Before
I jumped at the metallic din as my car door thrashed metal against metal. I hadn’t meant to be so heavy handed. My feet stood frozen on cold grey concrete. I felt somewhat compassionate to it, worn, used and trodden on. I struggled to engage myself sufficiently, bright sparkling lights bouncing off glass shop fronts momentarily confusing me. What was with all the dazzle? Then I remembered: Christmas. A mere few days before the big day. The most wonderful time of the year. I loved Christmas, didn’t I?
I glanced over the lantern-lit street, everything happening around me. A crowd of cheery people pushed past, laden with brown paper bags; did they not notice me? Had someone forgotten to tell me I’m dead? I pinched the bare skin peeping between my tan mitten and fur-trimmed sleeve. I knew how it should feel, so maybe I imagined the pinching sensation, maybe I couldn’t really feel it. The blueish tinged skin turned a pale shade of pink; chances were, I was alive. It was only the blackness stopping me from noticing.
Jack? He should have been with me. All excited, in awe of the twinkling lights, of the most magical atmosphere I could see. Where was he? What was he doing? How could a mother not know where her son was at Christmas? I looked at my watch; 23 December, it told me. Could inanimate objects lie too?
All around me, everyone, happy faces and Christmas cheer.
It was all black, except for a few flickering stars and the trails of Christmas lights. Everywhere. Music. Loud intrusive melodies; carols of all things. Please, God, don’t let them sing ‘Silent Night’. I headed through the town, avoiding eye contact with passers-by, full of joyful merriment, as I fought back the tears, breathing in sharp, frosty air. It would be more bearable once I got inside. The tones of ‘Hark! The Herald Angels Sing’ circling me like voracious birds of prey, I quickly yanked at the glass door of Starbucks. The aromas of Christmas hit me: cinnamon, nutmeg, eggnog and all the memories of family Christmas past, then present. I hadn’t truly appreciated the numbness of the last few months was sent as a friend; I’d resented it. Pushed at it, allowing its nemesis – pain – to squeeze in, crushing its way through my body like a frightened beast. Numbness was sometimes the only way – only a general anaesthetic would serve better.
I unearthed a table tucked away by the toilets, where no one else wanted to be. A cold bolt of air shot over my shoulders as I unbuttoned my coat. I glanced at the ceiling – the only table beneath an overzealous air-conditioning unit, pumping away, regardless of the sub-zero temperatures outside. Patting my groaning stomach, I slunk over to the glass counter. Despite the sickly sensation, I needed to eat. I decided on a wrap containing a concoction I was not entirely sure about. Should it be eaten hot or cold? How could such a simple issue throw me?
‘Can I help you?’ the glummest-looking reindeer asked me. How could she, when I couldn’t even help myself?
‘No, but a large Americano will be fine, thank you.’
‘Sorry?’
‘Sorry, ignore me. I was thinking of something else.’ I tapped my head. ‘Must be the time of year. Christmas – head’s everywhere.’ The reindeer half smiled. ‘A large black Americano with an extra shot, please. Actually, could I have two extra shots, please?’
‘Your name?’
‘Sorry?’
‘Your name. To put on your cup.’
‘Oh, sure, Eve. Thank you.’ As I handed over my loose change, a brash voice thundered from behind.
‘Eve?’
I knew who it was without turning. Another reason we needed to get away from Warwickshire. Too many people, thinking they understood. Blood-sucking leeches in the guise of sympathetic beings. The overbearing woman from your office. I’d forgotten she lived near here; you used to give her a lift, sometimes, what with being such a gentleman. The ultra-sleek dark-haired woman grabbed my arm from behind, spinning me, to commence her air-kissing routine. Emerging from the cloud of perfume, I decided she must have been mugged by the fragrance-squirting patrol at the department store across the road. But, for the life of me, what the hell was her name?
‘Eve, I can’t tell you how good it is to see you!’ Expensive-clad arms gestured. She never did need to work; it was her hobby. Office gossip. ‘We’ve all been so worried about you, you know, since… you know. Only the other day we were talking about you.’
I bet you were. Enjoy yourselves, did you?
She was on a roll. ‘Such dreadful stuff, all this. Messy, I heard, the divorce.’ She leant in close, keeping her voice unnecessarily loud. ‘How are you coping? I can’t imagine. Poor you, and Jack. And Gregg, what is he up to now? You still friends, you and him? I know it’s difficult, but it’s best for Jack isn’t it, in the long run? We were saying, such a lovely little family, how sad, none of us could imagine… you know.’
