Tinsel street, p.16
Tinsel Street, page 16
*
At the Scout hut, the revellers are enjoying the last dying fireworks. They are about to turn back when a huge whoosh goes up and they wait, almost silent. What was that? Suddenly, high above them, a flame appears darting up into the sky. The huge rocket climbs higher and higher, then suddenly explodes, the bang resounding across the whole town. It makes everyone jump and shriek. Hearts pound for a minute.
‘I don’t remember buying that one,’ Kitty said.
‘That one was on me,’ Steve shouts and everyone laughs.
The residents of Tinsel Street clap and cheer as smoke swirls around them. Christmas is just three days away and so much uncertainty lies behind the doors of several houses on Tinsel Street.
Eighteen
Sunday, 23rd December
Alison has a massive hangover. She’s at the Alka Seltzer, the fizz a pleasant feeling as she swallows. As long as it stays down, she thinks. The phone ringing is like a siren to her head and Alison staggers out to the hall and shouts, ‘Yes?’ into the receiving when she picks it up.
‘Good morning, Alison. How are you today?’ It’s Vera.
‘How do you think I am?’
Ignoring the comment, Vera goes on. ‘I wanted to ask you something… about Christmas dinner.’
Alison stiffens. ‘You’re bailing on me and going to Henry’s?’
‘Noooo. I wouldn’t do that. No, I wanted to ask if Joe could come. You know, the chap living next door to you.’
‘The guy I’ve been posting food for.’
Vera smiles and finally tells Alison how she met Joe. After listening without interrupting (a major miracle), she says,
‘Henry’s been helping Joe a little,’ Vera goes on. ‘He wants to get him “back into society”, as he puts it, and I thought it would be nice if he could have Christmas dinner with us. He’ll be alone otherwise, right next door to you.’
‘You kept all this quiet, Vera,’ Alison says, but her friend is right. How could they sit down to a big Christmas dinner knowing he was next door on his own with whatever little food he had to eat?
‘He’s just down on his luck, as I said. Joe’s a nice chap…’
‘Yes, yes, yes, I get it. Of course, you’re right and of course he can come. Is Henry coming too?’
‘Oh, well no. He’s having Christmas dinner with his daughter and grandchildren.’
‘Well, I suppose that’s right and proper.’ Alison mentally adjusts the dinner arrangements. Maybe another batch of mince pies is called for. Her headache is lifting. There is planning to do, and planning is something Alison likes to do.
*
Ellie is ecstatic. Nathan is taking her to the pub this evening. Finally, they talked and worked things out between them. Ellie can hardly believe it. Her toast has just popped when she hears the front door open. Whispered words. What? Ellie goes to the kitchen door just in time to see the short, dumpy man leaving.
Josie turns. She’s in her dressing gown, her hair dishevelled. She offers her daughter a tiny smile.
‘Oh, Mum, you didn’t.’
Josie shrugs. ‘It’s Christmas.’
‘Who the hell is he?’
‘His name is Brian. He’s renting number twenty-seven with mates.’
Ellie stares at her mother. Why is he renting with mates at his age? Probably divorced. ‘So, is this…’
‘No, he’s moving out in the new year.’ Josie flounces upstairs. ‘Good party, eh?’
Ellie turns back to her toast. She gives up. Her mother never changes. But at least this one is moving on. If only her mother could find herself a decent bloke instead of one-night stands. Someone to settle down with.
*
Kitty has barely slept. She’s used to the bed being empty. She’s had years of sleeping alone for weeks at a time, but this time it’s different. Last night after the party, when all the goodnights and thanks had been said, the O’Brien family were alone in the hall. Well, Kitty and the girls were. Kitty had sent Pat home. ‘I don’t want you here, and if you think you’re sleeping in our bed tonight, you have another think coming.’
Pat had remonstrated, then said he’d help clear up after. ‘Just go home, Pat.’
‘That’s you all over, Kitty. You’re a lone wolf.’ And Pat had stormed off. A few heads had turned, but most were too busy enjoying themselves to notice. Later, back at home, Kitty had thrown bedding on to the sofa and left Pat to it.
