Snow Angels, Secrets and Christmas Cake (5 page)

We worked on this for a while until Richard called round and joined in with what he called ‘nativity training sessions’, but he and Jacob soon started talking football as usual. I didn’t mind, it gave me chance to reflect on the Tamsin situation and consider the implications of what had happened. I couldn’t say anything to Richard in front of Jacob, so I went into the kitchen to wash up and let my mind go over things.

Richard and I had been seeing each other on a casual basis for about a year. We had met at the school gate – his daughter played with Jacob and he was a single father going through a difficult divorce. Neither of us was ready for anything too heavy, so we were on the same page. He was warm and funny and he made me laugh, but recently he’d wanted more and I sometimes resented him trying to look after me (I had enough of that from Tamsin). I was fond of him, but a part of me was still struggling to let go of Steve.

I sometimes worried that perhaps I was looking for a father for Jacob rather than a partner for me. I could hear them playing football together in the living room and hearing the slamming of the ball against the wall followed by shouting and laughter made me smile. If everything was okay here, with Jacob, I could be strong and help my sister through this – she’d been there for me the night Steve died. I thought back to that night now in vivid Technicolor; when the police had appeared on the doorstep I'd thought it was Steve returning home. I'd run to the door to throw my arms round him and say I was sorry – but instead it had been the policewoman who was sorry. She was sorry to tell me that my husband had been killed. Just like that – not ‘hello’ or ‘Happy Christmas’... just that. Enthusiastic roars of ‘goal’ intruded on my thoughts again and I sighed with relief – I had to stop torturing myself. In the past twelve months I’d found a wonderful man who loved me and my little boy. Perhaps now it was time to try and let Steve go...

T
he following morning
I had (without any sleep) managed to convince myself that it was all a horrific cock-up. Of course I wouldn’t say the word ‘cock-up’ because that would be common, but I’d told the kids the bank had made a mistake and Simon must be delayed. Of course Sam wasn’t so easy to convince.

‘Delayed? Where – Australia?’

‘Rude,’ I snapped.

‘He’s done a runner,’ added Mrs J from under the kitchen island.

Sam and I looked at each other.

‘I don’t keep her there you understand,’ I said, ‘she just appears in a puff of smoke.’

Sam laughed.

‘So where is he? That hubby of yours?’ came the voice again. Apparently she was cleaning the floor, but I suspected she’d just found a good vantage point for ear flapping.

‘Look, I don’t know where he is, but what I do know is he works hard. He’s probably been working all night, he’s pulled an all-nighter before.’

‘Mmmm ... that’s what he calls it?’ Mrs J muttered.

‘Enough. That’s my husband you’re talking about.’

Mrs J didn’t miss a trick, I once mentioned that Simon was very friendly with a woman at work and she’d pestered me for weeks about it. Asking if he was working, when he was working and who with until I suggested she ask him for a copy of his bloody work schedule. Now wasn’t the time for her to be bad-mouthing Simon, though I have to say I was beginning to feel very angry with him myself. I was trying his phone every few minutes like an obsessed person, but it was permanently off. Where the hell was he?

Meanwhile, Sam had turned up at dawn and was trying to get me to pack, but how could I? My heart was breaking and I just kept thinking – if I wait another few minutes he’ll be here, or he’ll call and it will all be fine. But it was now 11 a.m., nineteen hours after the bailiffs had burst in – and still nothing from him.

‘Coffee?’ I asked her and she gave me a ‘you should be packing’ look.

‘Tamsin, I can’t hang around too long, love, I’ve left Richard running the bakery and he doesn’t know his éclairs from his croquembouche.’

‘Just a quick coffee?’ I asked, feeling like a child.

She nodded and I put the kettle on. Suddenly I was asking my little sister for permission to make a cup of coffee – a lot had happened in the last 24 hours.

I opened my bag of coffee and breathed deeply, my rich roast Sumatra Wahana was like pure therapy. I remembered the first time I’d tasted it, in a little cafe in The Lakes. Just thinking about that holiday now made me want to cry, I grabbed a tissue and Sam immediately asked if I was okay.

