Happy Birthday and All That (12 page)

‘There are no actual nuts out in bowls,' Kate told her, ‘but some of the things you just can't avoid …'

‘I know,' said Posy. ‘Mince pies, anything Christmassy. Don't worry. I'll choose some stuff for him. It's lucky he's so naturally sensible.' She piled a plate with cubes of cheddar, Pringles, cherry tomatoes, sticks of cucumber, carrot and celery, Wotsits and Hula Hoops. James didn't like quiche. She put on a few home-made cheese straws and some breadsticks. Those, surely, would be all right.

She went in search of James and found Frank sitting on the stairs holding Isobel.

‘I think it's a bit noisy for her in there,' he said. ‘I think I'll just keep her out here for a bit.' And then I might not have to speak
to anyone, he could have added. James was watching a video of
The Muppets' Christmas Carol
with a gang of children who were all grinning, showing their big, white, middle-class teeth.

‘This looks jolly scary,' she told the assembled children. They ignored her. ‘Here you are, James. Don't eat anything unless Daddy or I give it to you. Lots of the stuff isn't OK. You can have some of the pudding we made later.'

‘OK Mum,' he said, managing to take the plate from her without looking away from the screen. His expert hand passed over the cheese, carrot, celery, cucumber and tomatoes and brought a handful of Pringles to his mouth in one smooth movement.

Back in the hall she saw that Frank was talking to Jan, her friend from the playground. She left them to it.

‘So then, er, Jean, um, where did you get the boots?' Frank asked.

‘These?' Jan said, looking down at her plum suede ankle boots.

‘They give you a real principal boy look. Nice. Very Christmassy. And the leggings, and the what do you call that? A tunic? Very pantomimey. Very festive,' he went on. ‘I remember lots of girls used to wear leggings and those boots with the turn-overs. Didn't know you could still get them. Or did you buy a lifetime's supply in your teens? I know, eighties revival, read an article about it. And the glasses. Really ironic. Nice touch. Posy used to wear leggings like that. I liked them on her. Never wears them now though. You have to be careful with those. If you had skinny legs you could look like Max Wall. You wouldn't have to worry about that though, would you Jean …' He looked down into his plastic glass of lager. When he looked up again she had gone.

‘Something I said?' he asked Isobel who smiled back at him.

In the kitchen Posy was helping Kate pour diluted apple and orange juice into paper cups. There were clever little anti-spill plastic lids with holes for straws.

‘All ready for Christmas then?' Posy joked.

Kate just grimaced. ‘Well, nearly. Just another few hundred presents to buy. At least I finally posted my abroad ones, they might just get there in time …'

‘I bet they do,' Posy said. Everything that Kate did always worked. ‘The party's lovely. I don't know how you do it, and still look so calm.'

‘Oh but it's fun!'

‘Fun!' Posy was incredulous. She hoped that she hadn't sounded rude. ‘And you make it all look so easy.'

‘In a way it is easy,' Kate said. ‘Just a matter of getting the right combination of Paracodal and black coffee. Really I'm like a swan. Gliding on the surface, paddling away like crazy underneath. I think that's enough drinks.'

Posy snapped on the last lid, managing to spill juice on to her already ruined skirt. ‘Oh I'm hopeless,' she said.

‘No you're not, just hassled.'

‘I'm exhausted. Call centre workers have better conditions than we do. I feel like a failed member of the synchronised swimming team, desperately smiling, waving and drowning.'

‘Posy, it looks to everyone else as though you're doing a great job.'

‘I almost can't wait for Christmas to be over. I'm longing for the empty days of February. I hate the way Christmas is all up to me; I'm responsible for making everyone happy. And we're broke.'

‘Everyone's broke,' Kate said, wiping some splashed juice off the white wall of her breadmaker.

‘But we're
really
broke,' said Posy, realising that she was stepping out of line with her outburst by discussing financial problems. ‘James has an Argos catalogue fixation. Sometimes I wish he hadn't learnt to read. I don't know how I let one into the house. He reads it in bed and then brings it to breakfast. His product knowledge is amazing. And everything is
only
£16.99,
only
£24.99,
only
£49.99. He knows we don't approve of
gameboys, but he thinks Father Christmas might bring one anyway. I keep telling him that Father Christmas only brings little things like parachute men and popguns. But it's all
only
£29.99,
only
£34.99. Oh I despair.'

