There are still a few minutes till everyone’s due to arrive, so I make some more coffee and pile some leftover doughnuts onto a plate. Then I adjourn with Steph to the sitting room, while Harvey and Minnie start pushing monster trucks up and down the hall.
“So, let me fill you in on who’s coming today,” I begin. “There’s Suze and Tarkie and their three, who you already know. There’s my parents and their neighbors Janice and Martin. And there’s my sister, Jess, plus her husband, Tom, if he’s made it back from Chile. He’s also the son of Janice and Martin,” I add. “That’s how Jess and Tom met.”
“Wow,” says Steph, taking all this in. “So you’re a pretty close-knit group.”
“I suppose so.” I nod.
“Nice big Christmas table.” She smiles.
“It will be.” I lean forward impulsively. “Steph, please come too. You and Harvey. Come here for Christmas. There’s plenty of room, we’d all love to see you—”
I break off as Steph shakes her head, smiling.
“Becky, you’re very sweet,” she says, “and I appreciate the offer…but I’m fine.” Her face suddenly shines. “My parents and my sister are coming down. They’ll be here later. They’re bringing a turkey and we’re all having Christmas together.”
“What?” I stare at her in delight. “That’s fantastic!”
“I know.” Steph pauses, then adds in a lower voice, “I told them about Damian. After what you said yesterday. I went home and I called Mum straightaway and…” Her eyes fill with tears and for a moment she can’t speak. “I don’t know why I didn’t tell them before,” she manages at last. “It was stupid.”
“Because it’s hard,” I say, understanding. “Telling your family when you’re in trouble is really hard.”
“It’s the hardest.” She nods. “You just don’t want to admit it. I kept thinking, If I don’t hear it said aloud, maybe it’s not true.”
“Oh, Steph.” I bite my lip.
“But the minute it was out, I felt better. I felt stronger.” Steph sips her coffee. “So, anyway, we’ll be doing our own thing tomorrow. I’m glad I’ll get to meet your family today, though. They sound great.”
“They are,” I say, a bit distracted, because Steph’s words have struck home. She’s confided in me so much—and now I want to confide in her.
“You know my sister, Jess?” I say cautiously. “The vegan one? I think she might be having problems in her marriage too. But she won’t say anything either. She’s a very private person and she clams up. It’s hard when you want to help her.”
“Just be patient,” says Steph, nodding sympathetically. “If she’s anything like me, she probably feels really vulnerable. I felt so ashamed that Damian had left.”
“Ashamed?” I say, appalled. “Steph, he should be ashamed, not you!”
“I know.” She gives an abashed smile. “It’s not rational. But you want things to work, don’t you? And you blame yourself if they don’t. I’m sorry to hear about your sister,” she adds. “That’s tough.”
“I know. So I was wondering…maybe if you get a chance while you’re making the gingerbread houses, could you talk to her? Really discreetly?”
“Of course I will,” says Steph. “I don’t have any answers, but I sure as hell understand the problems. What time’s everyone arriving, by the way?”
“Oh,” I say, glancing at my watch. “Actually, I was expecting them by now.” And I’m about to get out my phone to see if I’ve missed any messages, when the sound of a text forestalls me. I take my phone from my pocket and find a new message from Jess.
Dear Becky,
Sorry, but I won’t be coming either today or tomorrow, for personal reasons. I’m sorry if you have gone to a lot of trouble.
Happy Christmas,
Jess (and Tom)
What?
She…What?
I almost can’t breathe for disbelief. I’ve spent all morning making a vegan turkey for Jess—and she’s not coming? She’s not coming?
“Becky!” says Steph in alarm. “What’s happened? Are you OK?”
“Not really,” I say, trying to smile but utterly failing. “No. I’m not really OK. You know my sister, who I just mentioned? The one we’ve been making the vegan turkey for? Well, she’s pulled out. She’s not coming today or tomorrow. No warning. No good excuse. Just ‘personal reasons.’ ”
Steph’s hand flies to her mouth and she’s silent for a few moments. “Is she normally the flaky type?” she asks at last.
