‘Or that one of its members is a police officer. That’s proved useful,’ said Cara.
Petty crime sometimes took place on the estate and we were able to email our suspicions or anything we had witnessed to Wendy who worked for the force.
I turned to the gate at the sound of laughter. One of the neighbourhood’s most popular childminders walked through. She pushed a double buggy and four small children walked on either side, wearing thick coats. Once in the playground she allowed them to let go of the buggy’s sides and run around – until they spotted the tin of biscuits and shyly came over. As did parents who trickled in. Those driving were either first to arrive or last, depending on how well they’d second-guessed the day’s traffic. In between, the locals on foot appeared. A small group gathered around the table. Cara gave me a thumbs-up and headed off carrying one of the trays.
‘We are still looking for twelve places to be snapped up,’ I said, having explained the concept of the living calendar as concisely as I could.
‘The food bank and the people it feeds are desperate for our help,’ said Davina and held out leaflets.
‘I’d like to help,’ said one mum, with a baby in her arms, ‘but December… it’s always so busy.’
Others nodded.
‘But you can share a slot with a friend,’ I said brightly. ‘That way it halves the work.’
‘And the cost…’ said a dad wearing a cap straight out of Peaky Blinders. His cheeks flushed. ‘I hate seeing the homeless in Chesterwood, sleeping in doorways – but money’s tight enough as it is, let alone with, um…’ He gazed around at the children. ‘Well, with helping Santa out with his Christmas expenses.’
‘A living calendar? It sounds awesome. We could do a dinosaur themed window,’ said a boy, pulling on the arm of his mum. Shamelessly I passed him the box of biscuits and smiled sweetly at his mother.
She rolled her eyes. ‘Okay. It is for a good cause. Although I’m not doing all the work myself,’ she said sharply and looked at her son who jumped up and down. ‘I’ll join that Facebook group too, when I get home.’
I smiled and passed her my pen. She chose which night she wanted to host and scrawled her name and phone number next to the date on the page.
‘You can count me out,’ said the father of one of Lily’s friends. ‘I grew up on a council estate. Had it tough. But I never claimed benefits or drank and smoked stuff I shouldn’t. People need to help themselves. It’s too easy to live off hand-outs. I can think of far more deserving causes.’ He walked off, shaking his head.
Other parents shot us sympathetic looks but made to leave just as a girl with red pigtails picked up a leaflet and stared at a photo of Ron.
‘I know him,’ she said and pointed. ‘He came to our Brownies a few weeks ago for the Harvest Festival.’
‘He’s called Ron and is the manager,’ said Davina.
‘You know those tins of soup you gave me to take, Mum?’ the girl continued.
‘Yes, sweetheart,’ said a freckled woman.
‘They were going to his charity. This Ron man did a talk. Told us about a homeless friend who uses the food bank. He had lost his job, then couldn’t pay for his house. He hasn’t seen a dentist for two years. He often has toothache. I heard the adults talking together afterwards. Brown Owl was asking him about it. He said the pain was one of the reasons he drank something called cider because it helped. Toothache is yukky.’
The adults looked at each other.
‘I remember Ron, too,’ said the girl she was holding hands with. ‘And that woman who came with him. She told us that before using the food bank she never ate breakfast or lunch. That was the only way she had enough money to buy nappies and food for her baby.’ Her eyes widened. ‘My stomach would feel as empty as a pulled Christmas cracker without my morning bowl of cornflakes.’
The other girl nodded. ‘Yes. She said her eldest got free school lunches and that helped too.’
A grandparent picked up one of the leaflets. ‘My son works shifts near this food bank. The staff are great. He sees them working come rain or shine and late at night if necessary, taking donations once supermarkets have closed… They always have a cheery hello for him when he walks past. Count me in. I live on this estate and will have a word with my neighbours as well.’
The freckled woman nodded. ‘Okay. I’m up for it. I hadn’t really thought about how struggling families coped if they had young kids. Goodness knows it’s expensive with all the paraphernalia babies and little ones need. And that’s aside from the items you could say were unessential, like toys and cinema trips.’
