by Suzy K Quinn
Alex requested clothes for the morning and extra toiletries, then dismissed the concierge.
The two of us watched twinkly, Christmas London through the panoramic window.
Then we decided which double bed we were going to sleep in.
Alex took keys, a little silver box, his wallet and mobile phone from his suit jacket and put them on the bedside table. Then he hung his jacket over a chair.
‘You’re beautiful,’ he told me. ‘Put your arms down.’
I did, and Alex walked around me, then picked me up and carried me to the bed.
As he lay me down, he said, ‘This is another perfect moment. Don’t you think?’
He kissed me and it became impossible to think of the future. Right then, I wanted to be with him so much.
Sometimes, moments are all we have.
Thursday 7th December
Woke up under big, billowy bedclothes to find Alex gone.
Of course.
There was a note written on buff hotel paper:
‘Will call soon. Alex.’
Daisy was just waking up, so the two of us had room-service breakfast looking out over London.
‘Where Rex?’ Daisy wanted to know.
‘Gone,’ I told her. ‘Rex is gone.’
Friday 8th December
I have a house.
I have a job in my parent’s pub that (just about) covers the bills.
I’m getting regular, court-ordered maintenance payments from Nick.
And I have sole residency of my little girl, which of course is the best Christmas present anyone could wish for.
But something is wrong.
Alex.
It’s all wrong.
We can’t go on like this.
Saturday 9th December
Althea came over last night and did a Tarot reading for me, while Wolfgang and Daisy slept upstairs.
She doesn’t use the traditional deck, declaring it full of male symbolism. Instead, she used her Voodoo cards (purchased in New Orleans) covered in naked ladies wrestling ferocious animals.
We drank Althea’s homemade Christmas sultana liqueur, which was strong enough to strip tooth enamel, and deliberated over my future.
‘The cards say Alex has lion tendencies,’ said Althea. ‘And you’re a raven goddess.’
‘What does that mean?’ I asked.
‘In a nutshell, you’ve got no chance,’ said Althea. ‘But hey – they’re only cards. It’s all bullshit, isn’t it?’
‘Maybe.’
‘Listen, Jules. Sod the cards – how do you feel?’
‘I feel like we’ve got no chance.’
Sunday 10th December
Called Alex this morning.
He was in the middle of some sink disaster, and shouting, ‘No, I need one hundred white porcelain butler style 500mm, plus taps, and I need them TODAY.’
‘Alex, that night in your hotel shouldn’t have happened,’ I said. ‘No more being friends. It doesn’t work. We really are over. You can’t keep doing this to me, stringing me along.’
Silence.
Eventually, Alex said, ‘Is this to do with Nick Spencer?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘It’s to do with wanting more.’
‘Spencer wants you back,’ said Alex. ‘Doesn’t he? You may as well admit it.’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘But it’s not about Nick.’
More silence.
Then Alex said, ‘I’m not going to argue with you.’
And hung up.
Monday 11th December
Thought Alex might phone today. Begging me to reconsider and offering me the moon, like Nick used to do.
But that’s not his style.
Is he upset? He didn’t sound upset, but then again he’s very controlled.
I doubt he’d accidentally cry watching Lassie Come Home, like John Boy did this afternoon.
Tuesday 12th December
Sad today.
Am throwing all my energy into getting the house perfect for Christmas.
The painting is finished.
Kitchen looks brilliant.
Heating works.
And I have furniture.
Plus an aisle of Poundland Christmas decorations.
All that’s missing are a few homey touches.
Took Daisy out to collect holly and ivy, and ended up bringing half the forest back.
I mean, it was all free.
We made some quite decent wreathes and swathes, using the stolen forest delights and an old glittery dress that doesn’t fit me anymore.
The house was full of woodlice by the time we’d finished, but Daisy enjoyed clearing them up with her little pink dustpan and brush.
She did quite a good job, until she emptied the dustpan into the ‘bin’ (my underwear drawer).
Wednesday 13th December
Made Christmas food today, and filled the house with cinnamon and orange fragrance.
This made me feel like a proper mother – if you ignore the fact that nothing Daisy and I cooked was edible.
It was my fault.
I decided Daisy and I should bake cinnamon biscuits, like the ones I used to do at school. The recipe is designed for heavy-fingered school children and theoretically impossible to mess up.
However, when I saw the amount of sugar called for, I panicked.
It equated to roughly four teaspoons of sugar per biscuit.
In the 1980s you could get away with that, but not these days.
Halved the sugar, and added sweetener, honey and extra flour.
The resulting biscuits tasted like sadness.
Daisy loved them. Not to eat, but to chuck on the floor and play at ‘clearing up’.
I now have a load of broken, crap-tasting biscuits in my underwear drawer.
Thursday 14th December
How can I be this fat? I’ve put on an inch around my middle, and the Christmas festivities have barely started.
Daisy asked about Alex today.
She saw me attempting to Facebook spy on him, and asked,
‘Where Rex?’
I said Mummy wasn’t seeing Rex anymore.
