Virtual Strangers (16 page)

Which is all well and good, but pretty hard on Dad. I think his motives are more along the lines of, no-one in their right mind would spend the best part of a month planning/buying/ shopping for decorations/ spraying things for decorating/ fussing generally over Christmas trees out of choice. He is, after all, a naval man.

But joy! Was taken aside by my father at 18.47 (window of opportunity between potatoes and curly kale).

‘Trees,’ he announced, causing the hairs on my nape to prickle. I braced myself against the worktop for another stressful encounter.

‘Trees, dad?’ I prompted.

‘Yes, trees.’ He confirmed. ‘I’ve been talking to young Ben and it seems he’s rather disappointed -’

‘Disappointed?’

‘Indeed. About that little tree I picked up.’

I noted the choice of adjective. He has, I thought, at least got the concept of relative tree size in place. I said,

‘Oh, really?’

‘Indeed. Seems you’d planned to take him off out tomorrow. To buy a real tree. At a Christmas tree farm, he tells me. He says you do it every year. That it’s a sort of family tradition.’

Yes, of course! The family tradition of me saying (plaintively, clutching pinny to bosom etc) ‘would anyone like to come with me to choose a tree this year?’ And getting the traditional response of ‘Mu-um! Do we
have
to?’

‘Yes,’ I said, beaming. ‘Absolutely! Of course!’

‘Well, bless him,’ said my dad with a chuckle. ‘Who’d have thought it at his age? But far be it from me to march in here and play fast and loose with your family traditions, dear. Anyway, the point is, you go right ahead and get his tree for him.’

‘I paused for some seconds, not believing my luck.

‘Right then,’ I ventured, finally. ‘I’ll do that, then. And I know!’ I added, in a flurry of inspiration and gratitude. ‘We could put your silver tree up in the porch.’

Rushed straight upstairs and went yes!yes!yes! with bobbing knee manoeuvre, as footballers do, then gave Ben a bumper kiss and hug and promised that a stunt bike was no longer entirely out of the realms of Christmas possibility.

Am now basking in an aura of warmth and love and gratitude for the frankly amazing show of astute yet sensitive grandparent management from my younger progeny. I am suffused with wonder at such an entirely unexpected display of sensitivity. (Indeed, display of having registered our conversation about the tree-procuring trip at all.) Am managing, obviously, to get some things right. And some wrong, of course, as I have not actually dealt with the situation at all. Still, having raised children to deal so effectively with maternal wimp difficulties must count for something.

Twelve or so shopping days to go. Or whatever.

Heartwarming development.

Had an email from Dan tonight (
must
get another phone line installed).

Mum, hope you get this. Phone permanently engaged
again
. I know it’s short notice but would it be okay if Jack came to us for Christmas instead? Her dad has had to change his plans at the last minute and he’s going to be out of the country until the New Year (don’t ask). Jack’s pretty fed up, as you can imagine, but he’s invited us both to join him at Klosters for skiing, in March, so can’t say I’m too upset!!!!!!! But is that going to be okay with you? She can doss in my room.

I’ll assume yes unless I hear from you.

Love Dan.

Very excited. Email straight back.

Hello darling!

Yes,
of course
Jack can come and spend Christmas with us! We’d love to have her! Will she be coming down with you, or is she making her own way here? Let me know when you can.

Wonderful news about both Christmas and skiing. You lucky thing you! And lucky old me! Looking forward to seeing you both,

Love Mumxx

Hah!

Wonderful, wonderful news in
deed
. Will have my baby son back in the bosom of his family and will be able to impress the snotty, goggle-eyed madam with fantastical, magical, sublime festive decor, Christmas-tree-to-die-for, and a best-roast-potatoes-in-the-world Christmas lunch. Even if it
is
eaten in a pokey, semi detached hovel.

‘I can almost hear him sitting there singing its praises,’ I tell Rose, gleefully.

‘You’re pleased then, I take it? But I thought you couldn’t stand the sight of the girl.’

‘Ah, but that was in the Star of Bengal. The dynamic has shifted now.
I’m
in charge. Though, I have to say, I’m not quite sure what line to take about the sleeping arrangements. We don’t have a spare room any more, of course, and it doesn’t seem fair to turf Dad into Ben’s room -’

‘Hmm,’ Rose says. ‘I think I’d just leave them to it.’

‘You would?’

‘Well, you have to assume they sleep together, don’t you?’

