Page 113 of Did My Love Life Shrink in the Wash?
That said, Callaghan festive times have lost some meaning in recent years. Once upon a time, turkey, togetherness and tinsel (royal blue, circa 1975) was the tradition, whereas now growing families and rival in-laws mean it has become a more mixed affair, much to my mother’s consternation. Two years ago, Christmas was effectively taken over by Mother breaking Emma’s husband’s nose and last year we lost Tom and then Grace to her travels. So now is the year where we bring some element of nostalgia and celebration back into proceedings. Callaghans, assemble. Mother has spoken; never mind Will not being here or these poor new nieces that we’re going to bombard with people and mince pies. Meg and her troop have come down from the Lakes and all of Mum’s girls will be in the same house. This doesn’t happen very often; the world may well implode from excitement.
Now, as I get through the front door, the troop of kids that have bombarded me with hugs and kisses disperse to make way for the big guns. Mum emerges from the kitchen with oven gloves on her hands, directing the big show.
‘Tess, be a love and put Aunty Beth’s presents under the tree. Take that snowsuit off the boy, he’ll be way too warm.’
Just through the door, Mum. Give me a moment.
Heads pop out from the kitchen to wave hello: Dad and Lucy, who unsurprisingly looks like she’s already cracked into the drink. I wave my arms around at them as Meg and her husband, Danny, emerge from the lounge with glasses of what looks like Baileys. They both look different for some reason. Happier? Or are they already drunk?
‘Merry Christmas, middle sister,’ she says. Definitely drunk, with the way she’s slurring.
‘Ditto, biggest sister. Have you met the new little ones?’ I ask her.
‘I cried, quite openly. They now think I’m Crazy Aunt Meg.’
‘We all cried.’
I see she’s dying to ask me about Will but she knows now’s not the time.
‘Right, give me a cuddle with my only nephew.’ She hands her Baileys to Dan then takes Joe from me, heading back into the lounge.
‘Drink for you? Or I could put brew on?’ Danny asks me. His tone is always broad and lacking in articles. I channel him whenever I’m monologuing Mr Rochester fromJane Eyreto my GSCE lot.
‘Aye, will take that off your hands,’ I say, stealing the Baileys from him. Hearing Polly’s wails from next door, he excuses himself and I’m left standing there in the hallway alone. I take off my coat and then look up to see a set of eyes peering down at me through the banisters. I wave. It’s little Cleo. I climb the stairs and go and sit next to her. I’ve only met her a few times since she’s joined the family. Grace wanted to do things by the book and not barrage them. Cleo’s English is limited but her eyes always study everything in such detail, like she’s looking deep through the colour of my irises, trying to read my soul. Downstairs is a hive of noise and frenetic activity. It’s safer here, eh? I’ve spent a lot of time here on these steps myself. It was a good place to eavesdrop, but also to slide down on my belly. Cleo pulls my palm out, runs circles in it and nods at me.
‘Oh, this one. Round and round the garden, like a teddy bear…’
She smiles and laughs, poising her fingers, ready to bounce.
‘One step, two step, tickle me under there.’
I pretend to collapse into giggles and her face broadens into laughter. I can’t help but be won over. I don’t know your whole story yet, but I know your mum and she is so going to take such amazing care of you.
‘What are you two doing there?’ Grace appears from the bedroom, carrying bright-eyed and adorable Maya, who looks freshly changed and napped, ready to take on the day.
‘We’re doing the teddy bear in the garden.’
‘I did that fifty-six times this morning.’
Ah, the joyful rituals of motherhood.
Grace sits next to me and starts stroking Cleo’s jet-black hair as she clings onto her new mum. ‘Is it madness down there?’ she asks.
‘When is it not?
She looks over at my sense of caution then puts a hand in mine. Maybe the Christmas spirit, the one in the air as opposed to the one in my glass, will buoy me. I really need it to.
‘It’ll all be good. Come and see the “back massager” that Mum put in Dad’s stocking.’
‘Do I want to?’
‘I don’t want to know where she got it from, but Lucy will show you how itactuallyworks.’
Oh my days. It’s a vibrator, isn’t it? I’ve warned Mum about buying stuff randomly on Amazon. We stand up and Cleo puts her arms out to me to carry her. Alright then, little one. She wraps her legs around my hips and rests her head on my shoulder. It’s the best present anyone could give me.
‘I remember Pops got drunk after a night out once, came home and peed on our Christmas tree and Granny Fi chased him around the house and he had to hide under Aunty Beth’s bed.’
Lucy has all the nieces gathered around her for the Callaghan tales of legend session. The youngest sister does have a titanic memory and a flair for vivid storytelling, digging deep into our dramas of old. The nieces all cover their mouths and Emma sits there shaking her head. Every year, they get a new story, from the time Meg tried to pierce her belly button with a stapler to when Lucy decided she wanted to live alone in her room in protest against the new washing-up rota and survived off bottled water, Kit Kats and did all her business in a bucket.
