Christmas Shopaholic(97)

“Right.” I can see Steph thinking hard, and at last she meets my eyes. “She’s hurting. That’s my guess. She can’t face everyone—it’s too hard, it’s too painful—so she’s avoiding you all.”

“Oh God,” I say, stricken. “What do I do? Should I go over there right now?”

“That might freak her out,” warns Steph. “She has to be ready to talk about it; otherwise, you’ll make her clam up even more.”

“But she can’t spend Christmas Day on her own!” I say in dismay, right as my phone rings.

“Is that her?” asks Steph at once, but I shake my head.

“It’s my mum. I wonder if she knows.”

“Hi, Mum,” I say hurriedly. “Are you on your way? Listen, I got this weird text from Jess—”

“Oh, love,” Mum interrupts before I can continue. “Dad and I are both in the wars. Nasty virus. We can’t come after all, I’m afraid.”

“Oh,” I say, taken aback. “Well…will you be all right tomorrow?”

“I don’t think so, love,” says Mum regretfully. “We wouldn’t want to give the children our germs. You have a lovely peaceful day without us. We’ll do our Christmas presents another time.”

I stare at the phone, feeling a bit blindsided. Another time? But it’s Christmas tomorrow. We’re all ready. I’ve bought the Quality Street and the Radio Times and everything.

My lips are trembling. But I mustn’t let Mum know how disappointed I am. It’s not fair, when she’s ill.

“Right,” I say, in the most upbeat tones I can manage. “Well, that’s a big shame, but the important thing is, you get better. So rest up, give my love to Dad, drink lots of fluids…”

“Of course we will, darling,” says Mum. “And you have a super day tomorrow.”

“Mum, about that,” I say. “I’ve just had this text from Jess, saying she’s not coming either—”

“Love, I’d better go.” Mum cuts me off before I can say any more. “So sorry not to see you, darling, but have a happy Christmas!”

Before I can utter another syllable, she’s rung off, and I stare into space, a bit dazed. Why did she have to hurry away like that?

“Becky?” says Steph after a few seconds. “Becky, speak to me. What’s happened?”

“It was my mum,” I say, forcing myself to focus. “She’s pulled out of Christmas too. She’s ill. And so’s my dad.”

“Oh no,” says Steph in horror. “What bad luck.”

“I know.”

My phone bleeps with another text, and I look down to see if it’s from Jess—but it’s from Janice.

Dear Becky, I’m so sorry for the late notice, but Martin and I have decided to spend Christmas quietly at home, if that’s all right, but I do hope you have a lovely day. Janice xx



I stare at the words, my head reeling. I don’t understand. What’s happening?

“Tell me,” demands Steph. “Becky, you look dreadful.”

“I feel dreadful,” I gulp. “Everyone’s pulling out of Christmas. On Christmas Eve. With no warning. For no reason.”

“Oh, Becky.” Steph looks dismayed. “After all your hard work. I mean…could you reschedule? Have a gathering when everyone’s feeling better?”

“You don’t understand,” I say desperately. “Why are they all pulling out?”

“Well,” says Steph warily, “your parents are ill…your sister’s feeling sensitive, we’re guessing…”

“What about Janice?”

“I don’t know Janice.” She grimaces apologetically. “Sorry.”

“Does everyone think I can’t host Christmas?”

“What?” Steph stares at me. “Don’t be ridiculous!”

“Suze thought I couldn’t do Christmas,” I say, barely hearing her. “She said maybe she should host it instead. Has she told everyone it’s going to be a rubbish Christmas?”

“Becky!” Steph sounds staggered. “You’re being paranoid! People get ill. They pull out of things, OK? These things happen.”

“People don’t all pull out of the same thing within five minutes,” I retort, my voice rising in distress. “That doesn’t happen! It’s not statistically possible. OK? It’s not statistically possible.”

I can see Steph opening her mouth to object, but then she seems to think better of it.

“Suze is going to pull out too,” I say miserably. “I know she is.”

“You’re mad,” says Steph robustly. “Of course she’s not. This isn’t some secret plot; it’s just bad luck. You’ve got an amazing group of family and friends, they all sound really supportive and loving—”

“They’re not loving!” I admit in despair. “They’re at each other’s throats! Everyone’s been fighting! That’s why I threw this gingerbread party, to try to reconcile everybody.”

“Oh.” Steph halts. “Right. I didn’t realize.”

“Maybe that’s why everyone’s pulling out.” I feel a fresh wave of despair. “They can’t face sitting round the same table. But don’t they understand, I was trying to bring about peace?”