Chapter 15
FIFTEEN
The day before the party, Sue and I take the boxes of decorations to the community centre. Mum has arrived to help and tells me she has just been to see Dad at the hospital.
‘Really?’ I ask, surprised. ‘What did Rose think about that?’
‘She was at work,’ says Mum, plonking a box down onto a table.
Rose works part-time at a health food shop in town, an irony not lost on either of us.
‘Did he seem okay? Was he expecting you?’ I ask as I unravel a set of tree lights that has seen better days from a box.
‘Well, he seemed in good spirits, and, yes, he was expecting me. I texted him when you told me about the heart attack,’ she tells me as she unpacks a foil ceiling star and smiles. ‘We talked about the only other time he had been in hospital, which was when he fell off a ladder and broke his leg. You were only about six years old, so I don’t suppose you remember it,’ says Mum as she now pulls a rather tired-looking angel from a box.
I vaguely recall the incident, although I think I remember it more because the story was retold so many times. Dad had climbed a rotten wooden ladder unbeknown to him, and a rung gave way and he fell onto the patio. Thankfully not from too great a height, but enough to break a leg.
‘He said the hospital food hadn’t improved much. I took him a slice of sugar free chocolate beetroot cake, and he said it was lovely. There’s hope for him yet.’ She giggles.
As it’s two days before Christmas, the usual keep fit classes and slimming clubs have finished until the new year, so we spend the evening decorating the tree and hanging the nostalgic foil decorations from the ceiling.
The giant Santa has been inflated and plugged in near the entrance, and when it starts singing ‘Frosty the Snowman’, we roar with laughter. It has a deep voice that matches the scary appearance, and I wonder who on earth designed it? Or maybe it is just malfunctioning. Either way, it’s hysterical.
‘Do you know, me and Barry were sat last night all cosy watching a drama and having a little drink, and I started thinking about people on their own at this time of year,’ says Sue as she places a string of paper lanterns across a window. ‘It feels so good to bring them together at Christmas, even if it’s only for one day, although I know it’s more than a day, which is down to your thoughtfulness,’ she says kindly.
A couple of years ago us volunteers also took details of anyone who would like a visit through the week from one of us, or put them in touch with Age UK, who arranged little outings. One lady was very reticent at first, shy by nature, but ended up enjoying trips to Blackpool and Lytham St Annes. It was the highlight of her trip when she ran into a one-time TV comedian outside Blackpool Tower, who duly posed for a selfie with her.
I’m sure Sue was thinking about the older people at Christmas, but it can be lonely for younger people too. Even when surrounded by family you can still feel lonely, something I know only too well, especially being an only child. Or maybe it’s a feeling of being alone rather than lonely, as after the big day everyone goes back to their busy lives, don’t they? Which was why I was determined to help some of the older people make connections all year round.
‘No one should be alone at Christmas, love, including yourself, so if the situation ever arises that you are, you know where we are, the more the merrier I say, and you too, of course,’ she says to my mum.
Sue always has a crowd around her Christmas table, and I know she means every word.
‘Thanks, Sue,’ I tell her genuinely. ‘But I can’t lie, after the busy Christmas Eve I quite like a quiet one on the day itself. I don’t know where you get your energy from.’
‘Me too,’ says Mum. ‘I always look forward to a Christmas movie in the evening.’ She smiles warmly at me. ‘With a Baileys or two.’
‘I’ve always thrived on being busy,’ says Sue. ‘I never know what to do with myself when I have some spare time.’
‘She usually drags me out somewhere, which generally involves spending money,’ says Barry good-naturedly and Sue tuts and tells him that you can’t take it with you when you go.
‘You should take some time to relax though, or doing too much can catch up with you,’ I tell Sue, thinking of Dad and his heart problems.
‘Talking of taking a break, I’ll go and pop the kettle on and make us all a brew,’ says Mum.
‘Oh, don’t get me wrong, even though I like being on the go, I do know how to relax,’ Sue tells me. ‘Especially later in the day. I can spend hours in the bath reading. Ask Barry, he’s forever banging on the door telling me to hurry up.’ She chuckles. ‘We really do need to get a second loo downstairs.’
‘Maybe we would have the money to do that if we stop going out for lunch,’ he says and she scrunches up a paper napkin and throws it at him.
I stand back and look at the festooned hall that is beginning to look a bit like a grotto. I hope we haven’t gone overboard, but then, can you ever have too many decorations at Christmas?
‘Will your dad be home for Christmas?’ asks Sue as she straightens a slightly wonky-looking Christmas Santa on the window.
‘Yes, he’s being discharged this afternoon, with an operation scheduled for after Christmas. I did ask him and Rose to join me and Mum for Christmas lunch. At least that way I could keep an eye on him,’ I confide to Sue.
