Chapter 43
43
GEMMA
Poppy and I were downstairs early on Christmas morning. Poppy was jumping around excitedly, wanting to show Crystal the contents of her stocking. I opened the living room door very quietly and looked in, but to my surprise Crystal was still huddled under the duvet, fast asleep. I wondered how on earth she’d slept through Poppy’s shouts of excitement – perhaps, like me, she’d had a bad night.
‘Ssh!’ I told Poppy, closing the door again. ‘Let’s leave her to sleep for a little while.’
I wasn’t in a hurry to see her, the way I was still feeling.
‘Owh, but I want to show her?—’
‘Yes, and you can, in a little while. But let’s see about breakfast first, shall we? We don’t want to be too late going to Nanny’s.’
‘Going to Nanny’s!’ Poppy repeated, her eyes shining. ‘’Cos it’s Kissmas!’
‘Yes!’ I smiled at her. ‘And I thought you might like crumpets for breakfast as a special treat. With jam?’
‘Crumpets and jam!’ she squealed, following me into the kitchen. ‘Yum yum!’
While I started getting everything ready, Poppy laid out all the contents of her stocking across one side of the kitchen table ‘ready to show Crystal’. After a minute or two, I heard Crystal get up and go upstairs to the bathroom.
‘Wait till she comes down,’ I warned Poppy. ‘She probably wants to have a shower.’
In fact, she came back down almost immediately, popped into the kitchen quickly, as if remembering her manners, said ‘Happy Christmas’ and asked if it was OK to take a shower.
‘Of course,’ I said – but Poppy was already swallowing her mouthful of crumpet to shout out that Father Christmas had come, and look! Look what he brought .
Crystal just gave her a little smile, and promised to look as soon as she’d had her shower. As she left the room she picked up her phone, which had been lying on the corner of the kitchen worktop, near the fridge. She took it out into the hallway with her and, out of the open doorway I saw her open it, glance at, presumably, a few messages, and then put it down on the hall table and head up the stairs.
I don’t know what made me do it; it was contrary to everything I believed in: respecting people’s privacy, not taking liberties or crossing lines. But there was just a split second when I managed to convince myself it was the right thing to do. Not only that, but I needed to do it, and couldn’t be blamed for it. As she turned the corner on the stairs I nipped out into the hall and picked up the phone before it could automatically lock again. And I looked at her photo gallery.
What was I looking for? I don’t know; I’d like to say I just wanted to see the pictures she’d taken the previous day, all those selfies of her with Poppy, those infuriating pictures of them in their matching outfits. And yes, I did look at them, and I did feel another wave of irritation, and a powerful urge – which I managed to resist – to delete them all. But when I scrolled further back, I nearly dropped the phone in shock. I actually had to put a hand out to lean against the fridge, to steady myself. There were dozens of pictures of Poppy, and dozens of selfies of Crystal with Poppy, not just from Christmas Eve but from longer ago. Pictures of Poppy playing in the park, smiling happily on the beach, posing with a cake in her hand, with an ice cream, with a cup of something that looked like hot chocolate. Selfies of the two of them sitting together in cafés, grinning from a bench on the seafront, hugging in their winter coats and hats. There were so many pictures, I was surprised her phone hadn’t run out of storage. I put the phone down, without bothering to exit the gallery. Let her find out what I’ve seen , I thought. I went back into the kitchen, where Poppy had finished eating and was looking a little bit downcast.
‘Crystal looked sad,’ Poppy said when I went back into the kitchen. ‘We mustn’t be sad on Kissmas, must we, Mummy?’
‘No,’ I agreed with a smile. ‘Perhaps she didn’t sleep very well.’ Poppy stayed sitting at the table, rearranging her display of presents, while I toasted myself a crumpet that I didn’t feel like eating. After a while we heard Crystal coming back down the stairs.
‘Morning!’ she said from the kitchen door, and repeated her ‘Happy Christmas!’
She still sounded a little strained, and she wasn’t wearing the blue dungarees any more. Poppy ran over to her for a hug, yelling ‘Happy Kissmas!’ and pulling her towards the table to show her the presents from Father Christmas.
‘Wow, aren’t you a lucky girl!’ Crystal said, giving me a cautious smile, probably wondering whether I’d forgiven her yet for the present. I almost strained my face in trying to return the smile, but I suspected it looked more like a grimace.
‘Yes, and we’ve had crumpets!’ Poppy said. ‘And jam.’
