Buy new materials and start again from scratch.
Leave the menfolk here with money/telephone numbers to order a take away.
Move Tracy Island operations to Chris’s house. He has a huge double catering oven he never uses, a sauna, and one of those upright salon hairdryers you can sit under. All of which could come in useful drying papier mâché.
Rosencrantz was quite excited when I said that Daniel and Tony would be looking after him.
“I’m going to ask Uncle Tony loads of questions,” he grinned. “Do you think he’d take me on a trip to Milton Keynes to see some dead bodies?”
“Well, maybe that’s not the nicest thing to do at Christmas,” I said.
“Yes,” he agreed sagely. “What about the day after Boxing Day?”
I kissed him and promised we’d have lots of time tomorrow.
I packed an overnight bag, lent Meryl a baseball cap and we set off for Chris’s house, unsure of when we would return.
Thursday 24th December (Christmas Eve)
Meryl was quite enchanted by all the Disneyana at Chris’s house. We spent most of the night working in his huge kitchen, making three new Tracy Islands. The first perished in the oven, but the amazing news was that the second and third fared much better in Chris’s walk-in sauna. The dry, hot atmosphere was perfect, and as of three o’clock in the afternoon the papier mâché was drying nicely.
I was making us a well-deserved cup of coffee in the kitchen, when I heard Meryl talking in the hall. Then she poked her quiffed head round the door with the phone held against her cardigan,
“Coco! What’s this about you banning Mum from Rosencrantz’s school Nativity play?”
She put the phone back to her ear,
“What’s that? No, I know, Mum. You’d never smoke in Rosencrantz’s bedroom… Of course I’m fine. You didn’t know about the effects when you were expecting us.”
Meryl listened then put the phone back to her cardigan.
“Coco! The top of my head wasn’t flat when I was a baby!” I looked at Meryl with her rock-hard quiff of hair.
‘Well, I might have been a little angry,” I said “but I never banned her from—”
Meryl put the phone back to her ear.
“What, Mum? You’re not coming to Coco’s for Christmas… You’re going to stop at home and eat Spam salad!” She handed me the phone. “She wants to talk to you.”
I took the phone. “Ethel?” I said.
“I ain’t settin’ foot over yer threshold. I know when I’m not wanted,” she said, and she hung up!
We tried to ring her back, but we kept getting the engaged tone.
“I think you need to sort this out, Coco,” said Meryl sternly.
“Look, me and your mother don’t see eye to eye, that’s not a secret,” I said.
“Coco, Mum thinks the world of you! I wonder if it’s you with the problem?”
I went to protest but Meryl raised a hand.
“Why don’t you drive over to Catford? Explain truthfully how much you want Mum to be there on Christmas Day.”
“Truthfully?”
“Yes, Coco. It wouldn’t be Christmas without her. Now go. I’m the craft expert. I’ll stay here and supervise Tracy Island.”
* * *
It was gone six o’clock when I pulled up at Ethel’s house in Catford. The street lights were broken so the row of grimy terraced houses was doused in gloom. A distant police siren screamed, and the windows leading away from Ethel’s house were all dark. There was a tiny glow coming from behind the curtains in her front room.
I took the passage along the side of the house. The light was on in the kitchen, casting a rectangle of yellow in the back yard. I went up to the door and banged on the glass.
“Oo is it?” came her voice a moment later.
“It’s Coco,” I said.
There was a pause.
“I’ve got nothing to say to yer!” she shouted.
“That’s a first,” I said. “Seems you’ve had plenty to say over the years.”
I hammered again on the door.
“I’m not going until you open up, we need to have this out!” I shouted.
A minute later Ethel opened the door. She was wearing her flowery housecoat and had a fag on the go. She dragged me inside.
“Jeez, keep yer voice down! The neighbours’ll think I’ve got the bailiff round, or, worse, that I’m behind on me catalogue payments!”
“I do not look like a bailiff,” I said.
“They come in all shapes and sizes: small and, in your case, big.”
