The Great Christmas Breakup

by Fonteroy, Geraldine

‘It’s hopeless.’

  Now hopeless I knew about, but Lolly didn’t display any of the usual characteristics required for hopelessness.

  ‘Why? You’re gorgeous. Just take your pick. I can give you Carson’s old alumni yearbooks. Literally, take your pick. Most of those nerds don’t leave the lab or hospital or wherever they hang out. They’re ripe for the picking.’

  She sat back and stared at me.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I can’t believe you’ve never noticed.’

  Was she accusing me of something? I had a sore mouth; three days to complete a job I couldn’t, in all probability, do with any degree of competency; and now my best friend seemed about to dump me.

  ‘Look, Lolly, I know I haven’t been there for you–‘

  ‘What are you talking about,’ she exclaimed. ‘For once, Scar, this is about me, not you. You see, I am in love.’

  Ignoring the dig at my selfish behavior, I clapped my hands together like a toddler. ‘Brilliant, that’s great news! Who is he?’

  Misery clouded her gorgeous face again.

  ‘That’s the problem. It’s not a he, it’s a she.

  A she?

  ‘A she who is not interested in other shes.’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Tuesday, November 28

  ‘Life is fun. Get naked.’

  Jocelyn Priestly

  ‘HOW DID THAT WRETCHED Jocelyn Priestly even get her name on a calendar, with advice like that?’

  I was reading that day’s insightful sentence aloud at breakfast, anger at the woman’s ignorance building.

  ‘Is she the one who shows her snatch?’ asked Cecily 2.

  I sighed. I didn’t know how much more of Cecily 2’s foul language or casual attitude to nakedness and sex I could take.

  Last night she’d come home at twelve in the S&M outfit she wore for work. Poor Mrs Carlisle had seen her battling with the recalcitrant front door of the building and thought she was some sort of criminal (the old lady had actually mentioned the joker in Batman, which was, admittedly, hilarious), and called the cops.

  They’d almost arrested Cecily 2 for being lewd on the street, until she threatened to snog one of them in return for her freedom.

  ‘That won’t be necessary,’ said Officer One.

  ‘Just don’t do it again,’ the second had instructed hurriedly, as they backed away.

  ‘Rude,’ Cecily 2 had remarked.

  ‘She’d know,’ Carson had whispered in my ear.

  Burning toast brought me back to the present.

  ‘Oh, sodding heck, the toast,’ I cried. They were the last two slices.

  ‘These are growing on me,’ Cecily 2 remarked to J, who had stumbled into the room still in his pajamas.

  As she was still wearing her ‘costume’ I figured she must have slept in it. I wondered how she could breathe in the thing, let alone sleep.

  There was the faint whiff of BO in the air as Cecily poured cereal into her bowl with wild abandon.

  ‘What, the con-flakes?’ my son asked.

  ‘No,’ she said, looking at her reflection in the microwave. ‘These cold sores.’

  Honestly.

  Why couldn’t Cecily 2 take herself off to Manhattan and get lost for a couple of nights?

  Or take herself off somewhere permanently.

  Rufus and Howie wouldn’t mind. All evidence pointed to the fact that they wouldn’t even notice. Neither had called to check on her while she’d been in Brooklyn.

  Which reminded me.

  ‘Carson?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Why were you in midtown, near Bloomingdales, yesterday afternoon?’

  He was facing away from me but I could have sworn I saw his back stiffen.

  ‘I wasn’t.’

  So what was that stiff back all about, then?

  ‘Someone saw you there,’ I persisted.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Just a friend, from my college days.’

  Next it was his turn to look suspicious. ‘The more important question is, what were you doing there? Didn’t you have a shift at work?’

  Let’s not go there.

  ‘I was with Lolly.’

  ‘Instead of at work?’

  Having deftly turned the conversation from his own indiscretions, Carson waited for me to respond. When I didn’t, he shook his slowly balding head tiredly and walked out of the room.

