. Like most people in the real world.’

I was angry, and so was she, we stared at each other, both red-faced with rage and resentment and I wanted to tell her to get out of my life. She talked about suffering as a child, but I’d suffered as an adult, I'd been widowed at thirty-one and I’d been left with scars too.

‘Ladies, ladies, now, now,’ said Hall, ever the peacemaker. ‘Let’s not get upset... we need to think about how we can make lemonade from these bloody rancid old lemons we’ve been handed,’ he smiled.

‘I just don’t know what to do,’ I sighed. ‘I can’t afford to get the van fixed and we have literally hundreds of orders to be delivered before Christmas.’

The boys gasped theatrically.

‘We’d help you but our van is packed with Christmas stuff and permanently on the road this time of year,’ Heddon said, rubbing Tamsin’s back.

‘Thank you, but we’ll be fine. I just need to think about it,’ I sighed, knowing that if I didn’t, we couldn’t make the deliveries. And if we couldn’t make the deliveries we would lose a lot of money, which would be a huge problem for the bakery.

‘It’s me – I’m the jinx,’ Tamsin said, throwing herself onto the table.

‘Yes, you are. It’s in the leaves... you’ve brought nothing but bad luck and there’s more to come,’ Mrs J added. I rolled my eyes, I wasn’t in the mood for Mrs J’s predictions or my sister’s attention-seeking theatrics.

Tamsin lifted her head, she looked crestfallen but said, ‘We shall rise to this challenge!’

I tried to ‘play nice’ but pointed out a thousand pounds was more than ‘a challenge’ where I came from. Heddon and Hall clearly felt the tension and announced their departure, saying they had to ‘decorate some glitzy balls’. I wasn’t sure if they were referring to Christmas balls or each other’s, but we all hugged goodbye and they skipped off into the snowy night.

Tamsin and I were left alone at the table, glaring at each other. We had loads to do before morning when I would have to phone all the deliveries to cancel, postpone or ask if they could collect. But Tamsin was still in fantasy land, talking colours and themes and how we could stage events and parties and catering and ‘transform the bakery’s fortunes’ with a makeover and a ‘Christmas Launch’. As usual I felt like we were speaking in different languages and her loud voice and sweeping gestures were too much for me. My sister and I had always been on different planets but I was worried she was still on ‘planet Tamsin,’ where money was no object.

‘I don’t have the money for makeovers,’ I sighed. ‘As much as I’d love the bakery to look like a white wonderland – I can’t do anything without a van.’

‘Not in the short term, but sweetie, we need to think beyond tonight. Oh God I’m exhausted, I’ve been through so much – I could just book myself into a spa... that’s what I need, a lovely massage and... a big man’s feet. Oh God, Sam, you haven’t lived until a big man has walked up and down your back...’

‘I feel like he just has,’ I sighed.

How could she even talk about a spa at a time like this? ‘Look. I don’t know how many times I have to tell you, Tamsin. We can’t ignore the boring, gritty day-to-day stuff by brushing it under the carpet and talking about bloody spas and launch parties. I have lived in my world for some time,’ I explained. ‘And like most other people’s lives it’s messy and sometimes not very pretty to look at. Unfortunately I can’t just spend my way to happiness or solve problems by buying myself another designer dress, and as of ten days ago – neither can you.’

She got up from the table and went into the bakery kitchen where she began banging trays around and slamming cupboard doors. I wondered seriously about what we were going to do – not just about the van, but the fact we just couldn’t live together.

I am laid-back, but even I was beginning to wonder when it would all end and there would be peace.

It felt like suddenly my life was falling apart, just when I’d thought things were coming together and this Christmas I would be able to celebrate for the first time in years. But Tamsin and her bags of pointless possessions had taken over everything; her presence was affecting my relationship with Richard because we could never be alone; and time I should be spending with Jacob was being sucked up by Tamsin’s endless, high-maintenance demands. She was getting involved in Jacob’s life and hair, banging on about ‘holding events’ when we didn’t have the time or the money and now the van was just one more thing – and she just didn’t get it that no van meant no business.

Then I heard Jacob calling.

After I’d given him his tea, I’d sent him upstairs with his laptop and asked Mrs J to sit with him for a little while until I could close the bakery. She was no doubt now napping on the sofa, so I was a little concerned he may be scared or worried on his own.

‘Mum... Mummy...’ he called downstairs.

‘Yes sweetie?’ He didn’t answer and as Tamsin appeared in the kitchen doorway wiping her hands, we both looked at each other.

‘Sweetie are you okay?’ I called again. The look on Tamsin’s face mirrored mine. Our previous irritation with each other dissipated as we had both instinctively responded to his call, united in our love for Jacob.

‘Yeah. Mum... what’s gay nympho?’

Tamsin screamed and covered her face with both hands.

