Calling Mrs Christmas

by Carole Matthews

  I’ve still got everyone’s cases to pack and time is marching on. I guess if I’m late for a private jet it’s more likely to wait for me, but I don’t want to push my luck. With a slightly panicked glance at my watch, I head upstairs and check out the children’s bedrooms. I’ll need to do these later in the week when I’m back, but I just wanted to refresh my memory anyway. I click away with the camera on my phone, even though I’ve already got some photographs. Both rooms are so splendid and I would have loved a bedroom like this as a child. Eve’s is a confection in pink while Max’s is a typical boy’s, all done out in blue. That should go well with my planned colour scheme. I get an unbidden flashback of Gaby and me, squashed into our bunk beds in our cramped, bleak room at home until well into our teens, and I push away the image. These kids have a different life.

  Thankfully, they or Hettie or someone has laid out the clothes that the children need to take with them. There’s a plethora of ski gear, casual clothing and underwear for both of them and all I really have to do is fold it all into the waiting cases. When I’ve packed, I heft them out to the top of the stairs.

  Now I must do the same for Carter. As I head back towards the main bedroom, I can’t resist having a look around. This place really is more magnificent than anything I’ve seen before. Corridors seem to stretch out in every direction, covered in acres of plush carpet. There are a dozen different doors and I wonder how anyone can need that number of rooms. It really is more like a hotel than a home.

  Quietly, feeling like an intruder, I open some doors. They swing in silently and reveal more bedrooms, sitting rooms, what looks as if it could be Carter’s office, a well-equipped gym lined with mirrors and a multitude of bathrooms. Then I open the door to what’s clearly the master suite and it nearly takes my breath away. It’s full-on, no-holds-barred WAG. The bed in the centre of the room is huge, standing on a raised cream-leather platform. There’s a modern open fireplace on the wall opposite with a fantastic abstract painting hanging above it. In front of the fire is a cream rug and two ornate chairs. In the corner stands a mirrored mosaic statue of Buddha about two metres high. The wall behind the bed is covered in a bold gold-and-cream flowered design. The bedding is gold, glitzy and looks like pure silk. It’s quite the most amazing bedroom that I’ve ever seen and it makes me dreadfully discontent with my five-year-old Dunelm Mill duvet cover.

  There are no clothes laid out here and I can’t even see any wardrobes. So I wander round the room, feeling even more as if I’m where I shouldn’t be. Does Carter sleep here alone now that Tamara has left, I wonder? It seems such an enormous space for one person. Does it make him feel lonely?

  If I can’t find a wardrobe soon, I’ll have to drag Hettie up here to help me. My search reveals an enormous bathroom off to one side, with a huge modern fireplace and the bath in front of it, in the centre. A flat-screen television is on the other wall with a picture window at the foot of it, showing the garden in its full glory. I guess with nothing but trees to look out onto, you don’t have to worry about neighbours peeping in your windows and accidentally seeing you in the nip.

  Next to the bathroom, I eventually find the equally huge dressing room. One half of it is empty, the rails standing bare, and I’m assuming that used to be Tamara’s half. The other side is filled with Carter’s clothes. There’s an entire row of identical white shirts and, beneath it, an identical row of black shirts. Surely no one needs that many shirts in one lifetime? Beneath hangs a rainbow array of shirts. I take it all in, daunted. Where on earth am I going to start? Then, with some relief, I see that on an ottoman at the end of the room, again, someone has taken the trouble to lay out Carter’s clothes for me. As quickly as I can, I pack them into the waiting suitcase.

  What happened in Carter’s marriage? I wonder, as I fold his shirts. How can you be dissatisfied when you have the entire world at your feet? What makes people like this so unhappy? Everything that they can possibly want is available to them. All they have to do is just pick up a phone and order it. Surely that takes an awful lot of the everyday stress out of your life? What does Tamara think that she wants in a man if it isn’t this?

  If Jim and I were so well off I’m sure we’d be happier. We could clear our credit-card debts. We could afford our dream wedding, our own home. We could go on to produce our 2.2 children. If we had this amount of moola we might even go mad and have four or five ankle-biters. As it is, due to a severe lack of cash, we have none. Suddenly heavy of heart, I do up the clasps on Carter’s case and tiptoe out of the bedroom, closing the door behind me.

  On the opulent landing, I round up all of the cases and, in two trips, take them downstairs to load into my car. Then I pack away all my bits and bobs, putting them in the car too. Another worried glance at my watch. It’s getting late and I should be leaving. Still, I haven’t managed to speak to Jim. He hasn’t returned my call and I haven’t tried him again. Hettie comes into the hall and coos over the Christmas tree. I even detect a tear in her eye.

  ‘This looks so beautiful, Cassie.’

  ‘Thanks. It’s never been like this before?’ I can’t help myself.

  ‘No, no. Tamara used to do it herself. It was always very pretty, but this is simply stunning.’

  Yay to me!

  ‘I hoped to get more done today,’ I confess. ‘I’ll just have to finish it at the end of the week when we come back.’

