‘Oh, that’s lovely.’
‘Here we are, ladies. I’ll pick you up in an hour and a half, okay?’ said Joe, drawing up in front of the Sunflower Café.
‘Bloody hell, Annie, you’re massive,’ laughed Palma when they got out. She put her hand on Annie’s stomach; the baby kicked, as if affronted. Annie reciprocated without thinking, placed her hand on top of Palma’s mound, felt the baby stir.
‘Into the café,’ ordered Palma, seeing Annie’s composure start to crumble. ‘Come on.’
They picked a seat in the corner by the window and ordered afternoon tea for two. Annie wasn’t even hungry now. It seemed so incongruous having scones and pretending everything was fine whilst underneath the surface was a chaotic torrent of despair.
‘I apologise in advance,’ said Annie. ‘I’m going to say the wrong thing, I know I am.’
‘No one knows what to say, Annie. Not even Tommy. So just take off the filter and talk to me normally because normal is what I could really do with at the moment.’
‘How are you doing?’
‘I’m numb, Annie. And I’m in limbo. I’ve written some letters to children who might benefit from what Gracie can give them. It was hard but I felt a . . . little bit of light turn on inside me, if that makes any sense. It gave me something to focus on, because I know what it’s like to be scared that you’ll lose your baby and I know how grateful I’d be if there was something, or someone, that could give her a chance to live.’
‘Here you are, ladies. Enjoy. Cream tea for four,’ said the waitress, putting down the frame with three tiers of plates.
‘I’m trying to eat for four by myself at the moment, even though I don’t really have an appetite,’ said Palma. ‘Gracie has to make the weight.’
‘If she doesn’t, you must not think you could have done anything different, Palma,’ said Annie. She was worried that Palma would be inconsolable if what she had hoped for didn’t happen.
‘I know, but I’m doing my best. I’m not sure it makes any difference stuffing myself, but anything’s worth a try. This looks lovely,’ said Palma. ‘Tommy’s on a very strict diet. A regime. It’s a way of life for him: diet, hard training. I think Neil and Jackie worried that I wouldn’t be able to tolerate it but I’m happy to stand with him, be his support, be in his corner, as they’d say.’ She reached for both a cucumber finger sandwich and a cheese and pickle.
‘Have they been all right with you?’
‘Yes, very kind. I haven’t seen too much of them because I don’t want to put them in a situation where they feel awkward. They have no idea what to say to me either so they send me things – a cake, a scarf, books, magazines. It’s very touching. I know they care.’
‘You’re so incredibly brave,’ said Annie, coughing away the swell of emotion that was lodged in her throat.
‘Trust me, I’m not, Annie. If I couldn’t feel her living inside me I’m not sure I wouldn’t throw myself off the nearest bridge. You can’t wait to meet your baby, I’m trying to delay meeting mine for as long as I can. Every day I have with her is precious. I have to do all the things before she’s born that I wish I could do afterwards with her: walk in the park, storytime, singing nursery rhymes. I’m not strong, I’m not brave, I’m just making the best of what time I have. I don’t want to cry because she’ll feel it and wonder why I’m doing it.’
Annie pushed down the tears prickling the backs of her eyes, annoyed at herself. She was here to be a comfort for Palma, not a blubbering wreck. She pulled the envelope out of her bag.
‘We didn’t know if you’d want this or not. It’s a certificate to say that you were in the Christmas Pudding Club.’ She handed it over tentatively. Palma took it out and smiled.
‘Yes, I was part of it all. And it’s where you and I met so I would like it, thank you. Now, tell me about the world of crackers,’ said Palma, reaching across and giving her ‘fake Italian’ friend’s hand a squeeze. ‘Tell me about Astrid and Iris and all the daft things that have happened since I went on my leave. And can I come back when . . . well, you know . . .’
‘We will welcome you with open arms,’ said Annie.
Chapter 72
‘Five . . . four . . . three . . .two . . . one. And that’s the last.’ Everyone applauded as Joe put the last cracker in the box and then placed the lid on it.
Every order complete and this last one would be picked up by the courier first thing in the morning, one day ahead of schedule.
Astrid reached for a mince pie. She, along with all the others, was wearing a festive crown.
