by Nina Manning
I loved watching Eve in action. She was no gourmet chef by any standards, nor was she a great sewer or runner or monopoly player, but what was great about Eve, was that whatever she did she made it her own. And cooking was one of those things you had to be there to witness because it was like watching the cirque du soleil, there was always a certain amount of theatrics involved. But it always came out tasting amazing in the end. I leant against the kitchen counter to get a front-row seat.
Eve and I had made a great team ever since our uni days. We weren’t a classic best friend duo, who mirrored one another’s style and looks. Eve was five foot four with delightful curves, vibrant hair and a raucous laugh that would turn heads in the university library. I was five foot ten and slim with long blonde hair. I turned heads with my looks. I wanted – needed – people to see beyond the exterior and it had only happened with three people. One of whom was in the lounge, while another was here with me in the kitchen.
Eve worked herself around the compact and bijou kitchen, and her ample hips lifted and swayed to shift past every corner and surface as though they were an entity separate from the rest of her body. There was something special about Eve that I couldn’t even put into words. I just loved her so much and wouldn’t want to be without her. After a few minutes of working the room with pots, pans and wooden spoons raised above her head, she softly said, ‘love ya, babe’ as though she knew what I was thinking while I watched her. She wasn’t just a psychologist, she was a bloody mind reader. It was just what I needed to hear. She would always be there to deliver the right lines at the right time; unprompted. It was the most uplifting feeling of joy and I would never falter in telling her how I felt back.
‘Love ya too, babe’
Three delicious courses later, the four of us sat with full bellies and, as usual after an evening spent with Eve and alcohol, my sides were aching from laughter. Eve had lit a cigarette. After a couple of drinks she would always treat herself to a one-off cheeky fag. She had been telling another anecdote about one of the inmates at the prison where she worked, which was highly inappropriate and would undoubtedly have broken every code of conduct regarding patient confidentiality.
I let out a long sigh and leant over to touch Ben’s arm. I could see he was inebriated from the red wine and now the Cognac, which was in an oversized brandy glass that he held loosely in his hand. Occasionally he lifted it to his mouth and took a sip.
Eve took a last drag of her cigarette and dropped it into her coffee cup.
‘Well, I’ve had a fab birthday, thanks, guys. A wonderful way to turn twenty-five on planet Earth,’ Ben said as he picked up Eve’s packet of cigarettes and motioned to her with his eyes. Eve waved her hand for him to help himself.
Eve launched herself onto Patrick’s lap and kissed him hard on the lips. Patrick’s flushed cheeks were the only visual sign of intoxication, despite consuming nearly one of the two bottles of wine we had shared between us. He was now making his way happily through the Cognac. I smiled and looked at Ben.
‘Thank you,’ he mouthed before he lit his cigarette. I looked around at the three people at the table. I reflected on the simple meal, the mismatched crockery. I looked at the faces of pure contentment and felt a glimmer of gratification at what I had been given.
‘And here’s to my wonderful wife and mother-to-be.’ Ben blew out a flume of smoke, raised his glass and the others followed in unison. ‘You’re going to make a wonderful mum.’ Ben looked at me, the light from the candles reflected in his eyes. I found a smile and plastered it across my face.
‘Thanks,’ I mumbled. But I knew his words were wasted on me, for I already felt like the worst mother on earth.
Annie
It was Christmas Eve and the day had begun much as every day did, with the whisper of a promise. By lunchtime I was already feeling the weight of its lie.
I had spent the morning, like I did most mornings, moving from one room to another, making sure everything looked pristine. As the hour edged nearer to midday, I tried to ignore the perpetual push of anxiety that manifested itself in the manner in which I yanked the sheets to perfection and seamlessly folded the towels in the airing cupboard. The anxiety had made its way round my body and was becoming apparent in my breathing which was no longer natural and rhythmic. It was laboured and I felt an overwhelming urge to keep taking deep breaths, not always succeeding. When I could catch one, it brought momentary release that was addictive and caused me to continue striving for that deeper relief.
