by Fiona Harper
They just had two more shops to visit and then they’d be finished. According to Polly, Christmas dinner would be a total disaster if they didn’t get the right kind of Christmas crackers, and she knew exactly which ones Juliet had had her eye on. Ones with nice presents inside.
‘This one! This one!’ Polly said, jumping up and down and attempting to drag Gemma into one of the more upmarket gift shops. ‘Mummy liked the silver ones with the red holly berries on them and she said I could keep the berries afterwards, if I wanted to.’
Gemma was tempted to ask what use Polly could have for a couple of dozen plastic holly berries, but she was afraid to ask. She realised there were a lot of things she was afraid to ask Polly.
She didn’t see what all the fuss was about herself. Half the fun of cheap supermarket crackers was in the awful jokes and making fun of the tacky plastic prizes. Who needed a luxury cracker hat, for goodness’ sake? Everyone was still going to rip them off after five minutes, no matter how nice the paper was. But she supposed she’d promised Juliet that she’d try and do Christmas her way, and that irritating man from next door must be rubbing off on her with all his ‘I made a promise’ stuff, because she couldn’t quite bring herself to say ‘stuff it’ to the whole thing and wing it.
One thing that gave a small sense of satisfaction was that she hadn’t resorted to carrying Juliet’s notebook around with her like a talisman. Apart from a quick peek to check what was needed for Christmas dinner, she hadn’t looked at it at all. Thankfully, Juliet had been very organised about the food. There was a row of thick black ticks down the page, indicating that all the shopping had been done already. The only thing left to get was cranberry sauce.
Apart from that, Gemma didn’t think she needed the notebook. The kids were pretty good at telling her what they were up to, and she’d managed to get all the last-minute things Juliet had rattled off to her before she’d shoved her sister out the door to the airport. She had everything under control.
The shops weren’t shutting for another hour, so they wandered up to the cheaper end of the town and Gemma decided to go to the Pound Shop after seeing a display in the window. Not only did she buy the tackiest box of crackers she could find—who says they couldn’t have both? —but she splashed out on some colourful fairy lights for the kids’ bedrooms. All those tasteful white lights at Juliet’s house were doing her head in.
She let her nieces and nephews choose what they wanted. Jake had a string of snowmen, Josh had lights in the shape of Rudolph noses. Polly opted for snowflakes, adamant she was sticking to her mother’s colour scheme. Gemma shrugged and thought, What the heck? At least they were a pretty shape. Violet chose multicoloured stars. It would be good for the kids to be able to show a little bit of their own personality in their bedrooms, to develop their own Christmas style.
As they were leaving the shop Polly piped up, ‘What time is our nativity rehearsal?’
Gemma stopped dead. The twins were taken by surprise and didn’t stop moving as quickly as she did, thereby yanking her shoulders out of her sockets, and Violet, who’d been head down and texting, bumped into the back of her.
‘What nativity rehearsal?’
Gemma knew all about the nativity play at church. Polly and the boys hadn’t stopped talking about it, but this was the first time she’d heard anything about a rehearsal! Much to Gemma’s astonishment, Polly reached into the handbag she’d insisted bringing with her and pulled out her own Christmas notebook. She flicked past the opening pages and prodded an entry with a finger.
‘Ah! Here it is... “Nativity rehearsal: four thirty p.m.”.
Gemma fumbled for her phone, letting go of Jake’s hand as she did so, and giving him a firm look to let him know that if he even thought about running off, he’d be reindeer food, and checked the time on its display. Three forty-five already!
She grabbed Jake’s hand again did a one-eighty and headed off back towards the car park. The cranberry sauce would have to wait. ‘We won’t be too late if we leave now,’ she told the children as she hurried them along. ‘We’ll go straight there.’
‘But we haven’t got our things!’ Polly said in a shrill voice. ‘And it’s a dress rehearsal. We have to have our costumes!’
