Snow Angels, Secrets and Christmas Cake (4 page)

I’d Googled the glitzy top the woman was wearing and bought it there and then, thinking if I wore that top on Christmas Day, Simon might love me again.

Simon. I finished my sherry. Yes – Simon was bound to arrive soon, or call. It was all so sordid and unseemly and things like this didn’t happen to people like us. Oh how we’d laugh at the blundering bailiffs who probably hadn’t even read the correct address. The paper they’d handed me was lying on the counter top, I reached for it and my eyes skimmed along the page looking for the wrong road, the incorrect house name (we didn’t have a number – you’re no one with a house number). But there it was ‘The Rectory, Chantray Lane.’

My eyes filled with tears as my brain began to adjust to the possibility that this might just be happening... to people like us.

B
efore the bailiffs
arrived I’d been keen to escape Tamsin’s theatrical Christmas madness. I was looking forward to taking Jacob home to tea and cinnamon toast in front of our little open fire. We’d snuggle up, watching the glittering, silent snow outside and when he was in bed asleep I would start baking for the morning. This was my life now – and since Steve had died I’d been desperately trying to keep everything on track for both me and Jacob. I hadn’t always succeeded, but thanks to Tamsin, who’d been my safety net – I was finally getting there. But looking at Tamsin sobbing by the beautiful Christmas tree while two guys hammered signs on the outside doors I realised I had to be her safety net now.

Like everyone else, my first thought was that this was all a big mistake – but when Tamsin couldn’t get hold of Simon, we all realised this was very real.

‘What am I going to do?’ she was pleading, looking over at me for an answer. I couldn’t speak, I had always been the one asking Tamsin what I should do – this was the first time she’d ever asked me.

I gave it a few seconds to take everything in, then took a deep breath and

went outside with Hugo to talk to the two men. My nephew was shaken, but wanted to get to the bottom of it all and I linked him as we both walked out into the freezing cold evening. Once outside we asked for details and the bailiffs confirmed that that not only was the house being repossessed but their company was in receivership, too. What made the whole thing horribly worse was that Simon had seen this coming – and had disappeared. I wasn’t surprised. I’d never really taken to Simon he was all about how things looked and how much everything cost. Tamsin always seemed so bloody grateful to have him, she refused to see anything bad in him at all and I felt she made excuses for him. I remember once going for dinner and he was bragging about their new home in France. One of the guests remarked that they too had a house in the same region and I watched his face change – he was suddenly so angry that he wasn’t the only one with a house there. ‘Yes, but yours is one of those little places near the river,’ he said. ‘Infested with rats those places, wouldn’t touch them myself.’

‘Oh Simon, don’t be so mean, Anouska’s French farmhouse is beautiful,’ Tamsin had cajoled. She feigned a light laugh and I noticed her hand discreetly slip under the table to touch his knee, a pacifying gesture she’d thought no one would notice.

‘What?’ he said and everyone stiffened, waiting for the Tamsin-baiting to begin.

‘And what the hell would you know about French property, Tamsin? All you ever do is shop!’ he said, looking around the table for someone to laugh, join him in his bullying. But everyone looked away and Phaedra asked Tamsin for the pâté recipe to try and move the conversation on.

The rest of the evening was unpleasant. Simon’s mood had darkened and there was no way back. Tamsin had asked me to make Bûche de Noël for dessert (chocolate log to everyone else, but Tamsin thought a French name made it more posh) and I think she hoped it would save the night. But even my festive chocolate log couldn’t disperse the cloud of uneasiness hanging over the table. And when Simon threw his fork down in horror because it was ‘dry and bitter’, I could have pushed the log down his throat.

Sometimes Tamsin let it slip that he’d upset her, but mostly she kept it from me – probably worried I might confront him. I noticed the dynamic quite early on in their relationship and later when Steve and I visited together he’d picked up on it too. I did broach it with her once or twice, but she was furious with me for pointing it out. Tamsin seemed to be constantly treading on eggshells, trying to keep Simon, the pressure cooker, from boiling over. There were times I dearly wanted to step in but knew it would affect mine and Tamsin’s relationship if I got involved because she loved him and typically wanted to deny anything negative about her husband or her marriage. I was torn between feeling protective of her and being angry with her for constantly trying to pretend everything was wonderful and constantly placating him, making him even worse.

That night when the bailiffs had left, Tamsin was in pieces. She’d texted and called various friends and colleagues who apparently knew nothing about Simon’s whereabouts.

