If We're Not Married by Thirty Read online

  ‘Yes, next month, I think.’

  I squeeze her hand. I’m not the only one to miss a Whittaker.

  ‘Do you want another glass of bubbles before we go up?’ I ask Mum.

  She looks at her watch. ‘We’ve got another half an hour. Go on, then, fill me up. But you’ll have to explain to Kerry why I’m squiffy.’

  I giggle. My mum’s the only person I know who uses that word.

  ‘I’ll take full responsibility. So what did you get Olivia for Christmas?’

  ‘Oh, did I not tell you the saga I’ve been through to get her a glittery unicorn? I ended up going to Asda at seven a.m. last Tuesday as I’d heard a rumour that they were having a delivery.’

  ‘And were they?’

  ‘No, but I did discover the black forest hot chocolate in the Costa next door and then I managed to find one in the Argos in Chichester.’

  ‘Phew,’ I say, knowing the pressure that we all feel to deliver our niece the right present.

  ‘But, I get the feeling that she’s not going to be the only one who’s going to like her present this year,’ she says, as she gives me an over-exaggerated wink.

  ‘Ooh, you can’t say that. That’s such a tease.’

  We don’t open our presents until after lunch and that’s ages away.

  She shrugs her shoulders. ‘Come on, get this drink down you, and that butty.’

  I suddenly feel a little ripple of excitement. My mum usually buys me a voucher for a fancy spa trip, so the fact that she might have deviated from her usual has got me excited. Finally, I have something to look forward to – even if it is only until this afternoon.

  Chapter Four

  Happy Christmas! I’ve officially had the weirdest one ever. Apparently, nothing says Merry Christmas in Tokyo like a bucket of KFC chicken followed by an iced mini cake. I had to order such a delicacy two weeks ago. I am in absolutely no way jealous of the fact that you’re about to tuck into turkey with actual cutlery. Also, I hope the decoration found its way through customs . . .

  Email; Danny to Lydia, 25 December 2011

  ‘Right then, are we ready for this?’ asks my mum, touching her hair as we walk up the outside stairs at the front of Kerry and Jim’s house. The Curtain twitches at Kerry’s bay window and I see Olivia’s little face light up when she sees us.

  ‘Let’s do it,’ I say, preparing myself for the hysteria we’re about to cause.

  I love the main part of Kerry and Jim’s house. It’s so warm and friendly and it instantly feels like home to me.

  ‘Grandma,’ shrieks Olivia, as she launches herself on Mum as the door opens. ‘Auntie Lydia. Come and see what presents I’ve got.’

  I barely get to wave hello to Kerry, who’s holding a large glass of wine in her hand, as I’m dragged down the wooden corridor into the lounge.

  Holy moly. It’s as if the whole world’s been playing pass the parcel. I kick through the sea of paper to get to the sofa.

  ‘Look at this, and this, and this,’ she shrieks in too much of a frenzy to actually show me anything. ‘Have you got me a present, have you? Have you? HAVE YOU?’ she shouts.

  I practically throw my present at her as if she’s a rabid dog about to turn on me any second. She opens it and there’s a pause. It’s as if she’s an X Factor judge about to deliver her verdict on an act. She’s got a Simon Cowell look on her face and I’m cowering, fearing bad news, when she suddenly leaps up into an excited jump.

  ‘Wow, Auntie Lydia, this is the best present EVER,’ she screams. ‘Thank you so much.’

  I sigh with relief. I look over at my mum who’s still got a look of fear on her face.

  With Olivia distracted, I sneak out of the lounge and into the kitchen and I’m almost bowled over by how good it smells. I wave at Jim, but I daren’t get close enough to give him a kiss hello as he’s got a turkey baster in one hand, a large fork in the other and a look of super concentration on his face normally reserved for when he’s playing Jenga.

  Kerry, on the other hand, is looking super relaxed, setting the table with one hand whilst she sips a large glass of wine with the other.

  ‘I don’t mean to brag, but your daughter just told me that I bought her the best present ever,’ I say, as I sit down at the table.

  Kerry smiles. ‘She says that about every present she opens.’

  ‘Oh,’ I say, the smile falling from my face. ‘Any chance I could get one of those wines?’

  ‘Sure, hair of the dog?’

  ‘That obvious?’

  ‘Uh-huh. The question is, is it from last night or what you and Mum have been drinking this morning?’