‘Here,' said Kate. ‘Have some mulled wine.'

‘Thanks. Sorry to moan. I'm all right really.'

Aunty Flora was almost late for the school carol service. She was full of apologies. She had two last-minute-catering-for-a-funeral jobs to do.

‘A green December, you know …' she explained. She was amazed at how little people thought about planning funerals. Nowadays they never seemed to get beyond buying some Pringles and coleslaw. Really, things could be done so much better.

‘Stop all the clocks and rush out and buy some nasty quiches and dips. That's all it seems to be for some people,' she told Posy as she folded her black mac and stowed it under the pew.

Poppy was an angel. James's class were singing a song, the sort of modern carol that is best forgotten, and soon will be. Posy remembered fondly the year when he had been a donkey. Tom was relatively good, sat relatively still, eating a plate of the cold mince pies that had kindly been provided by the Parents Association. Flora, Posy and Frank were deeply grateful for the polystyrene cups of tea. Isobel slept in the pushchair, her mouth open, hair sticking straight up, looking crazy.

‘Father Jack's asleep,' Frank hissed.

‘Oh how can you say that?' Posy asked. He just would spoil the magic, but when she glanced at him later she saw that his eyes were full of tears. Christmas was, she realised, all about babies. The miracle of babies, the redeeming power of babies. She remembered a poster from way back, ‘A New Baby Is A Sign That God Wants The World To Carry On'. She dabbed away the tears when she saw Poppy take her place beside the
manger. She blinked away thoughts of The Massacre of the Innocents.

Behind her a granny, soon to be locked away with Alzheimer's, said loudly during the prayers, ‘But I don't like mince pies when they are cold. I don't like them unless the fat has melted. I can't eat them if the fat hasn't melted.'

Christmas Day. Frank managed to ring Melody after lunch whilst Posy, Flora and the children were wishing Lettice a Merry Christmas and giving her a treat of sprouts. He pulled the phone to the end of its tether to position himself where he'd be able to see the back door opening when they came back in. All this sneaking around, he thought, it was like having all the work of an affair with none of the fun.

‘Melody, it's Frank.'

‘Oh, hello.'

‘I was just ringing up to say, er, you know, and see how you were.'

‘Happy Christmas to you too. I'm fine. Mum made us a great dinner. I haven't thrown up for two days now.'

Frank could hear the sounds of a good time in the background, and what was probably the dog barking along to some music.

‘Sounds like you're all having fun,' said Frank morosely.

‘Yeah. It's all the cousins. Where's your lot then?'

‘In the garden, feeding the rabbit some sprouts.'

‘Ha. Oh yeah, Mum wants you to come over some time so we can talk about things.'

‘Oh,' said Frank. ‘OK.' That sounded a bit ominous. ‘But maybe we could talk at the New Year Gig.'

‘Mum won't be there, will she? And I might not. I might go to a party with some of Mark's friends.'

‘OK,' said Frank. ‘See you soon. Got to go. Sorry.' He could see movement around the back door, approaching shadows, he hung up before Melody had a chance to say anything else.
Frank had been terrified by the prospect of seeing the New Year in with Melody, even in the pub. Oh the future, the possible questions, the expectations … Perhaps, he had mused, none of this was that big a deal to her. Perhaps, being of the generation that was even younger than Generation X, she would take all of this in her stride, water off a duck's back. Many of Melody's friends had progressed from the highchairs in McDonald's to working behind the tills without batting an eyelid at the artificial lights. Perhaps she was so at home in the world that she would be able to cope with everything with no trouble at all.

It was a relief to have Christmas over. There was a part of Posy that loved it when the decorations had been taken down, and the house looked stark and austere without them. It was a huge relief to Frank: being so tall, he hated Christmas decorations. During the festive period he had a constant feeling that he was about to be poked in the eye or bopped on the head. Taking the decorations down and stowing them back in the loft was one chore he was always keen to get on with. Posy insisted that they stay up until Twelfth Night. He'd have ripped them all down on Boxing Day if she'd let him. Boxing Day had been spent in Pilchard Avenue with his mum, dad and grandpa. The kiddies had a great time. Posy had managed to be stressed out because Grandpa kept trying to give Quality Street to the children, oh the nut peril for James and the choking peril for Izzie! How could a baby be expected to eat Quality Street? And now it was January and the children would be going back to school.

