A Proper Family Christmas (35 page)

‘I don’t want to hear it,’ said Chelsea. ‘I’ve had enough of all this.’

Ronnie was taken aback.

‘Oh. All right. In that case … Jack wants to know if you’re going to be here on Christmas Eve.’

Chelsea took a deep breath.

‘I’m not.’

‘You’re not going to Mum and Dad’s on Christmas Day then?’

‘No.’

‘Are you going to be at Adam’s?’

‘I’m not. We’ve split up.’

‘What? Chelsea! Why didn’t you tell me? What did you do?’

‘I didn’t tell you because you haven’t drawn breath long enough for me to tell you anything the last twenty times you’ve called. And I didn’t do anything either. I just decided he’s not ready for a relationship. We both decided. It’s too soon after his wife and he’s too fragile.’

‘Bullshit,’ said Ronnie.

That was not what Chelsea wanted to hear.

‘You’ve got to come here for Christmas,’ said Ronnie. ‘You can’t be on your own at Christmas.’

‘I can. It’s just a day,’ said Chelsea.

She hung up.

It was just a day. Twenty-four hours. No longer than any other day in the calendar. Chelsea could get through it on her own. She couldn’t face the alternative, which was a day at Ronnie’s, listening to her middle sister rant about her big sister. Or at her mum and dad’s, listening to Jacqui lament the state of her relationships with Ronnie
and
Annabel. Neither could she face the idea of having to be cheerful for Jack’s sake when she felt as though all she wanted to do was go out into the garden and howl.

She had heard nothing from Adam since she left his house, except for that awful text. She’d replied, of course, saying she’d been stupid and asking if they could talk about it but he hadn’t responded. That he hadn’t done so persuaded Chelsea that she had been right after all. He wasn’t over Claire. She couldn’t compare.

Chelsea made an appointment with her counsellor to talk things through and try to stop her inner voice from persuading her that stuffing her face then throwing it all up would be a good way to deal with how she was feeling.

‘Christmas can make everything seem so much harder,’ the counsellor acknowledged. ‘We act as though this one day a year needs to be perfect. Everyone must be happy. Everyone must be on their best behaviour. Everyone needs to spend Christmas in the bosom of a loving family. But it is just a day. Just twenty-four hours.’

Chelsea decided she would arm herself to get through the holiday. She ordered a box set of
Breaking Bad
. She would be catching up two years later than her friends at work who had raved about it. She hoped it would still be able to grab her attention the way it had grabbed theirs.

Distraction was what she needed.

Chelsea went to the office party and did her best not to drink too much booze. She stayed off the canapés, which meant that whether or not to purge became a moot point. She seemed to be doing OK. But when the office closed for the Christmas break and Chelsea found herself wandering home alone through crowds of happy people preparing for the biggest party of the year, she struggled to keep her focus. She wondered what Adam was doing. She was desperate to hear from him. Just one word. She had sent him a Christmas card, spending hours crafting the message inside it to make it seem as though she was doing fine and was only writing to him as a friend. But of course writing that casual message didn’t mean she felt at all casual about him and every hour that went by without a text or a call took her just a little deeper into her sadness.

‘Cheer up, love. It’s Christmas!’ said the down-and-out who lived in the bus shelter next to the tube station.

Chelsea duly gave him a smile. There were people worse off than her, she told herself. There were people who would be spending Christmas on a park bench with nothing but a bottle of cider to keep them warm. And it was just twenty-four hours. Just a day! Like any other day. Chelsea would get through it on her own.

Oh, how had that Christmas which once looked so promising turned out to be such a disaster?

Standing at the kitchen counter, Annabel looked out into the garden. It was hard to believe how much life had changed in the space of a year. If only she had known, that previous Christmas, exactly how different her world would be. To think she had thought last year’s Christmas a near failure. She’d been such a perfectionist. Around the world, wars raged and children died of starvation and Annabel had thrown an enormous fit because the local organic supermarket couldn’t fulfil her order for an organic turkey and she had to make a special trip to London to find one instead. She’d let so many silly little things get the better of her back then. She cringed as she remembered being beastly to the village girls who served canapés at her annual cocktail party.

Now she would give anything to be so spoilt again. Now she knew for certain what was really important in life and it wasn’t the embarrassment of the woman from next door seeing you’d got your devils on horseback out of a packet from M and S.

