Snow Angels, Secrets and Christmas Cake (11 page)

‘He hurt us... he hurt Mum mostly, but if I said the wrong thing at the wrong time or tried to step in front of Mum to stop him, he'd hurt me too.’

‘Oh Tam I never knew. I remember stuff... blurred memories really. I was too little to comprehend... and I always felt safe because I had you. You kept me away from it didn’t you?’’

‘I tried to. Mum had been so emotionally wrecked by him she had no voice, and she couldn’t defend either of us. It was down to me. I tried to keep us all safe, but I was a little girl and I couldn’t protect my own Mum.’

I just looked at her, it was like I was seeing my sister for the very first time.

‘Oh Tam, I didn’t know.’

‘It was bad enough at the time – but these things shape you. After Dad I was a ready-made victim, just waiting for a man to come along and treat me as his whipping boy. Simon never physically hurt me, but speaking to me like dirt and putting me down in private and in public made him feel better about himself... just like Dad with Mum.’

I felt such sadness. I also felt guilty for all the times she’d suffered. ‘I feel so bad Tamsin... I never really saw that side of Dad. Yes I know he had a terrible temper but...’

She half-smiled. ‘The days after the beatings when Dad sobered up he would lavish love and affection on you ...at least it meant you were safe. He’d never beat you, his precious little girl.’

I looked at her. I didn’t know what to say, she’d carried this round with her all her life – it had even influenced the dynamics of her relationships, her marriage – and I’d never known. ‘I’ll be honest, Sam, there were times I was so jealous of you – the way he included you in everything, talked to you, laughed with you – he never did that with me.’

I had never really thought about Dad’s relationship with Tamsin, I’d just assumed it was the same as mine was with him.

‘If we did anything as a family... which was rare, it was always you and Dad and me and Mum. We’d walk ten paces behind you and you’d be there like his little Princess sitting on his shoulders, or linking arms with him and laughing.’

I remembered those times as well as my sister, but I never felt the undercurrents, I never saw that she was being excluded... that she was suffering.

‘It explains why you left so soon, when Mum died. I feel guilty now, but when I had to look after Dad I resented you,’ I said.

She seemed surprised.

‘You were living your life. You never came to see us, you would send money, gifts... make the odd phone call, but I dealt with everything else... including his death.’

‘Do you understand now why I had to leave?’

‘Yes, I do and I’m so glad you’ve told me. At the time I felt abandoned, deserted... you were the one person I could rely on and you just walked out.’

‘I’m so sorry Sam – by then I hated him. He’d ruined every moment, every childhood memory,’ she was saying. ‘When I think of our Dad I think of the Christmases where he’d just drink himself into oblivion. He’d spent all the money and there was no food, no gifts,’ she stopped talking and looked at me. ‘Once I dared to ask if Father Christmas had been,’ she said, her chin trembling at the memory. ‘And I was hurled across the room and made to spend Christmas day in the cupboard under the stairs. I’d asked the wrong question – Dad had pawned the few gifts Mum had bought us and spent the money on drink.’

I put my arm around her. I couldn’t bear to hear this, but had to force myself to listen, to face the truth.

‘One minute we’d be wrapping presents and dressing the tree, the next someone would be screaming, hurting, all because of him. And you know what’s crazy? I’d have forgiven him everything for a taste of what he gave you... I just wanted a dad who loved me.’

I couldn’t believe what she was telling me, but it was all beginning to make sense. The bruises, the tears, always the knife-edge tension tight like a drum... it hit you when you walked into our house. I’d never drunk whisky, yet the mere smell of it made me retch – and now I knew why. I desperately searched my head for good things to soothe my sister.

‘Tam, he was your Dad, of course he loved you in his own way. I remember one Christmas being in the sweet shop with him and he bought a quarter of sugared almonds. “Our Tamsin loves sugared almonds,” he’d said.'

She started to cry. ‘Did he? I’m amazed... I still love sugared almonds, the kids buy them for me every Christmas. Thank you for telling me that... I needed to hear it, because over the years the bad stuff overpowers the good.’

‘Yes... I know. Everyone deals with the past in their own way. I try and think of the good times with Steve and don’t dwell on the painful memories. My way of coping is to suffocate the bad times with all the happy stuff.’

