Chapter 2
? Solo Christmas ahead
‘Hey, Mum.’
‘Hi, sweetheart. How’s work today?’
A total write-off, Mum, but I’m hiding it well.
I swiftly swallowed my gut response; Mum always had enough on her plate without my woes piling her worries up even higher.
Even discounting my hangover, everything about today was hard after last night’s email thunderbolt and the resulting sleepless night I’d had.
Not that I could ever talk to Mum – or anyone – about that, of course.
No one knew I’d been emailing my dead sister every single day for two decades.
‘It’s fine. My boss is away so it’s pretty full-on this week. I’m about to go into a meeting so I can only talk for a minute. Is it urgent?’
‘Oh, I was hoping to catch you on your lunch break.’
I stifled a sigh. No matter how many times I told my parents that I left my flat at seven in the morning each day and rarely stopped until I got back twelve or so hours later, they still operated under the assumption that I enjoyed a daily lunch hour and got home in time for tea at five thirty.
After all, that’s what my dad’s full-time working routine had been like at my age.
They couldn’t get their heads around the concept that the working practices of a small-town accountancy office in the twentieth century and an international online publication in the twenty-first didn’t overlap in the slightest.
‘Yeah, Mum, like I’ve said before, I don’t often get time to have a—’
‘I’ll keep this brief, then. Your dad and I – well, this is kind of awkward…’
‘Just say it, I’m sure it’s fine.’
‘Okay, well, we’ve been invited to Auntie Sandra’s place in Florida…’
Oh wow, this was big. Mum and Dad had barely slept in a different bed for the last twenty years, let alone gone overseas.
‘Ooh, at last – get you!’
‘…for Christmas.’
Ouch. Not that our family Christmases were particularly joyful occasions these days. But they still felt important, somehow.
‘Oh.’
‘Yes, I know. Not the best timing, hmm?’
‘You’re going, then?’
‘Well, we’ve not made up our minds yet. We’d hate to let you and your brother down, but you know how much we’ve been meaning to get out there at some point.
Her friends Neil and Nina have had to pull out – something about Nina’s inner ear – and we think it’s finally the right time to go.
Your dad and I were just saying that it may even be the last chance we get. ’
‘Mum, you’re sixty-five, not ninety-five. Have you spoken to Josh about this yet?’
‘He just replied to my message. He’s fine with it. Got the impression he’s been under some pressure from Saskia to spend Christmas with the in-laws, anyway.’
I rolled my eyes as I squashed my handset between my ear and my shoulder while topping up my stainless-steel water bottle ready for my meeting.
‘Fair enough. Have you spoken to him recently?’
‘Not on the phone, no. You know what he’s like.’
Like me, my older brother, Josh, had moved to London after graduating from uni.
But even though we only lived a few miles apart, we never met up outside of family occasions.
I mean, why would we? His wellness lifestyle of fitness, ‘clean eating’ and online influencing couldn’t be further away from my sedentary instincts, shameless sugar addiction and unwillingness to engage in any social media platforms at all.
‘So, what are you thinking, love?’
‘Oh, you should totally go. I’ll be fine. I’m sure I’ll find a plan B easily enough.’
I didn’t tell her that my plan B would probably involve a day weeping in the bath while eating a three-day-old festive sandwich from Pret.
‘Are you sure? I can always ask Sandra if there’s room for one more?’
I grimaced. The thought of spending a week with Mum and her well-meaning but overbearingly wealthy sister – their relationship revolving around the unspoken agreement that they’d never acknowledge, let alone discuss, their political differences – filled me with immediate existential dread.
‘No, no, no, no, no.’ Did I say ‘no’ too many times? Oh well. ‘It’s fine. I’ll be fine. It’ll be… character-building.’
‘Hmm, if you say so. Well, to make up for the change of plan we’d love you and Josh to come round for a Sunday roast this weekend. I’ll send you both the details on WhatsApp.’
Unlike other families, we’d ice-skated around the convenience of forming a collective WhatsApp group. I think we all knew that the banality of GIFs and emojis would be completely at odds with everything else that would undoubtedly go unsaid.
‘I’ll invite Saskia, too, but you know what she’s like,’ Mum said.
Huh, well, that would be a wasted invitation. Josh’s wife had made it perfectly clear that she couldn’t find us less interesting if she tried. I couldn’t help but think that the news of my parents’ last-minute December trip would probably be the highlight of her year.
