Christmas Shopaholic(98)

My phone rings and we both jump a mile. And even though I was expecting it, my stomach crashes down as I see Suze on the display. Silently, I turn it so that Steph can see.

“Answer it,” she says, looking anxious. “It might not be that.”

I let the phone ring twice more, while I try to compose myself. Then I press ANSWER and say, in a fake, high-pitched voice, “Oh, hi, Suze, are you on your way to the gingerbread party?”

“Oh, hi, Bex,” Suze replies, sounding flustered and fake too. “Um, sorry, I’m not sure we can make it. I’ve got this last-minute Christmas-shopping emergency that just came up.”

I was right.

My chest has started to ache. I hadn’t realized how much I was hoping not to be right.

“No problem,” I say numbly. “It doesn’t matter. It was only a…you know. Doesn’t matter at all.”

“And, um, about tomorrow.” Suze sounds super uncomfortable, as though she’s standing on one leg and twisting the other around it, which she probably is. “About Christmas. Tarkie suddenly said he wants us to go to his Uncle Rufus after all. Sorry to pull out so late, Bex, but…you don’t mind if we do that instead?”

And then there were none.

My chest starts to ache even more, and my eyes are hot, but somehow I keep my composure.

“Right.” I swallow. “No, of course I don’t mind. You must go! Have fun!”

“You really don’t mind?” she says anxiously.

“Of course not!” I say shrilly. “In fact, it’s a relief. You’re right, hosting Christmas is a total stressmare, so this way…”

“Exactly,” says Suze, sounding relieved. “Much easier for you.”

She didn’t think I could do it. I can tell from her tone of voice. She didn’t think I could host Christmas. Two tears slide down my cheeks, but I try to ignore them.

“Absolutely!” I say brightly. “It’ll be great! So, have a wonderful day with Uncle Rufus and let’s catch up…whenever. Happy Christmas, give my love to everyone…Bye!”

I turn the phone off, then stare ahead, my head prickling, unable to speak.

My entire Christmas has disintegrated in the space of ten minutes.





Steph does her best. She hugs me hard. She tells me that it’s all just random coincidence and that my friends and family do love me, of course they do. She relates the story of a disastrous childhood Christmas when her uncle got stuck in Wales, which makes me (sort of) laugh.

Then we get a notification that the school has uploaded the Nativity play video onto the website, and Steph quickly suggests we watch it on her iPad as a distraction.

It is a distraction. Kind of. But it’s also a painful reminder of what Christmas is all about. As I watch the adorable children lisping their way through “Away in a Manger,” I start to feel unbearably sentimental. And sentimental is quite close to sad. And sad is quite close to weeping uncontrollably, sinking to your knees, and crying out to the heavens, “Whyyyyyy?”

Meanwhile, Steph is riveted by the play. As Minnie, Harvey, and George appear for their three-kings act, she gazes at Harvey as though she wants to eat him up.

“He was brilliant,” I say, as the three kings eventually make way onstage for a throng of angels.

“They were all brilliant,” says Steph. “Minnie was priceless! Shall we watch their bit again?”

We rewind and start again from the kings’ entrance, and this time I can see Steph taking in the details.

“Wait,” she says suddenly. “Wait.” She presses PAUSE and stares intently at the screen. “Becky, you said the costume you gave me was a spare.”

“Oh,” I say, taken off guard. “Yes. Totally! It was.”

“But, look: Minnie’s just wearing a scarf you’ve pinned onto a dress,” says Steph, squinting even more closely. “Whereas Harvey’s costume is a bloody work of art. Look at those sequins.” She turns to me in distress. “You gave me Minnie’s costume, didn’t you?”

“No!” I say automatically. “God! I mean…It doesn’t matter. The costumes aren’t the point. It was a lovely play! Let’s keep on watching.” But I’m not sure Steph hears me.

“I was so frazzled that day,” she’s saying, almost to herself. “I didn’t even think…But why would you have a spare costume waiting in a carrier bag? It makes no sense. I’m such an idiot. Minnie should have been in that costume.”

As though reading our minds, Minnie looks up from the game she’s been playing with Harvey and comes over to the iPad.

“That is my costume,” she says with deliberate emphasis, jabbing her finger at the frozen image of Harvey. “Myyyy costume. We gave it to Harvey.”

Honestly. Remind me never to try to escape from the Nazis with Minnie in tow. I meet Steph’s eye and give a sheepish shrug.

“I know you did,” Steph says to Minnie. “And we’re very grateful, aren’t we, Harvey? Because your mummy worked hard on that costume. She sewed it for you, didn’t she?”

Minnie thinks for a moment, then shakes her head and says, “Mummy pinned it. The pin went in me. And I said, ‘Ow!’?”

“Ow!” echoes Harvey sympathetically.