How to Stuff Up Christmas

by Rosie Blake

  ‘I was wondering whether you were staying on in the village into the New Year?’ Aisha asked.

  ‘I, well, I came for the course,’ Eve said, realising with a huge sadness that it would be finished in just over a week, and she would have to leave.

  ‘Well, it was just, we’re looking for a new agent in the office to replace Martin in the New Year – if you were looking for work.’

  ‘Oh,’ Eve said, thrown by the idea. ‘Oh, that’s kind, but I have a job,’ Eve said, picturing the office in London, Daisy at the desk next door, the warm atmosphere, even Ed with his obsession with obscure stationary items. She’d been so grateful to Daisy for getting her an interview all those years ago.

  She walked all the way back to the boat that day wondering about the conversation. She did love the village and was amazed how easy it had been to let her London life go. She thought of the pace of life, the time she had spent on her drawings, the business card she had designed for Raj, the small stack of pottery pieces she’d now made, the ones she had painted that stood proudly on the shelf in the house ready for her to take away. She thought of the people she’d met: Aisha, Danny, Minnie, and then one face that seemed to be on a loop at the moment. She wrapped her coat tighter around her, determined not to replay what she’d said to him for another time, relieved when her mobile rang.

  ‘How was Rachel’s wedding?’ her mother asked the moment Eve had answered the call.

  ‘Yes, great, good. It went well,’ Eve said, not keen to go into particulars, still wearing her hat and scarf as she opened the door of the boat.

  ‘A wedding and at Christmas time – how lovely,’ her mum said, trampling over any sensitivity around the issue.

  ‘Yes, Mum, I know.’ Eve sighed, clicking the kettle on and leaning against the kitchen counter, phone cradled to her ear. ‘It was very fancy,’ she summarised. ‘Good food, they had those roast beef canapés Dad always bangs on about…’

  She bit back the news that Liam had been there, that she suspected her best friend was guilty of something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Mum always wanted to know about the food anyway, ‘Salmon for starter.’

  ‘Ooh fish, can be risky,’ her mum cut in.

  ‘Hmm, very daring. Lamb for main and Christmas pudding for dessert.’

  ‘Not everyone loves it, can be a heavy option,’ Mum said, as if she were a judge on Masterchef and was delivering her verdict. ‘How was the lamb done?’

  Eve frowned. ‘Er… very well? In a sort of gravy thing?’

  Her mum sighed down the phone. ‘You really are hopeless.’

  ‘Thanks, Mum.’

  ‘Eve?’ Her dad’s voice was a welcome intrusion. ‘I’m on the upstairs line. Hi, Brenda.’ He chuckled. ‘I can see youooooo.’ Eve pictured him leaning over the banisters and looking at the top of Mum’s head.

  ‘Your father had a beer at lunch. David, you really shouldn’t have a beer at lunch.’

  ‘It was a pale ale. So, Eve, how is life at sea?’

  ‘She’s not at sea,’ Mum pointed out. ‘She’s on a houseboat on the river.’

  ‘It’s a turn of phrase,’ Eve chorused with her dad, continuing to answer. ‘Good, thanks, I’m learning how to make a teapot tomorrow in class. And I’ve been cooking,’ she tacked on, this news blurted out of her before she could put it back in.

  ‘Cooking?’ her mum said, sounding suspicious. ‘You don’t like cooking.’

  ‘Well, I’m getting to grips with it a bit, I’ve had some help…’

  ‘David, will you stop dropping things on my head.’

  Eve could hear Dad chuckling.

  ‘What are you doing, Dad?’

  A sheepish,‘Nothing,’ before her mum explained, ‘He’s throwing balls of paper at me.’

  ‘I was sending you notes,’ Dad said, a rumble of laughter down the phone.

  Dad must be drunk. Fortunately the note-throwing had distracted her parents from asking any more.

  ‘How’s Scarlet?’ Eve asked, realising she hadn’t heard from her little sister in weeks.

  ‘She has got herself a new job,’ Dad said in a cheerful voice.

  ‘Oh, the shame.’ Mum was clearly not as thrilled.

  Eve frowned, wondering for a moment what she could possibly be working as. Scarlet had had some pretty interesting jobs in the past so the mind boggled.