  ‘Look after those children for me.’ It’s clear that she cares for them deeply. ‘Don’t let them do anything dangerous.’

  ‘I won’t.’ I don’t plan on doing anything too dangerous myself.

  Hettie leaves. I quickly take some photos with my phone so that I can show Jim and then realise that I should bring back our decent camera and take some more professional pictures to put together a proper portfolio. By next year, you never know, I might even have a website. The day is sliding away from me and I have so much else left to do, but it will all have to wait now.

  The truth of the matter is, I can’t wait to get home and see if I can grab some time – even if it’s only five minutes – to make up with Jim before I leave.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  At home I finish packing my own case and make sure I’ve got my passport to hand. The weird thing is that when flying on your own private plane there are no tickets, no printing out your boarding pass, no having to book your seat online, no getting to the airport three hours early. No stress. And, with your own chauffeur-driven car, there’s no extortionate long-stay parking to pay for, either. This is clearly the way to travel. I feel like Simon Cowell. We’re having dinner on the plane too. No menu, no plastic cutlery, no ‘chicken or beef?’ I just had to order what I wanted. So, out of all the exotic foods in the world that I could have chosen, I plumped for lasagne and salad for us all – simply because I thought the children would like it.

  I’m hopping about the flat now, just waiting. I’ve tried Jim’s phone a dozen times more, but it keeps going to voicemail. I can’t find the words to leave a more conciliatory message than my earlier one. I just hope he knows how I feel. We’ve never been apart for any length of time before and I don’t want to go away with the mood bad between us.

  Having unpacked all the stuff from my car, I take the chance to run through the list of things I still have to do when I get back. There are more presents to wrap, cards to write, and Gaby has a list of companies that need mince pies. She’s also going to be making some very cute, individual Christmas cakes this week as corporate gifts, which came in as a request. I make a note to offer these earlier next year. They’re a great idea and I’m sure they’ll go down well. I’ve still got the decorations to finish off at Carter’s house, but I hope all the outdoor lights will be up and running by the time we get home. I make sure that I’ve got all the paperwork I need for the activities on our trip. The last thing I want is for there to be any hiccups. I want this all to run as smoothly as possible.

  I hear a car pull up outside the flats and peep out of the win
dow. There’s a sleek, black limo nearly as long as the communal car park and, with a thrill of excitement, I assume that’s my ride. Wow. No beaten-up taxi for me! I just wish that Jim was here.

  I think about writing him an apologetic note, but then part of me thinks that he should have called me back by now. It was Jim who bought me a card that he’d barely glanced at. It was Jim who questioned my dedication to my business. It was Jim who sulked all night. He should be holding out the olive branch too. I know that he’s busy at work, but so am I. Shouldn’t he have found time to respond to my conciliatory phone call? It worries me as he’s never been like this before, but there’s nothing I can do about it now. I don’t want to keep the driver waiting, so I grab my suitcase – wishing it was Louis Vuitton – and dash out of the flat.

  When the driver sees me, he jumps out of the limo and holds the door open.

  ‘There are three more cases in my car boot,’ I tell him and we walk to my beaten-up old Clio to get them. He eschews any help from me and lifts the cases into the boot of the limo, which are, I have noted, real, actual Louis Vuitton.

  Then we’re off. I’m cocooned in black leather, shielded from the world and the paparazzi by blacked-out windows as we glide out of the car park and head for the airport. It would be nice to have a doze in this comfy car but, frankly, I’m way too excited. Instead I text Carter. ‘On way. Hope all OK?’

  He texts back. ‘All fine. Cu soon.’

  Now I can relax a bit. The last thing I wanted was for him to still be in New York or wherever and unable to come.

  I text Jim too. ‘I love you,’ I type. ‘Be back soon.’ And, though I hope for a reply to ping right back, none does.

  It’s only a short while later that we’re pulling into the airport. Our dedicated personal manager, Katie, comes to meet my car.

  ‘Mr Randall is already here,’ she says as I emerge and, sure enough, he’s sitting in the small but plush waiting room, still in his business attire, tapping away on a laptop. He looks quite dashing in his slim-cut, dark-grey suit and I can see Katie’s eyes sliding regularly in his direction when she’s talking to me.

  As soon as she’s finished her briefing, I go over to Carter.

  ‘Hey,’ he says, standing up to kiss both my cheeks.

  Wow. That’s a bit friendlier than his usual greeting, but I guess it doesn’t hurt to let the barriers down a bit as we’re going to be spending four days together in close proximity.

  The small, white ExecLine jet is ready and waiting on the runway just in front of us. I think of all the time I’ve spent queuing and waiting in airports and my heart wants to weep. Everyone should be able to travel like this. The cases are whisked from the car to the plane without us even touching them.

  ‘I’ll change on the plane,’ Carter says.

  ‘The temperature at your destination is minus twelve,’ Katie says helpfully.

  ‘Wow,’ Carter observes. ‘That’s cold.’

  ‘You’ve plenty of warm clothing,’ I reassure him. ‘I packed everything myself.’