‘Yeah... I like that. The other day, when we were dressing the tree and I found the diamanté angel I got upset.’

‘I noticed. I assumed you were just crying because of everything that’s happened with Simon and the money.’

‘Well, that’s never far from my tears, but it was something else that made me cry. Dad gave me that diamanté angel one Christmas. It was the only time he’d ever given me a gift, done something special just for me. I think he bought it from a man in a pub, or won it in a bet, and it was probably handed to me to ease his guilt – but that didn’t matter and I can’t tell you how happy it made me. Despite all the rows and the fear and the violence, I forgave him everything for thinking of me for just a moment. But then a few days after Christmas it went missing and I assumed he’d pawned it – which hurt more than any of the beatings. So when I found it there among the Christmas decorations the other night I felt like he was sending me a message, asking me to forgive him. Of course he wasn’t – I’m spending too much time with Mrs J and her mad superstitions about bloody guardian angels and tea leaves.’

‘No,’ I said; ‘you’re right – you have to think like that. If you didn’t you’d be driven mad... we have to believe there’s good in everyone and try and forgive them.’

She nodded; ‘I’d been so proud of that diamanté brooch I’d placed it on Nan’s tree so everyone could see it – proof of my Dad’s love. It must have just been put away with all the other decorations. So he hadn’t sold it after all. Just seeing it gave me a kind of hope... am I being silly?’

‘No you’re not,’ I said gently, touching her arm. ‘But perhaps it’s a message – that it’s time to forgive. He took away your childhood, don’t let him have the rest.’

She smiled and patted my hand and we sat quietly together in silence, contemplating our pasts and our futures, with the leftovers of my sister’s life in bin liners around us.

‘
S
o
, looks like we got 6 inches yesterday?’ was Mrs J’s opening remark the day after finding Gabe and I on the sofa.

‘Mrs J, do you mind,’ I snapped. ‘Gabe and I were cleaning a red wine stain...’

She folded her arms and pursed her lips; ‘I’m talking about the snow... we had 6 inches of it. Woke up to a complete white-out...’

‘Oh, er, yes of course... snow... everywhere,’ I added, turning a bougainvillea shade of pink.

Mrs J had just arrived to clean the bakery before it opened. Fortunately Sam was making tea in the kitchen or she’d have laughed loudly at my misunderstanding and confirmed Mrs J’s suspicions that she’d walked in on a passionate encounter between Gabe and I.

Sam wandered in with the teas and I took a sip of the awful rust-coloured liquid.

‘I would have preferred a fragrant Darjeeling,’ I sighed.

‘Would you? Well you’re out of luck, it’s a fragrant PG Tips,’ Sam replied.

I pulled a face.

‘Get used to it,’ she said, giving Mrs J a big conspiratorial smile.

I had just taken a big gulp, but their pantomime faces amused me, like two old dears with their tight lips and their folded arms. ‘You two look like twins,’ I laughed, which caused me to cough, and before I knew it the Prada blouse I was wearing was covered in tea.

‘You are a bloody mess, Tamsin,’ Sam scolded. ‘Get that shirt off and I’ll steep it in some water.’

‘This shirt is pure silk and can only be dry-cleaned,’ I gasped.

‘Well I’m afraid along with my cheap tea and coffee, your designer garb is going to have to rough it out in the washing machine with my Primark blouses,’ she said.

I sipped some more vile tea, knowing I’d never get used to a brew like this. ‘The day I enjoy this tea is the day I say goodbye to my cultured palate, which has taken many years and thousands of pounds in fabulous restaurants to develop,’ I sighed, both hands around the mug for warmth.

‘Oh stop whingeing and go and get another designer outfit on for deliveries,’ Sam said. ‘And make sure it’s fabulous... my customers expect pure glamour from my delivery men.’

As if I’d ever wear anything that wasn’t pure glamour. When I’d agreed to step into the breach, save the day and do a bakery delivery, I assumed I would be in a PR capacity. I had no idea I’d be the tradesman, driving the awful shuddering little van through the mean streets of Cheshire, but what could I do?

