Much later on, when I’d given up striving for an ounce of approval from her, I’d broached with Cole the idea that his mother might not be very keen on me, and that, in fact, she might be a perfectly permed, passive-aggressive narcissist with a smattering of son-worshipping Oedipal weirdness. He’d just laughed loudly with the usual slack-jawed incredulity that any of my protests were met with.
‘Mum?’ he’d say. ‘No, Sylve, you’re being paranoid. I know she loves you, really, and she’s beenso goodto you over the years.’
So I gave up pointing out her little jellyfish sting asides, instead storing them up and spilling them to Nari during late night phone calls when Cole was away.
‘You’re in Bates Motel territory with those two, Sylve,’ she’d said. ‘If the motel were done out in Farrow & Ball “Wimborne White” and new season Laura Ashley chintz.’
Having at last faced my recent hideous past, I sat in my car, clutching the steering wheel with white knuckles. After sobbing for a good ten minutes, I attracted the concerned attention of the vet’s assistant as he popped out to the shop on the corner, so I blew my nose and hurriedly left the scene.
Confronting the crinkly old bat had felt like one great big leap towards leaving Cole behind, not a great feeling exactly, but a positive one nonetheless.
After a short while in self-imposed solitary confinement (eight hours straight watching QVC with a box of Milk Tray – thank you, little Selina Dawson in year nine), I dusted myself down and put my festive game face on.
By this morning, the nineteenth of December, all my presents for Mum, Dad, the extended family and, of course, Nari, were wrapped and under my twinkling tree – my only concession to the season. Having sorted out the house, I turned to Cole’s shoebox, tipping the contents into the kitchen bin, saving only the cashmere socks and the photo of Barney.
The picture was taken on the day I found him when he was just a few months old – nobody at the rescue centre knew how old exactly – and he’s sitting on his fat, wrinkled little bottom and gazing up at me with big soppy Labrador eyes. It hurt to put his picture up there on my mantelpiece but I’m hoping in time the pain will ease a bit. Anyway, I’d resolved not to cry any more so I gave myself a stern talking to and locked away the memories, at least for a while. Thinking about what happened with Barney is just too much, given my December so far.
Nari took me to the out of town shopping mall to pick up some Lapland essentials this morning. With festive music and the smell of coffee and fast food in the stifling air, we made our way to one of those outdoorsy stores, the kind of place where you’d buy a tent and a tin mug. I’ve never set foot inside one before but Nari was clutching a list and was a woman on a mission, so I let her take control. As she inspected the microwavable hand warmers, I told her Cole’s baby daddy news and her summation of the situation was, I must say, succinct, if a bit unpleasant.
‘Good riddance to him, the great steaming turd.’
‘Quite. But, honestly, I feel OK about it. In fact I don’t really feel anything. I think it was the perfect closure.’
‘Good. You needed some. Hopefully by the time we get on board that plane you’ll be totally clear-headed and ready to chill.’
‘Literally chill?’
Nari laughed and rummaged through a rail of thermal long johns. ‘Yep! You’ll need some of these, but buy a men’s size small; they fit better than the women’s ones under your snowsuit, less pinchy round the waistband.’
‘Mustthey be this colour? They’re godawful.’ I inserted my finger into the beige flap at the front, pulling a squeamish face and realising this wasn’t going to be a glamorous holiday. Of course, Nari’s got everything she needs for snowy travel, having skied in Aspen, trekked in Mongolia, and seen polar bears in Alaska. I’m the cold weather newbie. ‘How many layers will I need? Two?’
‘Try four… as well as a snow suit.’
‘You’re kidding?’
‘We’ll be outside for long stretches in minus twenty degree temperatures and waist-high snow drifts. You’ll be glad I made you buy hideous flappy men’s drawers,’ Nari said, having bundled multiple pairs into the basket.
‘What’s next on your list?’
‘Convert some cash into Euros. Then its balaclavas, ear muffs, merino vests and socks and then… you’re sorted. And I think we should grab a hot chocolate so we can get in training for drinking pints of the stuff on holiday.’
I followed her dutifully to the checkout, mumbling as I went. ‘Balaclavas and ear muffs? Ooh, I am going to look all kinds of hot in Lapland.’
Nari had been enthusing about Frozen Falls resort for ten minutes, telling me all about the husky-sledding and reindeer led sleigh rides through winter fairylands, and how our cabins overlook a wooded hillside, when she’d stopped suddenly. At first, I hadn’t realised and I’d carried on fiddling with the candy cane that had arrived bobbing in my hot chocolate. We were sitting at the bar in a donut concession and I’d barely sipped my drink.
‘Sylve? Sylvie? Wakey wakey!’
I looked up to see her eyes narrowed and suspicious. ‘Sorry, I was miles away.’
‘I could see that… and you weresmiling.’
‘No I wasn’t!’
‘And now you’re blushing! OK, spill it. What’s going on?’
With a groan I realised I’d have to tell her. ‘All right, but promise you won’t make fun of me?’
‘As if I would.’ This would have been more convincing if she hadn’t drawn an invisible halo around her head with her finger and brought her hands together like a praying angel, but leery and desperate for some gossip.
