by Liz Kessler
But underneath, another part of my mind is busy elsewhere. It’s picturing Mum the morning Dad left, sitting alone at the kitchen table in her dressing gown, hair unwashed and a cup of coffee in her hands.
Dad moving out so soon.
Did he leave to be with Elaine? Is that what he tried to tell me at the bus stop?
And the more I think about it, the more I talk myself into thinking the worst of my dad. Cat might be happy to be wrong, but I’m more and more convinced she was right. How could he do it?
I wish I hadn’t seen him last weekend, or I wish I’d known so I could have given him a piece of my mind.
If he thinks I’m ever going to forgive him, he can forget it.
I hated Christmas Day when I was younger. Mum was always stressed and wound up and I never knew if it was my fault. Dad would spend the morning unshaved and grumpy with a hangover from the next-door neighbors’ annual Christmas Eve party. Then Nan and Granddad would turn up, and we’d have the same conversations every year: How was I doing at school? Did I have a boyfriend? Wasn’t my hair shorter than when they last saw me? Was I putting moisturizer on my elbows?
I didn’t actually have anything against them; it was more the effect they had on the rest of us. Mum had never seen eye to eye with them. I think they’d wanted Dad to marry some dumpy little housewife. They couldn’t get their heads around the idea of a woman having a husband, a daughter, and a job. “Heaven forbid!” That’s what Nan always used to say. Suppose I told her I was thinking of doing something wild and crazy like getting my ears pierced —“Heaven forbid!”
One time, I was going out with this boy who played drums in a band. Phil Din, he called himself. He had a Mohawk, and piercings all over his face.
“Ash, your boyfriend’s here,” Mum called when he came to pick me up for an early escape.
“Heaven forbid!” Nan said, closing her eyes and clasping her hand over her chest. “If I saw him coming toward me in the street, I’d hold tight onto my handbag and cross the road immediately.”
I didn’t know whether to laugh or get mad. Phil was the softest boy I’d ever met. He’s certainly the only one who’s ever stroked my hair gently while I puked vodka down someone’s toilet.
Mum’s parents both died when I was a baby. Then Nan and Granddad both died within a year of each other, and suddenly Christmas didn’t feel like a big deal anymore. There was no Granddad falling asleep in an armchair, no charades, no arguments over whether we watch the Queen’s Speech or not. No stressed Mum in the kitchen. Well, she’d be stressed, but it would just be her everyday stressed, not her Christmas Special stressed.
I never cried over my grandparents. At the time, I wondered if it made me heartless. When Dad told me Nan had died, I nearly laughed. I hated myself for that. What kind of a bitch did it make me? I didn’t find it funny; it was just a nervous reaction, but it’s still not what you want to do, is it? For ages after that, I was terrified of anyone telling me that someone had died. I used to go to this youth club, and one week Mum told me that Mandy Jacob’s dad had died and that I was to tell her I was very sorry to hear the news. I was nearly sick before I went that night. What if I got halfway through saying it and burst out laughing? She’d never speak to me again.
In the end, I managed to mumble, “I’m sorry about your dad,” in the middle of netball. She said, “Thanks” without looking at me, and then we got back to the game. It was such a relief. I wasn’t so afraid of people dying after that.
I didn’t laugh when Granddad went. I didn’t cry either, but for a while I imagined I missed both of them. We’d usually only seen them a couple of times a year, so it wasn’t very much to miss. I think it was the idea of not having any grandparents anymore that saddened me. I felt cut off from something, from the past.
The past few years, Christmas has been kind of OK. Bit of a low-key dinner, a few crackers and prezzies, and then I’d disappear to my room and text my friends while Mum and Dad watched the Morecambe and Wise Christmas Special for the millionth time. I never missed the old Christmas Day get-togethers.
Until this year.
Now I’d give anything to have them back.
When I come downstairs to see Mum on her own at the kitchen table — lank hair, saggy pajamas, flicking unenthusiastically through a magazine — I could easily cry. This isn’t what Christmas morning should look like.
