With Love at Christmas

by Carole Matthews

‘No, no. I’ll be back in plenty of time to take you to see Chloe.’

  ‘I can’t wait to see her, but I’ve got so much to do today.’

  ‘I’ll help you with it all just as soon as I’m back.’

  He felt bad leaving Juliet but, right now, he just needed an hour to himself.

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Dad made some mince pies while I was out last night. I have one with a cup of coffee – just for quality control purposes. While I do, I call the hospital and check that Chloe is OK. Mother and baby, I’m told, are both sleeping. That has to be a good sign.

  I open this morning’s pile of Christmas cards as I pick the last of the crumbs off my plate with a licked fingertip. Dad makes excellent pastry. He said that he’d made two dozen, but I can only find twelve – perhaps he was a bit muddled. I’ll need to do some more myself later, but this is a good start.

  Every day in the run-up to Christmas, the waterfall of post cascading through the letter box has grown. Final delivery today, so this is the last of our Christmas communications. There are cards from people we see nearly every day; ones from people we don’t see from one year to the next. There are cards from people overseas we might never see again, and from those who live close by and wish we didn’t have to. I am in charge of card-sending in the Joyce household. If it was left to Rick, we’d never send another one. And not just at Christmas. Birthdays, Valentine’s Day, Mother’s Day, Easter, you name it – would all go unmarked by my husband. But I think it’s a nice way to keep in touch, to say to someone that at this time of year we always think of you. Rick says I’m just buying into the commercial pressure of a cynical greetingscard industry, but I like sending cards. I take time to write out a round-robin letter, updating our friends on the comings and goings of our family. Actually, I don’t. I usually miss out most of what has been going on so that we sound better on paper. I’m not completely on board with this new fad of sending email cards where you make dancing elves of the entire family, or which open when a cute puppy bounces across the screen with a Christmas cracker in its mouth. That somehow seems like cheating. Give me an old-fashioned, sent-through-the-post Christmas card any day of the week.

  Still, I can’t sit here all day. I have a list as long as my arm of things that I must do before we go off to visit Chloe and the new baby. Christmas is one deadline that can’t be moved. Where to start? I consult my list. I’ve forgotten even what version this is as there have been so many. There are a few, last-minute presents to wrap, and I want to change all the bedlinen.

  Then I hear Mum shouting, and a second later she cries out. As I’m about to fly to the living room where the noise is coming from, Dad pops his head round the door.

  ‘Can you come quickly, love?’ he says. ‘It’s your mother.’

  In the living room, Mum is huddled into a corner of the sofa, knees drawn up to her chest.

  ‘Go away,’ she shouts. ‘Don’t touch me.’

  There’s a wild, disconnected look in her eye that frightens me.

  ‘Mum? What’s the matter?’

  ‘I don’t know what started her off,’ Dad says, perplexed. ‘One minute she was fine, the next she was like this.’

  I go towards the sofa and she kicks out at me. Jumping back, the heel that’s aimed at me just misses.

  ‘Rita, love,’ Dad says, distressed. ‘Don’t upset yourself. It’s Juliet.’

  ‘I don’t know who she is, Frank. Don’t let her hurt me.’

  ‘I’m not going to hurt you, Mum. I only want to know what’s wrong.’

  ‘She’s put me in a home, Frank. This isn’t my house. Where’s my house? I want to go home.’

  Mum starts to cry now.

  ‘You’ve been living here with us, Mum. Your family. With me, Rick, Chloe and Jaden.’

  She looks over at Dad, her face a total blank. I might as well be speaking a foreign language.

  ‘Take me home, Frank,’ she says, flinging her arms out for Dad. ‘Don’t leave me here.’

  ‘I’m not leaving you. I’m here with you.’

  ‘I want to go home,’ Mum reiterates. ‘I want to go home to my house.’

  I risk sitting on the sofa. ‘You’re safe here, Mum. We can look after you.’

  She swings a punch at me, which I duck, but she manages to grab a handful of my hair and pulls it with a strength that she doesn’t look like she possesses.

  ‘Ouch!’ Then she lets go and bursts into tears anew. Now what to do? I rub at the tender patch on my scalp. Dad looks at me for inspiration, but I have none.

