Jacob’s age and she would have been about twelve, old enough to be allowed to be in charge of the scissors. How I admired the way she cut the shape of that fairy – I longed to be an almost-teenager like Tamsin. My big sister knew stuff and had lots of friends... one of them had even been to Spain on her holidays; they were so sophisticated and grown up. I loved my sister, she was so clever and I remembered as she cut out the fairy she’d made her ‘talk’ in an American accent. I recall roaring with laughter as the paper cut-out stomped up and down the table saying, ‘Happy Holidays’ and whistling carols.
‘Mummy, let’s put the lights on,’ Jacob lisped excitedly, dragging me back into the present. As we finished the tree together, I worried Tamsin would be secretly horrified, there was no sense of style or theme or colour scheme.
‘I hope this isn’t making you feel worse,’ I laughed. ‘It must be causing all kinds of feng shui problems for you, Tamsin.’
She smiled and walked over to the tree. Putting one arm around Jacob, she surveyed our Christmas mash-up and then placed a glitzy little angel on one of the branches. She’d been holding it in her hands as we’d dressed the tree – I wondered why she’d been looking at it so long.
‘I don’t remember that,’ I said, puzzled.
‘I do, I thought she’d gone a long time ago – she’s a brooch really, but I think she belongs here.’
‘Oh... was it yours, Tam?’
She nodded.
We all stood and gazed at the spectacular tree, laden with lights and memories. It was a cocktail of everything Christmas should be, crazy messy, uncoordinated and fun. I felt a rush of happiness, almost childlike at the sight of our little tree – I’d been so caught up in Jacob’s exuberance I hadn’t thought about how I felt. Yet here I was feeling a sense of happiness I’d long buried.
Jacob clapped his hands. ‘Yeah... I think we all deserve a big round of applause,’ I said, joining him.
‘Hang on a minute,’ Tamsin said, one finger in the air. She reached in and moved Cinderella’s glass slipper up a branch and fluffed the feathers of a glittery bird then looked at us both.
‘NOW we can clap.’
Tamsin Angel was gradually coming back into the building.
8
A Christmas Snow Storm
Tamsin
S eeing that snow dome had taken me straight back there, to the place we lived when I was six. Mum had placed it on the mantelpiece that Christmas Eve – she was still taking part in life then, we even had a tree that Christmas. I stood for ages turning the snow globe upside down, creating my own little wonderland of swirling snow, waiting for each snowflake to land and finally reveal the polar bear and the little igloo. I imagined what it would be like to live in a place like that, so pure and white and perfect. I remember Dad coming in with the tree and a bottle of sherry. It was Christmas Eve and he was in a great mood, shouting Ho Ho Ho and singing loudly. I giggled (with relief) and when he laughed too and ruffled my hair I felt such complete happiness. But as always my joy was edged in fear. As a young child I couldn’t comprehend the mix of my father’s emotions, and always walked carefully on the tightrope between his incredible highs and punishing lows. His jokes and teasing and tickling could change with a look; a smile could turn into a smack across the mouth just from a word or cup in the wrong place, a meal or moment that didn’t suit. And it was always down to the drink.
That Christmas Eve, with the winter wonderland dome on the mantelpiece I dared to hope we would have a happy Christmas. And when he told me I must sing ‘Oh Little Town of Bethlehem’ and he would teach me the words, I was delighted. Always desperate to please him, keep him calm, keep Christmas happy, I nervously repeated each line he gave me. Once or twice the words were wrong or muddled and I waited for the blow, but when nothing happened, I carried on, becoming more and more
‘Mummy, let’s put the lights on,’ Jacob lisped excitedly, dragging me back into the present. As we finished the tree together, I worried Tamsin would be secretly horrified, there was no sense of style or theme or colour scheme.
‘I hope this isn’t making you feel worse,’ I laughed. ‘It must be causing all kinds of feng shui problems for you, Tamsin.’
She smiled and walked over to the tree. Putting one arm around Jacob, she surveyed our Christmas mash-up and then placed a glitzy little angel on one of the branches. She’d been holding it in her hands as we’d dressed the tree – I wondered why she’d been looking at it so long.
‘I don’t remember that,’ I said, puzzled.
‘I do, I thought she’d gone a long time ago – she’s a brooch really, but I think she belongs here.’
‘Oh... was it yours, Tam?’
She nodded.
We all stood and gazed at the spectacular tree, laden with lights and memories. It was a cocktail of everything Christmas should be, crazy messy, uncoordinated and fun. I felt a rush of happiness, almost childlike at the sight of our little tree – I’d been so caught up in Jacob’s exuberance I hadn’t thought about how I felt. Yet here I was feeling a sense of happiness I’d long buried.
Jacob clapped his hands. ‘Yeah... I think we all deserve a big round of applause,’ I said, joining him.
‘Hang on a minute,’ Tamsin said, one finger in the air. She reached in and moved Cinderella’s glass slipper up a branch and fluffed the feathers of a glittery bird then looked at us both.
‘NOW we can clap.’
Tamsin Angel was gradually coming back into the building.
8
A Christmas Snow Storm
Tamsin
S eeing that snow dome had taken me straight back there, to the place we lived when I was six. Mum had placed it on the mantelpiece that Christmas Eve – she was still taking part in life then, we even had a tree that Christmas. I stood for ages turning the snow globe upside down, creating my own little wonderland of swirling snow, waiting for each snowflake to land and finally reveal the polar bear and the little igloo. I imagined what it would be like to live in a place like that, so pure and white and perfect. I remember Dad coming in with the tree and a bottle of sherry. It was Christmas Eve and he was in a great mood, shouting Ho Ho Ho and singing loudly. I giggled (with relief) and when he laughed too and ruffled my hair I felt such complete happiness. But as always my joy was edged in fear. As a young child I couldn’t comprehend the mix of my father’s emotions, and always walked carefully on the tightrope between his incredible highs and punishing lows. His jokes and teasing and tickling could change with a look; a smile could turn into a smack across the mouth just from a word or cup in the wrong place, a meal or moment that didn’t suit. And it was always down to the drink.
That Christmas Eve, with the winter wonderland dome on the mantelpiece I dared to hope we would have a happy Christmas. And when he told me I must sing ‘Oh Little Town of Bethlehem’ and he would teach me the words, I was delighted. Always desperate to please him, keep him calm, keep Christmas happy, I nervously repeated each line he gave me. Once or twice the words were wrong or muddled and I waited for the blow, but when nothing happened, I carried on, becoming more and more
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