Snow Angels, Secrets and Christmas Cake (8 page)

S
eeing
that snow dome had taken me straight back there, to the place we lived when I was six. Mum had placed it on the mantelpiece that Christmas Eve – she was still taking part in life then, we even had a tree that Christmas. I stood for ages turning the snow globe upside down, creating my own little wonderland of swirling snow, waiting for each snowflake to land and finally reveal the polar bear and the little igloo. I imagined what it would be like to live in a place like that, so pure and white and perfect. I remember Dad coming in with the tree and a bottle of sherry. It was Christmas Eve and he was in a great mood, shouting Ho Ho Ho and singing loudly. I giggled (with relief) and when he laughed too and ruffled my hair I felt such complete happiness. But as always my joy was edged in fear. As a young child I couldn’t comprehend the mix of my father’s emotions, and always walked carefully on the tightrope between his incredible highs and punishing lows. His jokes and teasing and tickling could change with a look; a smile could turn into a smack across the mouth just from a word or cup in the wrong place, a meal or moment that didn’t suit. And it was always down to the drink.

That Christmas Eve, with the winter wonderland dome on the mantelpiece I dared to hope we would have a happy Christmas. And when he told me I must sing ‘Oh Little Town of Bethlehem’ and he would teach me the words, I was delighted. Always desperate to please him, keep him calm, keep Christmas happy, I nervously repeated each line he gave me. Once or twice the words were wrong or muddled and I waited for the blow, but when nothing happened, I carried on, becoming more and more confident with each note. He’d told Mum things would be different now the new baby was here and I thought perhaps the terrible screaming and hurting was over. I didn’t see the significance of the opened sherry bottle he was swigging from and when he tired of my singing I gathered all my courage and took the snow dome down from the mantelpiece. I walked towards him on my six-year-old legs, smiling, wanting to share this wonderful white world with him. We would look together into a world where snow and ice and polar bears lived all year long – the dome would cast its magic spell and make him so happy he’d never hurt us again.

But as I got closer, the tone of his voice was already changing, escalating, calling Mum ‘an idiot’, and as he lunged to grab her by the hair, I knew the spell was broken. I saw the red-rimmed eyes, the angry mouth, and heard my mother’s screams as he grabbed her and I was inadvertently knocked to the ground. I landed in the mantelpiece, clutching my little snow-dome world to my chest to keep it safe. I didn’t feel the pain in my forehead as it crashed onto the stone fireplace, but I felt the pain as the snow dome bounced from my arms. Later, when Mum put a cold compress on my forehead and put me to bed, I kept the snow dome under my pillow. It was cracked from its fall, and so was I – but we had both survived him. I must have taken it to my grandparents’ for safekeeping, away from him and it had found its way into Nan’s old Christmas trinket box. And seeing it there at Sam’s, running my fingers along the fine crack creeping around the glass, I was reminded that however far you go, the scars don’t always heal.

I wanted to cry and rage against my father, against Simon and against my mother’s inability to protect me. I had trusted these people to love me and care for me and they had all let me down. I breathed deeply, as my therapist had instructed, and counted to twenty, then Jacob was holding that bloody paper fairy with its tin-foil crown and bent cardboard wings, handing it to me like he was giving me his heart. I wish I’d thrown all the decorations out years ago, it was just an unhappy reminder of the past, but for some reason I’d kept them. What Sam clearly didn’t remember was on the day we made that fairy in Nan’s kitchen, our dad had arrived unexpectedly and demanded he take us back home. Nan had tried to placate him, suggesting he leave us with them for the night, but he was drunk and looking for an argument and screamed at her, pushing her around the kitchen. In the end Granddad called the police and Dad was bundled into a police car; I remember watching from the front bedroom window as it drove off down the road and being confused and surprised at my own feelings. He scared me and I was relieved he was leaving, he couldn’t hurt us tonight – but he was still my dad and he looked so vulnerable in the back of that car, I cried for him.

I tried not to be dragged back into the past because it didn’t help to dwell on the negative memories – but losing everything had forced me to confront things I’d never faced before.

I discovered the diamanté angel brooch in the bottom of the decoration box, it was embedded with glitter dust and I hadn’t recognised it at first. But then I remembered, it was a Christmas gift from my dad when I was about ten years old. I’d loved that little angel, but when it went missing after Christmas I’d assumed Dad had pawned it like everything else. Like the snow dome I’d taken the brooch to my grandparents’ as it was the only place anything was safe – the only place I ever truly felt safe. But she’d survived – just like I had, and somehow in all the darkness, that little diamante angel had given me hope. I wasn’t the frightened little girl any more, I was a strong woman with two beautiful kids and somewhere out there was a future for me. I wasn’t quite sure what that future held, but it was going to be very different from my past.

