A Very Coco Christmas Page 4

  ‘’Ow long ’ave you two been stepping out?’ she said spooning tea leaves into the pot.

  ‘Mum, I told you, me and Coco got together in September.’

  ‘Well, it can’t be that serious if yer didn’t tell ’er yer dad’s dead!’

  ‘Oh. Oh, I’m sorry,’ I said.

  ‘I don’t like to talk about it,’ said Daniel squeezing my hand apologetically

  ‘’E died twelve year ago. Silly bugger went ’an got ’imself run over by a bus,’ said Mrs. Pinchard. The kettle came back to the boil and began to scream. I didn’t know what to say.

  We sat as Mrs. Pinchard filled the teapot, then brought the cups over. She thumbed through the post and opened an envelope containing a Christmas card.

  ‘’Ere, speak of the devil, iss a card from Alf Watson, the bloke who dug yer dad’s grave… ’e sends me a card every year.’

  ‘How morbid,’ said Meryl sitting beside me.

  ‘’E’s got a son, Tony, works as ’is assistant. ’Ere, Meryl, why don’t I give Alf a tinkle. Maybe you could go up the Odeon with Tony one afternoon?’

  ‘I’m not going to the cinema with a gravedigger’s assistant!’ said Meryl indignantly.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘For starters we have nothing in common,’ said Meryl.

  ‘’Is dad dug your dad’s grave!’ said Mrs. Pinchard.

  ‘I don’t believe you Mum!’ shouted Meryl.

  ‘Well, yer not getting any younger my girl. You need to get yerself married orf. An’ there’s good money in death. You gonna work for that Doctor forever?’

  Meryl got up in tears and stormed out slamming the kitchen door. Mrs. Pinchard seemed unperturbed and turned her attention to me.

  ‘So, Coco,’ she said pouring the tea. ‘Yer at University with my Danny.’

  ‘Yes, I am. I’m studying English Literature.’

  ‘What yer gonna do with that when yer leave?’ she asked, handing us cups and sitting down on the ripped chair.

  ‘I’m going to be a writer.’

  Mrs. Pinchard nodded.

  ‘And what does yer dad do? If e’s alive that is?’

  ‘Her father owns a butcher’s,’ said Daniel. Mrs. Pinchard suddenly looked interested.

  ‘Oh, well thas very nice. A butcher, I’d like a butcher in the family.’ Then she actually smiled at me. ‘Iss lovely to meet yer Coco.’

  This was good! She suddenly seemed to have warmed to me. The happy moment was interrupted by a knock at the back door and a voice said,

  ‘Cooo-eee!’ An older lady in a housecoat and hairnet poked her head round the door.

  ‘Who’s that?’ I said quietly to Daniel.

  ‘Mrs. Roberts, the next door neighbour.’

  ‘Ooh sorry Ethel, I didn’t realise you ’ad company…’ said Mrs. Roberts.

  ‘Don’t worry love, come in. ’Ere, this is Danny’s nice new girlfriend, Coco. ’Er dad’s a butcher!’

  ‘Nice to meet you love,’ said Mrs. Roberts.

  Mrs. Pinchard called me his girlfriend. She approved!

  ‘I won’t keep ya, Ethel,’ said Mrs. Roberts. ‘I just wanted to see John Paul Belmondo all trussed up for the oven. I don’t know ’ow yer did it… ’

  ‘What love?’ said Mrs. Pinchard cutting the fruitcake.

  ‘I don’t know how you slaughtered that sweet little turkey.’

  ‘No I can’t bring meself to do it…’ said Mrs. Pinchard.

  ‘Oh, I thought ’cos ’e’s gawn?’

  ‘What d’yer mean, gawn?’

  ‘John Paul, the turkey ’e’s gawn! ’E’s not in the yard. Both gates are open!’ said Mrs. Roberts. It suddenly dawned on me. I’d left the gate open.

  ‘Oh no… I think it was me,’ I said.

  ‘What?’ said Mrs. Pinchard.

  ‘I left the gate open!’

  ‘What the bloody ’ell did yer do that for!’ shouted Mrs. Pinchard. Everyone leapt up and we jostled outside. A thick layer of snow now covered the yard. The moon had come out and it was so bright. The gates were indeed open. John Paul Belmondo was nowhere to be seen.

  ‘That was me Christmas Turkey!’ shrilled Mrs. Pinchard. ‘Six months of saving in the Christmas club!’