‘Did you? That was a nice idea. What did he say?’ asks Mum, returning from the kitchen carrying a tray with mugs of tea.
‘He turned me down, or, more accurately, Rose did. Dad never actually said anything,’ I tell her, recalling his resigned expression.
‘Well, it was nice of you to ask. Maybe you just put them on the spot, and they will come round to the idea.’
‘Maybe,’ I say doubtfully.
Sue opens her bag and pulls out a box of After Eight mints and offers me one. ‘Dark chocolate is actually proven to be very good for you.’ She winks, before popping one into her mouth.
‘Go on then, if you say so,’ I say, taking one, unable to resist my favourite dark chocolate.
Thinking of the pensioners who are alone at Christmas makes me think of the Christmas I spent by myself, when Mum and Dad decided to go on a cruise. That was before Mum became interested in saving the planet, of course. She would never go on a diesel guzzling ship these days. They had tried to persuade me to go along too as I’d just split with my boyfriend but, in all honesty, I just wanted to binge-watch TV and eat too much food. I painted on my brightest smile and convinced my parents I would spend the day with Gemma, who was actually going to Prague with her boyfriend.
The reality was, I hit the gin and cried through Christmas Day and ended up asking a colleague to do a shift swap, meaning I was back at work for the Boxing Day sales. I told my parents that I’d had a fine old time, and swore Gemma to secrecy about me spending the day alone.
‘Well, I think that’s as much as we can do for now,’ I say and Barry says he will come around Christmas Eve morning and get the tables and chairs out.
‘I’ll be here. We can all give a hand,’ I say, before taking the cups into the kitchen and washing them.
There’s a dark sky looming when we leave the centre at four o’clock, and a stillness in the air. I wouldn’t be surprised to see some snow later.
My grandad taught me how to smell the weather. A fresh, almost earthy scent, means rain, and an unseasonal mildness, while a warm coloured sky often means snow. I always get a headache just before a thunderstorm too.
‘I think it might snow,’ I say, looking up at the grey, slightly orange-streaked sky.
‘Do you? But Christmas is two days away. If it snows today, it will all be mush by Christmas Day,’ says Mum as we walk towards the car.
‘Unless it’s really thick and it sticks. We might get snowed in, like we did years ago,’ I say, recalling the sleigh rides down the nearby hills and cosy nights around the fire sipping mulled wine after a heavy snowfall that hit almost the entire country.
‘Oh, I remember that. 2011, wasn’t it? I dropped my front door keys in the snow, which was almost a foot high,’ Mum says, laughing. ‘It took your dad ages to find them, digging around with a spade, which was baffling as I’d dropped them straight down in front of me.’
That was the last Christmas we spent together as a family, before my parents went their separate ways.
‘Anyway, it had better not snow until after the Christmas Eve lunch,’ I say, thinking of what a headache it would be for the pensioners to get there if it did. ‘It can do what it likes after that.’
‘It’s a shame we can’t order it on a certain date, as I’d like it to be on Christmas Day, after lunch whilst I’m watching Die Hard , which is bound to be on a channel somewhere,’ says Sue.
‘Even though it definitely isn’t a Christmas movie,’ I say, quickly getting into my car and closing the door before she can argue and Mum jumps into the passenger seat.
Sue waves a fist at me before she takes Barry’s arm and, muffled up in their winter coats, they walk over to their house, which is literally across the road from the community centre.
Pulling out of the community centre, a black car approaches and makes its way into the car park. I can see that it is hot shop guy, and I wonder what he is doing here?
Before heading home, I make a detour into town to buy a few things for Dad, and Mum plans to call in at a charity shop to drop a Christmas card off for one of her friends who works there. In town I run into Audrey coming out of Boots.
‘Lauren, hi.’ She smiles warmly. ‘Where are you off to?’
‘Hi, Audrey. I’m just grabbing a couple of things for my dad for when I visit him tomorrow.’ I tell her all about his heart problems. ‘He’s okay, but is scheduled for an operation early in the new year.’
‘Oh no, I’m so sorry to hear that.’ She frowns. ‘My dad died of a heart attack,’ she says, before covering her mouth with her hand. ‘Gosh, I’m so sorry, what a stupid thing to say.’ She looks mortified.
‘Please don’t worry, I know you didn’t mean anything by it.’
‘I’m always putting my foot in it.’ She shakes her head. ‘My mum says she’s surprised I wasn’t born with my foot in my mouth. Sorry,’ she says again.
‘I’m sure that’s not true. You mustn’t let anyone make you feel that way,’ I say gently, realising that even the most innocent remarks can get to us.
