Calling Mrs Christmas Page 13

  ‘How sad is that?’ Carter picks at the food on his plate. ‘Sometimes I wonder how we made it as far as we did, how we managed to produce two such great kids. The truth is that we should never have got married. Tamara and I are totally unsuited. We should have had a brief, passionate affair and then gone our separate ways. We might be great lovers but we’ve never been very good friends.’

  I bet the make-up sex is great with her in her fancy little pants. I push the image away.

  Carter continues, ‘But when you’ve got two young children, you need to be more than good bedfellows, right?’

  ‘I think it helps.’

  ‘The children are the best thing that’s ever happened to me,’ he says wistfully. ‘I’d have more – another two, four even. I’ve always wanted a big family. Tamara didn’t really want children at all. I was the one who drove that. Then she most definitely wanted to stop at two. She didn’t want to lose her figure or her business.’

  I can imagine that all too well.

  ‘Strange,’ he carries on, ‘but I’d give all this up for them in a heartbeat.’ He waves an arm towards the garden. ‘All I want is for them to be happy.’

  ‘That’s all anyone wants for their kids.’

  He reaches across the table and puts his hand on top of mine. ‘You must have children,’ Carter says. ‘Lots of them. I think you’d make a lovely mum, Cassie Christmas.’

  If it wasn’t for the lump in my throat, I’d have to agree with him.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  When I got back from my meeting with Carter, I immediately booked the wilderness lodge and the Icehotel. Georgina gave me the name of the company that supplies the Randalls with private jets and I have booked that too. The family can now fly straight from our local airport at Luton into the tiny town of Kiruna, which is two hundred miles inside the Arctic Circle, and be there in just a few short hours. No messing about with three-hour check-ins, luggage restrictions and buying your own tea and tub of Pringles on the plane. How the other half live.

  I also sourced a chef – a very minor celebrity – to cater for them over the Christmas period and I organised a company to provide the food for the Christmas party that Carter had requested. The guest list, when I received it from Georgina, was two hundred strong. It was never going to be a casual affair for a few mates, was it? The scale at which he spends money is quite staggering.

  I’m cross-legged on the living-room floor, sorting out ribbons and bows, when I hear Jim’s key in the lock and realise that it’s already six o’clock.

  ‘Hi, honey, I’m home,’ he calls.

  ‘Hi,’ I shout out in response. ‘I’m naked and waiting for you, big boy!’

  A moment later he comes into the room. ‘Um,’ he says, looking rather relieved that I’m not naked. ‘We have visitors.’ He’s followed closely by two very pasty-looking boys.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I say, flushing. ‘So sorry.’

  The boys study their feet, faces red. These are the child criminals who are coming to help out with tackling the ever-increasing present mountain that’s threatening to consume the flat. This work is clearly becoming the bread and butter of my business and I’m not complaining as it’s lovely and relaxing to do. It’s just that we could do with bigger premises. Or helpers. Which is where the boys come in.

  ‘Hi,’ I say to them.

  They shuffle shyly behind Jim and grunt in reply. They’re both unbelievably white – lack of sunlight, I should imagine – and look terribly undernourished. They wear what I assume is their prison garb of slightly grubby grey tracksuits and smell of stale food and unwashed teenager. They’re hunched into themselves, defensive. It’s the first time I’ve ever met any of Jim’s charges and it suddenly gives me a tiny insight into what he has to deal with on a daily basis. They both look so lost and pathetic that it makes me want to cry. No wonder Jim wants to do something to help these young lads. I think I’d want to take them all home with me too.

  ‘This is Kieran.’ Jim nods to the youngest, most frail-looking boy. He’s pretty with blond hair and huge blue eyes that seem too big for his face. ‘And Andrew.’ More sullen-looking, he’s as dark as the other one is fair. He might once have been stocky.

  ‘I’m Cassie,’ I say and they look surprised when I stand up and shake them by the hand.

  ‘They’re out on licence for four hours,’ Jim informs me. ‘I have to have them back by ten, so we’d better get cracking.’

  ‘OK,’ I say. ‘What do you say I show you the basics of professional-quality present wrapping and then I can order in some pizzas for eight o’clock?’

  They both look at each other cagily.

  ‘Come and sit down on the rug. Make yourselves comfortable.’

  Another mutual exchanged glance before they step forward to sit on the floor.

  ‘Can I have a quick word, Cassie?’ Jim nods towards the kitchen and I follow him. When we reach it he lowers his voice. ‘You are OK with this?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’m sorry I didn’t have time to call you and let you know they were coming. The governor only gave me his approval at the last minute. It was touch and go.’

  ‘I’d have thought he would have been pleased.’

  ‘It’s a real no-no bringing prisoners into your own home. I managed to convince him that these were special circumstances.’ He nods back towards the living room. ‘I’ll kill these buggers if they let me down. Are you OK if I leave you with them for five minutes while I go and shower?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  Despite my misgivings, I don’t think that either one might murder me in my bed. As Jim said, they look like disadvantaged boys who deserve a break.

