The Great Christmas Breakup

by Fonteroy, Geraldine

  ‘Maybe it’s the cops. Might have been a complaint about the noise we’re making?’ I said.

  Hammertro told me to stay back, in case of blood sprays.

  A shoot out. With the police. Brilliant way to end a shitty day.

  ‘Yeah, right,’ I told him. ‘Wouldn’t want to destroy this vintage, Taiwanese-made cotton singlet dress, would I?’

  We held our breath as the sound of footsteps increased again.

  Stump, stump, stump.

  They were now on the corridor of our floor.

  I began to feel more than a little uncomfortable, until I smelled the familiar smell of cigarettes mixed with fake perfume made from illegal carcinogens.

  Surely not?

  Hammertro’s uncle put a hand to his nose. ‘They trying to gas us, son.’

  ‘Believe me,’ I said, ‘in a moment that will seem like a brilliant option.’

  On cue, Cecily 2 appeared, preceded by a stream of curse words that left Hammertro enthralled.

  ‘Here I fuckin’ am,’ she yelled, appearing on the landing, yanking down her micro mini.

  Cecily 2.

  A whole day and a half day early.

  Uncle Rabbit dropped his hammer and broke his toe at the shock of it all.

  And when Cecily 2 offered to kiss it better, he began clutching at his heart.

  I offered to call an ambulance, and resisted the temptation to ask if he could manage to finish the door before it arrived.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Sunday, November 26

  ‘The way to a man’s heart is physical; to a woman’s it is emotional.

  Luckily, these two are eminently compatible.’

  Jocelyn Priestly.

  WAS THE WOMAN ON crack? Carson couldn’t care less about the physical or the emotional. The last time we’d had sex, I caught him reading some work stuff he’d discarded on the bed next to us.

  Wasn’t watching telly or staring at the ceiling a woman’s prerogative?

  Anyway, Carson’s banishment to the sofa was short-lived thanks to the arrival of Cecily 2.

  It was two a.m. when he came crashing through the door. In the end, J had helped me finish securing the apartment. Having worked out that longer screws might force the damn thing into the doorframe and make it more stable, mother and son were proud of their joint achievement.

  ‘What is she doing here?’ Carson had whispered, seeing his sister snoring on the couch.

  ‘Enjoying a few days before her work begins. That’s how she put it.’

  Technically, she’d said: ‘Got two days to mooch and enjoy doing nothin’. Howie and Rufus are enough to make a woman wanna get sterilized and go live in a gondolier.’

  ‘Live in a gondolier?’ I’d asked.

  ‘Oops,’ she’d corrected. ‘The other way around, I guess.’

  Disgusting creature.

  It didn’t seem the time to reveal this to Carson, given that I wasn’t talking to him.

  ‘So where am I supposed to sleep now?’

  ‘Carson, we’ve got bigger problems than you and your slumber status. For example, what am I supposed to feed her? Hammertro kindly took her out so I didn’t need to worry tonight, but the relief is going to be short-lived.’

  Unless – and it was almost too exquisite to hope for – Hammertro got Cecily 2 involved in his nocturnal activities and they both ended up in a police cell for a week or so.

  ‘Well, what were you going to feed us?’

  ‘Home brand cornflakes without milk because we’d run out, sandwiches and tinned soup and day old bread from the supermarket.’

  ‘Oh.’

  The matriarch of the Teesons, the original Cecily, would surely hear about it if her only daughter was fed on such substandard fare.

  Never mind that she fed her own grandchildren sweets of undeterminable origin. What was good for Cecily wasn’t what she expected of others. In other words, her standards were high, except in relation to herself.

  ‘Maybe we can get takeaway? Or do a stir-fry? Get some icecream in and bake a pie.’

  Who did he think he was conversing with, Nigella flippin’ Lawson?

  ‘With what? I had to use the grocery money to pay for the new door.’

  Carson flinched. ‘You paid money for that? Next you’ll be telling me the nudie stickers were an optional extra.’

  The urge to go mental and tell him I was leaving was so tempting that I turned away to calm down. There was Jessie and J to think of.