  ‘She’s working in a shopping mall in Newcastle,’ Dad said.

  ‘Well, that’s not too bad, Mum,’ Eve comforted her, imagining her sister on the shop floor, helping customers to buy clothes or cosmetics.

  ‘As one of Santa’s elves.’

  There was a pause as Eve conjured this image. ‘Ah, oh, well…’

  ‘She’s twenty-five,’ her mum said. Eve could picture her shaking her head. ‘Her friends are on graduate schemes. And she is working for Father Christmas.’

  ‘Probably a great boss,’ Dad said, chuckling, ‘He has a reputation as a very jolly fellow.’

  ‘David, I didn’t laugh yesterday and I won’t be laughing today. Ouch! STOP throwing things at my head.’

  ‘But that one said “Sorry”.’

  ‘Er, Mum, Dad, I better go, I’ve got um… stuff to do…’ Eve didn’t want to get tangled up in their next row.

  ‘Oh bye, love,’ called Dad, the sound of a receiver being replaced, never one for a drawn-out goodbye.

  ‘Well, you’ll call again soon, and you will think about coming home for Christmas, won’t you?’

  ‘Mum.’ Eve’s shoulders sagged. ‘We’ve talked about this, I don’t—’

  ‘Well, just say you’ll think about it, just a little think.’

  It wasn’t like her mum to beg so Eve found herself saying, ‘I’ll think about it. Okay, I really do have to go now.’

  She lay on her bed, feeling drained from the phone call. It was too cold to do anything but get under the duvet, Marmite snuggled next to her.

  ‘You seem distracted again, Eve.’

  ‘Hmm.’

  ‘Distracted,’ Minnie said, her eyes peering at her over turquoise glasses.

  ‘Oh, I suppose I am. I was just wondering how big to make my teapot.’ She held up a ball of clay as if to prove her point.

  Minnie looked over at Danny’s wheel, his bowl untouched, left under a tea towel as if it were a cake out of the oven. She sighed as she shook her head. ‘I hope he’s all right,’ she said, her face drooping.

  ‘Why wouldn’t he be?’ Eve asked, worrying now that something had happened; Minnie’s eyes had dulled. ‘Have you heard from him?’ Eve missed having him working next door to her, chattering on as he worked at his wheel. Now that she knew he was Greg’s brother she wanted to see him even more, wanted to find out if Greg had said anything about her. He had been away a while.

  ‘He won’t be coming in for a few more days. His mum, you see, she was rushed into hospital in the summer with – GERALD!’ she called suddenly.

  Gerald’s face appeared in the doorway.

  ‘What was Linda rushed into hospital with?’

  ‘Linda?’

  ‘Linda Burrows, used to work in the delicatessen.’

  Gerald appeared in the doorway. ‘She had diabetes, I think. Collapsed in the high street.’

  ‘That was it. She’d always managed it well, apparently, but it was obviously bad, completely ruined her kidneys apparently. She was put on a transplant list, been on it ever since. Dreadful. Danny’s been helping her.’

  Eve felt her skin grow cold. Greg’s mum was ill. She felt terrible, her hands clammy as she listened to Minnie talking. She had to visit the hospital several times a week; she had to have a tube fitted into her abdomen; she carried around an enormous handbag that rattled with pills; they thought she was getting a transplant; the operation couldn’t go ahead apparently. Awful. Minnie’s voice faded in and out, each revelation making Eve feel even worse.

  She hadn’t let him explain, she’d just cut him off, tied up in the drama of being her. How often had Ha
rriet gently warned her she could react too quickly, how many times had Daisy quietly suggested she take some time to think about things before flying in? She felt guilt weigh her down into her chair, the wheel in front of her swimming, unable to focus on the clay, on the tools, on Raj’s patient face explaining how to make a spout. She thought back to the last time she had seen him, how incredibly off-hand she’d been. She hadn’t even pretended to listen or care or think about what might have happened to him.

  She was frozen to her wheel for the rest of the lesson, unseeing, making little progress, not able to concentrate or enjoy the atmosphere. Her teapot wobbled and sank, her foot slipping from the pedal, Raj there, frowning with his neat eyebrows, talking to her, Eve answering him a split-second late each time.

