Christmas at Carrington’s (17 page)

Three shopping weeks until Christmas

It’s Monday, my day off, so I’ve decided to surprise Dad with an impromptu visit, I’ve brought banana sandwiches and ginger beer just in case he’s free and we can take a trip to Mum’s grave, followed by a stroll along the promenade. Just the two of us. It will give us a chance to talk, for me to let him know I’m pleased he’s met Nancy, and see if he wants to invite her to Sam’s house for Christmas lunch.

I press the intercom and wait for him to answer. There’s no reply. I press again; perhaps he’s in the bathroom. But still no answer. I rummage in my bag to find my mobile. His number rings before going straight to the answer service. My heart drops with disappointment. I’m just about to leave when an old woman wearing a festive red Santa hat decorated with tinsel, and dragging a tartan wheelie shopper, comes to the door. She presses the security pad.

‘Ooh duck, you’d better come on in – can’t have you standing out in the cold. Not when you’re, well, you know … ’ she says, standing aside as the automatic door buzzes open.

‘Thank you. Err,’ I mutter, wondering what she’s going on about, but before I have a chance to ask, she’s off up the path, bellowing out to the minibus driver to make sure he waits for her. I’m hovering in the hallway when my mobile rings. It’s Dad.

‘Georgie, I’m so sorry, I missed your calls. Are you OK?’ he says, sounding different – panicky, edgy perhaps.

‘Yes, I’m fine thanks, are you?’ I brace myself, desperately hoping he hasn’t slipped back into his old ways and got in trouble again – gambling is an addiction, after all. And I know he’s never missed a meeting since he left prison all those years ago, but it’s still there, secreted in the back of my head as a possibility, I don’t think that will ever go away. And I couldn’t bear it, for his sake too, if he succumbed again. I know he’d be devastated. And what would Nancy think? Dad could lose everything he’s worked so hard to rebuild.

‘Oh, don’t worry about me,’ he quickly replies.

‘Dad, I’m actually outside your flat, but you’re obviously not here. I’ll come back another time.’

‘No no, don’t be silly darling, knock on Nancy’s door, I’m in with her.’ I press to end the call, and for some ridiculous reason, tears sting and a lump forms in my throat. There’s no way I can go to Mum’s grave and talk to Dad on my own now. The disappointment is crushing. I quickly find a squashed tissue in my bag and dab at my eyes; it’ll have to do. I don’t want Dad seeing me upset. He’ll only worry and, besides, I’m a grown, confident woman, I need to get a grip. I’m not normally this emotional. It must be everything that’s happened recently. I’m exhausted by it all. And with the filming, and being in the public eye – well, it makes me feel exposed. Vulnerable.

‘There you are.’ Dad is coming along the hallway, with Dusty right behind him. ‘Come in. Nancy would love to see you. What a nice surprise.’ Shoving the tissue inside my pocket, I put a smile on my smile and follow him back to Nancy’s cosy flat. She’s waiting by the front door and Frank Sinatra is singing ‘Strangers in the Night’ from the bedroom. After giving me a kiss on the cheek and taking my coat, Nancy dashes in and turns the music off. Dusty nuzzles my hand to greet me, and I give her silky ears a stroke.

‘We were just, um … dancing,’ Nancy puffs, patting her hair nervously when she reappears. There’s an awkward silence.

‘Oh, don’t turn it off on my account. I love the old songs. Dad used to play them all the time before … ’ My voice trails off as I wonder if she knows. He may not have told her about his time in prison for fraud. Yes, it was a long time ago now, but still, it’s his personal business, not mine to tell. It makes me feel strange – I’m worried she’ll judge him. I don’t want him getting hurt, rejected, like I have been. For all his faults in the past, he’s my dad and I love him.

‘Come and sit down, dear. Put your feet up,’ Nancy says, giving me an odd look. I do as I’m told and follow her into the sitting room. Dad follows behind and sits in the armchair opposite. ‘I’ll give you two some privacy.’ Nancy disappears and I crease my forehead, wondering why she’s acting so strangely. First the old woman at the door. Now Nancy. And Dad too, if the look on his face is anything to go by.

‘Dad, is everything all right?’ I ask, rattled.