“Happy Christmas, Mum.” I put a big smile on my face and kiss her on the cheek.
“Happy Christmas, love.” She does the same back. If we don’t say any of it out loud, maybe it’s not so bad. I hand her a present.
“Oh, Ash, sweetheart, you shouldn’t have.”
I make a face. “It’s Christmas, Mum. Of course I should have.”
She carefully peels off the tape and pulls out the book. “Heal Your Heart, Love Your Life.” She turns it over to look at the back. “What’s this, then?”
“Cat’s mum used to go on about it,” I say. “It’s supposed to be brilliant. For women who are, you know, in your position and things.”
She doesn’t look up. A moment later, a tear drops onto her lap.
I bend down and look up at her face. “Mum, don’t get upset. If you don’t like it, I can always take it back. Don’t cry.”
She laughs and wipes her face. “It’s lovely, darling. It’s really thoughtful of you. Thank you.” She kisses me on the cheek and gets up to blow her nose on a piece of paper towel.
She goes into the front room and comes back a moment later with a package. “This is for you.”
“Oh, Mum.”
She smiles as I rip the paper off. It’s a pair of jeans. I pull them out and hold them up. They’re actually really nice. “Mum, they’re brilliant!”
“We had an intern at work last month,” she says, hearing the shock in my voice. “She helped me.”
I smile at her through a blur and throw my arms around her neck.
“Hey, watch it. You’ll get me started again.” She holds me tight for a second before bending down to pick up a piece of discarded wrapping paper. “Come on, let’s get this mess cleared up.”
We don’t get dressed till midday. We just sit together on the sofa in our dressing gowns, watching rubbish on the telly and eating toast.
Eventually I drag myself upstairs to put on some clothes. I’m supposed to be at Dad’s at two.
Mum comes to the door to see me off.
“I wish I didn’t have to go,” I say. She has no idea how much I mean it.
“Don’t be daft. You’ll have a lovely time.”
“What about you?”
“I’ll be fine,” she says. “I’m due down the road with David and Trish soon. They’re doing the ‘good neighbors’ thing. They’ll look after me, don’t worry. Go on. I’ll see you tonight.”
The weird thing is, as I kiss her good-bye, I realize I’m looking forward to coming back home and spending the evening together.
“I’m not staying.”
“What do you mean you’re not staying?”
“I’ll eat with you and that’s it. Then I’m going home.”
Dad moves aside to let me in.
“Any other guests?” I ask.
“Like who?”
“You tell me.” I scowl into his eyes.
“Ashleigh, I don’t know what this is all —”
“Like Elaine, for example?”
Dad turns away, puts on a pair of oven gloves. “Why would I invite Elaine?”
“I don’t believe it! It’s true, isn’t it?”
He opens the tin can excuse for an oven in the corner of the room and bends down to check on the turkey. “Another few minutes,” he mumbles.
“Dad! Are you just going to ignore me?”
He calmly closes the oven door and takes the gloves off. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You and Mum.”
“What about us?”
“Why did you really leave, Dad?”
He sits
down on the bed. “Ash, your mum and I . . . things haven’t been right for a long time.”
“Well, it’s no bloody wonder, is it?” I’m suddenly shouting. I don’t care. I’ve held onto it — onto all of it, not just this — for too long, and it’s coming out now with all the force of Niagara Falls.
“Don’t swear please, Ashleigh. The walls are unbelievably thin in this place.” He pats the bed beside him. “Why don’t you sit down and tell me what this is all about?”
“Don’t try coming over all reasonable. And don’t lie to me.”
“I won’t lie to you.”
I pause for a moment. The words catch in my throat. I can’t get them out. I swallow hard. “You’ve been having an affair,” I say. “Behind Mum’s back. You’ve been seeing Elaine.”
Dad nods slowly. “I see,” he says. His voice has tightened. “That’s what you think of me, is it?”
“I . . .” I stop, and suddenly — perhaps a tiny bit too late — wonder if I’ve got my facts right after all. Why was I so quick to jump on this idea and run with it? Did I need someone to blame? Was Dad the easiest target? Is he actually innocent after all?
