Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chrissie’s Sunday
‘I must say, darling,’ said Pam, ladling gravy over her daughter’s plate, ‘you look absolutely awful. I know you said Andrew had several call-outs last night and sleep was interrupted, but even so. Your face looks like a French bulldog. You know, wrinkled and screwed up. It’s good Andrew is finally being diligent and earning some extra money – I won’t lie to you, I’ve had my doubts about him before now. Even so, a bit of extra cash isn’t worth wrecking your looks. Andrew can’t be faring any better.’
‘Yes,’ said Chrissie quietly, ‘you’re probably right.’ She had no idea how Andrew looked this morning. If it was anything like last night’s expression, then words like “slapped” and “arse” would be appropriate.
‘It’s important to work, but not worth over doing it,’ said Pam.
Chrissie pondered whether Andrew’s todger was overworked. With a bit of luck it might drop off.
‘You were very quiet on the drive over, love,’ said John, kindly.
‘That’s because I’m tired, Dad.’ Chrissie forked up some roast beef. It was a lovely meal. She wished she felt more enthusiastic about eating it.
‘After lunch, would you like to borrow some of my make-up?’ Pam offered. ‘A bit of rouge on those pale cheeks wouldn’t go amiss. If you look better, you might feel better.’
Chrissie knew her mother meant well, but her comments weren’t helping. ‘Maybe.’
‘Is your food all right, love?’ asked John.
‘Yes thanks, Dad. Very nice.’ Chrissie promptly missed her mouth with the fork and spilt gravy all down her top. ‘Bugger,’ she muttered.
‘I’ll get a damp cloth,’ said Pam, jumping up. She disappeared briefly, returning with a dripping tea towel that she sloshed over Chrissie’s chest. The fabric instantly turned into a grey puddle with a tan stain. ‘Oh dear. I’ve made it worse. Never mind, thankfully it isn’t new.’ She abandoned the tea towel and sat back down in her chair. ‘Buy yourself another one,’ Pam chirped. ‘There’s nothing like a bit of shopping to cheer yourself up. Your clothes look like they could do with an update. Why don’t you spoil yourself, love? And when did you last go to the hairdresser? You always pull back your hair in scrunchies. It’s not flattering, darling.’ Pam put her knife and fork down and placed one soft, well-manicured hand over Chrissie’s. ‘Don’t take this the wrong way, darling. After all, I know you’re very tired right now, but lately you’ve been looking much older than your years. And look at those nails!’ Pam exclaimed. She lifted Chrissie’s hand up for John to inspect. ‘Your skin is all cracked and sore, like a cleaning lady who works without rubber gloves. Are you doing an extra job that you’ve not told us about?’
Chrissie snatched her hand back. How could she explain that, yes, she was a cleaning lady – a cleaning lady for some thoroughly undesirable men who congregated in her home on a regular basis, and blocked her loo. And that she felt driven to scrub the place afterwards in order to reclaim it as her home. She knew her mother wasn’t being malicious mentioning her outdated wardrobe, or suggesting a hundred-quid’s worth of highlights, or splurging on half the make-up counter in Boots, but it hadn’t been possible. Andrew’s debts, gambling and general spending had kept her penny poor. Mind you, she didn’t owe the prat anything now, not after the business with randy chuffing Mandy. The ancient cow, with her beautiful gold stiletto sandals and her Designer white jeans. Was that why Andrew had strayed? Because, unlike Chrissie, Mandy layered her face in cosmetics, dyed her hair and had clothes as stylish as Victoria Beckham?
‘Are you all right, darling?’ Pam’s voice cut across Chrissie’s reverie. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you. Lord, me and my big mouth. Now look what I’ve done. I’m so sorry. John, top up Chrissie’s wine.’
‘I-It’s fine, Mum.’ Chrissie put a hand over her glass to halt her father, who was already on his feet with the bottle poised. She caught sight of her chapped hand hovering over the crystal rim, and snatched it away. Unfortunately, her wrist caught the thin stem and sent it toppling over, flooding the table with liquid. ‘O-Oh God. I’m so sorry.’
‘Leave it, love,’ said John. ‘Pam, pass me that wet tea towel. Thanks. Now eat your dinner, Chrissie. Afterwards, perhaps you should go up to your old bedroom and take a nap – if you’re in no hurry to get back to Andrew, of course.’
