Seriously?
Lily follows my gaze and shrugs. ‘Okay, that I’ll give you. It really is too early for Christmas decs. But this Christmas is going to be epic. I’m marrying the love of my life. Can you believe it? Me, getting married?’ She sighs happily again. ‘This Christmas is going to be the happiest ever. It’s going to make up for all the shitty ones.’
I lean across to kiss Lily’s cheek. ‘It absolutely is.’
‘And a wedding is the perfect setting for romance, you know.’ I can feel Lily’s eyes on me, but my gaze is firmly on the wet pavement in front of us. ‘Just don’t overshadow me, that’s all I ask.’
I snort. ‘Romance? I’ve forgotten what that is.’ We turn onto my street, where thankfully there isn’t a Christmas tree in sight. ‘I haven’t even been on a date in the past two years.’
Lily sighs. ‘And whose fault is that? I’ve tried setting you up loads of times. I know you’ve had a rough time, and I absolutely get how hard it is being a single mum, but I wish you’d drag yourself out of this slump and realise you deserve your own happy-ever-after with the man of your dreams.’
I open my mouth to disagree, to tell Lily again that I’m not willing to put myself and Annabelle through any more heartache, but the heavens choose that moment to open again and the drizzle turns into a downpour. Squealing, Lily and I run the rest of the way to my house, wet fingers fumbling with the key until we stumble inside, dripping and shivering.
‘Bet you’re in the mood for this now, aren’t you?’ Lily jiggles the bottle of wine and I can’t deny that a small glass would go down nicely right about now.
‘Oh, sweet baby Jesus, no.’ Lily drops the photo album like it’s on fire and covers her face with her hands, peeking out through her fingers momentarily before hiding again. We’ve dried off and changed into pyjamas, which feels like stepping back into our youth for a sleepover. Except Mum wouldn’t have let us chug our way through a bottle of wine – especially on a school night. We’ve decided that Lily will stay over tonight as my daughter is having her own sleepover at my parents’ and Lily’s fiancé is working a night shift.
‘I thought I looked like Uma Thurman in Pulp Fiction.’ Lily slowly lowers her hands as I pick up the album. ‘But I look like a Lego man.’
I can’t help but laugh at the description – mainly because it’s true – and quickly smother my mirth with my hand.
‘Why did my mum let me do that to myself?’
I snort. ‘Like she had a choice in the matter? I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you’re pretty strong-willed. Especially when you were fourteen.’
Lily groans and takes the album from me, setting it on her lap. ‘But look at me. I’m mortified!’
‘Look at me. I’ve got four little plaits in my hair. Whigfield could pull off that look. Me, not so much.’
‘But look how happy you are. And at least we’re not wearing a bloody Phantom mask.’ Lily frowns down at the photo and shakes her head. ‘What was he thinking? Jonas definitely wins the worst look award.’
I do look extraordinarily happy in the photo, squished between Lily with her Uma-Thurman-gone-wrong hair, Jonas and his inexplicable Phantom mask, and Aaron Dean, who I’d snogged about thirty seconds earlier. The photo was taken in 1994, at the youth club’s Christmas disco, and my grin is so wide because it was the first time I’d been properly kissed.
‘Aww, look at this one. It’s cute.’ Lily has flicked over to the next photo and time has moved on to the summer of 1995. My quadruple plaits have gone, thankfully, and I’m lounging on a picnic blanket with my arm slung around my brother’s shoulders. The next is an almost-complete family snap, with Kurt and me posed in front of Mum and Dad on the blanket. My sister must have been in charge of the camera.
‘There I am again.’ Lily jabs the next photo. It’s a selfie of me and Lily in my childhood bedroom, though they weren’t called selfies back then. ‘Thank God I look vaguely normal this time.’ Her sharp fringe has grown out and her hair is its natural dark blonde again, secured in a high ponytail with a baby-blue scrunchie.
Lily flicks to the next photo as I stifle a yawn. It’s not late but the Prosecco and wine have made me sleepy.
‘I think I’m going to go up to bed.’ I yawn again. I can’t help it and don’t fight it this time.
