Page 8 of A Good Heart is Hard to Find
‘Yes – with men. Why does the thought of walking into pubs and parties dressed only in a push-up swimming costume and kinky boots not sound all that attractive to me, I wonder.’
‘And tights and a tiara thing,’ Orla said persuasively.Seeing I was far from convinced, she added: ‘We could send Jason out with you as a minder, if you’re afraid things might get a bit out of hand.’
‘No thanks, he’s bad enough when I’m dressed as a vampire! As Wonder Woman I’d need a minder to protect me from the minder.’
‘Think about it. It would mean even more money.’
‘I’ll think about it, but I can’t imagine doing it! It takes me all my courageto do the vampire act, Orla.’
I resisted all her persuasions, but I feared she was unlikely to let her idea go that easily.
While I knew it was unlikely that there would be a message on my answering machine from Max when I got back, I wasillogically deeply upset when there was nothing more than the standard message from Pa, who took no account of such debauched festivals as Christmas.
‘Youwill burn in hell, girl, for your sins lie heavy on your soul! Yet the adulterer is gone from you, and if you truly repent now and serve the Lord, you may yet escape the fiery flames of eternal damnation! Your brother James, too, is a drunken harlot,’ he added.
Clearly sweet baby Jane had been telling tales again. I wondered what poor old Jamie had been up to now. And aren’t harlots usually women?
‘Spawn of Beelzebub,’ he finished rather predictably, and I was just thinking: Ho-hum, nothing new there, then, when his message was followed by my name uttered in a small, breathy voice. Familiar – yet strange.
‘Repent, Cassandra – it’s not too late,’ whispered Ma, before quietly replacing the phone, a pale Ghost of Christmas Past.
Why? Why did she send me a message after so long? Did it meanthat she did, deep down, care about me?
Or perhaps it was just that Pa had told her to do it?
Unsurprisingly, I felt somewhat forlorn and unsettled for quite a time after this. Do not think, though, that I sat moping and alone on Christmas evening without a greeting or gift to my name.
I’d already exchanged presents with Orla and Jason (a book calledEverything You Need to Know About Last-MinutePregnancyfrom Orla, and an antique mourning ring from Jason), and Mrs Bridges next door had given me an adorable hand-knitted toilet-roll cosy in the shape of a white poodle. It was the sort of thing Max absolutely loathed, a factor that just then endeared it to me all the more.
My four brothers (who have steadfastly kept in touch since my ejection from the family nest) had also communicatedaccording to their different natures.
George and Philadelphia sent their annual pre-printed Christmas card, Francis a pair of skiing socks (though I could no more ski than I could fly), Jamie the harlot a box of chocolates with a card sending ‘lots of snuggles to Little Huggins’ (who was presumably now puzzling over why Jamie should be sending her brotherly greetings withherchocolates), andEddie a battered parcel wrapped in handmade paper full of strange lumps, bumps and stalks, containing one of those stick crosses wrapped in coloured yarn which for some reason are called God’s Eyes.
I have never heard that God is at all into psychedelia, especially Pa’s God, and I bet Eddie sent one just like it home.
Jane’s offering was a coffret of bathtime goodies, though why they call themcoffrets I don’t know, since it has veryashyconnotations to me. Maybe it sounds posher than box?
The contents were all rose-scented, which suddenly and painfully reminded me of walking with Max down a path covered in velvet-soft pink petals, long ago. He’d said that he’d strewn roses before me, and what more could I ask?
But there, alas, was the basic difference between us: he’d seen rosepetals, and I’d seen dismembered flowers.
As usual, I sent everyone a copy of my last book,Grave Concerns, for Christmas.
Happy Yuletide reading.
