Читать книгу Blast from the Past - Cathy Hopkins, Cathy Hopkins - Страница 15

Boxing Day was traditionally time to catch up with my family. Sadly it took place in cyberspace because, after living in New Zealand and returning to the UK for a decade, my parents now lived in Spain. My elder brother Matthew and his family were in South Africa, my younger brother Mark up north in Manchester.

It was still too early to call them, so I made tea and toast and sat down in my pj’s – grey silk ones that I’d bought after Richard had left and I could run up my credit cards again – at the dining table to go through the pile of cards still waiting to be opened. There were about sixty from family, colleagues, friends, an embossed card from Richard with a message saying, let’s get together in the New Year. It was hand-delivered so he must have popped it through my letterbox when I was in the shower this morning. Why? I thought. And had he been hoping to see me when he brought the card? Our time together hadn’t ended well; it was the only time I’d really witnessed his controlled persona break down when he’d begged me to give us another chance. I felt bad that I’d hurt him because he was a nice man, but he was just not for me. I think he had loved me in his own way – or at least the me I’d tried to be for him – but I wasn’t that person. Something had been missing and I hadn’t been prepared to compromise.

I texted Stuart to see if I could see him as soon as he was free, then I sifted through the cards. My phone pinged that I had a text. Will be back in London tonight, need to see you urgently, coffee tomorrow? Heather XX

Heather was one of my closest friends. We’d shared a flat together when I first came to London and we’d worked together almost as long as I’d had the shop. She also took care of business in my absence and I trusted her completely. I texted back, C U here at 10? BX. Urgent, she’d said in her text. Maybe she already had wind of what the letter said.

I sent messages to my parents and my brothers that I would be calling them later, then busied myself tidying and catching up on domestic jobs. Stuart texted back that he could see me on the 28th. Phew, it would be good to talk things through with him, I thought, as I finally sat back at the table with my laptop and phone to call Mum and Dad in Spain where they now lived in happy retirement. I had been a couple of times to join them for Christmas. Other years they had come back here but, as they’d got older, I had sensed a reluctance to travel, hence our cyber catch-up. I texted them: Are you there? No reply.

Next I tried my elder brother, Matthew, in South Africa. He was home, and soon, thanks to FaceTime, I had the whole family filling my screen: his wife, Juliet, son Tim and his wife Marie, and their four-year-old daughter, Phoebe. All were glowing with health with tanned faces and sun-kissed hair. They lived in Constantia in Cape Town, near to Juliet’s parents, and it was summer over there, sunlight streaming in through an open door behind them. They lived in a colonial-style bungalow with dark wooden floors, whitewashed walls, a veranda at the front and a garden full of bougainvillea at the back.

‘We’ve prepared a song, Bea,’ said Matthew and, on his nod, the whole family burst into a few rounds of ‘Ding Dong Merrily On High’. I laughed as they went at it with great gusto.

‘Now you sing,’ said Phoebe when they’d finished.

‘Oh er …’ I settled for a few verses of ‘We Wish you a Merry Christmas’, which they joined in with on the last lines.

‘Weird having our Christmas visit in cyberspace, isn’t it?’ said Matthew.

‘I guess – still, it’s magic to be able to see you and your gorgeous house.’

‘I’ve been drawing,’ said Phoebe. She disappeared for a few moments then came back and held up her artwork. It showed two stick people holding hands.

‘And who are they?’ I asked.

‘S’me and Jessie,’ said Phoebe.

‘Lovely,’ I said, ‘and is Jessie a friend?’

Phoebe nodded. ‘My sister.’

In the background, I noticed Tim and Marie exchange glances and smile. ‘Come on you,’ said Marie. ‘Time for bed.’

‘But Jessie’s not tired yet,’ said Phoebe.

‘OK,’ said Marie. ‘Well she can come and sit on the end of your bed while you go to sleep.’ She looked back out of the screen. ‘Merry Christmas, Bea, lovely to see you.’

‘You too,’ I said. ‘And have a great New Year.’

Tim, Marie and Phoebe waved from the screen and left me with Matthew and Juliet.

‘OK, so who’s Jessie? Have they adopted a child and you haven’t told me?’ I asked.

‘Oh no. Jessie’s not real,’ said Matthew.

‘Ah, so she’s a doll or something?’

Juliet shook her head. ‘She’s her imaginary friend. Phoebe’s hilarious. She’s always talking to her or about her and says she’s her sister.’

‘Probably because she’s an only child,’ said Matthew, ‘so until another comes along, she’s created her own fantasy sibling.’

‘We’ve had to accept her as part of the family,’ said Juliet.

‘Hey Bea, remember you had an imaginary friend when you were little?’ Matthew asked.

‘Me? No. I don’t remember that.’

‘God, I do. You used to threaten me with him if I’d annoyed you.’

‘Him?’

‘Yes. I can’t remember his name, but if I’d ever done something you didn’t like, you’d say your friend was bigger than me and would get me.’

‘I have no recollection at all,’ I said.

‘Why would you? You were about Phoebe’s age.’

‘And often children grow out of these imaginary friends and don’t remember them at all,’ said Juliet. ‘No doubt Phoebe will in time, especially if Tim and Marie have another child.’

‘That’s right. I don’t think you mentioned your friend after a certain age, maybe after Mark came along,’ Matthew continued, ‘but … I remember! You used to say that you were going to marry him. I remember that. You were forever making wedding plans and collecting old bits of material and making them into dresses.’

‘You’re making this up.’

‘I’m not. Ask Mum and Dad, I bet they’ll remember. Oh, and by the way, Michael O’Connor got in touch with me on Facebook. He asked for your address and mobile number. I hope you didn’t mind me passing on your details. I seem to remember you being broken-hearted over him at some point.’