‘Lightweight.’ Lily leans across the sofa to kiss me on the cheek before pouring the last drop of wine into her glass. I crawl up the stairs – literally, I am that knackered – and blearily brush my teeth, battling the urge to close my eyes until I flop down onto the bed. I don’t even bother climbing under the covers. Sleep consumes me as though I’m being sucked into a black hole – it actually feels as though I’m being dragged downwards, through the butterfly-patterned duvet, the sheet, the mattress. But I don’t care because my eyes are closed and I’m drifting off and it feels blissful.
THREE
It’s the music I hear first, nudging into my consciousness and tugging me away from blissful slumber. I’m not quite awake yet and I can’t make out what the song is, but I do know I’ll be having words with Annabelle as soon as I’m able to shift myself. How many times do I have to tell her to turn her music down? The whole street doesn’t have to be subjected to her awful song choices. Music has definitely gone downhill over the past decade. And yes, I know that I sound like my mother right now.
But no, that can’t be right, can it? Annabelle stayed at her grandparents’ last night, and now I’ve started to wake properly, I’ve realised what’s playing and there’s no way Annabelle would deliberately listen to East 17’s ‘Stay Another Day’.
Lily. Of course. She stayed over after the Prosecco and the wine and because she didn’t want to go back to an empty house. And it’s typical Lily behaviour. She’ll have turned the music up so she can hear it over the shower, and it wouldn’t have occurred to her that it would wake me in the next room.
I try to sit up but there’s something stopping me. Something holding me down. And that’s when I hear the voices. Two of them, one male, one female. Arguing. Right next to me, as though they’re sitting on the bed. Panicked, my eyes fly open, but I squeeze them shut again straight away.
What the fudge?
‘Mu-um, will you tell him to keep on his side? Keep your stupid feet off me, you moose.’
Opening one eye very slowly, I take a tentative peek to my right. Yes, they’re still there. Kurt and Tina. My brother and sister. Except they aren’t in their thirties and forties as they should be. They’re young and spotty and greasy-haired. And currently elbowing each other in the back of my dad’s old car.
‘Will you stop that right now?’ Mum’s face is suddenly poking through the gap between the front seats, eyebrows pushing together and lips scrunched up. ‘I’ve already turned the radio up to ear-splitting levels and I can still hear you squabbling. Kurt, keep your feet to yourself. Tina, stop whingeing. And Maisie, if I have to tell you to stop kicking the back of my seat again…’ Mum glares at me. I can’t help staring back. She looks … different. There are lines on her forehead, but they’re only temporary, not the crevices I’m used to seeing. You can tell they’ll vanish as soon as she feels more relaxed, which doesn’t seem to be happening any time soon. She continues to aim her scowl in my direction.
‘I know you’re not happy about the move – believe me, you’ve made your feelings pretty clear over the past few weeks – but it’s happening, so please grow up, stop acting like a toddler and take your feet out of my spine right now.’
My eyes flick to my feet. Sure enough, they’re wedged into the back of the seat in front of me, causing my knees to rest up by my chest. I snatch them away, planting them on the floor, and the lines on Mum’s face fade.
‘Thank you.’ She gives a tight smile, the kind I give Annabelle when she’s testing my limits, before turning and settling back into her seat with a sigh. There’s jostling beside me as Kurt and Tina elbow each other, but Mum doesn’t pick up on it and after a moment she tu
rns the radio down to a more comfortable level.
‘How long until we’re there?’
‘Not long. Fifteen minutes. Twenty, tops.’
I start at the sound of Dad’s voice. He’s in the driver’s seat and, although I can only see the back of his head, he looks different too. The bald patch on his crown is filled in, for a start.
‘What’s going on?’ My voice is a rasp, my throat dry, my body full of fear and confusion. ‘Where am I?’
‘We’re just on the edge of Stalybridge.’ Dad turns to glance at me. I’m alarmed to see he isn’t wearing his glasses. He can barely see a thing without them and yet he’s driving the car. ‘Don’t worry, we’ll be there soon and you can phone Joanne and Donna to let them know you’ve arrived safely.’
Now there’s a blast from the past. Joanne and Donna were my childhood best friends – until we left Sheffield to move to Manchester for Dad’s new job when I was fourteen. His promotion, as Mum told everybody proudly.
