Nina
Monday, 17 December
Everyone in the village knew that Dad was ill. They just didn’t know what he was suffering with, despite their efforts to find out. For years, he refused to be drawn into their conversations. Like the stubborn git that he was. His rationale was that if they didn’t know, they wouldn’t interfere, but he was wrong. People had eyes in their head. I think it became a guessing game for most of the village folk, so they interfered more than he desired.
Having had a few good days after cleaning the cottage, I can’t go backwards. I’m supposed to be happier.
It’s three o’clock in the morning; the cottage is silent – it’s the worst time of night for a trip down Memory Lane.
‘Is it the “c” word?’ a kid once asked me during school break-time. ‘My mum reckons it is.’
My lack of reply only induced more stares, nodding and whisperings around the village. They’d talk even more during his lengthy remissions, when he’d appear ‘better’ than before.
Hardly surprising that I’ve locked myself away for the last twelve months like a cocooned lava hiding from the world, whilst deep inside change is occurring.
The seventeenth December, this time last year, we had just eight more days before he died. I’d have worked a busy shift at the farm, walked home to change and gone straight to the hospice. Did we watch TV? Talk? Or argue? We argued a lot, in a bickering manner, when we got on each other’s nerves. I can’t remember. I’m no psychologist, but I reckon it’s a coping mechanism to numb the pain.
A year on, have I resurfaced?
The thick fug of grief hasn’t lifted, so maybe not.
I won’t sleep now so I get up, make tea and search for the biscuit barrel, returned to its original and rightful home in the top cupboard.
*
At seven thirty I enter the yard to the merriment of ‘Last Christmas’ piping through the overhead speakers. I’m the last person who should be encouraged to reminisce about last Christmas.
‘Nina!’ hollers Zach, his hands cupping his mouth, standing before the snug. ‘Quick!’
‘The boss is calling a staff meeting,’ beckons Kitty, standing beside him. I can see other staff wandering in the same direction, so hastily follow suit cutting through the snow. It’s not as if I’m late for my work shift – I don’t see what all the fuss is about.
We cram into the snug, where it is standing room only. I search amongst the faces, so many contract workers that I don’t know or rather don’t know their names. Where do they all go after December?
‘Where’s Shazza?’ I ask Kitty.
‘Bram said she’s called in sick,’ comes her reply.
We’re all exchanging quizzical glances; we never have staff meetings. Boss Fielding stands at the far end of the cabin, and begins to call for order with Jackie by his side. This is unusual for them; they don’t usually address the staff en masse.
‘Sorry to bring you together so unexpectedly, but I wish to make you aware of the current situation that…’
We’re losing our jobs. We’re all being sacked. Christmas has been cancelled! Yay! Fanciful ideas flit through my head.
‘As you know, we have a group of local teenagers who are trespassing during the evenings, which is causing us concern. Last night, they cut through the fence again and we’ve found a selection of cider bottles and spent fireworks scattered up at the south clearing. We need you to keep your ears open for names of the culprits – this needs to stop. Someone is going to be hurt and the onus will be on us should that happen. Later today, we'll be meeting with a security team to discuss our options to monitor the premises after closing each night, so if you hear anything in the local community please come and report it. If we can provide the names the police have agreed to visit the teenagers for a chat and warn them of the dangers.’
A round of head nodding occurs before we are dismissed to get ready for the day.
‘Seems serious,’ I whisper to Kitty, as the boss sidesteps through the crowd to leave.
‘In today’s blame and claim culture he’ll be in the firing line if someone gets seriously hurt.’
‘Makes you wonder why Shazza’s off today,’ I add. ‘It feels underhand mentioning it, but the twins are convinced she knows what’s what.’
Kitty pulls a quizzical face.
‘All eyes and ears open, is what I suggest,’ says Kitty, departing towards the cashier’s cabin.
‘Nina!’ calls Boss Fielding, from the door of the snug. ‘Can I see you in five minutes, please?’
*
‘Morning,’ I say, as cheerfully as possible to cover my melancholy, as I approach Boss Fielding brushing fresh snow from the wooden steps outside his office.