I helped Sam fill boxes with her tipsy cupcakes laced with rum and we carefully packed the gorgeous white snowflake cookies, their sparkly topping catching the light and reminding me once more of the festive season. ‘Who said you can’t save the world with the right shade of macaron?’ I smiled, holding up a scarlet cranberry disc, sandwiched with salty pistachio buttercream. ‘I reckon this baby could be just what the world is looking for – I’ll email the White House,’ I giggled. ‘Am I being sarcastic?’

‘A little,’ Sam smiled. ‘And it was actually quite amusing.’

I was pleased. I could be funny too?

‘Mallows and meringues,’ she said. ‘They are the next big thing. What do you think?’ She handed me a clementine and clove mallow. I bit into the squidgy white fluff. It tasted of a million Christmases rolled into one, a whiff of cinnamon, a suggestion of cloves and the sweet warmth of orange and ginger. ‘Oh Sam, it’s wonderful... like a cloud filled with Christmas.’

Sam liked that description and said she’d label them, ‘Christmas Clouds.’

I tried another, forgetting about my promise to myself to lose 6lbs for Christmas. It didn’t matter now anyway – I didn’t have to fit into a party dress – I wasn’t going to any parties. I didn’t have a perfect Christmas to plan or a canapé to fill, I was just going to be here with Sam working flat out at the bakery. It wasn’t what I’d planned but it was better than being on the streets.

Sam asking me to help out had actually united us and lifted my spirits – being in the bakery was like being home. That morning I’d woken at dawn, put on my delivery outfit and felt good for the first time in ages – it was like I’d re-entered civilization. The first thing I did when I went downstairs was put all the lights on and I wandered outside in the freezing snow. The air tingled with cold and I wrapped my now shabby cashmere shawl around my shoulders and stared at the bakery from the outside. It was like a beacon of Christmas hope twinkling in the darkness, reminding me of those little shops we sometimes used to visit with Nan around Christmas time. There were the big department stores, but also independent little cafes and groceries that didn’t have a homogenised corporate logo on the door. The White Angel Bakery was like stepping back in time, something from a Victorian Christmas card standing in the snow with its shimmering lights and windows of cake. Glittery cookies, white, sparkly cupcakes and several Christmas cakes adorned the window. I could almost taste the icing, crisp and sweet and snowy around a centrepiece Christmas cake.

Once back inside I turned the ovens on and made everything perfect for when Sam came downstairs. I’d seen how hard my sister worked and I wanted to do something for her and to let her know I was there to help. Once she’d finished the cakes and we’d packed them all in boxes lovely Richard called by and helped me to load the van with my sugary orders.

‘Have you tried those cookies?’ he asked as we put the final box onto the van.

‘No. I had a mallow this morning, delicious, but I try not to eat anything Sam makes, I would be the size of a small car if I did.’

He laughed and I was pleased I’d amused him. Little things were beginning to mean more to me these days. In Sam’s world if people laughed at what you said it was because they thought you were funny – not because you had something they might want.

Eventually the van was packed and Sam gave me vague instructions about driving it. Honestly I don’t know how she coped, no heated seats, no iPod station for music, no integral sat nav, in fact no sat nav full stop. ‘But how will I know where I’m going?’ I asked through chattering teeth, it was below zero and I was wearing black jersey loungewear, I thought it would be warm yet elegant, and one had to consider one’s dignity when climbing in and out of a van. I couldn’t find my Ugg boots so had resorted to the previous season’s Jimmy Choo scarlet kitten heel. Sam had laughed, but I defended my selection and pointed out, ‘If you can’t wear red shoes with heels at Christmas, darling, when can you?’

However as my foot hit the accelerator and the van set off at high speed with lurching movements I hoped I wasn’t going to live to regret my festive footwear of choice.

I set off, driving on ice, bumping over snow and losing track of which gear I was in. The van was old and rusty and just not what I had been used to and what made it worse was the so-called heater – which every now and then blasted freezing cold air in my face. I sang a few Christmas songs to keep me warm, and tried to stay cheerful – after all it was only my first day on the job – things were bound to get better, weren’t they?