T
he morning
after the Christmas tree was decorated – Simon called. I’d just had a bath and was wondering how Sam’s skin seemed so soft with no bath oils or gels. She never had a massage or a facial and I told myself that when all this was over I would take us both on a lovely spa weekend to thank her for everything. Then I remembered there was no ‘when all this was over’ because this was my life from now on and spa days wouldn’t even figure anymore. Suddenly my phone rang and I heard the voice of the architect of my devastation on the other end.

‘Tamsin... Tamsin... I don’t know what to say.’ He sounded like he was addressing an employee about a minor business issue.

‘You could say “sorry I’m a selfish, cowardly tosser”?’ I suggested. My anger overwhelmed me – a few days before I would have been so happy to hear his voice, to say let’s sort this together and get back on track whatever that means – but now I resented him, I was filled with hurt and betrayal. Looking down my knuckles were white, my fists clenched, how could he leave us like this?

‘I don’t blame you for your anger... I just lost it. I didn’t know which way to turn, I even thought about taking my own life, Tam.’

I doubted this was true – it was probably his way of gaining sympathy and wriggling out of everything – but this wasn’t just about
his
life and
his
pain.

‘What about your family? And what about the people that work for the company? Where do they stand in all this?’

‘There’s insurance, thank God, they will get payments, but obviously there’s no work now, that’s why I tried to keep everything going... for them and for you.’

‘And you,' I said. ‘Let’s not forget you in all this, Simon.’ He was king of his own little universe – the rest of us were simply accessories.

‘You have no idea how I’ve suffered... I couldn’t tell you because I wanted to protect you.’

‘You wanted to protect
me
? But you hung me out to dry, you left without any warning, what did you think would happen?’

‘Look... I came to France because there was this last ditch hope, I had to make a deal with a Parisian property agency... but...’

Again ‘I’ figured largely in his sentence. Why had I never faced up to the fact that this selfish man was my husband?

He was also an optimist, convinced his ship was coming in – which explains why, according to our accountant he drained the company of hundreds of thousands of pounds. He did it believing that he could make the money back – like a gambler he just kept throwing more money at it hoping it would eventually pay out, but of course it didn’t.

‘You should have told me! Before you sneaked off you could have said, “Tamsin we’re in trouble, bolt the doors, the bailiffs are on their way, but I’m okay, I’m off to fucking France.”’ I started to cry, I didn’t know if they were tears of hurt or rage, but I felt both.

‘I knew you’d be devastated and I couldn’t face you... or anyone else. Tam... you know how important it is to me, how I’ve struggled to get us where we were. You must remember how hard it was for me to break into that circle? The guys at the golf club, The Rotary... you know how it feels. I wanted to be part of that world, like you did...’

I couldn’t answer him. I was too angry and upset.

‘Tamsin, can you imagine me having to tell them all at the golf club our house had been repossessed? Imagine having everyone know that I failed the business... lost everything?’

‘I don’t have to “imagine” anything,’ I spoke calmly, regaining some control over my inner rage. ‘I don’t have to imagine being ripped from my home with nowhere to go. I don’t have to imagine my friends blanking me and not returning my calls, because it really happened, Simon. It happened to me!’ I looked down and my whole body was shaking.

He said nothing. What could he say?

‘So what exactly are you planning to do, now?’ I asked... and whereas a few days before I would have begged him to come home - I suddenly knew what I wanted from all this, my independence. I had to start getting my own life back on track, have some control over it rather than blindly believing in my husband as I had for years - but in order to do that I needed to know what his plans were.

‘I... er... just need some time and space...’ he said.

‘Oh, YOU need some time and space? Well,
I
need time and space from you – for the rest of my life,’ I snapped, ‘and yes, me and the kids are homeless but fine, thanks for asking,’ I added before slamming down the phone. I sat for a few moments numb and bruised and empty. Then I rushed into the kitchen and got the Gaggia on... it was my drug of choice and all I had left – I couldn’t now go shopping at times of distress and a pre-lunch Prosecco was but a distant memory.

I sat on the sofa and sipped on my Sumatra Wahana but couldn’t think straight – it was such a mess. I’d used money to make myself feel better and now I was going cold turkey. A new designer dress and a lovely bottle of perfume made me feel whole, it plastered over the wounds and as Phaedra always pointed out, ‘nothing says ‘love’ like a new Chanel clutch bag.’ I wondered who would love me now – because Chanel wasn’t an option.

