I Remember You

by Harriet Evans

  ‘Della,’ said the young woman. ‘And this is Katie.’

  ‘Hello, Katie,’ Martin Riviere said, crouching down next to the little girl, who had stopped screaming and was staring intently at the old man, her face still flushed. Her pink, fur-lined parka jacket had its hood up, and she looked like a very cross small pink Eskimo. ‘Here. Have this donkey.’

  ‘This is really random,’ Adam whispered to Tess.

  ‘Go with it,’ said Tess. ‘That’s what I’m doing.’

  Martin Riviere handed Katie a small toy donkey. It had tinsel round its neck.

  ‘Little Donkey, Little Donkey,’ he sang, standing up, making a heaving sound as he did.

  ‘Sing along, everyone!’

  ‘Bethlehem, Bethlehem…’

  Tess wanted to laugh again, but she found herself moved. She disliked the heavy-duty Christianity that people like Leonora Mortmain had loved to employ. But here, on this cold, clear night, as a group of people she lived with all sang, their voices soft in the winter air, she could imagine the donkey walking towards Bethlehem in the late-afternoon heat, guided by Joseph, carrying the pregnant Mary, all of them tired and weary and looking for shelter. She looked up at Katie who was standing on the stage, holding Martin Riviere’s hand and singing shyly along.

  ‘Right,’ said Martin Riviere, as the song ended. ‘Now I’d like to ask someone for some help, switching the lights on. Who’s that down there? What’s your name?’

  ‘Maisie!’ someone yelled loudly. Tess wondered if, like Martin Riviere, Jemima could actually imitate her own daughter’s voice, the better to get her up on the stage.

  ‘You’re a pretty little thing, aren’t you, Maisie?’ said Martin Riviere, smoothing down his silver silk tie. ‘Do you want to come up on stage and help me with something?’

  ‘Stop it,’ hissed Tess, as Adam stuffed his fist in his mouth.

  Maisie came up on the stage and, after a whispered consultation, her brother Gideon accompanied her too.

  ‘We press the button now,’ said Martin Riviere, and Maisie, Gideon and Katie all put their hands on a big red button he held out, and the crowd drew its breath. ‘Happy Christmas, everyone,’ he cried, and signalled behind him to the man in charge of the lights, who was, in fact, Suggs. Suggs flipped down a switch, and there, down the high street, illuminated snowflakes, stars, Christmas trees and baubles flickered into life.

  There was a loud ‘Aaaahh’. Tess joined in, and Adam looked down at her and smiled.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I can’t help it. It’s so lovely.’

  ‘Don’t apologize,’ he replied, looking up at the lights, around at the crowd, then back at her. He nodded. ‘You’re right. It is. It really is.’

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  There was nothing Tess liked more than singing carols loudly while pottering around the house making seasonal things like mulled wine or mince pies or wreaths for front doors, but in the days after Adam came back, Liz went on a Christmas domesticity drive that even Tess herself found somewhat overwhelming. She made her own crackers (with crêpe paper and loo rolls), she tied mistletoe and holly everywhere, so that casually putting one’s hand on a stray surface became a hazardous activity, and she had a CD called King’s College Carols constantly on a loop. Tess started to think that if she heard ‘I Saw Three Ships’ one more time blood would ooze from her ears.

  ‘I’ve made a carolling corner!’ Liz cried when Tess came back from work the following Monday. ‘Look!’

  She pointed in the direction of the far corner, which was what Tess and Francesca used to refer to as the Dead End, because it was simply the bit of the house where furniture and things went to die. They had kept the recycling box in this corner, and the empty box from the flat-screen TV.

  Now, under Liz’s gentle care, there stood a small slightly wobbly round table, which Liz had recovered from outside a house on Lord’s Lane where it was about to be thrown out. She had rescued it and brought it back to Easter Cottage and now, at Christmas time, it was fulfilling its purpose, finally, as a table with—

  ‘What the hell is that?’ said Tess, putting her bag down on the chair by the bureau. ‘Is that a cardboard house?’

  ‘Yes!’ said Liz, patting the cardboard box which she had cunningly transformed into a house by dint of bending the top flaps together to form a roof. ‘A Knupfer House!’ She took on a dramatic expression and spoke like someone narrating a Disney movie. ‘It’s an old Austrian tradition, dating back centuries. We’re going to cover it with icing sugar and then stick cinnamon biscuits over it, just like Hansel and Gretel!’

