*
I hadn’t set an alarm, but it was going off in my dream where dogs in miniature red plaster casts were weeing on my leg and toppling backwards, spraying in the air like Lilliputian yellow fountains. It wasn’t an alarm; my phone was ringing. I reached for it on the bedside table, worried in case it was an emergency: Mum or Grace always at the forefront of my mind.
‘Yes? Is everything OK? What’s happened?’ I mumbled, the dogs still barking, the dream hanging on by its sharp claws.
‘I’m outside your house.’
My eyes focused on the back wall, working out the level of daylight seeping over the top of the curtains. ‘What time is it?’
‘Seven in the morning.’
I shuffled up to sitting, suddenly wide awake, my heart hammering in my chest.
‘Can I come in?’
‘Give me a minute.’ I finished the call and sat there racking my brain. Why was Nick here? Toe-curling mortification suddenly slammed me in the guts as I recalled ringing him when I was shit faced eating Marmite toast. Please God NO! What had I said? I couldn’t remember! He hadn’t answered, that much I’d fathomed, so I’d left some cringe-worthy rambling message. Cunty McFucksticks AND flaps! I then fearfully checked my phone and had five missed calls from him ranging from 10 p.m. to 1 a.m. this morning, and two texts.
I know you’re drunk so I’m going to take what you said with a pinch of salt. I’ll ring you in the morning.
That had been at ten fifteen last night.
Fuck it. I’m driving back.
That one was at two this morning.
I pushed back the duvet, staggering to the loo to do some serious first impression investigation. Hungover and bleary of face, smudgy of eye and hair overtaken by shagger’s clump matted together from restless sleep and too much product, I reached for the toothbrush and flash-cleaned my mouth. He would have to take me as I was but skanky death breath was a bridge too far.
Wearing only my Oasis T-shirt and yesterday’s knickers, I walked down the stairs, absolute dread overriding any other emotions. What had I said? What if I didn’t really fancy him and he’d driven all this way on the false promise of whatever I’d blathered last night? I unlocked the front door, creeping quietly into the hallway in case I alerted Elinor. My hand shook as I unbolted the shared front door and turned the handle.
‘Hello.’ Instead of Hugh Grant, Nick was standing on the step with his anorak hood up against the light drizzle, rain drops splattered on his glasses. He thrust a tired bunch of pink and red garage carnations at me. ‘I got you these delightful flowers. Sorry they’re a bit crap. The selection was pretty poor at Watford Gap services.’ He smiled hopefully.
‘Thank you. That’s very sweet. Come in.’ I took the flowers and pulled my T-shirt further down over my bum as I stepped aside so he could get out of the rain. I followed him through the open door into my house.
‘Can I take my coat off?’
‘Of course.’ I felt awkward and exposed and wished I was wearing something else. As he hung his coat on the banisters I walked into the kitchen to find a vase, glad of something to do. He followed me.
‘Would you like—’
‘Where did you—’
‘No, you first,’ I insisted, putting the flowers down on the breakfast bar. ‘I’m assuming you’ve driven a long way.’
‘Where did you want to get married?’
‘What?’
‘You asked me to marry you last night, when you were drunk. I drove all the way from Derby to say yes.’
I tried to speak but nothing happened. I swallowed profusely, then found my voice.
‘Shit.’
‘Not the response I was expecting.’ His expression was deadly serious. Then he burst out laughing. ‘Your face!’
‘Oh my God, you fucker!’ I picked the flowers up and hit him with them.
‘You don’t know what you said, do you?’ He smiled at me.
‘No. Please enlighten me.’
‘I will if you come out for breakfast with me. The French Café opens at nine.’
‘Do you want a cup of tea in the meantime? Nine is a while off.’
He stared at me then, his eyes searching out mine. My heart began throbbing in the base of my throat.
‘I’d love a cup of tea,’ he said gruffly, his voice catching. ‘You look cute in your Oasis T-shirt. They’re my favourite band.’
‘Mine too,’ I croaked, rooted to the spot. ‘Thank you for driving to see me. I bet you haven’t slept.’
‘It was worth it.’