‘Err, yes, yes of course. Why wouldn’t it be, sweetheart?’ he says, and I know I’m not mistaken, there’s definitely something weird going on, and it’s more than him having been in Nancy’s bedroom and feeling a bit embarrassed about it. I’m not stupid, they could only have been cuddling, or dancing, as Nancy said, but there’s no way they were naked – unless they hold the world record for getting dressed in record time. Dad is wearing a shirt, tie, V-neck jumper, trousers and lace-up shoes – he’d have to be a contortionist ninja to have got dressed that quickly. Not that it really bothers me if they were naked – good for them; it’s more action than I’m currently getting in the bedroom department. No, there’s definitely something strange going on. Oh God, I hope Dad’s OK. I decide to probe him.

‘I’m not sure Dad – maybe it’s my imagination, but you all seem to be acting really uncomfortably around me. If it’s because you’re worried about how I feel about you and Nancy, then I want you to be happy, Dad. I know Nancy won’t ever replace Mum, you said so and that’s good enough for me. I like Nancy and I understand that you can’t be expected to be on your own for ever more and, well, if we can still go to Mum’s grave sometimes, and the pier, like we said we would, just us and well—’

‘Georgie. Stop talking,’ Dad interjects, and I close my mouth before opening it again and sucking in a massive gulp of air. I hadn’t realised I was babbling without drawing breath. I actually feel dizzy. Silence follows.

‘I’m sorry. It’s probably not my business,’ I mutter, to break the awkward atmosphere.

‘Of course it is. And we do need to talk about my relationship with Nancy,’ Dad starts. ‘But there’s something else first. Something far more important.’ He cups his chin with his thumb and forefinger, and I know it must be serious; he used to do this when I was a child and had done something I shouldn’t have, like the time I poured a tester pot of apple blossom paint into Mum’s handbag. But I’m not a child any more, and I haven’t done anything wrong, as far as I know.

‘Oh, Dad, what is it? Are you OK? You’re not ill are you? Oh my God, why didn’t you say?’ I leap up and dart across the room to crouch down in front of him. I put my hand on his knee. ‘Dad, please tell me … ’ A lump forms in my throat. I’ve just got him back in my life. Tears sting. I couldn’t bear it if—

‘No, no, it’s not me Georgie. I’m fine. Honestly sweetheart, no need to put two and two together … ’ He smiles kindly and shakes his head. ‘I remember you doing exactly the same as a little girl, but please don’t worry, I’m as strong as an ox, me.’ Dad pats my hand reassuringly and relief rushes through me.

‘Georgie, you know I love you very much and I’ll never judge you – not that it’s a big deal these days anyway, but just so you know, I’m always here for you, I’ll support you every step of the way.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Darling, you don’t have to hide it. Dad looks away. I’ll support you no matter what.’

‘Dad, what are you talking about?’

‘Oh sweetheart, shall I make it easy?’ Dad says softly. He stands up and walks out of the room.

I’m still trying to work out what’s going on when Dad returns with a glossy magazine in his hand. He passes it to me. I glance at the page. And freeze. I can hear my own blood pumping in my ears.

There’s a picture of me below the headline.
Alone
. They must have cropped Sam out. And I’ve got all the maternity shopping bags in my hands and I’m standing right next to the Bumpalicious shop sign. And then, if that wasn’t bad enough, a reader has posted a comment underneath.

‘
Dad!
You think I’m pregnant. Oh my God!’ I don’t believe it. Talk about surreal. No wonder he’s being weird. I bet he thinks it’s a secret love child or whatever, especially with me not being married. In his day, this would have been a total scandal, and he can be a bit old-fashioned when it comes to stuff like this. Only a few months ago he was telling me how shocking it was that a woman in the post office he goes to is rumoured to be pregnant after a one-night stand – Dad was outraged that ‘the scoundrel responsible’ hadn’t offered to marry her.

‘It’s OK, darling. Really it is. And thank goodness it’s with the singer and not that lad Brett,’ Dad puffs, leaning forward and pointing a finger in the air as if he’s marshalling a damage-limitation plan. ‘Do you think you might marry him?’ he quizzes.

‘Dad. Please. Will you just stop it? I’m not pregnant. And even if I was, I know how to look after myself. I’d deal with it, decide what’s best for me. I’m not a little girl without a mind of my own. I’m a grown woman. And nobody cares if people are married or not these days.’

I’m up on my feet now, my mind racing as I pace around Nancy’s sitting room. She appears in the doorway. I knew I should have moved down to the basement to flog washing machines. It might not be as glamorous as selling high-end handbags and being on TV, but I bet it’s dull, discreet and just what I could do with right now.