‘N-No. I-I mean no hurry to get back. And y-yes, I’d like a nap. I-In my old bedroom.’ Chrissie was desperately trying to hang on to her emotions, but everything was threatening to rush to the surface and overwhelm her. The thought of slipping off to her childhood room where everything was familiar and safe was oh so tempting. She wanted to sleep. Forever. Just so long as the images of Andrew and Mandy didn’t come back to haunt her. A lone tear made a break for freedom and ran down one cheek.
‘Don’t, darling,’ said Pam, sounding distressed, ‘I didn’t mean to make you cry.’
‘Honestly, Pam,’ huffed John, ‘you and your big mouth. You’ve taken our girl apart. She’s lovely as she is. She doesn’t need make-up and fancy clothes, or a trip to the hairdresser.’
‘But I didn’t mean–’
‘Please don’t argue,’ said Chrissie in a strangled voice. Another tear fell, swiftly followed by another, and then another. They splashed down her gravy-ruined top. A part of her wondered whether the salty tears might remove the stain.
‘But I’ve upset you,’ said Pam, and promptly burst into tears.
‘Well this is turning into a fine Sunday lunch,’ John sighed. ‘I’m surrounded by weeping women.’
Chrissie began to bawl even harder. ‘It’s…huh huh…nobody’s fault but my own…huh huh…Mum’s right…huh huh…if I’d taken more care of myself…huh huh…Andrew would be here with me for Sunday lunch. Instead…huh huh…he’s…he’s…he’s…huh huh–’
‘He’s what, love?’ John prompted.
Chrissie sucked in a lungful of air, then spat out the hateful words like an overworked vacuum cleaner divesting its contents. ‘Right now, Andrew is with a peroxide-blonde perma-tanned woman who I suspect is older than Mum.’
Pam dabbed her eyes and looked confused. ‘Is this his electrical client?’
‘No, although she certainly delivered a few shocks.’
‘I don’t understand,’ said Pam.
‘I think I do,’ growled John, ‘he’s seeing another woman, yes?’
Chrissie nodded her head miserably. She picked up the paper serviette to the side of her dinner plate, unfolded it, mopped her tears and blew her nose. ‘My boyfriend is having an affair.’
Pam’s jaw dropped. ‘And…and she’s older than me?’ she asked incredulously.
‘Are you sure, love?’
Chrissie gave a mirthless laugh. ‘Never surer. I saw them with my own eyes. Andrew brought her back to ours, thinking I was out.’
‘Oh, darling,’ Pam gasped. ‘Why didn’t you tell us straight away?’
Chrissie shrugged. ‘Shame. Embarrassment. Wanting, for some misguided reason, to protect him – despite everything.’ She patted away fresh tears. ‘He’s changed so much.’
‘Chrissie, love, I don’t like telling you what to do,’ said John. ‘After all, you’re a grown woman. But please tell me you’re not going back to that maisonette to be emotionally trampled on by Andrew.’
‘I have nowhere else to go.’
‘Of course you do,’ said John gently. ‘This is still your home. Move back.’
‘You don’t mind?’
‘As if you even need to ask,’ said Pam, reaching for one of Chrissie’s rough hands. She squeezed it tightly.
‘Now dry those tears,’ said John gruffly, ‘and finish your dinner. Afterwards, I’ll run you back to the maisonette and you can pick up your belongings.’
‘Thanks, Dad,’ said Chrissie gratefully. Right now, she felt like a seven-year-old. Her inner child was responding to her parents’ concern. It was such a relief to let them guide her and tell her what to do. For now, anyway. She felt so weary, so worn out and emotionally drained. But she also felt lighter, as if a concrete cape had been shrugged off her shoulders. Suddenly her mother’s Sunday lunch was full of appeal, and she polished it off with gusto.
When Chrissie returned to the estate, it was with two large suitcases that belonged to her parents. Her father remained outside in the Jag, glaring at a bunch of hoodies who were hoping he’d leave his car long enough for them to remove the alloys. Chrissie scampered through the front door and into the bedroom, and began tipping clothes into the cases. She didn’t bother to fold them neatly. She’d press them later when she was back at her parents’ house. Andrew was out, and she desperately hoped he didn’t turn up to see her emptying drawers and wardrobes. If he did, she had no idea whether he’d attempt apologising and beg her to stay, or whether he’d happily wave her off. But one thing was certain – she had no intention of sticking around long enough to find out.