Christmas and Other Things I Hate Page 8

  I felt a stitch in my side and as I jogged back to the house and noticed that someone had managed to find some lights and put them on Helen’s tree.

  In the dark it didn’t look too bad. The curtains were open and I could see my family, through the window, all laughing together. It looked picture perfect and I hated that even if I had been inside with them I would stand out like a sore thumb.

  I hated feeling like I didn’t belong. I hated that I could never feel at home here and I hated that Helen just assumed it was all down to my behaviour instead of years of being treated differently from the rest of my family.

  I tried not to let the intrusive thoughts derail me from my mission and pushed myself to run across the yard and sound the alarm. Just as I reached the door, I heard the now familiar sound of Helen’s laugh.

  I pushed it open and rushed into the living room. I walked in just as she clinked glasses with Lucas and everyone stopped what they were doing.

  “Oh, please, don’t let me interrupt,” I shouted, “I’ve only just been wandering the roads looking for you because I was worried that you were in trouble.”

  “Why would she be in trouble, love?” asked dad.

  “It doesn’t matter because here she is, fitting in with everyone else and as usual I’m on the outside looking in.”

  I slammed the door closed and went to find Ernie. I didn’t care that he was still damp from the hose, I just wanted to sit with someone that didn’t make me feel like I had trespassed on someone else’s Christmas.

  I sat on the step outside and soon Ernie came to sit at my feet. He didn’t do anything but sit beside me in the dark and every so often I reached down to give him a reassuring pet.

  “Hey,” said Helen, “I just went out the front door earlier and walked around to the barn for a nosy and a bit of air. By the time I came back in you were already gone and your parents thought it was better if I stayed here and waited for you to come back instead of me getting lost looking for you.

  She seemed genuine but I didn’t bother to respond.

  “We really need to have a chat,” she continued, “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “For everything; I’m sorry that I’ve gate-crashed your life and left you feeling like you need to be my babysitter when all you really wanted was someone to keep you company on a drive for a bit.

  “Believe it or not, this wasn’t planned. Before you came and found me at the bridge I had already decided that I was going to come back to the flat and explain that I didn’t have the cash but I would have figured out a way to get you home.

  “When you offered me the opportunity to spend Christmas with a family I selfishly said ‘yes’ when really I should have let you come here and sort out all the stuff that’s been bothering you. You’re clearly already going through your own stuff without throwing a crazy person into the mix.

  “You don’t need to worry about me harming myself or doing anything like the bridge. To be honest, I’ve felt more alive in the last 24 hours than I have in the last year, and that’s because of you. You gave me a reason to pause and see that you’re right. I still think my mum is heaven, watching over me, but she would be so disappointed that I was even thinking about doing what I planned.

  “Don’t get too smug about it though. I mean you could have been a bit less of a bitch about it, but it did make me stop and think about what I really wanted and what I need to do to sort through everything I’m feeling.

  “I’ve decided to get some help, real help. You don’t have to fix me, it’s something I’ve got to do for myself, by myself.”

  “But you don’t have to do it alone,” I replied.

  “I know,” she said with a smile. She sat down on the step next to me and patted Ernie.

  “I just didn’t want you to spend the next few days obsessively hiding the knives or running down country roads looking for me. I’m ready to talk to someone and that’s all because of you.”

  “I don’t see how.”

  “Well, I realised that I may be sad but there’s always someone worse off – I mean, look at you, you’re a complete mess. In your defence, you did warn me you were, back on the bridge.”

  I nudged her side and knocked her off the side of the step onto the ground.

  “So I wasted my Christmas wish on you for nothing?”

  “Not at all, you got your wish, I’m here aren’t I? I’m sticking around, and for the sake of full disclosure, I’d like to warn you that I’m going to kiss you again, ok?”

  My heart was thumping in my chest and I nodded my head. She shifted onto her knees and leaned her face closer to mine.

  Just as our lips were about to touch the back door opened and let the light flood out from the kitchen, highlighting our faces.

  We stopped and both looked in the direction of the door.

  “This is new,” said Lucas.

  “What’s new?” said Siobhan as she appeared behind him and looked in the same direction.

  “Nothing,” he said, “I thought the door handle was new but it just looked different in the dark.”

  Helen and I looked at each other then stood up pretending like nothing at all was going on.

  “You’re right, Lucas. It does look a bit different, but it’s still the same,” I said.

  “Subtle,” whispered Helen.

  “Why don’t you both come inside or you’ll catch your death,” shouted mum, from the kitchen, “bring Ernie in too if that will keep you happy, Jane.”

  Ernie bounded in ahead of all of us and went to investigate the meaty smells emanating from the kitchen.

  Siobhan and Helen followed the dog while Lucas and I stayed behind. I didn’t want to be the first to speak but I knew I would have to offer some sort of an explanation. Although we were ancient history, I assumed that the sight of his ex-girlfriend and future sister-in-law about to kiss another woman would be fairly surprising.

  “You’re a lesbian then?” he asked.