‘Oh I was just thinking... one of my best ever Christmases was when Simon and I spent an idyllic pre-children Christmas in a cottage in The Lake District,’ I said, shaking coffee beans into the electric grinder. ‘The cottage was almost falling down, no heating, a leaking toilet and frozen pipes, but each day we’d wrap up warm and wander the hills. We loved the snow, the fresh air, the nothingness, taking our pleasure from the peace and quiet and just being alone together.’ I poured hot water onto the ground coffee, filling my nostrils with the nutty, soothing aroma of freshly ground beans. I took out two mugs while Sam slid into a seat at the kitchen table she was always a good listener. I suppose she had to be because I was a good talker.

‘In the evenings we’d return to the cosy cottage and eat local cheese, a bottle of wine and sit by a roaring log fire,’ I gazed ahead, remembering how life had been... how
we
had been. ‘We had no money, a rented flat and little idea where our lives were going to take us. But we were happy, somehow – equal, you know?’

Sam looked puzzled. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, I know you think Simon can be a bit of a bully, but he isn’t, it’s just that over the years he sort of took charge. And as he became more successful I took a back seat and focussed more on the kids and home...’

‘So you gave up helping out with the business and...’

‘I didn’t feel I could involve myself in the business anymore – it wasn’t my arena... I lost my confidence.’

Sam looked angry. ‘But you’re a vibrant, intelligent woman with so much to give. You started that business with Simon, and once the kids were off your hands you could have gone back there to work, but he never let you do that. If you’d been in charge Tam we both know none of this would have happened – you’d have had much more of a grip on things than Simon had.’

She was right of course, but he’d cut me off years ago.

‘I’d always planned to go back after the children were born but Simon put me off – he said it was all computerised now and I wouldn’t have a clue. I didn’t argue, it was easier to accept it and just stay at home...’

‘Yes, but in doing that you lost confidence, made yourself very vulnerable and completely dependent on him financially,’ Sam pointed out.

I had to agree. Simon would come home and scare me with stories about the young, go-getting women he worked with and I couldn’t help but feel insignificant and worthless. Compared to these ballsy women with incredible knowledge and talent, I felt I had nothing to offer. But at home I could take control. That’s why I always embraced occasions – especially Christmas, when I could showcase my talents, deck the halls and bring on the carol singers.

‘That holiday in The Lakes was one of my happiest memories,’ I sighed. ‘I never felt the cold or was in the least worried about the fact our car kept giving up on the mountainous roads and we couldn’t afford to eat out.’ I smiled to myself. ‘Who needed luxury cars and fancy restaurants when we had snowy mountains, lush forests and sex by the fire?’ I plunged the cafetière and drips of strong, brown liquid escaped onto the perfect countertop and it dawned on me – we'd spent that holiday dreaming of our future. And we were the lucky ones... we got everything we’d wanted, but we lost each other along the way. We’d gone on to stay in five star hotels, swim in infinity pools and drink vintage champagne, but none of our holidays since had been as wonderful as the one in that little cottage with the leaking toilet.

Only a few days before, I’d suggested to Simon that we take a trip back to The Lakes and that run-down little cottage one day. ‘We could revisit the past?’ I’d said. But he wasn’t interested. ‘The past is the past Tamsin and who wants to freeze to death in an old cottage when there are perfectly good hotels?’ I guess he’d moved on – and left me behind.

I’d never really talked to Sam about my marriage – I’d always protected her, tried to keep worry from her door. Even as a little kid I never really let her see what was going on and I’d continued to do that even as adults, especially after what she’d been through – I couldn’t add to Sam’s burden. Over the years, I’d become emotionally self-sufficient, or had I just pushed my worries to the back of my mind, folded them all up neatly and closed the drawer?

Of course it wasn’t just my marriage that had been coming apart under the perfect roof of my perfect detached home with double garage, designer kitchen and tennis courts. My circle of friends on Chantray Lane were great fun, but I had never really been honest with them, never been able to tell them I’d been born in a council house, or that my Dad had been on the dole. The ladies of Chantray Lane weren’t exactly known for their acceptance of others less fortunate (unless it was a Third World black tie charity event) and I dreaded being excluded. The school I’d attended was the one they spoke of in hushed tones, like it was some kind of borstal. It was the place they threatened their own kids with if they didn’t work hard at their paid-for prep school. I would always blush when anyone mentioned it – and feigned deafness when anyone asked where I had been educated.

