Chapter 17
Amy: All I Want For Christmas Is You
I realise it’s almost blasphemy to say it, but I really hate that ‘Fairytale of New York’ song.
What I don’t understand is that I seem to be the only one.
Why does everyone else love it? I love Christmas – and the last thing I want to associate with it is people having a really ugly row.
I know rows are not uncommon at Christmas, but who needs to hear people singing a fake row?
Especially at Christmas. Give me Slade or Kelly Clarkson any day.
Except this Christmas is different. I can’t get excited about it like I used to.
It was probably always true, but this year even more so, that all I want for Christmas is James.
But, of course, I can’t have him. I’d actually like to cancel the whole thing this year and pretend it’s not happening.
But you can’t, can you? Everyone else still wants the perfect Christmas.
So I’m just having to go along with it, trying to make the best of it, even though on the inside I’ll be crying because James isn’t with me.
He always made Christmas so special. Nothing was too much trouble.
I loved having Christmas lights on the house – nothing garish, but some of those pretty icicle lights that look like they’re dripping, and a couple of deer on the front lawn.
Oh, and some little fairy lights on the one tree in the front garden.
He’d happily get out and put all those up for me.
It was a doddle for him, but I’m rubbish at things like that.
I wasn’t going to bother with the lights this year, but two of his mates from the regiment called round a couple of weeks ago just to see how I was doing – so sweet of them – and they noticed the lights weren’t up, so they offered to put them up for me, and wouldn’t take no for an answer.
The craziest thing about this Christmas is that even though James isn’t here, I’ve ended up agreeing to spend the day with the ‘in-laws’.
You’d think that’d be the one benefit of his not being here – that I wouldn’t have to go to their house for Christmas any more.
But no. My mum did invite me to go with her on a luxury cruise in the Caribbean, but I honestly couldn’t think of anything I’d like to do less.
Being trapped with the same people for ten days in one giant over-eating and over-drinking session is my idea of hell.
And add to that having to share a cabin with my mum – even if it is a Premium Oceanview Stateroom – no, definitely not something I’d have on my bucket list.
Once I’d got Mum off my back, I kind of parked Christmas at the back of my mind. I didn’t really want to think about it. But then Carol caught me off guard.
One Saturday in early November, I’d popped into my favourite little card and gift shop in Chipping Wotton and was just browsing the cycling gifts section when in walked Carol. Of course, I didn’t spot her in time to put back the bicycle-shaped bottle opener, so there I was, caught red-handed.
She looked down at what I was holding and dived straight in without even so much as a greeting.
‘Oh Amy, what on earth are you looking at cycling gifts for?’ And she took the bottle opener out of my hand and placed it back on the shelf. ‘Now, what have you got planned for Christmas Day?’ she demanded.
‘Err, I, err…’ and, not for the first time, I wished I was one of those people who can make stuff up instantly and get out of a tight spot that way.
‘Right. Well, that’s settled then. You’ll come to us for Christmas. Charles won’t be drinking, so I’ll get him to pick you up and drop you home, that way you can have a few glasses of wine. Rachel will be over, and it’ll be nice for you two to get together. Must be a while since you met up.’
Rachel is James’ sister. And James’ funeral was the last time I saw her.
Are these sorts of things really not imprinted on Carol’s mind like they are on mine?
Or is it just that she’s so determined not to let the loss affect her that she has closed that side of herself down?
I know she means to be kind, and it will be lovely to see Rachel – we get on well, but we don’t get together often because she lives in Paris.
She’s got a really high-flying job in banking over there.
Even so, quite honestly, I’d have preferred to spend Christmas Day on my own this year.
But Carol was never going to understand, never mind accept that.
Charles, James’ dad, is a recently-retired university professor.
He was always a quiet and considered man, but the loss of James really hit him hard, and he completely withdrew into his shell.
Carol doesn’t approve, of course, but there’s not a lot she can do about it.
