Chapter 4
Diane was staring at a screen at her kitchen table. Her finger poised over the mouse. She felt anxious and nervous. This moment could actually make or break Christmas. This moment could either mean a whole load of Christmas stress evaporated in a second or she would spend the next few weeks with an awful feeling in the pit of her stomach.
She checked her watch – 11.59 p.m. One minute to go until success or failure.
She heard the front door click. Leon back, trying to sneak in, thinking she’d be asleep. The door to the kitchen swung open and she noted the look of surprise-slash-horror that she was still up.
‘Back late?’ she asked as casually as she could.
‘Oh, er, I went out with the cast for a drink after we were all done. It was Baz’s birthday so I thought I’d better go along just to make sure he didn’t get hammered and so couldn’t make the matinée tomorrow.’
‘And did he?’
‘What?’
‘Get hammered?’
‘Of course he did, he’s a raging alcoholic. If he wasn’t so damn good at being a pantomime dame I never would have cast him. No one can wear a wig encrusted with replicas of the entire crown jewels as well as Baz can. Still, at least I know he’s tucked up in bed. We shared a taxi home.’
‘Just you,’ she asked casually.
‘Yes, well, me, Baz and Amy – you know, my assistant director.’
Diane took note of the use of ‘my’ rather than ‘the’.
‘Oh, you’ve worked with her before, haven’t you?’
‘Yes, a few times. You remember she worked with me at The Regents Theatre at the end of the summer.’
Diane did remember. Only too well. Something seemed to have shifted in their marriage since then. It was barely perceptible but it was something. He became actually a bit happier, a bit more relaxed. She knew she hadn’t changed – she was still constantly mildly frustrated and resentful of what she perceived to be his much easier role in their marriage, which clouded many of their interactions. As they’d made the slow descent into autumn he had listened even less when she complained; allowed it to glide over him even more. It puzzled and vexed her. Why was he allowed to be happier when she felt as if she was getting more miserable?
‘Bloody hell,’ she said, slamming her hand down on the kitchen table as she glanced back down at her screen.
‘What is it?’ asked Leon.
‘It’s 12.04 a.m., that’s what it is.’ She frantically pushed keys on her laptop.
‘Come on, you bastard,’ she screeched at the screen. ‘Stop winding me up and access the damn screen.’
‘Can I help?’ asked Leon.
Diane couldn’t even look at him. It was all his fault. Coming home at midnight and distracting her. She thought she had it all organised. All planned, and now Christmas was ruined.
She gasped as the small disc in the middle of the screen stopped whirring and a new screen appeared, showing a raft of dates and times and lots of little boxes saying the worst words that Diane could possibly imagine.
‘NOT AVAILABLE’.
Already, at 12.07 a.m., there were no food delivery slots available for the whole of Christmas week from the supermarket. This was a disaster of epic proportions.
‘What’s wrong?’ asked Leon. She turned the screen to face him.
‘I don’t understand what that is,’ he said.
Diane put her head in her hands in despair yet again. How could her husband have never seen a supermarket delivery schedule screen? He’d lived through a pandemic, for goodness’ sake. It wasn’t like he was a key worker or anything. Although she suspected Leon thought the role of theatre director was key. He’d sat on his arse all day every day, mostly running online rehearsals for shows that never happened. Keeping his hand in is what he had told her, whilst she slogged her way through countless council meetings, working out plans for opening buildings for vaccinations or what to do with the homeless. But had she never once got him to do the online food shop? What on earth had she been thinking?
She looked at him.
‘That screen means we will have to go to a supermarket in person, in Christmas week. Do you have any idea what kind of hell that is?’
‘Can’t you get a delivery?’
‘That’s what I’ve just been trying to do. They’re all booked up.’
‘Can’t you try a different supermarket?’
‘They’ll be booked up too.’
‘That’s a shame.’ He turned away.
‘Perhaps we could go on the Wednesday really early in the morning – before it gets busy,’ she mused.
‘The Wednesday before Christmas?’
‘Yes.’
‘I won’t be able to help you there. Wednesday is matinée day. You know how tiring those days are.’
Diane looked at him. Leon was directing Snow White and the Seven Elves in the West End. A fairy tale crossed with that most British of Christmas traditions, the pantomime. A very curious mixture of storytelling, singing, slapstick comedy and rampant innuendo. If you listened to Leon, it was the most exhausting thing he had ever directed, but it wasn’t as if he was acting in the pantomime or anything. From what she could tell, he just watched at this stage. What was tiring about that?
‘Well, maybe Tuesday then?’
‘We’ll see,’ he said, running himself a glass of water from the tap. ‘If I still have a full cast intact then I might be all right.’
Diane looked down at the list of jobs next to her. ‘Book supermarket slot’ was right at the top. Epic fail already. She scanned down the rest of the list.
‘Any ideas for your mum and dad?’ she asked Leon.
‘What for?’
‘Er, Christmas, of course.’
He shrugged. ‘Not a clue.’
Diane breathed through her nostrils.
‘What about your sister’s kids?’
‘How should I know?’ he asked. ‘How old are they again? Twelvish?’
‘Fifteen and seventeen,’ said Diane.
‘Right,’ nodded Leon. ‘Won’t cash do?’
‘Your sister never gives Chloe cash.’
‘So.’
‘So, she makes an effort. So should we.’
‘That’s all well and good for her – she’s not trying to stage a pantomime.’
‘No, she’s merely trying to save lives through her easy job as a surgeon in a hospital.’
‘Are you being sarcastic?’
Diane said nothing.
‘It’s just such a busy time for me, Christmas.’
But you’ve got time to go for drinks after work practically every night and get taxis home with Amy, thought Diane.
Diane glanced down at her list again.
‘When shall we visit your parents?’ she asked.
Leon shrugged again. ‘Can’t we leave it until the new year?’
‘Can you fetch Chloe from uni a week on Monday?’
‘No.’
‘But you don’t have any performances on a Monday, do you?’
‘Precisely. I need to sleep on Mondays during panto season. Can’t you go?’
Diane would love to go. Quite frankly, their daughter coming home for Christmas was the only thing that Diane was looking forward to, regarding the festive period. Chloe all to themselves. The family back together. Who knew, it might even help build some much-needed warmth between her and Leon. She couldn’t wait. She would have loved to have picked her up but there was no way she could afford the time off.
‘I’m at work.’
‘Can’t you take a day off?’
‘No. I’ve got a budget cuts meeting I cannot get out of. And you’re not at work anyway. So I thought you could fetch her.’
‘It will seriously kill me if I have to drive to Brighton and back. I’m just so busy,’ replied Leon.
Diane looked down at her list of everything she needed to do to prepare for Christmas. It had forty-two items on it.
‘Can’t she get the train?’ asked Leon.
‘She’s got to clear her room because they have some sort of conference in after New Year.’
‘Well, let’s have a think about that one then,’ said Leon. ‘I need to go to bed. I’m shattered.’
Diane watched him leave the room, abandoning her with the list of things to do for Christmas that he would no doubt avoid getting involved in in any way. He’d become very good at that – avoiding getting involved. She couldn’t remember the last time he’d asked how things were for her. What was she thinking? What was she feeling? Was she OK? Maybe he didn’t ask because he didn’t want to know the answer. Or maybe he didn’t care. Too wrapped up in what was going on in his life to think about how she was doing.
Diane picked up her pen and added number forty-three to her Christmas prep list.
43.
Book day off a week Monday to pick up Chloe.
Then she added number forty-four.
44.
Get up at 5 a.m. Wednesday before Christmas and go and do the food shop.