‘Who wrote t’jokes for the Gentlemen’s Club crackers?’ she asked. ‘Zey were disgusting.’
‘Palma,’ said Joe.
‘Oh, bless,’ said Astrid. ‘Funny, but disgusting. Zey will love ’em.’
‘How is she doing?’ asked Gill from out of the iPad. ‘I can’t imagine what she must be feeling.’
‘She’s got a good man beside her and us as friends and she’ll get through it,’ said Iris. ‘How’s your weather?’
‘Chilly and wet,’ said Gill. ‘My girls are coming out at the weekend. I’ve told them not to bother bringing their bikinis.’
‘We’ve got brilliant sunshine today.’ Iris grinned smugly. ‘It’s like spring, give or take the brass bands everywhere you look. You can’t go into any shop without someone singing “Silent Night” at top volume and rattling a tin in yer face.’
‘You all right, Annie love?’ said Gill, peering into the iPad for a closer look at her old boss.
‘Yup. I’m having those Braxton Hicks contractions. My stomach’s as tight as a drum top.’
‘You look in pain,’ said Gill.
‘Not pain exactly but I feel like I’ve got really bad trapped wind. I’m trying not to embarrass myself.’
‘Oh, just do a big fart,’ said Astrid. ‘We promise to excuse you.’
‘Not a chance. I don’t even fart in front of Joe, never mind the internet.’
‘I fart anywhere I feel like it nowadays,’ chuckled Iris. ‘They expect you to do it at my age. I once cleared a whole aisleful of shoppers in Morrisons with a silent but deadly.’
Annie doubled over. That Braxton Hicks contraction took her breath away. ‘Flipping heck,’ she cried.
‘Annie, Braxton Hicks contractions don’t cause that face,’ said Gill, watching her via the wonders of FaceTime. ‘Are you sure it’s not a proper contraction?’
‘I don’t know,’ Annie answered her. ‘But if the baby is even thinking about coming today and not letting me have a week off at least, we shall have words.’
Sitting around a table eating mince pies and talking about old ladies farting in supermarkets was not how Annie had imagined her first stage of labour. Gill had told her not to bother going to the hospital yet, but to stay there, talk, do some breathing until the contractions were nearer together. Astrid and Joe busied themselves by shrink-wrapping the final order onto pallets in readiness for the following morning’s collection, although Astrid had done most of the work because Joe was starting to flap. She sent him off to make tea; he made four lots. By then, Annie’s contractions were fifteen minutes apart.
‘It’s so exciting,’ said Astrid, clapping her hands and reaching for another mince pie.
‘I’m having another one, Gill,’ groaned Annie. ‘Dear God, that hurt.’ She took in a long breath, pretended there was a cake in front of her and began to blow out all the candles one by one.
In Spain, Gill checked her watch. ‘That’s twelve minutes since your last one. Joe, I’d get the car out, lad. Have you got your hospital bag?’
‘It’s in the boot,’ said Annie, blowing out more imaginary candles.
‘Okay, okay,’ Joe was flustered, looking for something though he couldn’t remember what.
‘Joe, give me ze unit keys. I vill lock up. What time are ze couriers coming in t’morning?’
‘Between eight and nine, Astrid. I don’t know where my keys are.’
&nb
sp; ‘They’re in your hand, Joe. I can see them from Fuengirola,’ said Gill, pointing at them from the screen.
‘Joe, go. I vill take Iris home and I vill be here in ze morning.’
Gill blew a kiss. ‘Let me know what flavour you have. Good luck, Annie love. I’ll leave you all to it.’
‘Wages, Joe. Presents for Astrid and Iris. They’re in the office,’ puffed Annie.
‘Everysing can vait,’ said Astrid, crooking her arm for Annie to hold onto. ‘Everysing but ze babby.’
*
Massimo Vitale Pandoro was born at seven o’clock that evening. He was seven pounds and twelve ounces and had a full head of thick, dark Italian hair. He was the best Christmas present his mother and father could have ever wished for and as big a miracle to them as the birth of the baby Jesus. Probably more so because Mary was years younger and hadn’t been through what they had to get a son.
Chapter 73
Three days before Tommy’s fight, it was time for Palma to go into hospital. Time for her to say hello and goodbye to her child. Tommy was by her side, gowned, scrubbed up, holding her hand when the doctors performed the caesarean. Palma heard her daughter’s cry as she left the sanctuary of her body.