‘You are gonna sort this out with Dad, aren’t you?’ Sophie asked, climbing the stairs, tired, eyes brimming with tears.
‘Of course.’ But Kitty had no idea if it could be sorted, yet her instinct was to reassure the girls. That’s what she had always done and now she was working on autopilot.
Coming into the kitchen this morning, she found Pat sitting at the table with a cooling mug of tea, his hair like an abandoned nest. Kitty reheats the kettle and stares out of the window. Outside a heavy frost glistens like snow as day breaks.
‘Kitty, we need to talk.’
Kitty ignores Pat and continues to stare through the window. When her tea is ready, she heads towards the door.
‘Kitty?’
‘I need to finish clearing up the hall and drop the key back.’
Pat gets up and follows her out into the hall. ‘You can’t do this to me. I came back to surprise you and the girls. I’ve no idea where you got this stupid idea from that I had another woman. Bloody hell, Kitty, when would I have time?’
Kitty turns on the stairs. ‘Maybe you have a woman on the rig.’
Pat laughs. ‘There are none on ours. Women are few and far between on oil rigs. It’s no life for a woman.’
Now Kitty laughs. ‘I really don’t care anymore, Pat. Whoever she is, she is welcome to you.’ Kitty continues upstairs. In the bedroom, she sips her tea and wishes she could just pack a bag and go. Somewhere no one knows her. Somewhere where she can find herself again. But she has commitments. The girls. This house. Her job. And Christmas. Why did it have to be Christmas?
After showering, Kitty heads out and back to the hall. There’s not much to do. Just bundle up the bunting, pop the balloons, put the tablecloths away and empty the dishwasher. She locks up and takes the key back to the house of the person who lives on Garland Road and does the hall bookings. She slips the key through the letter box. Their curtains are drawn and she doesn’t want to disturb anyone.
As Kitty turns, crosses the junction with Holly Lane and Tinsel Street, she sees Sally with Mitzy. Kitty isn’t keen to see anyone right now, but when she sees Sally’s slumped shoulders, her instinct is to go over. As she approaches, Sally looks up. The hurt in her eyes matches Kitty’s own heartbreak. They recognise one another’s pain and embrace, clinging to each other for mutual comfort. Mitzy barks.
‘Come back to mine,’ Sally says. They walk the length of Tinsel Street, ignoring the flashing tree lights in windows until they come to Sally’s house. She opens the door, takes off Mitzy’s lead and her coat and takes Kitty’s and hangs it over the banister. ‘I’ll make coffee. You go settle in the lounge. Ignore Mitzy if she’s a nuisance.’
‘I hope I’ve not cut short her walk this morning.’ Kitty feels guilty of taking up Sally’s time.
‘No. We’ve done our lap now,’ Sally shouts from the kitchen.
Kitty sits in the fireside chair while Mitzy, after a stroke and fuss, settles down by the fire. Sally’s house feels calm and she would rather like to stay. Kitty doesn’t want to go home to a row with Pat. And what did he mean last night, saying she was a ‘lone wolf’? That was him, not her.
Sally bustles in with a tray containing mugs of steaming coffee, a sugar bowl, and a plate of biscuits. ‘They’re not home-made, I’m afraid.’
Kitty smiles and takes the mug offered to her. ‘I’m sorry, Sally, I never asked you how Catherine’s visit went. I was so caught up in the party and… and other things.’
Sally puts her mug carefully down on a coaster. ‘Well, I never gave you the chance anyway because I didn’t want to talk about it then. Not at the party.’ Sally looks at Kitty. ‘And you had your own stuff going on. That was a surprise, Pat turning up like that.’
Kitty offers a wane smile. ‘I didn’t expect it. I was angry. I still am.’
‘But I thought you wanted him home.’
Kitty sits back in the chair and sighs deeply. ‘It was, but not like that with a string of lies.’ On the table, Kitty notices a photo album. Sally sees her looking.
‘Catherine brought them. She said I could keep them.’ Sally picks the album up and opens it. ‘It’s her life story in photos. All those years I missed.’ She offers the album to Kitty, who takes it and slowly looks through the photos.
‘She’s very pretty,’ Kitty says.
‘She is.’
