Chanel Sweethearts (10 page)

It was the night before Christmas. The house was finally quiet after the festive family dinner. Jess threw the tablecloth into the laundry, and while she was there she checked the mousetrap and found one very still, furry creature. A quick, well-practised flick out the door into the compost heap disposed of the little corpse. The Buddhist sympathiser in her cringed while the homemaker in her breathed a sigh of relief that the cereal stored in the bottom of the pantry would see another day.

She glanced in at Charlotte and Hamish, snuggled up in their beds. They were finally asleep, exhausted after the big day. No doubt they were dreaming of the excitement that Christmas morning would bring. Carrots and milk sat by the fireplace awaiting Santa and his reindeer.

It had been a warm afternoon, but the forecast was for an unseasonably cool evening, which had now transpired. Caro and Genevieve were washing up, and the men had adjourned to the verandah. Heading into her room, Jess picked up her tie-dyed kerchief from the foot of the bed, wrapped it around her head and grabbed her Lee Mathews cardigan. She found her dad's favourite woolly earflap cap to take out to him. Stupid Victoria. Completely unreliable weather, she grumbled to herself. At least Christmas Day was expected to be sunny, for a change.

The farmhouse was large and rambling. It had endured many renovations over its life but had finally settled into its current form: two wings off the central entry and living areas. The east wing housed a formal study and three double bedrooms – the master, which Eva and Richard had shared and which was still Richard's, done in Ralph Lauren red and navy checks, and two guestrooms. This was known as the grown-up wing. Jessica had promoted herself from the bedroom she'd grown up in to the prettiest of the guest suites. It was a delight in French Provincial chic with a timber four-poster bed, rustic furniture, and patchwork and linen in a soothing array of creamy tones.

Angus and Caro used the other suite – a more sophisticated room in chocolate velvet and fawn metallics, with minimalist lines and a natural stone ensuite bathroom. Jessica had kept Caro's subdued but luxurious tastes in mind when she'd decorated it a few years before.

The west wing was for the children: three bedrooms – including Callum and Liam's old rooms – and a big rambling playroom came off the farm-style, pine kitchen. Copper-based saucepans hung from an overhead rack, clay pots housed timber implements, and jars of dried herbs rested on the wide windowsills.

Passing back through the central living room en route to the deck beyond, Jess replaced a stray gift that had fallen from one of the bulging stockings, and felt a pang of sadness as she thought of the cheery red felt personalised stockings she had made for her boys, which now sat empty in her bedside drawer.

She scooped up a piece of gift wrap that lurked under the coffee table from the one present each of the children had been allowed to open earlier. She smiled as she remembered Hamish's excitement when he'd ripped the paper away from Richard's extravagant gift: a battery-powered ride-on motorbike.

Her nephew had been speechless with delight and had sat on it for the rest of the night, roaring down an imaginary racetrack. Jess knew that there were two similar toys in the garage, wrapped and waiting for Richard's other two grandsons, in case a miracle happened and Graham decided to relent and let the boys come to visit their other family.

Jessica had worked hard at the General Store until she knocked off just after lunch – she needed to keep busy for as long as she could. She'd come home and made a half-hearted effort to get things organised, but she knew that Caro would swoop in and take over anyway, so she'd left the linen unfolded, the food in the fridge unprepared and the table unset, then sat on the deck staring at the view. It seemed there was nothing she could do to calm her jangled nerves and stop thinking obsessively of how this time last year was the last truly happy day she could remember.

She and the boys had spent that day dropping homemade shortbread and gingerbread gifts into their neighbours, friends and local shopkeepers. By late afternoon, Liam had been overtired and over-excited as the Christmas tension mounted. He was sick of going from place to place delivering Christmas treats, and wanted to know why Santa wasn't there now, and why they had to wait ‘forever' until they could have their presents.

Jess winced to herself as she remembered how she had snapped at him. She was tired and strung out too, and Graham had been acting strangely for weeks. He hardly spoke to her and only laughed sarcastically and walked away if she tried to start up a conversation about their relationship.

If she'd known then that it would be her last day of carefree time with her boys, she might have held them longer, or just sat quietly and looked at their beautiful faces. And now, somehow, a whole year had passed. When Jess walked into the kitchen she caught the last snippets of conversation between Genevieve and Caro.

