It was strange to hear Vee talk like that. My sister might have always had a figure to die for, but she never paid it any attention, good or bad; it was me, with my fuller figure, who did all the complaining. Plus, everyone knew Vee’s husband adored her. Forget her belly, my sister could’ve grown a humongous second head and Mitch would have still loved her.
Looking at her, I wanted to believe it was her hormones talking. According to Doctor Mitch these fluctuated during a woman’s third trimester. Apparently, as her body prepared for birth mood swings were to be expected. But her comments felt too out of character for Vee and I found myself wondering if my latest relationship disaster was, at least in part, to blame for her distress. “This isn’t because of what happened with you know who, is it?” I asked. “Because Mitch isn’t like Jeremy.”
Pictures of the last time I saw Jeremy flooded my mind. Him and some bint, both butt-naked on my bed. I still couldn’t believe the two-timing so-and-so hadn’t taken her to his own house, whether he still lived with his mother or not. Shuddering, I shook the memory away as best as I could. I’d needed a new mattress anyway; and Jeremy and his bit-on-the side had taken up too much of my headspace already.
I reached out to Vee with a comforting hand. “Mitch would never… You do know that, don’t you?” Not sure who needed the reassurance more, me or my sister, I hated to think my track record in men had, in some warped, prenatal way, affected Vee’s confidence.
She lifted her gaze to look at me, outrage written all over her face.
With Vee’s disposition changing from one second to the next, I realised my brother-in-law might have had a point on the mood swing front and for my sake as much as my sister’s, I slid my palm back to safety and shifted away from her slightly. “Good,” I said, with no choice but to let the matter drop.
She turned her attention back to the suitcase.
“Because you and Mitch are like Mum and Dad. In it for the long haul.”
She gave me another look. “I thought you were trying to cheer me up?”
I pictured our parents out and about, loud and proud in their matching outfits, realising that might not have been the most comforting comparison to make. For either of us, being likened to Mum and Dad was a fate too disturbing to contemplate. While the rest of the world seemed to consider our parents harmless yet eccentric, to my sister and I they were plain and simple barking. Then again, I often wondered if we all were. When it came to my family, there was never a dull moment between us.
Vee remained unamused and I couldn’t help but think there was more going on in that head of hers, that there was something she wasn’t telling me. “Anything you want to talk about?” I asked, making sure to keep my voice light.
“What do you mean?” she said, dismissive. “Like what?”
As much as she tried to hide it, I could see I’d touched a nerve, but, again, I didn’t push. Instead, I stood up and taking my sister’s hands, hoisted her onto her feet. “Come on.”
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“For a cup of tea.” I nodded to the packing. “That can wait. We’ll do it later.”
2
I stood at the front door waving Vee off as she drove away. It was going dark by then and the whole village looked magical. Brightly lit Christmas trees shone in the windows of neighbouring cottages, twinkling fairy lights wove through gardens, and an assortment of jovial plastic Santas and wicker scarf-wearing reindeers sat at gates ready to greet visitors. What with going away, I hadn’t seen the point in glad-ragging my own house and as I turned to go back inside, I smiled at the comparison. There was no denying mine looked positively bah humbug! as a result.
I had a spring in my step as I made my way down the hall to the kitchen. Not only had I survived my sister’s little meltdown and soothed her back to her usual placid self, I only had a few more days at work to get through, before jetting off to spend Christmas in the sun. I couldn’t wait.
A picture of Mum and Dad popped into my head. Guilt, I realised, for abandoning them during the festive period, something no family member had ever dared do before. It was a choice that would, without doubt, go down in the annals of Noelle family history, but I refused to let that ruin my excitement. As a woman who’d never put a foot outside of Europe, I looked forward to venturing further afield. Not even my parents could have stopped me ending that year with a bang.
I thought back to the first time I realised my parents weren’t quite like everyone else’s and while they’d proven themselves to be quirkier than most many times since, it was during a primary school nativity that their uniqueness first hit home. Vee played the angel on account of her being angelic; while I had the role of guiding star for being less so. Unlike Vee, I didn’t have a speaking part. Wearing a gold four-pointed tabard, with a matching pointy hat to complete my star shape, all I had to do was stand on a huge box at the back of the stage and enjoy proceedings. Apart from the bit where Balthazar, one of the three wise men, forgot his lines, everything seemed to go to plan.
That was until the headmistress took her seat at the piano and commenced the intro to Away in a Manger, one of my parents’ all-time favourite Christmas songs. It appeared Mum and Dad weren’t content to simply listen to me and the cast do the singing as outlined in the script and much to my bewilderment they rose to their feet ready to join in. Their action caused some confusion amongst the rest of the audience, although Dad waved his arms around encouraging all the other parents to join in and it wasn’t long before they all stood up too.
Mum and Dad’s voices rang out far above everyone else’s and it soon became clear they were singing a completely different rendition to the one being played by the headmistress. My parents seemed to have gone for a more classical version. Their harmonising and operatic tones didn’t just attract attention; they put everyone else in the room off their vocal stride. Fellow nativity cast members started to giggle. And there was no denying the look of frustration that crossed the headmistress’s face as she sped up on the piano keys. Unfortunately, the whole song turned into a hot discordant mess until the very last note and the only people who didn’t seem to notice the musical fracas were Mum and Dad.
I shook my head, dismissing the recollection as I entered the kitchen, supposing I should think about dinner. Although there wasn’t much to consider. There’d been no point doing a proper shop when I wouldn’t be around to eat most of it. Opening the fridge, however, I sighed in disappointment. Things were worse than I’d thought. The shelves were bare apart from a microwave curry, eggs, cheese, and half a bag of spinach.
I picked up the ready meal and stared at the image on its packaging – chunks of melt-in-the-mouth chicken, smothered in a rich, creamy masala sauce. My belly grumbled, but more in protest than hunger, as if it knew the photograph breached the Trade Descriptions Act as the meal’s contents would resemble nothing of the sort. “Pizza it is,” I said, swinging the fridge door shut.
I took my phone from the kitchen counter, ready to ring my order through, but before I got the chance it sounded, and Mum’s name appeared on the screen. I didn’t have to guess the conversation ahead; I knew what was coming. No matter how many times I told Mum I wouldn’t be cancelling my holiday and that she was wasting her time thinking otherwise, the woman refused to hear a word of it. I took a deep breath in readiness. “Mum,” I said, fixing a smile on my face as I answered her call. “To what do I owe the honour?”