‘You seem sad. I’m guessing things didn’t work out the way you hoped?’
Sally leans forward. ‘Things were going really well at first, but something changed. And then Catherine seemed in a hurry to leave.’ Sally turns away. ‘She asked about her father. She wanted to know his name.’ Sally turns back to Kitty. ‘I couldn’t give her one. And then I felt ashamed all over again. I’ve no idea if Catherine will get in touch again. It felt sort of final.’ Sally stifles a sob.
‘Oh, Sally, I’m so sorry. I suppose these things take time. It must have been so strange to her to meet you. Maybe she just needs time.’
‘But I’ve missed so much of Catherine’s life already. I don’t want to miss any more.’
Kitty moves from her chair and goes to Sally, kneels down and wraps Sally in her arms. ‘What are we like, us two?’ Kitty says. Sally makes a strangled attempt at a laugh.
After a while, the two break away and smile at each other. ‘And what about you and Pat? You must let him explain. I know you have this idea that he has another woman…’
‘He denies it.’
‘Well, maybe there isn’t one.’
‘So why was he in London?’
‘Have you asked him?’
‘He said he needed to get something special.’
‘Like the ring?’
Kitty sits back on her heels, a frown on her face. ‘But… but he could buy a ring anywhere. Why London?’
‘That’s what you need to ask him. Kitty, don’t throw everything away without getting to the truth. I understand you’re angry, but… just listen to him. Give Pat a chance to explain.’
Kitty sighs. ‘Why is it that we’re so good at giving advice, but never taking it?’
Sally laughs. ‘That’s life for you. Now why don’t you go home and talk to that man of yours.’
Kitty gets up from the floor. ‘I wish I’d had a friend like you back in the early days. Maybe I wouldn’t be in this mess now if I had.’
‘I’m just glad I’m here now for you.’
*
Jamie’s home now and gone back to bed. Weekend paper deliveries were always more demanding. The sack was always heavier with all the extra supplements. And then putting them through the letter boxes was a nightmare. Some people had letter boxes so low down, he had to crouch on his knees to stick the things in. And those with the brushes on them were difficult, and made more noise even before the thud, as the papers dropped onto the hall floor. Only one morning to go and then he’d have a day off.
This morning, Jamie had struggled to get up. He’d been dreaming about Keya and still wondered if was a dream that he had held her when they danced. Of course she wasn’t in the shop this morning. It was too early. Mr Patel had been his usual bright self. Jamie wondered how he did it, working all hours and always cheerful.
Jamie turns over in bed and relives his dance with Keya. Her body so slim, so dextrous, so sexy. He’d wished the music had never stopped. And Keya had laughed, her eyes lighting up just for him. Jamie wished he was older and could offer her more, take her places. What he needed was a proper job with money to take Keya to the movies and a nice meal. He saved as much as he could from the paper round, but the money soon went on phone data, magazines and sweets, the odd video game, and sometimes clothes if his dad wouldn’t pay up. Keya didn’t work; well, she did the odd shift in the shop. Maybe her father did pay her or at least gave her an allowance. Keya had said he, Jamie, couldn’t afford her. She was right. Maybe he should see if the Co-op had any jobs going stacking shelves. He could do afternoon or evening shifts as long as he got his homework done. He’d check it out in the new year.
As Jamie’s eyes drooped, he was swept back to last night, the music and holding Keya in his arms. Downstairs he could his mother shouting, ‘Why are there no bloody turkeys left in the Co-op? Tell me why, Dan?’
*
Vera knocks on the front door of number sixteen using Harold’s code. Icy air creeps down Vera’s neck. She should have put a scarf on. The door opens a crack.
‘Oh, hello.’ Joe’s face lights up in surprise.
‘Yes, I know, I’m not Henry, but I wanted to ask you something.’ Vera clutches the neck of her coat closer while holding a tin with her other hand.
‘Come in. It’s cold out there.’ Joe opens the door wider and Vera enters. ‘I live in the back room. There’s a fire and it’s quite warm.’ Joe smiles and leads the way down the dark hallway and into the back room. The room looks bigger than hers without furniture and certainly bigger than Alison’s with its bold wallpaper and clutter of books and ornaments. The fire is welcoming. A stack of wood is piled in the alcove and on the floor is a sleeping bag, a blanket and a box of provisions. Joe’s guitar leans against the wall dividing this house from Alison’s. There is a cooking tin on the fire heating water. The room is indeed warm. ‘I’m making tea. Would you like one?’
