Page 31 of Coming Home
Present day
Turning away from the window and the misty morning view of the frosty fields, Carmen got on with the task in hand, checking her list. She was in her mum’s newly repainted bedroom that was currently Christmas Presents Central. On the floor was a giant gift bag for each member of her family and then three more containing treats for the garden centre staff plus the tombola and lucky dip prizes for their children.
Ticking off one more item, she allowed herself a self-satisfied smile and a bit of a chuckle at her own rather extreme behaviour. Like her suggestion that everyone wore Christmas jumpers at dinner. She thought it would be fun; everyone else told her where to go! At least they’d capitulated graciously when she insisted they were all under one roof on Christmas Eve morning, but they owed her, after spending so many years worrying where each of her girls were. She would fret all day, in fact it always began the week before, this niggling fear of things going wrong and then all her preparation and saving and wrapping and the excitement that had built up might be ruined by some cruel quirk of fate.
When the girls were little it wasn’t too bad because from the minute school broke up for the holidays they’d be home with her. But as they’d got older and started to roam, Violetta especially, her teenage daughters had sent Carmen’s blood pressure through the roof on more than one occasion. And now, her two eldest grandchildren were a constant worry, not because they were bad kids, more because they were growing up in an increasingly dangerous society. Even the local park was like a ghetto. That was why, just for once, she wanted not to worry and wake up with a full house of the most special people in the world.
She could see it all. The adults could have a deserved lie-in. Not her though. She’d be up at the crack to prepare a huge breakfast. After they’d gathered in the kitchen the children could watch Christmas films or play outside. Bern was going to roast chestnuts and make his special stuffing and Lou was in charge of the mulled wine that always fragranced the kitchen with wintery spices. The girls would help with lunch preparations like when they were young where every year – and this one would be no different – vegetable peelings on the table took Carmen straight back to that last Christmas in London.
There was no way she could avoid those memories so she let them wash over her whenever they came calling. Giving a nod to the past was sometimes painful but other times uplifting, but mostly a bit of both.
Droylsden, Manchester. 1970
When she and her mum arrived in Manchester to start the new year in a different home, school and city, it was as though her life had been put in a sack and shaken really hard. And her mum changed too. Gone was the happy-go-lucky young woman who saw good in everyone. She looked the same, hugged the same but her real smile was only for Carmen. For everyone else it looked like she was pretending, wary, mistrustful. It was as though she’d built a fort around herself and Carmen; and nobody else was allowed in.
Her mum’s old school friend Angie was lovely. So was her name: it made Carmen think of strawberry Angel Delight, fluffy and colourful like their landlady. She was glamorous and funny and had lots of stories about what happened on the aeroplanes as they jetted across the world. And she didn’t mind a bit that they had come to stay or a little kid followed her around like a puppy. Angie made life a bit more bearable especially because she spoke with a London accent whereas the kids at her new school constantly made fun of Carmen. Eventually though, they got used to her and she made friends, settled in and got on with it.
Two years passed quickly and still she’d not heard from her dad. No letters, no matter how many times she watched the postman walk up the path. The phone never rang no matter how much she willed it to. And her prayers weren’t answered, no matter how many times she tried to get through to heaven.
Even though Carmen was mindful of how sad her mum had been and that her dad had done a very bad thing, it didn’t stop her loving him. To be on the safe side she kept her hopes and wishes to herself. She consoled herself by believing he’d gone back to sea, sailing around Cape Horn, Good Hope, the Galápagos Islands, places she traced on the atlas she’d brought with her. Her mum had let it go, when she saw that Carmen had smuggled her dad’s books out of the house and over the years there had developed an unspoken rule between them. It was best not to mentionhim, and then everything was okay.
Life was actually okay in Manchester and Carmen was happy enough. Her mum got a job in a local supermarket and was always there when she got in from school or to watch her in school plays and sports day. But as soon as the nights drew in and winter wrapped itself around the city, the spectre of Christmas crept into her conscience. It was like marking time to Christmas Eve, the day when everything changed forever. While she joined in with all the festive fun at school, making her mum a glitter-fest card, wearing a new party dress, whispering in Santa’s profoundly deaf ears, opening the windows of her advent calendar, there was always someone special on her mind.
Which was why on her third Christmas withouthim, during the church nativity where her mum had clapped like mad after she’d played ‘Little Donkey’ on the recorder, while the shepherds listened agog to the archangel, Carmen clasped her hands together and scrunched her eyes shut. Ignoring Molly Parker and her tinsel halo, she asked Baby Jesus, God and his angels if they’d please make everything okay. She didn’t expect a miracle straight away; she would be patient but if there was a chance they could arrange a visit from her dad, or even a phone call, she’d be immensely grateful. And seeing as she was too big to go and sit on Santa’s knee and, on the off-chance he did actually exist, would they pass on a message? She would happily trade all of her Christmas presents for the rest of her life, if her dad would come home on Christmas Eve. It would be the best present ever.
When another year passed and nothing happened, Carmen didn’t give up. In fact, she’d never given up. Every year on Christmas Eve she would wait, be disappointed and then before she went to sleep ask again for next year.
Time ticked on. When Carmen went to secondary school her mum got a job in the cigarette factory, working shifts. Angie met an American lawyer on a transatlantic flight to New York and went to live stateside, as she put it when she wrote or rang every now and then.
