by Carmen Reid
'Marzipan, chocolates, expensive wine, gin and tonics ... fillet steaks ...'
Eve laughed: 'No, none of that, just perfume and my old face creams. The ones that cost £50 a jar. I mean it just seems crazy now!'
'I'll get you one for Christmas,' Janie chipped in.
'No, no ... It would feel all wrong. But it's funny, there are some things I still have to buy the expensive version of, like chocolate bars and washing powder. And I hate cheap shoes, so I have to wear these—' she pointed to her trainers. 'But I feel like I was the most spoiled little brat ever and now I'm coming back to reality. The boys, too. We'll all be the better for it.'
Janie thought of the price tag on the engagement ring she and David had already chosen and felt hideously guilty.
'What do you want for Christmas?' she asked Eve.
'New hair!' Eve joked, flicking at her overgrown, under-highlighted locks.
'OK. Well there's something I can sort out,' Janie insisted, 'Seriously.'
* * *
And that was how Eve had met Harry the hair.
Studying on her miniature budget, only too aware that Christmas was just around the corner, she had no idea how she was going to ensure that it wasn't one more big disappointment for her children.
The year before, Christmas Day had been the most incredible, over the top extravaganza. Dennis had gone overboard, buying the boys electric cars they could ride in, remote control trucks, a city of Lego, football strips, boots, signed footballs. Even at the time, in the depths of her affluent Surrey lifestyle, Eve had thought they were being spoiled. She had opened a small gold foil wrapped parcel to find her diamond-studded Cartier watch inside. Ha, things change. She couldn't help glancing at the black plastic £5.99 job on her wrist now. She'd even considered that an extravagance.
Anyway, she had no idea what to do this year. Especially as Tom at least still believed in Santa Claus and how would he cope with the fact that Santa's budget had dramatically shrunk?
She was saving very hard to get them some nice little things. That meant endless variations on beans and lentils for supper and lunch, homemade porridge for breakfast. Absolutely no money spent on anything unnecessary. But she was going to use just a little of Janie's generous 'hair' money to treat herself to a simple Christmas haircut. Her locks had been untouched since the Dennis bankruptcy crisis hit the fan and they looked awful. Her dark mousy-brown roots had now grown down past her ears and the remaining eight inches of expensive Surrey highlights were overgrown, split-ended and out of shape.
The plan was to have it cut into an above the shoulder bob and much as she detested the idea, she was going to have to dye it to natural. There was no way she could afford highlights now.
She'd made an appointment at the salon a few streets away because it was cheapish, but for Hackney, the interior looked surprisingly stylish.
Once she was inside, she'd been gowned up and led to a chair where she'd made the acquaintance of Harry, a solid, black-haired, East-End-Italian performer.
He'd flourished his comb, moved through her locks and given her his deadpan Michael Caine line: 'It's big hair but it's out of condition.' Followed by, 'Now darling, what are we going to do with it, because it's Christmas, every women needs to dazzle.'
So she'd explained the low-maintenance brown bob she'd decided on and he'd shaken his head sadly and said, 'Oh no, mamma mia, I think we need to bring back the blonde in you, dying to get out.'
In the course of explaining why she couldn't afford highlights because she was saving for Christmas presents for the boys and she didn't know how to stop Christmas being a disappointment for them this year . . . because their father had vanished and she couldn't afford anything like the nice things he'd given them ... oh boy, out it all tumbled and here she was sitting in a hairdresser's chair blubbing, but Harry, a lifelong comforter of sad women, handed her tissues and a cup of tea and told her, 'Now, now, my darling. It's Christmas time and you have to allow Harry to sort out your hair. And once we've done that, you'll feel much better and nothing will look so bad, I promise.'
So he'd cut her a snappy little shoulder-length bob and told her to come back on Thursday evening, training night, when he would do her highlights gratis while his two trainees watched.
'But I can't come in the evening, I haven't got anyone to look after the boys,' she'd protested, finding it hard to accept this kindness from a stranger.
'Bring the boys,' he'd said, waving his arms expansively round the salon. 'We have videos, we have swivelling chairs, bowls of sweets. They'll be fine.'
That was how she stayed blond while she studied. Harry, then the trainees, coloured her hair once every three or four months on training night. And when she got her job, she of course carried on at Harry's paying him as much as he would accept – always well below the list price.
But that wasn't the reason Harry had become a close friend. Harry was part of her closest circle because of what he had done for her and the boys that first Christmas. While he dabbed bleach carefully onto strands of her hair and watched her two sons climb over the salon chairs and munch all the sweets in his customer dish, he had told Eve that maybe what they needed at Christmas was not big toys but a little bit of magic.
