How to Stuff Up Christmas

by Rosie Blake

  He was barely able to keep his eyes open, the room too warm, all the radiators blazing and him in his suit jacket. The lecturer was showing them a PowerPoint of the operation he was walking them through, and normally Greg liked to take notes. He was a real geek on these courses, desperate to learn something that justified him spending two days away from the practice. He had been pleased when he saw this course was available; he was keen to expand the operations he could offer without referring them and this would be the first step to doing that. The woman in front of him, short blonde bob and enormous dangling earrings, turned and grinned at him as he jerked awake again. Had he been snoring? He wondered, trying to smile back, but feeling woozy and disorientated.

  He’d arrived late last night after staying with Mum for too long. She’d looked even more frail, the skin along her collarbone paper-thin, the veins in her hands protruding in angry blue lines, her hair wispy now, as if all the energy required to make it glossy and full was needed elsewhere. They’d watched a movie together, eaten a Chinese takeaway – well, Greg had eaten, his mum had picked at the noodles, swirling them around her plate. Greg had felt a churning worry in his stomach as he got up to put the plates in the dishwasher.

  He hadn’t spoken about the day in the hospital, hated the false hope, the race to see if they could perform the operation, knowing she would have been praying for it and then loathing herself. His mum had never been one to put herself first and Danny and he were always hoping they could repay her for all the things she had done for them. Would the call come? Would she get the operation?

  She had been to the hospital that day for another round of dialysis. Danny was going to drive her there, stay and play rummy by her bed, read to her from the crap magazines that she loved, eat the grapes and chocolate they stocked up that she never had an appetite for. He was glad Danny was able to get there; one of them always tried. It was a bit easier for Danny; he already had the mornings off and the lads at the garage had been brilliant, sometimes covering for him into the afternoon. Greg had used Katie for locum work but he found it harder to drop everything, was forced to rely on Danny when a call came from Mum and he was with a client or doing an operation. He hated not being able to get there.

  His eyes flicked now to his mobile that he’d left on the desk next to him on Silent, just in case that call came. He felt terrible for wishing for it, knowing it normally meant bad news for another family, but then a far larger part of him roared around his head, desperate for the news to come, deafening all other thoughts. He just wanted her to get better.

  The next slide jolted him, a photo of a dog that reminded Greg of Marmite. It was a Morkie but this one had no light patch above the eye, less of a cheeky sparkle in his eyes that were a lighter shade of brown. He wondered whether Eve would still be on the boat when he got back to the village, realised as he looked down at his notepad that he had written her name. What was he? Twelve years old? He hastily scrawled it out, coughing and sitting up straight. Listen to the lecture, Greg, you have paid money to come today, you need to learn how to do this. The blonde bob turned and smiled again, but Greg was too busy staring at the lecturer as the next slide showed the insides of the same dog.

  He was standing at the tea urn, a stack of digestive biscuits on a paper plate next to it. He had taken one, remembering the first time he had been on Eve’s boat, the sad, bare cupboards that were now often stocked full. He bit into the digestive biscuit, his mouth turned up as he chewed. Did everything come back to her? There was something there, a tangible spark that made him bite his lip in public. He felt protective, absurdly so, wanting to wrap his arms round her, make her laugh.

  ‘Bit sad, isn’t it?’ The woman with the blonde bob indicated the biscuit, opening her handbag to him. ‘I bring my own. Do you want one?’

  He laughed quickly as he peered inside, a pack of Jammy Dodgers open.

  ‘Go on then,’ he said, taking a bite, transported back to his childhood in an instant. Danny had always loved Jammy Dodgers.

  The woman stood with him for a bit, sipping on her tea and eating biscuits. She was asking him questions but Greg found he couldn’t focus on her, kept asking her to repeat things. The questions got shorter until she gave up and turned her back on him, taking the biscuits with her. God, Greg, seriously, you really need to look at your life. Maybe he should ask for her number? Meeting Eve had reminded him that there was a whole world out there. He needed to get back out into it. Then he pictured Eve’s face, her cheek dotted with flour, her earnest expression as she helped him cook. He wasn’t interested in getting anyone else’s number but he wasn’t sure how to fix the things he’d said, knew he should have explained earlier.