Later, Sam came up from the bakery. She was tired and covered in flour but seemed happy.

It struck me that I’d always appeared to be the successful sister – but Sam was the one with all the answers, she was the real success, in spite of what life had thrown at her.

‘You are my little sister – but so much wiser than me,’ I sighed. ‘I was so easily seduced and in those early years I felt like a success. My shiny happy money-filled new life was like Christmas every day.’ What I didn’t tell her was that for a little while it had drowned out the noise of my mother’s head thumping on the kitchen table.

But for now, I told myself, no more dwelling on the past. I would try to look forward, and though the present was pretty bleak I had to start to think about what was ahead for me and the kids. I had to regain my strength and my confidence – and what better way to do that than to put on a pair of my fabulous designer shoes – in scarlet.

I
t wasn’t
easy sharing our cramped little flat with my sister and as she became stronger over the next few days she became quite assertive again. She’d strut round in her designer stilettos, commenting on everything from how I cooked to how I spoke to Jacob to how I conducted my ‘sexual liaison’, as she referred to it, with Richard.

‘Oh... you should make it more permanent with him, he’s lovely,’ she’d said. ‘Don’t keep saying no or he’ll find someone else.’

And, ‘Mmm I wouldn’t put that pasta in now, I always wait until the water’s boiling...’

Or, ‘Oh, do you allow Jacob to watch TV after 7 p.m.?’

She’d also suggested on more than one occasion that I have Jacob’s hair cut because, ‘he isn’t fitting in.’ I was quick to point out to her, ‘He doesn’t want his hair cut – and who says he wants to fit in and become boring and small-minded like other people?’

She seemed to have missed the fact that his hair was reminiscent of Steve’s and therefore this was about more than just a haircut. I was beginning to find her presence claustrophobic – every time I walked in the living room she was there watching TV or reading a magazine. She saw no one and refused to go anywhere and I worried she’d never move on. She’d heard nothing from any of her so-called friends who, in her time of need, hadn’t even bothered to pick up – let alone take the trouble to call her. She was no use to them now she had no money, but even I was surprised at the speed they’d dropped her.

One evening her phone rang and she just ignored it. ‘Why don’t you pick up?’ I said. ‘It might be one of the girls.’

‘It’s not – it’s bloody Mimi. She’s been calling me for days. God, she just doesn’t know when to give up.’

‘Well, she might be nice to go for... a drink with?’ I said, sounding like a mother suggesting her sulky teen start socialising. ‘She’s the one who’s married to the football manager, isn’t she?’

‘Yes. She’s also the one who pole dances. She slept her way to Chantray Lane and now expects to be accepted by the other wives. Ha.’

I sighed. It had been a long day, I was tired and quite frankly fed up of Tamsin’s mountain of bin bags, pile of magazines, fancy shoes, face creams all over the bathroom and the incessant gobbling sound of her bloody Gaggia. This comment about being ‘accepted’ was the final straw.

‘Well... you have something in common with Mimi, you’ve both been ostracized by the Stepford Wives,’ I replied, which was a bit mean, but she was being so judgemental about Mimi it made me cross.

She went on the defensive immediately. ‘The girls are giving me chance to settle in, and when I have, they’ll call – people are embarrassed when things like this happen and don’t know what to say…’

‘Mimi isn’t.’

She huffed and pretended to be engrossed in the previous July’s edition of
Vanity Fair
that she’d ‘rescued’ from the house. I knew she wasn’t really reading it – she wouldn’t normally touch an out-of-date magazine.

‘Of all the “wonderful” friends you had, isn’t it funny how the only one who bothers to call you is the one you all treated so badly?’ I said softly.

My sister gave herself to everything and her heart to everyone, but I think she’d been so obsessed with being part of the gang, she’d allowed herself to behave against her nature. I was amazed that she’d been so unkind about Mimi – despite her obvious flaws my sister was one of the kindest people I knew. I’d taken Steve’s death so badly I’d had a minor breakdown, I hadn’t slept or eaten for days and my body and mind had just collapsed and I was rushed to hospital. She’d been so supportive, despite sending in her flaky life coach Fifi who was so irritating she almost drove me to suicide. Anyway, Tam needed me now, I had to be there for her, however infuriating she might be. I was on the floor wrapping some of Jacob’s presents and she was lying full length on the sofa pretending to be interested in an article about luxury swim wear... in the middle of December.

‘That’s so last summer,’ I said, trying to bring her round.

‘It’s all I’ve got,’ she snapped. ‘Or had you forgotten?’

‘So have you heard anything else from Simon?’ I asked, trying to ease the tension in the room.