Nowadays, Charles spends most of his time in his study.
His passion in life is French literature, particularly Proust. He doesn’t do small talk.
But he’ll happily discuss French novels and poetry for hours.
Unfortunately, the works of Proust are not an especially popular topic of conversation.
I get on well with him because I minored in French at uni, and Proust was one of the authors I studied.
So here I am, on Christmas morning, pulling on as festive an outfit as I can face (well, there are silvery threads in the black jumper), and piling on make-up to draw attention away from my red eyes.
Yes, I was tearful this morning. It was inevitable really.
How can you not feel sad when it’s Christmas Day and your favourite person in the world has gone AWOL?
I’m not very good at praying, but I had prayed for a miracle for today. I had pleaded with God to send James back to me. It’s like when I was little and every year I used to write to Father Christmas, asking him for a new dad. I knew it was hopeless, but every year I asked anyway.
So, of course with the inevitable disappointment, I am feeling extra rubbish today.
And it didn’t help seeing James’ Christmas present sitting there unopened under the tree.
Yes, I know I was being ridiculous actually buying him a present.
What was I thinking? I really don’t know.
But I was out shopping with Olive in town a couple of weeks ago and I saw the most beautiful watch in the jewellers in the high street, and I just knew he’d love it.
It has a deep blue dial, and a smooth tan leather strap, and it’s even shock-resistant and water-resistant, so it’s both practical and smart.
I managed to resist the temptation to get it while Olive was with me, but afterwards I nipped back and bought it.
I just couldn’t help it. It felt too awful not to get him anything at all – just somehow too final.
I know, it was insane. Stupider still, I went and wrapped it when I got home, and put it under the tree.
I’d sort of forgotten about it as other presents were piled there.
Honestly, my friends have been so generous with gifts this year – probably all worried I’d wake up on Christmas Day with nothing to open.
But then this morning, after I’d unwrapped a few things, I went to take one more gift to open before going out to Carol’s and there it was, James’ present.
And of course just seeing it made me burst into tears yet again.
Mostly crying because I miss him so much, but also crying a little bit because I never wanted to become a crazy person, and this grief is driving me to do crazy things.
Na?vely, I’d imagined it would be just the immediate family on Christmas Day.
But it turns out Carol has invited her neighbours on both sides to join us.
The couple from number seventy-three have brought their two grown-up sons, Gareth and Owen, and Carol is busy introducing them to everyone, and now it’s my turn.
‘This is Amy,’ she says. ‘Amy’s in marketing.
Writes all sorts of clever words to get people to buy things. ’
Gareth smiles kindly. ‘I remember James talking about you. His fiancée, yeah?’
‘Just his girlfriend – Amy and James never got engaged,’ Carol jumps in, before I get a chance to reply. ‘Amy’s not seeing anyone right now.’
Oh, my goodness. Surely not! Carol is not seriously trying to matchmake on Christmas Day!
I try to mouth ‘Help!’ at Rachel, but she’s caught up in her own matchmaking nightmare, also courtesy of her mother – with Finn, the twenty-something-year-old grandson of the elderly couple from number seventy-seven.
Finn looks a lot more enthusiastic than Rachel.
But Carol is determined to do her bit for the cause of true love.
She’s a very organised hostess, and she has put little festive place cards with names written on them in her best calligraphy at each place setting at the table.
Rachel’s place card is next to Finn’s, then mine is next to Finn’s on the other side, and on the other side of mine is Gareth’s place.
There’s no point trying to switch the cards.
Carol will have positioned them very deliberately, and she’s not discreet enough to let it go, she’d definitely say something, which would just make things doubly embarrassing.
Gareth seems to be a really nice guy. But I just can’t get my head around the idea of being with anyone else. Will that change over time? Who knows? It’s been nearly a year now, and nothing’s changed in my heart so far.
‘So, what do you do in your spare time, Amy?’ Gareth asks, as the canapés are passed round by another willing neighbour.