One Day in December: The Christmas read you won't want to put down

by Shari Low

  Her father had never been cruel, or nasty, or dismissive, he’d just been… detached. Distant. Like he was going through the motions with her, but never really engaged. He had no idea what her favourite colour was, what subjects she excelled in at school, what things she liked to do in her spare time or who her friends were. When he was there, he was perfectly civil, nice even. Like a friendly uncle. But one that was perfectly happy to walk away without looking back every time he left. If it wasn’t for Uncle Bob and Auntie Pearl, and their crazy, loving marriage, Caro would have thought her mum and dad’s dynamic was just the way every family behaved.

  That day was no different.

  ‘Hey Dad, how’s things?’ she’d said, after Yvonne had bustled off into the kitchen to make him a coffee.

  ‘Good. You?’ he asked, picking up a newspaper, clearly not waiting with rapt anticipation for the answer. Caro didn’t expect hugs and boundless enthusiasm, but still, there was no ‘hey, I’ve really missed you. Come here and tell me what’s happened to you in the month I’ve been away.’ There was barely a passing glance.

  ‘Look Dad, while Mum’s not here, can I ask you – have you noticed anything… different about her?’

  The narrowing of his eyes told her that he had. ‘Why, what are you thinking?’ he asked, giving nothing away.

  Caro paused, finding it hard to say the words, as if that would make her fears real. ‘I think there’s something wrong,’ she said candidly. There. It was out. ‘Sometimes it’s like she’s in a world of her own. She’s forgetting things. Last week she went out and left food in the oven again. Another day, she took the car to the shops and forgot about it, so she got the bus home. I just think… I think we need to persuade her to get checked.’

  He’d nodded. ‘Okay, whatever you think.’

  That was it. Whatever Caro thought. Not, ‘let me take care of this’. Or ‘don’t you worry, it’s all going to be fine.’ Just ‘whatever you think.’

  Over the next few months, Caro had to do all the thinking. Dad went off again, and every time he came back, Mum was a little worse. It took countless appointments and tests before they eventually got the diagnosis. Early onset dementia.

  So now they knew.

  Over the next couple of years, Mum declined, receding more and more into her own world. Caro moved in, paid for a nurse to cover for her when she wasn’t there. Dad would come back less and less until one day Mum had no idea who he was.

  Then he packed his bags.

  ‘But how can you leave her like this? She’s your wife!’

  ‘Caro, she has absolutely no idea who I am.’

  ‘That doesn’t matter! She’s your wife. What happened to “sickness and health”?’

  ‘Don’t be like that.’

  ‘Like what?’ Caro had yelled. ‘Like a decent person? Like a loving family member? What the fuck am I being like, Dad?’

  He’d walked out. Conversation over.

  He never came back again.

  No word.

  No communication.

  The bastard.

  It was the last time she spoke to him. The mobile phone number he’d had was long since disconnected. He was just gone. Vanished. Time passed and she’d come to terms with the fact that he’d erased them from his life… until the moment she’d seen Lila’s Facebook post.

  She absolutely didn’t want it to be him because it would open a new chapter in a book she’d come to terms with finishing. A book in which the villain walked away with no punishment for his crimes. To be honest, she figured he’d probably taken early retirement and was living in Thailand or somewhere else that the sun was hot, the beer was cold and he could live like a king on his earnings.

  Sometimes she wondered if she should be furious, raging at the injustice of it, and a little part of her felt that way, but the bigger part of her refused to give him the opportunity to pick at a scab. They didn’t need him. He wasn’t worth it. In truth she wasn’t surprised. He wasn’t the guy who’d choose the hard path, who’d opt to live with someone who couldn’t take care of him, who had no idea who he was, of who he had been to her.