Annabel found herself praying for a proper Christmas miracle. For so many years, she had looked upon Christmas as a time to stuff one’s face and accumulate more material luxuries. That year’s Christmas list had only one item upon it and it definitely wasn’t something that money could buy. She cringed as she remembered the moment when Ronnie overheard her telling Richard they needed to offer her money and all the horror that ensued. They’d heard nothing from her since. No response to the heartfelt letter Annabel had sent in a Christmas card.

Richard said they just had to forget that Ronnie had ever tested as a good match for Izzy. If Annabel carried on acting as though she could still somehow change Ronnie’s mind, she would only drive herself crazy. There were other possibilities. Richard was trying to get his blood pressure under control, though they didn’t know if that would make a difference. They’d sent out a note with all their Christmas cards, reminding their friends of Izzy’s plight in the hope that someone might be moved to help. And of course the transplant team were on the case. Any day now, they might get the call telling them that someone they’d never met had tested as Izzy’s match. And there was always a chance that once the baby was born and thriving, Annabel could donate herself.

For now, Izzy was upstairs getting ready to start dialysing for the night. She’d had visitors that afternoon. The girls from school. It broke Annabel’s heart that when Jessica, Gina and Chloe left to go and meet the rest of their friends at a party, Izzy had to go upstairs and plug herself into that awful machine. To think that a year ago, they had worried that Izzy would go out drinking with her friends and end up in a ditch. Now, far from downing shots, she could only suck ice cubes.

Richard had gone upstairs to sit with her. They were watching some cheesy film. They spent a lot of time in Izzy’s room these days. Richard had moved one of his favourite chairs in there. Sometimes, all three of them watched TV in Izzy’s bedroom. That was one outcome that Annabel would never have predicted. Her daughter’s illness had somehow brought their little family closer together. They certainly spent more time with each other than before.

But how much time did they have? Ultimately? If Izzy didn’t get a transplant?

Jack was fed up. He wanted to see Grandma and Granddad and Granddad Bill but his mum told him that he wasn’t allowed.

‘Why not?’ he asked.

‘Because I said so,’ said Ronnie. ‘Because Grandma’s not been very nice to me,’ she added when he continued to whine.

‘Is it because of Auntie Annabel?’ Jack asked.

‘Who said anything about Auntie Annabel?’

Jack kept his lips sealed.

‘Did Sophie say something?’

Jack shook his head.

‘Whatever your sister’s said you mustn’t take any notice of her. We’re not talking to Annabel either because of grown-up stuff. You don’t need to know any more.’

‘I know what grown-up stuff is,’ said Jack daringly.

‘What has Sophie been saying to you? I’ll teach her to gossip.’

Fortunately Sophie was not at home to get into trouble. The school holidays had started and Sophie had gone into town with some friends. Mark was working round the clock to finish off someone’s kitchen before Christmas started. Jack had no choice but to go to the shops with his mother. It was his least favourite thing, now that he was no longer allowed to sit in the trolley or even to hang off the front of it while his mother pushed it round.

‘You’re too heavy,’ she said. ‘You’ll make it tip over.’

So Jack had to walk around the supermarket next to Ronnie, keeping his hands to himself and staying out of the way of other determined lady shoppers who drove their trolleys like chariots in the Colosseum. It seemed to take so long. Ronnie could never make her mind up about which jam to choose, or which cereal was better.

‘The chocolate ones,’ Jack told her every time.

And every time Ronnie picked the cereal that tasted like dog biscuits instead.

Jack had asked for a dog for Christmas. He wanted one like Leander. He reminded his mother as they stopped in the pet food aisle and loaded up with cat food.

‘No way,’ said Ronnie. ‘Not while Fishy’s alive.’

‘Then can I go and see Leander at his house?’ Jack asked.

‘No!’ Ronnie snapped. ‘I’ve told you. Those people are not our friends.’

‘Why not?’

Jack was fishing for more information. He knew that it was to do with Izzy, just as Sophie had told him. The previous evening, he’d heard part of an argument between Ronnie and Sophie. Sophie said that Izzy was going to
die
if no one would give her a kidney. But when Jack asked Ronnie if it was true – was Izzy really dying? – she scolded him for eavesdropping and told him Izzy would be fine.

Now Ronnie was at the butcher’s counter, asking about the chances of getting a turkey so late in the day.

‘You’ve had it, love,’ said the butcher. ‘You should have ordered one weeks ago.’

