183 Times a Year (32 page)

I stop mid-brush as the memory of last night comes flooding back to me. That's right; I was drinking some alcohol but not much. I was only going to have one or two but then I stupidly tried to keep up with that girl Joe was flirting with. Why does he do that to me? Why does he do all that crap and tell me I'm like special and everything but then not make it official and flirt with other girls? And why, when he treats me like shit do I like still fancy him soooo much? And why, when Luke treats me like a princess and is into music like me, do I not in any way whatsoever fancy him?

Oh god I can hear Mum calling me. And now the bloody dog is barking which is like well bloody loud. Each and every yap and woof crashes into my ears. I swear my ears are going to split open in a minute. I can't even shout at Freddy to stop coz the sound of my voice is too loud for my thumping head.

I walk down the stairs, slowly. I use one hand to hold the banister and the other to hold my forehead as the thud of each
step
sounds much louder than it probably is. I walk into the living room to thunderous applause and shouting. Oh god. Now I think my head's actually going to explode.

‘Bout bloody time gal,' Grandad shouts.

‘At last!' Connor declares.

‘Someone's hanging a bit heavy eh Cas?' Uncle Sean says grinning. Mum shoots me what looks like a look of disapproval. Thanks Uncle Sean, I was hoping to get away with it.

Mum disappears for a minute. God knows what she's doing but I'm probably well and truly in for it now. Nan looks at me over her reading glasses and smiles, a sort of knowing look. Maisy and Nat are talking. They both smirk when they look across at me. Summer runs up to me and flings her arms around my waist. Was I really that small once?

‘Happy Christmas Cassie!' she shouts, nearly squeezing me to death. ‘He's been you know? Father Christmas I mean, he's been,' Summer continues excitedly. She's all wide eyed and full of wonder. She makes me smile but my throat tightens and I suddenly feel a bit sad. I kinda get that Dad doesn't like me much at the moment, especially when I cry and yell at him. But how could he not have wanted me when I was little, like Summer? I'm trying so hard to hold back my tears but one stupid one manages to escape and is running down my cheek. I lower my head and quickly put my hand up to my face to wipe it away. When I look up again Simon is standing next to me.

‘Happy Christmas Cas,' he says with his warm, smiley face. I can't reply so I look at him and nod my head up and down in response, just in case any more tears escape. I think he gets it coz he smiles and winks at me.

‘Happy Christmas trouble.' I turn to see Mum standing behind me with tea, toast and paracetamol. I laugh and the tears fall now anyway.

‘Thanks Mum,' I eventually manage to say. ‘Happy Christmas.'

Chapter 28

LOVE IS ALL AROUND

LIZZIE

I scan our living room and take in the mass of bodies that are now very quiet but up until an hour ago were as riotous and strident as any football or rugby match. Such is the eclectic gathering of our family Christmas dinner.

Has it been stressful?

Yes.

Am I exhausted?

Abso bloody lutely.

Is it worth it?

Without a doubt.

Life is so hectic. Christmas is the one time of the year that forces us to remember each other for a while; even if it just to remind us, in some instances, seeing each other once a year is enough.

Some of the bodies that made up the Christmas jamboree have disappeared for one reason or another and the sounds now filling the room with the remaining few are not silence but contented exhaustion. Dad and Uncle Teddy are almost mirror images of each other. Sat on one of the two cat clawed sofas, legs outstretched displaying compulsory Christmas socks and hands locked across full stomachs as if guarding an item of superlative and priceless value, leant back, eyes closed and open mouthed as if catching flies.

Connor, still going, is ensconced in one of the four corners
of
the room with Summer. His laptop perches precisely on crossed legs and he is clearly in his element, beating his younger cousin at one or other of his many amusing computer games. Mum, with one eye closed, the other focussed on the flickering images of the TV nods, mostly out of politeness, to the muffled ramblings of Aunt Marie sat next to her.

Sean is sat outside the living room via the patio door leading to the garden. He has pulled up an old plastic garden chair that has seen better days and, with his back to us, is smoking. Maisy has joined him and is, I'm pretty convinced, smoking too.

Simon, sprawled across the floor, is talking to his cousin, Mike. Andy would have been with them if he were here. Their heads are leant against fully occupied sofas, sipping whiskey and talking inebriated bullshit. I feel sad that Andy isn't here. Every now and then Simon looks up at me, and smiles. I smile back at my lovely man. The only people missing are Ruby and Andy. I miss them both dreadfully but seeing them is not an option. I feel lost without Ruby in my life, like I've lost a sister – except a sister wouldn't betray and hurt me like Ruby did. I still can't quite believe what she did. I wake up some mornings thinking it was all a bad dream, which it is in a way. I haven't told Simon why I'm not talking to Ruby, he just thinks we've had a bit of a falling out and we'll make it up. We won't though. How can I?

Ruby did try to contact me. Bombarded me with messages via phone and every form of social media known to man, woman and child, for a couple of weeks, imploring me to speak to her, to let her explain. I wanted to but when I remembered what she told me, what she'd done, I couldn't, I just couldn't. I can't see her because … I can't forgive her. I've tried, really tried, to find forgiveness in my heart but I can't.