I sipped at my coffee, a warm, comforting caffeine embrace; ‘I’ll call the girls,’ I sighed, ‘I need to tell them before they drive past and see that bloody big poster in the window.’ But Sam suggested I leave it for now.

‘Talk to your friends once you know exactly what’s going on. You know they will tell everyone so just keep it to yourself until you know what’s happened to Simon.’

I nodded, she was right, my friends could be quite judgemental and I didn’t want them calling Simon and hurling abuse down the phone at him on my behalf. Anouska, Phaedra and I all lived on the same road, known locally as ‘Millionaire’s Row,’ and were all part of what we jokingly referred to as ‘The Real Housewives of Chantray Lane.’ We were all rich, all glamorous and all bosom buddies. Or so I thought.

‘I bet Anouska’s got Heddon and Hall over there now,’ I said, over my steaming mug of coffee. ‘They’re probably straddling her balustrades as we speak.’

‘Oh for God’s sake Tamsin, that’s the least of your worries,’ Sam snapped.

Anouska lived in The Old School house and was rich, beautiful and freshly single due to her philandering husband’s desire for younger flesh. She was also very competitive and each Christmas always tried to book Heddon and Hall before anyone else. They’d called in at Anouska’s on their way to me and I reckon she put an extra snifter in their mulled cranberry juice to inebriate them in the hope they would inadvertently sabotage my Festive interior.

Thinking about this, I suddenly remembered Mrs J’s tea leaf reading prediction and felt a shiver run through me. I grabbed Sam’s hand.

‘Oh My God,’ I gasped.

‘What? What is it Tam...’ she looked genuinely scared, and well she might be.

‘Bugger me,’ I said, forgetting my clipped tones and posh vowels. ‘On Wednesday, Mrs J peered into the remains of my Darjeeling and announced in a very dark voice that “Big changes are coming. Vultures are circling.”’ I said, shaking my head.

‘Yeah. I was here. She also said she could see a map of Antarctica, and the face of a clown, but then decided it was the reflection of her own face,’ Sam rolled her eyes. ‘Honestly Tamsin you’ve got to stop with the spirits and the tarots and stuff, Mrs J hasn’t got a bloody clue.’

‘What cheek!’ came a voice from the other side of the kitchen. Mrs J was now emptying cupboards and popped her head out.

‘Oh Mrs J, I hadn’t even realised you were still in the room,’ I said. I swear the woman was SAS trained and used silent stealth to gain intelligence on me.

‘I have got a clue Sam Angel ... didn’t I tell you who would win X Factor this year, Tamsin? I bet Psychic Sally couldn’t even tell you that.’

‘Yes you did... she did,’ I nodded to Sam in confirmation, ‘and he wasn’t the favourite, even Simon Cowell was shocked.’

‘Well, if Simon Cowell had me workin for ‘im he’d know who was goin to win and he wouldn’t take on all them daft acts,’ she continued, her voice now coming from inside the cupboard.

‘Anyway, as I was saying,’ I rolled my eyes to Sam who was trying not to laugh. ‘I looked into my cup at the tea leaves too and unlike Mrs J couldn’t see any vultures, clowns or X Factor winners... but after only a few seconds I swear I saw Anouska staring back at me. There she was, bold as brass among the debris of Darjeeling,’ I whispered, going very cold. ‘And I have just realised why – it was a premonition, she’s going to try and make hers the best party, the best canapés... photograph. Photograph! Oh God. I need to speak to Jesus...’

‘You mean to pray?’

‘No. To check he isn’t in Anouska’s sitting room papping those little fairy children of hers like bloody Disney child stars while my life goes down the toilet,’ I hissed, iPhone to my cheek.

Fortunately Jesus was as loyal as ever; ‘I never betray you and go to the other side,’ he said in that lovely Portuguese accent.

‘Thank God there’s still one man I can rely on,’ I sighed putting down my phone.

‘If Jesus is the only man you can rely on then you’re truly lost,’ Sam sighed.

I feared she might be right.

T
amsin was understandably
sad when I arrived the morning after the night before. She was all over the place, shouting about Anouska stealing Heddon and Hall and Jesus for Christmas – it was as though she hadn’t taken it in, that this wasn’t her life any more. I said that she had to think of her life as pre-bailiffs and post-bailiffs – and that everything was different now.