‘There’s a change to the notice board tasks… as you know, Shazza’s just called in sick so…’ I watch as he turns back inside his office door, grabs a plastic storage box and hands it to me. The box is filled with a jumble of green Lycra fabric. I glance from fabric to Boss and back to the fabric before he speaks. ‘Could you do a couple of hours of elf duty at the grotto? It’ll be a quiet day given it’s a school day, but we’ve got two minibuses arriving from the local nursery as part of a Christmas outing.’
I simply stare at my boss.
‘Elf duty?’
My muddled brain suddenly screams, ‘Elf!’
The boss turns, attempting to go inside his office.
A sudden panic fills my body.
‘Oh, no, no, I couldn’t. Seriously, Boss… please, no, not today,’ I protest, offering the plastic box back to him.
He turns around swiftly; his brow lowers.
‘Now, Nina, only yesterday you said you’d prefer—’
I know what I said; I don’t need reminding.
I stare up at him with woeful eyes.
‘Switch between the two grottos, please, and make sure it’s a good day for the kiddies. Quick now, chop chop.’ His hands gently push the box back into mine.
How am I going to muster up the spirit to entertain nursery children when it’s difficult enough climbing from my bed, dressing and attending work each day?
*
Holly
‘I’m not happy about this, Holly,’ says Mum over breakfast. ‘A day away from school won’t hurt your grades and those girls will get their just desserts.’
My mouth falls open. My mum never allows us to have time away from school. She hates the idea of enforced snow days.
‘No way. If I don’t go in today everyone in the year group will jump to the conclusion that I was involved. If I’m present, at least I can correct any false facts. Otherwise, they’ll play judge and jury, condemning my reputation forever. No, Mum, I’m going,’ I declare, across the cornflakes.
‘Phew! Like you’ll hear the gossips today… It’ll all be snide remarks behind your back and whispering in the toilets,’ adds Hannah, giving a knowing smile.
Hannah’s not wrong. This issue isn’t about to blow over, but still, I need to save face, stand up to my accusers and attend school.
*
Demi’s face tells me she doesn’t need bringing up to speed.
‘The word on the street is that you’ve been nabbed colluding with Paris and her girls—’
‘And since when did we believe the word on the street?’ I ask, my eyebrows lifting.
Demi shrugs before asking, ‘Are you grounded?’
‘Kind of. My mum thinks it involves Alfie. I’ve told her countless time it doesn’t but, hey, you know my mum.’
‘Knows everything, your mum,’ mutters Demi, kicking up the snow as we walk.
‘She thinks she does!’
We both fall into a fit of giggles. Demi gets it.
*
Angie
‘“Tell me, please?” – that’s what you asked him? You shouldn’t have said that, Angie, surely that’s one can of worms you don’t need to hear about?’ mutters Jilly as I relay the ice skating story. Instantly, I regret sharing.
When will I ever learn? Why can’t I be a strong, silent, independent type that keeps her inner goddess in charge of all her precious secrets? But no, I have to blurt and share… then, once criticised, I feel wounded. Stupid for sharing.
‘And?’ asks Jilly, eager to hear the details.
I hesitate. Is there still time to put my inner goddess in charge? Or have I missed the boat?
‘Angie?’
‘Jilly, maybe I shouldn’t… you know, some things are private… I really shouldn’t have said.’
Jilly stares and giggles.
‘Says the woman who once told me many moons ago about Nick’s insatiable liking for—’
The office door bursts open and in walks Troy, the latest intern, his neatly trimmed beard hiding the face of a teenager.
I breathe a sigh of relief. What the hell was Jilly about to say? Silk? Massages? Ice cubes? Or… I gulp, then blush. Yes, I do remember sharing some fairly intimate moments during a lingerie party at someone’s house after a few too many white wines. So what, if handcuffs and chocolate sauce had been our thing in the early days, surely it’s everyone’s thing at some point?
I watch as Jilly peers at the paperwork Troy offers her. She must have the memory of an elephant to have squirrelled away that piece of information for so long.
Even I’d forgotten that little detail.
Jilly flirts with the youngster before he dashes from the office to escape the older woman.
‘What?’ she says, looking bashful.
‘Toy boy?’
Jilly frowns.