  ‘So we’ve got no food, I’ve got nowhere to sleep and Mom is going to pester me about our treatment of Cecily2?’

  ‘You got it.’

  On the plus side, she’d been whisked off for a tour of Manhattan by Hammertro, whose eyes had locked onto her bare legs in the micro mini and failed to detach.

  ‘When will Cecily 2 wake up,’ J said, still in his day clothes. ‘My friends want to meet her on Skype.’

  ‘It’s two in the morning,’ I told him. ‘Go to bed.’

  ‘But there’s no school tomorrow,’ he protested. ‘And Cecily 2 is the type to stay up late, isn’t she?’

  I observed my son. He had the best combination of all the genes of my side and the only worthwhile ones the Teesons had to offer: blonde hair, curly like his dad’s and deep blue eyes. His olive skin was the same shade as mind, and to top it off, he had somehow inherited the blossoming body of a surfer (without ever having been near the ocean).

  ‘What type, exactly, is she?’

  Carson stepped in and surprised me. ‘Come on Scar, we all know about Cecily 2. You can’t blame a boy for wanting to impress his friends.’

  Impress? That wasn’t the word I’d have used, but I let it go.

  I was exhausted. So exhausted, in fact, that I let Carson sleep with me.

  And didn’t even complain when he snuck his left arm around my shoulders.

  - Cue one of very few cherished Carson memories:

  Carson knew about Dad. I’d told him when we’d begun to get serious, because it was a big deal for me – a husband cheating on his wife.

  ‘I’d never do that to you.’ This was said as we walked along the banks of the Hudson.

  Not the most idyllic of walks but it had become a ritual for us. Sunday afternoon, we’d scavenge whatever was cheap from the market stalls, carefully lay them out on the table of the miniscule studio flat we rented for an extortionate monthly sum, then set out, bundled up, for our trek.

  Snow, wind, sun, rain – no matter what nature threw at us we welcomed it, because of the feast we had waiting for us at home.

  ‘It’s probably the ketones that make doing this feel so good,’ Carson said.

  ‘The what?’

  ‘They’re released by your body when you’re hungry, or so I’ve read.. And they’re supposed to be really good for you.’

  Since Carson and I had started dating, the kilos had begun to creep on, but I figured the huge walk every Sunday was enough to keep the weight gain at bay.

  So we walked and talked about all sorts of things, including Dad.

  ‘Now that he is getting older, you might want to go and visit him?’ Carson said.

  ‘He’ll be okay. That woman is probably keeping him young.’

  Carson had considered my expression carefully. ‘You need to let it go, Scar, one way or another. Maybe confront him?’

  ‘How can I,’ I cried. ‘What would that do to Mum? What if he ran off with the bimbo and left her?’

  ‘If he hasn’t already, he won’t,’ Carson reasoned. ‘The alternative is to try and forget it. Pretend you don’t know.’

  ‘But I do,’ I said, irrationally. ‘That won’t work.’

  ‘Let’s agree to disagree then,’ he said, companionably. ‘Now, which are you going to have first, the pate with ciabatta, or those falafel thingies?’

  I heard Cecily 2 get up at around four a.m., but by morning she was back, thankfully alone and with all her clothing intact. I got up to check, because I didn’t want the kids
walking in on something that couldn’t be protected with a parental lock, like the TV channels on a laptop.

  ‘You up?’ she said, burping loudly. At least she wasn’t yelling.

  ‘You drunk?’ I responded.

  ‘Yep. What of it?’

  Sighing, I decided to go back to bed. Let Carson deal with his sister. When I got back in bed and his arm moved to reposition itself, I sloughed it off. He and his bloody family were really too much to bear.

  Dan Phillit had reduced my hours, so I purposely stayed in bed until nine. I heard the predicable rattle of cupboard doors as the kids searched for breakfast. Sitting up, I thought I’d make a dash for the shower before the J got in there. The hot water had been known to run out when school and work weren’t calling. In fact, I could do with a massage: my back ached a little from standing at that stupid counter at Flindes most of the previous afternoon and evening. That nasty Phillit, or pillock, as Carson called him, had rearranged my roster so that my shifts were the most inconvenient he was able to manage at short notice.