Gemma tried to explain that the Sunday School leader would probably prefer to have the three of them there without their costumes than not have them there at all, but Polly really didn’t want to listen. She just got more and more upset until she went pink in the face and burst into tears.
While she’d been hurrying the children along, Gemma had concocted a plan to have a quiet gingerbread latte in the coffee shop next door to the church while they rehearsed, but she couldn’t quite stand the sight of Polly’s pink and crumpled face.
‘Okay, okay...’ she said soothingly. ‘How about this: I’ll drop you off at the rehearsal then race home, get the costumes and bring them back? You should have them for the second half, at the very least.’
Polly nodded tearfully as she climbed into the back seat of the car, but Gemma could tell that her niece found this idea only slightly less devastating than the first option. She was going to have to drive really fast to get back to the church on time, but what other option did she have?
Once she’d dropped the kids off at the church, she did a quick U-turn in the middle of the road, ignoring the beeping horns, and raced off in the direction of Juliet’s house. Thankfully, the costumes were just where Polly had said they would be—on the back of the utility-room door—but as Gemma ran back through the kitchen she spotted Juliet’s notebook sitting innocently on the counter. She was starting to hate its prissy flowery cover, its neat, small handwriting.
If you’d paid attention to me, it seemed to say, you’d have avoided all that hassle this afternoon. If you’d looked at my lists and colour-coded diagrams, you wouldn’t have made such a mess of things.
It was starting to sound a lot like its author.
Gemma glowered at it as she walked past. ‘You’re nothing special,’ she said out loud. ‘There was a minor hiccup, but it all got sorted out in the end.’
Think what you like, the book replied. But we both know it’s just going to snowball from now on in. If you don’t follow me to the letter, Christmas will be a disaster, and Juliet will never, ever trust you with anything again.
It was at that point that Gemma picked up the book, threw it in the bread bin, clamping the lid firmly on top, and dashed out of the house, slamming the door behind her.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
WHEN THE SMALLER ONES were finally in bed Gemma trudged downstairs, feeling like a balloon that had no air left in it. She found Violet in the living room, flicking through the channels with the sound turned off. Gemma half sat, half dropped onto the other end of Juliet’s big squashy sofa.
‘Nothing good on?’ she asked. ‘We could always watch a DVD.’
Violet just scowled harder. ‘Don’t really care.’
Gemma sat and watched her niece jab at the button on the remote. She was pretty sure Violet wasn’t paying attention to the channel guide at the bottom of the screen. When they’d gone through the movie channels and into the sports, she decided enough was enough. She knew that look. She’d worn it often enough herself.
‘Boy trouble, huh?’
Violet’s whole body sagged and she pouted. Gemma relaxed back into her corner of the sofa, pulling her legs up underneath herself. ‘You can talk to me about it, if you like—strictly confidential. There’s not much I don’t know about bad dating situations.’ Someone might as well learn from her mistakes, because she never seemed to.
Violet turned her attention back to the TV, but put the remote down. On the screen, an ice hockey match played out in silence.
‘There’s a boy I like...’
Gemma nodded. Yep. That was pretty much where the trouble started.
‘Does he like you back?’
Violet’s mouth pulled down in one corner and she shrugged. ‘I thought so... I thought he was on the verge of asking me out, but then this other girl in my year’—she made a face that left Gemma in no doubt as to what sort of girl Violet thought she was—‘she started flirting with him.’
‘And he flirted back? You think he likes her?’
Another shrug. ‘I didn’t see him flirting, just talking to her, and we’re still texting each other, it’s just...’ Violet wrenched her eyes away from the screen, where a hockey player was getting crunched up against the perspex shield that surrounded the rink. ‘My friend Abby is having a party the day after tomorrow, and he’s going and she’s going...’
Gemma made a knowing face. ‘You think if she pushes, something might happen between them?’
Violet nodded.
‘Well, you’ll just have to make sure you keep him monopolised for the evening.’
Her niece let out a heartfelt sigh.
