183 Times a Year (30 page)

‘Oooopppps! Let the cat outta the bag there eh?' And with that Ruby attempts to stand up, placing both hands on the table to steady her. She heaves her drunken self up, and leaves.

Her words are still playing in my head, rattling around like marbles in a metal dish. Glass against metal, crashing and colliding with one another, spinning faster and faster until the whole sound translates into one continuous white noise. I am stunned. Surely Ruby didn't mean it? Surely I heard her wrong? Ruby was drunk for god sake. That's what it is, Ruby was drunk and got confused and I heard her wrong. She wouldn't – couldn't – do that to me. Could she? At least, that's what I try and tell myself. But I know, deep down, in the sick pit of my agitated stomach that every damning word playing over and over again my head is true.

I remain in my seat, too horrified to move, eventually aware of someone standing next to me.

‘Err excuse me Madam,' one of the waiters is saying. ‘Ere is zi bill.'

Oh fuck – she's left me with the bloody bill! I'm screwed.

I smile weakly and cough to clear my throat. ‘Ahem. Do you take credit cards?'

CASSIE

I keep looking at the flowers Joe bought me and smile. Orange roses and yellow lilies, to say sorry for not coming to my college performance. He said he was shy, didn't want to do the “family” thing. I don't blame him. I wouldn't want to sit with
my
family either but he could have come and sat somewhere else. Personally I think he was getting chonged with his friends again. Off his head and forgot all about me. Don't know why he has to do that stuff all the time? It's okay I suppose, now and again.

I look at the flowers again, bend over them and sniff them. I sneeze. They smell sort of sweet, like Nan. It's the first time anyone has bought me flowers. Simon buys them for Mum all the time. I used to think it was like well soppy, rank even but it's different when the person you love buys them for you. Joe still won't make us official on Facebook though and he hasn't actually said he loves me, but why would he buy me flowers if he didn't love me?

Mum's in a well bad mood. She went to meet Ruby for dinner at Catalina's I think, but came home like, well angry. Not shouting and storming round the house like when we don't tidy up angry. I can still answer her back and get away with it when she's that sort of angry. This was a different angry. I don't think I've seen this angry side to her before, sort of quiet and seething, a black, blank angry. Everything about her, her voice, her body language, her death stare, everything told me not to mess with her. So I didn't.

I was going to ask her if I could borrow some money but I swear Mum's eyes went black – like in the Twilight movies – so I changed my mind. I'd been talking about Ruby and when I looked at Mums face she looked like she was going to burst into tears one minute then kill someone the next? I think Mum and Ruby have fallen out, which is weird coz in all the years I've known Ruby I've never known her and Mum fall out.

I love Ruby. I hope Mum and Ruby make friends again soon.

Chapter 26

IT'S BEGINNING TO LOOK A LOT LIKE CHRISTMAS

LIZZIE

Every year I swear my cynical, socialist views will not be temporarily disabled and blindsided by some over sentimental, mawkish, consumer driven, drivelling TV advert. I will not be moved by a Christmas campaign designed to pull at the heartstrings whilst inadvertently directing the purse strings. I will not be moved, in any way, shape or form by advertising that has now become as much a part of the yuletide season as turkey, absurdly silly knitwear and mistletoe and woe in soapland. And yet, once again, this year like every other year finds me in the kitchen, after making excuses to absent myself, blubbing like a baby. I am, I have to admit, stirred by the genius of the Christmas advert.

Everyone has caught onto it. TV advertising with an emotional connection; nostalgia poked and provoked. So, here I sit, quite innocently minding my own business, watching the usual Saturday night TV when out of nowhere, during the commercial breaks, I am dragged, like poor old Ebenezer Scrooge, back through the memories of my Christmases past.

First there are the Christmases of long past – my own childhood. A childhood where my parents struggled but stayed together nonetheless; money was tight, carpets and wallpaper were a distasteful mix of browns and olive greens and always had some sort of flowery design. Flares, long hair and platform
shoes
were the order of the day for men as well as women, and life seemed a little more … simple. We didn't have a lot but we were grateful for what we did have and filled the gaps with love.

Then of course we are reminded of the big man himself; Christmas past but not so long ago. Depictions of a round, jolly, seventy something year old in a bright red, fur trimmed suit to match his beard with black shiny boots and the all-important sack of toys. Father Christmas doesn't live at our house anymore but through the power of advertising I grieve his loss. I am reminded of those magical moments I created with Cassie and Connor – later Maisy and Simon too. Carrots left out for Rudolph and a mince pie and glass of sherry for Santa; decorating the tree to Christmas songs, then worn out and huddled together on the sofa, cup of hot chocolate in hand, watching something seasonal; and of course the squeals of delight at some ridiculous ungodly hour. And not a care in the world that I had nothing or very little to open, the giving far more enjoyable than the receiving.

Then of course there's Christmas present. Sulky, surly teenagers; the
yoof
of today aggrieved and embarrassed at their parents, grandparents or younger siblings' best efforts to include them in the festive seasons activities, only to be drawn in at the last minute under mock protest and duress. I sigh out loud, lost in an abyss of memories.

Where has it gone? Where have all the years gone?

‘You okay babe?' Simon has sneaked up behind me. He wraps his arms around my waist and holds me tight. I lay my hands on top of his and hold on for dear life. I don't reply. Simon thinks I'm mourning sentimental memories of Christmases past – which I am – but I'm also grieving the loss of my friend. My best friend.

‘Christmas adverts eh? They get me every time too.' I swing round and look at Simon as he folds me into his chest. He
strokes
my hair and I can smell him, fresh, familiar and safe. I eventually look up.

‘The kids are growing up fast eh?'

