Four Christmases and a Secret. Zara Stoneley
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We don’t know anybody who lives in Stavington.
Oh my God! I’ll be finally leaving home if they offer me a job.
I mean, I know I don’t actually live at home, I do live with Frankie. But I’m practically on the doorstep.
This is different.
I’ll be moving on with my life, like I’d always thought I would. I put the sauce into the microwave with a clatter and press a few buttons. I won’t be living in this village any longer, it will be a fresh start somewhere else. This is a positive I hadn’t thought about.
A scary positive. I will be totally independent, a proper adult.
‘Daisy, Daisy, darling, I don’t think it should be bubbling like lava should it?’
‘Oh shit, sorry, no.’ I ping the door open and stare at the sauce, mesmerised as it flows over the top of the bowl.
‘Is everything okay, darling?’ Mum presses a dishcloth into my hand and squeezes my shoulder. ‘It will be okay, I know it will. You’ll sort it all out.’
I glance at her, and she nods encouragingly.
If I move away, I’ll be further from Mum, just as she’s started to support me more, just as I’ve started to realise that despite the competitive banter with Vera, she does really care. She does believe in me.
I’ll miss her.
‘It’s not that far away really, just far enough.’ It’s almost like she’s read my mind, like she used to when I was little. Well, at least I thought she was a mind-reader back then. ‘It’s rather exciting, isn’t it? Do you think I’ve done enough sprouts?’
I nod, then smile. It is. My stomach is churning a bit, and I do feel all jittery and nervous, but it is exciting. This could be my turning point, my fresh start.
‘Now if you don’t wipe that up quickly it’ll be stickier than a flypaper!’
‘Sorry?’ I frown at her.
‘The sauce darling! It will set like toffee, you’ll have to scrape it off the sides, oh my goodness, the gravy!’
The rest of Christmas day passes in a bit of a blur. It’s hard to fully appreciate cracker jokes when your future is held in the balance. Although I have to admit I had totally forgotten how much fun pin the tail on the donkey can be after two brandy and Babychams, and a snowball consisting mainly of Advocaat. Maybe retro really is the way to go.
11.57 p.m., 21 March 2018
The last few months have been a bit of a nightmare, I feel like I am dangling in hyperspace. My life has been suspended, while I wait to see what Guardian HQ has in store for me.
In January, we were moved into a much smaller office, just up the road from our old office, with a much bigger temporary boss. She’s enormous, has chin hair, and is very stern and serious. I think she’d rather be in Stavington reporting on speeding offences and petty crime, than here featuring the village fête and looking for lost gerbils.
She also isn’t that keen on my funny small ads (‘Is humour really necessary?’) or enquiries about my future (‘We’ve all been there, just cope. Is that really how you spell Chihuahua?’). In fact, let’s face it. She’s a grumpy cow.
I did in fact mention this to Ollie, who has been sending me the odd email (and some of them are very odd) since Uncle T’s party, asking how things are going. It’s a bit like when we were kids and he’d leave a note in my locker saying ‘I’ll beat you next time’ if I’d got a higher test score than him.
Except now he says things like:
Hi, Daisy,
I hope you told her that humour is always necessary. A Daisy without her cheeky, funny side, is like a cow without an udder – there’s something essential and life-affirming missing.
Oll.
Hi, Ollie,
Did you really just liken me to an udderly useless bovine?
Dais
Daisy,
Ha-ha. I did. Did I ever tell you Uncle T used to have a Jersey cow called Daisy? It was a creature of beauty.
Oll
No, but I’m not sure where this is going. I think you should stop before I get moo-dy. Aren’t there any lives you need to rush off and save right now?
Daisy
Daisy,
You’re no fun. If you’d have known her, you’d have loved her. Your namesake. I think I’ll press the mooote button now though!
Oll
You’ve been looking these jokes up on the internet haven’t you? D x
I’ll have you know they’re all my own work! O x’
Followed up swiftly by:
Unlike the list of one-liners you helped me compile in Year 1 so I could woo Jasmine Smith. You’re the only person I’ve ever known who solved everything with a list and a military precision plan! Sorry, bleepers gone off, need to don my cape and save lives. Good luck with the interview, not that you ever needed luck! O x
I think they might have sent the caretaker boss in so that we all quit our jobs, but I am made of sterner stuff.
Okay, I did think about it briefly. But as I’ve only been here a few months, have zilch experience and might appear to be jumping ship before I’m sacked, I have decided that my immediate future might lie with the newspaper. Although if they refuse to give me a better job, I might need a rethink. But I have been gritting my teeth and waiting to see if my new boss, James Masters is going to give me a job. And not just any job, but a better job than I had before. I am going to demand it, and I am going to get it.
All I have to do is survive the small matter of an interview.
After a bottle or three of wine with Frankie this evening, though, I do now know how to sort my life! It’s simple.
1 I must be more organised; and
2 I must try harder; and
3 I must be more like Frankie – who definitely has her shit together. When Frankie decides to go for something, not even an apocalypse would stand in her way.
4 p.m., 22 March
I look down at what I was sure (last night – after rather large quantities of wine) was the solution.
Books.
I have downloaded lots of books.
Now I am not so sure.
I mean, I’m sure about books in general. I have lots of them, I could start a library. But they are fiction. These are different. These are self-help books. I mean, self-help, that’s exactly what I’ve decided to do, isn’t it? Help myself. But this is going to be like scaling Everest when all I need is a few highlights, a few challenging peaks that I can fit into a mini-break.
Reading this lot will take me hours, and that’s before