  ‘Both.’

  She puts down the last of her cutlery and walks over to a large bottle on the side and pours me a glass.

  ‘This smells so good,’ I say sniffing the air like a dog with a scent. ‘It looks amazing too, Kez.’

  ‘Thanks, I have been slaving over a hot stove all day, you know,’ she says, waving her hand towards the cooker at the end of the kitchen.

  ‘Bollocks you have. I cooked it and you bloody know it,’ says Jim, walking over and whacking her on the arm with the tea towel that’s draped over his shoulder.

  Kerry giggles into her wine glass as she takes a sip.

  Kerry and Jim have been together for almost twenty years now and I love being around them. They have all this playful banter and these affectionate jabs. Plus, Jim is an amazing cook and his roasts are legendary – his Christmas Day ones are just the best.

  ‘Merry Christmas, Lydia,’ he says leaning over and kissing me on the cheek.

  ‘Merry Christmas, Jimbo.’

  Kerry sits down at the table and the two of us sip our wine and enjoy a rare moment of quiet on Christmas Day.

  It doesn’t last for long as Olivia bounds into the kitchen pushing a doll’s pram full of shiny plastic toys.

  ‘Look what Grandma got me,’ she shrieks. She thrusts it proudly at me and I take it, looking at it from all angles. Man that thing is ugly.

  ‘Oh, wow, that’s um . . . brilliant,’ I say, nodding.

  ‘I know. It’s the best present EVER,’ she shrieks. ‘Is Uncle Ross coming later?’

  Kerry almost spits out her wine and flashes me an apologetic look.

  ‘Olivia, I told you not to mention him,’ she says not so subtly.

  ‘It’s OK. I keep telling you, I’m fine,’ I say to her and Jim as they both have concerned looks on their faces. ‘No, sweetie. Ross isn’t coming today.’

  ‘He came last Christmas, and the Christmas before, and I can’t remember the Christmas before that.’

  I laugh. ‘Yes, he did. But he was my boyfriend then and now he’s not. So unfortunately he won’t be coming today.’

  I wonder why she’s so bothered. We used to buy her a joint present so it’s not as if she’s missed out with his absence.

  ‘Good. That’s what Mummy said, but she’s wrong about so many things that I thought I’d better check.’

  ‘Olivia,’ says Kerry, sternly. ‘I am not wrong about a lot of things. That’s Daddy you’re thinking of.’

  ‘Hey, she clearly said “Mummy”,’ says Jim, holding out his hand for a high five, which his almost seven-year-old daughter returns with gusto.

  ‘To be honest, I reckon both of them are often wrong,’ I say, weighing into the debate, ‘but why are you pleased that Ross isn’t coming?’

  ‘I didn’t like him,’ she says, sitting down at the table. ‘Are we eating, yet? I’m hungry.’

  ‘In a minute,’ says Jim, as he practically runs over to the other side of the kitchen to get the potatoes out of the oven – I’m guessing to avoid this conversation.

  ‘Oh, um, that’s good to know. Did you know she didn’t like him?’ I ask, glaring at Kerry. ‘Olivia, why didn’t you like him, sweetie?’

  ‘He never listened to all my Sylvanian Families’ names. He always drank that green stuff that looked like sick. And he made me eat that vegetable at your house �
�� caw-caw.’

  ‘Courgette,’ says Kerry helpfully.

  ‘Caw – jett,’ says Olivia with distaste. ‘It was super gross.’

  I can’t help but smile at her logic.

  ‘I didn’t used to like his courgettes either,’ I say, with a conspiratorial wink.

  ‘You’ve got to love a guy’s courgette,’ says Jim as he returns with a bowl of hot potatoes for the table.

  Kerry takes the tea towel off his arm and whips him.

  ‘You guys liked him though, didn’t you?’

  ‘Where’s Mum? Shall I get her to sit up at the table?’ says Kerry, suddenly standing up.

  ‘Yes, I’ll just make the gravy,’ says Jim, walking off again.

  Olivia starts dipping her finger into the cranberry sauce before shuddering at the taste.

  ‘Come on. He’s one of the good guys, isn’t he?’

  I still really like Ross, just obviously not enough to date him. Bar his protein-shake drinking and his mammoth gym sessions, there’s nothing to hate about him.