Dad lifts my chin and turns me to face him. He looks me dead in the eyes.
“Ashleigh, in twenty-one years of marriage, I never once cheated on your mother,” he says seriously. “Not with Elaine; not with anyone. You hear me?”
I nod.
“You believe me?”
I pause. Look in his eyes. See my dad there. My loyal, loving, trustworthy dad. I nod again. “I’m sorry,” I say meekly.
“Ash, it’s OK. But I swear to you it’s true, OK?”
“OK.”
“Good,” he says. Then, for some reason, he looks awkward.
“Dad? What is it?”
He gets up and goes over to the window, all steamed up from the cooking and so grubby you can hardly see out of it. He wipes it with his sleeve and turns back to me. “It’s precisely because I will never lie to you that I want to tell you this. I tried to tell you before but . . .”
I fold my arms and wait for him to go on.
“I swear to you, Elaine and I have only ever been friends . . .” he says again. I’m about to point out that he’s already told me this, but before I get the chance, he quickly adds, “. . . but we have started seeing each other.”
“Started? When?”
“We’ve had literally two dates.”
“Seriously? That’s a bit of a coincidence, isn’t it?”
Dad shakes his head. “She invited me for dinner. Said I had to stop living off ready meals. It’s just happened naturally. And it never, ever happened before. It never even crossed my mind.”
I stare at him in disbelief. “And you expect me to believe that?”
Dad holds my eyes. “Yes, Ash,” he says. “I do. Because it’s the truth.”
We stay like that for a moment. And in that moment, I realize that actually, yes, I do believe him. Almost. There’s just one thing. “What about Cat?” I ask. “She saw you together. She said you had your arms round each other.”
“What? When?”
“I dunno. A few weeks ago.”
Dad rubs his chin, scratching at the stubble. Then he moves his hand away and laughs sadly. “Yes, I know,” he says. “I know when she saw us. It was the day your mum and I had such an awful fight I knew our marriage was over. I was in pieces. Elaine dragged me out of the office for lunch. Afterward, she gave me a hug. I was crying in the street.”
Dad’s eyes fill with tears now, and before I can stop myself, I go to him and put my arms around him. His shoulders shake softly. “I’m sorry, Ash. I’m sorry,” he mumbles into my neck.
“I’m sorry too, Dad. I shouldn’t have thought you’d do something like that. I know you wouldn’t.”
Dad squeezes me closer before letting me go again and wiping a sleeve over his face.
“Just do one thing for me,” I say.
“I’ll do anything,” Dad says. “What is it?”
“Tell Mum.”
Dad breathes in sharply. “Ash, you have to understand, these things are quite complicated. It’s not just a case of —”
“I can’t keep this secret from her. It’ll feel like I’m lying to her,” I say. “You can’t put me in that position.”
There’s a long pause. The only sound is a spitting noise from inside the oven. Then Dad nods. “You’re right,” he says. “It’s not fair to either of you. She has to know.”
“Right. Thank you.”
Dad goes over to the oven and opens it. A waft of hot air comes out. “Turkey’s done,” he says. “You ready for dinner?”
“Totally. I’m starving!” I pull out one of the two plastic seats by the sad little flap that’s opened out into a table. Dad joins me and picks up one of the crackers.
We pull the cracker and a mini yo-yo falls out onto the table. Feels appropriate, considering how up and down my life has become.
Dad puts a bright blue hat on his head, and I grab the other cracker and hold it out to him.
“Happy Christmas, Dad,” I say.
Dad smiles at me. A smile that’s full of sadness, but maybe also full of hope. “Happy Christmas, love,” he replies.
“Have you done it yet?” Cat yells in my ear. We’re in the Grapevine bar in town, celebrating New Year’s Eve in the traditional English way — by getting drunk. The Grapevine is one of the few places that doesn’t bother checking ID’s. At least we’ll all be legal next year anyway. The plan had been to come here for a dance, but it’s so packed there’s barely room to breathe, let alone move around in time with the music.