She looked sad, and said, ‘Like Rex, Mummy. Let’s see Rex Mummy!’
If only things were that simple.
I wonder if Alex is thinking about me.
Friday 15th December
Expected Nick to have rung by now to organise visitation, but looking over the specific court orders, the new arrangements don’t start until January.
I suppose we’ll see Nick at the end of the month, like we agreed before. But I’m not going to chase him up. Very possibly, he’s sulking over losing residency.
SOOO happy all that court stuff is over.
I have MANY things to be grateful for.
The house is looking fabulous – really warm and cosy in time for Christmas.
Not so long ago, I never thought I’d be in this position.
My own house, for crying out loud. With a roof, toilet and running water!
And my little girl, warm upstairs in her own bed.
Althea is coming round soon with a bottle of homemade clove liqueur.
Everything is fantastic.
Who needs a boyfriend?
Saturday 16th December
John Boy and I took Nana to Gala Bingo last night for the OAP Christmas. Ball.
It was a big celebration – the OAP equivalent of prom night.
By 9pm, Nana was so drunk she could hardly walk.
She was swaying on a stolen, tinsel-covered Zimmer frame and screeching the words to ‘My Way’, whilst occasionally lifting her glittery dress.
The bingo hall asked Nana to leave, so John Boy and I helped her into a taxi.
Lifting drunk, elderly people is extremely difficult. Nana’s limbs moved in their sockets like cooked chicken. I was terrified we’d pull something loose.
Eventually, we got Nana back and into her bedroom.
Thank goodness the care home had a stair lift.
I
think Nana had sobered up a bit as we were leaving, because she called John Boy and I ‘dears’ and gave us each a pound coin.
Now we just need to find out who owns that Zimmer frame.
Sunday 17th December
It’s a bloody nightmare now Daisy has started walking.
I’ve had to rehang Christmas tree decorations countless times, and every fragile bauble has been smashed.
People always talk about newborns crying for hours, but at least they stay in one place and are therefore less likely to get killed.
Daisy roams the house seeking out danger and causing chaos.
She’s like a little chubby legged ‘untidy’ robot, programmed to destroy the lounge and chew germ-ridden items.
Monday 18th December
Christmas treat for Daisy today – her winter flu vaccination.
We should have had it done in November, but surgery appointments were hard to get because so many old people die this time of year.
Doctor Slaughter always talks about the ‘November rush’.
Daisy looked outraged when they sprayed the stuff up her nose. She cried and cried – it was horrible.
Althea was sympathetic. She always has a terrible time taking Wolfgang for his vaccinations. The nurses refuse to see him at the local surgery because they don’t have the staff to hold him down.
Tuesday 19th December
Mum is receiving complaints about the pub’s Christmas lights.
She’s added blue and white flashing icicles to the mix, and the neighbours keep thinking there’s an ambulance outside.
This is particularly distressing for the lady who lives opposite, because her husband was hospitalised this time last year.
Mum was unsympathetic, saying, ‘Serves him right for nicking all our pint glasses.’
Wednesday 20th December
Spent today getting the house all spic and span for Christmas.
Theoretically, a newly refurbished house should be fairly clean. But nothing is clean when you have a two-year-old.
Daisy has biro-ed the new paintwork again and rubbed toothpaste into her teddy bear curtains.
She does have a little toy dustpan and brush to ‘help’ me with the housework, but she uses it to bring dirt in from the garden.
Thursday 21st December
After a few Christmas snowballs, I decided to do an online love test to assess my future relationship status.
I didn’t like the first result, so kept doing it until it came out okay.
The outcome fluctuated between broken relationships and disappointment, to joyful families, love and happiness.
Friday 22nd December
Callum’s school Christmas Fair today.
It was anarchy.
Cake-fuelled children ran around the school hall, bellowing their heads off and climbing gym apparatus, while Daisy cried because Santa had gone home with a headache.
Thought I could pick up a few last-minute presents, but everything had been made by children.
I didn’t think anyone would appreciate lolly sticks with felt tip and glued wool all over them.
One little kid ran into my (still) pre-menstrual boobs, and I nearly smacked him one.
Saturday 23rd December
Have decided to brave Oxford Street for a few last-minute Christmas bits.
I know I’m an idiot, leaving things to Christmas Eve, but I really do have an excuse this year.
Court hearing. Huge house refurbishment. Boyfriend trouble. Ex-boyfriend trouble. Ex best-friend trouble.
I’ve had quite the time of it.
Have persuaded Mum to hit the shops with me.
She’s a first-class accomplice in a crowd situation, due to hefty elbows and no manners.
Mum and I haven’t shopped together for ages, so it could be a really nice day out.
You never know.
Althea refuses to come, calling it ‘festive suicide’.
To be fair, she’s busy packing for her Australia trip. She and Wolfgang fly to Perth tomorrow, and will be heading into the bush for a survival experience.
Sunday 24th December
Christmas Eve
It didn’t start out as a nice day out. But it ended that way.
Am writing this in bed at nearly midnight, with Alex sleeping beside me.
Yes.
Alex.
Miracles really do happen at Christmas.