I
watched
Tamsin kangaroo off the bakery forecourt into a sea of oncoming, slow-moving traffic and almost died. It was still dark, but snowy and the morning rush hour in our area had started. I’m sure as she pulled away I saw her pull down the mirror and apply lipstick, almost causing a seventeen car pile-up... but as she skidded out of danger almost leap-frogging several other cars, I had to go back inside.

That morning Jacob and I walked to school with Richard and Ella. Within minutes, one of the yummy mummies was chatting with Richard, and once Jacob had gone to his classroom I wandered over. No one had any idea that Richard and I were seeing each other, and as I approached, she completely blanked me as the yummy mummies always did. She was batting her eyelashes, touching Richard’s arm every now and then, clearly interested in him. He was an attractive man and the school playground was full of bored housewives looking for available males to take back to their lairs after the school run. Watching this woman leave her hand on Richard’s arm a second too long and caress her own neck as she spoke to him, I felt a sting of jealousy. And for the first time, I wondered if I could have more than just a casual relationship with Richard. But always the fear was there in the back of my mind – could I do that to me and Jacob? What if it all went wrong Richard left? Could I live with a man again and make another little family only to risk losing him?

Eventually I wandered over to them. The woman clearly felt I was interrupting, looked me up and down and then turned with her back to me to block me out. The body language was all there and if it hadn’t been so cold I reckon she’d have stripped and laid down on the gravel, but Richard seemed oblivious.

‘Stacey... this is Sam,’ Richard started, and she threw me a glance over her shoulder and an almost inaudible ‘hi,’ before turning back to him. I felt humiliated and walked off.

‘Hold on... where are you going?’ Richard called, catching me up.

‘I don’t have all day to wait for you,’ I said as he panted and puffed and caught me up.

He discreetly caught my hand in his - and the feeling of his warm glove around my cold bare hand was so comforting I melted slightly felt an urge to kiss him - but resisted. We didn’t show our affection in public because I didn’t want it to affect Jacob and Ella at school. If the other parents knew we were an item, then the kids would too, and if things didn't work out it would make it all the more difficult for everyone.

We wandered back, chatting and laughing, away from the playground without the yummy mummies lurking, I felt free and being with Richard felt good. But arriving at the bakery I was delighted, and concerned, to see a small queue had formed, with Mrs J behind the counter trying to handle it alone.

‘Do you want any help?’ Richard asked. ‘I can serve if you like?’

I knew Mrs J could handle it – as long as no one from the afterlife distracted her. The previous morning I’d come back from the school run to find her ignoring the queue of customers to do an impromptu Q and A with deceased members of the Coronation Street cast. Consequently, I was keen to have extra support which was why I’d asked Tamsin to help – and I liked having Richard around. In fact, I’d started to miss him on the nights he stayed home, which certainly hadn’t been part of my plan to keep things casual.

So Richard helped Mrs J take the money and serve people while I replenished the stock and laid out more loaves and cakes. Most people had turned up to buy emergency bread because they hadn’t been able to get to the supermarket due to the snow-blocked roads. And this was working for the White Angel Bakery – because along with the bread, they were buying cakes, cookies and Christmas gingerbread.

When Mrs J had to leave to ‘get our Lawrence’s dinner’ at noon, Tamsin arrived, slipped off her kitten heels and got behind the counter with Richard. I had been expecting a panicked call from her all morning to ask where somewhere was or who was going to help her carry boxes, but she’d done it all. ‘So everything’s delivered?’ I asked, surprised. She nodded coolly; ‘Of course, what did you expect? Now if you don’t mind I have customers,’ she gestured to the waiting hordes. I blew her a kiss, my sister was quite amazing when she wanted to be. She and Richard were brilliant, chatting away and serving quickly and efficiently. I smiled as I heard Tamsin describing the gingerbread as ‘sublime’ and waxing lyrical about the savoury plaits until they were all sold. Her glitzy black top was covered in bread crumbs and cake dust and by three pm we had sold all the bread and far more cakes and cookies than I’d ever expect to sell on a snowy Wednesday in December. The door was jingling constantly and at one point I looked up from a tray of steaming Mediterranean bread to see Richard serving a group of yummy mummies at the table... all four of them watching intently as he went through the menu... and, I noticed, caressing their necks as he described each and every cake. Tamsin looked over at me and winked, ‘I told you, love – get in there before someone else does,’ she said, taking the tray of bread from my hands.