  “No! I mean, I don’t know; I haven’t exactly figured out what I am or what Helen and I are together just yet. It’s kind of complicated right now.”

  “I don’t really know what to say, I mean I knew you had a thing for -”

  “I’m going to stop you there, Lucas, I don’t want to know what type of out-dated stereotype you’re going to come out with here but I would tread very carefully.”

  “I was going to say: I knew you had a thing for blondes.”

  “Oh, sorry. Like I said, this is all pretty new and neither of us are in a good place to start something.”

  “She seems nice and might actually be what you need.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Don’t shout at me, ok? It’s just you’re very tightly wound sometimes and she seems like a nice, relaxed person. She could be one of those Yin Yang things.”

  I laughed and patted his shoulder.

  “Yeah, maybe.”

  We joined the others in the kitchen and watched as mum took out ingredients and scales to get started on some shortbread.

  She made it every Christmas Eve to bring to Lucas’ mother’s house for a get-together before mass.

  “How about you put your feet up, mum?” I said.

  “Don’t be talking nonsense, Jane, sure you know I have this to do or has living in the big city completely made you forget everything we do?”

  “I just meant you could take a breather while Siobhan and I do it, we’ve got a lot of wedding talk to go over and it’s not like we can’t make this with our eyes closed – you’ve been teaching us the recipe since we were tiny.”

  She stopped what she was doing and smiled. She took off her apron and put it over my head.

  “That sounds lovely,” she said as she kissed my cheek, “There’s my good girl.”

  She led Helen and Lucas out of the kitchen with promises of the ‘fancy chocolate’ she only got at Christmas.

  Siobhan stood awkwardly at the far side of the island in the centre of the kitchen
. She looked unsure as to what she should do but as soon as I started shouting out the measurements for flour, she sprang into action and poured out the flour into the scales.

  “How about while you’re doing that you catch me up with the wedding details and I’ll sort the butter and sugar,” I suggested.

  “You don’t really want to know about that, you’re just pretending,” she replied.

  “No, I’ve just realised that you’re right; I’ve not been paying attention or helping like a good maid-of-honour should but I’m going to be better. I want to know absolutely everything.”

  Siobhan took me at my word and she launched into a description of every inch of the wedding she had envisioned so far. She hadn’t got her dress yet, but wanted to look at a few while I was home and hoped that there might be a sale or two in Cork city after Christmas. She also wanted to make the most of my visit by getting my opinion on a few bridesmaid dresses she had her eye on.

  “When is it?” I asked.

  “Whatever day suits, I would just like to get you to try a couple on and see what you look like in a few different styles.”

  “No, I meant when’s the wedding?”

  “Are you serious? You don’t even know the date?”

  “Of course I do, I just meant the date escapes me at this minute in time.”

  “It’s the 28th.”

  “Of course it is, well then that’s great and such a lovely time of year too.”

  “You’ve absolutely no idea what month, do you?” quizzed Siobhan.

  “I am hurt that you think that,” I replied, “Hurt and appalled and hurt some more.”

  “Jane?”

  “No, I’ve absolutely no clue,” I confessed, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry I am a rubbish maid-of-honour. You probably should sack me, but I promise that if you give me one last chance then I’ll be the best one you could ever ask for.”

  She looked at me for a few seconds before she picked up a handful of flour and threw it at my face.

  “You’re on probation,” she replied, “It’s next November.”

  I coughed out some of the flour but didn’t bother to wipe it off my face as way of penance; instead I took a bottle of red wine from the cupboard and poured us both a glass.

  We clinked glasses and got back to work on the shortbread.

  I listened and nodded at the appropriate places as she shared more wedding details and gave my opinion on the problems she was having with her future mother-in-law. It was a strange conversation for me because as much as I loved my sister, I knew she had a flare for the dramatic and was always ready to take offence from people when none was intended. This was most obvious whenever she spoke about Lucas’ mother, Maureen.

  Maureen was a wonderful woman, who I always liked, and I think she had hoped that Lucas and I would get back together, one day, until he got together with Siobhan.

  My little sister had now managed to convince herself that Maureen hated her and nothing she did was good enough. I found this hard to believe, but I agreed with her to keep the peace.

  “Any time I talk about the colour scheme she has something to say about it,” continued Siobhan, “I’ve had to change it three times to see if that will keep her happy but she still just turns her nose up and says nothing. I can’t go on like this Jane, I need to just pick a scheme and get on with things it’s less than a year away and I feel like everything is getting out of control.”

  I tried not to laugh at the amateur dramatics going on in the kitchen. I could see she was genuinely worried. I instantly felt guilty for making fun of her, even if it was just in my head.

  “You’re right,” I said, “This is your special day and you can’t let someone else – even the mother of the groom – make you feel like you’re not in control.

  “How about you and I shove these things in the oven, have another glass of wine and have a round of speed decisions? We get all the things your flip-flopping over and we’ll bang them all out here and now. Frig the lot of them.”

  She smiled and disappeared out of the kitchen to bring me her wedding book.