‘You’re not invited?’
Violet perked up. ‘Oh, I’m invited—and I asked Mum if I could go, but she didn’t get around to giving me an answer before she left. She said we’d “talk about it later”.’
Uh-oh. In Juliet-speak, that meant: I’ll say no later, but keep you hanging on for a bit, just because I don’t want to be seen to be mean right from the outset.
‘Why didn’t she want you to go?’
Violet pulled her legs up onto the sofa and sat cross-legged, almost mirroring her aunt’s pose. ‘It’s this whole Christmas Eve thing... It’s supposed to be a family games night, but it’s always a disaster. The boys are too young, and get bored if we choose anything too interesting, and Polly has a meltdown if she doesn’t win, and I...well, I’d just rather do something less sad.’
Ah, family games night. That was a legacy from their parents. Juliet had always loved setting up all the board games, being banker at Monopoly. It had been fun. Well, the start of the evening had been fun. Juliet had always got more and more tense as the evenings had worn on.
When she was a bit older, Gemma had realised this was because every now and then their father would employ a sophisticated method of signalling to suggest that maybe Juliet didn’t always collect rent from Gemma when she landed on her. She’d been totally oblivious to the fact until she’d overheard an argument in the hallway one year and Juliet had stomped off to bed, saying it wasn’t fair and Gemma always got everything easy because she was the youngest. It had been hard to enjoy their Christmas Eve sessions after that. Gemma had always been wondering if she was really having the run of luck she thought she was having, or whether everyone was letting her do well because they didn’t think she was capable of winning on her own. That tended to tarnish any victories a little.
She could understand why Violet wasn’t keen on the idea now, especially with such a big age gap between her and the twins. She thought about what her niece had said for a moment. ‘I could still play games with the little ones if they wanted, but maybe we can talk about you going to this party...with conditions,’ she added quickly.
Violet almost bounced off the sofa. ‘Really?’
‘We’ll talk about it,’ Gemma said, and when she saw Violet’s smile start to slide, she said, ‘and I mean a proper discussion. Okay?’
Violet grinned and nodded. ‘Thank you, Auntie Gemma! This is going to be the best Christmas ever!’
Gemma grinned back. She was quite pleased about the best Christmas ever comment. Who said she couldn’t ‘do’ Christmas? Yes, things were a little busy, but she had everything under control, no matter what that fussy little notebook tried to tell her. And maybe doing a Juliet Christmas with a little bit of a Gemma spice thrown into the mix wasn’t so bad after all.
Violet picked up the remote and took the television off mute. ‘How about a film?’
Gemma smiled. ‘You know me... I love films.’
‘Great,’ Violet said, pulling up the TV guide. ‘I saw that Before Dawn is on one of the film channels in about ten minutes. I love Tobias Thornton, don’t you? He is so yummy!’
Gemma wasn’t quite sure she was ready to hear that kind of thing from her teenage niece. It sounded as out of place as if Polly had said it. Also, she wasn’t sure she could take a couple of hours of watching that peacock of a man strut around the screen—not so soon after her last job.
‘How about Love Actually instead?’ she said. ‘I feel like something Christmassy, and there’s nothing much festive about a mutiny on a nuclear submarine.’
She looked at Violet, hoping she’d take the bait. It was either that or resist the urge to put a cushion over her head all evening.
‘Okay,’ Vi said eventually, ‘but I’m not watching the bit with the naked people. It’s gross.’
Gemma just smiled and handed Violet her cushion.
* * *
GEMMA RUSHED INTO THE day room of Greenacres nursing home and searched out the silvery head of her great-aunt. She found Sylvia sitting near the window, just as she’d been last time. Gemma plopped into the chair opposite her and gasped a quick, ‘Hi, Auntie Syl!’
‘You’re late,’ Sylvia said, frowning. ‘You usually come at two and it’s two thirty almost.’