  ‘I don’t know what to do,’ I tell him.

  ‘Take me home,’ Mum sobs. ‘Take me home. I’m frightened here, Frank.’

  Now Dad sits next to her. ‘No need to be, Rita love. You’re all right with me. I’ll look after you. I’ve always looked after you, haven’t I?’

  Mum nods pitifully, and it breaks my heart to see her like this.

  Dad turns to me and drops his voice to a whisper. ‘Perhaps I should take her back to the house for a couple of hours,’ he suggests. ‘See if she’ll calm down. We could have a little walk up there.’

  ‘The pavements are like glass, Dad.’

  ‘We’ll take it slowly.’

  ‘I can’t let you take her when she’s like this. What if she turns on you?’

  ‘She won’t,’ Dad says, more certain than I am. ‘I’ll take her back home for a little lie-down. Perhaps it’ll reassure her.’

  ‘She hasn’t lived there for nearly three years, Dad. What if she doesn’t recognise that house either?’

  ‘Don’t talk about me like I’m not here,’ Mum snaps. ‘I want to go home.’

  ‘Just for an hour or two,’ I say. ‘I’d rather drive you, Dad.’ I’m worried that once she’s outside, Mum will try to make a break for it and Dad won’t be able to give chase. I can’t contend with her doing a runner today, on top of everything else. ‘Are you sure you’ll be all right with her?’

  ‘Fine,’ Dad assures me. ‘Let me do this, Juliet. It’ll give you a little break too. You’ve got enough to worry about.’

  ‘I’ve got to pop to Budgens for some fresh stuff, cream and the like. I could drop you off at the house then. Shall we do that?’

  ‘I think it’s for the best,’ Dad says. ‘We can get out of your way for a couple of hours and come back later.’

  ‘I’m going to see Chloe this afternoon,’ I remind him.

  ‘You give her our love,’ he says. ‘I can’t wait to see our new great-grandchild. Did you hear that, Rita? We’re great-grandparents again.’

  ‘We are?’ She looks terrified by this prospect too.

  But I wonder how we’ll manage when Chloe comes home and there are two babies in the house and my mother, who is rapidly losing the plot, and my grieving father to care for. And I think that, perhaps, it’s me who’s the one who should be the most terrified of all.

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  The shed was looking very nice. Flashy even, but Rick had already realised that there was one major problem with having such an elaborate display in your back garden. Your neighbours couldn’t see it.

  As much as he hated to admit it, and as much as he’d tried to convince himself that it didn’t matter, the truth was that it was troubling him that all that flashing, strobing and sparkling was going on and Neil Harrison couldn’t even see it. Would it look too obvious if he invited the bloke round for a festive beer in his shed just so he could get an eyeful? Perhaps it would.

  Rick was driving out to see Lisa and Izzy to deliver their Christmas presents. He’d taken the liberty of lifting some of Frank’s mince pies in the hope that Juliet wouldn’t notice, and he’d also picked up the now customary bag of groceries from Morrisons on the way.

  The roads were clearer now as there had been no fresh snow overnight, and the temperature had risen fractionally. He was making good time. Soon he pulled up outside Lisa’s house and, as always, she flung open the door the minute she saw him.

 
; ‘I can’t stay,’ Rick said.

  ‘That’s always the first thing you say,’ Lisa admonished.

  ‘I know,’ he apologised, ‘but I’m always in a rush and I’ve got a million things to do today.’

  ‘You shouldn’t have bothered about us.’ Her sharp chin jutted out defiantly. ‘We’re fine. We can manage.’

  ‘I didn’t mean that,’ he said, following her into the kitchen in what had become their usual way. She put on the kettle without asking, and he plonked the groceries on the counter. ‘I wanted to see you both. Wish you a Merry Christmas and give you these.’

  Rick held out his gift-wrapped presents. As he hadn’t even told Juliet about Lisa and Izzy, he could hardly ask her to wrap their presents for him. So he’d sneaked some paper and had taken it down to the shed and done it himself. They looked like they’d been wrapped in the dark by a cack-handed octopus.

  Lisa smiled at him. ‘You shouldn’t have, Rick.’

  ‘It’s just a little something. Nothing much at all.’

  ‘It’s a lovely thought.’