‘Get off that laptop NOW,’ I shouted, flying up the stairs, Tamsin in hot pursuit.

‘Oh my God he’s watching gay porn...’ she was yelling from behind me. I could have sworn the laptop had a parental lock on, but what did I know? As far as I was concerned he was playing Minecraft, how on earth had he found himself on a porn sight? It wasn’t any old porn sight either, I thought, mounting the stairs two by two – it was quite specific... gay nymphos.

‘I’m phoning Tana my therapist...’ Tamsin was shouting. ‘She can sort this... there are retreats we can send him to.’

Ignoring Tamsin, I tore into the room and snatched the laptop from him, unable to imagine what he must have witnessed.

‘Mum... what are you doing?’ he whined.

I stood with the laptop in my hands. I couldn’t see any gay nymphos on the Minecraft site, but it occurred to me I wouldn’t know what to do if I did... the joke was I’d have to ask my six-year-old to get rid of them.

I didn’t want to scare him, or alert him to something he may not understand, so trying to make it sound like Tellytubbies, I said; ‘Can you see any of the little... gay... nymphos... here?’ At that old Mrs J’s head was up and she was wide awake.

‘Oh what are you saying to the lad now?’ she hissed, like it was a daily occurrence for me to ask my child to find porn on his computer.

‘No, Mrs J – you don’t understand, he asked me what gay nymphos are... and I...’

She stood back, shocked, then leaned in to look at him, her nose touching his. ‘Jacob,’ she shouted in his face, ‘what are you doing with gay nymphos on your laptop?’

‘I’m not...’

I stepped in, moving Mrs J aside to try a more gentle approach.

‘Darling, why did you ask Mummy what gay nympho means?’

‘I didn’t... I said what does game info mean?’

‘Oh...’ I didn’t know where to put myself as Mrs J put her hands on her hips and shook her head slowly, looking at me with sheer disgust, at which point Tamsin appeared in the doorway with her mobile clamped to her ear.

‘Tana? Thank God! This is an emergency... we need your help, we’ve just discovered my six-year-old nephew is addicted to gay internet porn...’

I finally managed to calm everyone down and convince my sister and Mrs J that Jacob hadn’t been downloading anything untoward and his internet activities were innocent. But it was just another exhausting half hour of my life I wouldn’t get back. I was beginning to feel like I was in a surreal world where I had no control and no one was listening to me. Tamsin’s noise filled my head and what would normally have been me having a quiet conversation with Jacob ended up with me screaming ‘gay nymphos’ in his face, to the soundtrack of Mrs J’s tutting and Tamsin’s hysterical call to some therapist. When, I wondered, did my life get so crazy and loud and most of all – when would it stop?

T
he following morning
Richard came over. Jacob was at school and Tamsin had gone to argue with someone at the bank and during a few precious minutes alone in the bakery kitchen he asked again about being together at Christmas.

‘For God’s sake, Richard, I don’t know what I’m doing tomorrow, let alone Christmas,’ I’d snapped. ‘We don’t have a van and without it I’m in serious danger of losing my business – I may not even
have
a Christmas at this rate.’ I was aware I’d been quite short with him and also aware I was beginning to sound like Tamsin. Her brusque, business-like manner was infectious, as was her stress.

‘I think we should talk,’ he said. I nodded, I didn’t have time for this but Richard looked so serious I asked Mrs J to keep an eye on the shop while we went upstairs and, judging by her face, I’m sure she assumed we were going to have wild sex. I didn’t care what she thought, Richard obviously had something to say and we couldn’t talk in full view of customers. My mouth felt dry as I led him into the living room, Tamsin’s bin liners had crept further onto the sofa in the past couple of days so we had to sit on the floor.

‘I can’t go on like this,’ he sighed. ‘I don’t want to push you into something you aren’t ready for Sam, but I won’t wait forever.’

My heart did a flip. Was he finishing this? It was the last thing I’d expected – Richard was always around, he’d said I was everything to him. I felt my heart begin to thud in my chest.

‘Am I just wasting my time? I’m not an idiot, Sam. I won’t be strung along.’

‘God I never thought you were and I’m not stringing you along... I told you from the beginning. I’m not sure I can do forever, not after Steve,’ I said. Richard nodded, but I could see he was hurt by the fact I still couldn’t let him in.

‘Someone or something wants a piece of me every minute of every day at the moment – and I can’t take much more...’ I started to cry and he put his arm around me.

‘I understand. And I won’t be the one more person who makes life hard for you. I’d wanted to be the person that takes away your troubles... if you'd have just let me.’

‘I’m sorry Richard. I can’t...’

I could see his eyes were sad even in the dimness of the tree lights, but I was so tired and worn out I couldn’t take it on. I didn’t have the energy for yet another emotional casualty – even if it was my own victim.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘This is too much for both of us – we seem to want different things Sam, I think we should say goodbye so we can both go and find them.’