Page 26 of A Wish for Jinnie
Try doing your own blooming washing, thought Jinnie.
‘Isn’t he a tennis player?’ added Kath, stacking up dirty plates. ‘You know the one, good-looking, think he’s won Wimbledon a few times.’
Both Jinnie and her dad howled with laughter. ‘I think you mean Djokovic,’ said Rob. ‘And I don’t think Archie’s condition and a top-seeded tennis player have much in common.’
‘New balls, please!’ shrieked Jinnie, doubling over in hysterics.
‘You lot are a disgrace,’ huffed Wilma. ‘Now can we get this table cleared and listen to what Her Majesty has to say?’
Her Majesty had much to say. The usual blend of the positive — new additions to the royal family — and concern for a world filled with so much hatred and division. Rob nodded sombrely, Kath sniffed (too much champagne made her weepy), and Wilma commented that Betty’s jumper was an unflattering colour. Archie, meanwhile, had sloped off to snooze and scratch himself in private.
Jinnie wished again that Dhassim had the power to right all the world’s wrongs. But it could never be that simple. Only mankind had the means to reverse the damage done; but the world seemed hell-bent on further destruction. The threat of another war loomed constantly, and an end to poverty and famine remained a faint and unlikely hope.
Jinnie was staying the night. Her old bedroom was largely unchanged, with patches on the walls where she’d stuck up posters of Justin Timberlake and Orlando Bloom. The double bed was made up with her favourite navy and cream checked linen, well-worn and faded, but deliciously soft and fragrant. Her mum had placed a bottle of water by the bedside, and would ensure the electric blanket was switched on before Jinnie said her goodnights. She laid out her pyjamas on the pillow and arranged her toiletries in the bathroom before heading down to rejoin the family fun.
Much later, after several raucous rounds of charades — Wilma acting outGroundhog Daywasa particular highlight — and a mountain of sausage rolls, sandwiches and more bubbly, Jinnie was shattered. She helped her mum load the dishwasher for the second time, the two of them gulping down mugs of tea. Archie had headed out to the pub to see some mates, and Rob was trying to persuade a very tipsy Wilma that it was time for home.
‘Ach, you’re a right party pooper,’ she complained, the bell on her cap drooping alarmingly. ‘Guess I’ll just need to fix mysel’ a wee nightcap at home and watch theStrictlyspecial on catch-up.’
‘A great day as always, Mum,’ said Jinnie, packing away the leftovers in the fridge.
‘Thanks for coming, love,’ said Kath, wiping down the worktops and wringing out the cloth. No matter the hour or how tired she was, Jinnie’s mum never went to bed until the kitchen was spotless.
‘Of course I came,’ replied Jinnie. ‘I’ve never wanted to be anywhere at Christmas except here.’ Despite being in her thirties, Jinnie always spent the day with her family. It had caused friction with Mark, who thought they should alternate between his parents and hers, or take themselves off to a five-star hotel for fine dining and lots of sex. Hannah said she was insane turning down such an offer. ‘Jeez, if I had a choice between hanging with the wrinklies and eating shrivelled-up dead bird, or being waited on hand and footandgetting laid … it’s a no-brainer!’
New Year’s Eve, or Hogmanay as they called it in Scotland, was a different matter. Since her early twenties Jinnie had either partied with the girls or stayed home alone, watching Jools Holland or the televised celebrations in Edinburgh. She and Mark had gone once, braving the bitter cold and icy rain. She’d hated it, fingers wrapped around a mulled wine for warmth as Mark and his cronies brayed at each other, cracking jokes that only they found funny. As for this year…
Tucked up with the blanket cranked to the max (Jinnie hoped she’d remember to turn it off or she’d be a puddle by morning), her mind drifted ahead. The start of another year. New beginnings, more wishes. She’d volunteered to work a shift at the pub, the promise of double wages sealing the deal. The whole village would be there, counting down as the clock approached midnight.Ten, nine … Ed … eight, seven, six … Sam … five, four, three, two, one…
Chapter 27
Ed had enjoyeda quiet Christmas Day with his parents. After the sixth text message from Cheryl, he’d switched off his phone. Yes, he was being an ostrich, but burying his head in the sand was preferable to the ear-bashing Cheryl would subject him to, given half a chance. Not playing the adoring boyfriend over ChristmasandNew Year was grounds for the coldest of cold shoulders.