‘Oh.’ I now didn’t know how I felt or what else to say. I turned away from him, grabbed some mugs from the cupboard and then picked up the kettle to start filling it from the tap.
‘I don’t think I’ve ever witnessed you lost for words,’ Nick said quietly.
I put the kettle down and turned round. He grabbed my hand and gently drew me towards him. He brushed my hair out of my eyes, then kissed me on the lips, softly at first, igniting desire that I’d previously doubted. He pulled away, leaving me swaying slightly, my head spinning.
‘So, my tea?’ he asked innocently. I gaped at him. Was he joking?
‘Sod your tea. I think it can wait.’ So this was what Amanda had meant when she said something about finally coming home. I kissed him with more urgency this time and he wrapped his arms round me, making me wonder if we would actually make it out for breakfast at all…
46
Norman
Norman finished elaborately wrapping his Secret Santa present. He’d wangled it so he had ended up with Ali, performed some insider trading and sneaky swaps. He’d found the perfect gift for her. Well, he hadn’t had to look far: they were displayed in Lucas’s mausoleum upstairs. He appreciated they upended the ten-pound limit, but technically he had spent no money.
Norman was looking forward to Ali’s party; his first Mews do where he would be bringing guests. Ambrose was going to come with his daughter, Rochelle, her husband, Mike, and their daughter, Mya. Ambrose’s wife had died three years ago and, according to Rochelle, he’d recently begun to talk about the past after shutting down completely and becoming a bit of hermit, a family trait, it would appear. Norman had tentatively met up with Ambrose a few times though they didn’t mention how he had ignored Norman for the best part of thirty-five years. Norman knew it would come up eventually, like a niggling splinter trapped deep in his skin. It wouldn’t be able to help itself but rise slowly to the surface and work its way into the world. But for now, it remained consciously embedded, and already forgiven. Lucas had made sure of that.
‘It’s not their fault,’ he’d wisely suggested to Norman at the time. ‘We can rage against the world all we want. I could look at the unfairness of cancer, but the truth is, the more you complain and hold on to that anger, the more you just ruin the time you have. Anger takes up so much energy, forgiveness doesn’t. Make a choice. You don’t have to forget, just remember without the anger. You forgive and you let in light.’
Norman tied the red ribbon in a bow and curled the ends with scissors. He wondered why he’d only just remembered this now; he’d wasted so much time living in the dark. He heard Lucas whisper in his ear, the last thing he’d ever said: ‘No journey is ever wasted.’
*
Mya was making friends with all the children. Grace was in charge of her, along with one of Ali’s friend’s children, a sweet girl called Meg, who Mya had attached herself to, holding her hands out to be walked round and round the room. Norman was introduced to Freya, Grace’s older sister, who was responsible for topping up people’s drinks. He had noticed how Ali hugged her when she’d squeezed past her in the kitchen to find more sausage rolls.
The gathering swelled in numbers as Jo’s lodgers piled in, bringing Christa the doctor, the most recent addition to the Mews, along with several of Ali’s friends (Norman especially liked the sarcastic blonde one from Australia). All the Mews regulars were in attendance as well as Lila and Hayden, Ali’s
mum and new partner, Keith, which meant by five in the evening the house was densely crammed like a tin of sardines and people spilled out into Elinor’s house next door. The rest crowded into Ali’s small back garden, lit with candles and outdoor fairy lights, creating a frosty Mews Santa’s grotto, the temperature only fit for the brave.
‘Norman, your grand-niece is adorable,’ Linda said, sipping a glass of sherry, holding on to her husband, John’s, arm. ‘I think Christmas is better with children, don’t you?’
‘I do, Linda. They make the world go round.’
‘Hello, Norman,’ John said. ‘I believe you’re taking madam here shopping next week for her Christmas day outfit.’
‘Yes, we’re looking forward to it. Ali’s given us her stylist discount card for Debenhams so we’re going to splash some cash in Bromley!’