‘She’s cute as a button,’ said a midwife who lifted her straightaway onto the scales, cleaned her up quickly.
‘We’re filming this for you,’ said another.
‘And we have a baby girl at five pounds seven ounces,’ came a call and it was then that Palma cried. Burst into tears that had no place in any single emotion: happiness, sadness, relief, despair.
‘Here’s your little Gracie.’ Palma felt the beautiful weight of her baby on her chest. She had soft white hair and butter-soft skin. She felt Tommy collapse into himself as he held on to her arm.
The doctors had warned them Gracie might not breathe well as her lungs were underdeveloped, but she did. Taking in the scent of her mother the baby settled, gripped her daddy’s finger with her tiny perfect hand.
Tommy took photos on his phone, his hand trembling. He held her and breathed her in and she couldn’t have been any more his than she was at that moment. A nurse snipped a lock of Gracie’s hair, took a video of them all together, of the baby reaching out, touching her mother’s lips.
Gracie drifted away forty minutes later, fell gently into a sleep that she would never wake up from, her last breath against her mother’s full, warm breast and a nurse with tears streaming down her face lifted her away after her parents had said their final goodbyes and told her they loved her and would never, ever forget her because she would always be their first-born, their little girl, their Gracie.
Palma heard someone in the room cry, a howl, a keen, an animal sound of pain. She hadn’t realised it came from her until she felt the raw ache in her throat.
Chapter 74
The immediate lead-up to her wedding day was bittersweet for Eve because Annie rang to tell her about Palma. Tommy had called round to the house, Palma had asked him to. She wanted Annie to know that Gracie had made the weight and that would help her to cope.
‘I’m glad you told me, Annie,’ said Eve. ‘I’ve been thinking about her.’
‘Life is to be treasured,’ said Annie. ‘Grab it and run with it and have a lovely wedding day. I’m sorry I can’t be with you but I’m sure you understand. I’ve got my hands full.’
‘Totally and utterly,’ smiled Eve.
She wasn’t convinced she’d sleep the night before the big day. She’d long since given up on having a night where she didn’t have to roll out of bed three times at least, but throw in wedding nerves too and she had no chance. But sleep she did and woke up to the sound of Jacques in the shower. He was singing ‘Going to the chapel’ at full volume. Michael Ball certainly had nothing to worry about.
They’d agreed that they wouldn’t do the traditional ‘night before the wedding apart’ thing because Jacques wanted to be there with her just in case she went into labour, even though she continued to insist that the baby would be late in arriving.
Eve was off crutches now and only had a small hobble to show for her injury. She hoped that her wedding outfit didn’t include skyscraper stilettos. Then again, Auntie Susan was designated dresser and she did favour a sensible heel.
‘I’m going to make you a full English breakfast,’ said Jacques, slipping on his enormous white dressing gown that made him look like a polar bear.
‘I’m too nervous to eat,’ said Eve.
‘So am I,’ said Jacques.
Eve pulled a face. ‘You are never too nervous to eat.’
‘I know, I lied. I’ll see you downstairs in ten minutes.’
She came down to a feast. The table was groaning from the weight of food. Eve surprised herself by making quite an impact on it.
‘I am presuming my Auntie Susan hasn’t got a tight-fitting dress so I might as well enjoy it whilst I can,’ she said, putting away her second bacon buttie.
‘I’m looking forward to the wedding night,’ said Jacques with a saucy wink.
‘Jacques, if your sexual organs come anywhere near mine for the next year, I will cut them off.’
At lunchtime, when her Auntie Susan and Violet arrived, Jacques kissed her and left to go to Effin’s cottage – the designated male headquarters. Her Auntie Susan was carrying a hat box bigger than Eve’s lounge. The bridal and bridesmaids’ gowns had all been stowed in one of the new nursery wardrobes without Eve’s prior knowledge.
‘I hope you like your dress,’ said Susan.
‘Bit late if she doesn’t,’ said Eve’s cousin Violet. ‘Stop worrying, Mum. Start flapping about the flowers. Weren’t they supposed to be here by now?’