Cassie, who, surprisingly out of choice, is sat next to me on our other cat ravaged sofa, is both equally engrossed in the film
(
Love Actually,
one of our favourites) I am half watching and her phone. She stares intently at the TV, smiling or frowning depending on what particular emotion is evoked with each scene but her viewing is constantly interrupted throughout. A continuous stream of various dinging, ringing, swishing, swooshing and tweeting sounds emanate from the small device that is as much a physical part of her as her hand itself.

Cassie doesn't know I am but I'm watching her. Quietly laughing to myself as she holds her phone out in front of her – at arm's length – pulling several strange faces, using her free hand to bouffant the back of her hair. She tilts her head to one side and puckering her lips – the most worked out muscle in Cassie's entire body, Simon says – takes yet
another
selfie. One of several million I assume.

I'm slightly drunk, but happy-ish. It hasn't been a particularly easy year, financially and otherwise but, whether it's through blood or friendship, I'm very rich in the love that surrounds me tonight. As if on cue Hugh Grant's voice reminds me – like the song – that
Love Is All Around
. Cassie and I look at each other and laugh realising we've both said the words out loud and in unison.

‘Mu-m,' Cassie says. ‘Yes Cassie?'

‘Well, I just wanted to say – thanks.' ‘For what?'

‘Ummmm … everything.'

Chapter 29

NOW IS THE WINTER OF OUR DISCONTENT

LIZZIE

Maybe it's the short days and the long nights responsible for my current malaise. Christmas was nice but hectic as usual and as we left behind another year and saluted a new one, I experienced an overwhelming sense of gloom. My Christmas good cheer was I fear packed away and assigned to the loft with the tree and decorations.

Maybe I'm just not genetically programmed to cope with the cold and never ending winters this one already is. Snow for a couple of days can be wonderful. Especially when it settles and one is observing it behind a cosy, centrally heated window. I hope to god Raj's parents have put the heating on by now. Watching large flakes of the white stuff float down featherlike against an inky black sky is mesmerising. Falling faster and thicker, swabs of cotton wool cover and conjoin everything in its path. Nothing escapes its descent. Soft and soundless, its assault is ruthless, concealing everything in its wake. The discernible quickly becomes the indiscernible. All is a whitewash of white, regardless. All is one, for a while.

But then it melts and turns to slush or worse, it freezes and mastering mobility becomes purgatory. Fifteen layers of clothing are required before leaving the house along with obligatory hat, scarf and gloves. What was crisp and bright and white is now
grey
and dark and damp. Murky mornings travelling into work melt into bleak evening's returning home from work. I have a bloody Roman nose for god sake. I'm just not built for this crap. I sigh inwardly and examine my nose in the bathroom mirror. I hated it at school, used to dream of the perfect little ski jump nose that plastic surgery would achieve. Why are we never happy with what we've got? Why do we always compare ourselves to others instead of keeping the comparisons within? I still can't believe Ruby looked at my fraught and complicated life and saw something preferable to her own. But then I still can't believe Ruby, full stop. She wished me a happy new year via text. I didn't reply of course, and I haven't heard anything since.

I take in a side profile of my face. Nope, am still okay with the nose. I'm happy to say I grew into it. I am however a lot less happy about the visible march of time across my face, especially the crow's feet and wrinkles and in particular the ones around my eyes. Oh god, what could I achieve with a face from twenty years ago and all this knowledge? Youth is most definitely wasted on the young.

Cassie is calling me.

What now? What has your unpaid skivvy not done now eh?

Oh god. Is this actually as good as it gets? Shackled and weighed down by a duty of caring for others but at the same time no sense of anchorage, no sense of self.

Maybe I'm having a break-down or a mid-life crisis or worse still maybe it's the onset of the menopause?

Happy bloody New Year! My phone pings. I swipe the screen and am told that one of my friends has made a status. It's Jodi.

Is it Wine O' Clock yet???!!!

I smile. What a jolly good idea.

I must find a way to impede this on-going trepidation, void of hope for my future. Oh well, the Straw Bear festival is
imminent.
Always a good excuse for a bloody good knees up, and who knows, the snow may even disappear?

CASSIE

I think Mum has that SAD disease. The one where winter makes you depressed or something coz she's like dead moody at the moment. It's funny coz they're the same letters I've got Dad stored under in my phone. SAD coz he is, SAD coz that's how he makes me feel and SAD for Stupid Arsehole Dickhead.

Anyway, Mum didn't have to bloody snap my head off like she did. I only asked her if my pink dress was washed … and if she could give me a lift to town. Oh yeah and if she could lend me thirty quid till the end of the month … and if I could have the Band round for pizza before practise next week … and if Honey was okay to sleep over for the Straw Bear, oh and of course if she could give a few of us a lift to the band's gig on Friday, and a lift home of course. It's only eighty bloody miles away for god's bloody sake. What's the big bloody deal? Psycho. You'd think she'd be happy to help me. She doesn't exactly lead the most interesting life in the world. That's why I don't understand her being such a stress head. I mean, really, what does she have to stress about? Try being me I say, then you'll really understand what stress is. I have work stress, college stress, Band stress, Joe Stress, Luke stress, Pheeb stress, Honey stress, piano stress
and
of course DAD stress. And then,
please
, don't even get me started on my fat arse, small boobs and Roman nose stress. Stress, stress, stress. My life is like, well, one long … STRESS!