Of course, the last minute Christmas shopping was a stupid idea. I should have known better.
The crowds were particularly vicious this year, clambering over old ladies to grab last-minute bargains.
You’d think people were grabbing food rations from UN helicopters.
I admit I did a little clambering myself. But any mother of a ‘Daisy’ would do the same, when spotting the last half-priced Upsy Daisy doll.
Mum was fed up within half an hour, and claimed her diabetes was making her tired.
‘I’m too old and fat for this,’ she said. ‘I’m going to Laura’s for a mince pie and a nice sit down.’
Was sorry to see her go. She’d been useful muscle, parting the crowds with her big shoulders.
Loaded up the pram with bargains and escaped John Lewis in one piece, only to discover the bloody Central line was down.
Daisy said, ‘Train Mummy. Home. Want home.’
I told her we were temporarily stranded in shopping mayhem, and did she want a hot chocolate while we waited for the trains to work?
‘Unhealthy Mummy,’ said Daisy, parroting my own lectures back to me. ‘TOO busy now. TOO MUCH boys and girls. Dange-rous.’
Remembered last Christmas, when I was stranded in London. And Alex rescued us.
Made me feel sad.
Had a mad Christmas moment and phoned him.
I didn’t expect him to answer, because I thought he’d be en route to the Bahamas.
But he did. On the first ring.
‘Juliette,’ he said. ‘Is everything okay?’
‘Happy Christmas,’ I said.
Alex said, ‘Happy Christmas to you too.’
‘I miss you,’ I said, feeling tears forming. ‘I’m last minute Christmas shopping. And I just remembered … oh never mind.’
‘It sounds extremely rowdy,’ said Alex, in a telling-off tone. ‘No place for Daisy. You should get yourself home.’
‘I’m trying to. The Central line is down.’
‘You’re in London? Get a connection from St Pancras. It’s not far to walk.’
‘Thanks for the transport advice.’
‘We’re friends, no matter what you say about that. Friends give advice.’
Then I said, ‘Alex. Do you miss me too?’
‘Don’t let me keep you, Juliette,’ Alex replied. ‘Go now while those connections are still running. You don’t want to get stranded again.’
Then he hung up.
Was a nightmare getting the pram to St Pancras with all my shopping.
Daisy dozed fitfully against the metal side of the Maclaren, frowning and making worried noises as I bounced her along the pavement.
People kept shouting about my ‘bloody pram’, but I couldn’t shout back because Daisy was sleeping.
It lacks impact, whispering ‘fuck off’.
Reached St Pancras, and pushed through the shopping mall bit towards the mainline train connections.
Daisy had woken up by then, and had a big, red line down her cheek.
Someone was playing a jazzy version of ‘White Christmas’ on the public piano, which entranced Daisy for a moment. But as we took the lift to the concourse, she started to howl.
The next connection to Great Oakley was an hour away, so I walked Daisy around the cold concourse, willing her to fall asleep.
I took the route past the Meeting Place statue, and as we reached it Daisy pointed and said, ‘Rex. Mummy, Rex.’
A brown-haired man in a suit was a few feet away, talking to a police officer.
He did look a bit like Alex.
Then the man turned.
‘REX,’ Daisy yelled excitedly.
And it was. It was Alex.
I won’t lie – I was happy to see him. Possibly, I may have smiled a bit.
‘Juliette,’ said Alex. ‘There you are. I tried to call. Your phone went straight to voicemail.’
Just like that. As though it were perfectly normal for him to be waiting for me.
‘What are you doing here?’ I asked. ‘I thought … shouldn’t you be travelling to the Bahamas right now?’
‘I changed my mind,’ said Alex. He turned to the Meeting Place statue. ‘I thought you might walk this way. Past this hideous display of sentiment. It occurred to me that this statue is about moments. Maybe we’re more similar than you realise.’
‘A moment isn’t enough, Alex.’
‘Will you come downstairs with me,’ said Alex. ‘For a moment?’
I shook my head, but Alex took my hand and said, ‘Juliette. It’s Christmas.’
Relented at the ‘C’ word, and we took the lift down to the main concourse.
‘You say I’m too closed off,’ said Alex. ‘I want to change that. So I’m going to play something for you.’
Then Alex strolled right up to an unoccupied piano and sat down.
‘It’s not Dire Straits, is it?’ I asked.
‘No.’ Alex removed sheet music from his laptop case. ‘Elton John. “Step into Christmas”. Because you like Christmas.’
‘Um …’ I thought for a moment.
‘You don’t like Elton John?’
‘I mean, it’s all right if he comes on the radio. But I wouldn’t go out of my way …’
‘He’s an astonishing musician. Timeless.’
Daisy shouted, ‘Sing Rudolph. RUDOLPH! REX! RUDOLPH’
Alex hesitated. ‘Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer?’
Daisy nodded.
‘Are you sure you don’t want “Step into Christmas” by Elton John? I have the music right here …’
‘RUDOLPH!’
Alex muttered something about it ‘being short, at least’, then rested fingers on the keys and played the opening chords.