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ I said. ‘It was an accident.’

  ‘And I left the other gate open,’ said Daniel helpfully.

  ‘Well yer both bloody fools!’ she shouted.

  * * *

  We split up and searched the length of the road out front, and the neighbours’ gardens calling out, ‘Jean Paul Belmondo,’ like a bunch of depressed fans of French new wave cinema. But no turkey came trotting up. I felt terrible, not only had I lost them their Christmas lunch but Mrs. Pinchard was mourning the loss of a beloved pet. When we re-grouped in the back garden I saw it was almost seven o’clock.

  ‘Daniel,’ I said awkwardly. ‘I’ve just realised I should get home… I don’t know what to do about this?’

  Mrs. Pinchard was still ranting to Mrs. Roberts saying, ‘The poor bugger is long gone, knowing this lot round ’ere. ’E’ll be in someone’s oven, I’ve no doubt.’

  Daniel went over to his mum and she broke down in tears with her head on his shoulder.

  ‘Oh Danny, why did yer ’ave to bring…’

  ‘What?’

  ‘No, It’s not ’er fault, I’m sure she’s a nice girl…’ she burst into tears again.

  ‘Do you think your dad has a spare turkey?’ said Daniel over his mother’s shoulder.

  ‘We’ve got nothing to eat tomorrow,’ sobbed Mrs. Pinchard. ‘Only five chipolatas and box of Quality Street…’

  I thought of the pantry at home, filled to bursting with meat and fresh food. I then pictured our dining room: lots of space and a huge table.

  ‘Come to my house for lunch tomorrow,’ I blurted. ‘The three of you,’ I added, as Mrs. Roberts from next door seemed to think she might get an invite too.

  ‘We’d love to,’ said Mrs. Pinchard suddenly regaining her composure. ‘What time does yer dad carve?’

  Daniel looked shocked. ‘Hang on Coco, are you sure. Your house, in Marylebone?’

  ‘Course she’s sure!’ said Mrs. Pinchard.

  ‘Yes. Course,’ I said, but inside I was panicked at what I’d just offered.

  ‘Shall I give yer mum a tinkle?’ Said Mrs. Pinchard. ‘See if she wants them chipolatas?’

  ‘No, it’s fine. Look we eat at one, so why don’t you come for midday?’ I said the colour draining from my face. All Mrs. Pinchard’s tears for John Paul Belmondo had vanished, and she hurried inside.

  ‘Meryl!’ she yelled, ‘make yerself useful and plug in the Carmen rollers! We’re goin' up west for Christmas lunch!’

  I was left with Daniel in the moonlight.

  ‘Are you sure you want to do this?’ he asked. He pushed my hair away and leant in and kissed my neck.

  ‘Yes. I love you,’ I said. ‘And I want your mum to like me too.’

  ‘You are the most amazing woman. I love you,’ he said. His brown eyes glinted in the moonlight and I wanted him so bad. He kissed me softly.

  ‘Why don’t you stay here?’ he asked, smiling.

  ‘What? Tonight? In your room?’

  ‘No. I don’t think my mother would approve of that… even if you have invited her over for Christmas lunch. No, you can have my bed, I’ll have the settee and then when everyone is asleep, I’ll stealthily climb the stairs…’

  ‘Avoiding the creaky ones…’

  ‘Yes avoiding the creaky ones,’ he grinned, ‘and I’ll ravish you in my bed…’ I could feel him getting stiff. I looked around but there was no one to see us.

  ‘Jeez the thought of doing you under my poster of The Smiths,’ he growled

  ‘You like The Smiths?’

  ‘Okay - the Electric Light Orchestra,’ he admitted. I laughed.

  ‘No I should go home,’ I said. ‘I need to sort things out for tomorrow… tell my mother.’

  ‘Well y
ou won’t get a train or a bus on Christmas Eve. I’ll drive you.’

  ‘Can you drive?’

  ‘I haven’t passed my test, but yeah. And who’s going to check on Christmas Eve?’

  * * *

  Daniel went inside and grabbed Meryl’s car keys. We scraped the ice off the windscreen and set off towards the river. It was an adventure; the roads were completely empty with snow swirling in front of us. We crossed the river at London Bridge, and the Thames spread out on either side. Tower Bridge was all lit up and several of the barges on the river had sprouted Christmas trees. We zoomed along the Embankment, and then we were on Regent’s Street under a canopy of Christmas lights. People were everywhere, spilling off the pavement and crossing in front of the car, rushing to get home, heads bowed against the wind and snow, now a mix of colours reflecting the lights above.