‘He’s going to be the head of the maths department,’ she’d tell anybody who would listen. She told me a fair few times, reciting it whenever I complained about having to move away from my friends and extended family and the house I’d grown up in. Even my school. Dad’s career, it seemed, trumped all of that. Although as an adult I completely understand, back then I’d been livid. The only saving grace was that Dad’s new position as head of maths wasn’t at the same school I was enrolled in. That would have been the final straw.
‘Joanne and Donna?’ Tina sniggers as she elbows Kurt, but it’s a playful, chummy gesture this time. ‘It’ll be Thomas she’ll be phoning.’ Placing her hands on her chest, she flops her head to one side and flutters her eyelashes. ‘Oh, Thomas, I miss you already, baby.’
Kurt turns to me, puckering his lips and making kissy noises. Giggling, Tina joins in, rolling up the sleeve of her jumper so she can kiss up and down her arm.
I remember this, I realise with a start. It was 1994 and we were moving to Manchester. The van containing all our possessions had set off before us to get a head start, while Dad drove us to the new house. Tina and Kurt had squabbled the whole way, while I’d sulked and sniped at the idea of leaving everyone behind. Joanne and Donna, mostly. And Thomas Bailey, the boy from next door who I’d had a massive crush on for months. Joanne and Donna were convinced he fancied me too, but now we’d never know.
‘Oh, I lurve you, Thomas.’ Tina kisses her arm again. I can almost feel the skin of her cheek against the palm of my hand, the sting of flesh meeting flesh, hear the gasp of shock from my sister. Except I don’t slap her this time. I’m almost forty, not a moody, angst-ridden teenager, and whatever this is – a dream of a memory from long ago – I seem to be in charge of my faculties.
‘That’s enough.’ Mum’s face is back between the seats, her stern voice enough to send Tina and Kurt slinking back against their seats. I settle back myself and close my eyes. Looking at those old photos last night has obviously got my subconscious digging at the past, but I’m ready to leave it behind me and wake up now.
But I don’t wake up. Twenty minutes later, we’re turning into Mum and Dad’s street. My new street in this dream, as evidenced by the removal van parked outside number twenty-three.
‘Here we are!’ Mum turns to grin at us as she unbuckles her seatbelt. ‘Home sweet home!’ She slides out of the car and bounds to the boot where she’s stored a cardboard box containing the kettle, coffee, teabags, sugar, milk and a couple of teaspoons. I’d totally forgotten about the box of ‘moving essentials’. Isn’t it funny what you store up in your brain without realising it?
‘You okay back there, sausage?’
I can’t help smiling at Dad’s old nickname for me. He uses it on Annabelle now (who’s started to roll her eyes whenever he says it, just like I did at her age), but it’s been a long time since I’ve been the ‘sausage’ in this family. It makes my chest ache a little bit. A twinge of happy memories and sadness about a time long gone.
‘You’ve been mute for the past twenty minutes or so.’ He winks at me. ‘Most unlike our Maisie.’ He unbuckles his seatbelt so he can turn to face me full-on. Tina and Kurt have shuffled out of the car and are following Mum down our new garden path. ‘I know this is tough on you. You’re leaving your friends behind and everything, but you can keep in touch. Letters. Phone calls. And we’ll be back in Sheffield all the time to visit your gran. You can meet up with Joanne and Donna then.’
I hadn’t found Dad’s words comforting at the time, and if I’d known that Granny B would pass away less than six months after the move, I’d have found it even less reassuring. I only met up with Joanne and Donna twice after our relocation to Woodgate – the first time for a couple of hours before Granny B’s birthday tea, and the second at her wake. Mum thought I would find it soothing to have my friends with me but it only added to the anxiety and strain of the day. My old friends had started to change in my absence, which I found unsettling. Joanne had somehow become a chain-smoker during my short absence, dipping out of my aunt’s house every five minutes for a furtive nicotine fix, and Donna couldn’t seem to shut up about her new boyfriend – Thomas, my old neighbour and former crush. They’d moved on without me, and it wasn’t only my granny I said goodbye to that day.