'My mother was half Italian,' he told her, crossing himself, 'and we all used to go out to midnight mass on Christmas Eve and when we came back the house would be transformed. The tree would be up, the presents would be out – fresh tangerines, panettone, tiny chocolates, little wooden toys, balloons – the candles and little lights would be lit. It was magical. This was what our Santa Claus did, not this sinister coming down the chimney, leaving things from the Argos catalogue that goes on now. I still don't know how my mother did this, but my guess is she had everything wrapped and ready in a cupboard and while we were out, a good friend came in and laid it out.
'Now for the two fine boys you have, I would be prepared to be that good friend, Eve. It would make me very happy.'
It was a wonderful idea. And she couldn't think of a reason not to accept it. Harry was in his fifties, not married but with family, great-nieces and nephews he didn't see nearly as often as he would have liked to. Why shouldn't she let him be kind? Accept the hand of friendship being held out to her now.
'Well, I'm not sleeping with you and there's nothing in my flat worth stealing . . . Does the offer still stand?'
So on Christmas Eve Harry was entrusted with a key and after the tiny tree, lights, carefully chosen presents and treats had all been laid out under the bed and in the kitchen cupboards as arranged, Eve took her sons to the 11p.m. service which the school's church was holding.
Eve, not a churchgoer by inclination, was nevertheless quite taken with this church. It was run by a youngish trendy vicar type who was doing the best he could to maintain some interest in religion in the primary school pupils. The Christmas Eve service promised 'carols, old and new' plus mince pies and cocoa or mulled wine afterwards. The church was romantically dimmed and candlelit for the evening.
The boys, wound up way beyond tiredness with excitement, sang everything loudly, even the carols they didn't really know, and listened to the manger story and the short sermon without too much fidgeting.
Still, a quick glance round the congregation and Eve saw they were the scruffiest there. The pews were packed with respectable black families whose scrubbed and polished children sat in absolute stillness.
After the service, the boys had three mince pies each. They were amazed to find it was already after midnight and people were hugging them and kissing them and wishing them Happy Christmas.
'It's Christmas already, Mummy!' Tom had said with glee as they walked out of the church, his hand in hers.
'I know,' she'd smiled back.
'Does that mean Santa Claus will have come?' he asked.
'Santa Claus doesn't exist,' Denny had told him in a voice laden with gloom. 'It's just your mum and dad putting stuff there and there isn't going to be much this year, is there?'
Tom had looked up at Eve for reassurance.
'I don't know about Santa Claus,' Eve had said then, knowing she could hardly go back on the explanation she'd given Denny last year that it was a lovely story, based on a kind man who lived a long time ago, that you told little children. 'But sometimes, really magical things happen at Christmas,' Eve had said to them both. 'And I can't think of three people needing a bit more magic right now than us.'
'Shall I wish on a star, Mummy?' Tom had asked. But when they looked up it was a grey, overcast night and the sky mainly looked orange as it reflected back the streetlamps. No star could be seen.
'There's one,' Tom had said, pointing.
'No. It's just an aeroplane, you div.'
Eve let it pass. Denny was upset and preparing himself for a big let-down. He was already expecting a poor show of presents and no word from his dad. He was so down and so gloomy, she began to worry during the walk back to the house that he was going to see her stunt for what it was – a way of dressing up the little money she'd been able to spend on them – and sink into deeper gloom.
She'd unlocked the front door and they had climbed the stairs to their flat's door on the first floor. On it there was a big green wreath tied with a red bow, which hadn't been there when they left.
'What's that?' she'd said, surprised herself. This was one of Harry's personal touches. The keys turned in the three locks and she pushed the door open.
The sitting room was lit with the tiny white fairy lights on the knee-high tree and by rows of flickering tea lights and candles on the window shelves.
'What's happened?' Denny had walked into the room and she felt happy relief to see the amazement on his face. Seven was obviously still too young for real cynicism to set in.
'Santa's been!' Tom rushed in now from behind her legs where he had been nervously watching.
'Oh my goodness,' Eve said, feeling almost as overwhelmed as the boys, because the room looked so beautiful, much more magical than she had expected. The little flames on the windowsills were reflected in the glass and it looked as if hundreds of lights and candles were burning in the room.
'There's a tree as well,' Denny said. 'I didn't know he brought trees!'
'Maybe just for us,' Eve answered. 'Maybe he heard how I didn't want one and he thought, "That's just ridiculous!"' The boys laughed.
'But how did he? We don't even have a chimney ...' Denny's musings were interrupted by Tom's more pragmatic question.
'Are these our presents?' he wondered, peering down at the gold and silver wrapped packages. 'And look – sweeties,' he added, seeing the dishes of Maltesers, Quality Street and Smarties which had been set out beside the parcels.