  That’s exactly what Caro had done for all these years and it was tough. Really tough. Especially since the accident. Yep, as if the fucked up gods of shit luck hadn’t given them enough to deal with, they’d heaped on more. A couple of months ago, while the carer who stayed with her overnight had been dozing, Mum had – for some unknown reason and for the first time ever – found the house key, unlocked the door, and wandered out of the house during the night, onto a main road. The lorry didn’t even have a chance of seeing her. So now it really was over. No hope of coming back from it. The guilt that Caro felt about allowing that to happen sat like a lead weight in her gut. She’d thought she was doing the best she could for her, making sure a trained carer was with her. But no. It hadn’t been enough. Since that night, her mum had been in hospital. She knew she would lose her soon. The accident had left her with irreparable damage and in a deep coma. The brain that was failing her had now shut down altogether, the body still alive but in a hospital bed, being tended by kind strangers, while Caro and Todd sat by her bedside for an hour or two or longer if the nurses – as they often did - turned a blind eye..

  She was happy to do it, but it was a devastating vigil that shredded her heart when she thought of the woman her mum used to be. Sometimes – and she’d not shared this thought with anyone – sometimes, she wondered if it was a blessing that she was asleep, that Caro didn’t have to worry about her getting lost, getting hurt, or feel her heart break when Mum got upset or frustrated or scared or confused. Right before the accident, the dementia had been so advanced that Caro had lived in a permanent state of fear. Now, she knew exactly where mum was. Right there. In bed. Where Caro could hold her hand, tell her she loved her and brush her hair until it shone, even though her mum never responded. It didn’t matter. She told herself that Yvonne knew she was there.

  The combination of the comedown from the gin and the thoughts of the past were bringing on the kind of melancholy that Caro did everything to avoid. What was the point? There were no choices when it came to her mum, nothing she could do to make it better. All she could do was be there.

  But her dad? She had a choice here. She could put on her new Next boots and walk away, or she could go face this situation, work out a way to speak to Lila, find out the truth and deal with it.

  Stretching up on the bed, she shook off the tiredness that was seeping into her bones. She was doing this. No choice. Nothing to lose. It wasn’t as if he was going to be there and there was a potential for a scene. Ugh, the very thought of that made her shiver. If she didn’t get a chance to speak to Lila, if there was no way of finding out the truth, then she’d come back here, get a good night’s sleep on this lovely bed, and go home in the morning. If she did speak to her, then at least she’d know and she could come up with a new plan.

  A quick check in the bathroom mirror told her that the hair and make-up were still looking great. Determined not to spoil them, she ran a bath, carefully tucked her hair into a shower cap, then soaked for fifteen minutes, loving the feeling of the warm water on her skin. She should do more of this. Item number one on the agenda after she got home – spend more time relaxing. Stop fretting. Stop filling the day so she didn’t have to think. Stop thinking too much when the incessant activity didn’t work. Just chill. Relax.

  Reluctantly, she climbed out, dried off, and brushed her teeth. She’d thrown a toilet bag into her handbag this morning as an afterthought, and now she was glad of it. Toothpaste, toothbrush, deodorant, hairspray.

  Her new dress was hanging in the wardrobe and she pulled it out, slipped it on, thinking it would probably have been wise to have tried it before now. She needn’t have worried. It fitted like a glove. The boots and the thick opaque tights she’d picked up at the till matched it perfectly, and by the time she draped the shawl over her shoulders she was starting to feel a bit better until… damn, no bag. All she h
ad was a huge tote that wasn’t exactly evening attire. Bollocks. Her gaze fell on her toilet bag. It was red satin, a gift from Todd, and as long as no one looked too closely, it could pass as a clutch. Probably.

  After dumping out her toiletries, she threw in her phone, purse and room key. No room for anything else.

  She checked herself in the mirror. Was this a ‘Hello, I might be your sister’ outfit? Or an ‘Oh, so sorry, I mistook you for the daughter of someone I once knew’ ensemble?

  She was about to find out.

  Down in reception, the doorman greeted her with a smile. ‘I’m going to a restaurant called Grilled,’ she said. ‘Can you tell me which direction I should head in?’

  He looked down at her feet. ‘It’s probably not wise to walk in those heels or in this weather, madam,’ he replied, with the air of a man who knew such things.,.

  ‘In that case, taxi for one please.’

  The cab took over ten minutes, almost as long as it would take to walk, because they had to negotiate the Glasgow one-way streets. She didn’t mind. This was agony enough, without adding sore feet and shivers to the mix.