  ‘Look, Izzy, Rick brought us presents.’ The little girl was wide-eyed. ‘What do we say?’

  ‘Thank you, Uncle Rick.’

  ‘You’re welcome, sweetheart.’ Tea was handed to him. ‘Keep them for the morning.’

  ‘I will. I’d put them under the tree if I had one.’ Lisa laughed hollowly. ‘One year I’m going to give Izzy the best Christmas ever.’

  ‘I’m sure you will.’

  ‘Thanks again for the groceries, Rick. It’ll be a lot better now than it would have been.’

  He shrugged. ‘I hope they’ll keep you going.’ Rick didn’t have to look to be able to tell that the cupboards wouldn’t be groaning with festive fayre like the cupboards at Chadwick Close. ‘What are you doing tomorrow?’

  ‘Nothing much,’ Lisa said. ‘Watch rubbish telly. Izzy hasn’t seen Bedknobs and Broomsticks, so I hope that’s on.’

  ‘It’s always on,’ Rick assured her. ‘It’s one of Jaden’s favourites.’ He sat down – just for five minutes. It was rude to dash in and straight out again. ‘Have you got a turkey?’

  Lisa shrugged. ‘I haven’t bothered this year.’

  ‘Look in the bag,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, Rick!’

  ‘It’s only a small one.’ It was a crown or something, ready stuffed, with rashers of bacon on the top and enough for four, it said. ‘I didn’t want you to be eating it for days.’

  If he’d thought ahead, he could have asked them both round for Christmas Day – goodness only knows, there was always enough food on their table for a few extra mouths. But how would he explain Lisa and Izzy’s existence when, in all the time that he’d known the girls, he hadn’t once mentioned them? The less he’d said about them, the worse it had become, and he’d never found the right moment to explain it all to Juliet. Now he felt terrible that he’d left it so long and that the two of them were to be alone in this still bloody freezing house.

  ‘I’m gonna move out after Christmas,’ Lisa said as if reading his mind. ‘I’ve had enough. Izzy can’t stay here any longer.’

  ‘No,’ he agreed. ‘I think it’s the right thing to do.’

  ‘I shouldn’t have stayed here all this time,’ she admitted,

  ‘but you think the best of people, don’t you?’

  ‘I guess so.’

  ‘Well, come January, I’m outta here.’

  ‘I’ll help you all I can.’

  ‘I know you will, Rick,’ she said solemnly. ‘I don’t know what we would have done without you lately. I hoped you’d drop by, as we’ve got you a little present too.’

  ‘You shouldn’t have.’ She handed him a tiny package.

  ‘It’s nothing much. This is from Izzy, really. She wanted to give you something. You’re lucky because you nearly got her favourite toy, her Dora the Explorer phone.’

  ‘No home should be without one.’ They laughed at that.

  ‘Shall I open it now?’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘When you’re alone.’

  He drained his tea. ‘Now I really do have to go. I’ve a new granddaughter to visit.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘An unexpected arrival, last night. We didn’t make the hospital in time, and Juliet and I delivered the baby in the back of the car.’

  ‘No way!’

  ‘She’s a lovely little thing. Six pounds something.’ He couldn’t really remember as last night had all been a blur, but he knew that these things matter to women. As dramas went, he could have done well without it and, no doubt, he’d have a few more grey hairs to show for it. Still, he was proud at how they’d handled the situation in the end and, thankfully, no harm had come to mother or baby. It had been much easier when his own kids were born, though he couldn’t now, for the life of him, remember what weights they’d been either. ‘No name as yet. I’m taking Juliet to the hospital this afternoon.’

  ‘Then you’d better get a wiggle on.’

  Rick ruffled Izzy’s hair. ‘Be a good girl for Santa.’

  She nodded, but Rick suspected that there wouldn’t be much Christmas cheer here tomorrow, no matter how hard Lisa tried. He headed to the door, and Lisa stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.

  She sighed. ‘I wish I’d had parents like you. My life could have turned out very different. Your kids are very lucky.’

  ‘We just do our best for them. Nothing more.’

  ‘Well it seems like you do a pretty good job to me.’

  ‘Merry Christmas,’ he said.

  ‘Thanks, Rick. Merry Christmas to you.’