  ‘I love you,’ Jim says, kissing me. ‘Thanks for this.’

  ‘We can only give them a chance. Let’s see how they do.’

  So Jim goes off for his shower while I return to the boys and crouch down beside them. ‘Right. Let’s get started.’

  They move in closer. I think I’m going to have to Febreze the living room when they’re gone as they’re both a bit ripe.

  I nod towards the pile on my left and pull one of the presents closer. ‘These are for the same family, so I’ve got a selection of co-ordinating wrapping paper. One of you can tackle them.’

  Kieran raises his eyebrows and says quietly, ‘All these for one family?’

  ‘Yes.’ And I sourced and bought them all.

  He looks as if he can’t believe his eyes. It makes me realise how little he might have had in the way of material goods in his life.

  ‘We always use double-sided tape and fold the paper so that no untidy edges show. Let me show you the standard I expect.’

  As best I can, I demonstrate all the techniques I taught myself from the internet and am quite surprised to see how far I’ve come as I whip out a beautifully wrapped gift in two minutes flat.

  ‘I’ll make the bows for the top until you’re used to doing the presents and Jim will write the cards with a calligraphy pen. If you can just put a Post-It note on top to say what’s in the box, I have a list of which present is going to who.’

  They both look perplexed.

  ‘It might take you a while to get going, but take your time, do it properly. I’m not expecting miracles. Start with the square or rectangular boxes. If there are any tricky shapes, just ask me for help. Kieran, you start with this pile.’

  I shift and bring another heap forward. Boxes of chocolates from a small artisan shop in the Old Town. Unfortunately, I didn’t get a free sample, but I live in hope.

  I put a Christmas playlist on the iPod to get us in the mood and we start a production line going. It’s slow at first and I keep having to stop and help the lads. But soon they forget that they have sausages for fingers and begin to get into the rhythm of wrapping.

  Jim comes back, freshly washed and shaved, to join us. The boys look at him slightly agog and I realise that it’s quite possibly the first time they’ve seen him out of his uniform a
nd in his civvies. It may well be the first time that they’ve viewed him as an actual human being.

  Two hours later, we’ve made a reasonable dent on the pile. When the pizzas arrive the boys are more relaxed, chatting away. I make them wash their hands and we take a quick break while we eat. For a moment, I forget that they’re young offenders and see them just as teenage boys keen to earn a few pounds even though we’re paying them minimum wage plus pizza bonus. It’s nice to see Jim joking with them. He has a natural, easy manner and I can see why he makes a great officer in a young offenders’ unit. He has a good rapport with the boys and it only strengthens my view that, one day, he’ll make a great dad.

  They wash their hands again before we carry on, as the last thing I want is tomatoey fingerprints on my expensive gifts. By nine-forty-five, half of my present mountain has been wrapped, bedecked with a bow, labelled and moved to the other side of the room ready for delivery in the morning.

  ‘We could do this again tomorrow night,’ I say as we finish up. ‘Do you think the governor would allow it?’

  ‘I can ask,’ Jim says. ‘If the lads want to.’

  ‘Yes,’ they both say eagerly.

  They’ve dealt with all of the presents quickly, with very few mistakes and to a high standard. I’m pleased with what they’ve done. More than pleased. I feel that all they need is some attention, some encouragement.

  ‘It’s been nice,’ Kieran says politely, cheeks reddening. ‘Thank you for having us.’

  ‘I didn’t think I’d like it,’ Andrew admits. ‘But I have.’

  ‘You’ve been very helpful,’ I tell them both. Then, before I think better of it, ‘I have a vacancy for two elves on Saturday afternoon. Just for two hours at a pensioners’ party. If you’re interested?’

  The boys look at each other, alarmed. But then Andrew, clearly the bolder of the two, says, ‘Yes. We’ll do it.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘I’ll make sure you get permission from the governor,’ Jim adds.

  ‘Thanks, Jim.’ Now all I have to do is find them suitable costumes.

  ‘Come on, lads,’ Jim says. ‘I’d better get you back on time, otherwise the governor won’t let you out again at all.’

  ‘Thanks for the pizza, Mrs Maddison.’

  I don’t point out that I’m still very much Ms Smith as Jim and I aren’t yet married. Or that I’m hoping, at some point, this business might make enough to fund a wedding. ‘You’re welcome. I hope I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  Jim ushers the boys out of the door in front of him. ‘Won’t be long, love,’ he says. ‘See you in a short while.’ Then he winks at me and lowers his voice. ‘You did very well.’

  ‘They’re great boys.’

  But, to my own shame, it doesn’t stop me checking that my purse is still in my handbag where I left it.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  It’s the first weekend in December. The calls for Christmas-tree dressing begin in earnest and I rope in Gaby to help out. I’m taking several boxes of baubles round to her so that she can decorate a tree in the reception area of one of the big corporations in the town. As I haven’t seen her to talk to in days, I stop by for a quick cup of coffee. As it’s a Saturday, my scrumptious niece and nephew are at home and they clamber all over me the minute I walk through the door. I’m sure they see me and Jim as part auntie and uncle, part climbing frame. But we both love a rough-and-tumble with them and inventing games to play, so I suppose we bring it on ourselves.