The dad in the Peaky Blinders cap stepped forward. ‘Yes, money’s tight but I’ve never had to worry about a roof over my head or food on the table. Look…’ He adjusted his cap. ‘I’m sure my partner and I can think of ways to pull it off on a budget.’
‘Thanks so much,’ I said and inside my chest glowed. ‘Really. The support is so appreciated. And yes. Materials for the display can be bought from pound shops or charity outlets… and if you join the residents’ group, I hope we’ll all be sharing tips in there.’
Cara came back flanked by an excited looking Hannah and Lex who had chocolate crumbs around her mouth. A posse of parents followed. Davina was talking to the Head who’d come over to see how it was going. Word quickly spread about the Christmas themed biscuits and by the time the bell had run at nine they’d all gone, along with all but two of the last available living calendar slots. The children queued up to go in. Cara waved to Hannah and then rushed Lex around to the infants’ area. When she got back, we returned the table to its classroom and the chair to the sports hall.
‘Thanks both of you,’ I said as we walked towards the gate, me in the middle, my arms threaded through theirs. ‘I’m confident now that we’ll fill those last two places.’
‘If not, I’ll do two nights as well,’ said Davina.
‘And me,’ said Cara, brightly. ‘After all, I’ve got Audrey to help.’
We passed through the gate. ‘You both remind me of Adam’s favourite Beatles song. “With A Little Help From My Friends”. His music taste was old school.’
‘Forget The Fab Four, darling,’ said Davina. ‘We’re The Thrilling Three.’
‘We need to be The Thrifty Three for this to work,’ interjected Cara.
‘But that sounds so magnolia,’ said Davina as we crossed the road.
I pulled the two of them closer and smiled as we made our way home.
9
‘What’s so funny?’ he asked as I turned onto the bypass.
‘Nothing.’
‘You’re no good at lying.’
‘Kit, please let me concentrate on the road.’
‘Is it the fur trapper hat, and boots? My neighbour said I look like a lumberjack.’
‘It always makes me laugh when you squeeze your six foot five frame into my car. I don’t think you’d even fit in Davina’s.’
‘No worries. I’m used to it. Coaches and aeroplanes are the worst. The Netherlands are the best place to live. I hosted a sports star’s party there once. Cupboards, bathroom mirrors, door handles… everything is a little higher.’
It was so rare that Kit spontaneously talked about his life. He’d been happy to as part of my article when we first met, but since then it felt like a taboo subject. Now and then stories seeped out as if a crack had appeared in the wall he’d put up, like him talking about pool parties when we went swimming.
‘Did you ever take your parents to these events?’ I ventured.
He turned to gaze out of the window. ‘No. Looking back, I should have.’
Kit sounded so sad I switched the conversation to the living calendar and told him about the successful morning Davina, Cara and I had last week, recruiting parents in the playground. Since then the last two slots had also been filled. The last few nights I’d been up late, fielding question after question in the Facebook group. It was as if the participants had suddenly been infected by the buzz D
avina and Cara and I felt about the project.
Chesterwood was several times the size of Alderston and vibrant at night although we’d wondered whether to call off the evening out. Clouds had gathered and heavy rain was due. Megan had called around at six thirty, after Lily’s bath. I’d left the two of them playing Cluedo and promised to take them both to the rink nearer Christmas. I hadn’t mentioned the trip to Davina and Cara.
Normally we shared everything.
Like last month when Max admitted to fancying his latest customer. He was extending her kitchen. Davina appreciated the honesty. She knew it was just a crush on his part but nevertheless made him sleep in the spare room that night.
‘Dad cheated on Mum multiple times,’ she told us. ‘I got used to mopping up tears. I told her to leave but she was too scared of managing on her own and loved him more than she loved herself. I never got that. How can you love someone who’s deceitful at their core? Or at least that’s what I used to think. I still do but I’ve gained understanding since growing up.’