Gemma took a moment to catch her breath. ‘Sorry,’ she said, and tried to explain about the kids’ activities. The way her day had panned out, her aunt was lucky she’d made it here at all. First, there’d been the nativity at Juliet’s church, and all the mingling and coffee-drinking after the service, while trying to drag the kids away, and then the boys had a Boys’ Brigade Christmas party from one to three, while Polly had a play date a short drive away from one thirty to three thirty, which had left Gemma a window of about an hour and a quarter to speed to the nursing home and squeeze in a visit with Aunt Sylvia.
She wasn’t sure how much of her explanation went in, but her aunt nodded and stopped scowling at her, so she must have caught some of it.
‘Actually, it’s Juliet who usually comes to visit you on a Sunday.’
Sylvia’s brow wrinkled, increasing the line count there by at least a thousand.
‘My sister,’ Gemma explained. Normally, she’d have been tempted to make a joke, say something like, You know, the one with the slightly constipated expression..., but she didn’t. Somehow, it just wasn’t that funny any more.
She pulled a little bottle of lily of the valley hand cream out of her bag. ‘Here... This is from her.’
While leafing through Juliet’s book the previous evening, keeping half an eye on Colin Firth as he chatted up the Portuguese girl, Gemma had found a little list at the back of Juliet’s notebook. ‘Things to take Aunt Sylvia.’ It seemed that Juliet always brought a little present with her on a Sunday—some nice biscuits, or some moisturiser or some flowers—little things that their aunt would like, even though she’d probably forget where they’d come from or who’d given them to her. Gemma had seen the hand cream sitting on the kitchen counter and had guessed it might be the one on Juliet’s list.
‘Oh, you are a good girl!’ Sylvia said warmly, as she accepted the bottle. ‘It’s my favourite. How did you know?’
‘It’s from Juliet,’ Gemma said again, not quite sure if she was sad or angry about repeating herself, although she wasn’t angry at Sylvia, only the disease that was nibbling little pieces of her away.
It was hard work talking to her aunt, Gemma discovered. Sometimes Sylvia was completely lucid and could talk about a subject for five or ten minutes without tripping up at all, but just as Gemma would get into the swing of things and forget that there was anything wrong, the conversation would either take an unexpected turn or just become nonsensical. It required a few agile mental acrobatics to keep up sometimes.
But when they’d visited a couple of weeks ago, Juliet had seemed patient and understanding,
even when Sylvia had given Gemma the family heirloom that she now realised had always been earmarked for her.
Gemma had always thought that Juliet had sat on high, judging her, but now another view of their relationship was slowly creeping up on her. Juliet was generous with her time, her energy, her support, but she set very high standards for herself, and punished herself if she failed to meet them. While her notebook might look pretty and benign, all that order, the empty boxes demanding to be ticked, the plans waiting to be executed... It could all seem a little overwhelming and threatening. Juliet might judge Gemma, but she judged herself twice as hard.
‘You’ve drifted off,’ Sylvia said, tapping Gemma’s knee with a bony finger. ‘I thought that was supposed to be my job.’
Gemma jerked back into reality and found her aunt smiling at her, a little twinkle in her eye. This was the Aunt Sylvia she remembered, quick-minded and witty, and she was going to make the most of it while she put in an appearance. ‘How about a game of rummy?’ she asked, and Sylvia’s smile grew wider.
‘I’ll go and get some cards,’ Gemma said, and went to hunt for a pack in the stack of board games on a shelf on the other side of the room. When she returned, Sylvia delved into her handbag.
‘I’ve just remembered,’ she said cheerfully, ‘that I’ve got something for you in here.’
Gemma smiled. ‘It’s not another ring, is it?’
Sylvia shook her head then produced something small and furry-looking with a flourish. ‘No. It’s a sweetie!’
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
JULIET CHECKED HER WATCH. She’d bought a cheapish digital one she could wear in the water and was using the timer to calculate her sunbathing sessions. She seemed to have been lying on this sunlounger for an age, but the beeper had yet to go off.