Games People Play (39 page)

I’d shrugged; my heart simultaneously leaping. As it happened, I was out of Cheetos and bin-liners. ‘Sure,’ I said, even though I’d never before exchanged more than a little chit-chat and a few meaningful smiles with him, and in fact hadn’t even seen him for nearly fifteen years. He hadn’t aged much, just got a little softer around the edges. As soon as I clapped eyes on him again, the latent attraction I’d always felt for him came roaring back in a tidal wave.

The visit to the grocery store turned into a round trip to unload both our loads of shopping, then dinner at Billy’s place, blissful sex on the rag-rug in his living room, and a year later we were engaged. You’d think I’d have been wary of committing again so soon, but this was Billy; my Billy. I just knew I’d finally met the right man.

Gordana

So it is Christmas already. It does not seem a moment since I was last arranging the wooden Nativity characters on top of the Pembroke table by the fireplace: Joseph with his nose chipped off; the cow with three legs from when Ivan threw it against the wall once, when he was little. And yet here we are again, with so much in between ...It has not been an easy year – at least – not the last couple of months.

It’s very nice, though, to be sitting in my warm flickering church at a quarter to midnight; it is like a cocoon, with the wind howling outside, and inside golden and sacred. The smell of incense is so comforting, like the feel of Ted’s hand in mine, and the deep colours of the priest’s Christmas robes. I am alive, and I am not in pain. My family is here, now. Not one of us will be here forever, this is true, and I must accept that it is not up to me when I go.

I look along the pew: my Ted next to me, his wrinkled eyelids closed in prayer. I bet he prays for me, and I love him for it. I hold his hand very tight. We are in this together. I am glad I told him all my secrets, even the bad ones. He says he is glad to know them, even though they are hard to hear.

Then there is Ivan; and it must be a Christmas miracle but even though this awful thing is still hanging over his head, he look more peaceful. Good grief, I think he is almost smiling...Next to him is Susie, who has trouble of her own, but who always thinks first of everyone else. I know she is still here because she feels so guilty for Rachel’s accident, but I also think perhaps it is good that she’s stayed. We are all healing slowly, in our own ways, and the best way she can heal is by believing she’s helping us all.

Then Karl. I have decided I like Karl very much. Somehow he seems like part of this family already. I like that he is sitting between Rachel and Susie, even though Susie told me in private that she thought Karl wanted her at first, and that she was hurt when he turned out to love Rachel ...But there is no awkwardness between them, not like there was for years between Elsie and the garden gnome man, Humphrey, at the tennis club. Elsie thought he liked her – ha! As if! – when all along he like Valerie. She never spoke to him again, but that is Elsie for you. And I think he was very relieved by this.

I must have some Christmas spirit when I think of Elsie, but even the Blessed Virgin herself would find that hard, I bet. Anyway, Susie is nothing like Elsie.

At the end of the row is Rachel, so she can stick her leg out the side into the aisle. She is still with the crutches, but her leg brace is hiding beneath a long black velvet skirt, and there is a big red flowery clip in her hair. I approve very much of this skirt, although she grumbled when I bought it for her. She is a good girl. She is wearing it for me. Although now she’s with Karl, I have noticed that she does not wear the terrible tracksuit bottoms so often any more. And she wear lipstick now too. She is lovely looking, especially now that she isn’t frowning so much. She has – what’s that word – flowered? No. Blossomed.

Susie looks sad. She always tries to hide it, but when she think nobody is watching her, it leaks out of her. Now we are singing ‘In the Bleak Mid-Winter’, and I see how her lip wobbles. How was it that the Queen described her very bad year? Her
annus
horribilis
. We have all had an
annus horribilis
, that is for sure.

The bells strike midnight, and we hug and kiss and shake hands with everyone in the nearby pews, smiling and chatting like nothing is wrong. One more carol; the collection – even though Ted and I give weekly to the church on a standing order from the bank, I still always put money in the collection bowl. I know that God is aware of our standing order, but my fellow parishioners are not, and I do not want them to think I am mean.

A little chat with the priest on the way back out into the frosty car park in front of the church – he looks tired, his eyes are bloodshot and his handshake limp. I want to make him a hot toddy and send him to bed, because the poor man doesn’t have a woman to look after him.

I clutch Ted’s hand even harder, and he makes a face as my rings dig into him.