  He walked back to the lecture hall, the corridor lined with posters and announcements, the smell of dust and disinfectant clashing as he paused outside the double doors. He had a few minutes before the last lecture of the day and reached for his mobile.

  ‘Everything okay, Karen?’ he said, peering through the square of glass. There was no lecturer there as yet; other vets ambled about the room, talking and laughing. Normally he’d enjoy the social side of these courses but he felt strangely detached today, happy to move through it anonymously. He imagined Danny standing next to him, head in hands, calling him a loser.

  ‘I haven’t burnt the place down,’ she bristled.

  ‘Of course you haven’t. Has it been busy? Katie happy?’ he asked. Katie was a reliable locum based in Reading. She had two small kids and had left her full-time job to look after them. She was an excellent surgeon though, and good with people. He never had any complaints. She also brought Karen home-made baked goods, so had hit it off from day one with those underhand tactics.

  ‘Very, I think. Pretty steady, although a few booking to see you when you get back, so you’ll have a hectic Friday.’

  ‘No dramas then? No big news?’

  ‘Well, the big news is that Katie brought in these heavenly triple chocolate muffins this morning, and they are so good I have almost persuaded her to turn professional.’

  ‘Please don’t, Karen.’ Greg laughed, enjoying listening to the familiar voice. ‘We need her.’

  ‘There was a visit,’ Karen said suddenly. ‘But it can wait. I gave her the out-of-hours number, she wanted your mobile.’

  ‘Sounds about right,’ Greg said, picturing a client that wouldn’t take no for an answer. He was used to being on call, it was part of the job, but when it wasn’t possible there was an out-of-hours service to take in animals that got sick overnight.

  He noticed a woman with tight brown curls walk to the front of the hall, shrug off her suit jacket and open up her briefcase. ‘I’d better go, Karen, last lecture’s about to start, but I’m glad it’s gone well. I’ll speak to you again tomorrow. You know where I am, though,’ he said, pushing open the double doors.

  ‘Yes, yes, you have fun, let your hair down,’ she told him.

  ‘Will do. Wild times,’ he said, smiling as he pressed the button to end the call.

  It was typical that as he sat in his seat, as the whole hall settled down, as the blonde woman moved down the row to sit next door to him, his phone lit up again. He recognised the number immediately, answering it, already out of his seat, apologising, holding it up to his ear, one hand on his things, moving down the hall, around people, back out into the hallway as he told his mum he was on his way. He’d look up the hospital when he was back in the car. They couldn’t be this unlucky again? Could they?

  She frowned as she pushed the door open, immediately struck by a strange sense that something wasn’t quite right. Dropping the shopping bags at her feet, she realised that Marmite wasn’t scurrying up to greet her, his tiny legs slipping and sliding over the parquet kitchen floor, his bark joyful as he leapt to climb up her legs, scramble into her arms and lick her face in a satisfied way. In fact, the boat was silent, strangely quiet, as if Marmite had always made a lot more noise.

  ‘Marmite.’

  Eve moved through
the living room, searching about her as if Marmite were about to appear to say, ‘Aha! I have learnt a new game!’ but he didn’t come running and Eve wondered if he had fallen asleep on her bed. Moving through the bathroom, past her line of underwear hanging over the bath, she frowned. Marmite had often decided to remove her pants and socks from their hanging space, bringing them to her as if to show off his powerful finding skills, and she would sigh and return them to their pegs, before he would leap and bound and bring them back again. Today, however, they were as she had left them.

  The double bed that she had hastily made that morning was crisp and clean, not even a recent compression in the duvet cover to suggest that Marmite had been anywhere near it. Eve started opening the wardrobe doors, worrying that he had managed to get stuck somewhere.

  ‘Marmite, come out, there’s a good boy,’ she said, her voice taking on a tinge of panic as she speeded up her search, moving through the bedroom, the drawers, to the small square of space at the back that kept the mop and the hoover. The cleaning products were all there; she always put them out of reach but maybe something had happened, what if he had swallowed bleach? She felt her breathing thicken as she looked under the sink, in every drawer, back through the bedroom, in the bathroom and living room, peering inside the bench, than in the kitchen cupboards before moving out onto the deck to skirt the boat.