  I had no idea what a wedding book consisted of, but knowing my sister it was bound to be a scrapbook full to the brim of wedding décor ideas, dipped in glitter.

  When she returned, she was carrying a large bag and a binder.

  “What’s all this?” I asked.

  “Well we can’t make decisions about chair sashes and backdrops without seeing the material in the flesh,” she explained, “Thankfully, I’ve been ordering samples for quite some time but I’ve narrowed them down to my top twenty.”

  “Twenty?”

  “Yes, it was tough to get them down from fifty but I’m happy that the right ones have made it through.”

  “I’m going to need another drink.”

  I filled up our glasses and watched as she unpacked everything from the bag, separating each part into little piles of order. I had no idea of the significance of the piles but I kept my attention on her as she explained what they all meant.

  While we were setting up, Helen returned to the kitchen in search of a cup of tea.

  “I think I’m one chocolate away from exploding,” she said, “Jane, what’s all that on your face?”

  “That would be flour,” replied Siobhan, without looking up from her work, “She has to keep it on until we’re finished decision making.”

  “Is this a Christmas tradition that I don’t know about?” she asked.

  “No, it’s my punishment for being a rubbish sister.”

  Helen smiled and poured the hot water into a mug.

  “That seems fair,” she said, “It looks like you two are busy.”

  “Yes, we are,” I replied, “We are very busy and important people doing lots of busy and important things about the wedding which is next November and therefore we are running out of time to get things organised.”

  “Does she sound like she’s being sarcastic, Helen? Because, if she is, the flour is still on the counter and you can feel free to throw some more at her,” said Siobhan.

  She held up too very similar looking pieces of fabric and faced me.

  “Now, which do you prefer?”

  “Aren’t they both the same?”

  “No, one is antique white and the other is floral white.”

  I gulped down some more of my wine and looked at them more closely, in the hope that I could see a difference.

  I still didn’t.

  “I would go with antique white because it’s more vintage and therefore elegant,” I replied. I hoped that my voice sounded surer of my answer than how I felt.

  “I agree,” she replied as she wrote down something in the binder and I took the opportunity to make my escape.

  “We aren’t nearly finished,” she said, “That was only round five of decisions. I’ll be back in a minute, I’m going to show Lucas our choices, so far.”

  Helen leant up against the sink, smirking.

  “Don’t look so pleased with yourself,” I whispered, “You could come over and help. Oh, and you don’t have to stick to wine, my mum has enough to put the local brewery out of business in her cupboard. I don’t know why, she doesn’t even drink, but she insists on stocking up ‘in case people call’.

  “I’ll stick with the tea, I’d prefer to keep the ol’ head clear, I don’t think alcohol will help how I’m feeling.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, I’m glad that I’m here and I’m happy that I’ve made a decision to talk to a professional, but it’s still mum’s anniversary and I don’t think drowning my sorrows and crying in front of a room of strangers is quite the first impression I want to make,” she explained.

  “Shit,” I said, “I didn’t even think of the anniversary, I’ve just been so caught up thinking about getting us here and keeping you around that I didn’t really think beyond that. I don’t need to have anything to drink either. We can go talk or something?”

  “No,” she insisted, “Not a
t all, you have your wine and chat with your sister. I’m really pleased you’ve decided to make an effort with her. According to your mum, she really looks up to you and hasn’t been able to make a firm decision because she’s so afraid you won’t like it.”

  “That can’t be right, she told me it was Lucas’ mother who was the problem.”

  Helen took a sip of her tea and shrugged her shoulders.

  “Don’t shoot the messenger,” she continued, “Just telling you what I heard.”

  Helen made her escape as soon as she spotted Siobhan come back into the room to go through more fabric.

  I took the shortbread out of oven to cool and poured myself another glass of wine as I mulled over what Helen told me. It was true that I found it hard to believe that Maureen was being as difficult as Siobhan had described but I found it even harder to accept that she cared about what I thought. We weren’t exactly as close as we could be and apart from the occasional text message, we barely spoke in between my visits home. I loved my sister but we had very little in common and that was never more obvious than when we tried to sustain a conversation about anything other than the wedding.

  It was then that I realised that planning this event could be the key to improving our relationship. If I actually stayed around and helped her with this, then maybe a genuine connection would blossom.

  I couldn’t tell if it was the thought of having a deeper relationship with my sister that was warming my heart, or if it was the wine.

  I knew I couldn’t commit to moving home and finding a job in Cork for the sake of a wedding but it might be worth looking for something closer; perhaps even in Dublin.

  As soon as the Dublin thought came into my head, I pushed it out. I didn’t want to uproot my life and move to another city just because I had the beginning of a crush on someone. If there was one way to scare someone off it was moving too fast.

  “She is spending Christmas with me and my family,” I thought, “That’s not exactly the average first date.”

  I took another sip of wine and prodded the shortbread to try and buy some time with my thoughts before I was required to look at more fabric.

  My mum came into the kitchen to check on us and took one look at me before she asked: “What on earth have you been up to in here? You’re meant to put the flour in the mixture.”