The two of them are against a backdrop of poinsettias, and my memories resurface, causing my full Scrooge to break out. I am transfixed as I watch the child shake her head furiously, her grasp on the sweets tightening. There is something familiar about her.
I send an email to Nick Wilde, confirm I have landed and will be available tomorrow, and move towards the taxi rank. Standing and staring fixedly at a small girl is never a good look for a grown man.
An email whizzes back. Nick will be at home with family tomorrow but is happy for me to call in. An address accompanies the email, one that I am already aware of and unlikely to forget. A quick glance back at the store – I don’t know why – leaves me surprised. The woman has won and the small girl is cradling the Christmas tree tin as if she has found a chest of buried treasure, its tinny rendition ofWhite Christmascausing her to pause in bliss.
Belle.
I won. Marsha swapped the sweets for the tin and she was so full of joy with the music coming from it that she managed to wallop Luisa lovingly in the face with her jagged-edged gift the minute her mother came through the arrivals gate and scooped her up. And now I am home for a couple of hours. Blessed relief.
In theory.
‘Yes, yes, like that, that. Oh my God.’ I roll my eyes as the sounds coming from my flatmate’s bedroom flood the living room. Again. This has been going on since I arrived home, with only very short breaks in between. She’s in there with a pilot she picked up at work and I don’t know what they feed them at British Airways but it obviously has an impact on stamina. My legs would have failed me by now, my vagina would be begging for mercy and I’d just want some sleep, whereas they seem to be back on for round three.
My phone starts to ring and as I glance at the caller ID I roll my eyes. I knew this would happen today. I may be over thirty, living independently and mooching through life in my own way, but my parents are still firmly of the belief that a) I’m still a child, b) I have absolutely no coping mechanisms or adult skills whatsoever, and c) I need reminding of every tiny thing. They’d message me to remind me to brush my teeth if they weren’t so scared of encouraging any level of intimacy. Because of this they manage to limit their nagging to things that are important to them.
‘Hi, Dad. How are you?’ I answer the phone whilst scanning the laptop screen in front of me. My attention is really on Leontes, I love this final scene so much –Turn good lady, our Perdita is found –and I know why my dad is calling anyway. I tell you, Perdita had it pretty good with the whole foundling thing.
‘Harder, harder, harder.’ Chardonnay is a woman who knows what she wants.
‘Oh, I didn’t expect you to pick up so quickly.’ No hello then.
‘Uh-huh…’ There is no point contradicting him. Passive neutrality is a great parental tool.
‘I don’t have time to chat. I just needed to remind you about lunch on Friday, your mother’s birthday.’
‘I’m going to… I’m going to… I’m going to…’ Chardonnay bellows as she bangs on the wall.
‘Yes, Dad. I know. I’ll be there. Like I promised.’
‘Where are you? Sounds like some sort of orgy.’
‘Don’t know what one of them sounds like. I’ll have to take your word for it.’ I smirk. Maybe my parents have a point, I do turn into a fifteen-year-old whenever I hear his voice.
‘You may mock but when I was young…Eyes Wide Shut, I practically lived that. I know sex noises.’
I grimace and faux-vomit.
‘Oh my God!’ A scream follows and the walls practically shake.
‘Goal!’ Ooh, yuk. Not that one again. Clearly the pilot has some football issues.
‘Yep, you’ve been telling me that since I was twelve. It gets no less disturbing.’
‘Lots of people would be happy to have such glamorous parents. You’ve always been so resentful. But look, the other thing I wanted to talk to you about…’
Best not to speak.Lots of people would be happy to have…is one of his stock phrases, followed with a quick but low blow. It doesn’t need a wordy response.
‘…it’s your mother. I just thought I should remind you that she’s still feeling pretty vulnerable, so if we could not mention the thing then that would be great.’
Seriously! My dad is tellingmenot to upset my mum. I pick up a cushion and nuzzle it for a second and grit my teeth, leaving the phone on speaker on the table.
‘I expect it’s her age,’ he continues. Remarkable. You think he can’t get any worse and then boom! ‘And because I know you’re not very … well, emotionally aware … it is a difficult time for me too at the moment…’ Yeah, because the whole nation is learning what I’ve had to live with from a very early age – that my dad may be a national treasure but he is also a complete arse. Plus, he is a man that should never use the words ‘me’ and ‘too’ together, never ever, ever. He lost those rights some time ago.
Neither a borrower nor a lender be,
For loan oft loses both itself and friend,
December Second.