‘Sorry, darling.’

I put both my arms around him, right there in the car park, and kiss him full on the mouth like we are two young lovers. He kiss me back, and the others laugh as we stand there. But nobody except Ted knows that I’m crying and kissing at the same time, because my back is turned to them.

‘Merry Christmas, Dana,’ he whispers, and holds me tight.

Susie

I was on a mission to help Gordana prepare the best Christmas they’d ever had in that house. I was determined it would be a good day. We would be a family, however fractured; we would be together and we would have fun. Even Ivan, who had recently done a good impression of someone who doesn’t know the meaning of the word.

By mid morning it was all going to plan, although in a more subdued atmosphere than I’d have liked. There was a large turkey crammed into the Aga – we’d had to stuff it in, apparently resisting all the way – and, in the hall, a fir tree of a size which wouldn’t have looked out of place in a shopping mall. Ivan was out somewhere. Being Ivan, nobody knew exactly where, and it could hardly be a business meeting on Christmas morning, but we all knew there was little point in asking. Rachel and Karl had gone for a quick pre-lunch visit to Karl’s friends in Hammersmith, and Doris Day’s voice was warbling festive songs from a boom-box on the kitchen counter.

So it was just Ted, Gordana and I at home, in the kitchen preparing vegetables for dinner. Sprout leaves were mounting up in a pile beside the chopping board as I scored crosses in the bottoms of the undressed buds. Ted stood next to me, and I watched his knobbly old hands paring the parsnips; long dull gold strips fell next to the cut green curls of the sprouts, reminding me of the floor of a hairdresser’s. Ted wasn’t looking particularly well either these days – he was much more subdued than he used to be. But I supposed we were all getting older, and he’d had so much stress lately, it was bound to take its toll. Because it all concerned other people, I thought he was probably quietly absorbing it into his once-broad shoulders, trying to soak up the problems of others like a big sponge. Sometimes it was painful to see him and Gordana. But I was determined not to let today be painful.

‘Funny, isn’t it, how regional some vegetables are, but not others . . .’ I said, trying to inject more levity into the not-quite festive enough atmosphere, despite Doris’s best efforts. ‘...I remember you telling me ages ago, Gordana, that you never had sprouts in Croatia; and Billy had never heard of parsnips when I first met him. I brought some over to him from England once, after a trip home, and when I cooked them for him, he treated them with such suspicion anybody would think I’d sprinkled them with arsenic…’

I remembered Billy’s face, the hesitant tasting of the unfamiliar vegetable through pursed lips, like a child being forced to eat his greens; and it gave me another big pang of missing him.

A traditional British Christmas Day was in itself fairly alien to me – in fact, something of a novelty, which was another reason I wanted to make the most of it. I missed the family Christmases of my childhood – and the festivities in Lawrence had always been unconventional, with assorted hippie guests for lunch, and the cashew and cheese roast I used to make, because the hippies were always vegetarian. There was no wishbone or church service or post-prandial country walk, just a sort of stoned befuddlement which settled on the house after lunch. Billy and I used to sneak off upstairs to make love, because all our guests had fallen asleep and there was nothing else to do except the washing up. After a couple of years, this became one of our traditions: the Christmas cuddle, as we called it.

No Christmas cuddle for me this year. I wondered jealously if he and Eva would continue the tradition themselves, and momentarily lost concentration on the job in hand, nearly cutting off the end of my thumb with the vegetable knife. Blood oozed out of a half-inch cut and splashed neatly into an upturned boat of sprout shell.

‘Oh darling, I will get you a plaster,’ said Gordana, who was sitting at the kitchen table peeling potatoes into a washing-up bowl. She made to get up when she saw my injury, putting her palms flat on the tabletop to help press herself into a standing position, and she looked so exhausted it was almost unbearable.

The knowledge that she’d finished the first round of chemo, and that the doctors seemed pleased with her progress, was a relief to everyone. But I supposed that she and Ted were just too worn out really to celebrate.

For a moment I felt guilty about trying to chivvy them into a big festive day when probably all they wanted to do was go away to a country hotel somewhere and let other people do all the work. Although they had vehemently insisted they wanted to host lunch.

‘No, don’t,’ I said hurriedly. ‘You stay there, just tell me where they are.’

‘Cabinet in Rachel’s bathroom,’ she said gratefully.