  ‘That’s right, just walk away in the middle of a conversation,’ I called, unable to contain myself, despite the audience sitting at the table.

  But Carson kept moving down the hall.

  ‘Not getting’ any?’ Cecily 2 remarked slyly.

  ‘Gross,’ J said, pushing his chair back with a thud and storming out.

  *

  I called Lolly to discuss the previously unmentionable topic she’d raised – her sexuality – but it was clear she still didn’t want to talk about it. Her answer phone was on at work, and her mobile went straight through to voicemail.

  Was she avoiding me now, after blurting out the truth? Why would she do that?

  Unless . . . she wanted to date me?

  Oh God, don’t let it be that. How could I reject my dearest friend?

  Because the alternate option – dating Lolly – clearly wasn’t an option at all, even if she was a huge step-up from my present situation.

  Of course, Lolly knew that. Didn’t she?

  If not, why would she encourage Robert to call me if she wanted to date me herself?

  Unless she was testing my willingness to cheat on Carson?

  No. That’s nuts.

  My head ached. What a completely awful situation.

  Deciding I would drop in to LollyBliss later to sort things out, I got dressed, pushed the kids out the door, and headed over to Flindes.

  Fingers crossed that I could explain why I hadn’t called in sick the day before. I hadn’t dared. As I lived so close, I wouldn’t have put it past Dan Phillit to come and check on me.

  Not surprisingly, Dan Phillit was in a less than congenial mood.

  ‘Look, Mr Phillit–‘

  He didn’t prevaricate. ‘You’re fired, Mrs Teeson.’

  ‘Let me explain.’

  ‘See those two hardworkers over there?’ He indicated Scott and Maeve, who were batting a broken bag of pasta against a wall with a roll of Christmas wrap.

  ‘The ones playing baseball with food?’

  ‘They appreciate their jobs,’ Dan Phillit said, rooting about in his nose.

  ‘Can’t you see what they’re doing?’

  ‘Of course I can. They’re picking up broken pasta. Without being asked. Enterprising and punctual. The ideal Flindes’ employees.’

  Lord, give me strength not to smash him one on that huge snout.

  ‘Look, Mr Phillit, please just give me one more chance. I have a family, and sometimes, very occasionally, having a family means I have to miss work.’

  ‘Then I’ll hire someone who doesn’t have a family.’

  ‘Isn’t that discrimination?’

  ‘Not if you breach the staff handbook by failing to call in,’ said Dan Phillit. ‘Now, your locker key and discount card, if you please.’

  Who said ‘If you please’ anymore? No wonder he was dateless and bitter.

  I threw down the requested items, told Dan Phillit his fly was undone and that picking his nose was unacceptable, especially in areas where food was sold.

  Then I offered him the universal sign of dissatisfaction care of my middle finger, and left.

  I got to the corner when it hit me.

  What the hell have I done?

  Less than five minutes later, I was desperately trying to stop myself from racing back in and grabbing at Dan Phillit’s knees, begging for forgiveness.

  I might have, too, if I hadn’t seen him and Scott and Maeve pointing at me through the dirty glass of the shopfront and laughing uproariously.

  Trudging towards home, I remonstrated with myself for being
a jerk. Where on earth was I going to get another permanent job, with the economy the way it was?

  I was hopeless when it came to jobs, and interviews Worse, I had nothing to wear for interviews.

  And even if I managed to complete the Chocolato work, there was no guarantee that it would led to anything else, was there?

  What had I done?

  - Cue poignant tale of disastrous fashion job interviews:

  Although I dropped out of college when I discovered I was pregnant with J, I still hoped to resume my career. Carson encouraged it – and why wouldn’t he? We needed another income to be able to afford to live in New York.

  I occasionally felt a twinge of resentment over the fact that he’d dropped law; and very occasionally that he’d done so because of another woman.

  But on the whole, Carson was happy teaching, and I was confident that, with two years of college behind me (even with the C-grades I conveniently left off my CV), there would be a full-time position in some fashion house awaiting me. Even if it was, to start with, as a receptionist.

