No One Cancels Christmas. Zara Stoneley
the photographs, the discarded rucksack shoved to the back of her wardrobe, and the small mementoes of different places and people that adorned every shelf, nook and cranny in her house, I pieced together her real life as best as I could. And I saw a carefree, happy, hippy lifestyle that she’d willingly abandoned, and that she made sure I never felt guilty about.
How can I not be happy for her if she has a chance now to go back to that life? I am all grown up, and she can be free again. I swallow down my desire to shout ‘don’t leave me’, ashamed that I’m struggling. ‘Tell me about Ralph.’
So she does. And all the time she speaks about him she has a wistful smile on her face, her voice soft and sing-song, her mind miles away from the life she and I have been sharing.
‘You shouldn’t have left him.’
‘I had you, love, and besides, the time was right. Are those a bit tart? I was worried the orange rind would go chewy, but I only had the thick-cut marmalade. Would you like a bit of flapjack? It’s a bit crunchy – I didn’t know whether to smash it up and call it granola.’
I can’t think about granola now. I’m thinking about Aunt Lynn being sad and putting a brave face on things. And spending Christmas on my own.
Lynn smiles, a bit uncertainly.
‘Actually, I’ve got plans myself.’ What am I saying? ‘I’m going away.’ I’m what? How could I say that?
‘You are?’
‘I am.’ I nod. Confidently. And feel slightly sick, but now I’ve started this, I can’t stop, can I? ‘I’m going to Canada!’ That’s it! That will show her! I’m all grown up now, I can do Christmas on my own. Spending Christmas with Callum would definitely be wrong. In my heart I’ve known for a long time that things aren’t quite perfect between us, that we’ve been running out of time. Oh no, I’m not going to spend Christmas with him. I’m going to see this as an opportunity and fix Will Armstrong once and for all.
‘Canada?’ She’s got a puzzled frown on her face, which isn’t surprising. Inside I’m a bit confused too.
‘I’m going to sort out the mess at the Shooting Star Mountain Resort. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, I’ve already made a provisional booking; all I need to do is confirm.’
‘The Shooting Star resort? The one where . . .’
I nod, less confidently now, feeling even more queasy.
‘Well, that is a surprise. Good for you, darling. Going back and—’
‘I’m only going back because of all the crap reviews, and the fact the jerk that’s running it seems to be determined to totally wreck the place and get us sued in the process.’
‘Sued?’
I think I might have got carried away and said things I shouldn’t. I’m not sure flapping my arms in the air in what I thought was a nonchalant gesture is removing the frown from her face, but it’s worth a try. ‘Oh, it’s nothing to worry about, just empty threats.’ She doesn’t look convinced. ‘But that’s why I’m going.’
‘The Shooting Star resort?’
I nod.
‘And you’ll be all right on your own?’ She’s looking even more worried now, and I don’t think it’s anything to do with being sued.
‘Definitely. I’m a big girl, now.’ But feel like a tiny, abandoned toddler inside. Man up, Sarah, you can do this.
‘I’d come with you, but I need to do this for Ralph – and for me, if I’m honest. He needs me, Sarah.’ That is Aunt Lynn all over: she is there if people need her, like she’s always been there for me. ‘Why not wait until the new year and we can go together?’
‘Honestly, I’ll be fine.’ And why spend Christmas on my own, when I can be with Mr ruin-it-all Armstrong? ‘It needs sorting now.’ I think I might be trying to reassure myself here, convince myself I’ve made the right decision.
What am I thinking? It’s not only Mr Scrooge himself that I’ll be tackling. I’ll be back there. The place where it all went wrong, when I found out just how little I meant to the two people who’d meant everything to me. My world.
Aunt Lynn is right. I won’t be all right on my own. I want her there, holding my hand. I don’t want to pull warm mittens on all alone, to look at the spot where we built the biggest snowman ever without her at my side.
I don’t want to curl up on a rug, looking at the flickering flames, and see my parents wave goodbye in my mind.
I can’t go back alone to the place that broke my heart. In fact, I swore I’d never go back. I’d closed that door forever.
I can feel the hurt bubbling up in my throat. Threatening to break out in a babble of words, saying I can’t do it, that it won’t work, that I’ll never ever be able to go back there again.
But it doesn’t.
I can’t expect Aunt Lynn to be there, watching my back, forever. This is my battle now, not hers.
And anyway, this isn’t about the past, about me. I’m going because of the business, and I’m going because I need to prove to Lynn and myself that I’m all grown up now.
I blink hard, shut out the image of a husky dog licking my fingers, tickling my face with its fur until I giggle, until Mum laughs and swings me up in the air.
‘I want to go.’ Swallowing hard clears my throat and digging my nails into the palms of my hands helps the lie. ‘If I don’t go now, it’ll be too late.’
‘Okay.’ It’s long and drawn out. ‘Well, if that’s the case, I’m going to shut the agency over the holiday period, so that you don’t have to worry and can have some fun.’ She stands up abruptly, as though she’s made a sudden decision, and walks over to the dresser. ‘And I’ve got a little surprise for you too. Consider it an early Christmas present!’
Aunt Lynn and I have one thing in common with the royal family. I’m pretty sure it will only be the one thing, but who knows? Anyway, we decided many years ago to go for inexpensive gifts that will make us laugh. We have a strict spending limit and it’s all about trying to get something that will make the other person chuckle, but something that they’ll love and cherish because it’s so ‘them’.
Aunt Lynn has always collected knick-knacks from her travels, but says that each item, however seemingly worthless, has a memory attached and means something to her. And that, she says, is the important thing. What’s the point in spending lots of money on something that is emotionally worthless?
It took me quite a while to get my head round this (and she did bend the rules rather a lot when I was little), but as I got older, the gifts she gave me started to mean more, which meant I treasured them. I don’t keep much; I’m not a ‘stuff’ type of person, but each gift she has given me has captured a memory, a place or a feeling, and I’ve kept them all. My emotional me is spelled out on my dressing table, if anybody ever takes the time to study the weird assortment of items and work it out.
These days we laugh as we rip the wrapping paper off, but behind the laughter there is a shared ‘knowing’. An anticipation. Our flippant gifts prove how much we know about each other, how closely our lives are meshed.
Today, though, this feels wrong, and is making my heart twinge with dread. It is not Christmas morning, and the envelope she has just fished out of the drawer does not look funny, or cheap. It looks ominous. It feels like something terrible is about to happen, that the one tradition we’ve stuck to, the one certainty in my life, is about to explode and shatter into little pieces.
‘I’ll keep it