Simon tilts my chin up towards him and looks at me. ‘Just remember the words of one very wise old man,' he replies. I frown – confused. ‘It's not a life, it's an adventure!' Simon declares in his best cockney accent, which is in fact very poor. But it's done the trick and I'm smiling again. He bends down and kisses me. His lips are warm and hot on mine. He loves me but he also wants me. His passion is hard and evident, to me anyway, and for a moment I'm lost.

‘Urrggghh, for god's sake get a bloody room will you? That's like well gross,' Cassie, who has now joined us, says. A look of horror flicks across her face. I laugh.

‘You're just jealous,' Simon smirks.

‘As if.'

‘She's right Dad. It's really not right, get a bloody room.' Maisy has now joined us too and trailing just behind her is Connor. He looks slightly puzzled.

‘Why do Mum and Simon have to get a room?' he asks. Everyone starts to laugh.

‘Who wants hot chocolate?' Simon shouts.

CASSIE

Perverts! Perverts! Perverts! It's Christmas Eve and that's what I'm surrounded by. A bunch of peodo pervs who left it to the last minute to buy their wives, girlfriends or whoever, their Christmas presents from the lingerie department. I wouldn't mind but the idiots don't even know the sizes they need. Really? How can you not know the size of the woman you're with? And saying things like, “about your size” or “like you but fatter” or
“
like you but thinner” really doesn't help. Neither does showing me a picture of her on your phone thank you very much. And stop picking all the pervy crotchless knickers and bras with removable nipple tassels. Women want class not crass. At least that's what Maria says.

Maria's dead sweet. She's a bit old like Mum but she took a bit of a liking to me when I started working here and looks after me. She's dead funny too coz she keeps telling all the men off for leaving their Christmas shopping to the last minute. She says that saying they've had to work is not an excuse coz women work too, and they don't leave it to the last minute. I feel a bit sorry for some of them coz they look a bit sad after Maria's laid into them. They have that same look on their faces that Freddy – Nan and Grandad's dog – does when he's been told off.

Still, it's not been too bad today, although it really is a crime that people have to work on Christmas Eve. It should actually be illegal. It's Christmas Eve for god sake! All the chocolates are good though. We keep being given them as gifts by some of the customers and we put them in the fitting rooms and all the staff in the lingerie department sneak in and gorge on them. I actually think I've had too many today though. Maybe that's why I feel sick. And oh my god if I hear
Frosty The Snowman
one more time I think I'll bloody scream. The same six Christmas songs played on a continual loop is absolute torture. And just to add insult to injury Mum keeps playing the same bloody songs at home. I caught her dancing to them in the kitchen the other day. She didn't know I was there and I felt a bit sad when I watched her coz it reminded me of the Christmases when I was little. Mum would just randomly put Christmas songs on and me and her and Connor would dance round like idiots. It brought a lump to my throat as I watched her throw her moves. Why do adults dance so badly? I wish I'd danced with her.

‘S'cuse me love,' someone says behind me. I turn to see a
customer,
a man, and he's ancient, at least 50 years old. ‘You look like a lovely young lady,' he says. Oh god, not another perv. ‘I wondered if you could help me choose some underwear for my daughter, she's about your age?'

‘Your daughter?' I exclaim before I can stop myself. Surely this man is a perv of the highest order. Why would a Dad buy his daughter underwear? It's just too wrong. I try to be okay with him but he's turned my stomach a bit and I know my voice comes out all prim and huffy. ‘Do you have her sizes?' I ask. He hands me a piece of paper.

‘Wrote em down,' he says smiling.

‘Follow me,' I say a bit too snottily. We pass the crotchless knickers and the detachable nipple tassels. I shudder. I definitely need to get him away from this section. I'll take him to the pretty stuff then I'm leaving this pervert to it. I bet Joe would like crotchless knickers and nipples tassels. I suddenly blush at the thought. No, I couldn't, wouldn't dare wear them for him, even though we've done it, twice now. And he still won't make us official. My thoughts are rudely interrupted by the perv again.

‘She could do with some of those bras that have a bit of padding,' he says attempting to laugh. ‘Bless her, there's not much to her.' Oh my god this man is a creep. I swing round to look at him. He looks embarrassed and steps back from me. ‘Well that's what her Mum said,' he explains. He can clearly see the disgust I feel in my face coz his voice is like really nervous sounding now. ‘My wife said to ask for the padded bras because it'll make her feel more grown up,' he gushes. ‘It's the chemo you see. It makes her lose her appetite. It's her 16th birthday the day after Boxing Day, and we decided – my wife and I – to throw her a bit of a party. She's been so brave but missed out on so much. So we just wanted to make her feel special, and you know, grown up.'

Oh no, now I feel really bad.

‘
We've got her a dress and shoes and my wife was going to come and get her the underwear today but, but …' He trails off. He doesn't cry but his eyes start to fill up. ‘Well, it's just that Mia, my daughter, wasn't well again today and she wanted her Mum. Kids always seem to want their Mum when they're ill don't they?'

I nod rapidly in agreement. It's true, when I came home drunk the other week and met up with Hughie and Ralph in the toilet (that's what Uncle Sean said it sounds like when you're throwing up) it was Mum I shouted for. Although, she didn't have to be so bloody moody coz I'm pretty convinced I did NOT wake the whole house up. I do remember Romeow sitting outside the bathroom scowling at me though.

‘So I said I'd sort it,' the man continues. ‘I was a bit worried because I thought everyone would think I was some sort of pervert,' he says laughing. I kind of flinch and cringe inside. ‘But I'll do anything for my girl. And I thought you looked really kind,' he says looking straight into my eyes.