‘We’re not as far away as you think,’ Dad is saying as he reaches through the gap to pat me on the knee. ‘And when you’re a bit older, you can catch the train over at the weekend.’
That bit had cheered me up at the time. The idea of hopping on a train to catch up with my friends seemed so sophisticated.
‘And we took all those photos before we left. A whole roll’s worth. I’ll get them developed after Christmas and you can pin them up on your new bedroom wall. Come on.’ Dad opens the car door and swings his legs out. ‘Your mum’s gasping for a brew and I’ve got the keys.’
It’s hard to imagine how much I detested that house as I shuffled along the pavement that day, and I can’t conjure up the old hatred as I make my way to the front door now. I adore this house. Every brick of it. It feels like the house where I did my most important growing up. It’s the house that feels most like home – even more than my actual home, which I share with my daughter. This house is comfort. It’s reliable and stable. A place full to the brim with love. I know I can turn up at any time of the day or night and be welcomed with open arms.
‘Do you think we’ll have a white Christmas this year?’ Mum’s looking up at the sky, the moving essentials box jiggling in her arms as she hops from foot to foot to keep warm as she waits at the front door.
‘Doubt it, love. It’s too cold to snow.’ Dad waves the camera Mum bought him for his last birthday in the air. He loved it, and not a day had gone by since he’d received it without us being blinded by its flash. ‘Shall we have a nice group photo?’
Tina plucks the camera from Dad’s hands. ‘Only if I can take it.’ We pose by the front door and Tina steps backwards on the lawn so she can fit us all in.
‘So you’re our new neighbours then.’
The door to the neighbouring house slams shut and a girl bounds across the small lawn towards the connecting wall, clambering up so she’s straddling it, one leg on her side and one on ours. ‘I’m Lily Davis.’
I almost laugh out loud, because it is Lily. Her face is a bit chubbier than it is now, but it’s her. My Lily. My best friend. My best friend with dyed, jet-black hair chopped into a severe bob that makes her look like a Lego man.
‘Hello, Lily. Lovely to meet you.’ Mum juggles the box so she’s balancing it in one arm and holds the other hand out towards Lily. ‘I’m Fran McNamara, and this is my husband, Mick.’ Lily frowns at Mum’s outstretched hand, but she takes it anyway and gives it a limp shake. ‘And these are our little monsters, Tina, Kurt and Maisie.’ Mum turns to nod at us each in turn.
‘You’re not from round here.’ Lily swings her leg over the wall so both are on our side. ‘You sound a bit weird. Northern, like, but a bit funny.�
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‘Sheffield, born and bred.’ Dad rummages in his pocket for the front door key, holding it up in triumph before slotting it into the keyhole.
‘Don’t tell my grandad that.’ Lily hops down from the wall into our garden. ‘He can’t stand Yorkshire. No idea why, but he won’t let us watch Emmerdale and there was this one time when Yorkshire Tea was on offer at the Spar – I think it was going out of date or something – so my mum bought a box. Grandad went off his head and chucked it across the back garden. I don’t want that muck in my house.’ Lily adopts a gruff voice for the last bit. ‘He had a stroke last year. He’s okay, but he gets a bit cranky when he’s tired.’ Lily shrugs as she joins us on the path. ‘Do you need any help with the move?’
‘Thanks, but we’ll be fine.’ Mum is the first to step into the new house, eager to get the kettle on.
‘Are you sure? Because I don’t mind. I’m proper bored.’ Lily’s shoulders rise before she lets out a massive sigh. ‘Jonas – that’s my bezzie – is being moody and won’t come out, and our Karina’s teething again or something. Won’t stop griping. Driving me mad.’ She follows Dad into the house, neck craning to see into the rooms off the little hallway. ‘Are you Blur or Oasis, Mick? I’m Oasis, obviously. Liam is totally fit. I’m going to marry him one day…’ Lily’s voice tails off as she disappears into our new house.
‘What a weirdo.’ Tina shakes her head before she steps inside.
No, I think as I follow her into the hallway. Not a weirdo. My Lily, and I can’t wait to wake up and tell her all about this funny dream, which she definitely helped to create with the Prosecco and wine and the photo album.
FOUR
The 12 Christmases of You & Me Page 2