‘So he threw an almighty tantrum last night at bedtime,' Caro was saying. ‘It was just awful. He was purple, I could barely hear what in the hell his problem was.'

‘Oh, dear,' Genevieve said as she wiped another bowl and stacked it on the pile on the bench. ‘What was wrong?'

‘Well, I made the mistake of telling them we were heading down here first thing this morning and Hamish just started wailing and howling. I finally worked out what was wrong: he hadn't told Santa yet what he wanted for Christmas.'

‘Oh no!' Genevieve said. ‘What did you do?'

Caro took her soapy hands out of the sink and turned to include Jess in her story. ‘I suggested email, phone messages, everything, but no, it had to be the real deal. And he was so upset. Well, I was feeling a bit guilty about wriggling out of the whole lining-up-for-Santa catastrophe anyway, so by then I felt terrible.'

‘But you've just got to do the Santa thing, Caro,' Jess said.

‘Yes, all right, thank you!' Caro snapped. ‘So, rather than settling in with an eggnog and my
White Christmas
DVD, I gritted my teeth, threw them into the car – still in their pyjamas – and headed off to Malvern Central.'

‘You didn't?' Jess said, amazed at such an unlikely burst of spontaneity from Caro.

‘I bloody did!' Caro said.

‘You're a good mum,' Genevieve said.

‘Yes, but wait for it,' Caro went on. ‘Can you imagine the queue for Santa at seven p.m. on the twenty-third of December? We waited an hour! It was hideous. Charlotte was tired and whingey, and the brats in front of us kept pulling faces at Hamish. I had to do a well-placed stiletto warning on one particularly pushy queue jumper. Then finally it was our turn.'

‘So what did he want for Christmas after all that?' Genevieve asked.

‘Well, after staring mutely at what I must say was a very bedraggled-looking Santa, do you know what Hamish said?'

‘What?' the women asked in unison.

‘He said he wanted “a surprise”!'

‘NO!' Genevieve and Jessica burst out laughing.

‘Kids, it's lucky they're so cute or you'd kill 'em!' Jess said, wiping tears from her eyes.

Leaving Caro and Genevieve to finish the dishes, Jess went outside to join the men.

Nick's voice greeted her as she approached. ‘...So then he said, “If anybody here believes in telekinesis, raise my right hand.”'

Nick sat back, grinning at his own punchline, while Richard's guffaw bounced down the darkened hill. Angus smiled, more at seeing his father so relaxed than at the old joke. It was good of Nick to drop by and visit before heading over to his parents' house for his own Christmas celebrations. Angus glanced up at his sister's entrance and hoped it was more than kindness on Nick's part that had brought him here on that evening.

‘Hello, darling girl,' Richard said. ‘Oh, you're a wonder, you are. Just what I needed,' and he gratefully took his favourite woolly cap and shoved it onto his head, taking on the look of a brave arctic explorer. ‘It doesn't ever warm up down here until late January, does it?'

Jessica smiled and took a seat next to her dad.

‘So, how are those two getting on in there?' he asked, indicating the kitchen.

‘Really well, actually. Caro's sharing some raising-children war stories,' Jess said.

‘Excellent,' Richard replied. ‘Gen means a lot to me, guys. I'm rapt that you've welcomed her into the family so warmly.'

‘Dad, she's fantastic. You two are a perfect match,' Angus said. ‘It's great to see you so happy.'

Richard looked at his son and beamed. ‘Yeah, she's a keeper. I've got to keep an eye on her, though – she thinks she's got me wrapped around her little finger,' he chuckled good-naturedly, ‘and she might be right.'

At that moment, Genevieve and Caro appeared with more drinks.

‘Nightcap?' Caro asked, a bottle of Bailey's in hand.

Enthusiastic responses quickly filled the air as Caro passed around balloons of ice and liqueur.

The group settled contentedly with their drinks and enjoyed the sounds of the evening. The roar of the surf leapt up to meet the sound of the cicadas. A tawny frogmouth hooted in the distance; a cow answered the call of its calf.

‘I know it's crazy, but I keep expecting to hear jingle bells from the horizon,' Jess said. ‘It's a magic night, Christmas Eve, isn't it?'

‘You do know Santa's not real, don't you?' Caro asked.

‘Caro, do you have to say it out loud?' Nick reprimanded her. ‘Can't you just let Jess enjoy the fantasy?'

