The Mother of All Christmases

by Milly Johnson

  ‘I feel so much more comfortable now that we have a reliable bank of staff for when you and Palma have to stop working,’ said Joe. ‘I think we should give her a raise. She works so hard. And she has done so much on the website and twittering or whatever they call it. We have over three thousand followers now.’

  ‘Is that good?’ asked Annie.

  ‘It sounds good,’ said Joe. ‘Palma said that the Daily Trumpet and the Chronicle are both following us.’

  Annie laughed. ‘I suppose I ought to get au fait with all this stuff because our baby will be born into a technological age, won’t he, or she. Iris is better at it than we are. Maybe we should join her Golden Surfers group.’

  Joe turned and gathered her into his arms and his espresso eyes were full of love for her, she could see that. ‘Oh, Mrs Pandoro, I feel like a young man every day when I am with you. My pension years are centuries away.’ He kissed her and two teenagers walking past in their green school uniforms smirked at each other.

  ‘Hey, I’m Italian,’ Joe yelled after them, causing their grins to broaden further.

  ‘Joe!’ Annie admonished him. But only half-heartedly, because he wouldn’t have been Joe Pandoro if he wasn’t a little pazzo.

  Chapter 40

  Palma eventually gave in to pressure from Tommy to meet his brother and sister-in-law. They invited her for Sunday lunch, the day after she had booked in at Glam to spend the voucher that the ‘cracker crew’ had bought for her. She said she’d love to and her delighted acceptance disguised her fear. They were checking her out, she knew. The forthcoming fight was important. Sky were showing it as a pay-per-view so there was a lot of money involved as well as prestige. This was Tommy’s first defence of his title and he wanted to prove to the world that he hadn’t merely got lucky last time.

  Palma had booked an Indian head massage and a hair colour at the salon. She could easily have laid flat on her small stomach for the hot stones massage that Iris recommended, but she didn’t want to squash the baby. For the head massage, she sat on a chair with her shoulders naked, towel wrapped around her chest. She doubted she would be able to relax but she was wrong. She felt herself drifting off as ‘Julie’ smoothed all the knots out of her back with firm, experienced hands and made her head sing from the double onslaught of the beautiful fragrance released by the oils and the scalp massage.

  Since she’d learned that she was going to be meeting Tommy’s family, she’d changed her mind about having her hair re-pinked and had the colour stripped out and replaced with a more conventional silvery-ash shade. It was lovely when the stylist had finished; strange, because she’d had pink hair for years, but nice. It made her look more responsible, less frivolous and – she hoped – more acceptable.

  Tommy didn’t see her that night because he was attending a prize-giving for the boys and girls at the Personal Development Centre and was really excited about it. One of the kids had discovered a love of photography and been offered an apprenticeship working with one of the big shots in the photography world based in London.

  Tommy said he couldn’t wait until they went to some big swanky event together. He wanted to show her off, he said. And his baby. He always referred to the baby as his.

  He picked her up at quarter to twelve on Sunday. She’d been awake since seven and couldn’t count the times she’d slapped her hands away from her mouth to stop herself worrying her nails. She painted them lavender, the same shade as the Laura Ashley dress she’d chosen to wear. She’d found it on a seconds stall on the market a year ago; it had been dirt cheap because there was a tear under the arm and a discoloured collar where some clumsy customer trying it on had stained it with make-up. She’d managed to get it off with some Vanish and the seam had taken five minutes to stitch up. She loved the dress, it made her feel girly and delicate and as near to sophisticated as she was ever likely to get.

  Shock registered on Tommy’s face when she opened the door.

  ‘Where’s your hair gone?’ he said, amending it immediately to, ‘The pink, I mean. Don’t get me wrong, you look lovely but so . . . different.’

  ‘I thought I’d have a change,’ said Palma, locking up.

  ‘I like it,’ said Tommy, viewing her from a choice of angles. ‘But I liked the pink. It was you.’

  ‘I thought I should be a bit more sensible now,’ she said, getting in the car.

  ‘I hope you aren’t changing for me,’ he said and trilled a line from the Billy Joel song ‘Just the Way You Are’.

  ‘Don’t be daft.’ Palma’s mouth was watering with nerves. She wished that moment of Neil and Jackie seeing her for the first time was over and done with. Tommy commented on the lack of conversation as he was driving.

