Nope, I reminded myself sharply, I was not going to think about Michael today. It was part of the plan.
It was nice to wake up in familiar surroundings for once. Getting dumped by the man you thought you were going to marry was in and of itself incredibly shit, and waking up every day in a strange flat, surrounded by strange things didn’t make it any easier. I wasn’t the one who’d chosen to end things, why did I have to leave? Aside from the fact it was technically his house and as soon as he made his announcement, he told me he’d already packed my bag and called me an Uber? Fairness had always been one of my biggest concerns in life and losing my dream manandmy heated bathroom floor in one fell swoop still felt like injustice of the highest order. It definitely should have been one or the other, not both on the same day.
A text popped up in front of a photo of a toothless toddler on a skateboard and broke my train of thought.Rhiannon Liberty Conners, born at 4.47 a.m. this morning. Mummy and baby doing well, best present we could have wished for!
I tapped on the photo sent by my Aunt Gloria to see my cousin, Natalie, tired and emotional, damp blonde hair pushed back from her face, gazing down at the squishy pink lump in her arms. My baby cousin had a baby of her own. A tiny sob escaped my throat as I enlarged the photo of the newest member of the family.
‘Happy birthday, Rhiannon,’ I whispered a solemn oath. ‘I promise I will always buy you separate Christmas and birthday presents.’
‘Gwen? Are you up?’
Dad rapped on the door before poking his head into my room, beaming from ear to ear. ‘What are you doing still in bed, chicken?He’sbeen! Don’t you want your presents?’
‘Well, that’s a silly question, isn’t it?’ I replied, bouncing out of bed and slipping my feet into a pair of red slippers. ‘Give me a minute, I’m coming.’
‘Bacon butties will be ready in five,’ he called as he trotted off down the hall to bang on Manny’s bedroom door. ‘Up and out of bed or I’ll eat them all myself.’
Now there was a threat that could get me moving.
‘Simply having a wonderful Christmas time,’ I sang to the Gwen in the mirror before giving her a wink and rushing off downstairs.
The tree lights twinkled in the semi-darkness of the living room, front curtains still closed, because you did not open the front curtains when you were all still in your pyjamas, according to my mother. Dad’s promised bacon butties waited patiently on the coffee table and four mugs of tea sat in their four traditional spots, two on the side table, one on the corner of the hearth and one tucked away around the corner of the settee where I was less likely to kick it over, which I had only done once in thirty-two years but this family had the memory of an elephant. Christmas morning 1996 – when I spilt tea on her Sweater Shop sweatshirt before she had a chance to wear it – was only one among many things Cerys had never forgiven me for.
‘How about a walk after this?’ Dad said, looking at me and Manny as he lowered himself into his chair. ‘Get some fresh air into the lungs?’
‘Someone go with him,’ Mum ordered. ‘He won’t admit it but he’s got a bad hip.’
‘I’ll pass,’ Manny replied. ‘Bit worried my choked-up city lungs wouldn’t cope with it.’
Sliding under the tree, I began sorting all the presents into piles.
Manny looked like a festive Adonis in nothing but a pair of black Calvin Klein boxers and a pair of reindeer antlers, entirely unfair for someone who only went to the gym to use the nice shampoo and take selfies. Not that I blamed him, I was sweltering in my red tartan pyjamas and dressing gown. ‘What about you, Gwen?’
‘Sorry, can’t.’
‘Why not?’
‘Don’t want to.’
I smiled sweetly as I handed him the first present.
‘You’d think a bit of exercise would kill you,’ he grumbled, holding the gift up to his ear and giving it a shake.
‘Can you say for certain that it won’t?’ I asked. Dad sighed, giving up. ‘Exactly,’ I said, passing a shiny silver parcel to Manny. ‘I rest my case.’
‘Now, don’t get too excited,’ Mum said as I scuttled behind my gifts once distribution was complete. ‘I told you we weren’t going mad this year, it’s mostly sensible stuff, socks and smellies and a few silly bits.’
Dad tossed a handful of red serviettes at Manny who already had tomato sauce running down his chin and scoffed. ‘Don’t listen to her, if anything she’s got worse. There hasn’t been a day gone by in the last three months when she hasn’t come through the door with something to be hidden away in a cupboard.’
‘Says the man who’s already eaten and replaced an entire tin of Quality Street,’ she replied. ‘I obviously didn’t hide them that well, did I, Steven?’
‘Tis the season,’ Dad said, proudly sipping his tea.
‘OK, Mum goes first,’ I ordered, my heartbeat quickening at the sight of all the shiny paper and sparkly bows. As far as I was concerned, presents were the best part of Christmas. Not in a greedy Scrooge way, it didn’t really matter to me what was inside the presents, what mattered was the fact someone had taken the time, effort, and their hard-earned cash to go out and pick something with you in mind, wrap it up and give it to you as a token of their affection. A present was confirmation that you mattered, that you were loved, whether it was a bottle of bubble bath or a diamond ring. Not that anyone had ever given me a diamond ring, but obviously that was still something of a sore subject. Gift-giving was one of my love languages (along with physical affection, acts of service and a never-ending exchange of cat gifs) and Christmas gifts were the best kinds of gifts, because everyone gave and received at the same time. It was impossible to be unhappy when you were handing out and unwrapping presents, that was an indisputable scientific fact. Probably.
‘You’re up, Gwen.’ Mum pointed to the large, rectangular box in front of me. The very last gift left. ‘That one’s from your dad. He even wrapped it himself.’
‘Only the best for the best,’ Dad said, flushing with pride. ‘I know it’s been a stressful year for you, this will help you relax.’