‘Where is he?’ she cried, through hiccoughing sobs. Pale and shaking, my sister’s whole life had just been pulled from under her and, like the rest of us, she could barely take it in.

‘What am I going to do?’ again, that question. My heart flinched, she was looking to me, but I felt useless and helpless. I shook my head and I saw the fear in her eyes, the desperation and disappointment of a shattered life, and felt so helpless.

The first person I would call in a mess like this would be Tamsin and so, without her guidance, I hadn’t a clue. ‘It’s obviously some horrific mistake and Simon will turn up in the next few hours and sort it,’ I said, unconvinced. I put my arm around her and she nodded. ‘Why don’t you all come back to mine until he gets in touch?’

‘I can’t leave here,’ she said, panic rising in her voice. ‘He’ll come home. What if he’s trying to contact me...?’

‘He’ll call your mobile.’

‘No... he may turn up, I’m not going anywhere until I make sure he’s okay, Sam.’

I hated leaving her like this, but after a couple of hours of shock and tears she seemed exhausted and still convinced Simon would come home later that night. I wasn’t so sure.

Driving home, I tried to put everything to the back of my mind and chat to Jacob. My heart wasn’t really in it, but I wanted to pretend to both my son and myself that everything was okay.

‘We’re going to be so busy this Christmas at the bakery,’ I said, as much for my own comfort as his. The White Angel Bakery had been open for almost twelve months and this would be my first proper Christmas in business. Ironically, for the first time in five years, I’d actually been looking forward to Christmas rather than dreading it, but now that had all changed, in an instant. Funny how your life can be going in one direction, future mapped out, happy, content – then suddenly everything you know and love is ripped away in seconds.

I pulled the car up to the kerb as we arrived home, it was now evening and The White Angel Bakery was waiting like a twinkly fairy sitting in the snow. It seemed to be covered in icing sugar, glittering under the streetlamps, and I caught my breath at the sight. My heart filled with warmth and comfort at the lights glowing inside, welcoming me back to safety and sparkle. In the window were the cakes I’d baked earlier that day; snowy white frosted cupcakes, pure white macarons with a scarlet cranberry filling and a beautiful Christmas cake, covered in a blanket of white icing. It was stacked with white champagne truffles and dotted with tiny white Christmas roses. How different everything had been less than eight hours before when I’d carefully placed those sugar roses on top.

‘Our bakery is like an angel, Mummy,’ Jacob said, his eyes shining.

‘Yeah... I reckon she’s our angel,’ I sighed, and we both stood for a few seconds in the snow just staring.

‘Is Daddy an angel now?’

I looked down at him. We didn’t talk about Steve enough; I found it too painful.

‘Yeah... Daddy’s our angel, he’s up there watching over us,’ I said, looking up into the snow-heavy night sky, my throat burning with the threat of tears.

I stroked Jacob’s head and he smiled. He seemed pleased and grabbed my hand with his sturdy little gloved one.

‘Come on,’ I said, trying to be ‘happy’, trying desperately not to think for a few minutes about Tamsin or Steve. I had to concentrate on my son, he needed me too.

‘Come on Jacob, I’ll race you,’ I suddenly yelled and we both shot through the snow up the side path to the little flat above the bakery, laughing and panting as we landed at the door.

Once inside I couldn’t help it, I phoned to check on Tamsin. She sounded a little spaced out and I wasn’t sure if it was shock or sherry, but she said she’d be okay.

‘Come over first thing,’ she said. ‘If Simon doesn’t come back, I’m not staying here on my own. I don’t care if I’ve got two weeks grace, I’m not sitting here waiting for them to come and throw me out. Those bastards have left a big medieval sign on the window saying something about my chattels and announcing to the whole of Chantray Lane what has happened... I am mortified.’

‘Oh Tam that’s awful, I can collect you now if you like?’ I offered, hating to think of them all there. I knew what the residents of Chantray Lane were like and I doubted anyone would turn up to offer any kind of comfort, but they would all read that bailiff sign with relish.

She continued to insist she was fine. ‘I won’t hear of you coming out at night in this. It’s snowing again – look after my nephew, he needs you too, I’ll see you tomorrow.’

I put down the phone and half-smiled. Despite her bluster and ‘posh lady of the manor’ act, Tamsin was all heart and in her hour of need still considered me and Jacob. I sometimes felt unworthy of her – she’d always supported me, throughout my childhood she’d been there. And after Steve’s death she’d held me in her arms and let me cry until I had no more tears left.