  ‘I’ve never heard you as quiet,’ he chuckled.

  ‘I’m scared,’ she answered.

  ‘What of?’

  ‘What they’ll think of me.’

  He turned to her. ‘Seriously? They’ll love you.’

  ‘You never told me what they said when you dropped it on them that . . . that I’m pregnant with someone else’s kid.’

  There was a telling pause before Tommy spoke again. ‘I’m not going to lie, Palma, they shot me a look, but Jackie was a teenage mum. She had a son when she met Neil. Both of them know that life doesn’t always run on a smooth track. I don’t need to remind you of our family history, do I?’

  That made her feel better. At least it did until they pulled up outside Neil’s house. It was a new build on a half-finished estate, double-fronted with a long front garden. On the drive was a tiny, shiny vintage sports car and a brand-new black Range Rover, judging by the number plate. Her legs felt wobbly as she got out of the car.

  Tommy caught her hand. ‘Come on, they’re great, you’ll be fine.’

  She wanted to tell him to wait a minute, let her breathe but she knew she’d sound pathetic. She could feel her heart rapping inside her as he did his jaunty postman’s knock on the door and walked straight in, shouting, Hello, we’re here.

  Jackie came down the hallway first. She was tall, straight-figured with wavy bottle-blonde hair cut off at her shoulders. She had a no-nonsense stride and hard features but her smile of welcome was warm and wide.

  ‘Hello, Palma,’ she said, and held out her hand. ‘Nice to put a face to a name.’

  ‘Smells good, Jax. You had outside caterers in?’ said Tommy cheekily.

  ‘I’ll ignore that,’ said Jackie. ‘Take Palma into the conservatory, Tom, I’m just nipping to the loo.’

  Tommy led Palma forwards into a large kitchen which opened out into a conservatory. There was a brocade-upholstered sofa and chairs there as well as a dining table. Tommy knocked on the window to alert the attention of a man standing in the middle of the back garden. He had a totally different build to Tommy: heavier set, thicker arms, shaved head, bull-like neck. He waved, then wandered up towards the house. He shook Palma’s hand also. ‘Nice to meet you at last, Palma,’ he said with a small, but not unfriendly, smile. ‘Nice to meet you too,’ she replied.

  ‘I’ve lost a pair of dumb-bells’ said Neil to his brother. ‘Have you got ’em, Tom?’

  ‘I have. You bloody lent them to me,’ said Tommy, turning to Palma and adding, ‘He’s getting old.’

  ‘I’ve been searching for ’em all weekend,’ said Neil.

  ‘I told you he’d have them,’ called Jackie from the hallway.

  ‘Neil built a gym at the bottom of the garden,’ explained Tommy.

  ‘It’s his man cave,’ said Jackie, returning to them.

  ‘Can I get you a drink?’ asked Neil. ‘Wine or . . . sorry . . . we have tea, coffee, water . . .’

  ‘I’ve got some pink lemonade in,’ Jackie took over. ‘Tommy said you liked that so I bought some.’

  ‘Oh, you didn’t have to get it in specially,’ said Palma. ‘I’m fine with water or orange juice or . . .’

  Tommy had opened the fridge. ‘I’ll choose for you or we’ll be here all day,’ he said, t
aking a bottle of pink lemonade out. ‘Jax? Neil?’

  ‘I remember when I was pregnant with our Jacob,’ said Jackie. ‘I couldn’t even drink water. It made me gag. I craved grapefruit juice but the doctor told me off. Said it would rot my teeth and make my heartburn worse than it already was. As if it could be. You getting any heartburn yet, Palma?’

  At last the elephant in the room had been acknowledged.

  ‘Not yet,’ she said.

  ‘You’re lucky. Very small, aren’t you? You can’t even tell.’

  ‘Have a seat,’ said Neil, as if this line of conversation was something he wanted to move away from.

  ‘Enjoy being waited on,’ said Jackie. ‘Don’t get used to it, you,’ she directed at Tommy. ‘It’s a one-off.’

  Palma and Tommy went to sit at the table.

  ‘Lovely here, isn’t it?’ Tommy said. ‘I’d like a house like this one day with a big garden and a conservatory.’

  ‘Your house is perfect,’ said Palma.

  ‘Yeah for a couple, not a family. I’ve been thinking about having a conservatory though,’ said Tommy. ‘I can visualise it as a sort of playroom for the baby. It’ll be lovely and sunny.’