  She left the class, oblivious to others around her, picturing Greg’s face, trying to recall what she’d said, what he had said. Had he been trying to explain? How had she never thought to ask?

  She sat on the boat that night wondering what she could do, walking around, Marmite staring at her as she looked at him blankly. After a couple of restless hours she got up, knowing what might make her feel a little better. She made gingerbread as the sky grew dark outside, and the whole boat filled up with its smell.

  She woke up with the same questions running through her head. How had she not asked about his family? Why hadn’t he mentioned it? She bit her lip as she recalled the moments before Ro-Ro’s wedding, looking down at him from the deck. They came to her in slow motion now, exaggerated, weighted with a significance they hadn’t had then. He had seemed less energetic, less quick to smile, but she had imagined that was because he had felt guilty about dumping her before their date. Why hadn’t she given him more time to explain? How absurdly arrogant of her to imagine that was why he had behaved like that.

  If her mum was ill, she’d be bursting with the news, needing to tell everyone. She couldn’t keep her emotions in check at times; she wondered how Greg hadn’t taken her by the shoulders and screamed it at her. She knew that wasn’t him, though, remembering the occasional moments his eyes would lose their brightness, his voice growing dull as if he were wading back to the conversation through his murky thoughts. She quickened her pace.

  She wanted to see him, to fix things. There was something wonderfully easy and warm about him; when he was with her she felt herself relax. She clutched the bag to her. She had made them on the third attempt, appeared like a flour-coated mad woman in the Co-op to buy another batch of ingredients, looking down as the shop assistant sniggered to see she was still wearing her apron. Cooking seemed a good way to apologise and she remembered the day she had handed him the gingerbread, simple really, and yet when she’d seen his expression she’d felt she had handed him the keys to a Ferrari.

  She hoped the icing would have set, the sprinkles stayed in place. Christmas cookies seemed appropriate, but they’d been seriously tricky to make. She had risen to the challenge, believing somehow that if she could make them beautifully that her efforts would be rewarded. As she glazed the third batch with egg white, she had sent up a little prayer that he would forgive her.

  The high street now was awash with lights and colour, the shop windows glittering with coloured paper chains, lights and bows. Windows edged with fake snow, carols spilling onto the street from inside the shops. There were deals on Baileys, packs of mince pies, tubs of Quality Street. The weather was slushy and bitter. She realised with a jolt that it was Christmas Eve in two more days.

  The ground was dotted with rain, ominous clouds hanging over the village, forcing everyone to put umbrellas or hoods up, dress children in anoraks and wellies. She kept her head down, stepping round puddles in her knee boots, not wanting mud to mark her knee-length woollen coat. She had made a big effort today, had spent a while in the circular mirror pressing her lips together, thin lines flicking upwards on her eyelids, scrubbing it all off again and starting again.

  She felt a leap in her chest as she saw the sign for the vet practice up ahead. It swung slightly in the breeze outside and she slowed down her pace, fixed her expression, tried not to run through what she planned to say. Be natural, Eve. Natural. She tried to convince herself that she didn’t really mind if he didn’t hear her out but the last couple of days had been lonely in the village; she had grown used to expecting him to pass by, she knew it would hurt if he rejected her. For a second she realised she hadn’t thought of Liam for days. That thought made her stop still on the pavement so that a mother with her pram just behind almost ran her down.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, as the mother manoeuvred past her with a disgruntled sigh.

  She pushed open the door and the bell rang out in the small space. She noticed the empty line of plastic chairs on her right and was relieved not to have an audience. The busty receptionist was up ahead and Eve felt herself blushing furiously as she approached her, flashbacks of the last time rolling in a loop across her memory. The receptionist, Karen, looked up as she stood at the desk, her expression blank before recognition made her mouth curl upwards.

  ‘Hello, how can I help?’

  Eve had sensibly left Marmite behind on the boat so that she wasn’t forced to conjure up a new set of lies, give Marmite a dreadful recurring leg condition.

  ‘Hello, good morning.’ Her voice was the smartest version of her voice. ‘I was wondering, please, if I could see Greg.’