I bet you’ve had a good go, run through every conceivable scenario, with the limited information you managed to steal. Since when had gossip been redefined as conversation? Jack eventually rejoined a nursery, whilst I was at work. I avoided any cliques there too. I hated small talk, hated gossip; I tried to disappear as best as I could without it impacting on Jack. So many children had their friendships dictated by parental groupies and social networkers. There were limits to my invisibility cloak, but I still chose to stand on the wall of periphery and watch, dodge and avoid.
‘Sure,’ I said.
‘So, honestly, now. How are you?’
‘I’m good actually,’ I lied. A look of disappointment traversed her heavily made-up face, pencil-lined lips forcing a slight smile.
‘Really? Wonderful. Really. Quite remarkable, I’d say. Given you had such a ghastly time of it all.’
I didn’t answer her; what would she know? I reached behind me for my coffee, taking a sip.
‘As if a marriage break-up isn’t quite bad enough. To have all that… you know, with Gregg. Leaving the partnership, as he did, under a black cloud.’
I nodded.
‘We were saying, it wasn’t too clear, did he go on, you know, to pastures new?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said in honesty. I didn’t see him. The next day he collected Jack from nursery and dropped him back to nursery. A stipulation of the court. Apparently, it was only me Gregg was harmful to. ‘You’d have to ask him.’
‘Oh, you’re not on speaking terms, then.’
‘It was lovely to see you… but I really do have a lot of work to get on with.’
‘Oh, super, you returned to work.’ She tapped my arm. ‘I guess you had little choice, what with Gregg losing his practising certificate like that. Terrible business, authorities crawling all over the offices, for weeks.’
So she knew you hadn’t gone elsewhere. I tried not to look taken aback; I had no idea you’d lost your practising certificate. What the hell had you done?
‘As I said, I really have no idea. I’m really not interested in the lives of others… Gregg. Only me and Jack, right now. And we’re absolutely fine.’
‘Eve, come on.’ She lowered her voice. ‘You don’t need to be brave with me.’ She regarded her bling watch. ‘I’ve just time for coffee with you. You should know more than anyone, it’s much better to talk, not keep it all in. A problem shared…’ She tapped her nose. ‘You’ll end up with that thingy disorder if you don’t, you know, PSSD.’
I so wished I were PSSD.
‘You mean PTSD,’ I said. ‘But, really, I’m good. Nothing to report, nothing to be talked over. We’ve moved on fine, me and Jack. There’s really no point in going back over things…’ A frown struggled from her Botox brow before she bowed down in defeat. ‘If you don’t mind, I really ought to get on.’ She threw her head backwards as if I’d headbutted her, widening precision-black-lined eyes.
I returned to my seat, alone. A kind of strong Americano nestled in shaky hands. My mind attempted to go back over you, and whatever you’d done so bad to lose all you’d worked for. I pushed it away. Not being able to bear thinking about you. My first Christmas without Jack. He was with you. I could have coped, if I’d believed Jack was having a lovely time. But I knew he was somewhere feeling alone too, worse still, afraid. Being told untruths about Santa not being real, that Christmas was about the biggest, most expensive presents. Left to his own devices to build his memories of Christmas. Memories capable of haunting him for life. The family court, advised by Cafcass, insisted on alternate Christmases from here on. Despite the evidence finally submitted by my ruddy-faced solicitor, photographs of my bruising, written statements of life with you, despite Jack’s obvious fear of his father.
The courts left us exposed, in a position where Jack was so vulnerable. The only reason you kept your grip on Jack was to spite me. Your only remaining control; the last piece of the tattered and crumbled jigsaw. Last week, Jack asked Santa to please let him stay at home for Christmas with his mummy. Santa eyed me, over his head. We both knew, this year he’d stop believing no matter what. If only I could have bridged the gap. The gap between childhood and reality. But I couldn’t. It was beyond me. I failed.
I too struggled to believe.
I opened the files in front of me. I’d allowed everything to slip, already only a few months back at the hospital. Small globules splashed, smudging the words into irregular shapes, as silent oblivious tears rolled, long overdue. I discreetly swiped them away, lowering my head until the threat of more subsided.
‘It’s no big deal. You simply have your Christmas Day on another day. It’s only one day, after all!’ the opposing, hard-faced barrister had informed me. My appeal on Jack’s behalf had been futile. You and her, smug at the thought of another case won, another injustice served on a child with a huge fee tag. Hearts replaced by pound signs and ego. Since when had Christmas ever been about one day, to a child?
The image of Jack sitting on my knee as I’d explained to him he had to leave for Christmas swamped my mind. He hadn’t said a word, only nodded in acceptance. You would think this would have made it easier, but it didn’t; it made it all the harder. His silence was not normal; it hurt. I wrapped my arms around him, and we didn’t speak for some time.
How had I allowed this to be? Powerless as a mother.
Jack, would you ever be able to forgive me?
Because I was certain, I never would.