‘Is everything OK? Shall I get the cakes?’ Nancy gives Dad a furtive glance. ‘It’s all pasteurised cream,’ she quickly adds, giving me a look. I stare at her, goggle-eyed and speechless. I turn to look at Dad. His face gives nothing away –
Oh my actual God
, he’s not even sure I’m telling the truth.

This is madness
. And then my mind starts racing, back to my night with Tom. He was sensible. We both were. I’m on the pill, for crying out loud – I’m not pregnant! I’m definitely, definitely not pregnant. Sweet Jesus, the real but made-up world has finally gone and addled my brain. I can’t even tell what’s fact and what’s fiction any more. I’m even doubting my own sense of reality. It’s official. I need to sit down. I slump back in the armchair, exhausted by it all. And I need a drink – I pull a ginger beer from my bag, open it and guzzle half in one go. The alcohol content is practically negligible, I know, but it’s all I have right now, it’ll have to do. Maybe the pending sugar rush will help …

Once the initial shock wore off, I talked Dad through it all. Explained that Sam is the one who’s pregnant and how the magazine had cropped her out of the picture. It took him a while to get his head around how that could be and he’s vowed to ask his teacher on the silver surfers’ course to show him how it’s done. And Dad was delighted for Sam and Nathan, naturally. I’ve told him that it’s early days and that she had wanted to wait to share the news with him, but I guess it’s too late now. Sam was OK about it. I checked with her first – went into Dad’s garden to call her, to quickly explain what had happened as she had just arrived at the hospital for her scan. I told her about the magazine, the misunderstanding, and after she’d stopped screaming with laughter, she said it was fine for Dad to know.

‘Oh Georgie, I’m so sorry for jumping to conclusions,’ Dad says, holding his head in his hands. ‘I’ve been such an idiot.’

‘We both have.’ It’s Nancy, hovering in the doorway with a mountain of cream cakes piled up on a silver foil platter.

‘It’s not your fault,’ I say, looking first at Dad and then Nancy. ‘The paparazzi are very good at distorting the truth.’ I shake my head.

‘Well, I shan’t ever bring up your tendency for putting two and two together again, that’s for sure. And now we know where you inherited it from – I’m the one with the drama queen gene. Sweetheart, it’s all my fault.’ Dad lets out a big puff of air. ‘I feel like such an old fool. And you know, I was thinking about asking the council to rehouse me again so I could be nearer to help out with the baby. And Nancy had even dug out her knitting needles, hadn’t you love?’ We all laugh. I’ve calmed down a bit now.

‘That’s right. Oooh, I’d love a grandchild … ’ Nancy stops talking abruptly and there’s an awkward silence. ‘I’m sorry, I err … didn’t mean, that’s not … ’ She places the platter on the coffee table and her cheeks flush rhubarb-red.

‘It’s OK, Nancy. Really.’ I smile and Dad looks up. Nancy fiddles with the gold letter N on the end of her chain.

‘Why don’t you two get stuck in and I’ll put the kettle on.’ Nancy nods and makes big eyes at Dad, as if she’s telepathically giving him a message. What’s going on now? He waits for her to disappear before getting up to close the door.

‘We need to talk sweetheart.’

‘I know Dad.’

‘Please hear me out. Is that OK?’ I nod, eager for everything to be out in the open.

‘I loved your mother with all my heart. I still do. And that will never change.’ I nod and smile. Nancy is very lovely, but she’ll only be second best, a companion; she’ll never take Mum’s place.

‘I know Dad. And you were the only man for Mum, she told me so.’ Dad smiles wistfully.

‘But, I … I’ve always loved Nancy too.’ His eyes are searching mine now, gauging, waiting for my reaction. What does he mean?

‘
Loved?
’ I ask, wondering if I heard him correctly.

‘And I still do. Very much so.’ He’s glancing at the carpet now.

‘But, I … I don’t understand.’

‘I think you do, sweetheart,’ Dad studies the swirly patterned carpet intently, and the ramifications of what he’s just said sink in. He didn’t meet Nancy when the council condemned his old flat and relocated him here. He hasn’t been on his own since he came out of prison. And no, Frank Sinatra … they’re not
strangers in the night exchanging glances
, at all. Oh no, they’re seasoned lovers all day long. He’s known her for years!

‘How long?’ I ask, holding my breath.

‘Georgie, it was a difficult time. I was … the gambling was—’