183 Times a Year (31 page)

I squirm. Now it's my turn to be embarrassed. Yeah, lovely, kind, wonderful me who only moments ago was thinking what a huge, sick, perv you were. What's that saying – never judge a picture by its book or something? I feel so awful I try to be extra nice.

The customer gets his phone out and shows me photos of Mia with hair and photos of Mia without hair. He tells me she's been sick with leukaemia for two years and the outlook isn't good. He says both he and his wife have planned this big 16th birthday for Mia at home coz they're not sure she'll be around for her 17th. I suppose this man, this stranger could be telling me a pack of lies, could actually be a perv but something tells me he's not. There's something really genuine about him and I feel well bad for his sad, sad smiley face.

I help him pick out two lovely knickers and bra sets that I
really
like. I tell him about Nan having cancer and then I tell him what a lovely Dad he is, not a complete knobhead like mine. He thanks me like tons and then wishes me a happy Christmas. I wish him one too, then, as I watch him walk away from the till, I have an amazing idea. I run after him and ask him if Mia would like a real live band to play at her party.

‘We're not very good,' I tell him. ‘In fact we're crap but we might make Mia laugh.' The man smiles a really big smile but his eyes fill up again. He looks a bit embarrassed before he finally says,

‘That would be wonderful, really lovely, but … erm well, the thing is, we can't really afford to pay you.'

‘You don't have to pay us! And anyway, we're that bloody bad you'd want your money back if you did,' I snort.

He says he's sure that's not true. I'm not, but I take his details and watch him walk away a happy man.

Oh my god I've just booked the band's first live, albeit unpaid, gig. OMG! What have I done?

Chapter 27

T'WAS THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS

LIZZIE

I almost enjoy Christmas Eve more than I do Christmas day. All is calm, all is quiet, the dinner to feed the five thousand tomorrow is prepped and the girls have been at work all day. Simon is out doing his Christmas shopping which in truth means present buying for me, left, as usual to the last minute and Connor and I have been lounging together, ensconced at either end of the sofa, watching an array of festive films, including my all-time favourite,
It's a Wonderful Life.

‘Mum,' Connor says wearing a quizzical look, ‘so does the moral of that story mean that even when everything looks like it's going wrong or seems really bad, if you look at it from a different angle it's still a wonderful life?'

‘Erm, yeah I guess so,' I reply relishing this one to one time without interruption from sulky, surly teenagers. ‘I suppose it's also reminding us that good friends and family touch and influence our lives, more often than not in a good way, but that we don't always appreciate it at the time.' I think of Ruby as I finish saying this. I think of all the times she was there for me.

Or they can ruin everything you ever believed about them.

Connor looks thoughtful. He never really says much, always happy to go with the flow, never one to make waves like his sisters'.

‘
Soooo, you mean like how Simon has been good with me and Cassie and you have with Mai … I mean Mania?' he asks. I flush a little, almost embarrassed to accept my son's obvious compliment.

Clearly you've done something right.

‘It doesn't always feel like it,' I reply out loud.

‘Nah, I know,' Connor replies before I have time to explain that I was actually talking to myself, again. ‘Cas and Mai – I mean Mania – both call you a bit …' Connor trails off mid-word covering his mouth with both hands. He looks positively mortified if albeit a little amused at the same time.

I raise my eyes and examine him above my reading glasses. ‘Yeah well,' he continues. ‘They do call you
that word
sometimes, but only when they're angry.'

Which is all of the time then
.

‘But most of the time they only say good stuff about you.' ‘Really?'

That's a bloody revelation
.

‘And funny. They think you're funny coz you dance sort of stupid.' Now it's my turn to look mortified. ‘Not stupid stupid, but you know, weird, like grown-ups do.' His intonation carries with it a reassurance that I might understand this explanation.

Suddenly the door bursts open bringing in a waft of cold air and Cassie.

‘Waz up losers?' she says throwing herself onto the sofa.

‘Hey Cas,' Connor replies. ‘I was just telling Mum that you and Mai – I mean Mania – think Mum's well funny when she dances.' A huge grin spreads across Cassie's face.

‘She is. You are,' she says looking at me. ‘What is it with old people not being able to dance anyways?' Cassie then jumps up and does an alarmingly good impression of me dancing. Connor tries, for at least two seconds, to contain his laughter before rolling around the floor in hysterics. I love the sound
of
Connor laughing. His voice hasn't broken yet and it's still wonderfully childlike. Before I know it the room is filled with raucous laughter.

‘Thank god I'll never embarrass my children with my dancing,' Cassie blurts out in between our collective guffaws.

‘What makes you so sure?' I ask.

‘Because err, duh? Unlike your generation, my generation can actually dance.' As our laughter subsides Connor wanders off into the kitchen in search of food.

‘How was work?' Cassie shrugs her shoulders. She looks so like Scott when she frowns.

‘S'okay I s'pose. Full of perverts.'

‘Perverts?'

‘Yeah, perverts,' Cassie repeats as if what she's saying makes perfect sense. ‘I got the band a gig with one of them though.' I raise my eyes in alarm. ‘Well like actually he turned out
not
to be a perv, he was just buying underwear for his daughter.'

Oh yes, I can see that makes perfect sense.

‘And it's like well sad and everything coz she – the perv who's not a perv's daughter – has cancer. So we're doing the gig for free.'

‘Well, that's lovely Cassie,' I say, my heart swelling with pride. ‘Very commendable, very spirit of Christmas and all that.'

Cassie smiles at me. ‘Yeah,' she replies, ‘it is, isn't it? Makes you think though doesn't it?' She looks lost in thought for a moment. ‘Anyway, we sound bloody awful so if nothing else we'll make her laugh.'

The door opens again and Maisy walks in. Despite her thick black make-up I spot her red puffy eyes. Cassie looks at her then rolls her eyes at me.

