Chapter Six
The shops were already decorated for Christmas, and had been for several weeks. Olivia had agreed to go shopping with me, although it was against her better judgement, as she pointed out several times.
"York?" She put her hands on her hips and glared at me. "What the heck do we have to go all the way to York for? What's wrong with Helmston, or Whitby?"
I rolled my eyes. The trouble with Olivia was that she had no aspirations. There was nothing wrong with Helmston, or Whitby, but if you wanted a big day out shopping, where was the fun in heading up the road, when you could head to the beautiful city of York, with its medieval walls and ancient, cobbled streets, and masses of shops all teeming with interesting and exciting things that you just couldn't get locally? Olivia needed to think bigger, a fact I pointed out very forcefully, as I motioned for her to fasten her seatbelt.
"And what's the point of that?" Olivia demanded. "All a trip to York means is more shops, more choice, more temptation, and more money. It's all right for you. You've only got yourself to worry about. I have responsibilities. Three of them. Four, if you count David."
"Actually," I said, "it's my responsibility to decorate Mum's house, and I have a colour scheme to plan, and loads to think about. This isn't going to be easy, you know."
Olivia rolled her eyes. "It's Mum's house. Why can't you just leave it to her?"
I started the car, my face grim. "You know why. Since when does Mum bother with Christmas decorations?"
Olivia didn't reply, and feeling that I'd made my point, I didn't expand on the subject.
We both knew that Mum hadn't so much as put up a Christmas tree since Dad left. For one thing, she'd had no money. She had rent to pay, and even five separate cleaning jobs hadn't left her with any spare cash to spend on luxuries. Worse, she hadn't had the heart for it. All the joy had gone out of Mum when Dad abandoned us. It had taken years for her to get back to anything like the woman she'd been before he betrayed her. Christmas was just a painful reminder of everything she'd lost.
It was only when I’d left college and started earning my own money that the house had been trimmed for the festive season, once more. It had made Olivia happy, I was sure, whatever she said to the contrary, and it had given me a sense of achievement and purpose. I'd felt I was helping to put the past behind us all, signalling a new start and fresh hope. I was making our house a home again. Mum hadn't said much, but I knew she appreciated the effort, and had enjoyed seeing the place so cheerfully decorated once more.
In recent years, though, both Mum and Olivia had informed me that I was going over the top with it all, which I felt was a bit unfair. All I was trying to do was add a touch of class to the proceedings, after all. It wasn't my fault that my family were stuck in the seventies and had a tinsel obsession. I, on the other hand, read the interior design magazines, and knew that Christmas decorations had moved on a long way since those days. I was determined not to be left behind. My own flat was too small to hold a decent-sized tree, so the family home was where I really went to town and practised my design skills.
"I suppose, at least, I'll have more hope of getting the kids some of the toys they want," Olivia said at last, as we left Moreton Cross behind and headed towards York. "Mind you, they've got no chance of getting everything. You should see the length of their lists. Toy adverts are an absolute bugger."
I laughed. "That's the point of them. About time Carroll's started upping their advertising budget, if you ask me."
Olivia glanced at me. "What do you mean?"
I shrugged. "Just that, well, it seems to me that we need to be attracting new customers. Jack's kind of put all our eggs in one basket with the LuvRocks contract. Easy money, I suppose. I can understand the attraction, but personally, I think it was a big mistake, and Christopher Carroll evidently agrees with me."
"He does?" Olivia sounded worried. "But we're doing okay? The factory, I mean. Things are all right?"
I flashed her a reassuring smile. Probably best not to discuss what Christopher Carroll thought. "Oh, yes, fine. It's not that. It's simply that … well, do you approve of the LuvRocks stuff? Really?"
Olivia frowned. "It doesn't bother me much, as long as we're getting paid. I know some of the older ones don't like it, though."
"Understandable. It's hardly tasteful, is it?"
Olivia tutted. "Trust you to think about that. The thing is, Jack knows what he's doing. This LuvRocks contract must be worth a fortune, since he's thrown so much work at it. Most of our production lines are working on those products now, after all."
"Exactly. What happened to good old-fashioned seaside rock, and our premium chocolates?" I shook my head. "I just think he's taken Carroll's down a rather dubious path, that's all. We should be classier than that."
Olivia's face broke into a grin. "It's all about class with you, isn't it? You're ever so pretentious, Marley. Sometimes, I think you forget where you came from."
"It's not about where you come from," I assured her. "It's where you end up that counts."
"And to hell with anyone who gets in your way en route?" Olivia raised an eyebrow.
I tutted and put my foot down on the accelerator.
York was heaving. It took us a while to find a parking space, and then we stood beside the car, deciding where to go first. Our breath hung in the air, and Olivia shivered and pulled her coat tighter. "It's bloody freezing. Can we grab a coffee before we start?"
"We've only just got here," I said. "And we have shopping to do. Coffee is our reward when we've finished."
Olivia sighed. "Wish I'd put a thicker jumper on," she muttered. "Right, where's the nearest Argos?"
"I have no idea. I'm heading to Rochester's. They do an amazing selection of Christmas decorations."
Olivia gaped at me. "Rochester's? Are you kidding me?"
"What's wrong with Rochester's?"
"Nothing, if you've got pots of money to spend, which I haven't. Why don't we find a Pound Shop? Honestly, Marley, if you will insist on changing the Christmas decorations every year, you may as well buy the cheapest ones."
