Читать книгу Love and Lies at The Village Christmas Shop - Portia MacIntosh - Страница 10

‘I need a 110-millimetre hex head bolt,’ I say.

‘What did I give you?’

‘A 35-millimetre hex head bolt.’

‘What’s the difference?’ she asks.

‘Exactly 75 millimetres,’ I joke. ‘Are you OK?’

My sister, Holly, doesn’t seem herself today. She never really seems herself around Christmas time – more so now than ever. Growing up in a Christmas shop, with a Christmas-crazy mum, Holly quickly became sick of all things festive. My sister and I are best friends, but around this time of year, she becomes insufferably miserable. She’s antisocial, short-tempered and goes into her shell until New Year’s Eve, when she’s as far away from the festivities as she’s ever going to be, when she can draw a line under the year and start afresh. At least I know this though – that fun-loving Holly will be back by January, and it makes it easier to endure, knowing that there’s light at the end of the tunnel. I just need to give her the space she needs, and take over the festive duties, and everything will be fine.

My mum’s passion for the holidays is one that predates my sister and me – either that, or it’s just a huge coincidence that we were named Holly and Ivy. She opened Christmas Every Day so that it could feel like Christmas every day, and as a result we’ve lived our lives in a snow globe. I think it’s more than that these days though. I don’t think Holly is just sick of Christmas still; I think it reminds her of Mum. I always miss her so much more at this time of year too.

‘I’m fine,’ she assures me, brushing the longer side of her freshly cut asymmetrical bob behind her ear.

With Holly’s latest short, brown hairstyle, we couldn’t look less alike. I still have the long, blonde hairstyle I’ve had my whole life – I don’t like change, or rather, I’m too scared to pull the trigger.

Despite the fact that now, more than ever, Holly and I look absolutely nothing like sisters let alone twins, I think it really suits her. It’s her annual ‘it’s December, I should do something reckless’ stunt out of the way, at least.

My sister hands me the bolt I think I need.

‘Erm…’

I hesitate, only for a second, and the two pieces I’m trying to connect fall to the floor.

‘Ergh, just leave it,’ my sister snaps.

‘Hey, are you sure you’re OK?’ I ask, putting down the bolt, taking my sister’s hand.

‘I’m fine, I’m fine.’ She mellows a little. ‘It’s just – and I would hate for Chloe to hear me say this – but I think we need a man.’

‘Can’t you do it?’ Chloe asks from the doorway.

Holly jumps. ‘She’s always sneaking up on me, listening to everything.’

‘Don’t worry,’ I reassure her. ‘She’s too young to think her mum is a bad feminist.’

Chloe, my 7-year-old niece, joins us and sits on my lap. ‘Do we need Daddy?’ she asks.

‘I think we do,’ Holly replies, before turning to me. ‘It’s times like this that I miss Lee.’

‘Only times like this?’ I laugh.

‘I miss him all the time, of course,’ she clarifies. ‘But, I mean, it’s when we need man’s work doing that I really feel him not being here.’

‘Man’s work,’ I repeat back to her, grimacing. ‘You’re letting the patriarchy win.’

She laughs. ‘I think I’m just missing Lee; that’s why I’m so stressed. I could do with him here to do this. We were crazy to think we could build bunk beds. And don’t give me that patriarchy rubbish – it’s just genetics. We’re both small, with zero upper body strength.’

‘When is Lee back?’

‘Christmas Eve,’ she says with a roll of her eyes. ‘Which is not helpful at all.’

Lee, Holly’s husband, works in the oil industry. He’s a drilling engineer, in Qatar. He works for six weeks, then he’s home for three weeks, so Holly has to look after the house and two little kids while he’s away, which is probably why she’s stressed out so often – especially when there is flat-pack furniture to contend with.

‘It’s OK, Mum,’ Chloe reassures her.

‘We could put the Christmas tree up. Would you like that?’ I ask.

‘Yes,’ Chloe squeaks, her eyes lighting up. ‘I’ll go get Harry.’

Harry, my nephew, is 5 years old, and like his sister, he loves Christmas. With their mum not being much of a fan, I’ve always stepped up to make Christmas amazing for them, going through all the Christmassy motions, just like my mum used to do for me.

‘Thanks,’ Holly says. ‘I really can’t face it.’

‘You know I enjoy it,’ I tell her. ‘And there’s no man required.’

We stand up and head downstairs.

‘You know, this is why you need a man,’ my sister says as we walk downstairs. She’s always pointing this out. Holly found a man, got married, had kids and now she’s this perfect little housewife. She looks at me, her twin sister, a hardworking spinster, and she wonders where it’s all gone wrong for me, why I just can’t seem to find a man.

‘I need a man because you need a man?’ I laugh. ‘To build your bunk beds.’

‘That and, well, I just don’t like to see you alone,’ she says softly.

‘I’m not alone, I have you and the kids.’

Holly just smiles.

I probably won’t tell her that a stranger kissed me yesterday. I don’t think that’s what she has in mind for me. Anyway, that kind of thing just doesn’t happen to girls like me – I doubt she’d believe me anyway.

‘Oh, I need a favour,’ Holly starts. ‘You remember when you played Mary in the school nativity.’