  When the taxi stopped outside it was five minutes to eight.

  Turn around. Go back. Flee.

  No, don’t.

  She paid and got out before she could change her mind. Behind the smoked glass, decorated with hundreds of fairy lights, she could see a packed restaurant and it struck her that Lila could be in there right now, looking out, absolutely unaware that her half-sister was about to enter her world. Or she could be gazing out at the completely crazy person who had put two and two together and given Lila four million reasons for a restraining order.

  She pulled her phone out of her bag and dialled. He answered on the first ring. ‘Todd, where are you when I need you?’

  ‘Oh my God, what’s happened? WHAT’S HAPPENED?’

  ‘Nothing. I’m just about to go into the restaurant and called you for a bit of moral support.’

  His deflation was obvious. ‘Oh, for god’s sake, I’m near hysterical with suspense here. Seriously. I had Jeremy Kyle’s number plugged into my phone, all ready to go.’

  It wasn’t moral support, but it did make her laugh.

  ‘Just calm down there, dear,’ she giggled.

  Todd sighed. ‘I can’t stand being out of the loop. If you can, put me on FaceTime when you get in there and then I can at least see what’s happening.’

  ‘I think that may be frowned upon in an establishment like this.’ She was fairly sure that would be the case. Now that she was here and could see the restaurant in all its glory, it was even more upmarket than she’d anticipated.

  ‘I don’t care,’ he exclaimed. ‘What are they going to do – ban you? You’re never going to be back there. And we’ve already covered the fact that I have bail money ready.’

  ‘Okay, I’m going to hang up now. I’ll see what I can do. Might be worth keeping an eye on Lila’s Facebook though – no doubt whatever happens will get reported on there.’

  ‘I’m on it. And Caro…’

  ‘Yep?’

  ‘I’m proud of you.’

  She hung up before he said anything that would ruin her mascara.

  The door of the restaurant opened as she approached it, and she nodded a thank you to the doorman.

  The first thing that hit her was the noise. The second thing was that there were an inordinate number of men at two huge tables in the middle of the room.

  ‘Can I help you?’ a beautiful young woman behind a desk asked her.

  ‘Yes, I have a reservation under the name Anderson.’

  The maître d’ checked her tablet, then smiled in acceptance. ‘For one?’

  ‘Yes.’ Caro caught the moment of scrutiny and realised this was probably an odd scenario – a woman, on her own, in a posh restaurant, on a Friday night. ‘Hopefully my husband is joining me later – his flight has been delayed,’ she blurted.

  ‘Ah, that’s absolutely fine,’ came the reply.

  Where the hell had that come from? Her husband? A late flight?

  She decided to cut herself a break. The lie was unnecessary, but it was a toss-up between that and raising suspicion that she was a secret shopper, an undercover cop or a restaurant reviewer. She’d much rather just be the sad case in the corner that had been stood up by her husband; that way, they’d probably give her a wide berth and leave her to mope.

  ‘If you’d just like to follow me…’

  Caro did as requested, walking past the gorgeous circular booths that sat along the window, around the two tables of guys who were… Was that French? Yes, definitely French. Must be some sort of convention attendees or tour party.

  ‘French football team,’ the maître d’ whispered, using the menu to shield her face so they wouldn’t hear her saying it.

  Ah, football team. That made sense. They looked like athletes. Way too many of them were seriously handsome, and all of them were impeccably groomed, with sharp haircuts and stylish suits. Not that she was paying attention. She was too busy looking for Lila in case she’d missed her slipping in.

  Just past the sporting contingent, there was another row of tables at the back of the room on a raised area, separated from the body of the restaurant by a beautiful wrought-iron and mahogany banister. Caro’s table was in the corner, and she realised there wasn’t a more ideal spot from which to scope out the other diners. She took the seat that was against the wall, semi-protected from the gaze of the other customers by the deep padded, grey velvet wing of the upholstered chair-back. However, if she leaned forward a few inches, she could see the whole room. It was perfect. Her fake husband could have the nice seat opposite her if his plane landed on time.

  ‘A drink while you look at the menu?’ the maître d’ asked.