“Done what?” Robyn’s behind me, handing me a glass of something bright orange with a cherry on top. “It’s called a Happy New Year,” she explains as I take the glass.
I clink glasses with both of them. “Cheers,” I say.
“So. Done what?” Robyn persists.
Cat shakes her head and sighs at me. “Don’t tell me Robyn doesn’t even know about this?”
I feel my face heat up and take a swig of my cocktail to hide behind.
“What don’t I know about?” Robyn asks.
Cat raises an eyebrow at me, and I shrug in reply.
“Ash thinks she might be pregnant — but she was too scared to take a test,” Cat explains economically.
For a second, Robyn looks hurt.
“I’m sorry. I should have told you. I — I guess I was embarrassed. I didn’t want to admit to what Dylan and I had done.” I grimace. “Sorry.”
Robyn shakes her head and smiles. “No, it’s fine. Honestly,” she says. “I mean, we’ve not been friends all that long, and it’s really personal. I understand.”
Cat swings an arm over her shoulder in a mock “sad violin music” performance. I nudge her arm and laugh.
“OK, now that we’ve got the gushy stuff out of the way . . . have you done the test yet?”
Robyn moves to stand closer to Cat and looks hard at me. “Yes,” she says, siding with Cat. “Have you?”
I look down.
“Thought not,” Cat says, reaching into her bag. She pulls out a paper bag with something inside it and holds it out to me.
“Cat!” I grab the bag from her. “What are you doing?”
“I knew you wouldn’t have done it yet so I bought it on the way here. Think of it as a New Year’s gift.”
“How do you know I haven’t started my period?”
“Have you?” Robyn asks.
I shake my head. I’m about three weeks late, if not more. Every day that’s gone by I’ve been getting more and more convinced it’s bad news. My stomach suddenly cramps out of fear. At least, I think that’s what it is.
A moment later, the pair of them have knocked back their cocktails and placed themselves on either side of me. “Right, come on then,” Cat orders, taking my arm. Robyn takes hold of the other one. I feel like I’ve been arrested and am about to be carted down to the station.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
Cat points ahead at the sign for the ladies’ room. “We’re going to get you an answer,” she says.
The pair of them virtually shove me into the cubicle. I shut the door behind me. “Are you both planning to wait out there and listen to me pee on a stick?” I ask.
“Yup!” they reply in unison.
I guess there’s nothing else for it, then.
I take the tester out of its wrapper and read the instructions on the box. My stomach cramps again. I must be even more terrified than I thought. I clutch my stomach. The pain has almost winded me. It’s a dull, heavy stab, low down in my stomach.
A bit like period pain.
I look down and see something miraculous.
Blood.
Blood! I can’t believe it! My period’s started — I’m not pregnant!
“Aarrrrggghhhhh!” I scream.
“Ash, are you OK?” Robyn asks through the door.
I pull my bag open. I have never felt so happy to be rummaging around in my bag looking for a tampon before. Miss Murray was right. It must have been all the stress that made me so late.
I finish in the loo, shove the tester back in the box, and fling the door open. “I’m not pregnant!” I yell, grabbing both of them and jumping up and down. I dance around and around in a circle, pulling them both with me.
Cat’s laughing as she pulls away. “You’re sure?” she asks. “You did it properly?”
I hand her the kit. “I didn’t need it,” I reply. “I started my period! I’m free! Omigod, I’m so happy!”
Robyn grabs me and hugs me tight. “Yay! That’s brilliant!”
“I know!” I grin at them both. “Right. Let’s get the cocktails. It’s my round!”
As we head back to the bar, I find myself wanting to run around the whole place screaming and hugging everyone, telling them I’ve got my life back.
As I knock back my second Happy New Year I realize that, actually, I’m not bothered about the people in the pub. The only person I really want to tell is Miss Murray.
I can’t wait to see her. I’m glad we’re back at school in a few days.
What? Did I really just think that?