‘She’s a lovely girl, isn’t she? Ever since Nick’s met her he’s a changed man. I’ve never been to so many dinner parties,’ John smiled at Norman, still completely clueless about Nick’s contraband growing in the greenhouse. Norman had taken to hiding the cannabis plants and dried flower heads in his bathroom so Nick could have his parents over at weekends. Earlier, Norman had caught Nick stealing a kiss from Ali as she poured more red wine into the giant stockpot on the hob.
‘She is. They make a smashing couple.’
‘Well, yes, I’m hoping for a ring on a finger soon,’ Linda stage-whispered conspiratorially. ‘He needs to get a move on. She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him.’
‘Linda!’ John half laughed. ‘Let him decide for himself. She’s not going anywhere. Don’t rush the poor boy.’
Norman spotted Ambrose out in the garden wearing a Santa hat Ali had plonked on his head. He was chatting to Francesca and Elinor, whose face had lit up like a sparkler, laughing at something he’d whispered in her ear.
‘Have you seen that?’ Rochelle sighed, edging up to Norman. ‘Dad’s turning on the charm. I’ve not seen him like this for years. Who’s that woman?’
‘One of the Mews ladies, lovely Elinor.’
‘She’s single?’ Rochelle asked surprised.
‘I believe so. Not had much luck on the dating front. Apparently all the men are needy.’
Rochelle snorted. ‘They probably are, though! They all want looking after. Apart from you, Uncle Norman. You don’t want to meet anyone else?’
‘Oh, you know what? No. Life has just been rebooted for me, and now with the vlog going stellar and the odd guest TV appearances with the girls on Good Morning makeovers, it’s all a bit crazy. I’m seventy! Life has a way of surprising you sometimes. And of course, meeting you is the cherry on top.’
Rochelle squeezed his hand, flooding Norman’s heart. Blood was thicker than water after all.
‘Your hair is looking mighty fine, Debs,’ Norman commented as she walked into the living room from Elinor’s. ‘Growing back nicely.’
‘Aye, thanks. I can’t believe it’s a different colour! I think I like it.’
Norman thought Debbie had blossomed in the past month as her radiotherapy had drawn to a close. Lucas had been the same the first time: it was like his body and his mind had shaken off the dried chrysalis, revealing the next incarnation. Norman hoped with all his heart that this was it for Debbie, that there would be no secondary rearing of the monster’s head. Her poor children didn’t need that.
He wondered if the other reason why Debbie’s recovery was in full bloom might be because Jo had temporarily moved out. The change in dynamics could also explain why Francesca was bumbling along with Ian now they were being left undisturbed by daily judgement. Norman knew all about marriages of convenience. They served a purpose until they were outgrown. Francesca looked happy enough, happier than she had for a few years. Maybe bumbling along was what suited her. Not everyone gets the Big Love Affair. Norman was aware he was very lucky on that front. He’d experienced his and the memories were enough to last a lifetime. He felt he was on a fresh path now, and who knew what was in store…
‘Hello, hello!’ Jo’s voice bellowed through the doorway like a diminutive town crier. Norman couldn’t work out if she was supposed to be one of Santa’s elves in her green tights, red short dungarees and hiking boots or if this was coincidentally her chosen attire. ‘Look who I bumped into.’
Samantha swayed into the room wearing a Mrs Christmas rich red velvet dress and hat, her runaway bosoms hidden under all the white fake-fur trim. Norman chuckled. Samantha was a secret show-off who probably could have been anything she wanted to be, which was why she brokered such a range of talent. Norman stood back and leaned against the wall adjacent to the sofa. He was going to enjoy the showstopper finale…
‘Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, please let me introduce Santa Claus and his helpers,’ Samantha announced imperiously, bowing and sweeping her hand to welcome in the man himself. Everyone from Elinor’s side of the building had rushed in, urged on by the gaggle of children shouting that Santa had arrived.
‘Ho, ho, ho,’ Santa boomed in a contrived deep timbre, his face completely hidden by his overreaching hat and theatrical beard-and-tach combo. ‘How are we all today?’
A few apathetic mumbles of ‘good’ rippled through the assembled crowd, reaching Santa, who had now arrived centre stage flanked by two grown-up elves that Norman knew were Samantha’s sons, Billy and Scott. The coffee table acted as a natural proscenium with the over-decorated tree a perfect glittering backdrop.