‘She won’t come, Mum.’
‘Hmmm. Well, I’ve got to keep trying, haven’t I?
Right, I’ve got to go, your dad’s got his finger hovering over the mouse to buy flights and he’s paranoid the prices are going to shoot up if we leave it too long.
You know how jumpy he gets after that time he held off from booking Portugal until payday only for the prices to have doubled by then.
’ Ah, ‘Algarve-gate’. We’d ended up going to Weymouth that year instead.
‘Well, tell Dad to complete that transaction. Honestly, I’ll be fine. I’ve got to head into that meeting now so…’
‘DO IT, BOB. Huh? Oh yes. Look, let’s speak about this properly later, okay?’
‘Sure. Bye, Mum.’
‘Bye, love.’
I slid my phone into my skirt pocket and started climbing the staircase towards the executive offices.
Mum’s phone call had caught me totally off guard.
On the one hand, I was thrilled they were finally going on this long-overdue trip.
But, on the other, I had absolutely no clue what I was going to do with myself in their absence.
The routine of going to Mum and Dad’s for the festive period was hardwired into me, and the thought of not going there felt massively discombobulating, especially after last night.
I reached the corridor of The Helix ’s transparent ‘collaboration cabins’ (the trade press had had a field day with that one) and double-checked the room number that I’d scribbled at the top of my notepad before sliding the heavy, glass door open.
The meeting had been put into my calendar last-minute by the director of operations – a damp and permanently harangued-looking man in his early fifties called Ian – after he realised my boss, Maggie, was on leave.
‘Ah – Mally, is it?’
Charming, I’d only worked there for almost ten years. Though I did have a carefully cultivated air of forgettability about me, so I couldn’t really blame him.
I activated smiley-Mally mode. ‘That’s me!’
‘Right. Sorry to put this on you, but in Maggie’s absence Izzy thought you’d be the best person for this.’
Izzy, Ian’s executive assistant, who was expected to attend every meeting with him, confirmed his summation with a flicker of a smile and a nod. Was it me or were they both looking even more grim than usual?
‘Mally,’ Ian said, placing his hands either side of his laptop and looking at me intently as if he was about to tell me that Santa wasn’t real. ‘We need to send an all-staff email about an… unexpected office closure before Christmas.’
Well, this was a surprise. I lowered my eyebrows as quickly as I could and shifted my expression into one that I hoped emanated professional intrigue.
‘Sure, no problem. What are the key messages we want to get across to employees?’
I turned to a fresh page in my notebook, my pen poised. Everyone else took their laptops into meetings but I preferred the traditional note-taking method. Izzy shot Ian a look before he replied.
‘Ah, well, we were hoping we could use your comms expertise to help us with that.’
Ian was now wearing a hopeful expression that reminded me of the way Elle’s three-year-old daughter, Frannie, looked at me when I was eating something sugary in her presence. I eventually deduced that he was waiting for me to talk.
‘Oh, right, so let’s start with the basic info,’ I said. ‘What date is the office closing and for how long?’
‘Of course, of course. So – where are we now, Izz?’
‘It’s Wednesday 3 December… 2025.’ Izzy shot me an amused look as she said the year after a perfectly timed comedic beat. I grinned as I exaggeratedly underlined the full date, including the year, in my notebook. Ian didn’t react.
‘The third, then. So, let me see, let me see… yes, here we go. The office was due to be closed for the annual festive shutdown between Wednesday 24 December and Friday 2 January. But we need to close the week before that this year, so that’ll be Monday 15 December.’
In less than two weeks? Shit, this would get tongues wagging. I jotted down the dates.
‘Okay, got it. So, why is that?’ I asked.
‘We’ve got some… operational issues to take care of in the office that week.’
Oh God, this was like pulling teeth. No wonder Maggie referred to him as ‘Iancompetent’ after a drink or two.
‘I see.’ I didn’t see. ‘But, ha ha, you know what they’re like down in editorial; the rumour mill will go into overdrive. So I reckon it might be good to tell staff a bit more than that, if that makes sense?’
‘I told you that wouldn’t be enough, Ian. Shall I…?’ Izzy said.
Ian sighed and nodded once at Izzy, looking defeated and downcast.
I took a long sip of water to avoid the atmosphere of awkwardness that had descended around us. Argh, too much water. I mopped my chin with the back of my hand, hopefully before either of them noticed the dribble.