  ‘Is that the box Francesca’s face cream came in?’ Tess said, staring at it. Francesca had been addicted to ordering all her many Dermalogica skin products and Bumble and Bumble hair products on a website which kindly gave you one item free, but only after you’d spent fifty pounds on a very small phial of moisturizing fluid that promised to make your skin glow brighter than Tutankhamun’s tomb. Thus the house was still full of narrow, high cardboard boxes, suitable for storing and delivering body lotions, cleansers and soothing boosters and now, apparently, also making gingerbread houses.

  ‘It’s not mine,’ Liz said merrily. ‘Ah, it’s going to be so exciting. We’ll put the icing on, gather round and sing carols. Just like they do in old Austria.’

  ‘Right,’ said Tess tentatively, not wanting to rain on Liz’s parade. She remembered, with a flash, the day she’d arrived back from school particularly blue about Will, and the strap on her shoe had broken, meaning she had lost her balance and stepped into a puddle. She had opened the door to the cottage to be greeted with the sound of Francesca and Adam upstairs having sex so loudly that Tess had at first thought one or other of them was being murdered.

  ‘Ah,’ she now murmured to herself, not without nostalgia.

  ‘It’ll be fun,’ Liz said, a small frown puckering her brow as she saw Tess’s expression. ‘I’ve asked a couple of people to drop round.’

  ‘Oh?’ Tess said, examining the Knupfer House and not really listening. ‘Who?’

  ‘Well, I think Beth’s coming over, for starters. Sorry, Tess, I should have checked.’

  She sounded guilty, so Tess smiled at her, feeling bad. Why wasn’t she always as enthusiastic about everything as Liz? Yes! ‘Great! It’ll be fun. Brilliant. Shall we ask Miss Store round? Give her a bit of mulled wine and some minced pies? Oh, I’m properly in the Christmas holiday spirit now, Liz!’ She squeezed her housemate hard, and Liz looked at her in consternation, alarmed by this sudden change in mood.

  ‘Great!’ said Liz, drawing back a little. ‘I’ll just finish mulling the wine. Why don’t you go and ask Miss Store if she’s free?’

  Ask Miss Store if she’s free, Tess grumbled to herself, as she stood on the doorstep of the tiny cottage next door and rang the doorbell. She’s hardly going to be busy, is she? Good grief—

  The door was opened by Miss Store, whose sweet face broke into a hearty smile when she saw who it was. ‘Tess, dear! Look who’s here!’

  Tess looked over her shoulder to see Adam sitting in one of the low chintzy armchairs that gave Miss Store so much trouble now her knees were bad. He stood up. ‘Hello, love, how are you?’ he said. ‘Just chatting to Miss Store about my grandmother. She knew her from when they were both girls, you know.’

  ‘Course!’ said Tess, pleased. ‘That’s great. That’s—really great!’

  ‘What can I do for you?’ Miss Store said. ‘Come in. Sit down.’

  Tess—somewhat regretfully—declined. She explained her mission, and invited them both to drop round after they’d finished chatting, then retreated back next door. She wanted to check her emails, before Carolling Corner—as that was what they were evidently calling this evening—began.

  She’d emailed Francesca a few days ago, and not heard anything back. As Liz hummed ‘I Saw Three Ships’ mellifluously in the kitchen, Tess ground her teeth, waiting for her computer to crank itself into life. Amongst the emai
ls giving her tips on how to get Free TV Downloads and the latest releases showing at the Streatham Odeon (she had booked tickets online once, eighteen months ago, and was now receiving emails from them on a bi-weekly basis, despite her best efforts to cancel them), was one from Francesca:

  Hi from London, young Tess—

  I am writing this sitting in Kate’s flat. Still haven’t found a place yet and the people renting my flat aren’t due to move out till February. So annoying. So I’m sleeping on a succession of floors or in spare rooms. It’s kind of liberating. Hey, you don’t need a flatmate, do you? Hahahahaha.

  I got that job. It’s weird. I’m working as a lawyer again. For an ethical firm. My main client’s an inner-city farm. Someone’s trying to build a bit of the Olympic Village over it, it’s all really dodgy. They loved my experience helping out on the water meadows campaign. Isn’t that weird, me working for a farm? Like I’m a country girl all over again. Me!

  Tess, just want to say this once and then not again—I’m sorry about flouncing off that night, all the things I said. It’s nothing to do with you. I couldn’t take it any more. The whole thing with Adam those last few weeks, it was poisonous. I was mental, that night, I feel really guilty. I guess I liked him more than I ever told him. And I’m not right for him. I behave badly when I’m with him. Like a princess. I look back on some of the stuff…Argh. Well, he’s not right for me, either. I can see that now. I hope we both can.