The kitchen, as ever, was warm and cosy. A little fire was glowing in the hearth and Christmas cards were dotted along the mantelpiece. A clock in the middle chimed the quarter hour, and I could see her rent book poking out from behind.
“That’s enough. I’ve had enough of you, Ethel. I’ve tried and I’ve tried until I’m blue in the face. You don’t like me – I get it. And you know what? I don’t much like you. All I’ve ever done is love your son. All I’ve ever got is nastiness from you. And as for not coming to the Nativity play… Well, it ends now, you hear me?”
Ethel regarded me for a moment and took a drag on her cigarette.
“You want a cup of tea, love?” she asked.
“Didn’t you hear what I said?”
“Or something stronger?”
“I’m driving,” I said, exasperated.
She ignored me and left the room, coming back with two large schooners and a bottle of sherry. She poured two glasses.
“Sit down, love,” she said. I pulled out a chair at the blue Formica table. “Not the ripped one,” she added. I pulled out the chair beside it and sat. We both took a sip.
“I will say I’m sorry. I know you weren’t smoking in Rosencrantz’s room.”
“An’ I never would,” she said. We drank in silence.
“Look, why don’t we just agree that we don’t like each other and then move on.”
“I don’t dislike yer, love.”
“Then what?”
“I just don’t wanna lose me son.”
“You haven’t lost your son, believe me.”
We took another sip. I went on.
“I wish you’d come to Rosencrantz’s Nativity play. It’s not on that you used it to make a point. You can throw as much shit as you like at me, but don’t you dare upset Rosencrantz.”
For the first time ever, I saw Ethel looked chastised.
“Sorry, love. So ‘ow was it?”
I told her about Rosencrantz’s Nativity play. Ethel burst out laughing. It emerged with a rattle from her chest. She threw her head back and slapped her leg.
“I’d ‘ave given anything to ‘ear your little Rosencrantz say I’m not a pleasant fucker during a Nativity play! Must’ve brightened it up for all the parents.”
“Yes, well…”
“Did Chris tape it?”
“No, he didn’t video the performance.”
“Performance! I’ll say,” she squawked, dissolving into even more laughter, which then turned into a coughing fit.
I couldn’t help it, I began to laugh too.
“Oh Coco. What am I gonna do with you?” she said when we’d calmed down a bit.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re a resilient cow.”
“Thanks.”
“You remember when you first came in this kitchen?”
“Yes.”
“All those years ago. I thought you was wet, a right wet weekend. But you’ve proved yerself you can be a tough old mare.”
“How is any of that a compliment?” I asked.
“You need to be tough in this life. I know my Danny can be pretty useless,” she said, “but ‘is heart is in the right place. ‘E just needs nurturing, ‘e’ll come good.”
“I’ve nurtured him for years, and I’m still the breadwinner,” I said. “I thought when we had Rosencrantz things would change.”
“The slowest tree
bears the best fruit, Coco.”
“But I’m worried we’ll starve before he produces anything edible,” I said.
Ethel poured us more sherry.
“Maybe it’s my fault. Maybe that ashtray squashed all the good brain cells,” she said with a grin.
“Look, Ethel. It would make Rosencrantz and Daniel, and Meryl and Tony… and me very happy if you’d come for Christmas tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? I’m coming tonight! I ain’t gonna get on a bus tomorrow.”
“What?”
“I always stay up your place on Christmas Eve, Coco. It’s tradition!”
“So you were coming all along?” I said.
“Course I was love, and now you’re here, you can give me a lift.”
Before I could say any more, Ethel bolted upstairs and returned with her suitcase and a Tesco bag full of wrapped presents. I’d been lured over as a bloody taxi!
* * *
As we crossed the river, the fairy lights on Chelsea Bridge shifted and clattered in the breeze. I drove slowly along the embankment so we could look at all the houses with Christmas trees in the window. I realised my house was far from looking Christmassy.
