A Proper Family Christmas (33 page)

‘Mum,’ Chelsea broke into Jacqui’s stream-of-consciousness-style speech. ‘Mum, I’ve got to go. Adam’s expecting me.’

‘Oh,’ said Jacqui. ‘Then I should shut up and let you go. But you’ll call Ronnie, won’t you, love? You’ll tell her that I love you all exactly the same. Every one of you.’

‘Of course, Mum. I will.’

While Chelsea dressed to go to Adam’s house, another five messages accumulated on her phone. Three from Ronnie, one from Annabel and one from Jacqui, seeking more reassurances that Chelsea would mediate between her and her middle daughter. Chelsea deleted all five messages. She was not going to try to deal with this now. She couldn’t. Her mum’s distress had been very upsetting but the thought of having to come clean to Jacqui and Ronnie about how her bulimia kept her from offering her own kidney was even worse. Chelsea needed to see Adam and have him wrap his arms around her and make everything feel OK.

It was five to eight by the time she arrived at Adam’s place. Lily was still up, but only just. She was wearing her pyjamas.

‘She insisted on staying up until you arrived,’ said Adam.

‘I want you to read my bedtime story,’ she told Chelsea, pointing at her with a star-shaped plastic wand.

‘Do you mind?’ Adam asked.

‘Of course not,’ said Chelsea, feeling guilty that she had hoped Lily would be in bed already. She followed Lily up the stairs.

Lily’s bedroom was a Disney princess’s dream. All decked out in pink and glitter. Adam had constructed a small canopy for the bed, which was draped in delicate tulle and spangled with glow-in-the-dark stars. Lily sat beneath it, surrounded by an enormous number of teddy bears and dolls.

Still using her wand, she pointed Chelsea in the direction of the bookshelf.

‘Do you have a favourite?’ Chelsea asked.

Lily did. It was an old Ladybird classic edition of
The Princess and the Pea
, a story that Chelsea herself had loved as a child.

With Lily settled down on her pillows with her fluffy entourage, Chelsea opened the book. She knew the Ladybird edition well but what she saw inside the covers still gave her something of an uncomfortable surprise. On the first page, in girlish handwriting, someone had claimed ownership of the book.

Claire
.

Chelsea recognised the name of Lily’s mother at once. It made her catch her breath. She was in Lily’s bedroom, in the house that Claire had lived in but still, somehow, she’d been more or less able to put the thought of Claire to the back of her mind until she saw her name written in that book.

‘Hurry up,’ said Lily. ‘Start reading.’

Chelsea forced herself to start and Lily was soon entranced by the tale she’d already heard a hundred times. She made sure Chelsea showed her all of the pictures from the moment the princess arrived at the castle, dressed in rags and drenched from the rain, to her triumphant walk up the aisle to claim her prince.

‘And they all lived happily ever after …’ Chelsea ended the tale, closing the book with a snap, before she could read what was written on the endpaper in the same writing as Claire’s name. It was probably only Claire’s childhood address but Chelsea couldn’t bear to see it: the writing of a small girl who thought she had it all to come.

‘Thank you,’ said Lily.

‘It was my pleasure,’ Chelsea said. ‘Now it’s time for you to go to sleep.’

Lily was strangely compliant that night. She told Chelsea which of her dolls and bears were to be taken off the bed and put on the dresser first. Chelsea arranged them as instructed in order of size from Small Rabbit to Big Ted.

‘Now you have to give me a kiss,’ Lily said.

Chelsea kissed Lily on the forehead. She couldn’t resist brushing the blonde hair off Lily’s face too. Lily smiled.

‘Now it’s time for you to close your eyes,’ said Chelsea firmly. She made for the bedroom door, leaving it open so that light from the landing would keep Lily’s bedroom from being too dark.

‘Chelsea?’ Lily called before she reached the stairs.

‘Yes,’ Chelsea responded.

‘You will come back again, won’t you?’

‘Of course I will, Lily.’

‘Good.’

Lily nodded. She closed her eyes.

Chelsea felt a catch in the back of her throat. Looking at Lily’s little blonde head on the pillow then, she was overwhelmed by a sudden flood of affection for the tiny girl. Just as she was continually surprised by how much she had come to feel for her nephew. Turning from Lily’s open bedroom door, Chelsea paused on the landing and had to press her fingers to the sides of her nose to stop herself from crying because suddenly she knew what Lily had really meant by her question.