  If only I could find a job that didn’t make me want to pop my clogs.

  ‘Not con-flakes again,’ I heard Jessie moan.

  ‘Since when are they con-flakes?’ Carson said.

  ‘Since Mum started buying the ones that don’t have any corn in them. This is child abuse, you know.’

  ‘They’d probably have better food at an orphanage,’ Cecily 2 yelled.

  ‘Aunty Cecily, put something on!’

  Carson and Cecily could now be heard discussing something in less than hushed voices.

  Serve Carson right.

  Let him deal with his defenseless children catching sight of his half-naked sister – particularly as it seemed from my husband’s screams that it was the nasty part that was naked.

  Jessie and J came bounding in. ‘Dad is just having a conversation with her, and she’s, like, nude,’ J informed me.

  I got up, angry once more. Could the bloody man at least tell his skanky sister to put something on? Was it so difficult to wear knickers when you were in someone’s house?

  ‘That image is going to be seared into my brain forever, Mum,’ Jessie told me, giving me a hug.

  ‘I know baby,’ I said, feeling completely and utterly wretched.

  The moment I heard Cecily 2 lurching about on the sofa, I should have jumped up and managed the situation.

  Pulling my dressing gown around me, I stepped into the kitchen, which was located right off it, and surveyed the mess.

  It had been clean when I’d left it, less than eight hours previously. Now, packets of everything from sugar to pasta were open, the fridge was open and blasting cold air into the already freezing flat, and there was something that looked like maple syrup edging its way down the pantry cupboard door.

  ‘What is going on in here?’

  Cecily 2 shrugged.

  I had to look away – who wore a nightie that short?

  ‘Just experimenting with what you’ve got. Don’t worry, I’ll pile everything in the dishwasher when I’m done.’

  ‘We don’t have a dishwasher,’ I said, trying to keep my temper. ‘Unless you count me.’

  ‘I’ll leave it to you then, if you insist, sista.’

  I glared at Carson, the familiar rage building, but all he said was that Cecily 2 should get changed so that he could show her around the neighborhood.

  He emphasized the word ‘changed’.

  ‘Hope you’ve got plenty of hot water,’ Cecily 2 chirped, sashaying her sinewy, naked backside out of the room. ‘I like to take long, long showers.’

  Bitch.

  *

  Carson did the sightseeing and I managed to come up with chicken a la onions and a couple of carrots for supper. I knew that Dan Phillit did the day’s markdowns at exactly 6 p.m., so I sent J down with my discount card to pick up some milk, bread and a cream cake for dessert at six on the dot.

  Mauve, like all girls under twenty, had a thing for J, so she didn’t quibble about the rule that I had to be present for the discount to be applied. Even at a hefty discount, we couldn’t really afford the extra bits and pieces, but I figured that pretty soon I would throttle Cecily 2 and end up in prison, so this might well be one of our last suppers together.

  The phone rang just as I was putting finishing touches of dried oregano (the only herb I had in the Lazy Susan) onto the chicken legs.

  It was seven, so I hoped Carson was on his way home and not calling about some holdup, or worse, that he was going to work and leaving me to deal with his sister on my own.

  If he did that to me he’d wish he was in a holdup!

  ‘Muuuuum,’ called Jessie. ‘It’s for you.’

  ‘It better not be your father,’ I said, taking the phone under my chin as I tried to encourage some juices from the elderly chicken to make a gravy.

  ‘Scarlet? Is that Scarlet?’

  Not Carson.

  ‘Look, I told you before, I don’t need any quotes for windows or car insurances, nor do I wish to become involved in any pyramid selling schemes.’

  ‘Do people actually try to sell you those over the phone?’

  This was a new tactic.

  ‘You’d know.’

  A brief chortle. ‘Would I?’

  Wait a minute? The voice sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place it.

  ‘Who is this?’

  ‘I’m offended that you don’t know.’

  Still jolly.

  ‘Hmm? Tom Cruise?’ I wished.

  ‘Oh far better looking than him.’ I could hear the smile in his voice. Where did I know him from?