We were such different people, my sister and I; she was obsessive, materialistic, she cared how things looked, what people thought and she had this need to belong. I found that quite heartbreaking, because underneath the brittle, designer-clad exterior she was as vulnerable as a child. Tamsin’s caring nature could be a little claustrophobic for me and I’d seen the bakery as my stab at independence. It was my chance to build a future for me and Jacob. After tonight’s drama at The Rectory it was clear we had some heartache ahead but whatever happened I had to keep focussed on my own life too. If I was going to be of any use to Tamsin I needed to keep things together, especially the bakery. If business continued the way it had been we were in for a very successful first year, but only if I could keep things on track.

I’d always been the barefoot younger sister to Tamsin’s soaring stiletto success – but I was proud of what
I
was achieving and that I could be there for my sister. Jacob and I sat by the fire toasting bread on our forks, and as the toast turned crispy golden, I wondered if perhaps this was finally my chance to be there for Tamsin?

Sitting with mugs of cocoa and our toast now browned, I dragged my thoughts away from her plight temporarily to give Jacob some attention. Tamsin was there, as always, lodged inside my brain, just behind my new recipe for Christmas cake and to the left of a vague worry about paying the latest electricity bill. But Jacob had spent too long watching me distracted – particularly at this time of year, and it was important to me to be with him and enjoy our time together. I asked him about his day, which seemed to consist mainly of playing with the childminder’s cat.

‘Mr Fluffy is cute,’ he said, sipping his hot chocolate and licking milky foam from around his mouth.

‘Yes, he’s such a cuddly cat, isn’t he?’ I smiled, both hands round my mug in an attempt to warm them.

‘Toby said I looked like a girl so Mr Fluffy got him for me.’

‘Oh dear. That wasn’t very nice of Toby,’ I said. This wasn’t the first time Jacob had hinted at problems with other kids – boys in particular. My son liked his hair long, just like his dad’s used to be, and we both loved it. Steve had had his own unique style and would often wear whacky T-shirts and long shorts in the summer to work. He had been a teacher like me and his chemistry class had loved his lack of conformity. I could see so much of Steve in Jacob, who also liked his own style and didn’t want to conform, even at the age of six.

‘I played ball with Mr Fluffy,’ Jacob was saying. ‘He flew through the air like a big football.’

I smiled and swallowed my toast in one lump, horrified. ‘You didn’t hurt Mr Fluffy did you?’

‘No, but he jumped on Callum because he said I looked like a girl.’

My heart twisted slightly, the thought of his friends laughing at him, mocking my little boy. It probably hurt me more than it hurt him.

‘Do they make fun of your hair?’ I asked.

He nodded again.

‘But you like it long don’t you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Ignore them. You don’t want to look the same as everyone else do you?’

‘No.’

‘Okay.’

‘I want to look like daddy.’

I smiled. ‘Yes you do, and Mummy’s proud of you... and so is Daddy.’

‘Can he see my hair? From heaven?’

‘Yes of course.’ I felt a burning in the back of my throat, but cleared it pretending to be okay, strong for both of us.

He seemed okay with this and settled down to finish his toast.

I sighed, it was so hard being a single parent, worrying if I’d got things right and being the only one to have big life conversations with my son. I drank my chocolate, just wishing the other parents would keep their small-minded, prejudiced thoughts to themselves. I’d seen it first hand as a primary school teacher – kids picked on for being different, and I didn’t want Jacob to conform just because of a few small-minded people.

‘What do you remember about Daddy?’ I asked Jacob.

He looked down, like he didn’t want to talk about his dad because it would upset me.

‘It’s okay to talk about people who’ve died,’ I explained. ‘It’s a way of keeping them with us... I know I get a bit upset sometimes when we talk about him, but that’s okay too.’

He nodded, uncertainly. The fire was going down, so I stoked it up, added more fuel and pulled myself together.

I had a tough few weeks ahead leading up to Christmas and I had to stay strong. Until now I’d always had Tamsin to pull me through. We always stayed at Tamsin’s on Christmas Eve and she spoiled Jacob something rotten with gifts, but as he had no grandparents and no dad I appreciated her giving him such a good Christmas. I had no enthusiasm for the festive season and just couldn’t wait for it to be over – along with the memories of that knock on the door when the police had arrived.

‘I know, let’s rehearse your lines,’ I said to Jacob, finishing my chocolate and collecting the cups and toast plates.

Jacob had two lines for his part as the donkey in the school Nativity play and he’d been delighted to be chosen. So as the snow came down outside, we rehearsed. I smiled and mouthed the lines as he said them, then nodded encouragingly as he improvised with a lisped ‘neigh’ and a nod.