  The first interview was at a fabric company called Weilla, to which I’d sent my details on the off chance. The job was junior fabric buyer, which sounded fascinating.

  Unfortunately, the woman who interviewed me homed right in on my college results.

  ‘A C? In business management? You do know what this job entails, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I can explain that. You see, I was working hard on my portfolio for design . . .’

  The woman ran her finger along my application form. ‘And what did you get for that?’

  ‘A C, but this isn’t a design job, is it, so . . .’

  ‘Mrs Teeson, let’s not waste each other’s time.’

  ‘But, if you gave me a chance . . .’

  She had the good grace to wait and hear what I had to say, but nothing came to me. Sighing, she stood up.

  ‘There’s the door.’

  I hadn’t been treated so badly since some wino threw up on me when I was working on the stall with Lolly.

  With the exception of Cecily Teeson, of course.

  The second interview was thanks to Lolly, who was working her way up through the ranks at a major fashion chain.

  However, J had colic and I had to reschedule and when I turned up for the interview, they’d already hired someone else.

  From there, things went downhill. I couldn’t seem to get an interview anywhere – even a receptionist position at the nearest dump required more qualifications than I could offer.

  Finally, I’d stopped by a local supermarket downtown to buy some carrots. A part-time job for a cashier was advertised in the window. Scooting inside, I spoke to the manager, who seemed to appreciate the fact that I spoke English and had a head and two arms and functioning legs. He hired me on the spot and I began my career, if that’s what it was, at Flindes.

  When we moved to Brooklyn, I transferred within the company, and four managers later, Dan Phillit, graduate of some third rate institution in the mid west, had become my boss.

  ‘You’re a bit old to be working here,’ was the first thing he said to me.

  Which was when I suspected that my days at Flindes were numbered.

  The phone was ringing when I got back to the flat to collect my notebook and umbrella. Mum.

  ‘Why haven’t you called me back?’

  ‘I didn’t know you’d called.’

  ‘I left a lot of messages, Scarlet.’

  I glanced at the machine – the red light was blinked manically.

  Shit.

  ‘Mum, I am so sorry, how are things?’

  ‘They’ve taken your dad into a home. He’s had a stroke. A bad one.’

  If I thought I could feel any lower after the episode with Dan Phillit, I’d have been wrong.

  ‘Oh Mum. Shall I come home?’

  How it could be managed was a mystery, but I had to offer, didn’t I? There would be some way to make it work.

  Cecily 2’s income from working as a porno mistress, perhaps?

  ‘No, no. Don’t bother. There’s nothing you can do now. Nothing I can do. They say he might go on for years the way he is, now. In a vegetative state. He doesn’t known when I go to visit. They are feeding him through a tube.’

  Her voice caught and I heard gentle sobs.

  ‘Are you sure you don’t want me to come back?’

  ‘I know you can’t, dear. And like I said, there is nothing to be done for the poor man now. He isn’t on a ventilator and is breathing normally, which means he is just a living shell of what he once was.’

  I felt sick with grief. For her, and for me. He might be a cheater, but he was still my dad.

  ‘If that’s the case why don’t you come here, for a visit?’

  It wasn’t fair to ask her, because I knew what she’d say.

  Predictably, Mum replied as I’d guessed. ‘I shouldn’t leave your father. And the doctor said I still can’t fly because of my blood pressure .’

  ‘Then I’ll try to get to you, help you sort out Dad’s stuff.’

  Once Robert paid me the full amount for my work, I’d have the money for a fare.

  ‘Alright dear, but don’t hurry. There is nothing to be gained from you coming immediately.’

  I tried not to think about the fact that I didn’t have my job at the co-op any longer. Once the Chocolato money was spent, we’d be eating con-flakes for every meal.

  What Carson would say when he found out I’d been fired from Flindes?

  Probably not a lot. Carson was fond of the silent treatment.