  She stared at the water, skittering clouds reflected on the surface, a bite in the air. If he was outside he’d be freezing by now. Eve wrapped her arms around herself, her skin already breaking out into goosebumps, her nose red, her eyes stinging as she looked out at the river, into the piles of reeds, along the line of drooping willows, terrified of seeing a small body. There was nothing. How had he got out? She should have taken him to the shop; she nearly did. She pictured his trusting face, the patch of lighter fur above his left eye, the way he would open his mouth before she deposited a treat. She felt tears threaten, calling his name louder now so that a couple walking along the iron bridge stopped and looked over at her.

  ‘Eve, darling, Eve.’

  Eve whipped round, her eyes wide, hope filling her chest as she heard her name being called. Someone had found him! Someone was bringing him back. It was Minnie waving at her with one gloved hand, the other holding onto a large fur hat, Sandy on a lead looped round her wrist.

  Eve stepped across the boat towards her. ‘Have you seen him?’

  ‘Have I seen who?’ Minnie asked, dropping her hand and taking a step nearer.

  ‘Marmite,’ Eve said. ‘He’s gone!’ Her voice became increasingly higher in pitch.

  ‘Oh no, I haven’t.’ Minnie looked about her, patting her pockets, as if Marmite could appear from underneath her quilted Barbour. She moved across and stepped up onto the deck, removing her hat so that strands of hair stuck up. She moved inside, Sandy following, talking all the while. ‘Where was he last? Could he really have got out? Maybe you should phone the local police, they’re very good…’

  Someone else taking charge seemed to calm Eve down enough to think more clearly. It was obvious that Marmite was definitely not here and she didn’t dare believe he had fallen in the river. It seemed so unlikely, but then at the same time it all seemed impossible. He wasn’t Dog Houdini, how the hell did he get out of the boat?

  ‘I’ll put the kettle on and you have a think about what to do. Tea often helps, I think, in most situations tea often…’

  Eve was sure she had seen a phone book on the shelves somewhere.

  ‘Darling?’

  She remembered now; she had used it as a makeshift table for her tea in the bathroom.

  ‘Darling…’ Minnie’s voice entered her consciousness.

  ‘Hmm…’

  ‘Who’s Liam?’

  Eve turned, a frown forming on her face, a hand wiping at her eyes. ‘Liam?’ She stopped in her tracks, phone book forgotten, staring at Minnie’s face, one neatly pencilled eyebrow raised. ‘Why do you ask?’

  Then she saw the note in her hand.

  ‘I don’t care what he told you, how could you give him the keys?’ Eve’s voice was bouncing back at her from the thin walls of the boat as Martin’s nasally voice calmly replied, ‘He told us he was your fiancé and that he had left his briefcase in there and he was due in court.’

  ‘He’s not even a bloody lawyer. He works in PR.’

  ‘Well obviously we realise that now,’ he said, not a note of apology in his voice. ‘But he seemed legitimate.’

  ‘Oh, legitimate, really. God, do you always go around hand­ing your keys out like sweets? He’s stolen my bloody dog.’

  ‘Well, I am terribly sorry,’ Martin said, not sounding at all sorry. ‘And we can look into changing the locks now. We will have to inform the landlord.’

  ‘It’s all a bit late now, isn’t it?’ Eve felt her fists curling around the phone, her knuckles whitening. She knew she was getting angry at the wrong person; she knew how persuasive Liam could be. She might have made the same mistake herself, but she would at least have had the humility to apologise.

  Minnie tiptoed towards her, holding a steaming mug. ‘Tea,’ she mouthed as she placed it down and then mimed Eve drinking it before tiptoeing back again.

  ‘Well—’

  ‘I will phone you back, I need to call him now.’

  ‘Happy to help,’ he said, his voice tinged with sarcasm.

  Eve switched off the call before she said anything else.