It had been almost a month since I last saw Ben and the first time I met Daisy. Her face had plagued me ever since. But now I knew who she was.
I was still being tortured daily by the face from the TV screen in the village as well. I didn’t need to be reminded of that face that I had been trying to forget for decades so I forced it out of my mind, the way I had before. It was why I chose not to have a television or a radio in the house. I couldn’t stand the things anyway, so much noise and invasion.
I was so pleased when Ben said he would come for Christmas Day. Christmas Day is my favourite day of the year. I always make it so special for him. Of course, she will be here too, but to have Ben near me again is worth the stress of having her in the house.
I carried on with my chores for the morning. I folded some towels and took them to the airing cupboard on the landing. As I laid them on the shelf, my eyes were drawn to the floor at the back. I stretched my neck to get a better look and there was a pale blue piece of material. I leant in at an angle and felt around until I grasped a softness between my thumb and forefinger. I pulled it out and immediately recognised it as Ben’s old comfort blanket. I was surprised to see it after so long and the memories of seeing him holding it as a small boy came flooding back. I longed for those days again.
It had been washed so many times and was frayed around the edges. One corner still bore the effects of Ben’s consistent rubbing and the crochet pattern had expanded apart and created a larger gap with two thick edges on either side. After the rubbing created the hole, Ben sought comfort in those thick sturdy edges.
I headed downstairs, clutching Ben’s blanket, and poured myself a large brandy. Brandy always relaxed me.
Then, once it had done its job, I began to look around at my achievements. The lounge looked glamorous, the food I had stored in the larder would be delectable and moreish, the lights would sparkle with fairy tale magic and the house would be filled with Christmas carols. There was just no other time of year like it.
I had no idea what sort of Christmas Daisy expected, but I did things my way in this house. My Ben and I had always had the most perfect time. I may not have been able to give him the nuclear family, but one thing I did do was make Christmas special.
I had always struggled. And as a single mother, it was harder still. Things took longer as a result. I was sure that was why it took Ben forever to smile at me, but when he finally did I was moved to tears. All that effort and hard work had finally paid off. I can’t say it was easy. There were times when I just wanted to give up completely. But I knew I couldn’t. He was my son. So I made it work. I came through the bleak period. I suppose every first-time mum experiences the blues in the beginning. I just wasn’t prepared for it though. When you want something so badly, you don’t expect it to bring a feeling of panic and despair. However, once we were out of that dark phase, Ben began to thrive.
This time of year brought with it memories so palpable, I could almost taste the nostalgia.
I sat down at the table in the kitchen and held Ben’s comfort blanket. I stroked the edge he had created over the years. Christmas carols were playing on the record player very low; the familiar notes flowed through into the kitchen. I clutched the blanket closer to me and remembered how he was nearly twelve years old by the time he gave it up. I remember because he was due to start high school. The day I told him it was time for him to give up the blanket I heard him weeping into his pillow. I took it, washed it and hid it from him in the hi
ghest shelf in my wardrobe. I forgot about it until I was having one of my massive clear outs a few months later. I found it in Ben’s room folded up inside his bed side table drawer under a pile of magazines. It smelled of him so I knew he had been using it each night. I left it there and said nothing more about it. The attachment to it was so fierce; if it kept him happy, what harm could it do? He only kept it with him in his bedroom, so no one would ever know about it.
When he left to live with her, he left it behind. He must have tossed it into the airing cupboard when he was packing. It was no longer needed. That item that bore so much significance in his life for so long was now cast aside just the way I had been. I wondered how it was he could have had such an attachment to something and then simply pretend it never existed. He had been brainwashed by her, that’s what had happened and I needed to make him see that.
I knew it wouldn’t be long before he would be sat back where he should be, leaving his coat on the back of the kitchen chair and spilling coffee granules all over the kitchen surface. I could live with that, as I always had done. What I couldn’t live with was the fact that he had left me for her. A blatant liar.
And I knew by whatever means I had to get him back in my life.