Later, Tamsin went to collect Jacob while Richard and I cleared up.

‘I sometimes wonder if I’m not interesting enough for you,’ he looked up from the table he was wiping.

I shook my head. Where was this coming from?

‘I do have a past,’ he smiled. ‘I used to paint,’ he leaned back on the counter, staring ahead. ‘I never had the courage to try and make a living from it like you did with this place.’

‘Wow... you never said.’

‘I sold a few to a gallery once, just watercolours, not big and daring art. I’m no Damien Hirst.’

‘I’m glad to hear it. I have a problem with art – well some art. It comes from having a sister who would have paid a million pounds for a toenail if someone had told her it was art,’ I laugh.

‘Ah... you can laugh, but the right toenail…’ he smiled.

‘So if you don’t create bizarre installations of your unmade bed or the odd toenail what do you paint?’ I asked.

‘I just paint what I like, I wanted to paint you and Jacob and Ella walking home from school in the snow yesterday.’

My heart melted. He reached out to me, slipping his arm round my waist.

He laughed. ‘When we walked back here and I saw the window filled with Christmas cupcakes I wanted to paint that too... I think you’ve inspired me.’

‘Ah... I’m touched.

‘...and when you’re naked... I want to paint you.’

‘Oh God – weirdo – and he knows where I live,’ I rolled my eyes.

‘I’d like to paint you... now, laughing like that,’ he said.

‘Naked?’

‘Yes, preferably,’ he had a glint in his eye and he pulled me closer.

‘There you are!’ Mrs J appeared in the doorway.’ What’s going on in here with you two mooning over each other?’ she said, starting to polish the glass counter. Honestly it was starting to feel like Central Station with Tamsin or Mrs J popping up at the most inopportune moments.

Richard said hello to Mrs J then said he’d better get off. I think he found some of the ladies in my life a little too forceful - they intruded with force and said what they thought – loudly. ‘There was no mooning, Mrs J,’ I curled my lip. ‘Richard and I were just having a rare and quiet moment,’ I said pointedly, when he’d gone.

‘Whatever – just don’t let that sister of yours know you’re entertaining gentlemen callers during office hours, she’s worried you’ll relapse.’

‘Relapse into what? Prostitution?’

‘Ooh Sam, you’ve got a filthy mouth, it’s shocking,’ she said, putting the chairs on the tables so she could give the floor ‘a good do’.

I smiled, she worked hard at the bakery, cleaning and stepping behind the counter when necessary and was as reliable as clockwork. She also never, ever failed to pass judgement on what I was doing. It was annoying and often humiliating – but I had to smile, because somewhere underneath that perm and those tight, disapproving lips was a heart of gold – and a lot of love for the Angel sisters.

‘Anyway Mrs J, I told you, I’ve given up on guys. I don’t make the same mistakes twice... that’s called masochism.’

‘Oh... so that’s what you do, is it?’

‘No, I didn’t mean I ... I don’t indulge in whips and ...’ I tried, because she was likely to tell anyone who’d listen that Sam from the bakery was ‘one of them masochists’.

I ceased trying to explain myself when she disappeared under the table to wipe the floor, I was too tired and it would only get complicated. I opened the oven and let the blast of warmth light my face as I surrendered more rum sultana cakes into the furnace-like heat. I went to the window to see if Tamsin was on her way back with Jacob and, sure enough, there she was in the snow still wearing her ‘delivery outfit’ and designer heels.

Mrs J joined me at the window. ‘She looks like the cat’s dinner.’

Together we watched her staggering through the snow in a visor and dark glasses. She and Jacob were throwing snowballs at each other – Tamsin’s were small and not very robust, with more of a scattering than a throwing action, but Jacob’s were big and heavy and his aim was good, and at one point I feared she’d be knocked out. But after every freezing whack on the head she’d gather herself together, and waving to Tim the butcher in a flirty way, soon regained her flounce through three feet of snow.

‘What is she like?’ Mrs J sighed, shaking her head.

‘She’s something else, my sister,’ I smiled, my heart filling with love and pride.