I could barely believe what I was hearing. "Have you any idea how tacky that would look? Come on, let's start browsing."
Seeing Olivia's reluctance, I sighed. "There's a fabulous coffee shop in Rochester's, too. We could do some shopping, then have a drink. And think how lovely and warm it will be in there, and everything under one roof. Better than trawling the streets in this cold weather, going to different shops."
Olivia looked highly doubtful. "I wanted to visit The Shambles," she protested, referring to an ancient cobbled street in York that looked like something from a Dickens novel.
"So do I," I assured her, "but we can do that after Rochester's. What do you say?"
She hesitated, then nodded. "Okay, but I shouldn't think I'll be buying anything from there. I can't afford those prices, and I'll bet the toys are twice the price of the ones in Argos."
Rochester's Department Store was lovely and warm, and Olivia unzipped her coat with obvious relief. Even she, for all her cynicism, could hardly deny that the shop was beautifully and tastefully decorated for the festive season. Best of all, there were no cheesy Christmas songs blaring through the speaker system. I was sick to death of hearing the endless round of festive blasts from the past, although Mum loved them. But then, my mother was a child of the seventies. That sort of music was a comfort blanket to her. Instead, gentle orchestral versions of carols soothed and relaxed me and Olivia, as we browsed the selection of tree ornaments, garlands and lights.
"Oh, I love this," I said, holding up a beautiful bauble in deep purple, with silver filigree. "What do you think? Purple and silver this year?"
Olivia shrugged. "It's as good as any," she said, then caught sight of the price tag and gasped. "You're kidding me! For one poxy Christmas bauble? Marley, you're crazy. You can't possibly buy everything from here."
I was uncomfortably aware that she was right. As tempting as it was to fill a basket with a selection of the beautiful goods on display, my budget simply didn't stretch to it.
"Why don't you just get a few pieces from here, and get the rest from the Pound Shop?" Olivia suggested. "Honestly, Marley, it's a waste of money, otherwise, and you still have all your presents to buy, don't forget."
I sighed. "I suppose so." It felt like admitting defeat, but I did have to buy a new outfit for the factory Christmas buffet, and then there was my Christmas Day dress to purchase, too. One day, I thought with renewed determination, I would buy everything from Rochester's. Fox Lodge would be like something from an advertisement at Christmas, when it belonged to me. I knew for a fact that Great Uncle Charles wouldn't so much as put a sprig of holly up this year. He didn't hold with Christmas, which he referred to as ‘a great con trick foisted on a gullible public by the manufacturers of gifts and cards’. He said the same thing about Valentine's day. And birthdays. And any sort of event that encouraged people to buy things, come to that.
I glanced around, noting with envy the well-dressed shoppers who blithely filled their baskets with whatever took their fancy.
One day.
Olivia refused point blank to buy any of her presents from the store. "I can get twice as much somewhere else. I just can't afford this place. Sorry."
I was determined to carry on, regardless. I belonged in the shop. It was my sort of place. I selected a handful of beautiful and elegant tree decorations, and chose my Christmas cards with care.
Olivia didn't see the point. "I bought a box of forty cards for three quid at the supermarket, the other day," she said. "Why are you paying all that for ten?"
"Because they're classy," I replied. "Besides, I don't need forty."
"I don't suppose you do," Olivia said.
I scowled. "Shut up. Just because you send a card to the world and his wife. Ooh, look. Jenny Kingston handbags. Aren't they gorgeous?"
Olivia followed, as I rushed over to examine a selection of rather beautiful bags, each bearing the gold JK emblem. Above them, a large canvas poster hung on the wall, showing a striking model with a bag over her arm, and the slogan, Are you a Jenny Kingston girl?
"I would love to be a Jenny Kingston girl," I said longingly, stroking the leather of the nearest bag in awe.
Olivia looked deeply unimpressed. "I'm more a tenner-from-the-market girl," she admitted. "I've never paid more than that for a bag in my life, and I don't intend to start now."
"But look at them," I said, stunned at her indifference. "Look at the design, the quality. Oh, I'd love one. They're so gorgeous." I turned over the price tag and winced. "Ouch."
"Exactly," Olivia said. "Who'd pay that for a bag?"
"That one's only two hundred and seventy." I pointed to a smaller one, which bore a Sale sign.
"Only two hundred and seventy?" Olivia gaped at me. "Seriously, Marley, what planet are you on? I once bought a pasta salad from Marks and Spencer's, and had to lie down to recover from the trauma. You need to forget all about designer brands and face facts. You just don't earn the sort of money that enables you to live the lifestyle you want. You have to accept that and cut your cloth accordingly."
I didn't reply. In my mind's eye, I was choosing a bag and paying for it with my new credit card—the credit card I would get when Great Uncle Charles left me everything in his will. How much longer would it be?
I felt myself start to blush. What an awful thing to think. I didn't wish my uncle dead, really I didn't. I hadn't meant that the way it sounded in my mind, but after all, he was so old. It couldn't be much longer, could it? He didn't have much of a life, did he? And I could make so much of a life for myself with the money that he just left to rot in a bank somewhere, gaining no pleasure from it whatsoever. There was nothing wrong with that, was there?
"Come on," I said reluctantly. "Let's go and get a coffee. We'll need warming through before we leave here. How far away is this Argos branch?"