Jess smiled. ‘It's okay, Nick, I do know that it's only the Tooth Fairy who's real,' she reassured him.

‘Speaking of fairies, Jess, I just love your Christmas angel sculpture in the front room,' Genevieve said. ‘You could do a lot with your art, you know.'

‘Hmmm,' Jess said slowly. ‘Well, actually I am thinking about doing more with it next year. I have a meeting with Mimsy Baxter coming up and I think she wants me to work at Still Life.'

Caro leapt from her seat in excitement. ‘How wonderful! What an opportunity: you could move to the city and really give your career a chance to explode.'

‘Hang on there, Caro, slow down,' Nick said. ‘I doubt Red is thinking of moving to town.'

‘Actually, Nick,' Jess said, ‘I've already said yes to the job, so if Mimsy wants me I'll be moving to the city early next year.'

Richard, Angus and Nick all gasped. Jess usually discussed such big decisions with them all.

Caro, however, could barely contain her enthusiasm. ‘Tremendous, brilliant, well done! You'll get the job and have a marvellous career in the city for decades to come. I'm so thrilled for you. And until you find your feet you're more than welcome to stay at our place. I'll help you with my network; I'll send you tons of business. They'll love you.'

Richard glanced at Caro's animated face. What was she up to?, he wondered.

‘Well, it's a big change,' Angus said, moving to give his sister a hug, ‘and it will feel very strange to come down to Springforth and not have you here, but I reckon it could be a wonderful new start for you, sis.' He raised his glass. ‘I'm proud of you.'

‘Cheers,' they all echoed, lifting their glasses into the air. All except Nick, who sat staring at Jess, his eyes boring into her.

‘Thanks guys,' she smiled, excitement flooding her as she looked at the happy faces of her family. She glanced at Nick and decided to ignore his surliness. ‘I can't wait,' she said firmly, and drained the last of the sweet liquid from her glass.

‘What do you think is going on with Caro?' Richard asked Genevieve as they were preparing for bed later that night. ‘She seems overly enthusiastic about Jessica moving to town. It's not like her to be so keen for change; she normally digs her heels in if we suggest any change to family life.'

Genevieve smiled calmly and placed her hairbrush back into her toilet bag. ‘Richard, don't you see, it's for the best. Jessica needs to break free of your property, your business, your life. It was you looking after her, then Graham doing it, and now it's back to you again. She needs to be the master of her own world – she's almost forty – and I just think Caro recognises that.'

‘I guess you're right,' Richard conceded. ‘Maybe I am just being over-protective.'

‘I'd be disappointed if you weren't,' she told him affectionately, and she reached up to give him a kiss on the cheek.

The cows grazing contentedly in the paddocks the next day were oblivious to the Christmas mayhem at the farmhouse. Jess stood on the deck, looking out over the sweeping lawn to the swing-set, where Hamish and Charlotte begged their dad to push them ‘higher, higher'.

Jess had expected to feel sad today – it was inevitable given that the day marked the first anniversary of losing her family – but there was another feeling too: hard to name, it was uncomfortable and stifling; it seemed to fill her chest and make it hard to breathe.

Her brother's deep-throated laugh filled the air as he wrestled with his children on the lawn and Jess's face twisted painfully, her thoughts carrying her back to the Christmas morning of a year ago.

Jess had been so excited knowing how thrilled the boys would be when they saw their gifts under the tree in the morning. Callum and Liam had whooped into the bedroom at five a.m., bubbling with the news of the wicked new mountain bikes that Santa had left for them.

Giggling in delight, she cuddled their tousled heads to her; she had searched for weeks to get the exact bikes they had asked for and this moment of pure pleasure made all the effort worthwhile.

While the boys tried to rouse Graham from his grumpy slumber, Jess had gone to make some coffee. Graham was useless before he'd had three or four caffeine shots in the morning.

But he'd surprised her, shuffling into the kitchen a few minutes later, yawning and scratching his stubble.

‘Hey, sleepy head, Merry Christmas,' Jess had said, smiling, but something in his body language made her stop short of delivering the hug she was about to give him.

He'd sighed. ‘Look, we have to talk.'

Surely he was joking, she'd thought. She'd tried to get him to talk for months; to sort out their relationship – and he'd finally decided to talk
today,
Christmas Day?

She had tried to listen but his words buzzed around her head like blowflies as she'd stood gripping the edge of the sink.