After several cups of coffee and some encouraging clichés from me she still wasn’t budging, so I suggested we pack her stuff together. I wanted her to have the possessions she loved and needed with her. I didn’t care that my van was small and my flat was tiny, I just didn’t want Tamsin to lose any more of her life than she had to. If that meant bringing all the family photos and every precious memento she treasured, then so be it.

‘So, what’s precious that we need to pack?’ I asked, guiding her out of the kitchen like she was a little old lady suffering from dementia.

‘My jewellery’s worth a fortune... and my art,’ she muttered, looking around helplessly.

‘Yes but is it of value to
you?
I don’t care how much it’s worth we just need to make sure we get the stuff that matters... that’s precious to you and the kids.’

The bailiffs had said the repossession order was for the house and cars only... these were now owned by the bank. The furniture, clothes, jewellery and computers still belonged to the family and were therefore moveable, but there was only so much we could take that day. ‘We can come back tomorrow and get more, we’ll hire a big van and move it all... you will be able to keep your things,’ I said gently, ‘but for now just bring the precious stuff,’ I repeated, watching Tamsin gaze longingly at the stunning white Christmas decorations.

I ushered her through to the main sitting room. ‘My winter white seating,’ she said, lunging towards it like it was the crown jewels.

My heart sank, there was no way I could fit three white leather sofas in my van or my flat. ‘Perhaps we’ll leave those until we can organise a removal van?’ I suggested. ‘Let’s just take the personal stuff for now. We’ll start in the bedroom.’

I guided her up the fabulous staircase, expecting her to stamp her feet and refuse to go along with me, but she followed like a lamb. I was unsure of this bowed Tamsin who showed weakness and vulnerability, this was the side Simon must see, I thought. I was used to her being there, fighting our corner, acid-tongued and demanding; I kept taking sidelong glances wondering if the real Tamsin was still in there.

We reached the bedroom; I’d forgotten how beautiful it was. The bed throw was pure, baby-blue mohair, the walls a pale gold with several beautiful paintings. Her dressing table looked like the perfume counter at Harrods, and I wondered at the cost of all her designer candles dotted around the room – they were probably worth more than my second-hand van!

We were both standing in the doorway, it was as though she was scared to go in.

‘So what do you need to take?’ I asked again, rallying her.

‘Well... I need my diamond bracelet... and the platinum ring, it’s worth a fortune…’

‘Okay,’ I said calmly. I didn’t point out that the word I’d used was ‘need’ and no one ‘needed’ a diamond bracelet or platinum ring that wasn’t a wedding ring. I let it go – jewellery wouldn’t take up any space and if it made her happy.

‘What about photos, stuff from your wedding, the kids’ first shoes – all those things?’

She looked at me blankly; ‘Oh... yes...’

‘And your quilt? Pillows? A warm dressing gown?’

‘Don’t you have quilts in your guest room?’ she asked, incredulous.

‘Tamsin, I don’t even have a guest room.’

‘Oh I’m sorry – I forgot. Everyone has a guest room.’

‘No they don’t. Now what else do you need?’

‘I have to have my creams and serums, I will die without them.’

‘No you won’t.’

‘I will, I’m over forty - my skin will dry up and I’ll be like a wizened old husk in about two days. You have no idea how miraculous they are.’

I picked one up and saw the price on the base of the jar – I almost fainted – it would have to be ‘miraculous’ at £200 plus a pot.

Tamsin was wandering around aimlessly, clutching at a silk robe which probably cost what I paid for a month’s rent on the bakery.

‘Do you have anything warmer?’ I asked.

‘It’s Agent Provocateur.’

‘Does that mean it’s warm?’

‘No.’

‘Well then it’s no use where you’re going.’

‘I’m going to your flat, not the bloody Antarctic,’ she snapped, the old Tamsin coming through strong. I was almost relieved.

‘No but I can’t afford to have the heating on all day and night like you do.’

‘But it’s winter. It’s freezing, how on earth do you and Jacob cope?’

‘We put a jumper on, welcome to the real world love,’ I sighed.

She clearly didn’t want to envisage the horror that awaited her back at my flat it was all a little too real for our Tamsin. So she busied herself around the room.