  ‘He’s nice enough,’ says Kerry slowly, as if she’s choosing her words carefully. ‘It’s just that I don’t think he brought out the best in you.’

  ‘And he could be a little know it all – you know, when we played Trivial Pursuit and things,’ adds Jim.

  I smile, as he’s just bitter that he never won when Ross was here.

  ‘But we wouldn’t say that we didn’t like him,’ says Kerry, nodding for reassurance.

  ‘Well, I didn’t like him,’ pipes up Olivia again.

  ‘Thanks,’ I say to her, feeling just great about my ability to choose men. ‘I promise the next man I date won’t force you to eat vegetables.’

  ‘And he’ll learn all the names of my Sylvanians?’

  ‘How many have you got now?’

  ‘Eighty-six, thanks to the ones I got today,’ she says proudly.

  ‘Wow, that’s a lot of names.’

  Before I have to make promises I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to keep, Mum comes swanning into the room.

  ‘We aren’t eating yet, are we?’

  ‘Well, I thought I’d make the most of our five a.m. wake up this morning and I put the turkey on early,’ shouts Jim as he opens the oven and steam whooshes out.

  Mum looks at me a little guiltily as if perhaps the bacon sandwich wasn’t the best idea. But luckily all the booze I’ve consumed in the last twenty-four hours has made me ravenous.

  My stomach starts to rumble.

  ‘No complaints from me,’ I say.

  Mum shrugs and sits down. ‘Who am I pulling a cracker with then?’ she says to Olivia.

  ‘Me,’ she screams and we all go through the rigmarole of pulling a cracker with her and of course we let her win all the prizes. She’s a fair winner though, redistributing anything remotely useful – tiny screwdrivers, needle and thread sets, mini tape measures – and keeping all the toys to herself.

  Kerry puts Now That’s What I Call Christmas on the CD player.

  Jim keeps coming to the table with dishes that look truly amazing. They’re met with oohs and ahhs as if we’re watching a firework display.

  ‘Let’s get this Christmas started,’ he says, when he finally sits down. ‘Dig in.’

  No one argues and we lunge for the serving spoons.

  *

  I look down at the last roast potato on my plate. I will not let it defeat me. I cut it up into four small chunks but as I put the first one in my mouth I know I’m beaten. I put my fork down on the plate in submission.

  ‘Anyone for dessert?’ asks Jim.

  ‘Oh God,’ I say, pushing my plate away. ‘I couldn’t eat another thing.’

  ‘As no one has ever eaten my Christmas pudding, I’ve made a Christmas rhubarb crumble instead,’ says Jim.

  ‘Yuck, I’m not eating that. I saw Daddy pee on the rhubarb bush.’

  ‘What?’ says Jim as Mum, Kerry and I glare at him. ‘I’m sure I didn’t. I’m sure I would have walked into the house and used the toilet like a civilised person.’

  I try not to laugh as that sounds exactly like the type of thing that Kerry would say to him when she’s telling him off, and I guess that it’s a regular point of contention.

  ‘Well, you can just have the custard,’ mumbles Kerry. ‘Perhaps we’ll all just have the custard. Have we got a back-up M&S Christmas pudding?’

  ‘Oh come on. I wouldn’t have actually peed on the rhubarb plant. Plus, if I had, I’m sure it was early on in the summer – the fruit wouldn’t have even been out then.’

  ‘Either way,’ I say rubbing my belly. ‘Can we postpone the dessert until later?’

  ‘Yes, good idea,’ says Kerry. ‘How about we stick on The Snowman and the Snowdog and we can have some coffee and open presents.’

  ‘Sounds good to me, then we’ll clear up.’

  We all groan as we look at the state of the kitchen. Jim’s a great cook, but he’s not a tidy one, and the kitchen looks more like a bomb’s hit it than even the lounge.

  Kerry shrugs her shoulders. ‘Let’s not worry about that now.’

  ‘I’ll make the coffee at least,’ says Mum and she gets up.

  Jim can’t help taking away the turkey and covering it over with cling film.

  I’m about to help but Kerry tugs at my arm and I’m too full to argue. I let her drag me into the lounge, where we collapse onto the sofa.

  ‘You know Jim and Mum’ll be in their element tidying – best to leave them to it.’

  My mum was obviously hard at work before she came through; the sea of paper has been tidied away and the new presents neatly stacked near the Christmas tree.

