After a ten-minute grace led by Maggie that my granddad drifted in and out of sleep for, we would have eaten Christmas dinner to the soundtrack of BBC News had it not been for Maggie reeling off the list of cosmetic treatments she’s been saving up for and was planning to have done in the new year.
“. . . and then my doctor, and he is a lovely doctor, Dr. Elliot, what he’s going to do is take some of the fat from my stomach, and then he’s going to inject it in this empty part of my bosom, here.” My granddad choked on his turkey.
“Maggie, please, we’re all eating.” My grandmother put her fork down. “Tek water, Wilfred!”
“I’m only saying!” my aunt said, spearing a roast potato on my mum’s plate with her fork. “You’re being quiet,” Maggie said to my mum, shoving the stolen potato into her mouth.
“Oh, I’m okay,” my mum muttered.
“You’re not eating, Sylvie,” my grandmother said. “You get smaller every time we see you.”
“She’s always been small, though. She’s the lucky one,” Maggie said, nudging my mum so hard that all 110 pounds of her almost fell off her chair.
“Nothing lucky about being big or small. You’re all beautiful. All sizes.” My grandmother looked pointedly at me and my aunt. “But still, Maggie, I want you and Queenie to go and get your blood pressure checked. And your cholesterol.” She picked up her fork and began to eat again.
“Granddad, can we put something on the telly that isn’t news?” I asked. He finally looked away from the television and stared at me for a million years.
“As you all know, I do not like anything that is fictitious,” he announced, turning the news up and facing the screen again. “The only thing we should be watching is what’s happening in the world around us. It’s a horrible state of affairs, and you, young as you are, need to stop being so ignorant.”
“Granddad, you know I work at a newspaper. I know what’s going on in the world,” I said.
“You work at the magazine, Queenie, it’s all opinion pieces and clubbing, not real news,” he replied swiftly.
“Wilfred. Don’t start. Nuh even badda start on Jesus’ birt’day. Han’ me the remote,” my grandmother said through tightened lips.
My granddad sighed and pushed the remote across the table to her. She passed it to me, and I scanned the channels as my mum and Maggie went to sit in the front-front room, the one with plastic covers on the sofas and dust sheets on all of the best furniture. Nobody is allowed in there. I still have to clean it every time I come here, though. On my way to the kitchen to get dessert, I stopped by the door to eavesdrop.
“She’s fine, you know she’s tough,” I heard my aunt say.
“She’s not that tough, Maggie. And I appreciate you looking after her when I couldn’t, really I do, but she’s my daughter, not yours.” My mum was crying gently. “And I know her! She’s good at pretending. But I’ve let her down, I should have been better to her, that way she might have been better to herself.” Maggie mmm-ed softly in the pauses as my mum spoke. “I shouldn’t have left her. I shouldn’t have been so controlled by that devil man and left her all alone.”
I heard Maggie sigh quietly. “What’s the point in thinking like that, Sylv? You did it, you can’t change that now. All you can do is move forward with her. Build back the relationship. You and Queenie were close, that doesn’t just go away.”
“But what if it has?” my mum asked softly, fear in her voice.
“Stop worrying about Queenie, Sis, and focus on yourself. Trust me, your daughter is all right. She’s a brave one.”
“Being brave isn’t the same as being okay,” my mum said quietly.
“You have to look after yourself, Sylvie. You need to recover. Why don’t you come to church with me?” Maggie suggested. I was surprised she hadn’t offered the prospect of divine healing sooner.
“No thanks, Maggie,” my mum said. At least we agreed on something.
“Suit yourself,” my aunt said. “Well, look, worry about yourself. What’s the latest on the court case?”
“It’s killing me, Maggie. Every time I have to see Roy, I have to stop myself from being sick.”
“That’s why you’ve lost so much weight,” Maggie commented. “Two and a half blasted years of having to go through this. You need to let me know when the hearings are, I can come along with you.”
“I don’t want you to hear what we went through, Maggie. I’m so embarrassed. The lawyers, they bring it all up all the time. All of it.” My mum sobbed, and I felt tears rush to my eyes. “They’ve finally found his private bank account, though, where he’d put all the money from my house, so that’s something. Doesn’t mean I’ll get any of it back.”
“I hope your lawyer is pushing for something, though.” Maggie raised her voice slightly.
“She is, she is,” my mum said softly. “She said it would help the case if Queenie testified, but I don’t want her to relive what she saw.”
“Don’t bring Queenie in,” Maggie said firmly. “No.”
“I won’t. Listen to this—” my mum spluttered. “Remember when he slammed my face into the steering wheel when I was driving and made me crash? He told the judge I crashed because I was drinking. Lied through his teeth. He’s mad, Maggie!”
“You weren’t to know he’d be this mad.”
“I don’t know why I couldn’t see it, though?” my mum said. “I was so scared, scared of being alone after Queenie’s dad upped and left me. I thought nobody would ever want me again, and when Roy came along I thought he was a god.”
“He was a master manipulator, Sylv.”
“But I abandoned my daughter!” my mum wailed. “I loved her so much, and I abandoned her.”
I felt myself being pulled back by the shoulder. It was Granddad. “Let the big people speak, nuh?” he whispered. “Nuttin’ in there for you.”
I wouldn’t feel sorry for her. She’d made her mistakes, and now we both had to live with them. I wiped my eyes quickly and went back up to the spare room and checked my phone. I had a text from Gina.
Are you not checking work e-mail? Odd. Could you please? Need you in earlier. MC.
I logged in to my work account and tried to ignore everything but Gina’s e-mail. I’d made a conscious point of not checking my work inbox every single minute when I was out of the office because I’d read some article about how it’s bad for our mental health. And yes, there are a lot of things worse than worrying about work during the holidays, but I was determined to take my not wanting to work more than I was paid for very seriously.
On Tuesday, 25th December, Row, Gina <[email protected]> wrote at 11:34:
Q. Need you in tomorrow (26th) a.m. Just checked e-mail and saw message from printer—Chuck’s edits to the next issue? A mess. Need you to fix before mag goes to print. Check main drive, all there. Pages 32–60. Make changes, file new version. Can’t do it myself as stuck in Suffolk. Text me when fixed. G
I went to close the browser, but my eyes accidentally scanned the inbox and landed on an e-mail from Ted sitting amongst the unopened messages.
I went to open it, but stopped myself and closed the laptop. I am not very disciplined, however, and have mainly made peace with that, so reopened the laptop.
On Tuesday, 25th December, Noman, Ted <[email protected]> wrote at 15:45:
Queenie, my head is swimming with thoughts of you. I’ve sat through so many dinners and family parties and I’d swap it all to be sitting with you in our park. Say we can do that as soon as we get back? Merry Christmas. X
Delete. I’ve known a lot of men, but never one to blow this hot and cold. If this was the clarity I’d asked God for, I’m never praying again.
chapter
THIRTEEN