over there every other Christmas. We both have the dark hair and dark eyes, but he has the olive skin colouring to accompany it – I still burn like crazy if I’m in the sun for too long, no matter what factor protection I use, whereas he goes a gorgeous golden brown colour. It’s highly frustrating. ‘Thank God you’re here – she’s going off on one already,’ he says with an eye-roll before his bulky frame leans in for a hug, no doubt relieved that his older, less-achieving sister is here to take the brunt of Mum’s insults while he sits back and watches.
‘Better not let her hear you saying things like that, Max,’ Dad whispers with his eyebrows raised before sweeping past him and giving me a hug – reminding me that their views on my failures in life don’t necessarily overshadow their love for me.
Not all the time anyway.
‘Hello, Dad.’
‘Lots of traffic?’ he asks with a wink, his blue eyes lighting up mischievously as he places his hands on his hips and sticks out his little pot belly (something Mum is continuously moaning at him for).
‘Hmmm …’ I murmur noncommittally.
‘That’s what I thought,’ he nods. ‘Told your mother how bad traffic can be in London of the weekend – especially so close to Christmas.’
It’s only early November, but I decide to go along with his lie.
‘Sarah. Finally,’ my Mum smiles, when I’m in the hallway – looking my outfit choice up and down approvingly, before placing her hand on the sides of my head. ‘Did you leave the house with wet hair?’
Well, I can’t give her the satisfaction of me getting
everything
right, can I? I came clean and in an outfit I knew she’d like – I did try. Worryingly I notice we’re actually matching in our outfit choices – trousers and blouses – although my take is, thankfully, a little younger and current than hers with her crease-free white blouse, mustard-coloured chinos and a pearl necklace to accompany the look … now, that is posh! Plus, whereas my hair is wet and pulled up into a messy top bun, her short dark mane is set to perfection in very precise waves.
She draws me in for a brief hug, the smell of her heavy perfume riling and calming me all at once.
‘Where’s Andrea?’ I ask Max, longing to rub that deliciously shaped bump of hers which has no doubt grown a crazy amount since I saw it a month ago.
‘Asleep upstairs – she didn’t get much sleep last night so she’s having a rest,’ my brother says.
With her hands still on my shoulders and her face out of Max’s view, I spot Mum rolling her eyes before releasing me and returning to the kitchen. Whoever heard of a heavily pregnant lady needing a lie down …
Just as we start to follow Dad into the lounge, Max puts his arm across my shoulder and leans in with a whisper.
‘I heard about Dan and Lexie.’
‘Yeeeeah …’ I say slowly; there’s nothing I really want to say on the matter.
As soon as we all left their house last night, Dan and Perfect Lexie went on to Facebook and shared their joyous news with their friends online by changing their relationship status’ to ‘engaged’ and their profile pictures to one of them both looking offensively happy with Perfect Lexie’s mighty diamond on show.
My mum has Facebook.
Of course she does.
I had to get my nosy stalking tendencies from somewhere. Actually, seeing drunken photos of me emerge most Sunday mornings during my early twenties is probably what’s led her to be so despairing of me.
‘You okay?’
‘Of course,’ I shrug, nodding towards the kitchen. ‘Does she know yet?’
‘I don’t think so. You going to tell her?’
‘And see the look of disappointment on her face? I mean, I know it’s been a while, but I think she’s still holding on to some miracle of a reunion. God knows why. He was a cock to me.’
‘We’ll just keep her away from her computer all day – let her find out when you’re not here,’ he says, squeezing my shoulder.
‘She’s
‘Better not let her hear you saying things like that, Max,’ Dad whispers with his eyebrows raised before sweeping past him and giving me a hug – reminding me that their views on my failures in life don’t necessarily overshadow their love for me.
Not all the time anyway.
‘Hello, Dad.’
‘Lots of traffic?’ he asks with a wink, his blue eyes lighting up mischievously as he places his hands on his hips and sticks out his little pot belly (something Mum is continuously moaning at him for).
‘Hmmm …’ I murmur noncommittally.
‘That’s what I thought,’ he nods. ‘Told your mother how bad traffic can be in London of the weekend – especially so close to Christmas.’
It’s only early November, but I decide to go along with his lie.
‘Sarah. Finally,’ my Mum smiles, when I’m in the hallway – looking my outfit choice up and down approvingly, before placing her hand on the sides of my head. ‘Did you leave the house with wet hair?’
Well, I can’t give her the satisfaction of me getting
everything
right, can I? I came clean and in an outfit I knew she’d like – I did try. Worryingly I notice we’re actually matching in our outfit choices – trousers and blouses – although my take is, thankfully, a little younger and current than hers with her crease-free white blouse, mustard-coloured chinos and a pearl necklace to accompany the look … now, that is posh! Plus, whereas my hair is wet and pulled up into a messy top bun, her short dark mane is set to perfection in very precise waves.
She draws me in for a brief hug, the smell of her heavy perfume riling and calming me all at once.
‘Where’s Andrea?’ I ask Max, longing to rub that deliciously shaped bump of hers which has no doubt grown a crazy amount since I saw it a month ago.
‘Asleep upstairs – she didn’t get much sleep last night so she’s having a rest,’ my brother says.
With her hands still on my shoulders and her face out of Max’s view, I spot Mum rolling her eyes before releasing me and returning to the kitchen. Whoever heard of a heavily pregnant lady needing a lie down …
Just as we start to follow Dad into the lounge, Max puts his arm across my shoulder and leans in with a whisper.
‘I heard about Dan and Lexie.’
‘Yeeeeah …’ I say slowly; there’s nothing I really want to say on the matter.
As soon as we all left their house last night, Dan and Perfect Lexie went on to Facebook and shared their joyous news with their friends online by changing their relationship status’ to ‘engaged’ and their profile pictures to one of them both looking offensively happy with Perfect Lexie’s mighty diamond on show.
My mum has Facebook.
Of course she does.
I had to get my nosy stalking tendencies from somewhere. Actually, seeing drunken photos of me emerge most Sunday mornings during my early twenties is probably what’s led her to be so despairing of me.
‘You okay?’
‘Of course,’ I shrug, nodding towards the kitchen. ‘Does she know yet?’
‘I don’t think so. You going to tell her?’
‘And see the look of disappointment on her face? I mean, I know it’s been a while, but I think she’s still holding on to some miracle of a reunion. God knows why. He was a cock to me.’
‘We’ll just keep her away from her computer all day – let her find out when you’re not here,’ he says, squeezing my shoulder.
‘She’s
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