‘Not suited ... tried to tell you before ... time to move on...'

Staring at the kitchen cloth, its pitted surface grey and ugly from too much domestic duty, she made a mental note to pick up a new one next time she was in town.

But then Graham had shaken her from her reverie with one stinging sentence: ‘I've met someone else.'

Everything ended there.

When the boys had run in a moment later, keen to tackle the pile of presents in the lounge room, Callum had looked up and asked, ‘Why are you crying, Mumma?' It was only then she'd noticed her Santa T-shirt was damp at the neckline.

She gasped, bringing herself back to the here and now. She squinted into the early morning sun, her tears blurring the blue sky. This new pain was pushing down on her harder and she couldn't seem to take a breath; she felt paralysed, frozen in place by the intensity of the emotion.

The morning had been the usual mayhem of Christmas madness, with gifts, over-excited children, croissants and champagne. She was sad, and had the familiar sense of loss and grief hanging over her; but why was she feeling so tense and sick?

She closed her eyes and tried to calm her breathing. She fought to identify the new sensation. As her heart beat less frantically and her pulse slowed, she used a technique that Rainbow had taught her: using colours as a guide to emotions.

She asked her inner self to flood her consciousness with the colour she was feeling and instantly green shot into her mind like laser light. A lurid, acid green.

Her eyes flipped open in fright and there in front of her again was the sight of Angus playing contentedly with his children. Oh my God, she thought, I'm jealous. It was an uncomfortable realisation.

She drew her cashmere cardigan around herself tightly and turned back to the house. She'd never been a jealous person before.

Shaking, Jessica sat at the kitchen table and rested her head in her hands. ‘Bloody spoilt rotten little children,' Caro spat, as she strode into the kitchen and flung open the fridge. ‘They don't know how lucky they are. Mobile phones at that age! Honestly it's a disgrace. And I wouldn't have done it, you know, if it weren't for the fact that the Ferguson children were getting phones for Christmas. There's no way I could bear the moaning when my two got to school and found out that the Fergusons got mobile phones and they didn't. Never mind. Coffee?'

‘Um, herbal tea, if you don't mind,' Jess said quietly.

‘What's wrong?' Caro demanded. ‘You're not your usual nauseously joyful yuletide self.

‘I'm just shaky after, you know, last year.'

‘Yes, yes, of course. I can't believe the bastard did it on Christmas Day. Here, let's have some more festive bubbles. I know it's only eight a.m. but if we add orange juice and call in the public-holiday-rule, we might just get away with it.'

Caro poured the drinks and sat down next to her sister-in-law, her voice lowered to a whisper. ‘I've got something that might cheer you up. I've done the funniest thing. You know how I've got Genevieve for Kris Kringle? Well I've given her the ‘free gift with purchase' – a little gold make-up bag with goodies – I got from Estée Lauder when I bought my cleanser last week! How funny's that?'

Jess shook her head, brow wrinkled. ‘I don't get it.'

‘It's the free gift with purchase! Sixty bucks' worth, for nix! And I'm giving it to her like it's some big luxurious present.' Caro chuckled at her own bitchy cleverness. ‘She'll think I'm being really nice, but I'm not!'

‘Oh ... right.' The sip of champagne suddenly stuck in Jess's throat. She stood and took it to the sink. ‘I don't feel like alcohol right now. I think I'll have that chamomile tea instead.' She poured the boiling water into her cup and headed off to her room, leaving Caro to plot and scheme.

As the day went on, Jessica started to feel more like herself, any tinge of green now a safe distance away. She was able to laugh along with the others during the Christmas cracker jokes, she took photos of funny faces and enjoyed the compliments on her festive decoration. It took an effort to keep it up, but she figured she was doing pretty well.

As the late-afternoon Noel naps were starting up and the dishwasher was humming with its enormous load after lunch, Jess walked in on Genevieve in the bathroom. ‘Oh, sorry,' she apologised and went to back out.

‘Don't be silly, I'm just touching up my make-up,' Genevieve replied. ‘Come in.'

Jess began to straighten the towels and noticed Genevieve was using an identical gold make-up purse to the one Caro had just given her. It seemed Caro's nasty scheme wouldn't go unnoticed.

‘Nice make-up bag,' Jess commented.

‘Yes, I love it, it was really great to get a second one from Caro. You always need a back-up, I say.'