‘I’m old enough to be his bloody mother and then some.’ She gives a cheeky wink, before continuing. ‘Anyway, where were we? Ah, yes, your Nick.’
‘No more… I have work to do.’ I busy myself as my mind replays last night’s scene in my head. It may keep my mouth from blurting details across the office to Jilly.
But really, I need to get my head around what happened last night. What I told Jilly wasn’t the whole story. In fact, Nick took me by surprise.
‘Do you remember when Alfie was about six and we were having a rough time coping with all the changes of routine and each weekend was bicker, bicker, bicker?’
I nodded. How could I forget? I was literally the stressed-out new mum at the school gate, with my hair scraped into a ponytail and no make-up, being the morning’s entertainment for the others.
‘I thought about leaving the marriage back then.’ His tone was sombre, hesitant and yet loving.
I nodded, taking in this new revelation.
‘You thought it was all about you when the reality was…’ he inhaled deeply ‘…I’d met someone at work…’
Was I hearing this correctly?
‘She started working in the draft office downstairs and we got chatting… and a polite good morning turned into regular coffee-break chats and before I knew it, I felt I was… falling for her.’ He looked up and held my gaze. ‘Do you get me?’
I nodded, speechless. My mind drifted back to that awful time. With a young child, full of energy who I was convinced had some hyperactive condition, an aversion to sleep, a death wish and a fondness for attending A & E. I was a total wipe-out as regards anything outside Alfie’s routine, be it my own health, socialising or even my husband. I was closed, insular to everything other than my Alfie.
‘Nothing happened, I want to make that quite clear, but… it could have, very easily. I felt…’
Don’t you dare say it, I thought.
‘…lonely and misunderstood.’
He bloody well said it! My blood boiled. How sodding misunderstood could a man be who left the house every morning at eight and returned at six o’clock to clean shirts, a cooked meal and a freshly vacuumed lounge? If anyone was misunderstood and lonely at that time it was me, stuck at home all day waiting for a child to come home, so my exhausted body could entertain, educate and nurture some more. There were months when I never left the house apart from the school run or grocery shopping.
‘Anyway, I suggested that we stopped meeting for coffee before we hurt other people and… well… she left the company soon afterwards.’
Be mature, talk it through, don’t lose it now, not when he’s got to this stage of the game. Listen. Respond calmly.
‘And you’ve never met up with her since?’
‘No. Never.’
‘And thought about her?’
‘Sometimes, but never in the way you probably think.’
Bloody hell, how honest is he? I couldn’t have admitted half that and I’ve done so much more. Is it me or is my blood boiling more this morning as regards Nick’s confession than it was last night?
‘Angie… are you wanting coffee or not?’ asks Jilly, waving at me across the desks.
‘Oh, yes, please.’ I watch as Jilly leaves our section. I make a mental note to not discuss my private life at work. I’m having a hard enough time keeping up with the revelations as it is.
*
Nina
I’m dressed from top to toe in green Lycra, complete with a pointy hat adorned with a pair of pixie ears, freezing my ass off, in the company of twenty-four children aged four and below. I want to die. The screaming, whining and wailing is on a par with the soothing decibels created by a pneumatic drill. Six nursery assistants are busy nattering in a huddle, oblivious to the hullaballoo that is occurring around their knees. I am aware of every single voice. Though I am more aware that, given the nature of stretched Lycra, my underwear is clearly on show every time I turn about. I know, despite the averted eyes of the grotto team: all svelte beauties who are wearing suitable underwear because they’ve been ‘elfing’ since Saturday, that my red M&S briefs with lace detailing are the topic of conversation. Who knew that even little children could understand that ‘the lady’s underwear’ shouldn’t really be on display, but can’t refrain from pointing and whispering? I’ve done my best to stay positive and smile throughout. But I can’t keep this up for much longer.
I’ve ushered along a group of children, creating happy and lasting memories, much to the delight of my boss. The second group appears to be noisier and more excited, if that’s possible.
‘Hello and welcome to Santa’s grotto,’ I yell, dredging up every ounce of enthusiasm I can muster. ‘Who’s ready to meet Santa?’
A deafening cheer fills the sales yard. How can such tiny bodies make so much noise?