  She smiled but she worried that he had fallen too quickly and easily for her with plans for their future already forming. Nothing had ever gone smoothly for her and she didn’t trust that it all seemed so rosy now. She would have liked nothing better than to wake up every morning in Tommy’s warm, comfortable house with the bouncy carpets and huge picture windows, but she also wanted to take things slowly. Sure steps. Nothing rushed. She didn’t want the rug pulled from under her feet again.

  ‘Here we go, I’ve put everything on so what you don’t want, leave,’ said Jackie, putting down two huge plates in front of them. Roast lamb with carrots, green beans, puffy Yorkshire puddings, roast potatoes, nothing elaborate but plain home cooking. Neil followed behind with a gravy boat carried in both hands and Tommy laughed at him.

  ‘You’d make a rubbish waitress,’ he said.

  ‘I don’t want to spill it,’ explained Neil. He wasn’t smiling but there was a chuckle in his voice and Palma realised he was one of those people who had a drier sort of humour. She hadn’t thought them much alike but, sitting across from Neil, she noticed that their eyes were the same, grey and large with thick dark lashes and they both had high cheekbones and a small gap between their two front teeth. Neil looked older than his years, though; he and Tommy could have been father and son, rather than brothers.

  ‘And don’t eat all yours,’ said Neil to Tommy. ‘She’s put too much on your plate.’

  ‘Give the lad a day off,’ tutted Jackie.

  ‘He can’t have days off, he’s a boxer. It’s like saying have a day off life, Jax.’

  ‘I’m having a day off, so get lost,’ said Tommy, turning to Palma as he did so. ‘Look how he nags me.’

  ‘Good job I do though. You wouldn’t have a title if I didn’t. Or a career. You’d be working in a shop selling bloody fried chicken.’

  Palma felt herself colouring. Did Neil know that’s what she used to do and it was a dig at her, or was it an unlucky guess? She willed Tommy not to say Palma used to sell fried chicken. Thank goodness he didn’t.

  ‘I’m not a fancy cook,’ Jackie explained to Palma. ‘We don’t usually have a roast on Sunday, not for the two of us. Only on special occasions.’

  ‘Ooh, you are honoured,’ said Tommy through a mouthful of Yorkshire pudding, causing the gravy to dribble down his chin.

  ‘Scruff,’ said Neil. ‘I hope you eat better than that if you go out for romantic meals.’

  ‘I’m a gent, me,’ said Tommy.

  ‘Aye, maybe too much of one,’ said Neil. ‘Can you pass me the salt please, Palma love.’

  Palma knew he’d given a piece of himself away then and had hurriedly tried to cover it up with an endearment. No one else noticed it, but she did. Too much of a gent. Taking on another man’s child, that’s what he meant. Her guard cranked up. Despite the gracious invitation, despite the specially bought lemonade, despite the politeness there was an undercurrent of something spiky and protective of their own and it had just broken through the veneer of their hospitality.

  Pudding was a home-made apple pie with shop-bought custard. Tommy teased Jackie about turning into Doris Day. Jackie brought Palma into the conversation a few times with questions: was she a baker? Did she watch boxing? Could she remember Tommy from school? But Palma couldn’t relax. She was waiting for them to put their cards on the table and thought it might have happened when Tommy went to the toilet and left the three of them alone. It didn’t. When he returned, Jackie began to clear up the plates and Palma rose to help her.

  ‘No, you’re a guest,’ said Jackie. ‘He can help me . . .’ she stabbed a finger in Tommy’s direction and then nodded at her husband. ‘Neil, go and show your shed off to Palma. He’s so proud of it he gives everyone a guided tour.’

  ‘It’s not a shed,’ protested Neil.

  And Palma knew that this had been arranged beforehand. Take Palma down to the gym and give her the hard word. She played along, admiring the flowers in the borders en route, commenting how much bigger the gym looked close up. Neil opened the door and led her inside. One wall was completely mirrored. There were weights and equipment everywhere and a whiteboard, which had been scrawled on with red pen.

  ‘Tell him I want my dumb-bells back,’ said Neil. ‘He’ll conveniently forget.’

  ‘I will,’ she said, looking around and trying to dredge up something to say. ‘Is it cold in here in winter?’ Pathetic.

  ‘It’s got a heater.’

