Читать книгу No One Cancels Christmas - Zara Stoneley - Страница 12

Aunt Lynn and I have one thing in common with the royal family. I’m pretty sure it will only be the one thing, but who knows? Anyway, we decided many years ago to go for inexpensive gifts that will make us laugh. We have a strict spending limit and it’s all about trying to get something that will make the other person chuckle, but something that they’ll love and cherish because it’s so ‘them’.

Aunt Lynn has always collected knick-knacks from her travels, but says that each item, however seemingly worthless, has a memory attached and means something to her. And that, she says, is the important thing. What’s the point in spending lots of money on something that is emotionally worthless?

It took me quite a while to get my head round this (and she did bend the rules rather a lot when I was little), but as I got older, the gifts she gave me started to mean more, which meant I treasured them. I don’t keep much; I’m not a ‘stuff’ type of person, but each gift she has given me has captured a memory, a place or a feeling, and I’ve kept them all. My emotional me is spelled out on my dressing table, if anybody ever takes the time to study the weird assortment of items and work it out.

These days we laugh as we rip the wrapping paper off, but behind the laughter there is a shared ‘knowing’. An anticipation. Our flippant gifts prove how much we know about each other, how closely our lives are meshed.

Today, though, this feels wrong, and is making my heart twinge with dread. It is not Christmas morning, and the envelope she has just fished out of the drawer does not look funny, or cheap. It looks ominous. It feels like something terrible is about to happen, that the one tradition we’ve stuck to, the one certainty in my life, is about to explode and shatter into little pieces.

‘I’ll keep it until—’ I’m not usually a wimp, or melodramatic, but I don’t like this at all. The reality that we’re not spending Christmas Day together is still sinking in. I don’t want any more shocks. Changes.

‘Open it now, love.’ She doesn’t let go of her end, as though she knows I’ll stuff it in my bag if she does. There’s a little tussle between us, until my gaze meets hers dead on and she knows I’ll do what she’s asked. ‘It’s not a proper present really, more like a promise.’

‘A promise?’ The envelope is burning the tips of my fingers.

I don’t want to open it now, but I know she isn’t going to give me a choice. For all the hippy-chick free love-living and happiness vibe she gives out, on the inside Lynn is tough. And determined. Appearances can be deceptive.

The envelope isn’t even sealed, the flap is just tucked in, but it seems to take an age for my clumsy fingers to find a way inside it.

To drag out the slip of paper.

‘Oh.’ It isn’t at all what I expect. Not that I know what I’d expected. You can’t cram Christmas with all the festive trimmings into an envelope, can you?

‘But . . .’ It doesn’t make any sense at all. This isn’t like our normal presents, this isn’t about making new memories. This is terrible.

My world wobbles. Coffee and cake at Lynn’s had seemed weird, but this is starting to feel like it should be happening to somebody else. ‘Why?’ The single syllable rocks me. She hasn’t tried to cram Christmas into an envelope: she’s tried to cram responsibility in, commitment. The future. She’s not just leaving me for Christmas, she’s leaving me for ever.

Oh shit. ‘You’re,’ the words are choking me, ‘you’re staying there? In Australia? Or you’re ill?’

‘Oh Sarah, don’t be ridiculous! I might be getting a bit old in the tooth, but I’m not going anywhere, and I’m not about to pop my clogs any day soon.’

‘But you’re getting rid of—’

‘I’m not getting rid of anything. In fact, this is all about giving me some time to let my hair down before it all falls out. I didn’t have time to sort out all the legalities, but I’ll do it before I go and then we’re straight for when I get back. A new year, a new us, eh?’

‘But, I can’t—’

She shifts the sheet of paper so that it’s between us on the table, then puts an arm round my shoulders. ‘This isn’t about me leaving you, Sarah. This is about sharing, about the future.’

I stare at the sheet of paper. Flatten it out with fingers that seem to have an agenda of their own. A wobbly one.

I am now – well, soon will be, joint owner of Making Memories Travel Agents. My initial 50 per cent share will rise gradually over the next five years until I take full control.

My bottom lip is now as wobbly as my fingers and I feel very stupid. ‘I thought it meant . . . Oh God, I’m sorry Auntie Lynn.’ I throw my arms round her, trying not to rub my runny nose on her shoulder. ‘This is so nice of you, so . . .’ I wipe the back of my hand across my face, and resist wiping it down my jeans like a child. There’s this massive blockage in my throat that physically hurts, but my brain can’t work out what to say next.