‘Thank you.’

‘No problem.’

With Jackson trotting beside me, claws clicking on the tiles, I walked down the hall and round the corner towards Rachel’s room.

She was living here more or less permanently, with Karl already a regular visitor. Apparently he was looking for a flat nearby. They had been inseparable ever since the day Ivan had confronted us in the coffee shop. I did, undoubtedly, feel a sting of rejection – had he only ever been interested in Rachel, and not at all in me? I suspected as much, but I didn’t want to know for sure. The fact that it mattered to me, even slightly, was just a shallow, egotistical reaction; and whenever I saw the bloom in Rachel’s cheeks, or the smile back on her face, I couldn’t possibly begrudge her her happiness. There was no way I’d have been ready for a new relationship anyway. And besides, Karl was far too young for me...

I was about to push open the door of Rachel’s room when I heard a noise from inside, and hesitated. I pressed my ear up against the wooden panel and listened, genuinely wondering what it was. At first I thought it was Jackson yelping, until I remembered that he was sitting at my feet. He was looking up at me with an expression which seemed as puzzled as my own. As soon as I realized what was going on in there – Rachel and Karl had evidently sneaked in for a quickie, not saying hello first in case they got roped into spud-bashing – colour flooded up over my face, and I leaped away from the door as if it had scalded me.

I cantered back down the hall, mortified, my bleeding thumb still rammed in my mouth, and my blush still warming my cheeks. Thank goodness I hadn’t burst in ...

Still, at least Rachel appeared to have overcome her fear of intimacy, and for that I felt relieved. The accident had changed her in a lot of ways: her priorities, her dependence on Ivan, her lack of confidence. Her new relationship seemed a further indication of this new-found maturity. I had a sudden flash of intuition for her, that she should embrace this new life, not go back to the old. Things were different now. Perhaps there was no going back.

‘Come on, Jackson, let’s keep it under our hats, OK?’ I whispered to him outside the kitchen door, stooping to pat his bristly neck. He panted obligingly and licked my hand.

I was just wondering how to prevent Gordana marching into Rachel’s room to find the plasters I’d been unable to locate, when I remembered that I probably had a couple in the side pocket of my handbag, which was in the coat cupboard. As I went to investigate, the front door opened and Ivan came in.

‘Hi,’ I called, my head buried in the coat cupboard.

I backed out, with the scent of lavender and mothballs in my nostrils, and turned to face him. I was expecting the hangdog, bitter expression which – despite his slight increase in optimism of late – still dragged down his jowls and furrowed his brow, but instead I barely recognized him. Dour, grumpy Ivan Anderson was smiling; in fact, beaming broadly. I marvelled at how much younger he looked – like the Ivan I’d fallen in love with, all those years ago, over a Velvet Underground LP and some strong Kansas pot.

‘You look cheerful,’ I said, tearing the plaster wrapper open with my teeth and winding it around my bleeding thumb. ‘Christmas spirit finally got through to you?’

‘
You
,’ he said, pointing a finger at me, and even though he was still smiling, my instinct was to think: Oh no, now what have I done?

‘What?’ I said, slightly nervously. But his smile was so infectious that I couldn’t help joining in.

‘You have no idea what a huge favour you’ve done me.’

‘Really? How come?’ I closed the coat cupboard door so that Jackson didn’t go in and eat all the shoes.

‘Well, you know you told me to mention that time stamp thing to my solicitor? I did, as soon as you heard about it. I thought for sure he’d already be aware of it, but he wasn’t! He got on to it straight away, badgering the police to let him know what the time stamp said. In conjunction with the date of the credit card transaction, that’ll be much greater proof that I couldn’t have done it – the credit card alone isn’t enough, in case I did it from another computer – and they’ve already established that the transaction was done when I was out of the country. I was away at a tournament in Russia, with about a thousand alibis... So, assuming the time stamp is the same as the transaction – which it’s bound to be – then I’ll be in the clear! They still haven’t finished sorting through the evidence, and they said that a specific analysis of the time clock can’t be done at the same time as the file interrogation. That’s why the hearing’s been adjourned again. But I had a meeting with the solicitor yesterday, and he’s convinced it’s going to make all the difference to my case.’