‘Mmmm, he called this morning as a matter of fact.’ She didn’t look up.

‘Really? Any news?’

‘No. I already told him I wasn’t speaking to him ever again, we’re now talking through solicitors – when we can afford to get them.’

‘So why did he call this morning?’

‘To tell me to stop harassing his parents or they’d call the police.’

‘What the...? To quote Hermione, WTF?’

‘He said I had no right to leave abusive messages on his parents’ home phone.’

‘Did you?’

‘Do I look like the kind of woman who would say “you fucking bastard you ruined my life” down my in-laws’ telephone?’

‘Mmmm no... so why do they think you said that?’

‘Because apparently it came from my mobile...’ she went back to her magazine, hoping I’d drop it. As if...

‘Oh My God. It
was
you who called them, wasn’t it?’

‘No. Oh... yes okay, so it was me,’ she snapped.

‘Why, Tamsin?’

‘I didn’t do it deliberately. I’m not some psycho, I’ve always tried hard to get along with Simon’s parents.’

‘Which begs the question why you would leave abusive...?’

‘Okay. I was angry after it all happened and when I couldn’t get hold of him I called a few times and sent several texts.’

‘Saying “you fucking bastard you ruined my life”?’

‘Yeah and other stuff...’

‘What?’

‘About... oh it doesn’t matter.’

‘Oh it does, Tamsin, you have to tell me.’

‘Okay... I may have said something about his manhood.’

‘You’re kidding me? Why would you talk to your husband’s parents about his dick?’

‘Don’t be crude, Sam. I was under the impression I was texting him, but “Simon’s Phone” and “Simon’s Parents” are next to each other when you scroll down on my phone. I was upset, I didn’t have my glasses on... and sent the texts to his parents’ landline instead.’

‘If you text to a landline a voice reads out the text when they pick up the phone, doesn't it?’

Tamsin nodded, her eyes closed. ‘So I believe – apparently Marjory was beyond distressed to hear the British Telecom lady describe her only son’s penis as “a nasty little maggot”.’

I couldn’t stop myself and burst out laughing. Tamsin was mortified, but even she had the glimmer of a smile across her face and eventually laughed with me.

‘Will you call them to apologise?’ I asked when I’d stopped laughing. ‘Or will you be calling them with further penis updates?’ I laughed again.

‘It’s gone beyond that – they are talking injunctions, Simon’s trying to calm things his end.’

‘Good luck with that,’ I said.

We sat silently for a few seconds but I couldn’t leave it.

‘Maggot?’

‘Nasty little maggot... get it right,’ she giggled. ‘I also said he’d never been good in bed; that I’d been responsible for my own orgasms since 1998; and when I shouted “yes, yes”, it wasn’t sexual relief, I had just been glad it was all over.’

I looked at her; ‘And the BT lady told Marjory and Fred all this?’

‘Apparently. Simon said he was hurt... that he’d have appreciated it if I’d told him.’

‘Rather than calling his parents to give them the blow by blow account of your disappointing sex life?’ I said.

She started laughing again. ‘Oh I can see Marjory’s face now, shuffling to the phone and picking it up, anxious to hear from Simon...’ she was doubled over now.

‘And instead it was the BT lady with a tirade of disgusting and graphic details about her son’s sexual technique... or lack of,’ I added, joining her in hysterical laughter. When we’d eventually calmed down, I carried on wrapping Jacob’s presents and Tamsin resumed her in-depth study on swimwear, but every now and then she’d look up over her
Vogue
and say ‘maggot’ and we’d both fall about laughing all over again.

S
o there were
times when Tamsin and I really enjoyed each other’s company and deep down, despite her brittle exterior, she could be very funny and we shared that sense of humour. But it wasn’t all laughs – my sister was interfering, controlling, annoying, a snob and a drama queen. And her presence and lack of tact wasn’t doing much for my relationship with Richard either. Our time together had always been limited (by me) to weekends and the odd week night – and I never wanted him to stay the whole night. I hadn’t been ready – every time I thought about a potential future with Richard I saw Steve’s face and the guilt overwhelmed me.

Before Tamsin had moved in Richard would sometimes spend the evening at the flat with Jacob and I, then later when Jacob was in bed we’d have time alone. Now our evenings were spent watching television with Tamsin. I’d wanted her to feel at home so didn’t object when she said we all had to watch Mastermind and answer the questions – she was so competitive she’d shout her answers over ours. It seemed to cheer her up so I didn’t mind, but felt torn trying to be a girlfriend to Richard and a sister to Tamsin. I achieved neither – and I never won Mastermind.