Ed had sent her a voucher for her favourite shop, knowing she was hankering after a new handbag to add to the dozen or so she already owned. She’d sent him absolutely nothing, apart from a terse message.Merry Christmas. Guess I’ll see you when I see you, minus kisses and emojis. The later messages had been shorter, sharper and all pointing the way to a not very happy ending.
Ken and Mags always opened on Boxing Day. Their reasoning was that not everyone had family or friends to spend Christmas with. It could be a lonely day if your only company was the TV, and crackers were a waste of money when you had no one to pull them with. Even in a village as small as Cranley, they knew there were many who saw Christmas as an ordeal to be endured. The day after meant some return to normality.
Mags had been on decent form. Ken took charge of the cooking, and the only drama had been when she got vaguely hysterical about the dress that no longer fitted. With infinite patience, Ken had rifled through the wardrobe and produced a butter-soft cashmere knit that he’d bought as a present and hung up instead of wrapped.
‘When did I buy this?’ Mags had asked, stroking the wool. ‘I can’t remember.’ Ed stepped forward, pretending to tuck in the label as he twisted off the price tag.
Today, Mags was resting and Ken and Ed were running the show, with help from Jinnie. As it wasn’t yet too busy, Ed left the customers to sup their pints and complain good-naturedly about the preceding twenty-four hours, and wandered outside.
A couple were vaping, an old man waited as his grizzled dog did its business, and a woman sat huddled over a bench. It took Ed a few seconds to realise it was Jamie’s mum, Angela. She was smoking a cigarette and staring at the sky.
Ed approached, wary of encroaching on her private space. Yet she exuded loneliness, and a vulnerability that propelled him forward. ‘Hiya.’
Angela looked startled, stubbed out her cigarette and sat upright. She wore a knitted hat pulled down over her forehead. The watery moonlight illuminated her face, highlighting the dark shadows under her eyes. ‘Hey. Sorry, I was miles away. Well, wishing I was miles away, but here I am. Fancy keeping a miserable cow company?’
Ed sat down. He didn’t have a jacket and it was bitterly cold, but he couldn’t just walk away. Just a few minutes, then he’d make his excuses. ‘It would be my pleasure. I’m all ears, if you feel like chatting.’
Angela pulled out her packet of cigarettes and sparked up another. Ed shivered and stuck his hands between his legs in a futile attempt to keep warm. Angela seemed oblivious, lost in a nicotine-fuelled memory. ‘I guess you know who I am?’, she said suddenly.
Ed nodded. He'd recognised her straight away, but they’d never spoken before. She struck him as someone who didn’t open up readily. A single mum to the sullen Jamie, shrouded in whispers and rumours in a community with too much time on its hands.
‘Truth is, I don’t get out much.’ Angela let out a barking laugh. ‘Being skint does that to a person. And dropping by the local pub isn’t the ideal outing for an alcoholic. Still, I like it here. People are nice … well, most of them.’ She related how kind Sam had been a few days earlier. Ed nodded, although he didn’t know the man well himself. Jinnie seemed to like him, as did his mum and dad. He shuffled in his seat, praying his privates didn’t retreat permanently in the sub-zero temperature.
‘I woke up one day knowing things needed to change. Yes, my life sucks, but so does a lot of people’s. And wallowing in a puddle of booze and misery doesn’t help.’ Angela inhaled deeply, blowing out a steady plume of smoke. ‘And these are next to go. One vice at a time, eh?’
