Page 106 of Christmas Every Day
Breakfast the following morning consisted of strong coffee and a few mouthfuls of porridge, if the creamy, sweet and salty bowlful of heaven we ate could be called porridge. Mack and I spent breakfast talking about everything except what an amazing time we’d had, or how, having hated Christmas my whole life, this year I’d already had two and because of him both of them had been wonderful, or how I’d never laughed so much in one night, or how totally right I’d felt in his arms, or whether he could see the kiss that never happened hovering between us too, and whether that meant we couldn’t be friends any more.
‘Can you give me a minute?’ I said after queuing to check out.
Mack tapped me on the shoulder with the complimentary newspaper. ‘Take as long as you need. Should you require Mr Macintyre, he’ll be leaning against this pillar looking protectively menacing.’
I rolled my eyes, smothered my smile and did my best to stride confidently yet casually up to Zara, gliding towards the library. It felt as if two massive hands were in my chest, squeezing the life out of each lung. The closer I got, the harder they squeezed.
She ignored my faint, ‘Hello,’ and, ‘Good morning,’ forcing me to sort of fling myself in front of her before she reached the library door.
‘Oops. Sorry,’ I wheezed. She shook her head slightly, eyes on the doorway, lips pursed as if confronted with a hideous reeking troll and not a freshly showered relative. Determined not to be dissuaded, I planted myself firmly in her way. ‘I just wanted to say—’
‘What the hell do you want?’ she snapped, speaking over me. ‘It’s bad enough you showed up here at all. I’m not interested in anything you might have to say.’
‘Mum didn’t speak to you?’
‘Yes, she spoke to me. And I told her what I’ll tell you. I’m. Not. Interested. I gave you a home, a job, a life. For six years I let you wear my clothes. Stood up for you in the office when people moaned about what an irritating wuss you are. Tolerated your weird infatuation with my housekeeper. Which, by the way, was not only embarrassing but totally destroyed any respect she had for my authority. And you maimed andhumiliatedme, in front of Dougal and Duff. Virtually ruined my chance of making partner, which you know full well is the only thing I’ve ever wanted besides a date on Simon Cowell’s yacht. Someone left an application form forJudge Rinderon my desk! And now you show up at my WEDDING! Why? Why are you here? Haven’t you done enough?’
‘I’m here because Richard invited me,’ I said. ‘And I wanted to see Mum, and to wish you well. You’re my sister, whether we like it or not, so I’m here for you, if ever you need someone. Otherwise, I hope you get what you want from life and can finally be happy.’
Zara’s nose sneered close to snapping point. ‘I willneverneed you,’ she said, laughing in disbelief. ‘Iwon, Jenny. Slam-dunk. Clean sheet. Anything I wanted or needed from you, I’ve already taken.’
‘A kidney?’ I muttered, walking away. ‘How to get a hug from our mum? Your first real friend?’
* * *
I dozed most of the way home, while the sound of Mack’s Proclaimers playlist wafted in and out of hazy dreams. Still half asleep, once I’d stumbled to my door it took a moment longer than it should have to realise it was already open an inch.
‘Oh, no.’ My stomach lurched. My kitchen, my pretty, precious, tidy kitchen, had been trashed. Jamie’s portable oven had gone. Cupboards stood wide open, their plates and bowls and the two vases carefully chosen from the Hoard in pieces on the lino below. The bin lay on its side, contents strewn across the floor. I dropped my bags and ran through to the living room. The old, blocky television had been smashed. The sofa cushions slashed, bookcase tipped over.
The rest of the house was the same. The boxes waiting for the car boot or charity shop emptied, their contents scattered. The small selection of Charlotte’s jewellery I’d kept had been taken, as had the old record player and crate of LPs. Mostly, it was the mess that got to me. I shuddered at the thought of grubby fingers pawing through my carefully sorted, cleaned, tidied future. My arm hair bristled as I took in the carnage, vicious damage inflicted on mirrors and curtains, the lovely duvet from Mack shredded, books ripped open. This wasn’t someone simply looking for items to flog. This was meant to intimidate, upset and frighten me. If I’d been at all in doubt, my un-stolen laptop sitting on a chair placed in the centre of my bedroom was proof enough. When I flicked it on, the screen went straight to a website selling houses.
Shit.
I blinked, hard, clenched my jaw tight and started scooping the clothes tossed about my bedroom into the laundry basket, anger and horror pumping like lava through my veins. Marching out to take it to the washing machine, it was only then I noticed Diana, and the message rang loud and clear.
Mack found me a few minutes later, a huddled heap at my plastic housemate’s feet, scrabbling to piece back together the shards of my shattered courage.
* * *
‘Monthsof hard grind,’ I said, voice strained. ‘I’d worked so hard. It was starting to look okay. Like a home was emerging from the mess and the dirt. I’m not sure I have the energy to start again.’
‘That’s exactly what they want you to think.’ Sarah, grim-faced, poured a rare second glass of wine and handed it to me, slouched on her sofa. ‘You can’t let them win.’
‘Why not?’ I said, ignoring the wine. ‘Why not take up Fisher’s offer of a flat with no electrical problems, or plumbing disasters? Brand-new appliances and freshly -painted walls that probably aren’t even mouldy. If they don’t win this time, what will they do next?’ I thought of Mannequin Diana, and shivered. Decided on a gulp of wine after all.
‘Once Jamie’s back, he’ll find whoever this is and string them up. Like, literally. He’ll find a nice big tree and let them swing. Don’t give up, Jenny. Think positive.’
‘Urgh. I just don’t want to think about it at all any more. How are things with you? Any progress with that guy you liked? What was his username – HeartBaker? Did he finally agree to a date?’
‘Yes.’ She looked down at her empty plate. ‘But I wish he hadn’t. He stood me up. Who does that? At least those others turned up. Even if I wished they hadn’t.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry. Another dud.’
‘I dunno.’ Sarah shrugged mournfully. ‘It was sort of my fault. I pushed him into it, after he’d asked to take things slow. Told him it was now or never. But he could have chosen never – he didn’t have to arrange to meet me in Scarlett’s and then leave me hanging.’
‘That sucks.’
‘Yep.’