My eyes sting with the burning tears that are trying to explode from my eyes. But I don’t want to be all emo and pathetic, and blubbering. Though to be honest, I’m not sure what I want to be. This is massive. Giving me a job was one thing, but an actual share in the company? It’s generous, it’s kind, it’s trusting, it’s . . . madness.

I’ve never been responsible for so much as a potted plant before, let alone a business. Well actually, I’m lying. Somebody gave me a poinsettia one year and it didn’t go well. Let’s just say that by Christmas lunch it was looking even more worse for wear than I was. And that’s saying something. I think I’m more of a cactus person. Minimum nurturing and commitment. This is forever! This is bigger than a five-year plan. Callum would think it was hilarious.

Oh God, how am I going to do this? A business! Aunt Lynn’s business. Letting her down would be the worst possible thing in the world. I can’t say no or scream for help.

So, I smile. Hope it comes across as confident and not manic. I’ll work out how to handle this later, when I’m alone and can talk to myself in private.

She puts a finger under my chin, and looks me straight in the eye, like she used to do when I’d come home after a shit day at school. ‘Who else could I trust with our little business, Sarah? We set this up together, and I’ve always expected you to take over one day.’ She suddenly smiles and looks lighter than she has since I arrived. ‘Actually, you going to the Shooting Star is a fabulous idea, Sarah. I was going to suggest you started to visit some of our resorts and searched out some new ones as well. We need to shake things up a bit! Going back there is a splendid idea.’

‘It is?’ I’m glad at least one of us thinks so.

‘Oh yes. And now is the perfect time to make your peace with the past, isn’t it? Before you sail into the future.’ She waves a hand.

‘Is it?’ Making my peace with the past isn’t on my agenda. That would involve accepting things, facing up to my dad, forgiving them both for what they did. I’m not sure I will ever be ready for that.

Her voice is soft and seems to come from a long way away, ‘I think it’s the perfect time, don’t you? I think it’s something you need to do, isn’t it? Go back?’

‘I’m going to sort all the problems out, make it perfect again.’ Even I can hear the defensive note in my voice.

‘Oh Sarah, this isn’t really about the problems with the place, is it love?’ Her voice is so gentle it brings silly prickly sensations to my eyes. ‘This is about you. The past.’

‘I don’t do the past, I do the future.’ Looking back has never helped me. Just hurt me.

‘Sometimes, love, you can’t find a future until you’ve found peace with the past.’

I’ve never really got what that means. Peace with the past? I mean, how can you stop those feelings of anger? There’s no on-off switch for something like this.

How can you say, yeah, fine, it was a great idea to dump your kid and do a runner, to not come back. To cause fucking havoc in her life and mess with her head. To make her feel useless and cast aside like some coat you didn’t want any more.

Talk about a dog being for life and not just for Christmas! Just thinking about it is stirring up all the anger and resentment in my chest, all the emotion I try and keep squashed down. I don’t feel self-pity any more, I just try and block it out. And when I can’t do that, I seethe. Maybe that’s what ‘peace’ means for me.

‘I have found peace.’ I say it anyway, to reassure her, ‘I’ve got you, work, everything.’ My life works. I like it. I’m busy and the people that surround me are there because they want to be. And if I ever suspect they don’t want to be, then I move on.

I don’t let my parents mess with my head any more. They’re old news. I’m done with them and all that.

Going to the Shooting Star is about the future, not the past.

Aunt Lynn smiles and pats my hand. ‘Good, well that’s fine then. You know what you’re doing and this can be your first trip representing the agency!’

Oh God, now I’ve got added pressure. I’m not just going to shout at Will Armstrong and inspect his dusty crevices, this is my future well and truly at stake. I need to be even more professional than I was going to be.

‘And while I’m out of your hair seems like the perfect time for an adventure. I’m being a bit selfish as well: that place means a lot to me and I don’t want us to strike it off our list and walk away on a sour note.’ Her voice has regained its normal briskness.

I stare at the sheet of paper again. There is no choice now. I need to go the Shooting Star resort, this is my business at risk.

All I need now is a booking for one, all inclusive. I will experience all the horrors our clients have told us about, a frosty Will Armstrong and a draughty cabin. I will make an objective, professional judgement about whether our clients deserve somewhere better.

The moment I get back to the office that provisional booking is being confirmed.

I’d said to Sam that I’d go, sort out all the issues, confront Will Armstrong, but I hadn’t meant for Christmas. No way. I had never intended to go back for the festive season, to stir up the memories of a time that broke my heart and changed my world. Those bits of me needed to be left untouched, so that I could pick out the nice bits in my head, remember just the happiness and plaster over the hurt.