  ‘No dear,’ Mum repeated, when I didn’t answer. ‘Don’t worry, your father had everything organized, just in case. The bank says it is all in order. Don’t you fret, it will all work out. It always does.’

  And then Mum rang off without saying goodbye, because she couldn’t speak through her tears any longer.

  *

  An hour later, I’d pulled it together. Whatever happened, I needed to earn that extra two thousand dollars – and the reasons were certainly beginning to stack up. In fact, my head was spinning with Mum, Lolly, Carson, the kids and Cecily 2 – I could barely put one foot in front of the other for the worries sloshing about inside my brain.

  Wrapping up warm, I caught a variety of public transport options, most of which succeeded in breaking down at some point during the journey.

  When I finally got to Manhattan, I made my way to each of the three shops on Robert Simpson’s list and took account of the window displays. There wasn’t much to differentiate between the three. They were all dark, conservative-looking places, and the first thing I asked each manager was: Why on earth aren’t there more lights on the chocolate?

  ‘It’s like you’re trying to hide the stock.’

  It melts, came back the answer each time. Of course. Unwrapped chocolate melts under lights in an enclosed space, and then it re-hardens overnight, causing a horrible streaky white on the chocolate that tastes gritty when eaten.

  ‘We can’t afford to waste food,’ the manager of Shop One, a slender guy with a lofty expression and one of those semi-beards, told me. ‘But I agree with you, we aren’t displaying the chocolates off properly. Look at those darling chocolate cows – the detail is exquisite, but no one can get a good look. We’ve put some of our packaging here and there to brighten things up, but if we just show the boxes, no one knows what’s inside and they don’t buy as much. We would get far more sales with the chocolates shown off in their full glory.’

  The present arrangement was shelf drawers of different chocolate animals in lines, with a few gold boxes tied with Christmas ribbons dotted about. Because of the dim lighting, the drawers appeared a sludge of brown.

  By the time I’d made it around all three stores, a plan was forming.

  But to make it work, I needed to see if Hammertro’s uncle could help me with it – at a low, low cost. I wanted to hang on to as much of the thousand dollar deposit as I could. Without comprising on t
he end result, of course. I’d call on Hammertro the moment I got in.

  But before I set off for home, there was one final call I needed to make.

  Racing through the subway system and coming up near LollyBliss, I found Lolly behind the counter and the place almost empty.

  ‘Oh, Scar, hi.’

  ‘Why aren’t you picking up my calls?’

  ‘I thought you’d think I was a freak. I wanted to give you time not to hate me.’

  Oh Lolly.

  Poor, beautiful, Lolly.

  ‘Of course I don’t think that. I can’t reciprocate, of course, but–‘

  Lolly’s tinkling laugh trickled over the counter.

  ‘Why would you reciprocate?’

  ‘Because, you, um, think of me, um, in that way.’

  More laughter. ‘You think I am in love with you?’

  ‘Isn’t that why you’re not picking up the phone?’

  She let me down gently. ‘As attractive as you are, Scar, it’s not you.’

  I was about to begin the interrogation of who the miraculous creature was who’d finally won Lolly’s affections when Lucinda stumbled from the back room with a huge armful of clothes.

  ‘Too heavy,’ she declared, dumping them on the counter.

  I waited for Lolly to tell her to be careful; that she’d snag the brightly colored trademark knitwear on the tops of the hangers by carrying them like that, but Lolly wasn’t looking at the jumpers.

  Her eyes were fixed to Lucinda.

  And then I got it.

  Oh no.

  Really?

  Lucinda?

  For the first time ever, I felt really, really sorry for Lolly.

  Because the likelihood of Lucinda being gay was on par with Carson suddenly becoming a jobbing lawyer.

  It was never, ever going to happen.

  Before I could say anything more, Lolly came to her senses and suggested that if I was going to be in Manhattan then we should meet up for lunch later in the week.

  ‘Sure. I’ll call you, but pick up this time, okay?’

  Lolly nodded, but once again, her gaze was elsewhere.

  *

  I was almost to the subway when my mobile rang.