‘Most years,’ I reply with a chuckle.

My sister rolls her eyes. ‘Well, Chloe has been chosen for the part this year and I’m supposed to make her costume. I’d be surprised if you didn’t have at least one in all the junk you hoard in your loft. If you do, can Chloe borrow it please?’

‘Of course,’ I reply. I’m sure I could take a little offence at that if I wanted to, but I won’t. I’m pretty sure I’ll have every costume I’ve ever worn up there. I like to hang on to things – especially things that remind me of certain times or events.

As Holly cooks dinner, the kids and I put up the tree. I’ve never been able to persuade Holly to have a real tree, hard as I’ve tried. Obviously in the shop I have artificial trees, because I need to keep them up all year round, but I have a real tree in the flat, which, teamed with the fresh popcorn I painstakingly string each year to drape around it, makes the place smell incredible. Holly doesn’t want the hassle, though, so we’ve taken out her good, old artificial tree, and the box of decorations that I’ve been adding to each year.

If I had the space Holly did – a whole house, instead of a tiny flat above a shop – I’d do so much with my Christmas décor. I used to have a house – although I can’t claim it was as big as this one. Still, I would go all-out at Christmas time, decking the halls inside and out. When my mum died Holly wanted to sell the shop, but I wanted to keep it. I wound up selling my house to buy Holly’s half, but even though business isn’t as good as it used to be, I have no regrets. It would be nice to have more space sometimes though.

I love spending time with my niece and nephew, especially at Christmas time, because there’s something all the more magical about seeing Christmas through the eyes of a child. As much as I love it, when you’re grown up, Christmas is stripped down, just a little. You can see the commercial side of it, you know there’s no Santa Claus, you know that it’s a lot of hype and pressure to get everything perfect for just one day of the year. But for the kids, it’s still just pure magic. They don’t have to go to school, the whole family get together, they get presents and chocolate and watch festive movies all day. Holly might not be a fan of the festivities but the silver lining is that I get to go through all the motions with her kids.

‘OK, who wants to put the star on top?’ I ask.

‘I do, I do,’ Harry sings.

‘Let him do it,’ Chloe says with a casual bat of her hand. She’s such a little diva, for a 7-year-old.

I carefully hand Harry the gold star before lifting him up in the air so he can place it at the top of the tree. After a lot of wriggling I lower him back down.

‘There we go,’ I say. ‘I think it looks even better than last year – what do you think?’

‘It’s amazing,’ Chloe says as she admires our handiwork.

‘That was some great teamwork,’ I tell them. ‘Good job.’

Holly walks into the room with a tray of drinks.

‘What do you think, Hol?’ I ask.

‘It’s…a tree,’ she replies, feigning enthusiasm.

‘It is a tree,’ I reply. ‘Do you like it?’

My sister forces a smile. ‘It’s great,’ she eventually says. ‘I’d better go check on the chicken.’

My sister hurries back into the kitchen so I leave the kids admiring their handiwork and follow her.

‘Are you sure you’re OK?’ I ask her.

‘You know I don’t really like Christmas all that much.’

‘I know, but you’re worse this year,’ I point out.

‘How’s the shop doing?’ she asks, changing the subject.

‘Meh,’ I reply. ‘I’m hoping it picks up now it’s December. It’s just so hard, because no one knows we’re there, now that cars don’t really drive past anymore.’

‘You not fancy going back to plan A?’ she asks.

‘The shop has always been plan A,’ I remind her. ‘What you’re talking about is just something I did because Mum wanted us to do something different and come back to the shop if we wanted to. And I wanted to.’

Our mum was always adamant we do our own thing; she didn’t want us to feel pressured into joining the family business. So, after school, as well as working part-time in the shop, I pursued a career in catering, eventually training in patisserie and confectionery before getting a job at Walters, a shop on Main Street that makes and sells chocolate and sweets. It turned out that cooking was something that came naturally to me, and while I knew the shop was safe in my mum’s hands, it was something I was more than happy doing full-time. But then, when my mum died, my priorities changed. I knew that stepping up to take over the shop was the right thing to do.

‘That reminds me,’ I say, grabbing a bag from under the kitchen table. ‘I brought the kids advent calendars from Walters.’

‘Oh, I already got them ones.’ Holly points to two, not-very-exciting-looking advent calendars.

‘Where are they from?’ I ask.

‘Buy one get one free at the petrol station.’

‘These are the ones Mum used to get us,’ I say, showing her. ‘They deserve special ones.’

‘So mine aren’t good enough, but amazing Auntie Ivy comes along with her fancy ones and—’

‘Hey, I’m not trying to steal your thunder, I just thought they’d love these. I won’t say they’re from me, just say they’re from you.’

‘Can I pay you for them?’ she asks.

‘No, you’re my sister, you cannot pay me for them. Just take them.’

With a shake of her head, Holly takes the bag from me.

‘Are you sure you’re OK?’ I ask again. ‘I’ll stop asking if you want but you just don’t seem OK.’

‘Ivy, I’m fine,’ she says slowly.

‘OK,’ I say, because what else can I say? But for some reason, I’m just not convinced.