In crocodile style, I lead them along the grotto path, their wide eyes looking warily around at the giant spruces looming overhead, the diminishing light and unexpected flight of disturbed birds. They all jump out of their skins when the chainsaws of the cutting crew make a surprise start in the distance.
I slow the pace as we approach the snow-covered grotto.
‘Now, boys and girls, I need to see your best fairy steps as we near Santa’s grotto,’ I whisper with dramatic effect. ‘Santa’s happy when he hears tippy-toes in the snow.’ The children react with chuckles and smiles, eager to please the elf in the red pants. I am trying my hardest, knowing that the expectation of any event is sometimes the greatest and lengthiest part of a childhood memory.
Their tiny eyes grow wide, catching sight of twinkling fairy lights amidst brightly coloured fake presents stacked high either side of the entrance. Old Bill and I created an amazing winter scene befitting any Santa, and Mother Nature has been kind enough to put the icing on the grotto by topping it with a generous helping of fresh snow each night.
Everything seems to be going so well.
Standing at the entrance, I am systematically feeding two children at a time into the inner section, where a relay of elves asks for their first names before secretly squirrelling the information to Santa in preparation for the initial meet and greet where he magically knows their names without asking. Squeals of delight can be heard as two little bodies, supervised by their nursery assistants, are led around the corner to the great throne to meet Santa. Other elves take it in turns to capture the images on digital cameras to be saved and emailed to the nursery later on.
But now, I wish I were anywhere else but here.
For here, striding towards me, his tumble of brown curls bouncing, his winter coat flapping wide, is Luca, the Range Rover guy. Worse still, each hand is clasping a young boy’s hand, last seen play fighting each other.
I rarely pray, but it seems the natural thing to do.
Please, dear God, let the earth open wide and swallow me whole. Now. Now, please. Now!
It doesn’t.
My cheeks burn as he steps nearer. He automatically smiles at me before doing a double take and staring. His eyes travel down the length of my body to my toe-curling elf boots and slowly back up. I watch in horror as his mouth twitches uncontrollably and he tries his damnedest to fight it.
Seriously, someone kill me now!
‘Hi and welcome to Santa’s grotto,’ I say, in my cheeriest elf voice. ‘If you’d like to step inside, my elf friends will organise your party in preparation for meeting Santa.’ I speak directly to his left ear. His dark eyes are somewhere to my right, staring straight at me. I break my focus and busy myself eagerly smiling at both children; boys aged about five and seven. The older one sticks his tongue out at me, but his father fails to see or correct as he is still staring at me, and probably my red underwear.
Now is the moment when I need a busy queue. So I can happily hurry along to the next family and repeat my practised lines. But there is no one else, given that it’s only five past three on a school day. How has Luca arrived so early?
I linger, looking beyond the party of three. Who should be following my instructions to enter the foyer but haven’t. I look around the trio but still no one else for me to welcome. Pity.
‘I see you’re a jack of all trades,’ he remarks as he continues to stare.
‘I help out where I can,’ I say, averting my eyes to avoid his gaze, again.
‘And Santa’s most grateful, I’m sure.’ He tilts his head to fall into my line of vision.
‘Mmmm.’ I can feel my cheeks getting hotter by the minute. Why can’t I ever be as cool as the svelte beauties inside the grotto? I bet they never get flustered when a good-looking guy speaks to them but me, I turn myself inside out with sheer embarrassment.
Again, I sweep my right hand aside, indicating they can go through to the grotto. Luca ignores it; the two boys are fidgeting on the end of each hand, causing his body to sway and jolt.
‘Donkey whisperer one day, Christmas tree sales expert the next and now this… Wow, if I return tomorrow what will it be?’ I know he’s trying to be sociable. I get it, but for some unknown reason this guy seems to be the catalyst for my unexpected innate reactions; I am simply out of my depth. He’s out of bounds, totally off limits and taken by the beautiful blonde so why, oh, why am I feeling this level of magnetism towards him when I know nothing about him?
‘Hopefully, I’ll be enjoying a day trip to London away from this grotto,’ I reply, but on hearing myself I cringe a little more as it sounds a tad arsey.
