Page 65 of Wish You Were Here
‘I don’t really buy Christmas presents,’ I said, and she looked utterly stunned.
‘What? You don’t buy presents for anybody?’
‘Not really.’
‘But what about your parents? Poppy? Simon?’
‘No,’ I said, taking a bite of my almond croissant, and some of the white powdery sugar got stuck to my nose, so I looked like a drug addict.Gail’sfinest Columbian marching powder.
‘Oh, right,’ said Jemma, a despondency in her voice, and then it came to me. The Christmas I spent with her family, when her gran kept calling me Ian, I remember there were a lot of presents, but I was young, it was our first Christmas together, and I didn’t think anything of it. I recall being impressed at the number of things under the tree compared to my family, but it didn’t click. I was just interested in getting under the new pyjamas Jemma got as a gift from her parents, not why they had bought her and indeed the whole family matching pyjamas. It all made sense now. Jemma’s family bought things for each other. It was their love language. They were givers. They probably all bought seventeen presents for Christmas. Then it hit me firmly around the head in the middle ofGail’sin Soho, Jemma was going to expect this from me. For the rest of my life, I would have to buy her presents, her family presents and then our children and grandchildren. To put that into some sort of perspective, the last time I bought a Christmas present for any of my family was in 2018, when I bought Dad a pair of novelty socks that looked like animal hooves. He wore them all of Boxing Day, we took photos and had a laugh about it. I am not a gift giver.
‘So, your family doesn’t buy each other presents?’ said Jemma, as though I had just told her we spend all of Christmas Day playing naked Twister.
‘Not really. My parents might get me a little something. Poppy and I usually get our parents something on their birthdays, or rather Poppy will and I’ll pay half and put my nameto it. I might get a gift card for my birthday, but usually we just go out for a meal or something.’
‘Okay, well, I suppose different horses for different courses,’ said Jemma with a smile, playing it off like it was ‘just one of those things’ but we both knew this was a big deal. We knew that this was one of those little idiosyncrasies that might potentially be a grenade later in our relationship. We both acknowledged it, buried it deep beneath the surface, but at some point in the next few years, we knew someone was going to step on it and it was going to go off.
This brings me up to now, sitting on my bed and about to FaceTime Saskia for the final time. Jemma and I spent six hours shopping in central London. Six hours! And it was cold. We marched the full length of Oxford Street, stopping for lunch atFranco Manca, a sourdough pizza each, and I got another coffee to keep me going while Jemma worked through her Christmas shopping list. In the end, she only got presents for nine of the seventeen, but I think that was mainly because of me. After six hours of shopping, of pondering whether to get uncle Pete from Peterborough the smart stripe socks or the socks with the dogs on because Uncle Pete ‘loves his hounds’, Jemma needed to head back to her flat, and I had to come back to mine. Today has thrown a spanner in the works. Do I want to dedicate myself to a woman who will insist I buy presents for the remainder of my life? Is it a deal-breaker or am I being utterly ridiculous?
‘G’day Beno!’ says Saskia, suddenly appearing on my screen.
‘Happy birthday! The big three-O. You know you’re now officially older than me?’
‘Thanks, and by only a few months, Beno.’
‘But still,’ I say with a smile. ‘How are you? I feel like we haven’t spoken in forever.’
‘I know, right? I’m good. Nervous about tonight.’
‘Oh yes, the Fudge Cake gig. I listened to them on Spotify. They’re really good.’
‘The next big thing in Australian music!’
‘And you could be touring with them!’
‘I know, it’s insane,’ says Saskia, and she looks so happy, so beautiful, and I don’t want to break her heart and end our ‘whatever this is’ relationship on her birthday. It feels cruel, but what choice do I have?
‘I have to ask you a really important question, Sas, and I need you to be honest.’
‘A little intense for eight o’clock in the morning. I’ve not even had my coffee yet.’
‘Where do you stand on buying presents? For Christmas, birthdays, etcetera.’
‘What do you mean? Like, do I do it?’
‘Yes.’
‘Honestly, no, not really. Jess and I occasionally buy each other something, but it’s usually something I’ll see when I’m out shopping that I think she’ll love. But Chrissy, a load of nonsense, eh,’ says Saskia, and I think I love her. I want to reach across the internet divide and hug her. She’s just like me. ‘Why did you ask me that?’
‘Because I spent the day with Jemma, shopping for seventeen Christmas presents. I realised how much I hate buying presents, and I wanted to make sure it wasn’t just me.’
‘And what? You thought, I bet Saskia will hate buying presents too?’
‘I hoped.’
‘Well, you hoped right. I’m just as grumpy as you,’ says Saskia, laughing, and I don’t know if I can do this, but if I want to keep dating Jemma, then I have no choice. It’s the trade-off I have to make, a non-negotiable if I want my relationship with Jemma to succeed, and I do. I hate that I am doing thison her birthday, but is there ever a good time to break up with someone? I look at her and I love seeing her face, so vibrant, easy-going and fun. It feels crazy we’ve only known each other a few months because I feel like I’ve known her for years. She has become part of the fabric of my life, and I can’t imagine a world where she isn’t.
‘So, Sas—’
