‘I think it’s probably best if you go now,’ I said, standing up to make a hint of my own. ‘Like I said, I’ve got a fair bit to do this afternoon and am pretty busy over the next few days.’
‘Busy?’
‘I’m going to a party at a house so posh you’d be guaranteed to disapprove, and hanging out with my friends. Some of whom have given their lives to noble endeavours like adopting traumatised children and running food banks, others who enjoy doing equally acceptable things like writing books or driving a taxi.’
‘Right.’ She started looking for her bag in amongst the pile of Bob’s presents. ‘Well, as long as people are at peace with their choices, and can look back without regret at the impact they had on the world?—’
‘Mum, it’s Christmas. I’ve not seen you in forever. I heard a perfectly good sermon at the carol concert yesterday. Can you please spare me another one?’
She paused for a moment, before straightening up. ‘I can, yes. But if you don’t mind, I must say this.’
I braced myself, already dismissing whatever advice or passive-aggressive critique she was about to thrust upon me.
‘Honestly, Mary, you’re doing tremendously well, after a hellish start to motherhood. To begin again, alone, in a new place, and manage the sleepless nights and feeding and the mountain of stuff parents are expected to buy these days…’
I could literally not remember Mum praising me like this without adding some kind of judgemental dig on the end.
‘You’re resisting the pressure to bother with superficialities like your appearance, or your house, or pretending you’re a superwoman needing to ace every facet of motherhood…’
There it was.
‘Well. I’m proud of you.’
I nearly fell back onto the sofa.
‘Thank you,’ I stammered. ‘I… I appreciate you saying that.’
I thought about it as I cleaned and tidied up once they’d gone. Reflecting on the past few weeks, where I’d been, and where I was as we headed into a new year, I had to conclude that, despite the sting of Beckett’s rejection, I was proud of myself, too.
33
MARY
I did my best to focus on the positive, getting my house in order, having a long bath before distracting myself with two Hallmark Christmas movies back-to-back (in neither of which did the handsome love interest message the main character to say kissing her was a rash mistake) and dragging my sleep-deprived bones up to bed.
When I woke up on Tuesday morning, however, the space in my heart and mind where Beckett should have been felt crammed with jagged rocks.
I was so grateful for all the lovely messages and photos I’d had from people at New Life, thanking me for the costumes. I was also cheered up by watching the coffee mums WhatsApp group descend into frazzled hilarity as the women dealt with prissy relatives, a little boy who’d discovered the present stash and decided Christmas had come early, plus a dog who’d snarfed a tray of pigs in blankets.
Rosie
I honestly think I might slip some of that super-strong bleach into Nadia’s low-cal mimosa.
Rosie’s sister-in-law had announced she was giving Rosie’s bathroom a ‘quick once-over’, producing her own cleaning products and spending nearly an hour scrubbing before informing her eight- and ten-year-old girls that they could now ‘pee-pee’ without worrying about ‘boy tinkles all over the place’.
Rina
How did we end up here? Christmas is supposed to be time off for fun and festivities. Joy to the world and peace to all men!
Rosie
That’s it. To all MEN. For us women, it’s usually more work, more stress, more demands on us to attain the impossible Insta-Mum heights of perfection as we collapse under the pressure to make sure everyone has the Most Wonderful Time of the Year.
Sofia
Preach it, sister. Add to that, any time we do anything that goes well, we’re expected to reproduce it faultlessly, endlessly, every Christmas until the end of time. The list of ‘family traditions’ in our house has become a monster threatening to consume the last crumbs of my sanity. If I’m not buried alive in Amazon orders, vegetable peelings and board-game tantrums first.
Li
