‘Yes,’ she says thoughtfully, ‘but I look at them as guys I have decided I won’t go out with, so then they can be my friends. It doesn’t work otherwise. Is that what happened to you and Finn, you met him and decided he was nice but you wouldn’t be interested in going out with him, so then he can be your friend? Or do you actually want to go out with him?’
This takes me aback.
‘Eh, no, well,’ I stutter, trying to buy time. I can only do this for so long. I just might cry soon. Finn hasn’t come searching for me. I embarrassed him with the present. I need to get out of here, soon. ‘My sister keeps trying to bring me out with her friends because she thinks I’m going to moulder away in my apartment with no cat and turn into an elderly spinster lady who never has any fun. But it’s all right, I don’t see it that way, I’m happy.’
‘I didn’t mean to offend you,’ says Rachel. ‘Honestly, did I offend you? If so, I’m sorry.’
‘Course you didn’t offend me,’ I add quickly.
‘Because Mum thinks you’re brilliant and she’d kill me if she knew I said that to you. It’s just – well, you are younger than all the othergrown-up people, and I felt I could say that to you.’
‘It’s fine,’ I say. ‘Lots of women are alone, and might stay alone, a changing world and all that. You get to choose how to live your life. ’
‘Yeah,’ Rachel nods, ‘as long as you are happy.’
‘Exactly,’ I say, ‘as long as you are happy.’
26
Marin
Both ovens are going full pelt and for some reason the air extractor is not working terribly well. The place is hot, steamy and I can feel my hair that I carefully set with my heated rollers early this morning drooping. The playing of carols has been taken over by something totally else and I suspect that Megan and Rachel are now in charge of the music. There was no more George Michael’s ‘Last Christmas’ or even Mariah Carey belting out, ‘All I Want for Christmas Is You’ – no. We had moved on to all sorts of songs that had no Christmas relevance at all, and I wasn’t sure that the varying ages of guests would appreciate it, but oh, whatever.
I’m alone in the kitchen because everyone else has decided that they do not want to be hot and bothered and it is much more fun being in theopen-plan living area, sitting down, standing up, laughing, talking, drinking, eating nibbles or mince pies. The children are probably close to requiring their second batch of food of the day so I shove a load ofhome-made sausage rolls into the oven.
Then Sid comes into the kitchen.
‘Can I help?’ she says. ‘I’m pretty useless at cooking, to be absolutely frank, but it’s getting crazy and noisy in there and I just thought you might need a bit of a hand.’
‘Oh Sid,’ I said, thinking I could have hugged her. ‘That is so nice of you, but you don’t have to.’
She cuts me off. ‘I know I don’t have to, but I’m here. So, what can I do, why don’t you sit down and instruct me. I have an office job, I take instruction extremely well, I can open the oven and close the oven and put things on plates and open bottles and make tea.’
Somehow her voice has a calm commanding air to it.
‘Are you in charge of many people in the office?’ I say, sitting down on one of the kitchen chairs, realising that I haven’t sat down for ages and my lower back is starting to ache.
‘I am in charge of a department, but I run it with a very light hand,’ Sid says, ‘I’m not cut out for bossing people around. But when I see another woman who needs a helping hand, I like to be there.’
‘Thank you,’ I say, knowing I sound tearful and not even slightly like myself. This is not me, nobody in my own office would recognise this version of Marin, but it’s Christmas and I’m tired and maybe having these parties is just too much...
‘Are you teetotalling or do you want tea or a drink or what?’ says Sid, standing midway between the fridge and the kettle.
‘Coffee,’ I say. ‘I know I shouldn’t or I won’t sleep well, but I don’t care. I’m just tired, that will perk me up.’
‘Coffee coming up,’ says Sid, and she goes and stares at our complicated machine, finds a cup and works it expertly.
‘I love practical people,’ I say to her back. ‘You’re very practical. That’s nice, it helps.’
‘Well,’ says Sid without turning around, ‘my mother is a glorious woman but she has never been practical and one of us had to be. So I pretty soon learned how to do everything. This coffee machine is easy – we have one quite similar in the office. I look at things and I figure it out. Now, the stuff in the oven – does that need to come out soon? I do not have the cooking gene so have no clue. Give me timings.’
‘No, it’s got at least seven more minutes,’ I say, ‘but we could probably heat up some more mince pies and get the shortbreads out.’
I direct her to where the spare mince pies are sealed away and she takes them out and looks at them.
‘Did you make these?’ she asks, astonished.
I nod.