‘Well, Nina the elf, enjoy your day off – you’ve certainly earned it. Come on, lads, in we go.’ He gives a warm smile before tugging the boys’ hands in the right direction.
I give a sigh of relief as he passes by. A shiver runs the length of my spine as the smell of citrus cologne fills my nostrils. Davidoff’s Cool Water, if I’m not mistaken.
How ridiculous am I? A total bloody stranger and I’m quaking at the knee like some teenager over the latest boy band. What’s worse is that he can somehow sense it and keeps going out of his way to speak to me. Maybe these are his final tricks before the big day occurs? His last chance to witness the effect he once had upon females before he settles into married life.
I want out of here.
I check my watch: quarter past three.
I poke my head inside the grotto entrance. Luca is just disappearing through the silvery shimmery door ribbons to receive a warm welcome from Santa, and I grab the attention of the svelte-like elf adorning the prep area, shared with two scoffing reindeer.
‘I’m just nipping to the loo,’ I mouth.
She nods. Little does she suspect I have no intention of returning.
I dart from my grotto post and run as fast as I can, through the snow, back along the northern pathway heading for the sales yard. I sprint to the gate and hastily open and close, giving it a good bang to close the latch.
‘Oi, Nina! I like the pants,’ shouts Bram, stalling his work at the netting machine and nudging his co-worker. ‘Very fetching.’
I pull a face at his confirmation. I’ve spent hours trying to kid myself that only I can see my underwear. Bram confirms the obvious… everyone has seen my underwear today. That’s a staggering forty-eight nursery pupils, six helpers, five svelte elves, two Santas, two small boys, a yard full of work colleagues… oh, and Luca. Great!
I rush towards the snug, stomp up the steps and burst in on Kitty and Zach decorating the room in tinsel and holly garlands.
‘Hi, Nina… we’re attempting to jolly up the place… D-do you know that you can see…?’ stammers Kitty, looking instantly uncomfortable on my behalf.
‘Really? I hadn’t realised. Thanks for noticing,’ I yell as I head for the staff toilets.
‘Bloody hell, Nina, you could hardly miss ’em.’ Zach laughs, shaking his head as he fails to move a heavy sofa single-handed.
I slam the toilet door shut, slide the bolt and stand against the door. Is this really what my life has become? A daily battle to dress myself, breathe in and out while entertaining the masses and hiding my grief?
I stare round the cubicle. There’s a load of graffiti on the side wall, it’s dismal and furnished with a white porcelain toilet, yet for the first time today I can actually breathe.
‘Nina! Can we talk about the other night?’ calls Bram.
*
Holly
‘Holly!’ my dad hollers up the staircase just after five o’clock.
‘Yeah!’
‘Phone!’
I descend the staircase two at a time. Who’d not call my mobile?
‘Hello?’
‘Hello, Holly, Mr Fairbright here from the chemist…’
After a ten-second conversation, in which I say very little except for ‘yes’ numerous times, he ends the call.
I walk into the hullabaloo that is our kitchen.
‘Holly, you OK?’ asks Dad, looking up from the table where Mum’s about to dish up the evening meal.
I settle into a chair, before I speak.
‘I’ve just been sacked!’
‘What?’
‘You’re joking?’ asks Mum, pan in hand, straining carrots.
‘Seriously, that was Mr Fairbright. He said that, having given full consideration to the incident that happened at the weekend, they have very little choice but to let me go,’ I repeat his words as accurately as I can.
‘Oh, lovey,’ swoons Mum, returning her pan to the stove before stroking my hair. ‘I’m sorry, he’s obviously jumped to the wrong conclusion, as I did.’
‘Bloody ridiculous! Did he accuse you of stealing?’
‘No, he said that the police had mentioned the accusation made by the girls but that he did believe me, but even so—’
‘Even so… you’re sacked.’
I stare around the table.
‘I’ve done nothing wrong.’
‘We know, babe, but these things happen and—’
‘I’ve got a good mind to go around there to speak to him,’ says Dad, bristling in his chair.
‘Steve, please.’
‘Seriously, he’s siding with those little bitches – surely he knows Holly well enough to know she would never stoop so low as to steal?’
My mum’s doing her comforting nod.
‘What am I going to do for extra money?’