  ‘I’d love to have grown up right in the centre of everything,’ said Daniel staring at a very rich family emerging from Hamley’s Toyshop laden down with bags.

  ‘I want you in the centre of everything with me,’ I said closing my hand over his. We pulled up outside my house just before eight.

  ‘Do you want me to come in with you?’ said Daniel.

  ‘No, it’s late and… I need to talk to my parents.’ My stomach lurched at the thought of going through the front door.

  ‘You don’t know how much this means to me, that you’ve invited us over for Christmas lunch. We get to spend the day together,’ he said, his eyes shining excitedly.

  ‘I love you,’ I said leaning in for a long deep kiss. ‘Sleep tight.’ I opened the door and got out. ‘Drive safely,’ I added.

  Daniel grinned and drove away with a wave. I watched the car grow smaller then vanish round the corner. Then I turned and went inside.

  * * *

  I wasn’t prepared for the shrill onslaught from Mum when I came through the front door. She rushed at me in the hallway.

  ‘Where have you been Karen? You left me with hundreds of Turkeys!’

  ‘I was with my boyfriend!’ I shouted. ‘Okay? I have a boyfriend!’

  Dad’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.

  ‘What? Who? Who is this boyfriend?’ said Mum. ‘I hope we know him – and I hope we know him in the right circumstances!’

  ‘You’ve met him…’ I said. ‘The Carol singer, Daniel.’

  ‘The one here on the doorstep?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Mum clamped her lips together and shook her head.

  ‘You should have seen this boy, Bill, long hair, leather jacket with the hem down, dropped his haitches… Karen, I didn’t raise you to go picking up carol singers on the doorstep!’

  ‘Ugh… Mother, you are such an ignorant snob!’ I shouted.

  ‘Karen,’ warned Dad.

  ‘My name is Coco! COCO!!! I met him three months ago, he’s at university with me and he’s studying music. And I love him!’

  ‘Ok, let’s all calm down and let Karen, Coco, come inside,’ said Dad. I took off my shoes and followed them through to the living room. My mother sat down in shock.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell us?’ said Dad.

  ‘Because… You keep going on about Kenneth and how he’s perfect for me… and I did want to introduce him to you…but he’s not Kenneth. He’s better than boring old Kenneth, but you don’t think that.’

  There was silence as they took all this in. The fire crackled.

  ‘Well, maybe we should meet him,’ said Dad cautiously, looking over at Mum. She pursed her lips and snorted.

  ‘Well that’s handy,’ I said, suddenly emboldened with courage. ‘Because he’s coming over for lunch tomorrow, with his mother and his sister.’

  ‘What?’ said Mum leaping off her chair as if someone had shoved a red-hot poker up her bottom.

  ‘I said…’

  ‘I know what you said. You’re telling me, after eight o’clock in the evening, that another three people are coming for Christmas lunch, tomorrow!’

  ‘You’re already cooking loads of food… And I felt guilty.’ I said.

  ‘Why would you feel guilty? Have they got a house? Or are you going to tell me they live in a hut on the Thames?’ said Mum.

  ‘They’ve got a very nice house actually. I feel guilty because it’s my fault their turkey ran away.’

  ‘Ran away?’ shrieked Mum. ‘Why would it run away?’

  ‘Because I left the gate open.’

  ‘You’re telling me they keep a turkey in the garden, a real live turkey?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Bill, I think I need a large sherry,’ said Mum. Dad jumped up and poured us all one. I could see he was actually quite enjoying this.

  ‘I was cuddling it and I left the gate open and now they haven’t got any Christmas lunch,’ I repeated.

  ‘Well they should have thought of that before they put themselves in the position of keeping Christmas lunch that could run away… You don’t see me keeping pigs in the pantry or a cow in the conservatory.’

  ‘Why do think you’re better than everyone else?’ I asked.

  ‘I don’t think that.’

  ‘Yes, you do.’

  ‘I don’t, Karen!’

  ‘Fine, prove me wrong and have them over for lunch.’ I said. There was a pause as Dad handed us each a glass of sherry.

  ‘Merry Christmas,’ he said.

  ‘Look. I’ve told them to be here at twelve, so that’s when they’ll be arriving,’ I said downing my sherry in one, and with that, I left the room and went upstairs.

