“Idiot, idiot, idiot,” he chanted under his breath as he turned the corner to his street. “Did I really say, ‘Good day’? What the hell was that? I sounded like my dad. My grandad. And the hand thing for God’s sake . . . Did I seriously just salute an elf ? A hot elf ?” He struck his forehead with the palm of his hand. A gaggle of teenagers walking toward him looked at each other nervously.
“Sorry, girls,” he said, giving them an engaging smile. “I’m fine.”
“Ask her out, for heaven’s sake,” said Paul, when Daniel got to the office.
“God no, I couldn’t. She thinks I’m an ax murderer.”
“Then I’ll ask her out for you.”
“Great. Then she’ll think I’m an ax murderer who still lives with his mum and collects action figures.”
“Okay, yeah, that would be bad . . . In that case you’re just going to have to get over yourself. It’s time.”
“I know,” said Daniel. But it didn’t feel like it was time. Not for that. Instead, since Zoe died, it had felt like time stood still, like life had frozen at that point and he couldn’t ever imagine moving forward, or even wanting to, loathing the sense that he would be moving further away from his life with her toward a future he couldn’t imagine and wasn’t sure he even wanted.
“Plus,” Paul went on, relentlessly, “let’s face it, you’re not getting any younger . . .”
“What? I’m thirty-two! And you’re older than me, remember.”
“Yeah, but I’ve got Cara, haven’t I? We’ve done two years. We’re engaged, the wedding’s in the diary. I’m on it, mate. You? You’re just not putting the effort in. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen you get beyond the second date.”
“When I need your help I’ll let you know,” said Daniel, laughing reluctantly. “Now, isn’t there somewhere—anywhere—you should be? Other than here, obviously.”
Paul closed the door exaggeratedly quietly after himself and Daniel sighed in relief.
“I just want to tell her,” he said to the empty room. “I just want to tell her what happened to us. To me. Because it’s happened to her too. I know it. She will understand.”
“It’s Lily,” Jack told Kate doubtfully.
“You’re Lily’s Secret Santa? That’s good, isn’t it? You went to her birthday party last term didn’t you? She seems lovely . . . don’t you think?”
“Ye-es,” admitted Jack, “but she’s a girl.”
“Hmm. She is definitely a girl,” agreed Kate, stifling a smile. “Do you have any idea what she’d like?”
“Well, no, because it’s going to be girl stuff, isn’t it?” said Jack with heavy patience. “I dunno, do I?”
“She’s just a girl, darling, she’s not from outer space.”
“Kate!” called a voice, as they both turned away from the school gate.
“I was hoping to catch you,” said Anastasia, who had broken into a trot but slowed to a saunter once she had Kate’s attention. Kate glanced at her watch anxiously. They could end up waiting awhile for a bus if they missed the one at half past three.
“I seriously think I might book you for a jewelry sale,” said Anastasia, when she arrived. “I know you could do with the opportunity . . .”
“I’d be delighted . . .” said Kate, gritting her teeth at Anastasia’s patronizing tone.
“Yes, I know. So, shall we say the week before Christmas at my house? Not sure what day . . . I’ll let you know, if you can stay available. I’ve got six or seven girls who will come, nothing elaborate, but I could do some nibbles. Can I rely on you to bring some wine?”
Kate recoiled. “I don’t usually,” she said. “Normally the host . . .”
“Oh, really?” said Anastasia, her manner suddenly cooling. “I naturally thought, since I’m providing the venue and the audience . . .”
“That’s fine,” said Kate quickly. “I can bring a few bottles.”
Anastasia smiled, her approval returning in an instant. “That’s good. Make it a case. I am sure it will be worth your while. Bring lots of stock, won’t you? I’m sure the girls will appreciate a good choice.”
“Darlin’ boy,” said Mrs. Akintola when they went into the laundry to get to the flat. “You gettin’ sooo tall! You be taller than your mammy by New Year.” She was folding towels with great deftness and speed as she spoke, not stopping for a moment.