Eve knelt down now and looked at the gift tags she had carefully printed out so that her handwriting would be disguised.
'This is for Denny, this is Denny's, this is for Tom . ..' She divided the spoils until both boys had a little mound of parcels, small and medium-sized, nothing big.
"These three are for me!' She was really surprised now, because she had wrapped up some cheap pants and hair slides for herself, so the boys wouldn't be suspicious, but the other two parcels in shiny red paper were new.
She put them down so she could watch the boys' faces as they unwrapped their goodies.
A wooden box filled with 400 small, intricate building blocks for Denny. He seemed genuinely pleased. Then there were playing cards, yoyos, bangers, indoor sparklers, water balloons, a torch. He seemed to like everything.
For Tom, there were little fire trucks, trains, Jeeps, a wind-up crocodile, toy ducks, a fireman's hat and a spider which jumped when you squeezed its pump. He was just bubbling over with delight, his fingers probing into the crevices and feeling all the surfaces as he made the new things his own.
'Can we eat the sweets as well?' he asked, little face turned up to her with his best pleading, melt-in-the-mouth expression.
'Of course . . . well, a few. We want to save some for Christmas Day!'
They both scooped up as many as they could manage before she put the bowls out of reach on the bookcase.
'What about yours, Mummy?' Denny asked.
'Oh yes, I almost forgot.'
She opened the heavier parcel and out slid two fat bottles, very expensive shampoo and conditioner and, she guiltily thought now, she hadn't even given Harry so much as a bottle of wine to thank him.
The next parcel opened to reveal a sticky block of Christmas cake decorated with a layer of walnut halves and cherries.
'Wow,' Denny said. 'Can we have a piece?'
'Yeah, let's cut a slab and make cocoa and have a midnight feast.' For a moment, Eve was about to suggest opening the parcels hidden under her bed, which she was planning to claim were from 'her' in the morning. But no, she wanted them to have something else to open when they woke up when the little presents, which seemed so glamorous and magical tonight, might have lost their shine.
She got them into their pyjamas while the milk heated, then all three of them tucked up into her bed.
When the cocoa and cake were finished and Tom was already glazed-eyed and almost asleep, Denny cuddled in beside her and said in a teary whisper, 'I wanted to send Daddy a Christmas card, because I want him to know I still love him.'
'Oh, Denny.' She'd hugged him in hard beside her. 'I'm sure Daddy knows that.' How could he not know he'd broken their hearts? she thought with a surge of fury.
'But we don't know his address, do we? So I couldn't send him a card. But he might think it's because I don't love him.'
Just because her children had stopped asking about things or speaking about them, did not by a million miles mean that they had stopped thinking about them.
'Denny, Daddy knows where Grandpa lives,' she told him. 'He could write to us any time or phone Grandpa any time to get our address or give us his. For some reason that I don't understand, he has gone off on his own to another country. Maybe he'll write or come back one day soon, or maybe he won't. I just don't know. All the three of us can do is love each other and get on with our new life now and try and be happy. I'm never going to leave you and Tom, never, ever, ever in a million years.' She squeezed him in her arms and kissed the top of his head, which smelled of his own peculiar sweet sweat and self.
'But what if you die, Mummy? Who will look after us then?'
'Oh Denny.' She smiled at him and tried to make light of this gloom and doom. Although, it was a terrifying thought which occasionally woke her in the middle of the night.
'I'm not going to die for a very, very long time, I hope. But if I got sick and couldn't look after you for a while there would be Grandpa and Aunty Janie and Jenjen, lots of people who could help out. Please, sweetheart,' she brushed the hair back from his pale forehead – 'it's Christmas, it's a happy time. Try not to worry about it too much. I'm right here beside you.'
She rested his head back against the pillow and stroked his soft cheek and then his back until his eyelids drooped and he fell asleep.
Then she sat up and moved gently out of the bed. There just wasn't room for all three of them on the sofa bed now, she would have to sleep in their room. She watched the boys for a while after she'd arranged them more comfortably close together, away from the edges.
God damn Dennis for making them so unhappy, her precious children. She would never, ever forgive him for that, for as long as she lived.
Another thought occurred to her as she found the sweet bowl and took a big scoop of chocolates for comfort. She never wanted to be rich again. She thought of Scarlett O'Hara in the potato field, vowing never to be poor, and felt the opposite. She never wanted to be rich ever again.
She and Dennis and their shallow friends really had known 'the price of everything and the value of nothing'. She and her children had once had more than they could ever appreciate and now they had little and appreciated everything, including each other and the kindness of their new friends.