Then she had ordered in noodles for supper and cracked open a box of chocolates afterwards, and they had sat round the tree and Caroline had had a glass of champagne and let them both taste it, then they had opened their gifts.
Unlike last year, Caroline wasn’t trying to make a point this year. She wasn’t trying to hurt Richard by throwing in his face how well she knew the children, or how they were her kids first, or how much of his money she could spend on them. She’d simply thought about them, and got them what she thought they would like, regardless of whether it would clutter up her minimalist space, or whether she thought it would interfere with them getting into good universities.
So Hermia had a Nintendo with a fashion design program on it, and some fashion dolls, and Achilles had a Scalextric, which she even had the time and energy to sit down and piece together with him; and because the children were both getting so much of her attention, she noticed, they didn’t bicker and snarl at one another.
This seems remarkably easy, thought Caroline. Perhaps I should write a book on the subject and become an international guru, like that woman in France. Then she looked around the sitting room, which was now an utterly disgusting mess, and burped those noodles she really oughtn’t to have eaten, and wondered if Perdita would mind coming in on Christmas Day, and realised perhaps she couldn’t be a parenting guru.
But she could do her best.
Richard arrived in the evening, expecting the usual litany of bitter complaints and sullen children and shining resentment, all fermented in the immaculate house whose mortgage he kept up and whose cleaning he paid for.
Instead, the house was a terrible tip, and the children were – were they laughing? Were they all laughing? Was Caroline wearing pyjamas? Pyjamas must have come back in fashion, then; they must be Stella McCartney and had probably cost him a fortune.
‘Daddy!’ the children had yelled. ‘Come and see what we got! And what we’ve been doing.’
Richard half smiled nervously at Caroline. Kate, as it turned out, was being just as difficult as Caroline – particularly about money, attention and general attitude. He cursed, yet again, his taste in aerobicised blondes. But Caroline seemed in a mellow mood.
‘Well, I have a bottle of champagne open,’ she said. ‘If you want to come in for five minutes?’
He had. And they had managed to sit and talk, civilly, whilst the children played in the wreckage of the Christmas paper, about finishing off the divorce and finding a way to move forward, and Caroline might have mentioned that she had heard Kate wanted a huge second wedding party, incredibly luxurious, just for the pleasure of seeing him blanch a little, but on the whole she was on her best behaviour and they managed to toast the day like adults.
And for the first time, Caroline on Christmas morning, sitting up in bed looking at the gifts from the children, which she would open when she saw them that evening, didn’t feel vengeful, or lonely, or angry. She felt, tentatively … OK.
Then she remembered the disgusting mess she was going to have to clean up in the kitchen, and sighed.
Issy woke with Chadani Imelda clambering on her face. Fair enough, she was in her room, although Chadani had insisted on sleeping with her mother since she was born (Ashok pretended he didn’t mind; Helena told a barefaced lie to anyone who asked her about it). It was rather nice, actually, the toddler sleigh bed with its brand-new mattress and pristine White Company sheets.
For a second, she almost forgot what was happening.
‘GAHAHABAGAGA!’ said Chadani Imelda, her little face right up to Issy’s, drool dripping from her mouth on to Issy’s nose.
‘Oh, yes,’ said Issy out loud. ‘My life is over and yours is just beginning, I remember. Good morning, Chadani Imelda! Merry Christmas!’ And she kissed her.
Then she had to stand, clutching her coffee cup, for forty-five minutes whilst Helena and Ashok and Chadani, all dressed in matching red outfits, opened their gifts. They had presents for Issy too, of course, but mostly she took family photographs. Finally, the acres of wrapping paper were cleared away and Chadani Imelda had completely ignored her first computer, her first beauty bag, her miniature car and her new spotty Dalmatian fur coat in favour of trying to consume large quantities of bubble wrap. Then the door rang, and it was Ashok’s family, all of them carrying vast tupperware boxes full of fragrant-smelling food and gigantic gifts for Chadani. Issy slipped off and got changed quietly, glancing outside at the grey sky. There was snow coming down; not much, but enough to powder the streets and chimney tops of Stoke Newington; the Victorian terraces and grand villas and occasional tower blocks and big mish-mash of lovely London all silent in the Christmas-morning hush. Issy leaned her head against the window pane.
‘I miss you, Gramps,’ she said softly. Then she put on the plain navy blue dress she’d bought that looked smart, though also, she realised, not really very festive. Well, that didn’t matter, she’d be in a pinny all day. Which was the best way. She glanced out at the quiet city again and didn’t voice who else she missed. Love was not a choice. But work was. She rolled up her sleeves.
‘OK you lot,’ she said to Ashok’s family; Chadani’s four aunties were cooing vigorously over her, whilst discussing competitively at the top of their lungs the most recent achievements of their own children. It was going to be a noisy day. She could do with a couple of hours to clear her head. ‘I’ll see you down at the café after you’ve had breakfast.’
Austin was dreaming. In his dream he was back there, back at the Cupcake Café. Then he woke up with a horrible start, his head throbbing. What had happened last night? Oh God, he remembered. Darny had been staying at Marian’s, and Merv had taken Austin out for a couple of drinks, then he’d had a couple more on his own, which was stupid, because American drinks as far as he could tell were made from pure alcohol, then, unsteady on his feet, he’d tried to get back to his hotel and he’d run into that girl from the cupcake shop, almost as if she’d been hanging around waiting for him, and she’d helped him stagger on a little bit, then pushed him backwards in the snow and made what he supposed was meant to be a sexy face at him, then tried to snog him! And he had pushed her away and explained that he had a girlfriend and she’d just laughed and said, well, she didn’t appear to be here, and had tried to snog him again. He’d got quite cross with her then, and she’d got really really annoyed and started yelling at him about how nobody understood her problems.