Every Day in December

by Kitty Wilson

  We thrash around on our little spots next to each other, laughing so much I’m convinced we’ll wake up the whole district, until she jumps up, pulls me to my feet, turns me around and wraps her arm around my waist, holding me tight to her as I look down at the grass.

  ‘You and me, Walters, we are dawn-beating snow angels. Night-time stealth-attack snow angels. Almost as cool as wood frogs, huh?’

  I do entreat that we may sup together.

  * * *

  December Nineteenth.

  Belle.

  Phew, I can’t believe it but my crazy week is over and I have a shiny thousand pounds in my bank account. A thousand and two hundred and fifty pounds to be precise. I have never had that amount of money to play with in my life.

  In My Life!

  Which is insane considering I’m thirty-one and that’s less than a month’s minimum wage these days. But if my cleaning job and the shop hours cover next month’s rent and if I put half of what I’ve earnt in the schools this week to cover me for January once the shop work stops, in case I can’t get something else to tide me over, that still means I have a lot more money this Christmas than I’m used to, even once I pay Luisa back. A bit of me wants to reach for my phone and let Rory know all about my new-found financial whizzery, and my very sensible idea of saving half. He’ll definitely like that bit. I bet he has savings. He probably had an ISA in uni.

  However, I need to retrain my brain from dwelling on Rory. My crush is no longer a little one, it’s a major one. So major it has epaulettes and a flag. On the upside it means I’ve broken my dreadful Lost Boys pattern and now I have taste that I can be proud of. Taste that doesn’t make me feel like I need to sign up for therapy or shower myself in bleach.

  On the downside there is nothing, nothing I can do about it. The man is still deeply traumatised and in love with Jessica and everyone knows you can’t compete against a saint. Secondly, he’s only in the UK to care for his sick mum. You cannot jump the bones of someone when they’re only here for their sick mother.

  It just isn’t appropriate.

  I may have been queen of the inappropriate before but I’m actively trying to change and even I know there are lines one should not cross. Rory is one of them. He has enough to deal with without having to fend off passes from me. I seem to be giving him something other than his mum to think about over here, I’m not going to complicate that by overtly panting over him or trying to ram my hand down his pants. No, my crush on Rory is going to have to simmer down and I’ll allow myself the treat of sobbing about what might have been when his plane takes off on the first of January. The fact that he opened up about his grief, his fears for his mum and his ongoing love for Jess reinforces the fact that I need to step right back and dial this crush down.

  But honestly, it’s not going to be easy. As I drift off at night I see the green of his eyes as he looks at me, usually laughing. It’s his face I see when I wake in the morning and the biggest smile crosses my face as I open my eyes. I can’t ever remember that being a thing in my life before. I think of all the things he has done for me and know that no one – no one – has ever nurtured me with such tenderness. In my head he has become the perfect man and the thought of us having a future together is akin to Cinderella finding her prince.

  And just as likely.

  I have no chance with Rory, none at all. When he talks of our relationship he uses the word ‘friend’; it seems to stand out in his sentences and be said in a very firm tone and it makes me feel like he is saying it specifically to make sure I don’t get any ideas. He is saying he has no interest in me. And I don’t blame him for that, I really don’t. I wouldn’t have interest either. The truth is, life shouldn’t be about levels or leagues, but it has them. And I am not on his level.

  My eyes light on the salt-dough gifts on the side. Marsha and I had worked hard and tried to personalise them in all sorts of ways for the people they were intended for. My dad has a snowman with a chef’s hat on – part of me is desperate to give it a wine bottle and a restraining order but I want to be a good daughter. My mum and Rose have intricate snowflake decorations for their trees. Marsha has made more snowmen for her mum and dad with a muffin in one person’s hand and a phone in the other. Fair representation. I’ve known Remi for seven years and not once have I seen him without his phone in his hand.

  I can get Chardonnay a proper present now – she would never have appreciated a salt-dough creation although I can’t quite stretch to sound-proofing her bedroom.