  ‘What a tit,’ Minnie commented.

  ‘SUCH a tit,’ Eve said, picking up her tea and almost scalding her tongue with the first sip. Sandy padded over to stand next to her, his solid presence a comfort.

  ‘Well, I’d better go now, leave you to it,’ Minnie said, her bracelets jangling as she swept a piece of hair behind her ear. ‘I’ll see you in class soon, though, Eve. You take care,’ she said, giving her a quick hug.

  Eve watched her go, over the iron bridge and down the path the other side. She’d only been gone a few seconds when Eve yelped as a nearby bush started rustling and swearing. A figure emerged, leaves in his hair, hat askew.

  ‘Gerald,’ Eve exclaimed with a start.

  ‘Is there anyone else on the boat with you now?’ he asked her, stepping over and trying to peer inside.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Anyone else, I saw Minnie go in – who was she meeting?’

  ‘Meeting?’

  ‘There’s no need to cover for her,’ he said.

  ‘I’m not covering for her. There’s no one here, you can check,’ Eve said, baffled as to what Gerald was looking for.

  ‘Well, if he’s not here,’ he said, muttering and walking off. Eve watched him wander away, worried that he was losing the plot. She would have to say something to Minnie. For now, though, she had her own drama to deal with, stabbing at Liam’s name on her phone as she thought back to his note on the side.

  He didn’t answer. Of course he didn’t. She was sent straight to voicemail and left an absurdly angry, rambling message that essentially said, ‘Dog, kidnap, fuck, bollocks, revenge, mine, dog’ on a loop.

  How dare he come here and steal her dog? Who had told him where she was? She pictured Daisy at the wedding. She had been talking with him in the corner, Eve was sure of it now – had she said something?

  Later, she wasn’t angry, she was just horribly lonely. Marmite had been a brilliant companion. He adored the boat, often clambering on the bench to peek out of the porthole, racing around on the deck, clinging to the side, diving into the river after sticks and shaking himself off in surprise when he dragged himself to the bank, only to be bundled into two towels by Eve, gratefully licking her face as she rubbed at him and warmed him up. She wondered where he was now; would he simply forget her? She stared at the spot on the bed where he’d seemed to permanently reside, lying flat over her feet in the night like a reassuring hot-water bottle, with her feeling his heartbeat despite the thickness of the duvet cover.

  She wandered around the boat that eveni
ng at a loss as to what to do. She couldn’t face walking along the common without Marmite striding next to her, tail high, tripping along and then racing ahead once he’d spotted something in the long grass. She sat mindlessly watching television, unable to rouse any energy, the wind howling outside, rain falling in slanted sheets.

  She wished that Greg was here to sit with her or to play backgammon, and felt guilty as she realised he was probably with his mum or at work doing something sensible and she was being self-pitying and pathetic. He had a calming presence and she knew why so many of his clients must love him, feeling utterly reassured as he patiently explained what he needed to do to their animals. She wished she hadn’t been so quick to jump to silly conclusions; she hadn’t made a new friend in years who she felt so at ease with. She wondered where he was now and if he was all right.

  She stood up, heading to the kitchen and reaching for the line of recipe books. He had mentioned that he sometimes made bread in winter, something comforting about filling the house with its smell. She searched the index of each book and then felt a faint flicker as she read the words. Grabbing her purse from the side, she headed out, book under her arm, to buy the ingredients.

  Four hours later, she was eating a plain white bloomer and she felt the warmth spread down to her toes. The outside was crispy and the inside was still warm from the oven. Marmite would have loved it and she stared sadly at the crumbs on the floor which would have been hoovered up immediately. She went to bed, the boat feeling impossibly quiet without his gentle presence.

  She was grateful to wake the next day and have somewhere to go. The boat was impossibly cold, her feet numb as she moved through to the kitchen to put the kettle on, shivering as she pulled her dressing gown tighter around her. Twisting the rest of the loaf into a carrier bag, she headed off to class.

  ‘Danny!’ He was sitting at his wheel, his bowl uncovered, his hands covered in clay, an oily mark on his cheek. She felt her whole face split open.