  & I think my time in Langford had come to an end too, don’t you? Never expected it to last as long as it did. It was a blast and I’ll always remember it. Can I come and stay, some time soon? What are you doing for New Year’s?

  Come up to London, even if it’s just for the day. Love you, miss you lots, and thanks for everything again,

  F

  PS Have you seen my citrine earrings? They were probably under my bed. Quite valuable but don’t worry if they’ve been hoovered etc. And my silk sleepmask? I think I used it to tie the wardrobe doors together.

  XXXX

  There was a knock on the door. Tess jumped up to answer it, her eyes still glued to the screen.

  ‘Oh, hello,’ she said in surprise, as she opened the door to find Guy Phelps standing on the threshold, somewhat anxiously clutching a bottle of wine.

  ‘Er—um. Hello,’ said Guy. ‘Is—Liz around?’

  He looked past Tess as if she were a housemaid.

  ‘Guy!’ Liz appeared from the kitchen, dyring her hands on a tea towel. ‘How super that you’ve come!’ She smiled at him, her eyes shining.

  ‘Oh, huh!’ Guy stepped into the cottage, looking pleased. ‘Delighted to be asked, lonely fellow like me all on my own up at the farm! Not often I get an invitation to venture out on the town.’ He handed Tess the bottle of wine, without looking at her. ‘Er. There you go.’

  ‘Thank ye, zurrr,’ Tess said under her breath, in her best yokel accent. He turned away, and she did a quick curtsey, then muttered under her breath.

  ‘So!’ Guy said, rubbing his hands together and advancing towards Liz. ‘What’s this evening in aid of?’ He was determined to enjoy himself; this was clearly a big night out for him.

  ‘Oh, just an excuse for some mulled wine and to sing some carols,’ said Liz happily. ‘Get us into the Christmas spirit.’

  ‘Excellent. Excellent.’ Guy looked around the room, as if trying to spot the other partygoers. ‘Hey! I see mistletoe!’ He waggled his eyebrows. Tess cleared her throat and he looked at her, as if seeing her for the first time. ‘Oh. Hello, there, Tess. How are you?’

  ‘Oh, I’m super duper, thanks very much, Guy,’ Tess said chirpily. ‘Thanks for coming.’

  ‘No problems!’ Guy said, bouncing on the balls of his feet. ‘As I said. Christmas party! Delighted.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Tess, retreating into the kitchen. ‘Thanks for coming to our party that I had no idea we were actually having,’ she hissed to Liz. ‘What’s he doing here?’

  ‘He’s nice,’ said Liz staunchly, ladling out some mulled wine. Tess stared at her. ‘And I want to get in the Christmas mood.’ She handed Tess a glass.

  ‘Thanks.’ Tess took a sip, diverted. ‘Ooh. That’s delicious.’

  ‘It’s for Guy. There’s—oh, that’s the doorbell! I wonder who that’ll be?’

  ‘I wonder, too,’ said Tess. ‘Blimey.’

  She stomped towards the door, practically flinging the glass of mulled wine at Guy.

  ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Hello, Beth.’

  Beth Kennett stamped her feet on the ground, wiping them on the iron grate. ‘It’s freezing out there. Thanks. This is nice!’ She stepped inside.

  ‘Beth!’ Liz called. ‘Thanks for coming! Welcome to Carolling Corner!’

  ‘Oh, well,’ said Beth uncertainly. ‘Er. Thanks for inviting me to—er, be in your carolling corner.’ She looked at Tess. ‘You too, Tess.’

  ‘I had nothing to do with it,’ said Tess.

  ‘Mince pies are on their way,’ Liz called from the kitchen. ‘Beth, let me get you a glass.’

  ‘Hello, Beth,’ said Guy, clearly overwhelmed by the already dazzling display of female companionship on show this evening. ‘How exciting. Jolly nice to see you again.’

  Beth pulled her top down self-consciously over the waistband of her jeans. ‘Er, thanks,’ she said.

  ‘Drinks are on their way!’ Liz called from the kitchen.

  ‘Marvellous!’ Guy called back. ‘Anything we can do to help?’

  ‘Nothing, but you can help yourself to the mince pies!’ Liz put a beautifully stacked pyramid of hot, golden, crusted homemade mince pies on the breakfast bar. ‘They’ll get cold in a minute!’