  In the van, he read the label. To Uncle Rick with love from Izzy. Lisa had obviously written it, and she’d signed it for them both too. She’d put two kisses next to her own name. Rick opened the tiny present. Inside the cheap wrapping paper was a much-loved, grey Tatty Teddy that needed a wash. Across its tummy was a red sash that said I LOVE YOU WITH ALL OF MY HEART.

  It brought tears to Rick’s eyes and a lump to his throat. They had nothing, and yet still they wanted him to have this. The bear had clearly been one of Izzy’s prized possessions, and now it would be one of his.

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  While I’m waiting for Rick to come home, I clean the oven. You don’t want to be putting a turkey in a grubby oven now, do you? Cranking up the Christmas carols on the CD player, I get cracking with the Mr Muscle.

  Reluctantly, I dropped Mum and Dad off at their house. When I went inside to settle them, it felt cold and unloved as Dad hasn’t really been home since Samuel died. Now I’m worried sick about them both.

  I cranked up the central heating for them and Dad was going to light a fire in the living room to warm that up. I also gave Dad some of the mince pies he baked in a cake tin so that they can have some with a cup of tea later. As soon as we’re back from the hospital, I’ll drop by and collect them.

  Mum seemed to calm down pretty quickly once she knew they were going home for a while, but I’m anxious about what the future holds. I don’t want them to go back to that house on their own, and Mum seems to have completely forgotten that she left Dad years ago. Sighing to myself, I think, ‘Parents. Who’d have them?’

  At home in the kitchen, I sit at the table alone nursing a much-needed cup of tea. The rare experience of being totally alone allows my feelings to flood in and swamp me. I sense that my family is unravelling. Everything is slowly fragmenting. I don’t know what’s going to happen to us – to Chloe, to Tom, Mum, Dad, Rick. The pressure of it is building up like steam in a pressure cooker, and I don’t know how long I’ll be able to hold it all in. They all come to me to solve their problems but, increasingly, the questions seem to be harder and I don’t know the solutions. The older I get, the more complicated life becomes and the fewer answers I seem to have. Where is the wisdom that is supposed to come with age? Perhaps it’s like Santa – a big fat lie that we all buy into.

  Still, I can’t sit here feeling sorry for myself. I’ve thing
s to do, and I must get on. So I slip on my rubber gloves, thinking that I’ll tackle the washing-up in the sink first. I switch on my Christmas songs in the search for some succour.

  From the work surface, Judy Garland sings ‘Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas’, and her urging to let my heart be light has me undone. My heart is not light. It’s as heavy as a stone. I want this to be a fabulous Christmas. I want all of our hearts to be light. Mine, Rick’s, Chloe’s, Tom’s, Mum’s and Dad’s. But I suspect that they’re not. I want Chloe to be happily married, have a proper family with husband and children. I want Tom to find a fulfilling career and someone to love. I want to see Dad smile again and travel the world. And I want Mum to be well once more. But more than all that, I want Rick to be my husband for the rest of my life and for him not to run off with someone who may be younger than some of the knickers I have in my underwear drawer. I sink to the floor, marigolds and all. Then I cry. I sob my heart out on the tiles amid the dusting of icing sugar on the floor that my father has failed to clean up after his mince-pie baking spree. I want my family to be happy and healthy. I want everything to be wonderful. Is that too much to ask?

  Chapter Sixty

  By the time Rick comes home, I’ve pulled myself together again. The oven is clean, but the window of opportunity for baking mince pies has passed. Good job I picked up a few extras in the supermarket. Mr Kipling, you are my knight in shining armour!

  ‘All right?’ Rick asks. He regards me suspiciously.

  ‘Yes, fine.’

  ‘You haven’t been crying?’

  ‘No, no, no. My eyes are stinging from the oven cleaner.’

  ‘Where’s Frank and Rita?’

  ‘Mum had a bit of a meltdown,’ I tell him. ‘They’ve gone

  back to Dad’s house for a couple of hours to see if he can settle her.’

  ‘That doesn’t sound good.’

  ‘No,’ I agree. ‘She didn’t know who I was, or even where she was. Incidents like this are getting more regular. I phoned the doctor, and she has an appointment after Christmas. I hope there’s something they can do.’