‘It’s kind of true though. I kind of just say what’s on my mind. Maybe that’s why I don’t have many friends,’ she admits.
‘Ah, but here’s the thing. Real friends wouldn’t mind, they would know that you don’t mean to be rude. You know the saying, “Those that mind don’t matter, and those that matter don’t mind.”’
‘That’s so true. But I guess it’s making the friendship in the first place I find difficult,’ she admits.
‘You met me and Gemma, didn’t you? Not to mention your new friend from the gingerbread evening,’ I remind her.
‘I did, didn’t I? Fingers crossed I haven’t messed things up so far.’
‘Of course you haven’t, and when you do make new friends, just be honest. Tell them in advance that you have trouble filtering your thoughts,’ I tell her. ‘I have always found that honesty is the best policy in any situation. They might even help you.’
‘You are so wise,’ says Audrey. ‘I’m so glad I met you.’
‘Well it’s easier dispensing advice to other people.’ I shrug.
‘What are you up to tonight then?’ I ask as we fall into step.
‘I’m actually going to an arts and craft sale a few miles away with Ellie, my new friend.’
‘Oh, that sounds like a nice place to pick up a Christmas gift.’
‘That’s what I was thinking. Um, you are welcome to join us,’ she offers.
‘Oh, I wasn’t angling for an invite.’ I laugh. ‘And honestly? I have a ton of things to do. Thanks, though, I hope you enjoy it.’
‘I will.’ She smiles. ‘I’m just heading home to drop this cough medicine off for Mum.’ She lifts a bag. ‘She’s come down with a bit of a virus.’
‘Sorry to hear that. Actually, if you have ten minutes I could give you a lift home? I’m just popping into Bentham’s to buy Dad a new dressing gown. I couldn’t help noticing at the hospital that his current one is a bit well worn.’
‘Sure.’ She smiles. ‘And thanks, that would be great.’
I choose a thick, maroon dressing gown for Dad, along with a spy thriller from WH Smith. Dad has always enjoyed a good spy thriller and as he is supposed to be taking things easy at home, hopefully he will appreciate it. Mum texts me and I tell her I will meet her in the car park and I introduce Audrey to Mum when she arrives.
‘Actually, I was wondering,’ Audrey begins when we pull up outside her house. ‘Do you need an extra pair of hands at all at the pensioners’ Christmas lunch?’
‘We can always do with an extra pair of hands,’ I tell her and Mum agrees. ‘Why, are you offering to help?’
‘I was thinking about it. To tell you the truth, I was trying to persuade Mum to go along, but she won’t hear of it.’ She fiddles with the strap on her bag. ‘And I suppose it’s too late now anyway.’ She looks at me.
‘No, really, there is always room for one more. Honestly, we have a mountain of food this year. Maybe you could ask her again?’ I suggest.
‘I will, because I think she needs to make some friends. She doesn’t go out anymore since Dad died,’ she confides. ‘I think she feels a bit trapped inside the house.’
‘But she encourages you to make friends?’
‘She does.’ Audrey nods. ‘She told me she doesn’t want me to end up like her,’ says Audrey, and my heart goes out to her mum. ‘She tells me I ought to be going out with people my own age, and not hanging around with her. But I just feel a bit mean leaving her alone every time I go out of the house.’
‘Oh, Audrey, I’m sorry you feel like that, but you have to go to work, your mum knows that. And your mum is right in encouraging you to go and try different things, but maybe we could help her to do the same? You know, she is lucky to have a daughter like you.’
‘Thanks,’ says Audrey coyly.
‘Try and get your mum to come,’ Mum says gently. ‘The first step is the most difficult but after that it isn’t so bad. She will meet lots of nice people at the community centre.’
‘I’ll try.’ She smiles.
‘Anyway, try and let me know by tomorrow, just so we can set an extra place. But, of course, you are welcome to come and help out regardless. I can even arrange a lift for you both.’
‘Really? Oh wow, that might be a good thing. Mum hates the thought of buses, and I imagine it will be difficult to get a taxi on Christmas Eve. Perhaps getting a lift might encourage her.’
‘I will personally collect you both, I promise. So I take it you’re not working Christmas Eve then?’
‘No, I actually finish tomorrow until after Christmas, as I worked until late Christmas Eve last year. We have a rota.’
‘Then you must definitely come along to the centre on Christmas Eve,’ I tell her.
‘Thanks, Lauren.’ She smiles. ‘I will almost certainly be there.’
‘Great. Speak to you soon.’
I notice the net curtains part as Audrey’s mum peers out and watches me drive off as Audrey walks up the path. I do hope they will both come along on Christmas Eve. I don’t like the thought of them spending Audrey’s Christmas holidays stuck inside the house, her feeling guilty about leaving her mum.