“That’s silly,” said Jack, grinning. “Mum’s really old and I’m only six so far.”
Kate pulled a face. “Damned by my own son,” she said. “I hope I’m not completely over the hill.”
“You too grown up for a young girl. How old are you? Not even thirty? I hope you got some good parties to go to this Christmas,” the older woman said. “You know I’ll babysit anytime . . . You need to put on your dancin’ shoes.”
“Not sure I’ve got any,” said Kate, “but you’re not the only one to say so.” She hoped Seema’s insistence on the girls’ night really was going to include babysitting. If not, Mrs. Akintola was going to have to step up then too. “Thank you. I do need to ask you about babysitting actually, there’s definitely one night coming up and there might be two.”
“A party?” said Mrs. Akintola hopefully.
“Sort of. I’ve been invited to do a jewelry sale at a friend’s house.”
“Extra money for Christmas?”
“Hope so . . . and also, I need to book you for my staff Christmas party too if that’s okay?”
“Good,” said Mrs. Akintola. “Just write down the dates for me. I’ll bring DVDs and popcorn,” she said to Jack. “I’ve got some new ones I got for my grandchildren. We can have a movie night.”
“Cool!” said Jack. He liked Mrs. Akintola.
As landladies went, Mrs. Akintola was an angel from heaven, thought Kate. The rent was affordable, and repairs were quickly dealt with by one of her several handsome sons, two of whom were single, triggering much far-from-subtle matchmaking on their mother’s part.
Jack was soon happily absorbed, messily piping white icing onto the cookies which had survived the cooking and eating of the night before.
“Maybe Lily’s present could be a box of these cookies,” suggested Kate hopefully. She was sitting next to Jack at the breakfast bar which separated the living room from the kitchen and where they ate all their meals. She was fiddling with her jewelry supplies which were at high risk of getting covered in icing.
“I could pipe her name onto them,” said Jack. “That would be cool.”
“Excellent idea. Look, here’s a box,” said Kate, emptying out the cardboard box her silver jewelry wire came in. It was nearly empty anyway. “We could cover it in Christmas paper and draw her name on the top too.”
“Brilliant,” said Jack.
Brilliant, thought Kate, silently. Five pounds saved. With luck her jewelry sale would go well. There would be a few late nights before next week, and having to take wine along was going to have a big impact on her profits, which were on a narrower margin than Anastasia appreciated, or cared about. She might increase her prices a bit. Tom had always said they were too low—that she should value her stuff more highly—but raising prices risked selling less, which would be an even bigger disaster than denting profits with wine. As well as being bad for morale.
When Jack had done his advent calendar (Christmas movie night tomorrow) and gone to bed, she cleaned down the breakfast bar thoroughly and spread out her materials. She already had some large, quite complex necklaces which she could sell for a good price, but experience told her these parties just before Christmas were more about lower value items to be bought as presents. Some simple bracelets could do well and the long chains with a pendant could be produced cheaply and priced reasonably. Earrings were more risky—not everyone had pierced ears, but dangly ones were fashionable this year, so Kate decided to make sure she produced some of her more popular designs. She worked in silver wire and glass beads mainly, buying semi-precious stones when she could. Lacking equipment and space li
mited her and she pined for a proper, equipped workspace. She had so many cool designs in her head. A good evening, with enough wine, could make her a couple of hundred pounds. That kind of money was worth working for.
21 Days ’til Christmas
“Hurry up, Mummy, it’s starting,” said Jack.
“Just putting the marshmallows on,” Kate reassured him.
“Lots please!”
“The exact right amount, cheeky,” she smiled, as she brought the two mugs of hot chocolate over to him. “Budge up.”
Jack scooted over on the settee, so Kate could sit down, just as the opening credits finished.
“What’s it about?” asked Jack, as she tucked the duvet around them both. The flat was cold, as usual, but she was reluctant to put the heating up any more.
“You’ll see . . .” said Kate. “I used to watch this with my mum when I was your age.”