They moved into a flat of their own and Carmen embraced being the daughter of an independent woman, a team of two. Her mum loved working at the cigarette factory and made lots of friends and even went out for the odd meal with one of the machine engineers. But no matter how much Carmen encouraged her Sylvia remained an avowed singleton. She still despised and mistrusted most men and was so set in her closed-minded ways that in all honesty Carmen didn’t believe there was a man on earth that would put up with her. It was a shame, though, because when she stopped hating everyone who wasn’t white, straight or Christian, her mum could actually be quite nice.
When she left school, Carmen got a job in a typing pool for an insurance company and it was at the Christmas party she met a handsome sales rep called Sebastian. It was at that point, as her head was turned by an older man who took her under his wing and made her feel special, that Carmen thought maybe her luck had changed. Even though her wish still hadn’t been granted, someone upstairs had given her the next best thing.
Her mother hated Sebastian on sight and despaired of her daughter. ‘You’re making a huge mistake,’ she said, and insisted Carmen went down to the Family Planning pronto before she made another. The advice came a bit too late and her mother’s prophecy came true. Carmen was pregnant and engaged to a begrudging older man who’d had his wings well and truly clipped. The rest, was a very unfortunate history.
Appleton Farm, Cheshire. Present day
Carmen drew a line throughtombolaandlucky dip, thinking as she did how life was a bit like pulling a random ticket out of a barrel and hoping for a winner or rummaging round in sawdust trying to find the best prize. And it was bizarre, how history repeated itself. Not verbatim, but life had a way of drawing comparisons albeit with a tweak to the script.
Violetta had got pregnant to a stranger and her daughter would never know her dad. Cast in the image of her defiant grandmother, she was another avowed singleton who had a very dim view of men in general. And then, when she started her tattoo phase, Carmen wondered whether it was her granddad’s genes sending a message down the line. At least she didn’t get an anchor, or a compass and swallow because that really would have freaked Carmen and her mother out! Independent and unpredictable, Violetta was their little firecracker who stood out in a crowd and on photos. With her flame-red locks, piercings, body art and boho clothes, none of them would have her any other way and Darcy adored and looked up to her, just like Carmen had looked up to her mum. And one of the things she loved the most was that even though Violetta had sometimes thrown a grenade into the room with her exploits and announcements, Carmen preferred her openness and honesty to secrets and lies. What you saw was what you got with Violetta.
Rosina had always been the rock of the family and had showed little interest in following a career that would take her away from Appleton. So it had seemed like a natural progression that she would continue to be mother’s helper down at the garden centre. It was a role that Rosina was born to, hard-working, organised, loyal and trustworthy, a natural successor once Carmen decided to let go of the reins and take it easier. And although Sylvia had kicked up a fuss about Sebastian, she had no qualms about Rosina marrying young. Everyone loved Lou and knew he was the perfect match, one of the good guys that Violetta and her gran insisted didn’t exist.
And then there was Leonora who, devastated and cast adrift after being so badly hurt by Joel, had brushed herself down and got on with it. Knowing her daughter was in such distress was hard for Carmen to bear as she listened at the bedroom door while she cried herself to sleep. Wishing for someone to come back, wondering how to start again, place one foot in front of the other when morning came round again – Carmen had done both. Maybe Sylvia had too, not that she’d ever admit it. They’d all willed Leonora to get over Joel, not wanting anything to thwart her dreams and ambition. Out of all her children she was the most focused on her future and thankfully, settled at last in a happy relationship with Caspar which gave Carmen great comfort. As did knowing Rosina was content with her brood and had a lovely, decent man to take care of them all. Hopefully Violetta would one day find the same.
All in all, her daughters were good girls and in the grand scheme of things, growing up, teenage tantrums, outraged vicars and the beleaguered village bobby aside, they hadn’t really brought any great trouble to her door. So with less than a week to go before The Big Christmas Weekend, Carmen dared to think the wordsso far, so good.
Folding the flap of her notepad she slid the biro through the wire hoops and went over to her dresser and took a moment to look at her rogues gallery. As always, her eyes and heart was drawn to the frame at the end, the one she’d placed well away from the photo of her dad, respecting her mum’s feelings to the last.
It came and went, the waves of missing her, the need to remember, even if it meant walking straight into the storm. As she picked up the photo and touched her mum’s face for some strange reason she sensed that one was brewing. Or was she so used to looking for portents that the habit was hard to break?
Maybe it was Rosina ringing in sick, or Bern’s upcoming meeting with his solicitor, or Leonora being evasive and Violetta just being Violetta. Or was this just her being her? No matter how hard she’d tried to curb her obsession that they were cursed, the thought still lingered but who could blame her?
Oh, Mum. I miss you so much. I hope you’re happy now.Carmen sighed and took the photo over to the window, clasping it to her chest, lost in the memories of a day she would never forget.
Appleton Farm, Cheshire. October 2020
The ambulance was on its way, they could hear it coming along the road. The plaintive wail of the siren made the situation in the front bedroom of Appleton more real, and utterly terrifying. All her girls were gathered on Granny Sylvia’s bed. She was so poorly and the paramedic who’d attended first was in no doubt she needed to go to hospital immediately. She would have to make the journey alone and that was killing Carmen as much as the sight of her frail mother gasping for breath.