‘You will come back again, won’t you?’

It wasn’t as simple as wanting to know when Chelsea would next be round. Lily was asking Chelsea whether she could trust her? Whether she was around for the long haul? Whether it was safe for Lily to let her guard down and start investing in Chelsea? Start loving her even?

In the context of her relationship with Lily, the conversation she’d had with Annabel in the restaurant near Selfridges started to make more sense. Annabel claimed she had developed a prickly exterior because she felt she’d been rejected as a baby and subconsciously feared it could happen again. Was that why Lily had been so difficult? Because she too felt abandoned by the mother everyone assumed she couldn’t remember? Of course, Adam and Lily’s grandparents had told Lily about her great loss. Had Lily been trying to protect herself from future pain?

The responsibility made Chelsea feel giddy.

Down in the kitchen, Adam was putting the finishing touches to their supper.

‘Did she give you much trouble?’ he asked.

‘None at all,’ Chelsea confirmed.

‘Good,’ said Adam.

He dished up. They ate. Chelsea was surprised to find that she felt a churning sensation throughout the meal. She knew what it meant. She wanted to leave the table and go straight to the bathroom and throw up. But she couldn’t do that. She pressed her fingers to her temples.

‘Are you all right?’ Adam asked.

‘Sort of,’ said Chelsea. ‘No. Not really.’

She had to tell him. She had to tell him about Ronnie refusing to go ahead with the transplant and how she’d fallen out with Jacqui as a result and then she had to tell him exactly what the consequences were for her. How Annabel had already called her, doubtless anxious to get Chelsea tested as a match as soon as possible. And then she would have to admit to Adam that she hadn’t already tested because of the bulimia. But Chelsea was sure it was still too soon to tell him. It would frighten him off. He would reject her. She wasn’t strong enough.

‘Want to tell me about it?’ Adam asked.

‘I can’t.’

‘Come on.’

‘No, really.’

‘Claire,’ said Adam then. ‘Please tell me what’s wrong.’

He didn’t even know he’d said it. The wrong name. The name of his dead wife.

Chelsea looked up at him. Her eyes were swimming.

‘You just called me her name,’ she said. ‘You just called me Claire.’

‘Did I? Oh God. Chelsea, I’m sorry.’

‘There’s no need to apologise, Adam. But it shows me where your head is. Where your heart is. And I can’t compete.’

‘Chelsea.’ Adam made a grab for her hand. ‘It was just a slip of the tongue. I don’t know why Claire’s name popped out then. I wasn’t thinking about her. I was entirely focused on you.’

Chelsea shook her head.

‘How can I prove it to you?’ Adam asked.

‘You can’t,’ said Chelsea.

‘So you’ll have to take my word for it. Come on. Tell me what was bothering you before.’

‘I can’t do this,’ said Chelsea. ‘I just can’t. I shouldn’t be here, getting closer to you and getting more involved with Lily when I’m never going to live up to your dead wife. She’ll always be at the front of your mind.’

‘Don’t say that. You’re being ridiculous,’ said Adam. ‘You’re overreacting in a big way.’

‘Don’t tell me I’m overreacting,’ said Chelsea. ‘I’m trying to protect my heart.’

‘Fine,’ said Adam. ‘Though I still don’t get what you’re trying to protect it from. So, I called you Claire. She and I were together for eight years and there’s been no one since. It would be bloody strange if I never thought about her and never said her name
entirely by accident
. What is strange is how you’re reacting to it. I don’t know what to do about that.’

The sudden harshness of Adam’s tone surprised Chelsea.

‘It seems a bit immature to me,’ he added.

‘Immature? In that case I’d definitely better go,’ she said.

Chelsea got up and headed for the door.

‘Oh, please!’ Adam sighed. ‘How has this become an argument? This is just crazy.’

‘To you, perhaps. But right now I think I should be on my own.’

‘Fine,’ said Adam, throwing his hands up. ‘Fine. I don’t know what to say to you. I’m sorry. You go.’

As soon as she was at the tube station, Chelsea started to regret her decision. If Adam was confused, he wasn’t the only one. She wasn’t sure where the argument had come from either. It must have been because she was scared. But before Chelsea could get back to Adam’s house, he had already sent her a text.