  ‘And for the kids?’

  I nod.

  ‘Great. Looks as if we’re going to need it.’

  ‘Where are the children?’

  He looks hastily at his watch. ‘They’ll be here soon.’

  Then, on cue, another car pulls up outside. A moment later, the door to the lounge whooshes open and, along with an icy blast, Tamara wafts in, children in tow. She’s wearing a full-length coat in light-grey fur and, for one horrible moment, I think that she might have decided that Lapland is the place to be. She certainly looks dressed for it.

  Eve and Max run over to hug Carter.

  ‘Oh.’ She’s distinctly taken aback when she eventually notices me and turns to Carter. ‘Is she going too?’

  ‘Yes,’ he says levelly. ‘Cassie has organised the trip. It’s only right that she comes along.’

  Tamara’s face says that she doesn’t think it’s right at all.

  ‘Everyone ready?’ Katie sweeps up, breaking into the frostiness. ‘Your plane is waiting.’ She checks our passports and whisks us out of the door onto the tarmac. Tamara follows.

  We’re at the steps to the jet now. The night air is cold in this exposed place and the wind whips around us. I stand awkwardly, not knowing quite where to put myself.

  ‘Say goodbye to Mummy,’ Carter tells the children.

  ‘Do look after them,’ Tamara says snippily. ‘Don’t do anything stupid. I don’t want them both coming back up to the eyeballs in plaster. The school is unhappy enough about their missing lessons in term time.’

  ‘They’re in perfectly good hands,’ he says patiently.

  She bends and hugs Eve and Max to her. Then all her hostility leaves her and I see her eyes fill with tears. ‘Be good for Daddy, and come back safely to me.’ She squeezes them tightly.

  For a fleeting moment, I feel that she might not let them go at all, even call a halt to our Arctic expedition. I can feel my own eyes filling up now and I wonder what she’s really thinking.

  For a moment her eyes meet mine and although I can see pain in them, they’re also saying, ‘This should be me, lady, not you.’ And, to be honest, she’s probably quite right.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  The plane is tiny and it’s at this point that I’m glad that I don’t have a fear of flying. Through the windows, the children wave madly to Tamara. When the airport staff remove the steps to the plane door, she turns away and walks back towards the terminal building. She looks lonely and, even though this isn’t my call, I get a pang of guilt as I watch her leave.

  The steward welcomes us on board and shows us how to buckle into our seats: four chestnut-leather chairs arranged around a table. Behind this area are two matching sofas with a low coffee table between them. Everything that the steward needs is packed away in walnut cabinets at the back of the cabin. Carter and the children are clearly used to flying like this as they don’t gape in awe as I do. I try to keep my mouth closed for fear of looking like an imbecile.

  We settle ourselves in and, within minutes, the plane takes off. Suddenly we’re on our way. The steward sets the table and dinner is served – not a foil carton in sight – and it’s all very delicious. When it’s been cleared away, Carter loosens his tie and stretches out to sleep. I entertain the children by showing them how to play Hangman on their iPads.

  A few short hours later, the steward comes to tell us that the plane will be landing soon and so our cases are brought to us. We take it in turns to go into the sizeable bathroom and change into our warm clothing. Carter helps Max, then I take Eve in with me and help her to choose what to wear.

  ‘Will it be snowing?’ she says as I help to zip her into ski pants.

  ‘I think so. It’ll be very cold too.’

  ‘Mummy so wanted to come, but she’s busy at work.’

  I don’t know how much the children understand the current situation between their parents and I don’t think it’s for me to explain it. ‘I’m sure it must be something extremely important.’

  ‘She’s busy at work a lot,’ Eve says. ‘So is Daddy. That’s why we have to go away to school.’

  ‘Is it a nice school? Do you like it?’

  Eve shrugs. ‘I like to be at home better. I have a nice bedroom.’

  ‘I know,’ I tell her. ‘I saw it today when I packed your clothes.’

  ‘Are you our new nanny?’ she asks.

  ‘Not really. I’m just helping Daddy to organise some things for Christmas.’

  ‘Are you a friend?’

  ‘I hope so.’ Then, ‘We need to get back to our seats as we’ll be landing soon.’

  ‘I’m very excited,’ Eve says and, I have to admit, so am I.

  I didn’t realise it, but I feel quite tense about this trip. It is noticeable that the pressure is on me for every detail to be perfect. I’m just hoping that it’s all as wonderful as I’ve planned.

  When I’ve taken Eve back to her seat, I quickly slip
into my brand-new ski pants and warm jumper. In the mirror, I look at myself and hardly recognise the person looking back at me. I need to pinch myself a few times to make sure this is really happening to me – even though I’m only the hired help.

  A few minutes later, we’re approaching our destination. We’re flying low and although it’s pitch-dark outside I can tell that we’re over a desolate landscape of frozen whiteness, broken only by tracts of thick forest. There are very few signs of life. No towns, no houses, no lights at all. This is still somewhere very remote and sparsely populated.