“No! She’s totally unflaky! She’s solid. She’s…she’s granite. She never lets anyone down, ever.”
“Right.” I can see Steph thinking hard, and at last she meets my eyes. “She’s hurting. That’s my guess. She can’t face everyone—it’s too hard, it’s too painful—so she’s avoiding you all.”
“Oh God,” I say, stricken. “What do I do? Should I go over there right now?”
“That might freak her out,” warns Steph. “She has to be ready to talk about it; otherwise, you’ll make her clam up even more.”
“But she can’t spend Christmas Day on her own!” I say in dismay, right as my phone rings.
“Is that her?” asks Steph at once, but I shake my head.
“It’s my mum. I wonder if she knows.”
“Hi, Mum,” I say hurriedly. “Are you on your way? Listen, I got this weird text from Jess—”
“Oh, love,” Mum interrupts before I can continue. “Dad and I are both in the wars. Nasty virus. We can’t come after all, I’m afraid.”
“Oh,” I say, taken aback. “Well…will you be all right tomorrow?”
“I don’t think so, love,” says Mum regretfully. “We wouldn’t want to give the children our germs. You have a lovely peaceful day without us. We’ll do our Christmas presents another time.”
I stare at the phone, feeling a bit blindsided. Another time? But it’s Christmas tomorrow. We’re all ready. I’ve bought the Quality Street and the Radio Times and everything.
My lips are trembling. But I mustn’t let Mum know how disappointed I am. It’s not fair, when she’s ill.
“Right,” I say, in the most upbeat tones I can manage. “Well, that’s a big shame, but the important thing is, you get better. So rest up, give my love to Dad, drink lots of fluids…”
“Of course we will, darling,” says Mum. “And you have a super day tomorrow.”
“Mum, about that,” I say. “I’ve just had this text from Jess, saying she’s not coming either—”
“Love, I’d better go.” Mum cuts me off before I can say any more. “So sorry not to see you, darling, but have a happy Christmas!”
Before I can utter another syllable, she’s rung off, and I stare into space, a bit dazed. Why did she have to hurry away like that?
“Becky?” says Steph after a few seconds. “Becky, speak to me. What’s happened?”
“It was my mum,” I say, forcing myself to focus. “She’s pulled out of Christmas too. She’s ill. And so’s my dad.”
“Oh no,” says Steph in horror. “What bad luck.”
“I know.”
My phone bleeps with another text, and I look down to see if it’s from Jess—but it’s from Janice.
Dear Becky, I’m so sorry for the late notice, but Martin and I have decided to spend Christmas quietly at home, if that’s all right, but I do hope you have a lovely day. Janice xx
I stare at the words, my head reeling. I don’t understand. What’s happening?
“Tell me,” demands Steph. “Becky, you look dreadful.”
“I feel dreadful,” I gulp. “Everyone’s pulling out of Christmas. On Christmas Eve. With no warning. For no reason.”
“Oh, Becky.” Steph looks dismayed. “After all your hard work. I mean…could you reschedule? Have a gath
ering when everyone’s feeling better?”
“You don’t understand,” I say desperately. “Why are they all pulling out?”
“Well,” says Steph warily, “your parents are ill…your sister’s feeling sensitive, we’re guessing…”
“What about Janice?”
“I don’t know Janice.” She grimaces apologetically. “Sorry.”
“Does everyone think I can’t host Christmas?”
“What?” Steph stares at me. “Don’t be ridiculous!”
“Suze thought I couldn’t do Christmas,” I say, barely hearing her. “She said maybe she should host it instead. Has she told everyone it’s going to be a rubbish Christmas?”
“Becky!” Steph sounds staggered. “You’re being paranoid! People get ill. They pull out of things, OK? These things happen.”
“People don’t all pull out of the same thing within five minutes,” I retort, my voice rising in distress. “That doesn’t happen! It’s not statistically possible. OK? It’s not statistically possible.”
I can see Steph opening her mouth to object, but then she seems to think better of it.
