Chocolate Shoes and Wedding Blues

‘So come on, what other good points does Justin have?’

‘Charm – though he doesn’t often direct it at me these days. And he can be very affectionate and persuasive. He says he wants me to lose weight only for my own health, for instance …’

‘Yeah, right.’

‘But then, he loves my baking and sulks if there’s nothing in the cake tin, or I haven’t made a fresh bara brith loaf.’

‘All that baking’s not exactly going to help you with the weight loss, is it?’ Bella pointed out.

‘No, not really,’ I sighed. ‘He does think the foot modelling is a good thing. He’s quite proud of my doing that, oddly enough, and tells everyone I have beautiful feet. He doesn’t even object to my slathering my feet in Vaseline each night and then wearing cotton socks in bed.’

‘Secret foot fetishist?’ she suggested doubtfully.

‘Maybe … but you can’t build a relationship on that! No, I think we’ve been drifting slowly further and further apart and perhaps he doesn’t really love me any more – or not the real me. And I want the Justin I fell in love with, not this version,’ I said sadly.

‘Maybe there’s an “IOU a wedding” voucher in your Christmas present from him?’ she suggested.

‘I doubt it. I know he gets the wife of his best friend to buy my presents because they’re always the caramel-coloured cashmere jumpers she wears herself – the ones I pass on to you, because that’s the last colour that suits me.’

‘I love them, but it would be nicer if you had a present that suited you instead,’ she said. ‘Did you leave Mummy Dearest a present? I take it she’s moving in for Christmas as usual?’

I grinned. ‘Yes, and her present is a plastic cactus plant in a pot. It flashes on and off and plays “La Cucaracha” if you go near it.’

‘Justin used to buy you flowers and chocolates all the time, didn’t he, and book expensive seats for musicals? Robert didn’t do any of that so I was terribly envious!’

‘He’s stopped that, and though he did give me perfume for my birthday, it was the flowery sort I don’t like. I’m strictly a spicy, mellow sort of girl.’

‘Flowery sounds like the sort of thing Mum gives me, too.’

‘I think your parents would get on like a house on fire with Justin. He’d live in a minimalist, clinical white box if he could, though you’d think he’d have had enough of that in the hospital during the day.’

‘His mother sounds almost as bad as mine, the way you told me she clears your things away whenever she comes to stay in your absence. I never feel the flat is really my home when I can never have things the way I want them, and Mum walks in and out tidying things away and rearranging everything.’

‘She should respect your privacy a bit,’ I replied sympathetically. ‘Apart from the intrusion when Mummy Dearest messes about with my belongings, the worst thing is that Justin lets her do it! Every last book, ornament, fuzzy monkey, even my shoes and clothes, will be in the boxroom when I get back after Christmas.’

‘That’s so hurtful!’

‘Yes, but Justin can’t really seem to see it, and when I lose my temper, he’s the one who goes all hurt!’ I then looked at her and said gratefully, ‘Oh, Bella, it’s been so good to talk it all through with you, because I feel I’m sort of coming to a crisis point, wondering if Justin is the right man for me after all, especially when my heart is up here in Sticklepond. Aunt Nan is worrying about the same thing, going by what she said yesterday. She agrees with me, that I need to have it out with Justin when I get back, not let our relationship drift any further. And that’s what I’m going to do.’

‘I think you’re right. And I don’t know what I’d do if I couldn’t talk things through with you either. I really need to find an escape route so Tia and I aren’t living in Mum and Dad’s granny flat for ever. But meanwhile, let’s try and put our problems out of our heads for the moment and get as much enjoyment out of Christmas as we can,’ she suggested bravely. ‘After all, it’s Christmas Eve tomorrow!’

Chapter 3: Trashed

My mother’s family moved to Southport from Wales when she was a child. A lot of people think all the Welsh are small and dark, don’t they? But that’s not so, and Mother was tall, fair and very pretty, with a smile like liquid sunshine, while my Lancashire father was the small, dark one! A big store in Southport employed Mother as a mannequin when she left school. Twice a day she was dressed in the latest fashions and driven along Lord Street in an open carriage as an advertisement, and then she would model clothes and hats in the shop, too. This would be some time in the 1880s, I expect.

Middlemoss Living Archive

Recordings: Nancy Bright.

We had a wonderful Christmas, quiet and peaceful, with the world and its worries firmly shut out. At the back of my mind lurked the fear that this might be my last one with Aunt Nan, and I wanted to enjoy each precious moment just in case …

I had some lovely presents. Aunt Nan had knitted me a zipped cardigan in rainbow stripes, Lars sent me a richly coloured carpet bag (something I had always longed for) filled with goodies like chocolates, a purple silk scarf covered in butterflies, and a long string of chunky beads made from semiprecious stones.