  I’m going to write a shopping list right now. I’ll get something for Luisa and Remi, Marsha obviously, and I saw some lovely mini Jesus pictures on Etsy the other day – I have no idea how I stumbled across that, it was a late-night thing – the ones with the light all above and around him, Temperance will love that. And Rory. Rory is definitely having something special, not to represent my crush but to signify how much I appreciate his belief in my Shakespeare project, his attempt to help and all the little things he does wordlessly for me since he’s come back into my life.

  I’m midlist when my phone goes.

  It’s still face-down on the sofa next to me and I have butterflies in my stomach as I turn it over. It could be anyone, but I have that slightly sick, slightly wavy, fully trepidatious feeling in my tummy as if I’m twelve and the grown-up boy from down the road has flashed me a smile on the way to school.

  This is ridiculous.

  This cannot be healthy.

  It probably isn’t him anyway.

  Mum wants to know why I stole that god-awful Christmas candle.

  It’s him and my butterflies are doing backflips of joy!

  I’m not surprised. She’s probably scared you’ve turned to crime.

  * * *

  She would have been the one that indoctrinated me into a life of criminality. But considering her recent behaviour and the fact I am now too scared to go back to Cabot’s Circus I think that’s unlikely.

  A laugh springs from my lips. He’d been so funny when he was recounting that story back to me this week. It had made me really like his mum.

  That somewhat upsets my next Christmas elf plans. I was hoping you’d help me hold up Santa’s grotto at the garden centre. He’s charging twenty pounds per child. I thought we could be like the Robin Hood of Christmas, stuff him in a sack and dole out the presents for free.

  * * *

  For God’s sake don’t tell Mum. She’ll make you upscale it to all the overpriced grottos in the nation and then drive around the country righting wrongs through crime.

  * * *

  Aha, I knew she’d be more willing than her lily-livered son.

  * * *

  Rude! Anyway, what I’m trying to ask is that if you can promise not to corrupt my mother any further than she already is, would you like to come to lunch tomorrow? If you don’t have plans of course.

  Would I like to come to lunch tomorrow? The only plans I have this weekend are to rest after this mammoth week, and today has been a full day of lying on the sofa watching Hallmark Christmas movies and eating mince pies. I’m fully rested now. Would I like to meet his mum and step-dad? I know I should really try and avoid Rory until I have this crush under control and can manage it well enough not to embarrass him in any way but would I like to see the woman who has managed to successfully bring up a son who is a complete gentleman at all times?

  Um … yes!

  Of course I want to meet her. How can I answer so it’s not overtly effusive? As I’m taking far too long pondering, I see the dots appear indicating he’s typing another message, then nothing. The dots appear again and then again stop. What is he trying to say but keeps changing his mind about?

  I realise I haven’t answered yet. What am I going to say?

  Yes, please.

  Succinct and to the point. I know I should stay at home but I won’t be missing tomorrow for the world.

  How far that little candle throws his beams

  So shines a good deed in a naught
y world!

  * * *

  December Twentieth.

  Belle.

  It’s clear and dry and sort of sunny this morning. I’ve checked the forecast and put a great deal of thought into my outfit for today. I want respectable, respectful and me all in one.

  I think I have it down. I have a little patterned dress that just skims above the knee and if you look really closely you can see that the pattern is dancing reindeer. Luisa bought it for me a couple of Christmases ago when I had fallen so deeply in love with it that I had flopped around town sighing with desire for weeks. It is my absolute favourite dress ever. And it makes my eyes pop. Or so Chardonnay said once.

  I never thought I would want my eyes to pop, it always sounds messy rather than a good thing, but maybe today is the day. I even spent time last night learning an eye make-up tutorial on YouTube. Three hours I practised and I still can’t do it. No matter how hard I try I still look as if I’ve been attacked by an angry chimney sweep.