As we approached Piccadilly Circus, it began to snow. At first it was blown across the road like icing sugar, but it quickly began to settle. As we turned the corner by the huge statue of Eros, last-minute shoppers were lugging bags, rugged up against the swirling snow. The Christmas lights were beautiful, and their reflections moved slowly across the windscreen.
The traffic lights turned red, and a swarm of shoppers spilled off the kerb weaving through the stationary traffic. The huge signs advertising Coca Cola and TDK changed the eddying snow from red to blue and back again.
“’Ere, Coco love, iss gonna be a white Christmas after all,” said Ethel looking up in wonderment.
* * *
When we got home the house had been transformed. It was warm and clean. A fire was burning, and there was a Christmas tree glittering with lights and decorations.
“We made ourselves useful,” said Tony, red in the face from whiskey. The peck marks on his head were now turning purple. He hitched up his trousers and gave me a kiss on the cheek.
“And I made Daddy a crotch!” said Rosencrantz, indicating Daniel standing by the tree with the broom under his arm.
“It’s a crutch, love,” said Daniel. I went over to him and he hugged me. “Thanks for going and getting, Mum,” he added.
“Coco kindly invited me for Christmas, an’ I accepted,” said Ethel, surprising me with a smile.
Daniel handed me a bauble.
“Thought we’d leave this one for you,” he said. He held up the glass bauble with Karen written on it.
“You remembered,” I grinned. I found a branch and hung it on.
“There. Now it’s Christmas,” said Daniel, and leant across and gave me a kiss.
We stood admiring the twinkling lights and decorations for a moment, then Rosencrantz asked, “Who’s Karen?”
“It’s Mummy’s real name,” said Daniel. “Coco is a nickname I gave her.”
“Then who gave Mummy her real name?”
“Her mummy and daddy…” explained Daniel.
“No. Dad wanted to call me Jessica, but Mum overruled him on that, as she did with most things,” I said.
“They’re dead, aren’t they?” asked Rosencrantz.
“Yes. They are,” I said. There was silence.
“So did you have them burned in Uncle Tony’s special oven for dead bodies, or did you pay extra and dig a hole to put them in?” asked Rosencrantz in a chatty little tone of voice.
“Rosencrantz!” snapped Daniel.
“Rosencrantz… Rosencrantz,” said Rosencrantz, as if he’d heard his name for the first time. “Have I got a proper real name too? Cos Rosencrantz, it’s a bit bloody weird!”
“No toilet language!” trilled Meryl, bustling into the living room wearing a Santa hat. She hugged me and Ethel. “It’s no use,” she said. “I’ll have to have my hair cut off, it’s still rock-hard after four Wash and Go’s.”
“She washed it and it went nowhere!” piped up Rosencrantz.
Just then the downstairs toilet flushed. I looked around the room.
“Who else is here?” I said.
Marika came sheepishly into the living room.
“I only phoned to talk to you, Coco,” she said, embarrassed.
“Her teeth were chatting away!” said Rosencrantz excitedly, and he did an impression of a very cold person shivering. “I told her she had to come for Christmas. She can sleep in my bed,” he added.
“I invited Marika to come over, too,” said Daniel. Marika still looked embarrassed.
“I’m so glad you’re here!” I said giving her a hug.
“She brought some rather delicious Slovak cakes,” added Tony.
“Yeah Mummy, they’re like Jammy Dodgers!” said Rosencrantz.
“And I will help out with cooking, cleaning—” offered Marika.
“No you won’t, you’re my guest and my friend, and I’m so pleased you’re here,” I said.
Meryl beckoned me and Marika out of the living room. Ethel came too, and we followed her upstairs. She checked the coast was clear and opened the airing cupboard door. On the bottom shelf was a complete Tracy Island! It looked stunning, almost like the real thing.
“The paint just needs the night to harden,” said Meryl.
“It’s beautiful,” I said, marvelling at the detail – the palm trees made from pipe cleaners, the green hills of the island and the beach, and the swimming pool, made from a circle of tin foil.
“Thank you, Meryl,” I said, hugging her, almost in tears.
“Yes well, I wanted to tick it off my list, craft wise,” she said embarrassed.
