Chapter 8
CHAPTER 8
V eronica had been thinking about Laura Engleby’s Christmas Eve party since she’d come into the shop for stuff to make the tree fairy’s new outfit.
It was true that the legendary party at Spindlewood was the highlight of Christmas, unless you counted Boxing Day, when she and Jack went over to Lewes for dinner with her youngest cousin Hilary, her husband Mike, and their two daughters. The daughters might have boyfriends in tow, in fact, they usually did. Veronica thought one of the daughters had now moved out and set up home with a boyfriend. Yes, that was right; she remembered Hilary mentioning it in one of her endlessly long emails. Why she couldn’t just pick up the phone Veronica didn’t know. Anyway, Hilary was a marvellous cook and they’d have a nice time. They’d have to get taxis to and fro so that Jack could have a couple of beers, which was expensive, but that was all right.
Somehow, though, Boxing Day at Hilary’s wasn’t as much fun as Laura’s party. The thing was, Veronica said to herself, as she tidied the shelves below the shop counter, the thing was , getting dressed up and going up to Spindlewood after dark made it seem like proper going out. It added a bit of excitement and glamour to the festive season. Veronica didn’t do much going out these days. And as for excitement and glamour, you could forget it.
Evenings were spent mostly in front of the telly in their cottage in Mill Street, and she was content with that. Jack certainly was. If she wanted to see a film at the cinema down in Cliffhaven, he was willing to go with her, but they’d go to a matinee on the half day the shop shut, not in the evening. On the odd occasion – usually a birthday – when they went out for a meal, it would mean the early-bird sitting at the steak house when they’d be home by seven thirty, or Sunday lunch in a quiet pub off the beaten track.
Veronica didn’t mean to sound ungrateful, even in private, inside her head, and she wasn’t really. It was just that this year, she’d have liked them to turn up at Laura’s as a couple, like other people did. And that, Veronica said to herself as she stood upright from the shelves, was as likely as spotting the proverbial pig flying past the window.
Jack didn’t mind going to Hilary’s. Or if he did, he’d never said. They hadn’t been blessed with children, and they spent a peaceful Christmas Day at home, just the two of them. Jack approached Boxing Day with a brisk right-let’s-get-this-over-with attitude but once he was there, he enjoyed himself in his own quiet way. He wasn’t putting it on; Veronica would have known if he was, after all these years. The party at Spindlewood was a different kettle of fish entirely. Again, knowing him as she did, Veronica understood how he’d dread walking into a room full of people all laughing and talking and having a jolly time, even though he’d known most of them for years.
He never used to be like that, Veronica thought, as she stood behind the window display and gazed out at the street. Before he retired from the gas board, he’d been more outgoing, and remained so for a good while afterwards, until he’d sort of folded in on himself and no matter what she’d said or done, Veronica had never managed to unfold him.
He’d never been the life and soul – that wasn’t his style – but he definitely used to be more sociable than he was now. The only place outside of home where he seemed comfortable was at the allotment. Sometimes, if Veronica wasn’t in the brightest of moods, she’d accuse him of paying more attention to his cabbages than he did to her. And then a word or two would be exchanged, there’d be a bit of stomping about and the banging of a cupboard door or two until, by mutual, silent agreement, the mini-tiff was over and everything went back to normal.
Veronica wondered if Jack was depressed. She’d even talked him into going to the medical centre once, ages ago. She suspected he’d only agreed to stop her going on about it. But he hadn’t let her go in with him. She’d had to sit in the waiting room, and when she asked him what the doctor had said, Jack had waved a prescription for antidepressants in front of her, then ripped it up and dropped it in the rubbish bin outside. She hadn’t tried again.
But then, she couldn’t complain, not really. Jack had a good heart, and he did care for her, she knew that. Other people had so much worse to deal with, and the world was a terrible place for so many. She was lucky.
But maybe she could broach the subject of the party again. Properly, not just asking casually if he wanted to go with her, then silently accepting his usual answer:
‘No, ta. You go and have a good time, gal. You don’t want me cramping your style.’ Then he would wink, and go back to Countdown , or the news, or the crossword in the paper.
This year, Veronica wanted a different answer, and somehow she would get it.