‘What do you mean?’ I’d asked.
‘I forgive Max a lot. Forgetting birthdays. His black moods when he’s tired. He’s not very romantic and can get sweary after too many beers. But getting intimate with another woman? Watching Mum’s self-esteem and confidence disintegrate…’ Her voice broke. ‘I swore I’d never give any man a second chance on that score, and that I’d work hard not to have trust issues. Dad ruined her life. He wasn’t going to ruin mine as well. Mum’s problem was that she honestly believed she could fix him.’ She gave a small sigh. ’Anyway, there’s no harm in reminding Max that I don’t mind straying eyes as long as it doesn’t lead to straying hands.’
Then Cara had revealed that she had a crush on the postman. It sounded so clichéd we’d laughed but poor old Cara didn’t find it funny. After confessing you could practically taste her relief. She felt guilty for the daydreams and disloyal for even imagining a stolen kiss. But her husband has been working long hours lately. She misses the date nights they used to have.
‘You’ve been married for over ten years,’ said Davina. ‘Of course you’re going to find other men attractive. What would you do if the postman came into your house one day and actually stripped off?’
A look of horror crossed her face. ‘I’d run a mile. Or call the police.’
‘Exactly. It’s make-believe. In your head. And why not? We all need an escape from the hum-drum of the day-to-day. In fact, strictly between us, I’d be more worried if my Max never cast a glance at other women. But thinking and acting are two very different things.’
‘There’s not an adulterous bone in your body,’ I’d told Cara.
‘I know I’m being silly,’ she’d said. ‘I guess it comes from growing up with a police officer as a dad. Honesty is the only policy was drilled into me. And I’m glad but sometimes it’s a burden. Like when you asked me if I liked that new top you wore last week, Fern. Sorry about that.’
‘Hmm. I’ll never ask you if my bum looks big in something.’ I’d put my arms around her. ‘But that’s why we love you. You’re a sure bet for a straight opinion. John’s a very lucky man and don’t you ever forget it.’
There was an innocence about her that contradicted her thirty-two years. An innocence I felt I’d lost with Adam’s death. My eyes had been opened to the fact that the world really could be a dark, unforgiving place. It debunked my belief that the universe protected good people like him.
I thought about Cara’s comment regarding honesty. I did want to tell my two best friends more about the way things were with Kit. But right since the beginning the friendship had seemed somehow… precious. I thought back to the ice cream in the cinema and recent swimming trip… those two moments when I’d thought about giving him a kiss… The idea of me and him was ridiculous. It had to be.
Or was it now time to be honest with myself?
A deep flush spread up through my body as I slowed down at traffic lights. Perhaps I’d always sensed there was – or might be – something between us. Was that why I’d never told Davina and Cara exactly how close he and I had become? It felt as if a light bulb switched on in my chest whenever I saw him, like that magical sensation as a child when you discover the tooth fairy has visited. Kit made me laugh. Held my hand when I talked about Adam. Gave me confidence… All the things my two best friends did, and yet…
I swallowed, and as the green light appeared and we pulled away, for the first time I realised – admitted – that with him, there had always been an indescribable extra element to our relationship. Another dimension.
We parked in the grounds of a nearby supermarket and headed down Chesterwood high street, the forecast rain still holding off, pubs and bars filling up whilst a group of rough sleepers outside shared cider bottles. The ice rink had been set up in Churchill Square, in between an office block and a hotel. Or rather on half of it. The other half would soon be home to the Christmas market. Darkness lit only by the tangerine glow of streetlamps enveloped us as we walked in comfortable silence, my arm interlocked with his. We cut thorough an alleyway that came out in Churchill Square. It looked beautiful with surrounding trees sporting twinkling fairy lights. We found Kit’s friend and thanked him for the tickets, as fried smells wafted our way from the refreshment hut. Kit happened to mention that I wrote a column for the local paper. His friend jumped on that immediately and asked if I could give the ice rink a plug, as the last couple of years ticket sales had been down. I said I’d see what I could do.