  ‘Looks really good. Did you paint it inside?’

  ‘Me and our Tom.’

  Just say it, please, Palma begged inwardly. The walls were bulging with the pressure of the unsaid words.

  Neil walked to the rack with the missing weights and started to straighten the others above the gap.

  ‘He’s done well, hasn’t he? British champion,’ he said and Palma knew this was the start of it.

  ‘It’s amazing. You must be very proud of him.’

  ‘I am,’ said Neil. ‘He’s worked hard to get where he is. Now he has to stay there.’

  ‘I hope he does.’

  ‘This next fight is the big one for him. Really big. He has to keep focused.’ Neil turned to her then, sought eye contact. ‘This is his chance to prove to everyone that last win wasn’t a fluke. He can’t afford to let anything get in the way of that, do you understand what I mean, Palma?’ He didn’t wait for her to answer before continuing. ‘It’s not my place to say this because he’s a grown man but don’t cock him about. We want him to be happy but . . .’

  That ‘but’ hung in the air, full of threat and judgement.

  ‘I wouldn’t,’ said Palma. ‘I know how important it is.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Neil. ‘It had to be said, I hope you understand.’

  ‘I do,’ said Palma.

  ‘Our Tom feels things deeply and I know he’s fallen hard for you. I’ll not lie and tell you I’m thrilled about it. The timing’s off and . . . you know . . .’ His eyes made a dart to her stomach.

  ‘I do know,’ she said. ‘I’ll not get in the way.’

  ‘Good. Because I’ll do anything to protect our Tommy. Anything.’

  That ‘anything’ was so much more than a word. It had an importance and a depth of meaning that was much greater than the sum of its letters. Palma felt a rush of anxiety course through her veins.

  Then Neil smiled and clapped his hands together and the sound signified a full stop on the matter. ‘Anyway . . . don’t forget to remind him. My OCD kicks in if everything isn’t in its place.’

  That was clear, thought Palma as they wended their way back up to the house, talking about how the desire to have a nice garden lay dormant in the brain until someone hit their forties, when it leapt out like a surprise.

  Palma thanked Jackie and Neil for the meal, whic
h had been less of the consideration that Tommy had been led to believe and more about setting out the family stall, something he seemed blissfully unaware of. She feigned the beginnings of a headache on the way home, telling Tommy she’d rather go to hers than his and rest because she was tired and had eaten too much. He was disappointed but understood, he said. She knew if she’d asked him to stop off halfway home and move a mountain, he would have. She really really liked him so much, but the conversation with his brother troubled her. She’d been right to keep something in reserve; although it wasn’t her cocking Tommy about that would be the problem, it was more that she wouldn’t be enough for him. He was going places and she was standing still. He’d smash her heart into bits if he dumped her for a ‘Katie’.

  He opened the car door for her, helped her out, made sure she was in the house safely. He kissed her tenderly before saying goodbye as if she were something precious and she knew that she had nothing to worry about. But she was worried, all the same.

  Chapter 41

  It was Palma’s antenatal appointment the following afternoon so she left work at two-thirty and, despite her protestations, Joe insisted on dropping her at the surgery. It was the least he could do, he said, for helping to ease their staffing problems. Iris had now gone back part-time and Astrid came in two afternoons per week. She was wonderful company and only too happy to share all the details of her journey from unhappy male rugby player to ecstatic gorgeous woman.

  ‘Einmal war sie eine hässliche unglückliche Raupe. Jetzt ist sie ein wunderschoener glücklicher Schmetterling,’ she said, then apologised for slipping into her native language as she sometimes did without thinking. ‘Once I wor an ugly unhappy caterpillar. Now I am a beautiful happy butterfly,’ she said in her funny half-and-half accent.

  Astrid made them all laugh lots. Joe had been unsure of her at first but now Annie was (mock) afraid that they’d run off together.

  The fake headache Palma had pretended she’d had the previous day had become a reality within a couple of hours and she’d gone to bed early crippled by it. She’d had horrible dreams about Tommy hating her and not believing that she really liked him, even though she was screaming it in his face. She’d woken up cold and shivering and been so physically sick, she’d almost had to ring Annie and ask for the day off. Luckily it had subsided after a warm shower and a couple of paracetamol and when Annie and Joe picked her up, they were none the wiser she’d been through the mill for the past twelve hours.