‘Do I? I suppose so. They must do. It’s not the sort of thing you’d ask.’

‘Oh, I’m sure they are,’ Rose decides, with the sublime nonchalance of one who’s eldest is nine. ‘So it’s not like anyone’s pretending otherwise, is it?’

‘No, I guess not. But, still. I’m not sure I like the idea of them bonking away on the other side of my bedroom wall. Not sure I like the idea of them bonking, period.’

‘Which reminds me. Any new developments with Adam?’

‘Developments? Adam?’ I trill disingenuously, while a small rodent gnaws at the pain in my gut. ‘Can’t imagine who you’re talking about. Adam
who
?’

Thursday
. In a spirit of joy (tinged only marginally by the bonk-question stress/Adam Jones thoughts-avoidance stress/respect for the newly departed etc) I decide to put the tree up.

In fact; go into garage, remove argumentative protective netting from tree, spray tree with tree saver, have fifteen minute coughing fit, find bucket, find bag of gravel, pour gravel into bucket, put tree in bucket, free hair from tree, take tree out of bucket, re-arrange gravel, put tree back in bucket, take tree out of bucket, raid perimeter of house for supplementary gravel, put tree back in bucket, free hair from tree, wonder why didn’t put tree in bucket while netting still in place, drag bucket plus tree through kitchen, hall, lounge. Position tree in centre of lounge, move sofa, coffee table, magazine rack and standard lamp to other side of lounge, re-position tree in front of patio doors, wonder why didn’t bring tree in via patio doors in first place, adjust tree in bucket, lash tree to radiator pipe for security.

Go back into garage, find decorative half barrel, bring decorative half-barrel inside, attempt to stand bucket in half barrel, remove half of gravel, attempt to stand bucket in half barrel, detach tree from radiator pipe, reposition tree in bucket, stand bucket in half barrel, put gravel back in bucket, re-lash tree to radiator pipe, step on assorted invertebrate life previously resident in half barrel, check tree for branch symmetry, hack off lower branch on right to achieve, hack off supplementary lower branch on left to balance, place hacked lower left branch on top of sparse lower right region to re-balance, add water to bucket, get kitchen roll from kitchen, mop carpet around barrel area.

Get decorations from loft, unwind lights, check lights, mend fuse in plug, replace five bulbs, re-check lights, wind lights around tree. Run out halfway down, unwind lights, re-wind lights, run out of lights two-thirds way down, curse, go to local sweet shop, purchase supplementary light set, return, wind supplementary light set around bottom of tree, check lights, find lights don’t work, replace bulb, go upstairs and look for adaptor, take adaptor from Ben’s room, make note to replace later, switch on all lights, say ahhh!, switch off lights, get baubles out.

Put angel on top, adjust dress, hang baubles, dislike layout of baubles, curse, re-arrange baubles, hang last family heirloom delicate glass bird-of-paradise decoration, hang miscellaneous colour co-ordinated decorations, hang chocolate umbrellas, remember have tinsel, curse, get tinsel, weave tinsel carefully through lights, baubles, umbrellas etc., knock decorations off branches, curse, step on family heirloom delicate glass bird-of-paradise decoration, curse again, remember box of decorations made by Dan and Ben at nursery/infant/junior school, get box, hang falling to bits sugar paper plus glitter plus pasta and pulses decorations on inconspicuous parts of tree, feel guilty, re-hang in pride of place positions, groan, re-hang select few in compromise positions, return remainder to box, switch lights on, curse, check bulbs, curse again, check bulbs again, find culprit, replace bulb, eat chocolate umbrella.

Spray tree copiously with fake snow, have fifteen minute coughing fit, realise not fake snow but tree saver again, curse, find snow spray, spray tree copiously with snow spray, get lametta, stand on chair and throw lametta artistically at tree, get down from chair, pick lametta up from floor, get on chair, throw lametta artistically at tree, get down from chair, pick up remaining lametta, chuck handfuls at lower branches, get hoover, hoover needles, lametta and invertebrate corpses from lounge, then hoover kitchen, hall and lower stairs, put hoover away, sit on sofa, fall asleep.

Wake to sound of insistent ding-donging of doorbell. Go to answer door to find Sheila Rawlins outside, wishing to deliver the Christmas edition of the parish newsletter, plus procure two pounds annual subscription.

I ask her in and pretend to have left my handbag in the lounge in order that I can lure her into the room to be impressed by my fantastical, magical etc. tree.