Vera hesitates. ‘Thank you, but I not long ago had one.’
‘I’d offer you a seat, but…’
‘If I got down there, I’d never get up.’ It had been years since she’d sat on a floor. She suddenly remembers sitting cross-legged on the hall floor at school for assemblies and the like. It was so easy back then. Where had the years gone? Vera is just about to ask her question when Joe asks about the party last night.
‘Yes, it was good. I expect you heard the fireworks from here.’
‘Actually, I was asleep.’
‘Anyway, I nabbed a few bits for you.’ Vera pushes the tin towards Joe.
‘Oh.’ Joe takes the tin and prises off the lid. Inside are sausage rolls, slices of quiche, crisps inside a plastic bag, two cupcakes, a couple of samosas, two mince pies and a slice of Christmas cake.
‘Actually, Kitty helped me put this together,’ Vera said. ‘And this is also from her.’ Vera pulls a bottle from her coat pocket.
Joe smiles. ‘Beer. Thanks. You are all so kind.’ Joe replaces the tin lid and places it on the floor, then takes the bottle. ‘I’ll save this for Christmas Day.’
‘Well, that’s what I wanted to ask you about. My friend Alison, who lives next door,’ Vera points to the adjoining wall, ‘and I would like you to come to Christmas dinner with us. Alison is cooking. She is a wonderful cook. Well, you probably know that as apparently she’s putting her baking through your letter box, as well as Kitty.’
‘Oh, I don’t know. I mean you’ve all done so much for me already.’
Vera knows how independent Joe likes to be, but it’s Christmas. ‘You don’t say no to someone like Alison. I should know. She took me under her wing a couple of years back and been a real friend to me since. Please say you’ll come. You can’t be alone at Christmas, Joe. It’s not right. How can we sit down to dinner next door knowing you are here alone?’
‘I must say a proper, cooked, hot meal does sound appealing.’
‘Then come. We kick off around midday and eat about one or one-thirty. It’s not like the party last night. It’s just us, and Alison.’
‘Well…’
Vera takes a leaf out of Alison’s book and says, ‘That’s settled then.’
*
Kitty arrives home just as Sophie is coming downstairs, an empty mug in hand. ‘Where’ve you been? I went to look for you at the hall, but it’s all shut up, and you left your phone here.’
‘What’s the emergency?’ Sophie’s face is full of concern.
‘Dad’s gone.’
‘What? Where?’ Kitty’s heart bounces around her chest. Is she too late?
‘I don’t know, but he’s taken his stuff.’
Kitty leans against the hall wall. Her world is spinning and she feels like she is about to faint.
‘Mum, are you alright?’ Sophie clutches at her arm as Kitty slides down to the floor. Everything is falling apart. How can she go on without Pat?
Nineteen
Monday, 24th December, Christmas Eve
Arnold arrives at Drayton’s for his last shift and is counting the hours until he can hang up the red suit for good. The store is buzzing with people buying last-minute gifts and is hot and stuffy. Inside the suit, Arnold sweats.
Ellie gives him a bright smile. She’s certainly perked up since they began this journey into fantasy land of grotto and a man who comes down the chimney with presents. Utter rubbish. But he remembers waking on cold Christmas mornings as a child eager to see what Santa had brought. Arnold sighs. What does he get these days? His sister in New Zealand sends him little wood carvings and merino woollen socks. One year, there was a packet of chocolate sheep droppings from his niece. He’s not seen his sister since she was in her twenties, and never his niece. She’d gone to New Zealand on a work permit and ended up marrying and settling there. Of course there were letters, but he missed Martha, especially at first. ‘Come and visit,’ Martha said, but Arnold had his own troubles back then. His own marriage was struggling. He could barely function, let alone get on a plane and fly halfway round the world. Besides, he couldn’t afford it, and Martha and Stanley couldn’t afford to fly to England.