Maybe you’re right. Maybe it is too early for me to be in a relationship and I certainly don’t want to have you get more involved in Lily’s life if you’re not sticking around. I’m sorry, Chelsea. You’re a great girl and I wish things could have ended differently. Take care of yourself, love Adam.

Chelsea was so shocked she could hardly breathe. She’d accidentally called Adam’s bluff and he’d dumped her.

At home, an hour later, Chelsea was still poleaxed by what she had done. She went straight to her kitchen and opened the fridge. There was hardly anything in there, but what there was, she ate without thinking. A whole block of cheese. A four-pack of yogurts. Eight slices of Parma ham. Then she worked her way through a packet of Ryvita, eating mechanically, crying all the while. When she was done, she went to the bathroom and got rid of the lot of it.

It didn’t work. She didn’t feel any better. The following day she was going to have to talk to Annabel and tell her that she was too scared to be tested as a donor match. And then she would have to face Ronnie’s anger and Jacqui’s disapproval. And Dave’s. And Richard’s. And Sophie’s. And Izzy’s. And Jack would find out too. That she was too weak and pathetic to help her niece and she was scared of the responsibility of Lily and as a result she’d lost the man she loved.

Christmas looked set to be miserable. Jacqui was desperately upset at the way things had gone between Ronnie and Annabel. She didn’t know where to put herself. Ronnie wasn’t speaking to her at all now. She had banned Jacqui and Dave from the house. Annabel had called and was civil, but that was it. All the warmth that had been building between them was gone. Maybe Ronnie was right and Annabel really only had ever seen the Bensons as spare parts. If that was the case, Jacqui should probably back off for good. But there was another part of her that couldn’t bear the idea of letting her eldest daughter go again. If they had all just had more time together, without the spectre of Izzy’s illness, she was sure they could have established a proper relationship.

When it came down to it, Jacqui was willing to forgive Annabel everything. What mother wouldn’t be stretched to her very limit by the horrors she was experiencing with her daughter so ill? That was enough to make anyone irrational, or curt, or desperate enough to insult her own sister by waving a chequebook at her as though money was the only consideration. But she could see Ronnie’s side of the argument too. Ronnie could be abrupt and rude and quick to judge but there was no doubt that she loved her own children. Of course she placed their welfare above Izzy’s. Jacqui had been foolish to try to intervene on Annabel and Izzy’s behalf. Challenging Ronnie on a decision she had made for the good of her children was like getting between a bear and her cubs.

Both Ronnie and Annabel had very legitimate reasons to be unhappy with each other and Jacqui was caught in the middle. How could she bring them closer together?

Three weeks before Christmas, as was their habit, Jacqui and Dave put up their Christmas decorations. It was something Jacqui always looked forward to. She had especially loved putting the decorations up when Chelsea and Ronnie were small and for the past few years, now that Jack was old enough to appreciate Christmas and still young enough to be enchanted, she invited him to help. But not this year. While Ronnie wasn’t speaking to her, Jacqui could not see her beloved grandson. Sophie, who had her own phone, had texted Jacqui to say that she was sorry about the row, but Sophie would not visit on her own. Jacqui understood that. She didn’t want Sophie to be on the wrong side of her mother too.

So Jacqui and Dave decorated the house alone. Even Granddad Bill stayed in his room, snoozing through an ice hockey game on Sky Sports. When Jacqui turned on the Christmas tree lights, she almost burst into tears at the sight. She didn’t know why she was bothering. She didn’t feel very Christmassy. It was just a waste of electricity. Dave gave her a hug.

‘We’ll all be speaking again by Christmas,’ he said. ‘Ronnie wouldn’t keep Sophie and Jack from us on the day.’

Jacqui was no longer so sure.

Having put on the gas fire – it was turning out to be a horrible winter – she stood up and looked at the photographs on the mantelpiece. The old photos of Chelsea and Ronnie as children were still there, as were the school photos of Sophie and Jack. But the ranks had been swelled that year and there was a new favourite.

Jacqui picked up the photograph taken on the front steps at the Great House the first time they had Sunday lunch with the Buchanans. There she was, dressed in her Sunday best, with all three of her daughters. Annabel wasn’t looking at the camera. Her attention was elsewhere, probably on that dog of hers, which had tried to mate with Granddad Bill’s wheelchair. Chelsea had her eyes half closed and Ronnie was actually scowling. But it was a picture of all of them. Her girls. If only she could get them all in the same place again.