Chapter 28
The hours after the show were a blur of prosecco, Pimm’s, and clinking of glasses.
Pim was a rip-roaring success, with so much praise and calls for her time that I barely got a few minutes with her before Josh and Megan bundled me into a taxi to Megan’s flat to meet Bob, who had arrived earlier to babysit Alfie, and who had volunteered to drive us all down to Kent after the event.
It was Christmas Eve, after all; there were no trains running this late.
‘First pay the car tax,’ Bob demanded, when we arrived, opening his arms as Josh attempted to fit his suitcase of just Christmas jumpers into Bob’s twenty-year-old Mazda.
‘That’s not going to fit,’ Megan insisted, watching on with disinterest as she strapped Alfie into his car seat.
‘How are you? How’d the event go?’ Bob asked, never once letting me actually answer before he asked the next question. ‘Do you want the heating on? I’ve just installed a CD player. Do you want me to put on Band Aid?’
It was a bit of a squeeze in the back, with Alfie in the baby seat and Josh and me pressed together like sardines – of course Megan had bagged the front seat – but we made it to Kent eventually, with only a few bruises from speed bumps and one tiny kerb crawl.
‘Your mum will be asleep,’ Bob said, taking one look at the mess of suitcases and squashed overnight bags in his boot before heading inside without offering to help. ‘She’s getting up at five to baste the turkey.’
‘What time’s lunch?’ Josh asked.
‘Two,’ Megan and I said in unison, and the first ounce of Christmas Eve excitement began to glow in my midriff.
Christmas Eve could be the most magical day of the year, I decided. Christmas Day’s wonderful – or so I’d heard – but the possibility you feel on Christmas Eve is overwhelming. Especially when surrounded by loved ones.
‘I’m going to bed as well,’ I told Josh and Megan, who looked surprised that I didn’t want to stay up for yet another toast to my successful event with Pim.
But I wanted to get tucked up in the Christmas pyjamas I knew Denise would have laid out on my bed, with a hot water bottle and a stupidly sugary hot chocolate from Bob, knowing that the presents would be pulled from the garage by Denise at 6.
00 a.m. – after she basted the turkey – and would be arranged under the tree by Bob before we rose the following morning.
Despite years of feeling an unspoken sense of anxiety around Christmas, around being the foster daughter in a happy family, who should always strive to be a good girl and not an inconvenience, I realised that I was never made to feel that way.
I kept those feelings alive, while Denise and Bob only ever kept the traditions.
Traditions I was and, still was, a part of.
I knew why that still felt complicated, and letting myself enjoy it felt a bit like tempting fate, or betraying a younger version of myself who was trying to keep her mother’s memory alive.
But loving Denise and Bob would never take that away, it never had.
Because, however old we got, the traditions of a family Christmas lived on, because they were my family.
I just had to let go of how they became my family, and trust that they were.
They’d never let me down yet. And I doubted they ever would.
Especially as I reached for my laid-out pyjamas, thinking about what was waiting for all of us the next day.
I didn’t want to rush through it or keep myself at arm’s length any more. I wanted Christmas to come as quickly as possible. Not because I was afraid it might disappear, but because I finally felt ready to be part of it.
‘Merry Christmas!’ Denise, Bob, Megan, Josh, and I chorused around the dinner table the following day.
As expected, the anticipation had been worth it. Christmas morning was perfect, and then some.
Josh had woken Megan and me up at 6.00 a.m. by landing on my air mattress and practically launching me into Megan’s bed, as he declared it was Christmas like he was a member of Wizzard – but with much better hair.
He had been infectiously jolly all morning, cracking jokes and making us all ache with laughter as we hugged and kissed, wishing all the tidings of the season like a picture-perfect postcard.
I noticed Josh’s jokes increased when we were opening presents.
Megan had become subdued as she helped Alfie open presents from her and Alex, every one of them labelled with ‘Love from Mum & Dad’.
‘Have him open mine,’ Josh said, handing Megan a packet of wrapping paper, which bemused us all greatly.
‘Uhh, Josh?’ I didn’t even need to ask before he went off into an explanation.
‘Everyone knows that a child of Alfie’s age doesn’t give two hoots about Christmas presents, they just love the wrapping. So that’s what I got him.’
The fact that it was Harrods wrapping, perfectly packaged in cellophane, and not just regular ripped-up wrapping, was lost on Josh. But we had all eaten our words when later Alfie was screaming in delight, rolling and ripping up the expensive paper.
‘You may now call me Uncle G.O.A.T.’
‘Huh?’ Bob looked confused.
‘Uncle Greatest. Of. All. Time.’ Josh grinned.
