Christmas Shopaholic(100)

I shake my head, feeling out of energy. Luke nods, then turns on the kettle. As he does, his attention is caught by the cardboard box. He lifts it and recoils at the sight of the doughnut turkey.

“Jesus. What the hell’s that?”

“A vegan turkey,” I say dispiritedly. “It’s called Peppa Pig.”

“Right.”

I can see Luke attempting to process this, then abandoning the attempt and replacing the box. He makes a cup of coffee and stirs it slowly.

“So you didn’t speak to any of them? Take me through it again.”

“I spoke to Suze and Mum. Suze sounded weird. Kind of shifty. Not like her at all. Luke, I think something’s up,” I say despairingly. “I know it sounds paranoid, but I do. They all phoned up within about ten minutes of each other. It was like…a coordinated strike.”

Luke exhales slowly, his eyes distant. His rage has abated, and his face is creased with thought.

“But what the hell would make everyone cancel Christmas?”

“I don’t know!” I raise my arms hopelessly. “I’ve been trying and trying to think. Is it still because of Flo? Or some other row? Have they all got a secret WhatsApp group I don’t know about? I feel like everyone knows something I don’t,” I conclude desperately. “That’s how I feel. And no one will tell me.”

Luke sips his coffee silently for a moment, then meets my eyes. “OK,” he says. “Who’s the straightest-talking person in your family?”

“Jess,” I say without hesitation.

“Exactly. Jess. We’ll get it out of Jess.” He takes out his phone again and dials. “Voicemail. What’s her landline?”

“It’s home,” I remind him. “Mum and Dad’s number in Oxshott.”

“Of course.” He dials again, listens intently—then says, “The line’s busy. She’s home.” He strides to the door of the kitchen and calls out, “Minnie! Sweetheart! Get your shoes on. And your coat. We’re going to see Jess right now,” he says to me, his jaw set. “And we’re not leaving till she tells us what’s up.”



* * *



—

It takes half an hour to reach Oxshott, and as we near the house, my stomach is jumping. I keep expecting the worst. Except what is the worst?

Everyone’s having Christmas together, without us, because they suddenly hate us. No, they always did hate us. Our whole life has been a lie and a sham. Oh God, no, that can’t be it. I feel a bit deranged, to be honest.

When we arrive, we get out of the car silently, approach the house, and Luke rings the bell. I’m secretly half-hoping no one will answer, but after a while the front door opens and Jess stares at us.

“Hi.” She looks from me to Luke and back again. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“No,” says Luke curtly. “Well, we didn’t expect everyone to pull out of Christmas. May we come in, please?”

“Yes,” says Jess after a pause, and without another word she shows us into the sitting room.

It looks the same as it always does. Jess hasn’t imposed anything of her own, as far as I can see, apart from some geology books on the coffee table and a gym mat rolled up in the corner with the heftiest-looking dumbbells I’ve ever seen. We all sit down, and I resume playing The Snowman on the iPad for Minnie. Then Luke glances at me as though encouraging me to speak.

“Jess,” I begin. “I know you said you had personal reasons for not wanting to spend Christmas with us. And I respect those reasons. I do. But we find it quite coincidental that everyone pulled out of Christmas at the same moment.” My voice trembles. “We find it weird. And…and hurtful. And what I want to know is, why?”

Jess peers at me as though trying to read my expression.

“You’re upset,” she says at length.

“Yes! Of course I’m upset!”

“You’re not relieved?”

“Relieved?” I gape at her. “My whole Christmas is ruined! Why would I be relieved?”

There’s a long silence, during which time Jess’s eyes flicker between Luke and me as though she’s performing some internal algorithm. Then she frowns and says, “Luke, things have clearly misfired. You need to speak up. Tell Becky what you did. Be honest.”

“Luke?” I say blankly, then turn to face him. “Luke?”

“I don’t know what you mean, Jess,” says Luke, looking perplexed. “What did I do?”

“Your email,” says Jess flatly.

“What email?”

“To Suze. She forwarded it to all of us. We’ve all seen it.”

“What email to Suze?” expostulates Luke. “What are you talking about? I haven’t sent any emails. I’ve been away. I came back to find Becky devastated, and that’s all I know. What’s going on?”

There’s another silence, and Jess’s eyes flicker between us again. Then she reaches for her phone, scrolls down for a few moments, and passes it to Luke.

“You didn’t write this email?”

As Luke peers at the screen, his eyes nearly pop out.

“?‘[email protected],’?” he says, aghast. “That’s not my email address, for a start. What the hell?”