‘And we still haven't done the thank you letters' said Posy. ‘Oh how could we have got to January 4th and still not done the thank you letters?' This year she had meant to get James and Poppy to do them instead of just writing them all herself, but somehow each day of the holidays had slipped by on its toboggan of new toys, trips to the swings and boxes of Marks & Spencer's biscuits, presents from Flora's grateful clients
offloaded on to them; and still the thank you letters were not done.

‘Well I'll do them,' said Frank, ‘if it fills you with despair. Tom can draw pictures and James and Poppy can write on the backs of them.'

‘Would you? Oh would you?' She was pathetically grateful. ‘I'll make you a list.' Posy wrote out the names and addresses of all the people who needed thanking along with what the present had been. This took her as long as writing the actual letters would have done.

‘We'll do it upstairs. You won't even have to listen.'

‘Thank you. Oh thank you.'

‘You can write me a thank you letter. Then I'll take Izzie and we'll go and post them. It will all be done in less than two hours. Come on kids. Put the TV off. If you do this quickly I'll get you some sweets at the Post Office.'

Posy closed her ears to this last bit. Frank marched the children upstairs. When Tom had scribbled a few pictures he started to dictate.

‘Right Jimmy, you can do the first one. “Thank you for the swimming towels. Mum says that these cheap scratchy ones are the best for getting you dry. Love from the Parousellis.” We don't want to waste time by writing all of our names. Right, next one. “Thank you for sending Izzie
The Very Hungry Caterpillar.
It is a particular favourite. Mum says that another copy will be very useful in case we lose the three copies we already have.” Got that? Right, next one. “Thank you for the talking Shrek toys. They were a lovely surprise as they aren't something we would ever have chosen for ourselves. Love from the Parousellis.” Right, next one. “Thank you for the videos. Do you still have the receipt?” Well done, Jimmy. We'll soon be done. Don't know why Mum makes such a fuss about it, do you?'

The New Year meant, of course, Posy making fresh attempts at losing weight. If it was a night when Frank was out, playing
or practising, or just with the band somewhere, she could escape the tyranny of dinner - all that unnecessary proper food and extra washing up - and have just what she really wanted. This would be three bowls of Special K Red Berries, or a bagel with low-fat spread and jam, a big chunk of French stick with low-fat spread and jam, or if she was being healthy, just lots of salt and pepper. She ate the opposite of the diet currently being advocated by so many celebrities. What she really wanted to do was live on nothing but carbohydrates and sweet things: buns, toast, mashed potatoes, muffins. She had to stop herself from giving the children this diet. They had plenty of vegetables, well, plenty of fruit. She tried to give them proper dinners, pasta and so on, or at least oven chips. Posy's idea of ‘health foods' was quite a broad one. Jaffa Cakes were included (complex carbohydrate), chocolate Nutrigrain bars (high in calcium), Milky Bars and white chocolate buttons (ditto). Today's menu went like this:

7 a.m. Pot of orange Actimel (good intentions).
10.30 a.m. Two chocolate Nutrigrain bars.
11.30 a.m. Bagel with jam, an apple, two satsumas (healthy, see).
2.30 p.m. Two bowls of Special K Red Berries with sugar (the sugar kept secret from the children. They didn't know that people had sugar on cereal).
4.30 p.m. Another bagel with jam.
4.45 p.m. Chocolate Nutrigrain bar.
6 p.m. Yoghurt.
8.30 p.m. Dinner with Frank or, if he was out, toast and marmite or toast and jam, apple, satsuma and yoghurt. Or more Special K Red berries.

In summer she would swop the satsumas for nectarines and change the chocolate Nutrigrain bars for blueberry or yoghurt and forest fruits ones. She would also have at least fifteen cups
of tea, some herbal, some Earl Grey, most of them left to go cold and never drunk. Frank couldn't believe the number of boxes of cereal she got through. She often had to hide the empties in the bin and sneak new packets into the house. She wasn't ready to admit she had a problem. She wouldn't discuss it, especially not since he'd made that crack about getting her a nosebag and keeping it topped up.