‘Well, that sounds lovely.’
‘You want crumpets too?’
‘Um… well, actually,’ Crystal said, glancing at me again. ‘I think I might just have a quick cup of coffee, and then I’ll get on my way. You’ll be rushing to get to your nanny’s house?—’
‘Owh, I don’t want you to go.’ Poppy held onto her arm. ‘Stay!’
‘Not today, sweetheart. Maybe another time, OK?’ she said quietly.
‘All right.’ Poppy shrugged, far too excited about everything to be too disappointed.
Crystal went to get a mug to make herself a coffee, but I beat her to it, taking the opportunity to lean close to her and say, very quietly, ‘I hope you never put photos of Poppy on social media.’
‘What?’ She looked back at me, alarm in her eyes, and then looked out of the door at her phone lying on the hall table. I saw the realisation dawn, and a flicker of annoyance in her eyes.
I wanted to say that I had the right to look at her phone because of the way she’d been behaving. But I didn’t. I just returned her gaze, holding it until she looked away.
‘Of course I don’t,’ she said. ‘I’m not even on any social media anyway.’
‘Good.’ It was hard to believe, frankly – who, at our age, wasn’t on social media? It seemed unlikely but to be fair, earlier in our friendship, I’d looked for her, and hadn’t found her.
‘I closed down all my social media years ago,’ she went on quietly. ‘I was fed up with it. I wanted to re-embrace the real world. ’
‘I see.’ I filled her cup with coffee, handed it to her and watched her sit at the table opposite Poppy.
‘I’ll go when I’ve had this,’ she said quietly.
‘OK.’
Despite myself, I struggled against a wave of pity, once again thinking of her sitting in her flat on her own today. I pushed the image of it out of my mind, concentrated on eating my cold crumpet, trying to think happy thoughts of Christmas with Poppy and my parents. I needed time away from her, time to digest it all, and to plan the conversation we needed to have if we were going to move forward, to keep up with our friendship. I couldn’t even think about it yet.
After we’d said goodbye to Crystal, I packed an overnight bag for Poppy and me, another bag full of presents for Mum and Dad, and one with some chocolates, mince pies and other treats to contribute to the Christmas goodies.
‘I can’t wait!’ Poppy said, hopping from one foot to the other as I finished getting everything ready. It was a new favourite phrase for her, one she’d picked up from nursery during the past week when all the children had been getting overexcited about Christmas.
I smiled. ‘There’s no more waiting, Pops! Come on – get your shoes on, we’re on our way.’
‘Hello, darlings, come in, come in, Happy Christmas, both of you!’ Mum gushed when she opened the door to us. ‘Come in and get warm – what on earth have you got in those bags? I told you there was no need to bring anything!’
‘Oh, it’s only a few little things,’ I said, laughing. ‘Oh, hello, Dad! Happy Christmas to you, too. You look very festive!’
He was wearing a particularly garish bright green Christmas jumper with a red Father Christmas on the front – much to Poppy’s delight.
‘Father Kissmas!’ she shouted excitedly, running to stroke Dad’s jumper. ‘He came down my chimney.’
‘And what’s this you’re wearing, my Poppy-Pops?’ Dad said, holding her at arm’s length and looking down at her. ‘What a very special, shiny new jacket. Was this from Father Christmas too?’
‘No!’ Poppy squealed. ‘Crystal gived it to me.’
Dad raised his eyebrows at me and, from behind Poppy’s head, I pulled a face. I’d tried to dissuade her from wearing the new clothes today, and had won the battle over the dungarees by reminding her she’d wanted to wear her best party dress. But when I tried to talk her out of the shiny jacket, she’d looked so close to having a full-blown tantrum that I gave in, for the sake of a peaceful Christmas.
‘I see,’ Dad said calmly. ‘Well, that’s nice, but let’s hang it up now that you’re indoors in the warm – so that we can see your pretty new dress properly.’
‘Sore point?’ Mum whispered to me as she followed me into the living room.
‘Yes. But I don’t want to talk about it today.’
‘Understood.’
I was glad she didn’t push the point.