‘I need this too,’ she said, reaching up and trying to take down one of the huge artworks.

‘You don’t really “need” it, do you? Besides, it won’t fit anywhere. Tamsin you just need your mementoes, warm clothes, towels and bedding for now.’

I stomped into the bathroom and grabbed a whole pile of towels. They were thick and fluffy and in every shade of grey to match the Italian bathroom.

‘You can’t take those to your place,’ she said, horrified.

‘Why, are they too good for me?’

‘No, but your bathroom’s avocado, the grey will look positively ludicrous.’

‘I’ll take my chances. If people want to come and have a laugh at my “ludicrous”’ bathroom they’re welcome,’ I snapped. ‘Now get a bloody move on.’

‘I refuse to go anywhere without this,’ she yelled from her dressing room. I bit my lip, held my breath and stormed in, dreading what she was pitching for.

‘No. No. No,’ I said, shaking my head and my finger at her.

‘But I can’t go anywhere without them.’ She was pointing at a whole wall of shoe boxes. Each box was labelled and the designer shoes (of which there must have been 200 pairs) were all colour and season co-ordinated.

‘You don’t need all those shoes,’ I gasped. A couple of pairs will be plenty.’

‘A
couple
of pairs? Are you mad? Well, I’m not leaving here without them,’ she stood, arms folded, the vulnerable little lady from ten minutes before now gone in a puff of smoke and bluster.

‘Tamsin, don’t forget you also “need” all your designer gowns too. I mean, you never know when I’m going to throw an impromptu drinks party in my bijou flat above the bakery,’ I said sarcastically. For a moment she looked at me quizzically, she never quite got my humour. ‘No, Tamsin, I won’t be throwing any impromptu parties, just pack your jumpers and jeans and let’s get out of here.’

It transpired, to my horror, that Tamsin didn’t actually possess a pair of jeans because she apparently ‘never had cause to wear them’. I sighed and wandered through into the main bedroom before I lost my patience. I had to remember what she was going through, but watching her pile up boxes and boxes of shoes and designer gear she wasn’t going to wear was a test. ‘I’m going to start downstairs,’ I said, leaving a pile of empty bin bags on the bed. ‘You can bring from here what you can carry and no more.’

I went downstairs and into the dining room where a huge contemporary white sideboard filled one wall. I got down on my knees, opened the doors and inside were rows and rows of boxes, all different shapes and sizes and all labelled. How very Tamsin, I thought with a smile – she was so organised, not like me who shoved everything in draws and cupboards only to fall out every time they were opened.

I wondered if this was yet more stuff Tamsin ‘needed’ or could some of it be thrown away? We had nowhere to store any of it, the way things were going there wouldn’t even be room for me and Jacob once Tamsin and her shoes moved in. Looking through quickly, there were boxes filled with birthday and Christmas cards she’d liked and bought and never sent. Boxes filled with glassware, some china and a lot of cutlery – all labelled, all very expensive. Then I came across a box labelled ‘Xmas Trinkets’, and as she already had enough ‘Xmas Trinkets’ for the next hundred years getting rid of the box may be a good kick start to a declutter. I pulled it out from under other boxes and opened it up. I couldn’t quite make out what was in there at first, it seemed to be mainly stuffed with old, yellowing newspapers, but once I’d delved deeper, I opened up some of the now crispy balls of paper to find a glass owl. I held it up to the light, remembering how every Christmas we would hang it on Nan and Granddad’s tree. I delved into the newspapers, finding more old Christmas ornaments from my grandparent’s home. Then I found the little wooden rocking horse, and my favourite as a child, the blue Cinderella slipper. I wondered why she’d kept them, because Tamsin would never use them on her own tree. They weren’t fashionable or beautiful enough, but as I opened each one it took me straight back to that cosy little terraced house on Hyacinth Street. I shook the lovely snow dome, noticing a faint crack across the glass as the snow storm erupted; I discovered baubles I’d long forgotten and a fairy that had once stood on top of the tree. I smiled, Tamsin and I had made that fairy together from paper and foil. It was a lovely Christmas memory, a little sparkle in the darkness of everything that was happening around us. I put each decoration back carefully in its paper tomb. They’d obviously been put away one Christmas and never been out of the box since.

