A Christmas Gift. Sue Moorcroft
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stepped out under the street lights. Top Farm Road was edged by the parked cars of villagers home from work.
‘So you still haven’t paid off the mess sodding Aidan left behind?’ Blair slipped her hands into the pockets of her coat, a colourfully embroidered Joe Brown number. Temperatures had plummeted in Cambridgeshire the moment the calendar flipped to November.
For Blair, Georgine usually made light of her problems, financial or otherwise. Neither of them had ended up with the life they’d expected and the knowledge that Georgine had played a part in their change of fortunes lay between them like a dozing dragon, liable to breathe fire when disturbed.
But fatigue swept over her. She was tired from running to and from work, tired of hiding from creditors she hadn’t wronged, tired of an empty fridge two days before payday. And tired of pretending everything was fine.
‘I’ve made inroads into the outstanding utility bills. The utility companies are only too used to this carry on and they’re letting me catch up the arrears over time,’ she admitted wearily, making for the turn onto Great Park Road and the footpath to Ladies Lane. ‘But now I’m being hunted by debt collectors.’ The final sentence was out before she could run the words through her inner censor. Realising from Blair’s stunned stare how dramatic she sounded, she tried to soften it by adding a laugh.
But the laugh wavered.
By sheer will she forced the tears to the back of her eyes, her throat tightening until it hurt, her fists clenching in her pockets. As the ground was firm and frosty she chose the route over the playing fields instead of turning the corner onto Main Road. There was enough light from surrounding houses to light their way. ‘I try,’ she croaked. ‘I really try not to let the financial situation get to me, but anything to do with debt makes me panic. I relive that implacable lack of sympathy and it makes me feel alone and frightened.’
‘Oh, Georgine!’ Blair gasped, tugging on Georgine’s arm to bring her to a halt. ‘That’s awful! Can’t you report them to someone? They can’t harass you for Aidan’s debts. Tell them to piss off!’
Glad that there was nobody about on the playing fields on this wintry early evening, Georgine buried her face in her sister’s shoulder, the fabric of the stylish coat warm against her cheek. ‘I’m scared to talk to them. Scared that if I say he doesn’t live here now they won’t believe I don’t know his current address – which he won’t tell me! And it’s such a freezing November. The inside of my house feels like Narnia but I daren’t turn the heating on. I su-suppose pipes will begin to burst next. And that can’t happen because I couldn’t afford the payments for the contents insurance so if my carpets get ruined, they stay ruined.’
Blair’s arms tightened around her as she said, ‘Shh,’ comfortingly and ‘Oh, shit, Georgine,’ less comfortingly.
Georgine recovered enough to disengage herself from Blair’s sisterly hug and find a screwed-up tissue in her jeans pocket to trumpet into. ‘Sorry. Things are getting on top of me.’ She made another attempt to laugh, finding it hard to meet her sister’s troubled gaze. ‘You don’t have to worry. I’ll get through this.’
‘Right.’ Blair sounded unconvinced.
‘Honestly, I’m all right,’ Georgine insisted as they resumed their march towards Booze & News. Except for a bone-deep fear – despite Aidan’s probably well-meant but actually empty assurances – that somehow she’d be pulled deeper into his problems and lose her little house. She couldn’t! It was just a modest inner terrace with two bedrooms, one bathroom, a lounge-diner and a kitchen, but it represented the tiny amount of progress she’d made.
She linked arms with her sister, nodding to a dog-walker passing the other way with a snuffly pug. ‘Don’t know what’s wrong with me today. I’m being a wuss.’
‘You’re never a wuss. You’re so brave and resourceful that I suppose anxiety is something I generally think is reserved for other people,’ Blair said quietly. They passed the Angel Community Café, tinsel at the window and lights still showing.
‘Usually is.’ Georgine pushed open the door to Booze & News with a ting!
‘Hello, folks,’ said Melanie from behind the counter. Her eyes fell on Georgine’s face like a missile homing in on its target. ‘What’s the matter?’
Instantly, Georgine wished she’d made Blair come in on her own. Melanie was good-hearted but also uncomfortably inquisitive and red eyes would instantly attract her attention. ‘Nothing,’ Georgine said defensively.
‘We need wine!’ Blair declared dramatically. ‘What’s on promo?’
With a last look at Georgine, Melanie allowed herself to be drawn into a conversation about merlot and Chianti while Georgine pretended to be fascinated by the display of tinned goods near the door. Blair chose the Chianti and paid.
Georgine called, ‘Bye, Melanie!’ and turned for the door.
‘I’ve won a cake,’ Melanie called out, halting her.
When Georgine reluctantly turned back she saw Melanie was holding out an orange raffle ticket, her expression sympathetic. ‘Here,’ Melanie said gruffly. ‘I won it in one of Carola’s everlasting raffles and I’m doing Slimming World so you’d better eat it instead of me. You need to take this to the Angel Community Café. If you go now you might get them before they close.’
Warmth washed through Georgine. She’d known Melanie for over five years and was well aware how much she loved her cake. ‘That’s so nice of you—’
‘Just grab it before she changes her mind,’ Blair joked, twitching the ticket from Melanie’s fingers. ‘Thanks, Mel. You’re a sweetie. C’mon, sis.’
Heart soothed by this gesture from such an unexpected quarter, Georgine followed Blair back to the Angel, pushing open the door to find blonde Carola who ran the café busy mopping the floor.
‘Sorry, ladies, I’m shutting up.’ Carola dipped the mop in the bucket and worked a noisy lever with her foot to squeeze the excess water out.
Blair brandished the raffle ticket and, with a keen glance at Georgine, who, despite her experiences at Booze & News, had been too cold to wait outside, Carola went off to the fridge to fetch a boxed cake.
‘Chocolate and pear gateau,’ she announced. ‘I’ll sell you tickets for the Christmas hamper raffle another time. Have a happy evening.’
They stepped back into the dark evening again, Blair carefully bearing the cake box. ‘I must look pathetic,’ Georgine sighed. ‘Melanie gave up cake for me and Carola let me get away without buying a raffle ticket.’
Blair shifted the box so she could give Georgine a one-armed hug as they stepped back into the playing fields. ‘It’s the village. They take care of their own.’
Once home, they dined on Chianti and large slices of gateau. Blair became quieter and quieter. A frown lodged itself on her brow and stayed there.
After a while, Georgine ventured: ‘Is something wrong?’
Blair’s forehead smoothed straight away. ‘Should there be?’ But then, while Georgine was clearing up, she announced abruptly, ‘Just popping to the bathroom,’ and quit the little kitchen.
The sound of Blair’s footsteps diminished as she walked up the stairs. Georgine, wiping surfaces, kept one ear on the sounds from overhead. Blair seemed to be meandering about. Maybe she was peering out of each window, worried about lurking debt collection agents.
Georgine sighed. She hoped she hadn’t put the wind up Blair so much that now her sister was feeling anxious.
Blair reappeared eventually, frowning heavily and looking pale, though she managed to smile at the storyboards Georgine had just pulled out of her backpack. ‘I can imagine all those funky students plastered in sequins and glitter for a Christmas show.’
Attuned to Blair’s