‘Right,' she declares, standing up. ‘I need to get ready coz I'm going out in an hour.'

‘Where are you going?'

‘To Pheebs.'

‘
Not the Old Shuck then?'

‘Yeah maybe later, for a bit to meet Joe and everyone. It is his uncle's pub after all.'

‘Careful,' I warn her. No alcohol and not home too late. It's a big day tomorrow.

Everyone's coming to dinner and I want you sociable and awake.' Cassie scrunches her nose up and rolls her eyes at me again.

‘For god bloody sake Mum, it's Christmas bloody Eeeeeeve.' I look at her with pursed lips. Cassie slumps forward. ‘Kay, o bloody kay.'

I'm sure I hear her mumble the words “fun sucker” before she slams the door and disappears up the stairs faster than her normally work-wearied legs carry her. I hear a loud thud.

‘For god's bloody sake Romeow,' Cassie yells out. ‘Are you trying to bloody kill me? Stupid bloody cat. It's all your bloody fault Mum,' Cassie shouts down the stairs. ‘I bet you train him to try and kill me don't you?'

What a good idea
.

Much to my relief Cassie laughs before I hear her disappear into the bathroom and turn on the shower.

Maisy shakes her head and grins. ‘Psycho,' she says. ‘What me or Cassie?' I reply smiling.

Maisy crosses both her arms across her chest and shrugs her shoulders. ‘Both,' she states.

Well that's two words she's said to you, one more and she's said her quota for the day.

‘How was work?'

Maisy shrugs her shoulders again. ‘S' okay.' ‘Not full of perverts then?'

Maisy looks at me, positively dumbfounded. ‘What?'

‘Never mind,' I laugh. ‘It was just something Cassie said earlier.'

She really does think you're a psycho.

I
sigh inwardly. This step-parenting malarkey doesn't get any easier, even after all these years. Come to think of it parenting in any form is bloody difficult – full stop.

‘It's already Christmas day in Australia,' Maisy suddenly blurts out before bursting into tears. I walk over to her and sit down next to her. I know if this were Cassie I'd pull her into my arms and hold her but it's still not that easy with Maisy. She's never been particularly demonstrative with her affections, even with Simon.

I don't think Simon and I were ever particularly unrealistic in our expectations of closeness and intimacy with each other's children. We knew it would take time but how much time?

Oh sod it, trust your instincts and just hug the girl already. Can't you see how upset she is?

I reach into Maisy's personal space and pull her next to me; rocking her softly, reassuring her everything will be okay. I'm pleasantly surprised to find she lets me. We sit like this for several minutes before I gently pull away and suggest a nice cup of hot chocolate with marshmallow and cream. Maisy looks at me through black mascara stained eyes and smiles. Then something amazing happens.

Two words.

‘Thanks Mum,' she says.

Up to this point I've always been known as “you're not my Mum” or “Lizzie” and clearly as Connor pointed out earlier also an assortment of other less flattering names including “bitch” and “psycho” but never, in all these years, “Mum”. I'm a little flustered and overwhelmed.

It's true then, miracles really do happen at Christmas.

CASSIE

‘Cassie, Cassie, get up, get up, its Christmas morning!'

‘
What, who, where …' I croak. ‘Is that you Dad?' Uggghhh god why is the room moving?

‘No stupid, course it's not Dad. It's me, Connor.' Obviously it's Connor, why would I think it's Dad? We haven't spent Christmas with Dad for years. ‘C'mon Cas,' Connor continues excitedly. ‘Get uuuuppp! It's Christmas morning! Everyone's here. Well Nan and Grandad and Uncle Sean and Natasha and Summer. Even Maisy's up. We're all waiting for you!'

‘Oh god, I really don't feel well,' I mumble. My mouth is drier than hot sand and my tongue is sticking to the roof of my mouth. I try to lift my head off the pillow but I swear the bed starts to move.

‘What's wrong with you?'

‘Don't shout,' I plead.

‘I'm not,' Connor replies. ‘I'm just talking normally but I reckon you're hanging.'

I'll tell Mum,' he says bouncing back off the bed.

‘No!' I shout. Ouch, I lower my voice again coz shouting hurts. ‘Its fine, I'm fine. Just give me two minutes and I'll be there.'

‘Okay,' Connor replies, leaving my room, snapping on the light on his way out. Arrrrrggghhh, I feel as though I've just been blinded. The bright light bores into my eyes and forces me to take cover under the duvet. O M G. How much did I drink last night? I thought I only had two drinks? I can't let Mum know I'm hanging; she'll kill me what with it being Christmas bloody day and everything.

I count to ten, take a deep breath then attempt to get out of bed. Slowly. Even the sound of my bare feet on the carpet is too loud and ugh … oh god, I think I'm going to be sick. A wave of cold sweat runs through me and I swear I can feel the blood from my head drain into my feet. I hold onto anything and everything as I try and navigate my way to the bathroom.
My
stomach feels as though it's folding in on itself and the hot burning taste of sick is rising in my throat.

I make it just in time to meet Hughie and Ralph at the bottom of the white porcelain loo bowl. I spit out the pieces of sick that are trapped around my teeth and use the sleeve of my dressing gown to wipe the dribbles of vomit sitting around my mouth. I'm well chuffed though coz I feel surprisingly better, except for the pneumatic drill in my head that is. I try to clean my teeth to get rid of my skanky breath but even that's too noisy.

I look up at myself in the mirror as the toothpaste foams around my mouth. My eyes are all bloodshot, framed by black smudged mascara and my face is a disgusting chalky white colour. I turn my head and look at my side profile. Yep, still have my downright bloody offensive nose with its humongous bump. Thanks Mum. Am defo gonna get a nose job when I get enough money.