Jess waited, but Genevieve didn't add a bitchy comment or any touch of sarcasm, although she would be entitled to; especially as she had given each of the family a personal and thoughtful gift instead of sticking with the Kris Kringle formula. When Genevieve had unwrapped her gift from Richard – a pair of emerald earrings – Caro had actually stormed out of the room.

‘Right-o, I'll leave you in privacy,' Genevieve said as she snapped the lid back on her lipstick.

‘Genevieve,' Jess said.

‘Yes, darling?' Genevieve replied, one hand on the doorknob.

‘Thank you so much for being so great for my dad.'

‘Oh, believe me, the pleasure is mine,' Genevieve replied with a cheeky grin.

‘I'm sorry if you're not feeling
completely
welcomed into this family.'

‘I work in advertising, Jessica, it takes more than a few nasty asides to get to me. And Jess, by the way, you're doing such a wonderful job. It must be hell for you. I just want you to know how proud your dad is of you and how very worried he is.'

‘Really? Gosh, I didn't think he'd be worried. I haven't wanted to let on how I'm feeling.'

‘He knows. He's very connected to you.'

Jessica hesitated; killing moments by folding and refolding the facecloth. ‘Can I ask you a personal question?' Jessica's words finally rushed out.

‘Of course,' Genevieve said and, closing the lid of the loo, sat down and planted an obliging expression on her face.

‘Did you ever regret not having children? Following your career instead?'

Genevieve smiled, threw her head back and took in a big breath, which she blew out in a gust. ‘Don't you find it interesting how fascinated others are in a childless woman's reasons?'

‘I know what you mean!' Jessica exclaimed. ‘I've felt pressure to procreate ever since my first serious boyfriend. I've heard all the comments, from “Wouldn't your kids be beautiful?” to “Hadn't you better have children before your ovaries dry up?”.'

Genevieve laughed. ‘Let me guess, that last one was from Caro?'

‘Yes, you must be psychic!'

‘Now that would be a handy skill to have,' Genevieve said. ‘But seriously, I have regretted not having children often, but then I look at the life I have, at the career I've made for myself in a male-dominated world and I'm proud of my achievements. I think we all want what we haven't got. But I guess my answer to you would be yes, but with concessions.'

‘But it's not like a career decision or a suburb choice, Gen,' Jessica said and perched on the edge of the bath. ‘Having babies is so much more. It's a biological urge; it's something you just have to do. I get so cross with women who can just spit out bambini as if they're merely baking a cake and then complain about how grizzly their kids are and how they never have time to themselves. I think, don't you know how lucky you are?' Jess crossed her eyes and made a face at herself in the mirror, making Genevieve laugh.

‘Then I feel like I've become a bitter old spinster, and I hate myself for it,' she grabbed the brush off the bathroom vanity unit and attacked her curls savagely. ‘And it's almost worse having had the boys already, you know? Because I've been a mother. I know the highs and the lows, I know about sleepless nights and teething, and I know the joy of Christmas morning and the pride at school concerts when your kid is the best. I miss my boys so much, but I also miss being a mum. I really feel I've missed the boat.' Her hair crackled with electricity as she turned to face the older woman. ‘I'm so scared, Gen.'

Genevieve couldn't help laughing gently as she threw her arms around Jess. ‘Oh, you goose. Look at you. You're barely thirty-seven: you have your whole life ahead of you. Who knows what's around the corner? You're about to launch into a tremendous career change. You will have lots and lots of chances in life. But,' – Genevieve's face softened – ‘I do understand that today is tricky. And it's okay to feel crap.'

‘Knock knock,' Richard yelled. He hammered on the door. ‘You girls are taking going to the toot in pairs to a whole new level!'

The women laughed, and Jess stepped away from Genevieve to splash her face with water at the sink. ‘Coming, Dad,' she called. ‘Thanks, Gen.'

‘Merry Christmas, darling. I'm here whenever you need me.' Genevieve checked her lips in the mirror once more, spritzed on some Chanel No. 5 and then lightly patted Jess's shoulder as she left the room.

Jess stood enjoying the swirl of warmth she felt inside; it felt good, really good, and it reminded her of something: this was how it felt to be mothered. She'd forgotten how wonderful it was. She'd never seen Gen as the maternal type, but suddenly she saw a whole new possibility for their relationship. The thought made her smile.