  ‘Hey,’ I say, hauling Molly onto my knee as I sit at the breakfast bar. ‘What have you two imps been up to?’

  ‘Karate,’ George says. At seven he’s too cool to be cuddled for long and so leans against my leg instead in a way that says he’s not bothered whether he does or not.

  ‘Nothing,’ my niece says.

  Molly twists her hair around her thumb and tucks it in her mouth. I remember that Gaby used to do the same thing when we were little, lying in our beds at night, waiting for Mum to come home from wherever she’d been. It was then that I knew she was frightened, just like me. I wonder what Molly has to make her anxious or are habits like that inherited, tucked deep in the DNA?

  ‘Mummy says that you know Santa now,’ Molly continues. ‘Does that mean we get more Christmas presents?’

  I take the opportunity for a good tickle. ‘Only if you’re extra specially good and make your own bed every day.’

  ‘Hmm,’ Gaby says. ‘That’s not going to happen is it, Mols?’

  ‘No,’ Molly agrees sagely.

  ‘Where’s Uncle Jim today?’ George asks.

  ‘He’s a bit busy this morning.’

  Getting ready for his Santa gig with his two criminally inclined elves. But I can’t tell that to George, who still believes implicitly in Santa.

  The governor at the unit is being really good about allowing the boys out to do work for me and they seem to be enjoying it. They’ve done three consecutive nights of present wrapping at the flat and are now demons at it. With only a modicum of reluctance, they’ve even moved on to making their own bows.

  I’ve asked Jim to bring Kieran and Andrew up to the flat first for a good scrub in the shower before they go to the social club. I can’t be sending out smelly elves.

  ‘How many days is it now to Christmas?’ George wants to know.

  ‘Not enough,’ I say. It would actually be very helpful if Christmas could be moved to 25 January, then I might have a hope of doing all my work in time. To think, at one point, I was worried that this wasn’t going to take off.

  ‘Look on your advent calendar, George,’ Gaby suggests. ‘You didn’t have your chocolate this morning yet.’

  And, of course, that makes my nephew shoot to the other side of the kitchen in a blur of speed.

  ‘I’m so busy with everyone else’s Christmases that I haven’t even thought about my own yet,’ I admit as I lower my niece to the floor and wolf down one of Gaby’s mince pies.

  ‘That’s not like you!’

  ‘I know. I must do something to the flat and start my Christmas shopping.’

  ‘You have your mind on other things this year. Don’t worry about it.’

  Gaby’s kitchen has become quite the cupcake and mince pie factory, which is keeping the money rolling in nicely. Which is great because I can trust Gaby. She just gets on with the orders without fuss and they’re always ready and waiting to be delivered when they should be. I know the extra cash is helping her out with the inevitable slew of Christmas bills too.

  ‘Mum is coming here,’ Gaby informs me with a wry smile. ‘All day.’

  I harrumph. ‘That’ll be a miracle.’

  ‘She can’t help being like she is, Cassie,’ Gaby says in her ‘reasonable’ voice. I’ll remind her about this the next time Mum lets her down at the last minute for some random bloke when she’s supposed to be babysitting. ‘Mum’s always liked lots of attention.’

  ‘Shame she couldn’t find time to give us any.’

  ‘I feel sad that, at her age, she still hasn’t been able to find happiness.’

  ‘She’s not much older than us,’ I remind her. ‘Happiness is never going to be found chasing married men. She should be growing old gracefully and enjoying her family.’ To my mind, she’s lucky that we still have anything to do with her at all.

  ‘She loves the kids,’ Gaby counters. ‘She may not be a conventional grandma, but she does love them. In her own way.’

  Mum doesn’t even let the kids call her grandma. She insists on them calling her by her first name, Angela. And that’s because Gaby draws the line at Angie. It’s as if grandma is a swear word. ‘In the same casual way that she loved us,’ I retort.

  Gaby tuts. ‘Cut her some slack, Cassie. Whatever her shortcomings, she’s the only mum we’ve got. You should pop round and see her more often.’

  The last part is probably true. Mum lives only a five-minute drive away and yet I hardly see her. I can give you all kinds of the-dog-ate-my-homework-style
excuses, but the truth is that I do avoid seeing my mum. I still feel so angry with her. I look at kids like Kieran and Andrew and, but for the grace of God and Gaby’s good sense, we could have ended up like them. It’s in spite of Mum, not because of her, that we’ve turned into fine, upstanding citizens.

  ‘You’re more like a mum to me.’ I feel myself welling up. This is always a tricky subject for me. I’ve always been desperate to be a mum myself and yet am terrified of turning out like my own mum. It’s a head-fuck that I’ve never quite come to terms with.

  ‘I didn’t mean to upset you.’ Gaby puts her arm round my shoulders. ‘Angela might never be the mum that you want her to be, but she could be a friend to you. She can be fun and she does miss you.’