Now we all wore ill-fitting Christmas crowns in a multitude of colours.
Mine was yellow, while Megan and Josh both sported pink ones.
Alfie’s child-form-fitting blue crown matched his Chelsea-themed Christmas jumper – which Bob ignored with little grace – while Denise had had trouble getting her crown over her light-up Christmas antlers.
Bob’s crown slipped off his bald head with no hair to statically attach it to, but he kept replacing it without fail.
‘Cheers, my dears!’ Denise said jovially, reaching across the table as the tumble for the gravy boats and sauces began.
‘Who has the horseradish spoon?’
‘Don’t pass the salt! It’s bad luck.’
‘Don’t scrimp on the gravy, there’s more in the kitchen.’
And then the food swap and eyeing up took over.
‘Don’t you touch my Yorkshire!’
‘Josh has one more roast potato than me.’
‘No, he doesn’t. You each have four big ones.’
‘I always forget how much I like roast parsnips.’
‘Do you want mine?’
‘Swap you a stuffing ball?’
It wasn’t long before the food was devoured: a rogue stuffing ball, splashes of gravy on the Christmas-themed table cover, and six very full people lolling back in their chairs, the only sign that it had happened in the first place.
‘I can’t eat another morsel,’ Megan said, placing down her glass of fizz and rubbing her belly with satisfaction, as we all groaned in agreement.
I stayed standing, checking my phone which kept buzzing. At first, I thought it was Christmas well wishes, but glancing down I saw notifications from Elijah.
Groaning, I put my phone back in my pocket.
‘We do have some homemade trifle, if anyone wants it,’ Bob said after a beat, leaning back in his chair, bouncing Alfie on his lap. ‘My speciality.’ There was a momentary stillness, broken only by Alfie’s gurgling ah-ah-ah, as Bob bounced him even more.
‘I suppose a spoonful wouldn’t hurt?’ Denise said, already standing and grabbing her pudding spoon.
‘Somebody go with her before she eats the whole thing,’ Bob suggested, looking to me as the person closest to the door. I stood with an unbecoming groan, pausing only to come back for my own spoon playfully.
I found Denise, as Bob predicted, shovelling a mouthful of trifle straight from the decorative serving bowl into her mouth.
‘Save some for me.’ I helped myself, scooping up a white chocolate Malteser from the cream for good measure.
‘Why does trifle always taste better at Christmas?’ Denise asked, reaching for the waiting pudding bowls and proper serving spoon resting on the counter.
‘It’s the sherry, it’s special Christmas sherry.’
‘That must be it.’ She handed me the first bowl so that she could scoop up the gooey trifle with one hand and protect the serving bowl with the other. ‘So, are you excited for the new job?’ She never once looked up from serving. ‘How’s the boss? Still emailing you?’
‘You caught that?’ I said, my voice dropping so the others wouldn’t hear in the dining room. Not that they could from the way they were all chortling with laughter as the sound of Alfie ripping up Josh’s wrapping paper continued in the background.
‘Of course,’ Denise said, stopping scooping for just a moment. ‘Hard to miss the constant dinging. What does he want, today of all days?’
‘Wishing me a merry Christmas,’ I said, and with a sigh I admitted, ‘And asking if I’m ready to start my new role.’
Denise sucked at her teeth. ‘Has the move got you worried?’
I shrugged. ‘It’s not the move exactly, it’s everything that goes with that.’
‘The travel? The stress? The unpacking?’ she suggested.
I shook my head. ‘Not being here again.’
‘Aha.’ Denise smiled softly, putting down the spoon and taking the last bowl of trifle from my hand before positioning both of her hands on my shoulder.
‘I know that what I’m about to say is going to come across all protective and mum-like, and you have my permission to completely disregard me as a silly old fart, but…
’ She smiled as I laughed at her jolliness – helped in part by the Christmas sherry she had no doubt been sampling earlier.
‘If you don’t want to go to Toronto, my darling, don’t go. ’
‘I have a contract.’
‘With a probation period?’ she asked.
I thought for a moment. There was a probation period of one month.
‘That’s usually just a chance for them to get rid of me if they don’t think I’m up to snuff.’ I began to laugh. ‘Do you think I should sabotage my work?’
‘Oh no,’ she said seriously, releasing my arms. ‘That’d give you a bad reputation. No, I meant that it’s just as much a probationary period for you as it is for them. You can leave without notice in that period, right?’
‘I mean, probably?’ I said, shrugging and picking up two of the bowls to return to the dining room and the suddenly ravenous guests. Megan was shouting, ‘Where’s my trifle!’ despite only complaining about her fullness five minutes before.