Wish Upon a Christmas Cake (21 page)

‘You very skinny there, Katie,’ Angelo said. ‘You wear purple knickers.’

‘No, Angelo,’ I replied, willing the heat to leave my cheeks. ‘That’s a bikini.’

‘Yes,’ he said and winked at me. ‘Not lacy.’

Karl watched us both closely and I knew that he was dying to ask so I mouthed
Tell you later.
I didn’t really want to get into my chairlift adventure in front of Mum. She had mellowed over Christmas but I doubted that she’d approve of my riding the chairlift or taking food upstairs whilst wearing my trainers for that matter.

The next photograph was of Mum, wearing jeans and a navy blouse, standing in the kitchen. Dad must have taken it because she had that softening in her expression that only he could arouse. She was peeling potatoes at the counter, her long blonde waves loosely pinned at her neck. She was absolutely stunning, even when completing an everyday chore like that.

‘I don’t know why your Granny kept some of these,’ Mum broke the silence that had fallen as we all gazed at her lovely image forever captured in the album.

‘Because she loved you,’ Karl replied.

Mum shook her head. ‘I wondered sometimes. I was very fond of her even though sometimes she drove me mad. I think she grew to love me…in a way.’ She laughed but her eyes were sad. ‘But she never thought I was good enough for her son.’

‘Isn’t that standard mother-in-law stuff though?’ I asked.

Mum nodded. ‘I guess so. In the early days of my relationship with your father, she gave me hell.’

‘Granny?’ I couldn’t believe that my lovely little Granny would be mean to anyone.

‘She seemed to challenge me at every opportunity.’ Mum sighed.

‘I know that feeling,’ I said, my mouth working again before my brain had engaged. Hurt danced across Mum’s face but she hid it quickly.

‘Life isn’t always what we would like it to be, Katie, and sometimes people make it harder than it needs to be for others. It isn’t always intentional but sometimes we have motivations that we don’t even really understand ourselves. Maybe one day, when you’re a mother, you’ll know.’ She started as she realised what she’d just said but I just looked away.

One day…when I’m a mother…
Would that actually ever happen? What if the same things went wrong as last time? If I ever allowed myself to get pregnant again that was. Which I doubted I’d ever be able to do.

‘Hey we’re getting a bit deep here aren’t we, girls?’ Karl fanned his face. ‘Perhaps we should sort her wardrobe now. Make sure that all the good stuff goes to the British Heart Foundation or I’m sure she’ll haunt us for ever.’

‘Good idea.’ I jumped up and crossed the room to the fitted wardrobe but, as I stood in front of it, my stomach churned. Could I really go through her things, then give them away? While her wardrobe still held her clothes, it was as if she was still around, but wasn’t getting rid of them like getting rid of her?

Mum approached me. ‘This will be tough, Katie. No one’s denying that. But we’re only giving away her clothes, not the memories or our love for her.’

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. As I slid the door open, a wave of lavender and mint hit me full force.
Ouch!
I took a deep breath and steeled myself.
Do it for Granny. Do her proud. This is the last thing you can do for her so make sure it’s done properly.

My mind sang as I flicked through Granny’s outfits. Each one held a memory that pierced my heart like an icicle. I ground my teeth together and took deep, grounding breaths. There was something else that Granny would like me to do for her, something she’d repeated to me over and over the last time we’d spoken.

Her words circled my mind as her familiar scent enveloped me:
Katie, what I’m talking about here is you getting yourself a life. Whether that’s a man or a woman, a dog or a cat, a house or an apartment in Italy…you have to take some time out to enjoy your life before it’s gone.

After the funeral service, Granny had been carried back to the car and taken to the crematorium. She had always insisted that she wanted to be cremated, hating the idea of lying cold in the ground. She had kept my Granddad’s ashes all those years and asked to be scattered with him so that the winds could carry them away together. She said that she and Jim had always wanted to see the world and this would provide them with the perfect opportunity. It was beyond romantic and heartbreakingly sad. But it was what she’d wanted. We’d taken their combined ashes on a hot-air balloon flight where we’d set them free. It had been difficult to say goodbye in that way yet also liberating because we knew we were giving her what she’d wanted.