I don’t know how he can judge what I will like so exactly, and yet Justin, who is supposed to love me, gets it so wrong. I mean, I never wear matching anything, even a cashmere twinset, and certainly not in taupe, a colour that makes me look like a dead frog.

Lars rang me from New York, where his daughters and grandson, Charlie, were staying with him, to wish me and Aunt Nan Happy Christmas. Then I rang my mother in California, a token gesture Aunt Nan always insisted on, even though I’m not sure Immy remembers who I am half the time. I suppose I should be grateful my name is on her Christmas card list!

I left Justin to ring me, rather than the other way round, since I didn’t want to get Mummy Dearest, but it was so late when he did that I’m sure he had almost forgotten me, which was hurtful … and he’d certainly forgotten what it was I’d given him until I asked him if he liked his white silk aviator scarf and the enormous box of Turkish delight, a particular favourite of his.

Luckily he didn’t ask me if I’d liked the taupe twinset and he didn’t mention the plastic cactus I’d given Mummy Dearest, either …

‘Miss you, darling,’ he said in a perfunctory sort of way, before ringing off.

‘Me too,’ I said, though really I just missed the warm place in my heart where I felt loved and wanted by the old Justin, rather than this new, critical one – and anyway, by then I was talking to empty air.

Timmy who, along with his partner, Joe, was staying with his parents in Ormskirk for Christmas, visited on Boxing Day. He’s a firm favourite of Aunt Nan’s. She says he has funny little ways, but he’s a kind, good-hearted lad. He’d hand-quilted her a rose-pink bed jacket, though she said it was too nice to wear to bed and promptly put it on over her skirt and cardi. I wore the hat he’d made me, too – I’m not sure how he managed to knit it into a twisted spiral ending in a tassel, but it looked stunning.

Bella popped in with Tia, who wanted to show us some of her presents. She was wearing mine, a lilac fairy dress with matching wings, and since she has Bella’s slender build, ash-blond hair and pale blue eyes, she looked as if she’d just escaped from A Midsummer Night’s Dream and might fly away at any moment.

I gave Bella Justin’s present. ‘It’s a cashmere twin set, and though it says taupe on the label, it’s more of a snotty grey-green really,’ I said, ‘so I don’t know if it will do anything for you, either.’

‘I see what you mean,’ she said, pulling a corner out and looking at it doubtfully. ‘Mum might like it, though.’

‘If not, it can go to a charity shop,’ I said. ‘It’s a good label, so I expect someone will be glad of it.’

We all (except Tia, and Joe, who was driving) had a generous glass of Aunt Nan’s Meddyg and got quite merry and Aunt Nan told them all about my plans for turning the shop into a wedding shoe emporium. The idea really seemed to have captured her fancy now she’d had time to think about it. Everyone was enthusiastic and had various suggestions to make though, after a second glass of Meddyg, some of those were not entirely sensible. I mean, there can’t be that many tall, handsome princes looking for shoe-fitting jobs, can there?

I set off back to London on the Monday after Christmas, resolutely intending to have things out with Justin, but also secure in the knowledge that if it all went pear-shaped I could move back to Sticklepond.

Perhaps that was part of the problem? I’d been constantly torn two ways, between Justin and home, but if we couldn’t resolve our differences and rekindle our love, then I would have to abandon my hopes of a happy-ever-after and a family, which would be a hard thing to do …

Bella had suggested going it alone, with a sperm donor, but I didn’t feel that route was for me: I wanted any child of mine to be brought up in a loving family relationship.

Even though Justin knew when I was returning, he wasn’t there when I arrived at our basement flat near Primrose Hill, but out playing golf. I suppose I should have been grateful he’d remembered to leave me a note.

Even if I hadn’t known that Mummy Dearest had spent Christmas there, I’d have quickly guessed, because the flat was back to arid white minimalism, and all the homely touches I’d added, like the brightly coloured throws and the rainbow of fuzzy pipe-cleaner monkeys hanging from every possible place had vanished.

This time she hadn’t just pushed them all into the boxroom, but right out of the house and into the wheelie bin, among a lot of expensive discarded gift-wrap and the flashing cactus I gave her!

She hadn’t touched my work for the current Slipper Monkey book, of course, because I’d started locking everything personal or precious in a tin trunk when I was away, after the first time I’d returned to find everything jumbled about and was sure she’d had a jolly good rummage through my stuff.

But even so, she’d gone way too far this time! The flat might belong to Justin, but it was also my home – and he’d just let her do this?

My blood boiling, I rang him on his mobile, golf or not.

‘Oh, you’re back, darling! I didn’t think you’d be home until later this afternoon,’ he said.

‘I told you I’d be back just after lunch, but from the look of the flat you’d think I’d never lived here!’ I told him furiously. ‘And this time your mother’s not just hidden my belongings away, she’s put half of them out with the rubbish!’