  Karen looked at the computer screen in front of her as if checking for appointments. ‘He’s free,’ she said, lifting a pair of round glasses onto her nose from a chain around her neck to peer through. ‘Friday at 11.40 a.m.? Is it for your dog? If I take his name, we tend to book the appointments in the animal’s name here.’

  Eve stuttered over her reply, forcing herself to lick her lips and slow up. ‘Oh sorry, no, I meant, um… now. Is he free now?’ Eve tried to peer through the glass square in the door behind her to see if she could spot him, but all she could make out were shelves of jars and medical equipment and an advent calendar, most of the boxes now open.

  ‘He’s not in today, I’m afraid. There’s a locum in – Katie Langham – would you like to see her? I suppose I could squeeze you in just after lunch; she has a small gap there if you’d like to come back then.’

  Eve didn’t catch much of what Karen said but she had heard the first part. ‘Oh.’ She wanted to ask where he was but forced herself to stay quiet. It wasn’t her business. Then, after a couple more seconds, when clearly no more information was forthcoming, it burst out of her. ‘I hope everything is all right?’ she said.

  Karen pursed her lips; she was wearing a startlingly bright shade of pink. ‘He’s away for two days on CPD.’

  ‘CPD?’ Eve repeated. That sounded serious. What had happened? Was that something to do with transplants? She hadn’t heard the term.

  ‘Training,’ Karen confirmed. ‘A training course. So I’m afraid it will have to be Katie. Now what is the name of your animal?’

  Eve came out of her reverie and stared at Karen’s patiently waiting face. ‘My animal? Oh, Marmite. But, well, it’s not about my animal.’ Oh, Eve, you don’t need to share this. ‘I mean, what I mean is, I just wanted to quickly grab Greg for a chat, I mean not grab, just, well, it wouldn’t take long.’ Stop talking, Eve, you sound slightly scary. He isn’t even here, she doesn’t need to know this. Great, now she is giving you a funny look. Stop. Talking.

  Eve stopped talking and Karen opened her mouth, then shut it again, perhaps recognising there was no good reply.

  Eve had a stroke of inspiration then. ‘Do you have his mobile number? Perhaps if I could have it—’

  She was cut off by the bell over the shop door and a woman wearing a knotted scarf on her head pushed in backwards holding a cage. She turned, tutting at the weather, the wind furious and loud before the door closed again and all was calm. Inside a hamster rustled about, tiny flecks of sawdust escaping the cages of the bar as the woman stepped towards the desk.

  ‘Karen,’ she said warm
ly.

  Eve was still waiting for Karen to produce the mobile number, not wanting to repeat the request in front of this woman.

  Karen cleared her throat. ‘The thing is, I can’t really do that, you see, because of the Data Protection Act.’

  The hamster woman’s eyes widened and she was unashamedly staring at Eve.

  ‘Oh right, of course, that Act,’ Eve gabbled, laughing out loud and trying to sound like she didn’t care in the least.

  The hamster woman started laughing too, which was slightly odd, and more sawdust fell to the floor.

  ‘Right, I’d better go then,’ Eve said, feeling completely ridiculous as Karen waited to serve the hamster woman.

  ‘Our out-of-hours number is on the poster by the door,’ Karen called after her, ‘if Marmite needs anything.’

  Eve didn’t hear her as, red-faced, she pushed the door and stepped back out onto the high street, strands of hair whisking across her face in the wind.

  As she walked back to the boat she forgot to watch where she was going and stepped right into the middle of a deep puddle, the water seeping straight into her boots, soaking her socks and making her toes feel squelchy and disgusting. A car swept past, spraying her with rainwater. She felt all her energy seep away. The hours preparing the cookies, picturing his face as she handed them over, what she was going to say. And now there was no hope of seeing him; she couldn’t face returning to the practice now. She thought back to Gavin’s comment then; he was right, who didn’t swap mobile numbers? She couldn’t believe it. As she walked under the railway bridge and out of the rain, she realised she was still clutching the bag of Christmas cookies.

  She felt hopeless as she let herself into the boat. Perhaps if she hadn’t been, she might have noticed the figure standing on the bank opposite the boat, eyes trained on her as she approached, watching her enter, listening to the distant sound of her dog greeting her with a run of barking. As it was, she failed to see anything as she beckoned Marmite to her and fed him a run of Christmas cookies.