I’m not sure how this is going to work, how I’m going to feel if I relive that Christmas again. Except I know it will be different. I’ve got to prove to Lynn that I can cope with anything, and I suppose I’ve got to prove that to myself, too. And I’ve got to sort Will Armstrong out once and for all. Whatever Sam said before, this is personal now. Nobody is going to mess up my business. (I quite like the sound of that, my business.)

‘You can do it, love. I know you can.’ Lynn squeezes my hand. ‘Do you remember what it was like? That little log cabin? It was lovely, wasn’t it?’ Her wistful smile is reflected in her voice. ‘And that very nice couple who ran it then, you won’t remember them.’

‘I do. They were like Mother and Father Christmas.’ Warm, cuddly, ever smiling. I’d felt like I’d been wrapped in a blanket of love and protection, and even back then, so young and confused, I’d clung to their kindness.

‘They were sweethearts, but getting on a bit even then. They sold the place a few years ago, to two brothers. It seemed to be much the same for a long time – the younger boy, Ed he was called, was running it. I had some lovely chats with him, but then something happened and his brother took charge.’

‘Will.’ I’m not really listening to her, all I can think about is the last day I was there, at the resort. When I hadn’t wanted to walk away, because how would Mum and Dad know where to find me if I left with Auntie Lynn?

It wasn’t until later that I realised one of them would never be able to look for me, and the other didn’t care.

‘Will, that’s right. Well, he’s a totally different kettle of fish to Ed.’

‘Cold fish rather than kettle I’d say,’ I mutter, but I’m pretty sure she’s heard because she’s giving me her ‘look’. ‘And he’s ruined the place.’

‘Well, we don’t know all the facts, do we, love? And from the brief emails we’ve swapped I’d say there’s more to him than meets the eye.’

Oh God. Emails! Has he said anything to Aunt Lynn about those? Oh shit. What exactly did I say to him? What’s Auntie Lynn said to him?

‘Sarah, are you all right, love? You don’t usually gobble up my cakes like that.’

I swallow hard, and I mean hard – this pastry is quite a challenge. I hadn’t realised I’d been shoving food in my mouth as a stress-reliever. ‘There’s something I need to tell you.’

How do I put this, without making her snatch my early Christmas present away before it’s made legal?

‘After you saw all those horrible reviews, that made you clean the oven, I emailed the resort.’

‘Oh, I wasn’t cleaning the oven because of the reviews, love. I did it for some thinking time, to work out what to do about Christmas.’

‘Oh. But I thought . . . Well, it is important to you?’

‘Of course, it is. I’ll never forget that first Christmas, Sarah, but it’s all,’ she taps her forehead, ‘up here. I have the trinkets we brought back, and I have you.’ She smiles. ‘The biggest trinket of all. But places change, and we can’t expect a stranger to preserve our memories for us, can we?’

I shake my head.

‘But it was a lovely place, and very popular with clients, so I’m sure if you can chat to this Will and sort it out, it will be wonderful. Otherwise we’ll have to start sending people to see the Northern Lights, won’t we?’ She stands up. ‘Now, I don’t want to be rude, love, but I promised to bake some cakes for the homeless, so I’ll talk to you tomorrow, shall I?’ She’s already handing me my bag. ‘Lots to do before I go away. And I’m so pleased you’re keen to go back to the Shooting Star, Sarah. I think it means you’re ready to move on, don’t you?’

In my heart I know what she wants me to do. The thing she’s gently hinted at over the years, the thing the shrink less gently hinted at. She wants me to talk about what happened to Mum, to ask all the questions, to forgive her last actions. And she wants me to talk about Dad. To talk to Dad. To stop harbouring the hate, the mistrust; the feeling in my heart that it’s always my fault, that I can never be quite good enough. That it’s always better to move on before people find out that I’m not the person they were hoping I was and leave me.

She wants me to stop picking boyfriends that I know from the start aren’t within a million miles of being ‘the one’ and to think about the future. Live in the moment has always been my motto. I’m not sure how I’m going to deal with all this responsibility and dealing with the past shit.

If anybody else was asking, I’d be out of here. But this is Lynn. And Aunt Lynn wants me to do some adulting stuff, so I guess it’s time to try.

It’s as she pushes the door firmly shut behind me that I realise that I never got to explain to her what I actually said in my emails to Will. And she has no idea how rude and impossible Will Armstrong is, and that he thinks I’m the most unprofessional travel agent ever. She is clueless about the fact that I’m heading towards the worst Christmas ever.

And that, before I go, I have to burn another of my bridges.