Page 108 of Did My Love Life Shrink in the Wash?
Grace tries hard to hold in her laughter. Elfie, mate…you could have chosen a better name. But I also vaguely recognise Elfie as one of Lucy’s drama friends who was possibly dressed as Britney Spears at my party, confirmed when Lucy goes to hug him.
‘You know Elfie!’ cries Violet, in wonderment.
‘We go way back,’ Lucy says, pushing them in. ‘What sort of shite name is Elfie?’ she mutters.
‘We’re all called Elfie. Have fun!’ he says through gritted teeth, obviously overtaken by the spirit of Christmas. I put my thumb up at him and we’re led through a strange grotto of gifts and more animatronic bears, a hideously lit Christmas version of a house of horrors.
A curtain is suddenly drawn back. ‘HO! HO! HO!’ the voice rings through the room.
Oh dear. It’s budget Santa. I see Emma shake her head at Lucy, and Grace and I try to hold in our laughter. I mean, there are enough old men in the world to try and at least hire someone of age. He looks like he’s in his thirties, wearing modern framed glasses and I can see dark chest hair under his suit, and a beard that looks like it’s made of an old sheepskin rug. He’s also in black Nike Air Force 1 trainers. Violet, being Violet, doesn’t seem to care and runs into his arms but Iris studies him intently. He’s not even fat. I’m carrying more weight than shopping centre Santa. I am wondering whether it’s the right choice to taint Joe with this.
‘Please can I have some glitter gel pens, a Hatchimal if that’s OK and maybe a cuddly Dalmatian?’ says Violet.
Lucy looks over at Emma to confirm that she was right about the glitter pens but the Dalmatian seems like new information.
‘And how are your reindeer? How many do you have again?’
‘Eight?’
‘NINE!’ Emma shouts, coughing.
‘Oh yes, I forget Rudolph sometimes.’
‘How can you forget your own reindeer?’ asks Violet.
‘In the same way that Pops sometimes forgets our names,’ Lucy says, glaring at him. ‘Beth, Joe’s turn.’
I nod, Grace helping me unbuckle him from his carrier so I can put the baby on Santa’s knee. Joe sits there but turns to look up at Santa and I see his expression immediately.Who in the holy titbags is that, Mum?Up close, he smells like cheese and onion crisps. Grace stands there dancing, trying to get Joe’s attention while Lucy tries to take a picture. He’s not convinced.I don’t trust this man. Joe’s bottom lip is out. I’ve never seen him so scared so I grab him before he goes full wail. He wraps himself around me.Don’t ever make me do that again.
‘I don’t think I want to, Mummy,’ Iris says. I don’t blame her, but then Lucy heads to Santa’s side and urges us over.
‘Come on, girls, one picture. Please. We can get it put on a mug for Mum for Christmas. Iris, could you hold Joe for five seconds?’
She loves Joe so it’s no-brainer and another ‘Elfie’ in the room takes Lucy’s phone. Lucy is brazen so goes for the lap, which takes Santa by surprise. She’d better behave herself because no one likes a Santa with a boner.
‘So I hope you’ve all been good girls?’ Santa asks jokingly.
‘No, Santa, no,’ Emma replies, sternly. I look over at Grace, who cackles and I smile, hoping that’s the look the picture caught.
‘Thank you, Santa,’ Lucy says, getting up. I think he winks at her. He’s very generous and gives us all a free gift that feels like crayons. I will use mine well. Joe looks at Santa again as he waves goodbye.Nope.Get your crap beard away from me, freak.
The next stage of this experience is gingerbread icing and we’re led to a large room with folding tables, posters of snowy scenes and blow-up reindeer. It’s just how I imagined the North Pole to look. We let Iris and Violet loose with all the other kids, armed with tube icing and sprinkles, and take stock for a moment to trade photos and digest what we’ve just seen.
‘How much did you pay for this?’ asks Emma, rolling her eyes.
‘But look at this picture,’ Lucy says. ‘I know Meggsy’s not in it but look how happy we all look.’ We peer over her phone and she’s got a leg in the air like a showgirl. She shares all the photos with us and my fingers hover over the picture of Joe looking bewildered, but still trademark cute. I forward the picture to Will. It’s Christmas, after all. And this is our son. Even after all that’s happened, look at this mega baby we made together. The image pops up in our WhatsApp chat and I notice an old message featuring a lemon. Don’t tear up now, Beth. Not now.
‘Did Beth tell you about Yasmin King from school?’ Lucy says, munching through a gingerbread snowman. ‘They’re besties now.’
I roll my eyes. ‘We are not.’
All the sisters wait for the story to distract us from the wail of children. Yasmin ended up staying after Will left. She heard my stories about Will, I showed her the letter and a photo of Sean, and she made me tea. Proper tea with caffeine. She let me cry, held Joe and observed. I wasn’t sure if it was because she cared or whether both of us had some innate understanding that we both needed each other at that moment but she stayed for another night. She ordered us rice and dumplings and she stared at Joe a lot, obviously hoping that looking into his eyes might help her locate the sense of motherhood she was desperate to find. I’ve since texted her to check in and she does the same, but I also text our aunt Melanie for the same reason and I don’t think she’d call me a bestie.
‘You know I think we all had the wrong measure of her. She may have grown up, even changed. She’s actually quite lonely, and generally defensive because she doesn’t know who her real friends are. I also reckon half of what we heard about her was rumour,’ I say.
‘Like what?’ Emma asks.
‘Remember the sanitary pad on the locker incident?’ Everyone nods. That horrific story hung around school for years. ‘That wasn’t her. That was Amy Laslov who orchestrated it and pinned it on Yasmin. She also didn’t sleep with Mr Baker though she says he did flash her in a store cupboard and she threw a tenon saw at him and that’s why he walked for a term on crutches.’