  Luckily Hope House hadn’t been very busy this morning and Ariana did my make-up for me once I finished cleaning. I’ve been almost too scared to move my face since. Getting the dress on without smudging any once I was home was not an easy thing. But I’m happy with the result. If Chardonnay were here she would be proud. She might not recognise me but she would be proud.

  I team the dress with my only decent leather boots, a present from my mum a couple of years ago that are beginning to border on tatty. But after work I shined them as my Nana had taught me as a child and I have to admit they look ten times better than they did. I should have done that aeons ago.

  I have a spare outfit on the bed, a little bit more casual should Rory look at me as if I’ve gone overboard when he arrives. I know I should just be comfortable being me but it’s hard to break down three decades of feeling inadequate overnight and besides I don’t want to let Rory down.

  I hear Rory’s car pull up outside and my breath starts to speed up. This is ridiculous. Then the doorbell rings and my heart starts pounding. Oh My God! I’m going to meet Rory’s mother.

  Rory.

  Oh my God, Belle is going to meet Mum! And I don’t really know what to do about it. I should have said no the minute Mum asked, not even indulged the thought of it. But the woman is having surgery tomorrow. Surgery for cancer. And if meeting a friend from uni that I happen to be spending a bit of time with is going to help her relax and enjoy today rather than panicking about tomorrow then obviously ‘no you can’t’ isn’t a choice.

  I stand in front of Belle’s front door and ring the bell. I should probably warn her that my mum is going to be all sorts of crazy. She seems to have got the completely wrong idea about Belle and me and is swooping around the house humming ‘Love is in the Air’ and dusting. Belle will be chill, I know she will. If anyone understands how family can occasionally be a little bit nutty, it’s her.

  I hear Belle buzz me in and I start to rehearse my speech as I climb the stairs to her flat. ‘My mum may have got the wrong end of the stick and I don’t want you to feel—’

  She opens the door and my breath leaves my body. Her eyes are enormous, warmth pouring out of them although her smile is tentative, a little scared and she reminds me again of a little fox.

  She is absolutely breathtakingly beautiful and I lose the ability to speak.

  Belle.

  Lunch has been lovely, a great big bowl of comforting stew and hunks of crusty bread and real butter.

  ‘I can’t believe you’re Nick Wilde’s daughter. Fancy. I would have had something more ooh-la-la prepared had I known that. Although to be honest, I didn’t make this. Rory did. He is such a good boy.’

  ‘Oh my God. I’m thirty-one,’ Rory says, faux rolling his eyes and completely sending up his teenage response. I can’t help but laugh.

  ‘And you’ll always be my boy. It’s so good to have you home, especially as you can celebrate Christmas with us.’

  ‘I can indeed. You know Belle is as potty over Christmas as you are. I’d even go as far as saying she may be worse!’

  ‘I do love Christmas. All the sparkle and anticipation and joy of being able to take time out to celebrate the love you have for the people in your life,’ I say.

  ‘Yes! Yes! Exactly that. You must come to our pub’s festive quiz, it’s a couple of days after Christmas and is all about the season itself.’

  ‘She’ll smash it,’ Rory says.

  ‘I would love that.’ I grin, this family is so cute. ‘Something extra to look forward to. Are you all ready for Christmas? Is there anything I can help with whilst I’m here?’

  ‘Oh my goodness, aren’t you a love? Truth is, Belle, I’ve been in a bit of a state today…’

  ‘I’m not surprised, tomorrow is a big day.’

  ‘I know. But it’s not that. Obviously, I’m nervous about that, but it’s all out of my hands. I have no choice there but to go along with things, that’s the sensible thing to do, I’ve got the best surgeon in Bristol, so all I have to do is turn up and pray that they’re on the ball first thing on a Monday morning.’

  ‘Of course they will be.’ Rory leans over and rubs her shoulder. She turns her head and smiles at him. The love between the two shines. This is what family should be. She turns back to me. ‘No, my thing is a silly thing…’

  ‘Oh love, we’ve talked about this,’ Dave says at the same time Rory says, ‘Mum, you need to let it go.’