“Suze is going to pull out too,” I say miserably. “I know she is.”
“You’re mad,” says Steph robustly. “Of course she’s not. This isn’t some secret plot; it’s just bad luck. You’ve got an amazing group of family and friends, they all sound really supportive and loving—”
“They’re not loving!” I admit in despair. “They’re at each other’s throats! Everyone’s been fighting! That’s why I threw this gingerbread party, to try to reconcile everybody.”
“Oh.” Steph halts. “Right. I didn’t realize.”
“Maybe that’s why everyone’s pulling out.” I feel a fresh wave of despair. “They can’t face sitting round the same table. But don’t they understand, I was trying to bring about peace?”
My phone rings and we both jump a mile. And even though I was expecting it, my stomach crashes down as I see Suze on the display. Silently, I turn it so that Steph can see.
“Answer it,” she says, looking anxious. “It might not be that.”
I let the phone ring twice more, while I try to compose myself. Then I press ANSWER and say, in a fake, high-pitched voice, “Oh, hi, Suze, are you on your way to the gingerbread party?”
“Oh, hi, Bex,” Suze replies, sounding flustered and fake too. “Um, sorry, I’m not sure we can make it. I’ve got this last-minute Christmas-shopping emergency that just came up.”
I was right.
My chest has started to ache. I hadn’t realized how much I was hoping not to be right.
“No problem,” I say numbly. “It doesn’t matter. It was only a…you know. Doesn’t matter at all.”
“And, um, about tomorrow.” Suze sounds super uncomfortable, as though she’s standing on one leg and twisting the other around it, which she probably is. “About Christmas. Tarkie suddenly said he wants us to go to his Uncle Rufus after all. Sorry to pull out so late, Bex, but…you don’t mind if we do that instead?”
And then there were none.
My chest starts to ache even more, and my eyes are hot, but somehow I keep my composure.
“Right.” I swallow. “No, of course I don’t mind. You must go! Have fun!”
“You really don’t mind?” she says anxiously.
“Of course not!” I say shrilly. “In fact, it’s a relief. You’re right, hosting Christmas is a total stressmare, so this way…”
“Exactly,” says Suze, sounding relieved. “Much easier for you.”
She didn’t think I could do it. I can tell from her tone of voice. She didn’t think I could host Christmas. Two tears slide down my cheeks, but I try to ignore them.
“Absolutely!” I say brightly. “It’ll be great! So, have a wonderful day with Uncle Rufus and let’s catch up…whenever. Happy Christmas, give my love to everyone…Bye!”
I turn the phone off, then stare ahead, my head prickling, unable to speak.
My entire Christmas has disintegrated in the space of ten minutes.
Steph does her best. She hugs me hard. She tells me that it’s all just random coincidence and that my friends and family do love me, of course they do. She relates the story of a disastrous childhood Christmas when her uncle got stuck in Wales, which makes me (sort of) laugh.
Then we get a notification that the school has uploaded the Nativity play video onto the website, and Steph quickly suggests we watch it on her iPad as a distraction.
It is a distraction. Kind of. But it’s also a painful reminder of what Christmas is all about. As I watch the adorable children lisping their way through “Away in a Manger,” I start to feel unbearably sentimental. And sentimental is quite close to sad. And sad is quite close to weeping uncontrollably, sinking to your knees, and crying out to the heavens, “Whyyyyyy?”
Meanwhile, Steph is riveted by the play. As Minnie, Harvey, and George appear for their three-kings act, she gazes at Harvey as though she wants to eat him up.
“He was brilliant,” I say, as the three kings eventually make way onstage for a throng of angels.
“They were all brilliant,” says Steph. “Minnie was priceless! Shall we watch their bit again?”
We rewind and start again from the kings’ entrance, and this time I can see Steph taking in the details.
“Wait,” she says suddenly. “Wait.” She presses PAUSE and stares intently at the screen. “Becky, you said the costume you gave me was a spare.”
“Oh,” I say, taken off guard. “Yes. Totally! It was.”