Since Granny had died, I’d spent a lot of time wondering how it was possible that people we loved so much could be there one day and gone the next? I’d asked myself, how exactly did we go on? The only answer I could come up with was because we had to; it was human nature to persevere and to continue to exist in spite of everything life threw at us. It was our duty as a race.

Another thought ricocheted through me then. Granny had been right about not wasting time and living life. Who knew how long any of us had? If there was a chance that something could develop with Sam, that we could build a life together, then I should seize that opportunity, shouldn’t I?

Chapter 15

A week later, I rolled over in bed and blinked. What time was it? More importantly, where was I?

I reached for my mobile and squinted at the screen. Four in the morning. Nearly time to get up.

Awareness seeped in.

No. It was Sunday. Day off.

Whew!

So what had woken me?

I sat up and rubbed my eyes. Probably shouldn’t have had that bottle of wine last night but I’d been exhausted after work and in need of something to bring me down from the cake high. I knew that stuffing my face with cakes was not going to ease my confusion about Sam, or make me feel better, or help me to forget Granny, but still…

I heard the noise again. I hoped we weren’t being broken into. There was a lot of valuable equipment downstairs in the shop kitchen and there had been some burglaries in the area recently. Fury sparked within me. I loathed reading about burglaries and the cowards who broke into people’s homes and businesses and took what wasn’t theirs. How bloody dare they? If there was someone breaking in downstairs then he or she had better sodding well look out!

I pushed the duvet away and swung my legs over the edge of the bed. I had my most comfortable pyjamas on and I was glad of them. Fleecy pink top and bottoms with a teddy bear print. I’d had them for about eight years. They just washed and tumbled dried so well and the constant wear meant that the waistband was nice and loose.

I slipped my feet into my fluffy bunny head slippers, then opened my door slowly. It opened directly into the open-plan lounge-kitchen-diner of the small flat that Ann and I shared. The street lamp outside bathed the room in a hazy yellow glow so I could make my way across the room to the door without too much trouble. I tip-toed carefully, realising that I must look like some ridiculous cartoon character with my exaggerated movements. At the door, I took a deep breath and released the lock quietly.

My heart thundered against my ribs. What if it was a burglar? Or more than one? If I went downstairs they might attack me and tie me up and subject me to a horrendous assault. They might laugh at my slippers and my bed hair and…
Whoa! Slow down, you idiot. It’s probably nothing.
Maybe a cat that sneaked in when the door was open today.
I hoped not because it would mean that we’d have to do a thorough disinfecting which would take up most of Sunday. Even worse, it could be rats. I shuddered as images of long tails and twitching noses appeared before me. Really, I should wake Ann and ask her to come with me. But she’d been so exhausted lately and she wasn’t sleeping at all well. I didn’t want to disturb whatever respite she managed to get from her pain.

So man up, Katie Warham, and go forth into battle. Protect what’s yours, even if it is from a tiny furry rodent that never hurt anyone. Except during the Black Death when they helped spread the plague and killed thousands.

More shuddering. Right. Best go down before I created a full-blown apocalyptic James Herbert style scenario with giant rats that set out to destroy mankind.

I gently opened the door and stepped into the hallway. It led to a flight of steps and a small ground-floor corridor where we could access the shop and the kitchen. It was how Ann and I went in and out of the shop, although there was also a fire door just off the kitchen and obviously the shop door out the front that the customers used.

I padded to the top of the stairs then softly descended. The shop was alarmed and Ann was usually pretty good at doing it but she’d been so distracted of late that I suspected that she’d forgotten to turn it on last night.

Suddenly, something clattered in the kitchen and I froze. My heart was beating so hard I had spots in front of my eyes. That would be a bloody big rat! From out of nowhere, a surge of the anger I’d experienced upstairs filled me. How dare someone break in here? Into the shop that Ann and I had so lovingly filled with our baking, our money and our enthusiasm. No way was I going to let some creep destroy what we’d striven to build. I glanced around the hallway for a weapon and my gaze fell on Ann’s large umbrella. It was her favourite one, pale green with tiny pink and yellow cupcakes printed on it. When we went out in the rain we both fitted easily under it as long as we huddled together.