On impulse, he picked me up around the waist and swung me around the hallway. It was the first real physical contact I’d had with him since we were married. I laughed with him, flinging my arms round his neck and letting him spin me as Jackson barked at our feet, confused and delighted at the commotion.

‘Ivan, is that you? What is going on out here, for goodness’ sake?’ Gordana came out into the hall in her Marigolds, potato peeler in hand, with a headscarf covering her remaining patchy strands of hair. She looked bemused – as well she might – at the unfamiliar sight of her son showing any spontaneous affection, particularly towards his once-reviled ex.

‘Please mind that vase with your feet, Susie!’

Ivan hastily put me down and hugged her instead.‘Hello, Mama, how are you today?’

‘Have you been drinking?’ she asked suspiciously, patting her scarf to check that it was in place.

‘No, I haven’t. Aren’t I allowed to be cheerful for once?’ he said, a hint of the old defensiveness in his voice.

‘Of course you are allowed, my darling, we are just not used to it, that is all,’ she said, kissing his cheek. ‘What has made you so jolly?’

He opened his mouth to tell her, when Rachel and Karl appeared in the hall behind her, dressed, but dishevelled and pink-cheeked. If I’d been in any doubt as to what they were up to in there, I wasn’t any more. Good for you, Rach, I thought.

‘Hi, Dad, happy Christmas,’ said Rachel guardedly. ‘Have you won the lottery or something?’

Gordana looked hard at her and Karl. ‘I thought you two kids were out visiting somebody,’ she said suspiciously.

‘Oh, we were, Gordana, we just got back a while ago,’ Rachel replied disingenuously.

Karl rubbed his big hands together. ‘Shall I make a cup of tea for us all?’ he asked, as at home in Gordana’s house as he was everywhere else. ‘Then we can hear what Ivan’s exciting news is.’

I stood back to let them all troop back into the kitchen, Rachel swinging on her crutches with the ease of a chimp swinging through trees. I was about to follow, when a pang of loneliness overtook me, and I slunk upstairs into my room instead.

Downstairs I could hear the excited chatter of voices, but the air in my big, grand guest room was as still and empty as the atmosphere I’d been trying to escape at Corinna’s. Perhaps it wasn’t the house at all; perhaps it was me? Maybe I was constantly trying to escape something which was inherently impossible to run away from, because it was in me. Was this why I went back to Kansas in the first place, after the divorce; and then why I left again when I found out about Billy and Eva...?

But how could I ever escape it, if I didn’t even know what it was?

It looked as if Ivan was going to be all right, despite all the chaos around him. Maybe it was because
he
never ran away, he just squared his shoulders and let it all rain down on him. But then again, although he made out that he was so independent, underneath it, he was as needy as an infant. It was true that he didn’t run when the going got tough, but what he needed to learn was not to push away the people who, in spite of it all, loved him. Gordana was on the mend, which was clearly a load off his mind too, although he never spoke about it.

I went and stood by the window, looking out over the frozen, bleak garden, wanting to feel as happy for Rachel and Karl, and Ivan, as I kept telling myself I was. Instead, a sense of isolation clutched at my chest, twisting at me like the bare barbed-wire branches of the rose bushes outside. In spite of my resolution to enjoy this Christmas, I couldn’t help thinking that there was something deeply sad about the deadness of a much-loved garden in the middle of winter, too far from spring even for snowdrops or crocuses – and at that, it all started to crash down on me.

Apart from Rachel, this wasn’t even my family any more. Gordana had Ted, Ivan had Gordana, and Rachel had the lovely Karl. I didn’t even have a
job
, let alone a partner. I’d been too preoccupied with worrying about Rachel’s injury to bother pursuing the life coaching qualifications about which I’d felt so enthusiastic a mere two months ago. I had given up the real-estate job. There was nothing I even wanted to do – but I had to do something. I had to support myself from now on. I couldn’t continue sponging off Gordana or Corinna, eking out my meagre savings, which had already dwindled to almost nothing. Panic, and something strangely like rage, began to swell inside me, mingling with the self-pity.

Nobody needed me here. For a brief time, I’d been a mother to Rach, when she needed me; I’d been a friend to Ivan, when he had none; and I’d – hopefully – been a support to Gordana. But now everybody seemed to be sorting out their lives. I felt like a dandelion clock, blowing aimlessly about, shedding filaments in different places but not knowing where I’d end up, nor where I wanted to be.