‘Wow
ee
!’ says Sheila. ‘Your tree looks
stunning
!’

‘Really?’ I say. ‘Oh you’re
so
kind. It’s nothing very exciting
really
’ etc.

Give a extra pound for church fund.

Ahhh. Sleep the sleep of the just and self righteous and dream (obviously unavoidable and possibly quite healing) dreams about hot sexual encounters with nameless GP. I even conjure up a grand scheme for a surreal, crystalline Lapland (uPVC) porch, based loosely on the four foot high silver fake tinsel tree, plus cotton wool, polystyrene chips, branches and glitter. And the four million light set I saw in the market last week.

Lovely to come in down in the morning, refreshed, uplifted and with the resiny scent of my majestic great fir putting paid to the last traces of father’s most recent excursion into salsas and fermented fruit vinegars. Less lovely to endure a two minute tirade from my younger son about the importance of not interfering with plugs, sockets and electrical equipment arrangements in his bedroom, particularly as the clock radio is the only sure method of waking for school in a house run by a dormouse mother.

But loveliness, on the whole, abounds. The post brings me a copy of
Intrepid Explorers! (Nepal and Tibet) - a personalised itinerary for Ms Charlotte Simpson,
which, following Rhys’s advice, I requested, from a knowledgeable man with a business in Bolton, who, joy of joys! knows the difference between a
drokpa
and a
daal
. I take it off to work to enhance my good Chi. And it’s a morning of further good portents, as, hot on heels of the major downer of the Rutlands taking on Metro as well, in an unprecedented (in Cardiff) two agency shoot out at the OK Corral type scenario, I have taken Mr and Mrs Habib for a second viewing of Cherry Ditchling and they seem, dare I say it, exceedingly keen.

‘There’s even a ha ha,’ he enthused to his wife. ‘Jane Austen, I believe, thought very highly of those.’

But as ever, there is always scope for a disintegration of my luck, as Minnie is due to be moving to the Maltings today and I am scheduled to turn up and collect Kipling, just prior to (please, God) the completion. And I am not disappointed.

I arrive twenty minutes early in a persistent drizzle and am dismayed to find Austin Metro also in the street, picking wet leaves from the bonnet of his Jag. I lean in to grope around in search of umbrella, rolling jam jars etc. and fully expect scorch marks to appear on the seat of my pond-weed skirt.

‘Is there a problem?’ I ask as I back out again.

He shifts his gaze from my bottom and then lopes across the road. ‘Exactly what I was about to ask,’ he says. ‘
I’m
here to see this completion completed. What about you? Bit above and beyond, this, isn’t it, lovely?’

‘If you must know, I’m having the cat,’ I bark back. ‘There is absolutely no problem with Minnie.’

Because I’ve also noted the social worker’s car across the road, my words carry less than complete conviction. I’d been told that Minnie was to be collected at midday by the sister from the Maltings and that she would make sure Kipling was in his cat basket when I got there. Hmm. And less conviction still when a siren, closely followed by a shiny white bulk bearing down on us, heralds the arrival of what is clearly an ambulance. Somehow, I just know it’s for Minnie. I bolt for the house, Austin Metro behind me. The front door is open so we both run inside.

‘Ah, it’s here,’ says the social worker, glancing up as we enter. ‘All right, Minnie. The ambulance is here, my love. You’re all right now. Don’t fret.’

I kneel on the floor beside her. Minnie is face down on the hall floor, her head to one side and her eyes closed. There is a trail of dribble glistening at the side of her mouth. The social worker glances up and recognises me.

‘Had a fall,’ she confirms, with a sigh. ‘As they do. Difficult to tell, of course, but I suspect her hip’s gone. I’ve not tried to move her - ah, here we are.’

What little light there is disappears as two paramedics, plus stretcher (plus docusoap film crew?) fill the doorway. Relentlessly jovial, they move in and take over, and with disturbingly little protestation from Minnie, concoct some sort of splint, construct some sort of stretcher and soon have her outside and into the ambulance.

‘I think I should go with her,’ I tell the social worker, as we stand by and watch helplessly. She looks relieved.

‘
Would
you? It would be nice to think someone could. I’ve got the Magistrates at one. I’ll let the office know what’s happened.’ She checks her watch then glances down the street. ‘And that’ll be the new people, I suppose. Oh dear.’

‘What, already?’ I turn to Austin, who has been standing nearby, gabbling into his mobile. I raise my eyebrows and point up the road. He shakes his head.