  ‘I’ll have a still water please.’

  The bath, tea and journey here had definitely sobered her up. Now she was going for a beverage option that was both frugal, and not likely to get her so drunk she propositioned a French athlete. Win-win.

  Okay, deep breath. She could do this. Nothing to lose. If it didn’t feel right, she could just walk away.

  After all, Lila had no idea who she was… and it wasn’t like her dad was about to walk in the door. Was it?

  Chapter 22

  Cammy

  Digby turned the sign on the front door of the shop to CLOSED. ‘Are you sure you don’t want me to stay and lock up?’ he asked.

  Cammy was lounging on one of the leather chairs outside the changing rooms, one leg over the studded arm, the suit he’d eventually chosen hanging on the wall behind him.

  Josie and Val were on the other two armchairs, both of them with their shoes off and feet up on the coffee table in the centre of the seating area.

  ‘No, you’re fine, mate – I’ll do it,’ Cammy answered. ‘But if you come in tomorrow morning and something seems off, check the store cupboard in case I’m in there, hands and feet bound with duct tape.’

  Josie leaned over to Val. ‘Scrap that one off the list, Val – we no longer have the element of surprise.’

  ‘Bye, ladies,’ Digby said, as he kissed them in turn on the cheek. ‘I think you’re on to a lost cause there.’

  ‘There’s still time. And hope. And drugs that Josie got off the internet that could make him unconscious.’

  Digby hesitated, not quite sure whether Val was kidding, before realising that would be too far even for them. Possibly.

  As Digby headed off, Josie leaned down to the side of the chair and brought up her bottle of beer, courtesy of the minibar in Cammy’s office. It had been there since the old days, one of the fixtures that had been left behind when Mel sold up and moved on.

  ‘What a day,’ Cammy said, wearily. ‘I’m knackered.’

  Val tutted. ‘Och, for God’s sake, a young man like you shouldn’t be knackered. I swear, Josie, energy is wasted on the young.’

  Josie nodded. ‘Yep, energy and good sex. Wasted.’

 
Cammy’s laugh coincided with trying to swallow a mouthful of beer, and the result was a coughing fit that sprayed Miller Lite over his 7 For All Mankind jeans. He made a mental note to drop them into the dry-cleaners across the road first thing Monday morning.

  ‘Okay, so I’m good to go,’ he reflected, leaving the half-full bottle on the counter. ‘Ring, venue, suit. Thanks for keeping me company today. And Josie, I know you don’t approve, but you came along anyway and I appreciate that.’

  ‘We never do agree on anything,’ she said, with a twenty-cigarette-a-day cackle. It was true. Their whole relationship was built on a solid foundation of love, affection, bickering and disagreement.

  ‘Nope, we do not. It’s why I love you.’

  Val tipped up her beer and finished it off. ‘Right then, my loves. I could sit here all night but my Don will send out a search party if I’m not back, clutching a chicken chow mein, in time for Strictly. It’s the little things in life…’ she said, grinning. ‘Since Josie has led me astray with alcohol, we’ll jump in a cab and Don will bring me back in for the car in the morning.’

  Cammy reached over and took her hand. ‘Tell Don I said hello, and I’ll give him a shout during the week for a pint.’

  ‘Will do. Maybe make it the same evening as our book club. What night is it this week, Josie?’

  ‘Thursday.’

  ‘Okay, will do. What are you reading this week then?’

  The two of them gave him the pursed lips of warning. He’d discovered months ago that ‘Book Club’ was their euphemism for a ‘drink gin and gossip with pals’ club. Josie and Val had been going for years and they’d never discussed a classic novel yet.

  ‘You ready to go now too?’ Josie asked him as she wandered over and deposited her beer bottle in the bin.

  ‘I’ll be five minutes. Just want to sort out a tie and quickly cash up today’s takings.’

  Josie leaned down and gave him a hug, then a kiss on the cheek. ‘You know we love you, don’t you?’ she said affectionately.

  ‘I do,’ he replied truthfully.

  ‘Right, I said I wasn’t going to go there…’ Josie announced mournfully.