Armed with the brolly, I felt better, and the fury burning in my belly really helped.

I reached for the handle and pushed open the door which led into the kitchen. As it swung wide, I could see that the fridge was open and make out a dark shape hunched on the floor in front of it.
What the…

I raised my weapon and let out a war cry that would have made Mel Gibson wince. The shape turned as I ran towards it and made to get up but I swung my weapon with all my might whilst letting forth the most awful noises. I sounded frightening to myself. Deranged even. But, hey, these were exceptional circumstances. Time after time, I rained blows onto the burglar.

‘How…dare…you…break in here…you…bloody…cheeky…thieving…’

‘Stlopsh!’

I smashed the brolly down again. ‘Scum like you deserve to be put…in…jail!’

‘Stlop! Pleashes, Katie, stlop!’

I froze. The burglar knew my name. And he sounded familiar. If a bit drunk.

I backed up to the wall, still brandishing Ann’s umbrella in front of me in case the figure decided to lunge at me, then pressed the light switch.

And cringed.

‘Mark, what on earth are you doing here? I thought we were being burgled. You scared me to death.’

‘I sclared yoush?’ His face was bright red and his lip was already swelling where I’d caught him with a blow. ‘You’re a tough bird…scharey.’ He stared at me with a mixture of admiration and drunken lack of focus.

‘Yeah, well, don’t you forget it.’ I wagged a finger at him, suddenly recalling how he’d broken Ann’s heart. ‘Anyway, why are you here and how did you get in?’

‘Ann gave shme a skey.’ He held up a silver key attached to a small cake key ring.

‘Well you should have given it back.’

‘Shlorry.’ He hung his head and I noticed the cake in his sticky hands and all over his jeans. ‘I jusht…I mish her. Sho mucsh.’ He started crying then, which I really hadn’t expected. Big, fat tears rolled off his chin and dropped onto the fruitcake which he was now squishing between his fingers like a naughty toddler.

Oh boy!

‘Go and wash your hands and I’ll put the kettle on.’ What else could I do? I’d given the poor man a sound beating but it seemed like he was giving himself a much harder time than I ever would. I’d hear him out, then see if I could help. After all, if he was missing Ann half as much as she was missing him then it would make sense to try to find a way forward for them. ‘But you just remember that you owe Ann a new umbrella.’
And a new heart!

Upstairs in the flat, I directed Mark to the couch then filled the kettle and switched it on. The man was totally inebriated and even though I was annoyed with him because of how he’d hurt Ann and relieved that we hadn’t been burgled, I couldn’t help but smile at how funny he was without his usual polished veneer of up-and-coming city banker. City wanker more like, hurting Ann like that.

Before coming upstairs, I’d cleaned up the cake that he’d managed to get all over the floor in front of the fridge and made him wash his hands in the industrial-sized sink, although he was too uncoordinated to use the nail brush properly and I could still see chunks of fruit under his nails. I shrugged. At least he’d have something for breakfast.

I filled the cafetiere with Brazilian coffee and breathed deeply of their delicious fruity aroma. Coffee always smelt so good. I added an extra tablespoon for good measure – Mark would need it – then I poured the boiling water in. I took two mugs from the cupboard above the kettle and got the milk from the fridge. Since Granny had died, I found everyday activities like this remarkable. Things I had done for years without thinking about them, suddenly seemed beyond comprehension, because even though she was dead and I would never see her again, I still kept on doing them. However, in spite of this, I also found them comforting. Routine and familiarity were not to be knocked. It kept me going even in the bleakest moments. Granny had done these things at some point, probably every day – although tea had been her drink of choice – and people would continue to do these things long after I had gone too. It was life. It went on and on. Sam’s gorgeous face popped into my head and I ran a hand down his stubbly cheek before planting a kiss on his lips. I missed him. Ridiculous as that sounded, I did. I wondered what he was doing right then but, seeing as how it was only four-thirty on a Sunday morning, I guessed he’d probably be tucked up in bed asleep.
Hopefully alone.

What right did I have to hope that he slept alone? None. Absolutely none. He wasn’t mine.

But I want him to be.