Monday morning, I went back to Sofia’s to meet the coffee mums.
Since the week before, the house had been transformed. A wreath constructed from mistletoe and pine cones hung on the door, and, inside, the hallway ceiling was covered in brightly coloured paper chains that Sofia told me the kids had made out of old wrapping paper. More wound around the banister, and there were candles, lights and glittery ornaments decorating every surface.
The family room was equally festive, with more candles and greenery filling the mantlepiece, silver stars dangling above our heads, and a real Christmas tree that seemed way out of proportion given the size of the room.
‘This is what happens when you entrust my husband and kids with buying a tree,’ Sofia said, rolling her eyes. ‘I’ve had to move the bookcase into the dining room to fit it in, and it’s still sticking in front of the TV, so I’ve got a month of arguments about who gets to sit where so they can see the whole screen.’
We drank from Christmas mugs and ate stollen and mini chocolate yule logs, Fair Isle-style throws over our knees. The scent was heavenly, and the atmosphere so cosy I had to chip in to the conversation to avoid falling asleep. Then they started discussing Christmas in earnest, and the inevitable questions followed.
‘What are your plans for Christmas, Mary?’ Li asked, either failing to notice or deliberately ignoring how I was trying to shrivel under my snowflake blanket.
‘I’m not sure yet. Bob wasn’t due until November, so I was going to wait until after that to start thinking about it, but now I can barely focus on tomorrow, let alone a few weeks away.’
‘You won’t be seeing family?’ Rosie asked.
‘You don’t have to talk about that,’ Sofia added quickly, giving Rosie a fierce glare.
‘No, it’s fine,’ I said, because this was one thing I could talk about. ‘My parents are working in the States at the moment. My brother will probably go and join them, but obviously that’s too much of a trek for me this year.’
‘They won’t come to spend Christmas with their new grandson?’ Rina said, pretending not to hear Sofia’s tuts.
I took a deep breath.
‘To be honest, I’d prefer it if they didn’t. I haven’t spent Christmas with them in years, and I don’t think this one is the time to start.’ I paused, glancing at the expectant faces and finding nothing but kindness there. ‘They aren’t terrible people; we just don’t see eye to eye on a lot of things. They’re rubbish at pretending not to disapprove of my choices, and I can’t be done with all their thinly veiled digs about what coffee I buy or why I haven’t done something more worthwhile with my life. Especially at Christmas. I usually spend it with my best friends and their family, instead.’
‘No judgement here, babe,’ Rosie said with a sympathetic grimace. ‘If I had the choice not to spend Christmas with my brother and his stroppy, stuck-up wife, I’d jump at it. Family ain’t always all it’s cracked up to be.’
‘I’d invite you here,’ Sofia said, ‘but I’ll be at my sister’s with the rest of my giant, bonkers clan and no one could survive a Donovan Christmas without years of slow acclimatisation to the chaos.’
‘No, it’s fine,’ I said, doing my best to smile. ‘Like I said, I’m always with my friends. If I decide to stop at home and have a quiet day just me and Bob, it’ll be because I’ve chosen to.’
‘I wonder what Beckett and Marvin will be doing?’ Rina asked, so ridiculously innocently that Li threw a cushion at her.
‘Time to change the subject,’ Sofia said, in a tone that brooked no arguments. ‘Are we doing secret Santa this year, or not?’
I left not long after that, having picked Li in the secret Santa, which was potentially not the best, considering that she clearly had expensive taste, so it would be tricky finding something she’d like for ten pounds, but on the other hand, I was sure she’d be kind about it. I could imagine Rosie dissing my present in front of everyone before she’d figured out it was from the new girl, who was now dying inside at having got her something rubbish.
All the way home on the bus, another meal – this time from Rina – in my bag, I couldn’t stop thinking about my family. What I’d told the others was true, but it was by no means the whole truth. If my parents knew what I’d been through in the past year, where I was now – that I’d lost everything, yet in the process had gained a son, who was now more than everything – would it be another opportunity to lecture me about how if I’d grown out of my stubborn teenage rebellion, like most people, none of it would have happened?
Or would they get on the next available flight? Offer me the same degree of non-judgemental compassion that they’d been handing out to struggling strangers for decades? No recrimination, only love.
I didn’t know whether I wanted them to.
I wasn’t sure I could bear to find out.
17
MARY
It was when I started thinking about a name that I decided it was time to tell my parents. I couldn’t think of Bob as anything else at this point, but I did want something a little more formal. However, I vaguely remembered my great-grandfather had been called Robin, which could work. Picturing Dad’s eager face as he described how various ancestors had championed social justice, including a great-something uncle who helped found one of the first orphanages back in the nineteenth century, and someone else who’d been a suffragette, I accepted that where we came from mattered. Bob might never know his father’s family, but it wasn’t fair to deny him the chance to know mine. The later I left things with my parents, the harder it would be.
That evening, I dithered until Bob had fallen soundly asleep, poured a small enough glass of wine for the NHS website not to disapprove, and picked up my phone.
‘Mary?’ Mum sounded brisk, as if in the middle of something. Who was I kidding? The only time she wasn’t in the middle of something was when she was rushing to get to the middle of something else.
‘Hi, Mum.’
‘Oh, thank goodness you called. Did you know your email isn’t working?’