  ‘Right. Out, the both of you! Go sit in Dave’s shed and do whatever it is men do in sheds,’ Alison says firmly.

  Without thinking it through I waggle my eyebrows at Rory and giggle before backing his mum up and saying, ‘Yes, out!’

  Mortification kicks in. I’ve just ordered him and his step-dad out of their own house. On my first visit. What is wrong with me? No wonder my own parents never take me anywhere.

  Rory smirks at me, thank the Lord, before he turns to his mum again.

  ‘I’m not sure that’s a good idea.’

  ‘No. I love you, Rory, but of course you don’t. You’ve not brought a girl home since Jessica, and yes, I will mention her name, because she wouldn’t have wanted you living in this self-imposed purgatory, and I want to get to know Belle a bit, not have you stepping in and controlling everything. So do as you’re told.’

  Savage. I can’t meet Rory’s eyes. That’s a lot to unpack. Alison doesn’t take prisoners. And whilst Jessica probably would want Rory to move on I’m not convinced she’d be happy that I am sitting at the kitchen table. And that aside, I definitely am not here in any capacity other than friend. Maybe I need to make sure Alison knows that. Although I sort of wish Rory would take that burden of responsibility from me.

  ‘Mum, I—’

  ‘Love, you don’t have to take the whole world and all its machinations on your shoulders so…’ She makes a shooing gesture.

  ‘They are nice shoulders though.’ The words just fall out of my mouth as memories of Rory playing football topless at uni and him dancing at Ashton Court festival one baking hot summer day kaleidoscope through my mind.

  ‘They are.’ Alison nods in agreement. ‘Really lovely. He’s got great legs as well.’

  ‘Oh my God!’ Rory exclaims as Dave laughs.

  ‘Shed now! Both of you. Go!’ The men turn and leave, both shaking their heads – one chuckling, one mortified, and I wish with all my being that I’d been born into a family like this. A family that laugh and tease each other, that are honest in the things they say, that speak out of love and respect.

  ‘You said you were worried about something? Even though you said it was a tiny thing, I am a good listener.’ I lean forward and place my hand on her arm.

  ‘I feel a bit daft.’

  ‘Oh, trust. I am The Queen of Daft. I’d give you a few examples but I’m wary of making a bad impression.’

  ‘Impossible. Rory’s smile in recent weeks is all the impression I need. Besides, I don’t know if he told you but I’m a hardened criminal these days.’r />
  ‘Ha, he did. I would have loved to see that. It sounds hilarious.’

  ‘Honestly, I don’t know what came over me in that moment. I just really wanted to do it. Actually, maybe I do know. The cancer diagnosis, it shakes you. It certainly has shaken me, made me reflect on how I’ve lived my life, the choices I’ve made and the things I’ve done. And at the risk of sounding big-headed, I think I’ve done okay. Rory is my proudest achievement…’ I nod my head. I may not be a parent but I can understand her pride. ‘And I’ve tried to live a life where I’ve done no harm to anyone, but I’ve never been naughty, not really. I’m outspoken about my views so I’m no shrinking violet and I was a cool-ass punk in my youth but that naughtiness, that thrill of mischief, I’ve not felt that since I was a child and you know what? It was magnificent. I still don’t feel any guilt about it. That moment of not believing I had dared to do it, my heartbeat as I ran – I never run! – through that shopping centre, it was the most exhilarating thing I’ve done in decades. It was amazing. And after this surgery I’m going to make sure I fill my life with such moments again.’ She grins at me and I get it. ‘Not theft, that’s not really okay and honestly, Rory returned to the shop and paid the next day. He didn’t really approve of me sticking it to The Man.’ She winks. ‘But special heart-racing moments – I want those. I’m thinking I’d like to do a parachute jump. Dave and Rory will go mad but I’m going to give it a go. Maybe work up to one of those flying squirrel suits, have you seen them?’

  ‘Oh yes! I so want to do that. Imagine how that must feel, just flying through the air.’