‘Well,’ said Ronnie. ‘My mum usually gets the turkey but this year …’ She tailed off. ‘How about a really big chicken? It’s only got to do four.’

‘Let’s see what we’ve got, shall we?’

Ronnie followed the butcher to the other end of his counter. Jack stayed next to the trolley, keeping guard of the bounty Ronnie had already gathered. ‘Do not let it out of your sight,’ she’d told him. She’d already come close to fighting for the last bag of frozen roast potatoes.

‘Jack!’

Jack looked up at the sound of his name. His grandma was at the top of the cereal aisle. She was pushing her own overflowing trolley. Granddad Bill was beside her in his electric chair, with a basket in his lap that was empty but for four bottles of Spitfire.

‘I know that young man!’ said Granddad Bill.

Jack didn’t wait for permission to leave his post. He ran straight into his grandmother’s arms.

‘Oh, Jack. Am I glad to see you!’ she said, smothering him with kisses.

‘I’ve missed you, Grandma.’

‘I know,’ said Jacqui. ‘And I’ve missed you too.’

‘Why won’t you come round any more?’ he asked.

‘Oh,’ said Jacqui. ‘It’s complicated. It’s a grown-up thing.’

Jack was getting tired of all this ‘grown-up’ stuff.

‘Give your Granddad Bill a kiss. Quickly before your mum starts to wonder where you are.’

‘How are you, Granddad Bill?’ Jack asked.

‘Now I’ve seen you, I’ve won the bloody lottery,’ he said.

‘He really has and all,’ said Jacqui. ‘Thirty pounds last week. He says he wants to give ten to you, ten to Sophie and ten to Izzy. For Christmas.’

Jacqui looked suddenly sad.

‘Sophie said Izzy’s dying,’ said Jack.

‘Oh.’ Jacqui put her hand to her throat. ‘You mustn’t say that. Izzy isn’t dying, dear. But she is very poorly, yes. She needs a new kidney.’

‘I’ve been thinking about that. Fishy’s food has got kidney in it,’ Jack said.

Jacqui stroked Jack’s cheek.

‘It doesn’t work like that, dear. She needs a whole one.’

Just then, having settled on two medium-sized chickens in lieu of a turkey, Ronnie noticed that Jack wasn’t by her side.

‘Jack!’ Her voice was an alarm.

‘I’m here,’ he said. ‘With Grandma. And Granddad Bill.’

‘By the sugar!’ Jacqui added.

Ronnie was ready to be angry when she appeared at the top of the aisle.

‘I told you to stay by the trolley,’ she said to Jack.

‘Ronnie, love,’ said Jacqui, opening her arms. ‘It’s not his fault. I called him over. He was being ever so good.’

‘Was he?’

‘He was. You’re looking well, sweetheart.’

‘Yeah,’ said Ronnie. ‘I’m fine. You?’

‘Well, I’m OK but your dad has had a bit of a cold.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

‘It’s been hard on him,’ said Jacqui. ‘Not seeing you all.’

‘That’s not my fault,’ said Ronnie. ‘You know what happened.’

‘Oh, Ronnie. Can’t we talk about this?’ Jacqui pleaded.

‘Not in the middle of the bloody supermarket, we can’t!’

‘Then let’s go and have a cup of tea. Jack can keep Granddad Bill amused.’

‘I’ve got to finish my shopping,’ said Ronnie. ‘I’ve got a lot to do before Christmas Day.’

‘Please, love. I’ve been praying that I’d find a way to talk to you. You’ve not answered any of my calls or texts. It’s been horrible, not knowing how you’re getting on. Just a quick cuppa?’

Jack looked up at his mum with big round eyes, willing her to agree.

Ronnie nodded.

‘All right then,’ she said. ‘I’ll just put this lot in the back of the car.’

Ronnie paid and loaded her shopping into the boot of her Fiesta. Jacqui did the same. Her car was parked just a few spaces away. They left Granddad Bill and Jack holding a place in the supermarket’s cafeteria. Jack was pleased to be able to have a ride in Granddad Bill’s wheelchair after so many weeks of estrangement.

‘You’re getting good at this,’ said Granddad Bill, as Jack steered them through a narrow gap between tables.

Jacqui and Ronnie returned from the car park and joined the self-service queue to get three teas, an orange juice and a cake for Jack. Meanwhile, Jack tried to talk to his great-grandfather about Izzy.