With every ticking moment, Christmas Eve was coming to an end and Christmas Day was almost here. And then I would see Ben. And her. Such a manic contrast between anxiety and excitement were my feelings that I had to pour myself another brandy. It was doing its job nicely, taking the edge off.
By five o’clock the brandy had well and truly relaxed me. I went into the lounge and turned off the record player. I poked the fire as the last embers burned out and turned off the Christmas lights. I was tired and would head up for a bath and get to bed early, ready for their arrival tomorrow.
I sat down in my chair that faced out towards the window.
Somewhere out there behind a blanket of darkness, was the same view of the ocean I had witnessed thousands of times, but I sat in the warmth and kept looking, kept staring, always with that perpetual notion that something would change and alter. But here I was after all this time. Even with Ben, whom I lived and breathed for, I was still staring into the darkness.
Daisy
‘Are you coming or what?’ I hollered through the hallway of the flat, knowing that my loud booming voice that I reserved for my fitness classes would reach Ben’s ears in the bathroom where he had been hiding away for the last twenty minutes. I was waiting at the front door wearing earmuffs and a brown sheepskin jacket. Waves of nausea swept through my body. I thought I was done with the last of the morning sickness sensation but it had reared its ugly head again. I took deep breaths and stroked the fabric of coat to distract myself.
I had no desire to spend Christmas Day with Annie. I’m not sure Ben did either. But she had asked and he accepted for both of us. The way I was feeling I needed to crawl into bed and stay there for a few months.
It would only be my second time meeting Annie and I still felt a bit weird about the teapot incident and, of course, her impertinence at mine and Ben’s decision to marry one another and getting pregnant so soon. But I was trying to put it down to her pure frustration. Without Ben around anymore, she was probably quite lonely.
I was desperately trying to see it from her perspective, to analyse her behaviour, from the scolding my finger on the teapot, to the way she scanned my face for too long.
As I waited for Ben, I looked through the glass pane of the front door. Outside, it was bitter. No snow, just a frost that covered everything but it was the perfect back drop to Christmas Day. Our first Christmas Day together as husband and wife. A time of year I knew Ben was not wholly keen on but had yet to tell me exactly why. So did I know my husband yet? Can you truly ever know anyone? We all have secrets. Secrets we must hold on to. Our past has a funny way of showing up and ruining everything and with the pregnancy feeling more real to me every day, I was being drawn back to a time in my life I wasn’t ready to confront. So I decided, not today. Today was Christmas. And Christmas was for unwrapping presents – not the past.
Eve arrived in the hallway just then, wearing just a skimpy leopard-print silk dressing gown that barely grazed her backside, accompanied by her fluffy tiger slippers and an amused expression. She stopped next to me and leant her voluptuous hips against the wall.
She looked at me for a few seconds and for a moment I knew she was analysing me, the way she liked to sometimes. ‘You okay? How you feeling?’
‘Tired. Fat.’
I looked down at my feet. I shifted my weight onto my left leg and then back again.
‘Come on, Daze, you’re still beautiful, even more so because you’re going to be a mummy!’ Eve looked at me like a wide-eyed child.
Why was Ben taking so long? Then he was there.
‘Ahh my husband!’ I said with too much emphasis as Ben wandered down the hallway towards me, his head down and his shoulders hunched.
I looked at Eve, she shrugged her shoulders.
‘You okay, babe?’ My hand found its way to Ben’s shoulder.
‘Me, yeah, I’m fine.’
I knew he wasn’t. On top of his apparent aversion towards ‘the most wonderful time of the year’, Ben was also going to break the news to Annie that he had a proper job. His first proper job by all accounts, and that he would be leaving to work away to record an album with an up-and-coming band. It was the sort of news a parent should have been thrilled about, but he was dreading having to deliver it to Annie. I guess Ben felt he had surprised him mum so much already what with moving out, marrying me and now the baby, that one more blow like moving away for months might actually tip her over the edge.