The ice was busy with relatives and friends of employees. A couple of trial sessions like this were set up during the first weeks of November to check everything was running smoothly before the festive rush started. After we’d collected our skates and put them on, I zipped my coat right up and pulled down my woolly hat. I headed to the rink and held onto its wooden surround.
‘Have you done this before?’ I asked, as Kit joined me. Christmas music played in the background.
‘Often.’
No surprises there. Kit had done everything. Bungee-jumping, skydiving. His life read like a bucket list even though he was just out of his twenties.
‘Where did you skate?’ I asked, risking no reply.
He hesitated. ‘Central Park several times. One was a celebrity bash… It was one of our first events in America – we’d done several in Europe – and me and the guys felt so excited. At that point we realised we were making a success of our business. We’d never dreamed it would go global when we dropped out of university. And little did we know we’d go on to host events at racing tracks and football match finals. We hosted pop stars’ birthdays and dances after young royals’ nuptials. The first Central Park event was also the point at which…’
‘At which what?’ I asked, gently.
‘Life was getting a little out of control. All the travel. Partying. Late nights. Rubbish eating. Excessive drinking. Being treated like best friends by famous people and their well connected guests. Looking back that’s when the lifestyle started turning me into a different person. Bad things started happening and…’ His fingers curled around the wooden surround.
‘But your family must have been so proud,’ I said.
Kit stared across to the Christmas market. ‘I doubt it. I hardly ever visited.’ He stood up straighter. ‘Anyway… what about you? Been skating before?’
‘Only once. Blackpool. What a treat that trip was. The Christmas lights. Chips on the beach. Sticks of rock with rude messages running through that Mum and Dad showed each other, giggling, but wouldn’t let me read.’
Kit’s large hand wrapped around mine. I couldn’t ignore the voice in my head wishing we weren’t wearing gloves. He led me confidently onto the ice, waiting first to let another couple off. I preferred to manage things on my own but common sense prevailed. I’d be no good to Lily with a broken limb.
I pushed forwards with my right leg and then my left. I wobbled from side to side and leant against Kit. But he pushed me away, still
holding my hand firm, so that I’d learn how to get my own balance and be able to eventually let go.
It took a while. Twenty minutes maybe. Twice Kit helped me swerve out of the way of over-zealous teenagers. Pop music played. I couldn’t take my eyes off one young woman who must have had lessons. Her hips swerved in time to the beat and effortlessly her feet followed.
‘Okay. Time to go solo,’ I said. I let go of Kit and, concentrating hard, slowly built up speed. A man in his early twenties, wearing a red scarf, caught my eye and smiled. Leaning forward gently, I swept around a corner. Down the next length I moved my feet quicker and quicker before realising I wouldn’t have time to slow down and make the next corner. At full pelt I slammed into the wooden surround at the end.
Within seconds Kit was by my side laughing. A great sound. Deep. Warm. Reassuring. A group of women gawked at him and whispered to each other, then looked at him again in admiration. I got it. From the first day I’d sat in on the Back To Work group at the job centre my eyes had felt drawn towards him, just like when we’d met at the food bank. He dominated the room – and not just because of his build. It was the way he made drinks for everyone and remembered how they liked their coffee from the week before. He attracted appreciation without even realising it. Ironic for someone who would have been happier wearing an invisibility cloak.
He clapped for a few seconds. ‘You’re doing great. Just turn your heels outwards slightly and bend your knees to slow down.’
‘Okay. Perhaps I should hold onto you again, until I get better.’
‘You can do this, Fern. You don’t need me.’
I nodded and concentrated on my balance as I pushed off once more. After another lap I banged into the side again to stop. Kit slid to a halt next to me.
‘I’m even more unfit than I thought,’ I said, out of breath, and rested my back against the wooden surround.
‘Well, I’m impressed. Practice makes perfect,’ he said and grinned.
The Christmas Calendar Girls Page 6