Eeny Meeny

33

The smell of spice was intoxicating and Helen breathed it in deeply. The one element of Christmas that Helen positively enjoyed was her defiant swimming against the tide. She’d never liked turkey and thought Christmas pudding was one of the most unpleasant things she’d ever tasted. She took the view that if you don’t like the festive season, then you should embrace your feelings and go the other way. So whilst others fought in toy shops and spent £80 on a free-range bird, Helen chose a different path, going as far in the opposite direction as she could. And her takeaway from Mumraj Tandoori on Christmas Day was the highlight of her annual rebellion.

‘Murgh Zafrani, Peshwari Nan, Aloo Gobi, Pilau rice and two poppadoms with extra chopped coriander on the side,’ Zameer Khan rattled off as he packed Helen’s order. He was a local fixture, having run his popular restaurant for over twenty years.

‘Perfect.’

‘Tell you what, because it’s Christmas and that, I’ll throw in a couple of After Eights as well. How’s that sound?’

‘My hero,’ said Helen scooping up her takeaway and smiling her thanks.

It was a large order and Helen always ended up eating leftovers on Boxing Day, but one of the joys of Christmas Day was spreading out this Indian feast on the kitchen table and slowly, deliberately loading up her plate with it. Clutching her haul, Helen headed back into her flat. Inside there were no decorations or cards – in fact the only new additions to the flat were the case files on Amy and Peter’s abduction that Helen had brought home to review. She had spent most of the night poring over them without a break and she suddenly realized she was starving. She cranked up the oven and turned to get a plate to heat up. As she did so her arm caught the takeaway bag, brushing it off the work surface. It hit the quarry tile floor at speed and the flimsy cardboard containers burst open, scattering pungent food everywhere.

‘Shit, shit, shit.’

Helen had only cleaned it this morning and the lemon of the floor cleaner merged with the Indian oils to produce an acrid and unpleasant odour. Helen stared at it for a moment in shock, then suddenly tears were pricking her eyes. She was furious and upset and wanted to stamp on the stupid shit, but she just about managed to rein in her violence, fleeing to the bathroom instead.

Lighting a cigarette, Helen sat on the cold rim of the bath. She was angry with herself for her over-reaction and drew hard on the cigarette. Usually the nicotine was soothing, but today it just tasted bitter. She threw the cigarette into the toilet in disgust, watching its spark die out in the water. It was a fitting image for her state of mind. Every year she thumbed her nose at Christmas and every year it punched her in the face. Swirls of dark feelings swam round her now like evil flurries of snow, reminding her that she was unloved and worthless. Slowly these thoughts started to take possession of her and as the depression began to eat into her brain, she shot a glance at the bathroom cabinet and the razor blades that were discreetly hidden inside.

The blade sliced into the turkey, allowing the clear juices to run free. Charlie, paper hat perched on her head, was in her element. She loved everything about Christmas. As soon as the leaves started to fall, Charlie’s excitement began to build. She was always very organized, buying all her presents in October, ordering the turkey in November, so that when December finally came she could enjoy every second of it. The drinks parties, the carol singers, wrapping up presents by the fire, cuddling up in front of a festive movie – it was the highlight of her year.

‘Can we open our presents yet?’

Charlie’s niece, Mimi. Impatient as ever.

‘Not until after Christmas lunch. You know the rules.’

‘But that’s ages.’

‘It’ll make it all the more exciting when it finally comes.’ Charlie wasn’t going to bend on this one – Christmas was all about idiosyncratic family rituals.

‘Who you kidding?’ Steve interjected. ‘You’re just delaying the inevitable anti-climax.’

‘Speak for yourself,’ said Charlie, cuffing her boyfriend, ‘I put a lot of effort into my Christmas shopping. If you don’t do the same, that’s your lookout.’

‘You’ll eat those words later. See if you don’t’ was Steve’s smug reply.

Charlie already knew what she was getting from Steve – lingerie. He’d been dropping hints for some time and besides their sex life was extremely active at the moment. More than anything else, Charlie wanted a baby. She felt it was her time – in truth it was the one present she really wanted. It hadn’t happened yet, even though they’d been trying for a while and for the first time Charlie’s anxiety had started to grow. What if there was something wrong with her? The thought of not having a family was awful – she’d always wanted two or three kids at least.

Still it was Christmas and not a time for unpleasant thoughts, so Charlie pushed her concerns to the back of her mind. It was Christmas Day, the best day of the year, so as she doled out the Christmas turkey, she beamed her biggest smile and did her best to spread as much Christmas cheer as she could.

Not long to wait now. Already Mark’s mood was starting to lift at the thought of seeing Elsie again. This year Christina had ceded Boxing Day to him – first thing tomorrow he’d be picking his little girl up for a fun-packed festive day. It had been a truly shitty year, but at least it was ending on a high. He had booked ice skating, cinema tickets, a table at Byron’s for cheeseburgers – it was going to be the mother of all blowouts.

The prospect of a day out with Elsie had just about managed to keep him upright through the last thirty-six hours. As usual he’d dropped his presents for her round at Christina’s house on Christmas Eve. Elsie wasn’t there – she’d gone to a Christingle service with her mum at the local church – so Stephen was home instead. He took the presents politely then asked Mark if he wanted to come in for a drink. Mark had wanted to punch his teeth in – how dare he play host in what used to be his home. What were they going to talk about? What Santa was going to bring them for Christmas? He didn’t know whether Stephen had done it on purpose – he looked genuine enough but perhaps he was a good actor – but Mark didn’t stick around to find out. When the red mist descended, Mark knew from experience that it was best to walk away. His blood had been boiling ever since and he’d more than once berated the hands on the clock for moving so slowly but… finally his time was coming. All good things come to those who wait.

Christmas was done for another year.