I explored further in the huge cabinet and, lo and behold, there was my grandparents’ dusty old tree. ‘It’s meant to be,’ I said under my breath. I put the box and the tree in the pile of things to go back to my place; this would be the first year since Steve had died that we would have a tree. Jacob would love it.

I wandered into the kitchen and my eyes filled with tears as my sister’s great loss hit me. This room had been her pride and joy. Tamsin had loved being in this kitchen where she’d been the star of her own show. Another family would sit here now, someone else would drink wine on her island, cook unpronounceable French meals on her Aga and fill the air with the fragrance of fresh coffee.

I stood there for ages until Heddon and Hall appeared in the doorway and I was filled with such gratitude I hugged them both. ‘Thank you so much for coming, it will mean a lot to her.’

‘She’s a wonderful woman and has been very good to us over the years, we owe her,’ Heddon said. ‘I’ll go and give her a hand.’

Orlando put his arm around me. ‘She’s got bags and bags of stuff,’ he said, nodding in the direction of the sitting room. ‘Are you in that little white van with cakes all over it?’

I nodded. At this point Gabe appeared, he was covered in snow, stamping his boots on the Amtico flooring while Mrs J’s voice chastised him, saying something about ‘her ladyship’s disapproval’. I had to smile – Gabe shrugged and carried on; he didn’t give a toss.

‘I can take a lot of the stuff in my truck,’ he said, like a knight on a charger. He was big and broad and dependable and I could see why the housewives of Chantray Lane all had the hots for him. If he wasn’t so unkempt and didn’t smell so strongly of Monster Munch I’d have fancied him myself, he definitely had something. I wasn’t alone in my thoughts either, glancing at Orlando who was licking his lips and looking Gabe up and down.

Gabe rubbed his big hands together. ‘I’ll load it up. Come on Orlando let’s get humping,’ he said over his shoulder.

Orlando shuddered with delight and raised a perfect HD brow. ‘I’m coming, you big brute,’ he called after Gabe, then as he was leaving, winked at me and whispered, ‘every cloud and all that.’

‘Tamsin’s paid a fortune for Christmas decorations we haven’t even used yet,’ said Heddon, who wandered back into the kitchen clutching a white hankie to one tearful eye. ‘We had merely scratched the surface last night with our switch-on it was only Phase One of Project Christmas. There is a stunning, white, life-size reindeer, a collection of exquisite angels... giant snowflakes, a veritable landscape of ENORMOUS baubles... and...’ he was clearly quite upset.

‘I’m not sure I can fit all that into my van,’ I sighed, resting my head on my hands on the worktop.

‘Don’t even think about it, my lovely, Orlando and I will put it all in the spare downstairs room here, it’s fine for the next fortnight. If it’s still here after that, we’ll store it in our shop until she needs it.’

I thanked him and as Gabe, Orlando and the kids began loading things onto his truck, I packed Tamsin’s designer clothes. I was stuffing hundreds of pairs of colour-and-season-co-ordinated shoes into my van when I felt someone tapping my shoulder – it was Tamsin.

‘Sam... please don’t put November in July’s pile. Can you imagine the chaos and confusion that will cause?’

‘Carnage,’ I said, pushing her into the van and slamming the door.

Heddon rushed to the passenger side and hugged Tamsin, before rushing round to me in the driver seat. I wound my window down and he clutched emotionally at my shoulder; ‘That woman is a bloody saint... she’s moving me to tears,’ he gasped.

‘Mmm me too,’ I said under my breath before setting off through the late afternoon snow.

Hugo and Hermione hitched a ride with Gabe and I took Tamsin, who didn’t utter a word all the way to mine. On arrival we helped her inside and I told Richard what had happened while we moved furniture in the flat upstairs to make room for everything.

‘Will you be able to live with her?’ he whispered, his brow furrowing.

‘Yeah... well, no.’

‘You’re the most easy-going person I know, but she’ll drive you up the wall. Why don’t you and Jacob move in with me, and Tamsin can stay here?’

‘Thank you, but no, Richard,’ I smiled. He asked me to live with him on a daily basis, and it was now becoming a bit of a joke between us. I cared about Richard and there were days when I thought it would be nice to live together with Jacob, just the three of us in out own home. But I couldn’t allow another man into my life – what if I lost him like I had Steve?