Never Kiss a Man in a Christmas Jumper. Debbie Johnson
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the time I’d finished with all my whinging – I was so desperate for it all to be perfect.”
Maggie had the bare bones of their story now, told in fits and starts by Leah, Rob and his brother: Leah had been all set for a fairy tale wedding of her own, on Christmas Eve three years ago, until she found her fiancé in a deeply compromising position with one of the bridesmaids. She’d driven away in horror, suffered a very serendipitous vehicle malfunction, and ended up stranded in a snow storm outside Rob’s cottage in Scotland – still wearing the dress. The rest, thought Maggie, taking in the giant tummy and the magnificently happy woman who wielded it, was very romantic history.
“You’d have looked perfect to me if you’d walked into the room wearing a clown outfit, with a big red nose and huge shoes,” said Rob, giving her a smile that would have made every woman in a three-mile radius melt a little inside. “Even if you’d sprayed my face with water from a fake flower.”
God. They were just so in love, thought Maggie. In a way she’d never, ever experienced. The irony wasn’t lost on her – the way she made her living creating beautiful dresses for women about to marry their great loves. She’d never been married. Never even been in love. Never experienced that contented glow that Leah radiated, enjoying a pregnancy rather than being ashamed of it; with a deeply committed man beside her side every step of the way, instead of an embarrassed and terrified 17-year-old kid who was doing his best but was really still a child himself. It was like looking into a different world.
“How is he?” asked Maggie, a little abruptly. She needed to break the spell. Stop feeling sorry for herself. Help Lucy out of the dress. Go and buy milk. Continue to go about a life that might not be all hearts and flowers, but was perfectly satisfactory, thank you very much.
“Good,” replied Leah, finally dragging her eyes away from her husband. “He’s coming out in a couple of days. We’ve got to head back up to Scotland soon to carry on arranging the Christening, and hopefully he’ll be able to follow us up in time for Christmas Eve. He just needs a bit of TLC between now and then and he’ll be fine – the doctor’s say for the first three weeks, he should try and stay put and recuperate so he’s ready to travel. In fact, that’s kind of why we’re here…”
And somehow – from the start of that conversation – Maggie had found her life and her home turned completely upside down and inside out.
At first she’d said no. And at second, and at third, and at fourth. But somehow, somehow, she’d been convinced. Leah’s approach had been emotional, predictably enough. Marco didn’t really know anyone here; he needed company, and – the big finale – she, Leah, heavily preggers and distressed as she was, just wouldn’t feel safe leaving him in the hands of a stranger. If it wasn’t for the impending arrival of Baby Bella, and needing to look after Luca, and the Christening, she’d have stayed herself – and she couldn’t bear the thought of poor, lonely Marco being abandoned to some unfamiliar Nurse Ratched figure.
Maggie had listened to it all, knowing she was being manipulated, but grudgingly admiring the way it was being done. Then Rob had started in, with a lot more common sense. It would only be for a few of weeks. They could pay for anything she needed – equipment, extra care if necessary, a vehicle big enough for the wheelchair. Marco wasn’t used to being laid low, and was likely to need a firm hand – he’d be trying to do way too much too soon, and he already knew Maggie. Felt responsible for what had happened. Would be less likely to ignore her advice than he would hired help. They could also compensate her financially if it affected her work, pay her whatever the going rate was.
It was at that point she’d held up her hands, accidentally throwing the tape measure over one shoulder, and said: “Enough! I’ve heard enough. Leah, lovely as you are, I can recognise bullshit when I hear it. And Rob – I’m not after money. I only have one final dress to sort out before Christmas so I won’t be losing work. The issue here is…well, I have a daughter at home, I have a father who’s not as young as he was. I have responsibilities. I have a life of my own.”
At least some of that was a lie, she knew even as she said it. Ellen was way too busy to need her, and her dad was 68, fit as a fiddle, and had a better social calendar than both of them put together. As for her own life…she could pretty much jot down her engagements on the back of a matchbox, once she removed work. So, what was the real reason? Did she even have the answer herself?
“I’m really sorry for what happened to Marco, but I’m not sure I’m the right person to be helping him out in his hour of need. I’m not a nanny – I’m a dressmaker. And what makes you think he’ll want to stay with me anyway? He was looking for a hot nurse last time I saw him! What makes you think he’ll listen to a word I’ll say?”
Rob and Leah looked at each other, and to Maggie’s surprise it was Rob who replied.
“I just have a feeling about it,” he said. “That he’ll get better quicker if he’s with someone he knows – if he’s with you. And I’ve learned over the years to trust my instincts. I’m asking you to trust them as well.”
And so it had come to pass, against all her better judgment, that Marco Cavelli was to be her unexpected houseguest for the next few weeks.
Maggie had half hoped that Ellen would object, and give her the perfect excuse to say no – but once her daughter had stopped laughing, she was all in favour of the idea.
“It’ll give you something to do,” she’d said, “other than drink gin and watch Christmas cooking shows. Last year’s obsession with goose fat still haunts me. Now you can drink gin and watch him instead. Invite Sian round, and those women from the park. It’ll be like a Chippendales’ party. I’m fine with it as long as he stays out of my stuff.”
Her dad, Paddy, had been just as annoyingly supportive.
“It’s the Christian thing to do, love,” he’d said, “a stranger in need and all that. Especially at this time of year. Beside, it’ll keep you busy, won’t it?”
Both responses had highlighted one very unpleasant fact to Maggie: that her nearest and dearest obviously saw her as a sad, lonely being floating through life with nothing to occupy her other than work and them. The even more unpleasant fact was that they might just be right.
She’d always been secretly proud of how she’d coped with the challenges life had thrown at her. Losing her mum when she was 14. Getting pregnant not that long after. Abandoning her hope to go to University when she chose to keep the baby. The trauma of the birth and the surgery that followed it. The long, sometimes difficult years that had come after.
She’d raised her child – who had, despite her acid tongue, turned out beautifully – and had managed to make a living from what had always been a hobby. She’d kept them fed and housed and happy – mostly all on her own. She’d learned to be independent and smart and strong, looking after her dad when he needed it and making sure Ellen had everything a girl could wish for.
But now the landscape of her life was changing. Paddy was well out of his dark days, the days when he viewed life through the bottom of a glass, and Ellen…well, Ellen was starting to create the landscape of her own life. Which was good – it was the way it was supposed to be; you raise a child well enough, confident enough, capable enough, and you get rewarded by seeing them fly the nest. It was the natural rhythm of life – but one that perhaps, Maggie had to acknowledge, she hadn’t been quite prepared for.
Caring for Marco might be ever so slightly terrifying – but it would indeed keep her busy.
Leah had finally left, having hustled and bustled her way through the house making sure everything was ‘just perfect’ – which mainly seemed to involve adding Christmas decorations, riding up and down on the recliner chair while making small excited noises, and stocking the fridge with Marco’s favourite beer. She’d headed back up to Scotland with Rob and Luca,