Eve pushed herself away from the wall, her hands cupped around her tea. She kissed me on the cheek and added one of her ‘I know you’ looks for extra value. I opened the door and the cold air hit my face.
‘Just call me. Anytime, you want to talk about… you know, anything.’ Eve put her hand on my back and kept it there for a few seconds. I blinked back the tears that must have been brought on by the icy breeze.
‘Have a wonderful Christmas Day, you two. Can’t wait to see you tomorrow.’ Eve stood, waving enthusiastically.
I picked up the Christmas-themed paper bag that was leant against the wall and we both headed outside. I looked back at Eve who winked at me and I blew her a kiss with my gloved hand.
‘Patrick round later?’ I said.
‘Oh yeah, baby, you bet ya!’ Eve said, laughing as she flashed me her red lacy negligee which matched her vibrant, neatly bobbed hair, before she closed the door.
We stepped into my Renault Clio, looked at the frost-infested windscreen and then at one another. We let out synchronised sighs and, each armed with an ice scraper, we got out and set about clearing the windscreen. We each stood on our side of the car and began removing the ice. I looked at Ben who looked back and each time the smile grew larger across his lips, until eventually we were laughing and flicking bits of ice at each other. I hoped that any passers-by or neighbours who might haven stolen a look out of their window, would see a cute goofy couple and perhaps they would feel a pang of jealousy at the young man and woman who were hopelessly and madly in love on Christmas morning.
The journey to Annie’s would take less than half an hour but it was enough time for me to probe Ben.
‘So how are you feeling about spending Christmas Day with your wife and mother,’ I said light-heartedly before looking away out of the window. Ben’s non-response was all I needed to know that he was not all right with it. The silence hung for a few minutes before he spoke.
‘I wanted to spend it with you. Just us, you know? But Mum’s asked… I’d feel a bit wrong not seeing her at Christmas.’ I squeezed Ben’s knee. ‘It’s a strange relationship, I know, but it was always just us. No one else, she never let anyone else in. She has a hard time trusting people.’
‘Well what about your mates, you must have had mates at school?’ I asked
&
nbsp; ‘Mmm, not really. I remember this one kid, Joe.’ Ben spoke with fondness. ‘One day I went round to Joe’s house after school. Mum had to go into hospital, she had a dodgy leg or something and needed an operation. I remember because she was beside herself. She didn’t want to leave me. Joe’s mum had made fish pie with fresh green cabbage and homemade brown bread to mop up all the white sauce afterwards. I had a huge glass of homemade lemonade and two helpings of homemade fruit trifle. I even got given a portion to take home with me in a little silver foil tray with a lid. I remember that meal so vividly; Mum’s food was good, but this was like, different good.’ Ben released the wheel with one hand to give my hand a quick squeeze. ‘That day I remember, I had fallen over at school and torn my trousers, so when me and Joe were tucking in, Joe’s mum sat and sewed up my trousers, whilst I sat in a pair of Joe’s old trackie-bottoms. It was nice. She sat and listened to us boys chatting, you can imagine it, can’t you? Two young lads, manic from a day at school, so much to say. Anyway, she was awesome, Joe’s mum, because she joined in our conversations every now and again and the rest of the time I felt, well, just really comfortable in her silence.
‘I got home that night and told Mum all about it. I told Mum about the food, I gave her the trifle portion and said it was for her and then showed her the place where the hole had been in my trousers. I remember her face, all screwed up, looking at the trousers and examining the perfectly neat sewing and then she just turned her nose up. I remember it. I remember that look, Daisy.
‘I wanted to say to my mum, is that what a mum should be like, is that how I should normally feel? Because it felt so good. Because normally, Daze, it feels, I don’t know how to explain it, awkward, I guess. I know she’s my mum, but sometimes she can be hard work, you know?’
I knew.
I waited a beat before I asked, ‘What do you suppose it is, Ben?’ This was the most he had ever opened up and right then it felt right, like I wanted to know. Then maybe at some point I could tell Ben everything.