‘Oh my GOD, where are they?’ shrieked Susan, searching wildly in her handbag for her phone.
‘Looking swell, cuz,’ said Violet with a grin. ‘Bet you haven’t heard that one before.’
‘I can’t remember you being this “swell” when you were pregnant,’ Eve returned, running her hands over her baby mound.
‘I wasn’t. Not even half. I’m not sure the chapel aisle is going to be wide enough for you.’
‘Bloody cheek.’
‘Flowers are here, flowers are here,’ Auntie Susan zoomed past them en route to the door.
‘Oh, and the make-up and hair woman will be here in ten minutes, apparently. It’s snowing at the other side of Penistone. White Christmas, here we come.’
‘I hope it’s not too bad. Effin has to drive some of the lads to Wales after the wedding. If they don’t get home for Christmas, their wives will kill them – and us.’
‘Sprinkle tonight, worse tomorrow,’ said Auntie Susan. ‘Have you any gin? For my nerves.’
Two hours later, Eve slipped on the gorgeous white velvet gown that her aunt had designed for her. It had an impressive train, scalloped neckline and the bell sleeves and white cape were both edged in soft faux-fur. The shoes were low-heeled boots with buttons up the side. There was a bit of a struggle to insert her still slightly swollen damaged foot; Prince Charming wouldn’t have accepted it as a perfect fit, but eventually – success. The make-up woman went for subtle on the eyes, with holly-berry red lipstick. She swept up Eve’s hair at the sides, securing it with pins with snowflakes on them, then fitted the plain white veil which was edged in the same fur. Violet and Phoebe May Tinker, her very excited goddaughter, were in red ballerina-length dresses with dark green beribboned ballet pumps. They carried posies of red roses and holly and Eve’s bouquet was a huge teardrop of white roses and mistletoe.
‘So far, so good,’ said Eve as she posed for photographs. It was all beautifully tasteful.
Outside, stray snowflakes were bumping into the windows, heralding more to come from the thick blanket of low cloud in the sky.
‘Here’s the car,’ chirruped Auntie Susan.
‘Auntie Eve. Uncle Jacques said that he was riding into the chapel on a giant penguin, is he telling the truth?’ asked Phoebe. She was ten, and mentally so was Jacq
ues.
‘I really wouldn’t put it past him, darling,’ replied Eve, picking up her dolly bag.
The Silver Ghost Rolls-Royce deposited them at the gates of Winterworld and a uniformed Thomas was waiting for them there at the side of the Nutcracker Express train, which had been decorated with balls of holly and laurel leaves. He saluted with a grin and such gusto he nearly knocked his hat off.
‘Welcome aboard, everyone,’ he said, looking up at the snow falling in soft large flakes.
‘Oh, Auntie Eve, the train is too slow,’ grumbled Phoebe. ‘I like it best when it goes mad.’
‘Trouble is, Phoebe, this train should have six speeds but it only likes two – this one and the one we don’t talk about,’ said Thomas. ‘I’m not sure your Auntie Eve would appreciate it if I hit the accelerator.’
Slowly but surely the train chuffed to the side of the chapel. The snow machines had been working at full throttle for an hour, puffing flakes into the air which danced with those falling from the sky. There was a red carpet leading from the drop-off point to the chapel and six snowmen at either side of it.
‘This is where it starts to get like a bad drug trip,’ whispered Violet.
‘Auntie Eve, what sort of drug trip?’ asked Phoebe.
‘LSD,’ Eve answered her.
‘Are they the mind-altering ones?’
‘Eve, she’s too young to know about stuff like that,’ tutted Auntie Susan.
As they walked along the carpet the snowmen raised their umbrellas to form a ceremonial archway. An elf appeared to sprinkle white rose petals where they were to step.
The ladies paused by the chapel door and Auntie Susan adjusted Eve’s veil. ‘You look gorgeous and no, I didn’t invite your Granny Ferrell so you won’t get tomatoes thrown at you. Now go marry that man properly.’
Effin was waiting there in a black suit with a mistletoe-patterned tie.
‘You look beautiful, radiant, Missus,’ he said and crooked his arm for her to take. ‘But a word of warning before we go in: if you hear wings, don’t flinch because it upsets him.’
The Mother of All Christmases Page 35