‘Shhhh now, it’s not your fault… Let’s have dinner and we’ll think of somewhere you can apply to afterwards.’
*
Angie
I curl up on the sofa and listen to Nick’s phone message for the tenth time today.
‘Hi, Angie, wondering what you are doing tonight? Maybe… if you’re free we can meet up for last orders at The Rose… Let me know. It’s Nick, by the way.’
As if I don’t know.
I can’t bring myself to delete and ignore, that’s childish, and yet I could do with a night off. I glance at the clock: eight. I have two hours to make up my mind. Two hours to listen to the message a few more times before… declining? Accepting? How immature am I being?
I listen to the message again. He sounds nervous, hesitant. Does he suspect that his confession has upset me?
My mobile rings whilst in my hand. I stare at the screen: Nick.
Shit. I fight the urge to depress the accept call button. Instead, I wait.
The tiny screen illuminates, indicating another message has been left.
I quickly listen to his tired voice.
‘Angie, Nick… call me.’
Short and sweet. I re-listen.
How judgemental am I being? I can accept his errors, can’t I?
I press the recall button.
*
‘Tell me, what made you stay?’ I ask as he places my second vodka and cranberry juice before me. Finally, I’ve plucked up the courage to ask.
‘I thought so… has it bothered you that I was so honest, last night?’
I shake my head and lie.
Nick settles beside me in the alcove facing the pub crowd.
‘I had responsibilities, didn’t I? There comes a day when you must grow up.’
‘I thought that was the day we had Alfie?’
‘It’s supposed to be but, sadly, it wasn’t. It was the day I walked away from an invitation that would have led to nothing but heartache for my young wife and child… Seriously, it was the first adult decision I ever made.’
I sip my drink to silence my tongue. A pain stabs at my chest. That confession actually hurt. He felt something for someone else other than me. And I didn’t even know.
‘Thank you.’
‘For what?’ he says, looking up from his pint.
‘Staying with us… It was more than I did.’
Nick nods.
‘I think you were simply bored, Angie… nothing more.’
‘But I didn’t walk away from temptation, did I?’ I leapt straight in and left my husband and son behind. And now, my son’s making me pay a dear price. ‘How is Alfie?’
‘Loved up to the eyeballs.’
I sit up. That wasn’t the answer I was expecting.
‘Hasn’t he said?’
‘Nothing about it being serious.’
‘Still with this Holly girl, from the estate… getting serious, if you ask me.’
‘At sixteen?’
‘Yes, at sixteen, Angie… You know what puppy love is like, all or nothing.’
I think back, as far as I can remember, and it isn’t particularly clear just how my puppy love was. Awkward – yes. Confusing – yes. True love and serious – no, obviously.
‘He spends half his time in his room texting her, or in the bathroom doing his hair to go and visit her. Literally the day revolves around Holly.’
‘Then you need to straighten him out. That’s not healthy.’
‘It’s what I did at his age.’
‘Doesn’t mean to say it is healthy. He has schoolwork to focus upon, university places to gain – he can’t go messing it up fawning over a girl.’
‘Fawning over a girl… Angie?’
‘Seriously, Nick… before we know it she’ll be getting ideas.’
‘Like what?’
‘Girls these days, Nick…’
‘Don’t kid yourself, Angie!’
‘You might want to remind him that he needs to protect himself if they… should they…’ The words hang in the air like a dirty secret. ‘You know.’
‘Seriously, Nick… he needs to focus on his studies, not some girl.’
‘Holly, her name is Holly, and she sounds very sensible, actually.’
‘I don’t care… if it’s the real thing she’ll wait for him.’
Nick sips his pint of Guinness and ignores my reaction.
‘Anyway, how are you fixed for dinner tomorrow night? Alfie’s staying around a friend’s house for the night so I can cook for you, if you’d like?’
That would be nice. If there was one complaint I’d had, it was that Nick never helped about the house. I understood that he was busy, I understood that he was raised to think that certain jobs were women’s work, but still… cooking could have been shared.
‘I’d like that. Anything special?’
‘Nothing fancy, just simple home-cooked food,’ he says, which sounds wonderful to me. ‘I could have a chat with Alfie… about us, beforehand.’