As usual, Mum had decorated the house beautifully; there was a huge Christmas tree, with twinkling fairy lights and presents piled underneath, home-made holly-wreaths hanging on the walls, tasteful gold and silver garlands over the mantelpiece and windowsill, and elegant slender candles on the shelves. All I’d bothered to put up at home, apart from a small artificial Christmas tree, were the plush snowman and Father Christmas ornaments we’d bought the previous year that danced and sung ‘Rocking Around the Christmas Tree’ when their hands were pressed. Of course, Poppy had pressed them so often that the batteries had run out already and I’d pretended they couldn’t be renewed until next year. It had been hard, at home on my own with her during the lead-up this year – the first year without Jack – to pretend to be excited, but I’d had to try, for Poppy’s sake. Now I was at Mum’s, the pressure to be Cheerful Mummy was finally off me and I immediately felt more relaxed, determined not to think about Crystal until I went home.
‘A glass of fizz, darling?’ Mum asked. ‘And I’ve got some of your favourite blackcurrant squash, Poppy.’
By the time the drinks were poured, we’d toasted each other and sat down to enjoy them. Poppy was almost delirious with excitement to exchange Christmas presents, resulting in the usual mountain of wrapping paper to be tidied up before I went into the kitchen to help Mum with the dinner, leaving Poppy playing with her new toys under the loving watchful eye of her grandad.
‘I know it must be difficult for you this year,’ Mum said, enveloping me in her arms as soon as the kitchen door was closed behind us. ‘It must feel so horrible, remembering the Christmases when you and Jack were together.’
‘I’m trying to put all that behind me,’ I said.
‘I know. And your dad and I think you’re doing brilliantly. We just wanted you to know that.’
‘Oh. Well, thank you, Mum. I don’t always feel like I am, though.’
‘It’ll take time.’ She hesitated, turning away, opening the oven door to a cloud of steam and the scent of roast turkey. ‘Anyway…’ She dropped her voice, sounding more serious as she went on. ‘I won’t say anything yet, while Poppy’s around, but Dad’s got something to tell you later.’
‘Oh.’ I felt a frisson of alarm. ‘What kind of something ?’
‘He’s going to tell you later. After Poppy’s in bed.’ She shook her head, as if she was cross with herself. ‘I shouldn’t have even mentioned it yet.’
But she had. And now I was going to spend the rest of the day wondering what it could be, what could be so sensitive that Poppy mustn’t hear it. All through Christmas dinner, I kept looking at Dad, worrying. Mum had sounded like it was something pretty serious. I thought about how often Dad had been coming down from Manchester recently. I’d thought, at first, that it was because he was worried about my situation, and the reports he’d had from Mum about Crystal – but I’d recently found out he’d been staying here at Mum’s over several weekends when I didn’t see him at all, didn’t even know he’d been there until afterwards. Why? Was he worried about Mum ? Keeping an eye on her? Was there something wrong with her – something they hadn’t told me about? I started to feel panic building in me, so much that I couldn’t even finish my Christmas pudding. I wanted to know what it was… but at the same time, was dreading finding out. But of course, Poppy wanted us to play with her, with every one of her new toys, keeping up the frantic Christmas excitement right until she was falling asleep on the sofa, worn out from her long day of presents and fun, and I was finally able to settle her down for the night.
‘Are you going to tell me what the big secret is, now, then?’ I demanded as soon as I came back downstairs.
‘Big secret?’ Dad said, looking from me to Mum in surprise.
‘I told Gemma there was something you wanted to talk to her about,’ Mum said.
‘Oh. Right.’ He glanced at me and back at Mum. ‘Shall we all get a glass of wine or something in front of us first, then?’
Of course, this just added to my anxiety. What was so bad that he thought I’d need to down a glass of wine to recover from hearing about it?
‘Well,’ Dad said when, finally, he’d finished pouring drinks, and Mum had finished scurrying around in the kitchen getting out crisps, nuts, chocolates and more mince pies, for all the world as if we hadn’t already eaten more than enough, ‘I didn’t mention this before, Gem, because I thought you’d be cross.’
‘What?’ I stared at him, waiting. ‘Why would I be cross?’
‘I hired a private detective,’ he said.
‘A private?—’
‘Your dad thought you’d say he was interfering,’ Mum put in quickly. ‘But Gemma, we had to do something. You’ll do the same, believe me, if ever Poppy needs help one day, when she’s grown up.’
‘Oh.’ I looked from one of them to the other. They both looked tense – waiting, no doubt, for me to explode. ‘I see. You hired someone to look into her. Her background. Instead of trusting me to find out for myself…’
‘ Her ?’ Dad repeated, looking puzzled now.
‘Crystal. I presume that’s…’ I stopped. ‘That’s not what you meant?’
‘No! No, of course not.’ Dad gave a little laugh. ‘I meant that I hired him to try to find Jack , obviously.’