“Wow, so it’s really old.”
“Yeah,” said Kate, dryly. “But it’s a classic. It’s a Wonderful Life, it’s called. Just watch, look, we’re missing it.”
Within minutes, Jack was entranced, sipping his hot chocolate automatically as he stared, unblinking, at the little screen. Kate had watched it every year for as long as she could remember and had been scrutinizing the television listings looking for when it might be on. She could have bought it on DVD, of course, but that would have been spending, which was always best avoided if there was a free alternative.
While the comfortingly familiar story played itself out, Kate’s mind wandered and all her thoughts were negative ones: the scary prospect of losing her job, the impossibility of affording new school shoes, and the Christmas presents she would like to get Jack. She fretted about the limitations of her jewelry sales, mainly because she couldn’t afford to buy the raw materials she would like . . . She was desperately missing Tom, the companionship, the cuddles, the endless positivity to balance her own pessimism, and—let’s face it—the marital benefits . . . Then, there was the inadequacy of the flat—when would she ever be able to afford a garden for Jack to play in? Would he look back on his childhood and remember the deprivation? The poverty? Would it even be a contrast to his adult life? Probably not . . . the chances were, she was condemning him to a lifetime of failure and low expectations anyway. Statistically, he didn’t have a prayer. Her thoughts were so bleak she couldn’t even cry. Instead she felt a dark space inside herself, a bottomless void which threatened to suck her into an underworld she doubted her ability to escape.
The film had ended a little late and despite such a long tough week, she summoned a weak smile when tucking Jack into bed.
“Night, night, monkey boy,” she said.
“I’m not a monkey,” he said sleepily. “But I am a boy . . . Oh, actually,” the thought struck him, “I’m going to be a camel.”
“Oo-kay, and when is this unlikely transformation going to take place?” asked Kate, a real smile replacing the forced one.
“Me and Krish,” murmured Jack, his eyes closing against his will. “For the ’tivity.”
“Great,” said Kate, tucking his duvet tightly under his chin to keep out the cold draft.
She went back into the living room and texted Seema: Are they really going to be camels?
Yep. I’m afraid so, came the reply, swiftly. Dreading the costumes. Let’s make a plan.
And that was another challenge to add to the list, thought Kate as she glanced at the clock and settled down to her jewelry making. It was going to be a late one.
Daniel had also been watching television that evening. He had been flicking idly through the channels, looking for a diversion to pass the time before the whiskey kicked in and made him drunk enough to get some sleep. The film, on the tiny TV in the corner of the boat’s small lounge area, was already halfway through, but that didn’t matter. He had watched it with Zoe often enough to know the plot backward. He even remembered it being part of the Christmas ritual when his parents were still alive.
“Come on, boy,” Zoe had chivied imperiously last year, “it’s on. Where’s my cup of tea.” He had brought two mugs and sat with her as she watched, mopping her tears at the end, teasing her because she always cried, and to hide his anxiety that her crying made her fragile breathing even worse. It would be the last time they performed this particular ritual. He had known that even then. And now, it was another anniversary to be borne.
“I’ll be your guardian angel,” Zoe had said, at the end of the film. “When I’m dead, I’ll come and look after you and stop you jumping off Clifton Suspension Bridge.”
“Nah you won’t,” he had told her. “You’ll be in heaven with Mum and Dad having a great time. You’re not going to bother to come and rescue me from my own idiocy.”
They had never shirked away from the death thing as a family. When Zoe was born, the heart issues were even more obvious than her Down’s syndrome. She was blue and too weak to feed. Daniel’s mum spent hours patiently dripping expressed milk into her mouth, only to have her regurgitate the whole lot minutes later because of her reflux problems. The pediatric consultant gave her months to live—a couple of years at best. And then she proved him wrong. She kept proving him wrong as time went on, but the prognosis remained somber. Zoe didn’t know she wasn’t supposed to be able to do things. If she wanted to do something badly enough, she did it. Eventually. It took her nearly two years to learn to ride a bike but, with Daniel’s patient input, she succeeded. It was a tricycle, because her balance was poor, but—even though peddling from the house to the park and back left her exhausted, her triumphant expression was an inspiration.