  Tess thought of her synthetic fondant fancies, piled up on the now-dead cake stand, and she had a sudden flashback to the evening she and Francesca had made margaritas. Francesca had been out to Thornham on the bus—she loved the bus, strangely—and had bought the right glasses, some salt, margarita mix, a brown bag crammed full with limes, and some tortilla chips, which turned out to be all they ate that night. They had invented a narrative dance routine to ‘Copacabana’ and ‘What Becomes of the Broken Hearted’, and set up a production line to make the margaritas to music, like the famous Morecambe and Wise sketch in the kitchen. It was hilarious—less hilarious when Francesca, merrily chopping the limes in half with a motion akin to the guillotine, nearly removed her own finger, instead embedding the knife in the chopping board with such force it took both of them to remove it. She withdrew, standing halfway up the stairs in the darkness while Beth and Guy made polite conversation, and swiftly texted Francesca, suddenly desperately anxious not to let another minute go by without telling her how great she was.

  Got your e, ta so much. Just thinking of margarita night. Miss you! Course you can stay any time. Speak soon. Lots of love. T x

  The bell rang while she was texting. ‘I’ll get it,’ Tess called out, with no real enthusiasm. She flung the door open. Suggs stood on the threshold with his arm round Kirsty, his fellow barperson at the Feathers. ‘Hi all,’ he said. ‘We bought some beer, too.’

  Kirsty, who looked a bit as though she might be a daughter of Bob Geldolf—lots of eyeliner, mute but pissed off expression—nodded, with a half-snarl.

  ‘Hello, you two! That’s brilliant, thank you so much!’ Liz said, rushing towards them. She kissed Suggs on the cheek and went for Kirsty, who veered back in horror.

  ‘Oi.’ Tess put her phone back down on the table. ‘When did you know about this?’ she demanded of Suggs. Kirsty watched her curiously, chewing some gum and standing with one hand on her hip

  ‘Oh, this morning,’ he said airily. ‘It’s quite last minute.’

  ‘You’re telling me!’ Tess said, going into the kitchen.

  ‘Who else have you asked?’ she said casually to Liz. ‘Just so I know with whom I’ll be carolling in a corner in a short while. Want to get my harmonies right and all that.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t properly mention it t
o you,’ Liz said desperately. ‘I’m really sorry. It was a bit last minute, and then I kept seeing people all day, and it turns out everyone’s free—it’s just a few carols and singing and mince pies, you don’t really mind, do you?’ ‘Course not!’ said Tess, seeing the anxiety on her face.

  ‘Absolutely not! Great idea! Just—who else is coming?’

  ‘Well, Jen’s coming along later, and Joanna, and—’

  ‘Joanna the vicar Joanna?’

  The doorbell rang again. ‘I’ll get it!’ Guy cried, near-hysterical. ‘In charge out here, don’t worry!’

  ‘Great!’ Tess shouted back. ‘Thanks!’ She turned back to Liz.

  ‘Yes,’ Liz said innocently. ‘Joanna the vicar Joanna. Why?’

  ‘Nothing, no reason at all,’ said Tess. She thought of the climax of the dance routine to ‘Copacabana’, which involved Francesca as Lola—of course—sitting on a chair, legs daintily crossed, whilst Tess—as Tony, the passionate barman lover of Lola—emerged from the curve in the stairs and flew across the room to defend her honour from Rico. They had found a fan from somewhere, and Francesca batted it seductively, whilst Tess clutched the front of her cardigan as if it were a proud matador’s jacket and then sank to the ground, shot by the imaginary Rico. (They called up Adam, but he was working at the pub and couldn’t be persuaded to leave and come and join them.) Who, really, could say that was a more worthwhile evening? Of course not.

  There was another knock on the door. ‘I’ll get it,’ Tess said, determined to be nice. She threaded her way through the crowd in the tiny sitting room. It had expanded, she was sure.

  ‘Hi! Hi there, hi,’ she said, pushing past people. Was that Claire? And Ryan, from the greengrocer’s? And Alice Gilkes, from the Packhorse and Talbot in Thornham? What was this flash mob of a Christmas drinks party? When had they all arrived?

  She opened the door. There, clutching Carols for Choirs 4 and a box of biscuits, stood Joanna and, next to her, holding a bag of amaretto biscuits and a bottle of wine, was Jen.

  ‘Hi!!’ Jen said brightly.