  Wednesday 25th December - Christmas Day

  When I stormed out of the living room last night, I was expecting Mum to follow me upstairs and let me have it, but she didn’t. I waited in my room, then I got undressed and lay in bed, but she didn’t make an appearance.

  This was worrying. She’s gone bonkers over far less, like the time I told my friend at school Mum secretly watches Coronation Street with the curtains drawn. She screamed at me about that one for days.

  Now, I’d sprung my working class boyfriend and his family on her for Christmas lunch and she was accepting it. Or was she? What did she have planned for me?

  When I woke this morning, I quickly got dressed and then poked my head out of my bedroom door. I could smell bacon frying and Rockin’ Around The Christmas Tree was playing on the radio in the kitchen.

  I padded downstairs and, taking a deep breath, went through the swing door into the kitchen. The table was set with a cloth and cutlery and Dad was sitting at the table with a cup of coffee. Mum was artfully arranging bacon and egg on plates.

  ‘Morning,’ I said.

  ‘Merry Christmas,’ said Mum bringing plates over to the table. She leant in and kissed me on the cheek.

  ‘Merry Christmas, Dad,’ I said sitting down, confused.

  ‘Merry Christmas, Coco,’ he said with a grin. We started to eat in silence.

  ‘So, this Daniel chap,’ said Dad. ‘Why on earth does he call you Coco?’

  ‘It’s silly,’ I said.

  ‘It’s not some sort of lovey-dovey pet name, is it?’ asked Mum trying to hide her revulsion.

  ‘NO!’ I said feeling myself go red with horror that they might think I was doing what I actually have done, quite a few times.

  ‘On my first night at Aberystwyth the student’s union organised a pub quiz and a raffle, and I won a bottle of Coco Chanel No.5 perfume. Daniel couldn’t remember my name so I became the Coco girl, and then everyone started calling me Coco. I like it.’

  ‘So it’s a nickname?’ said Dad.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, Happy Christmas, Coco. At least you chose a respectable brand of perfume.’

  ‘That’s true. What if it had been Charlie!’

  Dad laughed and Mum tried to, which made her look like a snake about to unhinge its jaw.

  ‘Look, Mum, why are you being so calm?’ I asked, warily. Mum composed her face into a smile.

  ‘Because I’ve realised something
darling,’ she said. ‘These people will descend on us for lunch and they’ll prove my point that they’re not suitable. It won’t be nice but I’m willing to go through it all to get this boy out of your system.’

  ‘I’m serious about Daniel,’ I said.

  ‘I know you are,’ smiled mum patronisingly. ‘And despite what you think I won’t enjoy seeing you heartbroken.’

  Mum seemed so sure of herself, so confident.

  ‘I’ve already telephoned Yvonne and Adrian, I’ve warned them what to expect.’

  ‘You’ve never met Daniel’s family!’

  ‘I have a good idea. Now you’ll be able to see Daniel and Kenneth side by side and you’ll realise just what I see, Kenneth is a catch, and very eligible. I’ve heard that Yvonne and Adrian are worth well over a million pounds.’

  ‘And that makes them better?’

  ‘Oh darling, you’re my daughter and I want the best for you.’

  ‘We both love you,’ added Dad.

  I realised that this lunch would be a fight, a fight for Daniel and his family, measured against the so-called perfection of the Rosebury’s.

  ‘Where are you going?’ said Mum as I got up.

  ‘I’m not hungry anymore,’ I said. I went and had a shower, and then I shut myself in the airing cupboard with the phone and called Daniel. His mother answered and I heard in the background the sound of him playing Jingle Bells on the piano.

  ‘’Oo is it?’ she shouted.

  ‘It’s Coco!’

  ‘Oh ’ello love. John Paul Belmondo is still missin'.’

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ I said.

  ‘I went out there this mornin’ and made a noise like a girl turkey, but nothin’… ’e’s gawn.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ I said again. I tried to imagine Mrs. Pinchard impersonating a turkey. I had a vision of her pulling her teeth out and crouching down.

  ‘Does yer mum like tinned fruit cocktail?’ she asked.

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Good, ’cos I’ve got a tin in the cupboard, I won it in the raffle down Hilly Fields. Cost a whole pound for a ticket so it should be good stuff, you know ’ow they sometimes fob you off with peaches and pears an only ’alf a bloomin’ cherry!’