‘Oh!’ It took me a moment to refocus. I’d got myself so worked up about Crystal, and had so totally given up hope by now of ever tracking Jack down, that this was the last thing on my mind. ‘You hired someone to look for Jack? Really?’
‘Really,’ Dad confirmed, and he gave me a smile, probably relieved that I hadn’t bitten his head off. ‘And… he’s been found.’
‘Oh!’ It was all I seemed to be capable of saying. Then the reality of it suddenly hit me, full-blast. Jack had been found! I knew I should be jumping for joy – presumably this meant he’d be taken to court, forced to pay some maintenance for Poppy. Forced to comply, to act like a decent human being, like a responsible father. But instead, and inexplicably, I just burst into tears.
‘Oh, darling!’ Poor Mum almost spilt her wine in her hurry to be by my side, comforting me. ‘Oh, don’t cry, it’s OK, it’s all going to be better now, he’s going to have to pay for Poppy, it’ll make your life so much easier.’
‘I know! I know, and thank you, Dad, I’m not cross, it was good of you. I don’t know why I’m crying. It’s just… I’ve tried so hard not to think about him. I put him – his memory – in, well, kind of in a box, a locked box, and refused to look into it any more. He’d disappeared, and I didn’t know where he was so I couldn’t picture him anywhere. He’d just gone. And now, well, now he’s been found, it’s like?—’
‘Like the box is open again?’ Mum said gently.
‘Yes! Exactly. Like suddenly I’m going to have to see him again – well, imagine him – somewhere out there in the world, and…’ I gave a little sob. ‘And not with me. With someone else. Not caring, not giving a stuff about me or Poppy.’
Mum looked at me sadly, stroking my hand. ‘I’m sorry it’s such a shock,’ she said. ‘We were hoping you’d be pleased.’
‘I am. I mean, I will be. I just wasn’t expecting… I really didn’t think he’d ever be found. Where is he, anyway? Still in Australia?’
‘Yes.’ Dad nodded. ‘Somewhere in the bush , as they call it, right in the centre of the country, in the back of beyond. The whole family is there, apparently, living in some kind of commune, like hippies or whatever. According to the report the detective gave me, Jack is saying he always intended to pay you maintenance for Poppy?—’
‘Yeah, right,’ I muttered.
‘Exactly.’ Dad glanced from me to Mum and back again, looking uncertain, before continuing quietly, ‘I don’t know if you’ll want to hear this…’
‘Tell me anyway,’ I said. ‘I might as well hear it all, now.’
‘He – and the woman he’s living with now – have got a baby. A little boy. He’s using that as his excuse for being too busy to sort out maintenance payments for Poppy.’
‘I see.’ I was too angry now to cry any more. ‘Great. So how the hell is he looking after a new baby son while he and this woman – and all his family – are living like, like dropouts in the middle of nowhere, presumably unemployed, bumming around in the desert?—’
‘That’s his problem, frankly,’ Mum said icily. ‘Certainly not ours.’
‘Except that he’s hardly likely to have any money to spare, to pay for Poppy…’
‘Well, if there’s a court order to make him pay, he’ll have to!’ Dad said. ‘He’ll… well, he’ll just have to get a job.’
‘Or they’ll take the money out of his benefits, if that’s what he’s living on,’ Mum said. ‘I’ve heard that’s what our government does here, anyway. Although I don’t know how it works in Australia, obviously,’ she added a little uncertainly.
‘That’s what my detective’s looking into,’ Dad said, nodding. ‘Don’t worry, Gemma, we’ll keep on the case. He’s going to pay you what’s due to you, whether he likes it or not.’
Finally, I started to feel a little spark of relief. Accompanied by a definite streak of something I thought must be what people called schadenfreude . Jack had tried to hide – from me, from Poppy, from the law – and he’d been caught. He’d be made to pay. It served him right – the coward, the pathetic, cowardly creep, hiding away with his despicable family in the Australian bush – I hoped he’d get bitten by snakes and catch some horrible disease.
I didn’t feel proud of these thoughts, but they helped. They stopped me from crying again – crying on Christmas Day was never a good look – and… more, much more than that… they stopped me from picturing that baby son, the baby son held in the arms of some unknown, presumably beautiful, Australian woman. The woman and baby son he loved more than he’d ever loved me or Poppy. Those were definitely not pictures I wanted in my head, not on Christmas Day and not on any other day, either.