“Tha’s lovely, Meryl,” said Ethel. “Oh Coco, ‘e’s gonna love that.”
“It’s beautiful,” added Marika.
“This is amazing, Meryl,” I said. “But do you think Rosencrantz will mind it’s not the shop version?”
“Don’t be silly, love” said Ethel. “Iss like that Dolly Parton song.”
We looked at her, confused.
“You know, that Dolly Parton song, where she sings about that jumper ‘er Mum made ‘er… with all them bits of wool lying around. In all different colours… cos they ‘ad no money.”
“‘The Coat of Many Colours’,” said Marika.
“Oh, was it a coat love? What was the song called?” said Ethel.
“‘The Coat of Many Colours’,” I repeated.
“No, Marika’s established that, Coco, love, but what was the song called?”
“‘The Coat of Many Colours’,” we all chimed, but Ethel ignored us.
“No, it’s got a really good name. I’ve got it! ‘Jolene’s Amazing Technicolour Dreamcoat’!”
We all managed to stifle a laugh. Ethel went on,
“Dolly Parton sings ‘ow much she loves Jolene’s amazing technicolour dreamcoat. An’ she loves it, cos ‘er Mum made it for ‘er. It was all the more special, you know? An’ it’ll be the same thing with Rosencrantz. Cos you all made it for ‘im.”
“Thanks Ethel,” I said.
“To think Dolly Parton’s mum’s name was Jolene,” she added. “Cos then she wrote that song about Jolene nicking ‘er usband off ‘er! They’re a funny lot in America, aren’t they?”
We all grinned.
* * *
The last few hours of Christmas Eve were wonderful. We lit a fire, ordered pizza and Daniel played carols on the piano, with his leg propped up on the portable electric heater.
It was so lovely to have Marika here too. She fitted in with everyone and she was a big hit with Rosencrantz. He spent the whole evening brushing her hair and asking her to teach him Slovakian swear words.
I came to bed relieved. We’d done it. Rosencrantz was going to open Tracy Island on Christmas Day, just as he wanted.
Friday 25th December (Christmas Da
y)
I slept soundly until the alarm beeped softly at a quarter to six. I turned to wish Daniel a merry Christmas but his side of the bed was empty. It was chilly, so I pulled on a jumper and tiptoed out to the landing. I could hear noises from the bathroom, and assumed that must be where Daniel was. I opened the airing cupboard and took a moment to admire the beautiful Tracy Island once more. I tried the paint with the tips of my fingers, and it was bone dry. I decided it was time to wrap it. Checking Rosencrantz’s door was shut I very gently lifted it out of the airing cupboard, then turned carefully holding it in both hands. I heard the bathroom door open and the sound of Daniel clunking across the carpet.
Seconds later the airing cupboard door was shoved closed against my back. I was knocked into the shelves inside and Tracy Island crumpled as it was crushed between the shelves and the front of my jumper. I squealed in shock. Daniel pulled the airing cupboard door open and the crushed pieces of Tracy Island fell to the carpet. A big chunk was caught in the fibres of my jumper. We both froze.
“You idiot!” I hissed.
“Oh no! Coco! I, I… The door was open!” said Daniel.
“So you closed it without checking?”
“I didn’t think,” he said.
“You never bloody do. Your mother was right about that ashtray!”
“Ashtray?” echoed Daniel.
I looked down at the wreckage of Tracy Island and burst into tears. Ethel came out onto the landing rubbing her eyes. Her face fell.
“Your son shut the door on me!”
“What did you do that for, yer bloody idiot!” said Ethel, giving him a slap round the head.
“I’ve got a broken leg!”
“I’m tempted to break the other one, you prat!” said Ethel.
Then Meryl came out of the spare room.
“What’s going on? It’s six o’clock on Christmas morning, I don’t want to hear toilet language!” She saw the Tracy Island wreckage. “You bloody idiot, Daniel!” she shrieked.
Tony and then Marika joined us. We were paralysed, not knowing what to do.
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