“You did? Since when have you been on social media?”
“How else am I going to stalk my grandchildren? They’re busy people, and this way I can see what they’re doing and keep an eye on them.”
“You follow them on social media?”
“I do. It keeps me young.”
“Really?” It had the opposite effect on Jenny. It made her feel old. On one particular platform, everyone seemed angry, and watching that anger was exhausting. On another, everyone was young and gorgeous and everything in the world around them was perfect. Clothes were never wrinkled, hair was never frizzy, food was never burned. Even when people took photos of books, they were perfect. There were no wrinkled covers or turned-down corners or strange sepia blobs that might have occurred when one was paying more attention to the words on the page than the relative angle of one’s coffee mug. “You don’t follow Hayley too, do you?”
“Yes.”
Jennifer felt faint. “Mum, you shouldn’t—”
“I’m interested! What’s wrong with that? She has a large following, so I hardly think she’d going to notice little me lurkingin the background. Anyway, her posts—that’s what they call them, in case you didn’t know—all seem very wholesome. She’s part of the solo travel community, or she was until she met Jamie. She posts all sorts of wonderful photos and tips.”
“I thought Jamie said she was an illustrator.”
“That’s her job, but she’s self-employed so she takes her inspiration from her travels. Young people today are very bold. I’m full of admiration, although I do wonder if she gets tired of moving around so much. The girl never seems to be home. She’s what they call a digital nomad. I can’t believe you don’t know all this.”
“I try and give my children privacy. Also I’m always scared I’ll ‘like’ something by mistake.”
“What’s wrong with liking something? I’ve done that myself several times.”
“Mum!”
“What? If she wanted to be private, she wouldn’t have a public account. She wants people to look. She has a huge following. Half a million people. Sometimes she posts pictures of her illustrations. She’s talented. She and Rosie will have plenty in common.”
It occurred to Jenny that her mother, aged eighty-four, knew more about modern life than she did. When Jamie had first mentioned that Hayley was a digital nomad, she’d had to look up what it meant. She still wasn’t entirely sure what to make of it all. There were days when she felt decidedly old.
“Is there anything else you’ve discovered about her that I should know?”
“According to her website, she’s a Pisces and her favourite colour is indigo.”
“Indigo?”
“Somewhere between blue and violet. I looked it up. Oh, and she’s addicted to Christmas movies.”
Jenny stared at her. “Christmas movies?”
“The ones where everyone smiles all the time and eats gingerbread without putting on weight. She loves everything to do with Christmas. She admitted as much on her account this week. Last year she spent Christmas in Lapland and posted wonderful photos of the northern lights. She stayed in a beautiful cabin that looked like the inside of Santa’s grotto, and she fed reindeer and went on a sledge pulled by huskies. I can’t wait to ask her about it. I might persuade your father to take me there, although I don’t suppose his arthritis would appreciate the cold.” Her mother put her knitting aside and picked up her coffee mug. “And as for Christmas movies, they’re the perfect thing to watch while you’re doing the ironing, don’t you think?”
Jenny avoided ironing whenever she could. “I’ve never watched a Christmas movie.”
“Really? I love a good Christmas romance. I can’t believe you’ve never watched them. They’re often on in the afternoons.”
“I don’t watch TV in the afternoons.”
“Well, you need to make an effort. Hayley has told all her followers to stay tuned for some perfect festive posts because she is about to have her first-ever family Christmas and she knows it’s going to be the best. Even better than Lapland.”
“Is she talking about staying with us?” How on earth could Christmas at the Mill be better than Lapland? How was she supposed to compete with Santa’s grotto, reindeer and the northern lights? Jenny felt a flutter of alarm at the thought of half a million strangers seeing the inside of her house. She was going to have to keep it tidy, and that would be a major challenge at Christmas. Did Hayley photograph people? Would Jenny need to be doing her hair and makeup several times a day? “What exactly is she expecting? What happens in these movies?”
“Nothing happens.” Her father filled in a few more squares of his crossword. “Sometimes I’m forced to sit through them, and I can assure you that nothing happens, so don’t worry about it.”
“Nothingstressfulhappens,” her mother corrected him. “And really that’s the point. You are guaranteed a stress-free ninety minutes. It’s not about the plot, it’s about the setting and the atmosphere. It’s all cosy and soothing.”
“In other words, it’s nothing like a real Christmas, which is rarely soothing. In a Christmas movie, no one ever fights, no one takes too long in the bathroom and all the gifts turn out to be something you’ve always wanted rather than something you can’t wait to pass on to some other unsuspecting individual.” Her father put his pencil down and checked his watch. “Crossword finished in forty-five minutes. Good to know the old brain is still working.”
Jenny helped herself to one of the mugs of coffee. “So what you’re telling me is that in order to impress my son’s new girlfriend, I’m going to have to pull together a dream Christmas.”