  ‘Brad Pitt.’

  ‘Slightly poorer.’

  ‘George Clooney.’

  ‘Okay, a lot poorer.’

  ‘Then I have no idea.’

  ‘Here’s a clue, Lolly gave me your number.’

  My heart stopped. By the time it restarted I was taking huge, heaving breaths.

  It couldn’t be? Even though there was no way the caller could see me, I self-consciously pulled at my shift dress and rubbed at some chicken fat that had splattered on my black tights.

  ‘No. Really? The mayor?’ A feeble joke, but it bought me time to regain normal breathing.

  ‘Hah hah hah. It’s Robert Simpson. Don’t you remember me? Lolly said she’d mentioned that we’d bumped into each other.’

  Robert Simpson was actually on the phone to me right now!

  ‘Right . . . Robert. How are you?’

  I simply couldn’t believe I was talking to the Robert Simpson – after all these years.

  The man who might have been the one – if it wasn’t for Carson.

  Perhaps Robert should have been the one?

  No hope of a re-do, said the evil voice inside my head, thanks to your huge backside.

  I told the voice to shut up; I wasn’t planning on an affair, was I?

  Even if Carson was the hugest form of sodding prat the world had to offer.

  Suddenly, a noise from outside distracted me. I moved over to the window at the sound of a loud guffaw, to see Cecily 2 and Carson alighting from a cab. Where had they got the money for that?

  ‘Look, Robert, I am really sorry, but I’m kind of in the middle of something.’

  ‘Sure, of course, I shouldn’t have called right at dinner time.’

  Or at all.

  ‘Why did you call?’

  He cleared his throat. ‘Shop windows, actually. Lolly’s, specifically.’

  ‘Oh.’ I got it. He’d called because he liked the sheep or something. Probably wanted to score some for Christmas presents. Lucinda was going nuts with people asking if they could buy the animals as gifts.

  Lolly had been insane to think Robert was still interested in me.

  And wait until he gets a load of those thighs, the evil voice added.

  Shut up!

  ‘Scarlet, I work with a number of clients who have successful retail enterprises. Lolly mentioned that you were doing window
dressing professionally now, and from what I can see, you are terrific at it.’

  ‘I, um, well . . .’

  Nice one, Scarlet. Completely professional.

  Thankfully, Robert didn’t seem to notice I was slightly bonkers. ‘Care to expand your client base? I can think of one particular client who is in desperate need of your services.’

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

  In need of my services?

  ‘Are you there?’ The voice had dropped a tone – he didn’t sound so confident now.

  ‘Sorry, yes.’

  ‘Lolly says you’re experienced in all types of retail environments.’

  What! I didn’t even know what that meant. ‘Lolly is certainly vocal when it comes to boasting about the talents of her friends.’

  I didn’t want to lie, but I didn’t want to lose the opportunity for work either, if that’s what it was.

  Especially if I had to make an emergency dash back to the UK to see Dad.

  ‘Do you have a portfolio of your work?’

  What could I say? I had a portfolio of fashion work – for which I got a C before I dropped out to have J.

  ‘I don’t know where it is at present, to be honest. With so much work on at the moment, I just go from one job straight onto the next.’

  ‘Perhaps I’d know some of the names?’

  ‘Um, er . . .’

  Now what?

  To add to the tension, the noises in the hallway were getting louder; time was running out.

  Delaying tactics were in order. If I spoke with him in person, it might be easier to steer the conversation towards new jobs instead of old.

  I’d never thought of window dressing as a career before, but it had to be admitted that the afternoon at Lolly’s had been more satisfying than anything I had ever done, with the exception of having the kids, of course.

  Said a lot for Carson, didn’t it?

  The footsteps were almost upon me.

  ‘Robert, I would love to help, but this really isn’t a good time.’

  ‘Perhaps we could meet up tomorrow afternoon? I can’t do the morning as I’ll be upstate but this client is eager to get moving on the project so could we do it tomorrow afternoon? How about we meet at LollyBliss? Lolly tells me they do a mean mocha at a nearby café. My treat, naturally.’