The Great Christmas Breakup (9 page)

‘What?’
Now
I
really
felt as if I’d been
stomach-punched.

When she didn’t answer I pressed her, ‘Why
?’

‘His heart. It doesn’t look good.’

There was a pause, and I knew Mum was waiting, expecting, me to say
that
I would immediately jump on a plane
and rush
to see Dad.

A
s far as she was concerned, I could well afford it, couldn’t I?

And I would
b
e heading to the airport too,
if there was some way to get the money to buy a plane ticket.

Racing through the possibilities, there was no way I could raise the required amount. We were overdrawn, our credit cards were maxed out, we were late on the rent and Jessie and J had school
excursions that needed
pay
ing
for.

Even the Teesons’ recent proceeds of crime would
n’t cover it – not that I dared
to ask. Not after the sofa debacle.

‘Scarlet, are you there?’ Mum’s voice sounded small and worried.

What the hell could I say to her that wouldn’t sound completely
trite?

‘Mum, Jessie is
, um,
ill too – something the doctors are checking out.
That’s why I haven’t called.
’

God would s
trike me dead, I was sure of it.
How could I casually lie
about my
own daughter’s health like that? W
hat else could I do, traumatiz
e the poor woman even more
by admitting my life was a complete sham?

‘Jessie’s sick?’

‘
Might be nothing, just some tummy thing, but the doctors don’t know.
And Carson is
next to useless. I am so sorry, I really don’t know what to do.’

‘Don’t you worry about it, dear. Of course you need to stay for Jessica.’

Mum’s voice was strained and I sensed it was difficult for her not to cry.

‘Can Aunty Buck help?’ Mum’s sister Beatrice (known as Buck since she was thrown off a horse at twelve), was a no-nonsense woman who you’d imagine would be good in a crisis.

‘Yes, no doubt she can.’ The unspoken part of that sentence was that Aunty Buck was a stiff upper lip personified. Even the death of her own husband fifteen years ago had failed to raise a tear, although Dad insisted he’d seen some moisture in her left eye.

‘Tell Dad I’
m thinking of him, and I’ll come as soon as I can.’

‘I am sure that won’t be necessary
. You know your Dad, Scarlet. He’s always said he’ll go on forever, hasn’t he?’

‘Yes, but . . .’

I didn’t finish the sentence.
Despite how I felt about some of things Dad had done,
I still loved him.

Hanging up, I got the
distinct feeling that if there was reincarnation,
I would
definitely
be
coming
back as a cockroach.

Or a rat.

Or Cecily 2’s granddaughter.

- Cu
e
unfortunate
childhood memory:

I was about nine, and
Mum and Dad had been fighting over something insignificant
. Then Mum
hotfooted it o
ff to Grammy’s to moan about Dad
.

Our house in Bath was one of tho
se terraced ones up on a
hill – limestone of course –
and
about a fifteen minute walk from the shops, the Roman baths and all the historical action.

I
dragged a chair to my bedroom window and watched as Mum
stomped down the road to catch the bus to the other side of
town.

Mum had only been gone
about thirty minutes when the doorbell ra
ng.
Glad she was back, I raced downstairs and
yanked open the door before Dad could reach it.

A woman stood
there, with bottle ginger
hair and an apple-shaped body,
her Barbie pink lips set in a grim line.

‘Is Stan here
, love
?’

My dad’s name wasn’t Stan,
it was Sean,
so I said no. Then Dad
suddenly
br
ushed past me and hissed at her:
‘What are you doing here?’

Despite appearances, the woman wasn’t stupid, and suggested that they speak somewhere more private.

‘Scarlet, I am going to talk a walk around the block to discuss, er, business, with this lady. Will you be okay for a few moments?’

‘Sure,’ I said, puzzle
d but accepting – as a child was
.

I didn’t mention the lady to Mum, or even think of her again, until about four years later.

This time, sh
e was waiting outside the council offices
, he
r blue jeans so tight they seemed
to bubble e
xcess flesh up into her stomach. W
hen she saw me, she quickly turned and walked in th
e direction of a nearby carpark, her
orange head bobbing feverishly.

I knew then.
It was too much of a coincidence for her to be at Dad’s work, as well as at our house.

I was ol
der
and my friends had told tales of horror about their parents and affairs.

The cheap woman was a mistress.

My father was
an
unfaithful
husband
.

And had been for years.

At least four that I knew of. Trinkets of my past – birthday celebrations, Christmas trees, holidays in campsites in Normandy – fell away and were destroyed.

That day, a little piece of the
enormous love I had felt for him
was
chipped
away.