“But, look: Minnie’s just wearing a scarf you’ve pinned onto a dress,” says Steph, squinting even more closely. “Whereas Harvey’s costume is a bloody work of art. Look at those sequins.” She turns to me in distress. “You gave me Minnie’s costume, didn’t you?”
“No!” I say automatically. “God! I mean…It doesn’t matter. The costumes aren’t the point. It was a lovely play! Let’s keep on watching.” But I’m not sure Steph hears me.
“I was so frazzled that day,” she’s saying, almost to herself. “I didn’t even think…But why would you have a spare costume waiting in a carrier bag? It makes no sense. I’m such an idiot. Minnie should have been in that costume.”
As though reading our minds, Minnie looks up from the game she’s been playing with Harvey and comes over to the iPad.
“That is my costume,” she says with deliberate emphasis, jabbing her finger at the frozen image of Harvey. “Myyyy costume. We gave it to Harvey.”
Honestly. Remind me never to try to escape from the Nazis with Minnie in tow. I meet Steph’s eye and give a sheepish shrug.
“I know you did,” Steph says to Minnie. “And we’re very grateful, aren’t we, Harvey? Because your mummy worked hard on that costume. She sewed it for you, didn’t she?”
Minnie thinks for a moment, then shakes her head and says, “Mummy pinned it. The pin went in me. And I said, ‘Ow!’ ”
“Ow!” echoes Harvey sympathetically.
“Ow! Pin!” yells Minnie, her face lighting up with glee, poking her finger at Harvey. “Pin! Pin!”
My daughter is such a drama queen. I grazed her lightly with a pin, once, when I was fitting her. Grazed her.
Still yelling, “Pin! Pin!” Minnie and Harvey chase each other out of the room, and Steph exhales, long and hard.
“Becky,” she says jerkily. “I don’t know what to say.”
As I look up, I see to my horror that her eyes are full of tears. No. No. She cannot start, or I’ll collapse in a soggy mess.
“It’s no big deal,” I say in a rush. “Forget it.”
“It is a big deal. It’s one of the most generous things anyone’s ever done for me.”
“Well,” I say, staring intently out the window. “I mean, anyone would have
done it. So.”
“You don’t deserve this.” Steph sounds impassioned. “You so don’t deserve this, Becky.” Her phone bleeps with a text and she looks at it with an impatient sound—then winces. “Oh God. My family are here. Early. They’re outside my house. But I don’t want to leave you.”
“You must go!” I say at once. “Go! Have a wonderful Christmas.”
“Is there anyone you could call? Like…” She trails away awkwardly, and I know what she’s thinking. Who can I call? My closest friends and family? I feel a fresh spasm of pain but force myself to smile.
“It’s fine. Luke’s on his way back. He’ll be here soon. Steph, you need to go and see your family. Enjoy them.”
Steph gives me a last, agonized look but then gets to her feet and scoops up Harvey. I can hear the excitement in her voice as she says, “Gran’s here, darling! At our house!”
After a tight hug, she’s gone, and it’s just Minnie and me, waiting for Luke. I put on The Snowman and snuggle down beside Minnie on the sofa, trying to feel cozy. But my head feels all hot and heavy.
I suddenly see Minnie’s Grinch book lying on the floor and pick it up, hearing Luke’s voice in my head. “Whatever the Grinch can steal…that’s not Christmas.” I flip through the copy until I reach the page with all the Whos holding hands and singing. The page that represents happiness. Togetherness. Christmas spirit. I stare at it until the illustration blurs and the words swim and my head feels heavier than ever.
I’ve got the presents and the decorations and even the vegan turkey. But I haven’t got the friends and family. I haven’t got the one thing that Christmas is all about.
And now I can’t keep up the pretense anymore. My head sinks down, and I sob silently into my knees so Minnie won’t see that anything’s wrong.
How can my first ever Christmas at home be like this? Where did I go wrong?
My shoulders are heaving and my nose is running and my eyes are squeezed shut…and when I hear Luke’s voice, it’s as though in a dream.
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