‘I can’t hear you. I said how are we all today?’ Santa put his hand up to his ear.
A wall of screech hit him face first and he pretended to topple backwards into the tree, the elves just catching him in time. The children all started laughing, while the adults were asking in hushed tones who this joker was.
‘I’m here to hand out presents. First of all, I have sweeties for all the children.’
Scott handed him a black bin bag stored behind the tree and Santa rummaged inside, distributing Cellophane bags filled with chocolates to all the enchanted children, even the cynical older ones, who looked like they wanted to still believe.
‘Now, there is a Mews Secret Santa lucky dip this year. If I call your name, come up and collect your gift.’ Norman received a mug with the Neighbourhood Watch logo printed on one side and BIN DAY! in black letters on the other. He started laughing and looked around the room, trying to weed out which one of them was responsible. Norman lifted the mug up to Nick, trying to catch his eye across the room where he was standing at the breakfast bar opening his present of a spy kit.
‘Norman!’ Ali squealed when she opened hers. ‘Nike Jordan’s!’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he said, keeping a straight face, but smiling in his heart. They’d gone to a good home.
‘Oh, you lucky lady!’ Carl exclaimed, examining his Yoga for Hipsters book. ‘They’re pure class.’
Ali leaped over the piles of discarded wrapping paper by the sofa and enveloped Norman in a hug.
‘Are you sure? I know how precious they are to you.’
‘Lucas would approve. Life is for living, and those trainers need to be out in the world. I can’t think of a better person to wear them for him.’
‘Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, it’s time for Santa to go, but first here is my glamorous assistant, Trisha, to help me sing a goodbye song.’
A frantic wave of whispering broke out round the room when a statuesque Trisha Templeton, clothed as an elegant Christmas tree, appeared in the doorway. Her green silk maxi dress was adorned with tiny gold stars and asymmetric gold threads zigzagged the entire length. Topping her mane of celebrated golden locks, a red glittering star headband shone. Only Trisha Templeton could pull off a Christmas tree with such élan.
‘Oh my God, I love her!’ Ali’s mum cried, and started clapping, and everyone else joined in, even the children, who had no idea who she was. Meanwhile the elves had moved aside, and Santa had acquired a microphone.
‘
Who wants to hear a song?’ Santa called down the microphone. The room bellowed back a resounding yes. ‘Great, well, let me get into something a bit more comfortable then. Trisha?’ He handed her the microphone and started peeling off his hat and beard. Everyone cried in appreciation – underneath all the fuzz, Viola awaited fully made up, expectant hairnet in place. She shimmied out of her Santa costume, letting the baggy trousers fall to the floor and pulled down the secreted fitted full-length red sequined torch-song dress, resplendent with white marabou trim.
‘Boys, my hair!’ Scott handed her a blond wavy wig and Trisha skilfully fitted it. ‘I’m ready to go!’
A backing track started up from a small PA system stowed away underneath the windowsill.
‘I saw Mommy kissing Santa Claus…’
Norman smiled; Lucas would be over the moon his Christmas outfits were having another airing…
Epilogue
The East Dulwich Forum
13 December 2014 10.03 a.m.
Re: Annoying Christmas Party Terry’s Tool Hire
Posted by: Fiwith2dogs
I can’t believe it, well I can, those fuckers in the Mews behind Terry’s Tool Hire are at it again. All I could hear was some dreadful person singing Christmas songs all evening, then it all kicked off again at midnight with a shitting disco. They really do think they’re above the law. Did anyone else have their evening ruined by it?
Re: Annoying Christmas Party Terry’s Tool Hire
Posted by: 67_Alfie 10.27 a.m.
Yes, it went on till one in the morning. Our dog kept barking all night because of it and then puked all over the bedroom rug. I feel like billing them for a clean-up. Selfish wankers.
Re: Annoying Christmas Party Terry’s Tool Hire
Posted by: Linzicatlady64 10.35 a.m.
I called the noise police but I don’t think they did anything. One day those people will get their comeuppance.
Re: Annoying Christmas Party Terry’s Tool Hire
The Single Mums Move On Page 31