And because of the love I felt for Mum, I never told her.

My boss
at
Flindes
was a beefy creature – his
doughy
ph
ysique
complemented by a snout-like
nose and the unfortu
nate habit of casually picking it
when he thought no one was looking.

We were sitting by the tills – the store was notoriously understaffed
– and I was handing out cigarettes and
giving chang
e as I was admonished by my boss.

It was less than pleasant, particularly as I had to endure the pitying stars of the customers.

‘So, tell me, Mrs Teeson, what was it this time? Husband on fire? Children kidnapped by Al
Qaeda
?
’

I wouldn’t have minded if Carson
had
been on fire.

‘Misunderstanding, Mr Phillit. I thought it was okay to h
ave the time off.
I usually do on holidays. I figured we’d be closed anyway.
’

Dan Phillit flipped his fat head towards the sign in the front window.
‘What does that sign say?’

‘Open 365.’

‘And what do you imagine
that means?’

‘Look, I get it, I shouldn’t have assumed we were closed,
or that I had the time off,
but
I did, so can we m
ove on?
’

Looking at me intently, Dan Phillit
shook his head. ‘You know I get about five job applications a day. People are desperate to work here, Scarlet.
Desperate
.’

I looked over at Scott and Maeve, who were ogling each other while double-charging the
clueless
customers they
inexpertly
were serving at the
trolley
till
s
.

Desperate was right!

‘And if you wis
h to continue with us at
Flindes
, I suggest you adjust
your attitude.’

What was he on about?

‘Be more like them, you mean?’ I indicated Scott and Maeve, who were now tossing a pack of breadrolls across the registers, laughing raucously.

‘Actually, yes, that’s exactly what I mean.’

My boss ran a couple of chubby
fingers over my cotton
-trousered leg.

Seriously?

Never going to happen
.

I pulled away, trying not to show the extent of my revulsion.
‘Look, Mr Phillit,
can’t we just get on with work?
I promise to make sure I put in for time off next time.’

Disappointment etched in the solid grooves of his plump face, Dan Phillit turned to walk away. Then, as if in afterthought
, he looked back at me and said,
‘Of course,
but
you’ll have to work al
l of the Christmas and New Year to make up for your indiscretion.
’

‘But I have children,’ I objected. ‘Those two don’t!’

I pointed at the loved-up youths
who were now abusing a banana in the fruit aisle.

‘Up to you. Work Christmas and keep your job. Unless, of course, you can suggest some other way to satisfy me
that
you are dedicated to your job.’
H
e looked pointedly at my B cups.

With garga
ntuan will I managed not to leap
up and throttle him.

Great, now I was stuck Flindes for
Christmas. Carson would kill me, the Te
esons would twitter on about what a cr
ap mother I was, and
worse still,
I wouldn’t get to see Cecily open the
re-gifted
C
ircu-Boosta.

My only hope now
for a reprieve now was
Hammertro a
nd his mates ho
ld
ing
up
Flindes
and rendering
Dan Phillit comatose –
at least
unt
il Christmas was over.

Either that, or I would have to provide sexual favors to the most disgusting human on the planet.

After Cecily 2, that was.

*

Dinner was la
te and burnt thanks to the
malfunctioning
stove
. The kids knew better than to comment because I was in what J called ‘a Moody Blues’
so they ate as much of the charred chicken thighs as they could
stomach
and hotfooted it to the living room to watch some serial abo
ut v
ampires.

‘Shame, it would’ve been very tasty without the black bits,’ Carson said, smiling.

Smiling!

He dared to grin inanely a
t me after treating us so badly.

My anger at the world at large consol
idated itself into one huge ba
ll of fury directed towards
Carson.

‘Ho
w dare you leave the kids alone?
’
I hissed, trying to keep the trauma between us.

Someone turned the sound up in the living room.

‘What?’

‘Last night.’

‘Technically, you did that, Scarlet, not me.
I had plans, you
didn’t. And you just ran out, like a child.
’

‘This is a marriage, Carson, not a d
ictatorship. We aren’t pawns obliged to do your bidding.
You should check
with me before you go out, especially
if you expect me to do the same. Otherwise, the default position should be that when you come home from work, you look after the kids, because it’s my turn for some freedom.
’

A faint sign of moisture appeared on his forehead.
‘That’s a ridiculou
s notion, and you know it. I have
to work, Scarlet.
Work
! Remember, that thing that keeps the roof over our heads, and the food in our stomachs?
Occasionally, my
work spills over into home life. I can’t control it.
’

I was completely an
d utterly over my life, which was why I finally let him have it.