Chapter 28 #2
‘I wish. No this one is more like hate mail…’ Nathalie’s Christmas bell earrings jangled as she collapsed back onto the sofa.
‘Pass it here,’ Johnny said. ‘May I?’
‘Knock yourself out.’
Johnny proceeded to read the message aloud.
Dear Not So Scrummy Mummy. I wholeheartedly agree. You are not scrummy in the slightest.
Johnny winced.
‘Keep going…’ Nathalie said, ‘It gets worse!’
Johnny cleared his throat.
Your bad dye job, over plucked eyebrows and disastrous dress sense quite frankly appal me.
What intrigues me the most is why you think we should care about the vacant drivel you deem worthy of posting.
Surely you would be better off putting your time towards looking after your children than wasting it on a series of posts that I can honestly say are the most boring, pointless musings I have ever had the displeasure of reading.
I won’t be bothering with your content again.
Why don’t you do us all a favour and go back to the day job. Happy Christmas.
‘How rude!’ Helena could hardly believe her ears. ‘Who writes something like that? And on Christmas Day of all days?’
‘I know!’ Nathalie said before promptly bursting into tears.
Helena reached out and put her arm around her shoulders, giving her a squeeze. ‘Ignore it. People like that can’t think of anything nice to say about anyone.’
‘Exactly,’ Johnny agreed. ‘They spend their whole lives traipsing around the internet looking for people to be mean to.’
‘I know. Normally I’ve got a very thick skin,’ Nathalie sniffed. ‘I’m just tipsy, that’s all.’
‘You know what they say,’ Johnny said. ‘If you haven’t got something nice to say you shouldn’t say anything at all. But some people just can’t help themselves. And I can assure you, I love your dress sense, and your hair. And your eyebrows… for what it’s worth.’
‘So do I!’ Helena said. ‘I bet you get just as many messages telling you how you’ve changed their life and inspired them for the better. I love your posts.’
‘You’ve seen them?’ Nathalie seemed surprised.
‘Yes I have. I think you’re amazing. And so funny.’
‘Oh thanks Helena, that means a lot.’ Nathalie reached for an abandoned Christmassy napkin and blew her nose noisily.
‘And I’m about to. I shall be your latest follower,’ Johnny announced.
‘I’m not sure you’re quite my target audience,’ Nathalie laughed. ‘But thanks anyway.’
‘I’m sure it will be enlightening!’
‘Oh god, I’m not sure I want you to know…’
At that moment a blood-curdling yell echoed through the air, followed by shouts of ‘Mum! Come! Quick!’
Helena, Nathalie and Johnny rushed outside to find Meg lying flat on the ground, clutching her wrist and rolling around in pain.
‘She fell off, the bench,’ Ned shrugged.
‘Oh Meg, sweetie.’ Nathalie rushed to her daughter’s side as Maisy looked on, aghast.
‘Can you bend it?’
Meg whimpered, tears streaming down her cheeks.
Thankfully, after a lengthy examination it appeared that the wrist was not broken, which was lucky as no one was sober enough to drive her to A&E.
When the shock of falling had subsided and Meg had been placated with a promise of watching a movie with a bag of peas on her wrist, Nathalie and her kids set off for Stable Cottages.
As they left, Johnny and Helena closed the front door behind them and turned to survey the damage.
The house looked like it had been struck by a tornado of glitter-covered wrapping paper, abandoned drinks, segments of pulled crackers, discarded paper crowns and dirty dishes.
It felt a lot less crowded with four fewer bodies crammed inside it.
Margery was still upstairs, worn out after the festivities.
Johnny played some old school Christmas tunes on the speaker and they set about clearing up, despite Helena’s insistence that Johnny should sit down and relax having done most of the cooking, apart from the Christmas pudding, which Helena had made and set ablaze in a flicker of blue flames to great applause.
‘No way, we will do it together and it’ll be much faster. Then we can collapse in front of a movie, let me just chuck a few more logs on.’
Helena made a start while Johnny stoked the fire and then nipped out to feed the pigs.
While Podge and Perkins merrily chomped on their own version of a Christmas dinner, Helena and Johnny cleared the sitting room and the kitchen.
They loaded the machine, washed and dried all the pots and pans, storing the leftovers in the fridge while singing along to the Christmas music as they worked.
Helena wondered once again whether Johnny was interested in Nathalie.
She knew he must find her attractive, she was undeniably beautiful.
She had been watching Nathalie to see if the feeling was mutual.
She had noticed Nathalie’s gaze lingering on Johnny once or twice over the course of the day.
And Johnny had seemed quite protective after reading that horrible message.
When all the jobs were done they settled on the sofa, staying up well past midnight watching old movies in front of the fire. Margery had reappeared briefly, joining them for an hour or so for some cheese and crackers before disappearing back to bed.
As the credits for Meet Me in St. Louis rolled across the screen Helena looked over at Johnny lying next to her on the sofa.
He had fallen asleep. She turned the television off, enjoying the crackle of the fire, watching the flickering flames dance about.
Her gaze settled on Johnny. From this angle she noticed that his dark lashes were much curlier than she had realised.
His long legs were stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankle.
He wore a wine-coloured jumper that looked irresistibly soft.
She fought the urge to lay her exhausted head on his shoulder, to snuggle into the warmth of his body, pull the rug over them both and fall asleep.
She missed the physicality of having a partner.
She missed Noah’s musky smell, the weight of him, the solid reassuring presence of his body next to her, on top of her, his arm around her.
She dragged herself up, placing the rug over Johnny and putting the fire guard in place.
She went up to bed, brushed her teeth, took off her makeup and changed into her pyjamas.
As she climbed under the single duvet and tried to get comfortable on the narrow futon, shivering as her skin got used to the change of temperature after the warmth of the sitting room below, she thought back to the last four Christmases she had shared with Noah and compared them with the day she had just had.
It had been a day full of laughter, love, friendship and companionship.
There had been tears, though not from her for a change, and the usual touch of drama it seemed Christmas was never without, but there had been no arguments, no cross words, no sniping comments about the cooking, no rolled eyes, no patronising put downs, just a group of people getting along perfectly well.
Life without Noah really was a much simpler world, and she was beginning to relish it.
She suspected she would never have been strong enough to leave him, and for the first time she felt truly grateful for all the awful times that had pushed their relationship past breaking point.
For if it hadn’t broken so completely beyond repair, she may well have been trapped in it for the rest of her life.
She would have had Raffy, of course, but she was starting to wonder if even her love for him would have made up for the rest.