  Kerry tucks her feet under her legs.

  ‘So, how’s it been today?’

  ‘OK,’ I say, not too sure what she’s getting at. ‘Christmas lunch here is always great.’

  ‘I don’t mean that – that’s a given. I mean, you’ve been a bit quiet since you got here and I wondered if you were OK about you and Ross.’

  ‘Me and Ross?’

  ‘Yeah, it’s your first Christmas without him.’

  ‘Why does everyone keep asking me about that? I really was fine with our break-up. He wasn’t the one.’

  I try not to think of Danny Whittaker and remind myself that he’s not the one either.

  ‘I know, but still, Christmas – it’s that time of year which is every singleton’s nightmare, isn’t it? You know, like Valentine’s Day?’

  My sister’s never had to go through this. She’s been with Jim since she was a teenager so she’s never really been single. Not Bridget-Jones-single-girl-about-town single.

  ‘It’s not that bad. I’ve got good friends and good family,’ I say. ‘Honestly, it’s been much better waking up alone than waking up thinking that it’s another Christmas I shouldn’t be with the wrong man.’

  ‘Was it the courgettes?’ she says, giggling.

  ‘Courgettes. What are you young girls like these days? You’re all courgettes and aubergines and winky faces,’ Mum says, as she breezes in.

  ‘We were talking about his cooking,’ I say, not wanting to discuss sex with my mother, something that she doesn’t find as inappropriate as I do.

  ‘Of course, of course,’ she says squeezing in between Kerry and me, despite there being two perfectly good armchairs she could sit on.

  ‘Do you think Olivia’s going to fall asleep?’ I say, pointing at her curled up on the rug in front of the fire. She’s been playing with her Sylvanian Families but her head’s been getting progressively closer to the ground.

  ‘Let’s hope so; that would be a Christmas miracle,’ says Kerry.

  ‘We could watch the Queen’s speech in peace,’ says Mum.

  ‘Oh, please. If I get control of the TV remote, the Queen’s speech will not be what I’m watching. No, I was thinking we could watch a Christmas movie. What’d be on? Wizard of Oz?’

  ‘The Great Escape, surely,’ says Jim bringing in a tray of coffee
that we all help ourselves to.

  I groan. ‘Come on, the point of Olivia being asleep means we get to watch something decent on telly.’

  We’re having a little bicker about what we’re going to watch, when Mum jumps up.

  ‘Shall we do presents?’

  Kerry and I instantly forget our argument and look up.

  ‘Yes, please,’ I say, clapping my hands. I go over and grab my bag of presents and hand them out. Kerry gives me a book, and I bet it’s the same one I’ve bought for her. We pull the paper off at the same time, and, sure enough, we’ve given each other the new Marian Keyes novel. In the fallow years, when one of hers isn’t out, then we’re forced to get a little bit more creative with our choices, but we always buy each other books. It’s tradition.

  Mum hands us each an envelope – another tradition. Every year Mum gives us a voucher for a spa and we go all together to beat the January blues.

  ‘Thanks, Mum,’ I say, as I start to open the envelope, wondering what she meant earlier about a surprise. ‘A spa day is . . . wait a second,’ I say as I read the voucher. This isn’t for a spa. This is a plane ticket. To Barcelona. For the 27th of December. Two days from now. ‘Wow. That’s great. Are we all going? I’ve never been to Barcelona.’

  I’m all excited about a trip away, just the three of us.

  ‘Hang on, Barcelona? I’ve got a voucher for the Four Seasons.’

  ‘If Kerry’s not coming, is it just you and me?’ I say looking at my mum, wrinkling my brow.

  ‘Actually, I’m not going either. It’s just you,’ she says, waving her hand as if it’s no big deal. ‘You’ve had a tough year with your break-up with Ross and working so hard. I thought you needed some time out.

  ‘I thought that instead of mooching around in your flat over the holidays you should go and get some sun in Spain. Hazel’s lending you her apartment. It’s about an hour away from the airport by bus. She’s emailed me all the details and the directions.’

  ‘You want me to go by myself? But these dates,’ I say, scanning them. ‘They’re over New Year.’

  ‘Yes, I didn’t know when you’d be able to take a holiday, so this way I thought that it would make the most of your leave over Christmas.’

  ‘But what about Lucy? She’ll kill me if I miss New Year.’