Page 25 of A Wish for Jinnie
She closed the door and slid down the wall to the floor, humiliation gnawing at her core. Now what?
Chapter 26
Christmas Day
Rob sang loudlyin his rich baritone about dreaming of a snow-filled Christmas, giving his carving knife a final buff.
Kath joined in, polishing a cut-glass wine glass, her face flushed from a combination of cooking and two glasses of pre-lunch champagne.
‘Huh, dream on, cos it’s pissing down out there,’ sniped Archie. Which was true. Instead of delightfully fluffy flakes of snow, the sky was leaden grey and rain hammered against the windows.
‘Who invited The Grinch?’ retorted Jinnie. She’d arrived just moments ago, the train journey a blur as she revisitedthatmoment again and again. It had been the most fleeting of kisses, she and Sam going in for a peck on the cheek after he’d helped her put on her coat. They’d misjudged which side to aim for, and their lips had met. Well, that wasn’tquitetrue, but Jinnie didn’t want to dwell on the fact she’d instigated the kiss. Until Sam pulled away and escorted her home. The perfect gentleman, but not the result she’d hoped for.
‘Bah, humbug,’ Archie replied. He was wearing a scraggy pair of tracksuit bottoms and a T-shirt covered in stains. Jinnie hoped he’d brought something else to wear. Or, more likely, Mum had bought him clothes as part of his present and he’d reluctantly change before they sat down to eat.
‘You look pretty,’ declared Rob, gesturing at Jinnie’s crimson wrap dress and favourite boots. The dress was a hand-me-down from Hannah. At their last get-together, she’d given Jinnie a bag of clothes she didn’t like any more, or had decided didn’t suit her. ‘Much more your colouring,’ she’d said. ‘When you’re as peely-wally as me, red makes you look like you need a blood transfusion.’
‘Thanks, Dad.’ Jinnie gave her still-damp but perfectly-coiffed hair a shake, then rummaged in her bag for the family gifts to place under the tree. Perfume for her mum, aftershave for her dad, a boxed set of horror DVDs for Archie, and a selection of fancy teas for Wilma. Nothing had cost more than twenty pounds, which still made a sizeable dent in her budget. But it was Christmas, and the season of goodwill to all men. Even Archie.
‘Give us a hand with the sprouts, Jinnie,’ said Kath. ‘Dad’s just popping out to pick up Wilma. He’d have picked you up too, love. You only have to ask.’
Side by side in the kitchen, trimming and cutting crosses in the sprouts, Jinnie wondered how Sam was doing. And Ed. And Dhassim. The three men who featured most in her life. Sam was spending Christmas alone. At least, he said he was. She had no reason to doubt him, and in any case, what he did was his business. That kiss had been an aberration, a mistake. They’d brush it off when they next saw each other, or simply not mention it at all. Ed? Well, Jinnie couldn’t pretend she didn’t like him. What she found difficult was working out if she liked him in a ‘I really, reallylikeyou’ way, or more like a brother. Not an annoying, rude, useless one like Archie — a kind, caring one who’d always protect her, make her smile, keep her on track…
‘Ouch!’ Jinnie yelped as the razor-sharp vegetable knife sliced into her finger.
‘Oh dear. Run it under the tap and I’ll fetch a plaster,’ said Kath.
Archie appeared in the doorway, smirking as Jinnie watched blood trickle down the plughole. ‘Why we have to eat those green abominations is a mystery to me.’ He sidled closer, picking up a fork and using it like a pool cue. ‘Bam! That’s one out the way. He shoots, he scores, he —’
‘Gets the flip out of the kitchen.’ Jinnie sucked her wounded finger.
Kath returned and wrapped a plaster around the cut. It stung like buggery, but she’d live.
‘Hello! Merry Christmas!’ Wilma’s voice echoed through the hallway, followed by a bout of coughing which suggested a lung might have come loose. Jinnie rushed out to greet her, then grinned at her gran’s choice of outfit. Full on elf: green leggings, waistcoat with gold buttons and a jaunty cap with a bell. Gran didn’t do things by halves. A couple of years ago she’d come as a sexy Santa, all fishnets and cantilevered bosom. Archie had gawped before taking a photo and uploading it on Instagram.
‘Let me just put the stash under the tree, then you can fetch me a wee glass of fizz, Jinnie love.’ Wilma was carrying an enormous carrier bag, filled to the brim with presents which looked as if they’d been wrapped in the dark. Corners protruded where the hastily applied Sellotape had failed to stick. Glimpses of the contents were visible where Wilma had cut the paper too short. And two of the packages bore the wording ‘Happy Birthday’.
‘Ach, I ran oot of time and patience,’ she said, placing the last present. ‘Anyway, nothin’ wrong with a bit of crap wrap seein’ as you’ll have it all ripped off in minutes.’
Tradition in the Cooper household dictated that they did the presents first, aided by plenty of champagne (or beer, in Archie’s case). More often than not, Wilma would nod off shortly afterwards — although she always protested she was just ‘resting my eyes’ — and Jinnie and Kath would add the finishing touches to the meal. Archie was in charge of setting the table, which involved a lot of clattering, banging and cursing under his breath. Rob had turkey carving down to a fine art, and spent a good chunk of Christmas Eve sharpening his knife in preparation.
As they took up their positions around the tree — everyone on the floor except Wilma, who argued she’d never get up again — Jinnie hoped Dhassim was OK. He hadn’t been impressed when he realised he’d be spending Christmas on his own, not that he’d ever celebrated it before. Still, he’d perked up at the sight of Jinnie’s miniature Christmas tree (artificial, with tiny, flashing lights) and the enormous tin of Quality Street chocolates she’d left for him. There was also a turkey ready meal and a box of mince pies for afters. And he’d been thrilled with his gift: a pair of reindeer-patterned socks that played ‘Jingle Bells’ when you pressed a little button.
The unwrapping commenced. Predictably, Archie received a pair of navy chinos and a smart polo shirt and was despatched to get changed. Jinnie adored the silver constellation earrings and deep purple silk scarf from her mum and dad. But her heart nearly stopped when she opened her present from Wilma. Nestled in a satin-lined box, it looked a lot like a —
‘It’s a facial massage wand,’ her gran announced. ‘The wee lass in Boots said it was the dog’s bollocks for smoothing out fine lines and wrinkles. No’ that you’ve got many, but better tae start early. Too late for me, mind.’ Catching Jinnie’s look of relief, she cackled. ‘Don’t tell me you thought I’d bought you a vib —’
‘More champagne?’ Jinnie leapt to her feet, aware her face was as purple as the new scarf.
The lunch was a triumph. Home-made Scotch broth to start, meltingly tender turkey with all the trimmings, and the Christmas pudding Kath always made on Stir Up Sunday, just before Advent. Everything was washed down with plenty of wine — and water, to ensure they weren’t asleep before the Queen’s Speech. Wilma, amazingly, hadn’t needed a nap, instead nipping out of the back door a couple of times for a roll-up.
Archie was wriggling in his chair, a mound of Brussels sprouts piled up on his side plate, and his dessert bowl miraculously empty. He was supposed to be on clean-up duty too, but seemed more intent on performing a peculiar bottom shuffle.
‘What’s up?’ enquired Jinnie, helping herself to pudding. ‘Got ants in your pants?’
Archie stood up and gave his groin a good scratch. Eurgh! Jinnie pitied the poor girl who ever succumbed to her brother’s dubious charms. She’d need the patience of a saint, and a high tolerance for revolting habits.
‘Got a bad case of jock itch,’ Archie replied. ‘Must be that new washing powder you’re using, Mum. That cheap stuff is giving me a rotten rash.’