Zoe also knew her heart was poorly and that, one day, it would stop working. She had no fear of death. Daniel, on the other hand, had dreaded her leaving him for years, especially after both their parents died within six months of each other. His father had apologized for leaving him with responsibility for his sister. “It was never the plan . . .” he had said, days before his own death. “The last thing we wanted . . . leaving you with Zoe, you should have your own life.”
He had not wanted his own life. This was his life. The last thing he wanted was what he had now. The loss of his mother, father, and then sister, within two years of each other. He would do anything to have family again. To have Zoe with him. He sloshed another inch of Scotch into the glass and climbed up the narrow wooden stairs to the little deck area, gazing up at the tall, warehouse buildings—mostly converted now—from his mooring right in the heart of the city.
“Cool . . .” Zoe had said, when she first saw his little houseboat, a million miles from the Victorian villa they had grown up in and where Zoe had lived with their parents until they died. She visited often and then, when her father’s death left her alone at home, she moved in with Daniel full time. He gave up his bedroom in the prow of the boat, sleeping instead on the sofa-bed pull-out mattress in the lounge area. It was cramped but Zoe pronounced it perfect, despite the inconvenience of having to leave her wheelchair in his car and have him bring it to her when they went out. The boat was small enough for her to get around it without needing wheels. Too weak to get out much, she had never tired of watching the river, the changing light, the weather, the seasons, and the pulsing life of the city. The view provided a vibrant backdrop to a life that was closing in on her as it drew to an end.
20 Days ’til Christmas
“Nooo,” Jack murmured as Kate gently tried to shake him awake.
“Come on, sleepyhead. Time to get up. It’s Saturday and I’ve got to get to work.”
“Tired . . .” he complained, turning onto his tummy and burying his head in his pillow.
“I know, darling . . . but I’ve got to get you to Helen’s. You’ve football this morning. You like football.”
“Don’t want to do football.”
Kate paused. Even when he was exhausted, Jack always wanted to play football. His Saturday morning coaching sessions were the highlight of his week, which was just as well given the numbe
r of Saturdays Kate had to work. She felt his forehead with a practiced hand. Cool and dry.
“You’ll be all right when you get going,” she chivied gently, pulling the duvet off.
“Brr, it’s cold, Mummy, don’t do that.”
She relented, putting it back over him. He was right. The flat was really chilly. “Come on darling, your clothes are right here on the end of the bed. Pop them on, then you can come and eat your porridge. That’ll warm you up.”
“Don’t like porridge.”
“Bad luck, monkey boy,” she said. “Pancakes soon, but not today.”
“When are you picking me up from Helen’s?” said Jack, with a slight whine in his voice, as he spooned his liberally syruped porridge into his mouth.
“Right after lunch,” said Kate brightly. “Just a half day at work today. And then, do you remember what we’re doing? What did the advent calendar say?”
Jack thought for a moment and then his face lit up. “Christmas Steps!”
“Yay! That’s right.” Christmas window shopping at Christmas Steps was what the little slip of paper she slipped into his calendar had said the previous night.
“Can we go to the Oldie Sweetie Shoppie?”
“Of course. If you’re good,” said Kate.
By the time she had dropped Jack off at Helen’s, he had perked up. She felt lousy having to give up precious time with him when he wasn’t at school, but she had no chance of getting any Saturdays off between now and Christmas. The tree sales were going well, and she hoped her success was doing a little to secure her employment prospects. As she smiled, chatted, and heaved Christmas trees around, she was ever aware it was Saturdays that he was most likely to arrive with the woman who had looked so sick last year.
He didn’t appear. She left it until the very last minute to leave, fussing around until Wayne, who was taking over the stand for the afternoon, told her to get lost.
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