On a practical note, Richard and I couldn’t be alone in my bedroom now either because I shared with Tamsin. It was early days, but I could see the situation becoming more difficult as time went on.

‘Perhaps you and I could go out?’ he suggested on the phone one day when we discussed the problem. ‘If Tamsin’s there she can keep an eye on Jacob and we could just go for a meal... it would be good to have some time on our own.’

I agreed it would be good to have some time alone and I also badly needed a break from my sister.

Tamsin was delighted to babysit and that evening when Richard turned up to collect me it felt like a proper date – which was lovely. We’d never really had a traditional ‘courtship’, as Tamsin called it, because we’d originally met through the kids. He’d started as a friend and then things had gone further, and though we missed out on the early frisson, we’d never had that ‘first date’ or awkwardness that comes with new relationships.

I thought about how this Christmas would be so different from the previous one. I had only just opened the bakery this time last year when I met Richard. I had literally bumped into him on the school run. I’d walked Jacob to school through the snow and slush, enjoying various en-route snowball fights and games where we slid along on our bottoms. When we arrived at the school there were no yummy mummies in perfect make-up and designer snow wear as there had been earlier in the week. I was at first relieved, as we were both wet through and those women made me feel stupid and ugly at the best of times. They’d gaze at me as I walked past them, catching each other’s smoky eyes and looking in my direction, a glance at my wrist tattoo, a snigger at my ankle bracelets in the summer. I wasn’t like them, they didn’t understand me, and most people’s reactions to something or someone they don’t understand is to be scared. I had no desire to belong in their gang – and clearly the feeling was mutual, I just wished they didn’t make me feel like I was 14 years old again.

Anyway, the absence of their perfectly made-up mean faces soon became clear as Jacob and I wandered to the school gates and saw the sign saying ‘Closed today due to bad weather.’

It was a bit of snow for God’s sake, why close the school? It wasn’t going to kill anyone to walk through it. Besides, most of the shiny mummies around here drove the few yards from their homes to the school in massive cars which were more like armoured military patrol vehicles, all shiny black with a stylish capacity to cope in any war zone, siege, nuclear attack… or school run.

‘Oh shit,’ I sighed.

‘Oh shit,’ Jacob imitated, folding his chunky little arms in indignation at the ‘stupid school’.

‘You know what this means, don’t you?’ I said, in mock seriousness.

He nodded. He had no idea, but was going with it.

‘We have to take our sledge on blackberry Hill,’ I said, pretending despair, starting to walk and shaking my head, waiting for the inevitable reaction. The shrill screeching of pure delight this last statement produced echoed around the empty white stillness of the school playground and provoked an impromptu shrieking competition between the two of us. And I wondered why the yummy mummies hated me? Our screaming competition went on for some time until Jacob’s shrieks were suddenly accompanied by a jumping up and down and running around in circles like a puppy dog who just saw his owner.

‘Ella... Ella...’ he’d yelled, pogoing through the snow and bounding up to a little person who had suddenly appeared in the otherwise deserted playground. 'Ella... Ella, it’s me Jacob... I’m over here.’ I couldn’t see clearly because the snow was falling quite heavily now and Jacob was pulling on my hand and dragging me across to join Ella and what looked like her parent. My heart sank, I just couldn’t do small talk with a perfect mummy. I braced myself, but as we approached I saw through the white blur this was no yummy mummy dressed in designer waterproofs and a ‘cute’ bobble hat. It was Ella’s dad.

‘I guess you guys did the same as us?’ he said.

I could just about see his face through the swirling flakes as we got closer. I recognised him from parents’ evening. I remembered chatting to him and his wife once, while waiting in the queue to see Mrs Robinson. And he’d just witnessed me having a shrieking competition with my son in the school playground. Great.

‘We’re going sledging on Blackberry Hill,’ Jacob yelled in Ella’s face.

‘Jacob, just because it’s snowing it doesn’t mean everyone’s gone deaf,’ I laughed. I was now trying to redeem myself and sound like a responsible parent having just wailed like a banshee.

‘Sledging sounds good,’ Ella’s Dad said as we all began walking away from the school in the same direction. ‘Do you mind if we come along?’

‘Yessss... Ella, you and your dad are coming sledging with us,’ Jacob was still yelling in her face.

‘Yay,’ she yelled back into his... apparently snow deafness was a thing.

Anyway, that day as the kids sledged up and down the hill, Richard and I chatted and it turned out he was divorced, and it turned out I liked his smile. Later, when the kids insisted we both go downhill together on the sledge, it turned out I liked the way he held me. And, when Ella was safely home with her grandma and Jacob was in bed that evening... it turned out I liked the way he made love.