Read Online Snow Angels, Secrets and Christmas Cake by Sue Watson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Sue Watson
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bathroom.
‘You can’t take those to your place,’ she said, horrified.
‘Why, are they too good for me?’
‘No, but your bathroom’s avocado, the grey will look positively ludicrous.’
‘I’ll take my chances. If people want to come and have a laugh at my “ludicrous”’ bathroom they’re welcome,’ I snapped. ‘Now get a bloody move on.’
‘I refuse to go anywhere without this,’ she yelled from her dressing room. I bit my lip, held my breath and stormed in, dreading what she was pitching for.
‘No. No. No,’ I said, shaking my head and my finger at her.
‘But I can’t go anywhere without them.’ She was pointing at a whole wall of shoe boxes. Each box was labelled and the designer shoes (of which there must have been 200 pairs) were all colour and season co-ordinated.
‘You don’t need all those shoes,’ I gasped. A couple of pairs will be plenty.’
‘A couple of pairs? Are you mad? Well, I’m not leaving here without them,’ she stood, arms folded, the vulnerable little lady from ten minutes before now gone in a puff of smoke and bluster.
‘Tamsin, don’t forget you also “need” all your designer gowns too. I mean, you never know when I’m going to throw an impromptu drinks party in my bijou flat above the bakery,’ I said sarcastically. For a moment she looked at me quizzically, she never quite got my humour. ‘No, Tamsin, I won’t be throwing any impromptu parties, just pack your jumpers and jeans and let’s get out of here.’
It transpired, to my horror, that Tamsin didn’t actually possess a pair of jeans because she apparently ‘never had cause to wear them’. I sighed and wandered through into the main bedroom before I lost my patience. I had to remember what she was going through, but watching her pile up boxes and boxes of shoes and designer gear she wasn’t going to wear was a test. ‘I’m going to start downstairs,’ I said, leaving a pile of empty bin bags on the bed. ‘You can bring from here what you can carry and no more.’
I went downstairs and into the dining room where a huge contemporary white sideboard filled one wall. I got down on my knees, opened the doors and inside were rows and rows of boxes, all different shapes and sizes and all labelled. How very Tamsin, I thought with a smile – she was so organised, not like me who shoved everything in draws and cupboards only to fall out every time they were opened.
I wondered if this was yet more stuff Tamsin ‘needed’ or could some of it be thrown away? We had nowhere to store any of it, the way things were going there wouldn’t even be room for me and Jacob once Tamsin and her shoes moved in. Looking through quickly, there were boxes filled with birthday and Christmas cards she’d liked and bought and never sent. Boxes filled with glassware, some china and a lot of cutlery – all labelled, all very expensive. Then I came across a box labelled ‘Xmas Trinkets’, and as she already had enough ‘Xmas Trinkets’ for the next hundred years getting rid of the box may be a good kick start to a declutter. I pulled it out from under other boxes and opened it up. I couldn’t quite make out what was in there at first, it seemed to be mainly stuffed with old, yellowing newspapers, but once I’d delved deeper, I opened up some of the now crispy balls of paper to find a glass owl. I held it up to the light, remembering how every Christmas we would hang it on Nan and Granddad’s tree. I delved into the newspapers, finding more old Christmas ornaments from my grandparent’s home. Then I found the little wooden rocking horse, and my favourite as a child, the blue Cinderella slipper. I wondered why she’d kept them, because Tamsin would never use them on her own tree. They weren’t fashionable or beautiful enough, but as I opened each one it took me straight back to that cosy little terraced house on Hyacinth Street. I shook the lovely snow dome, noticing a faint crack across the glass as the
‘You can’t take those to your place,’ she said, horrified.
‘Why, are they too good for me?’
‘No, but your bathroom’s avocado, the grey will look positively ludicrous.’
‘I’ll take my chances. If people want to come and have a laugh at my “ludicrous”’ bathroom they’re welcome,’ I snapped. ‘Now get a bloody move on.’
‘I refuse to go anywhere without this,’ she yelled from her dressing room. I bit my lip, held my breath and stormed in, dreading what she was pitching for.
‘No. No. No,’ I said, shaking my head and my finger at her.
‘But I can’t go anywhere without them.’ She was pointing at a whole wall of shoe boxes. Each box was labelled and the designer shoes (of which there must have been 200 pairs) were all colour and season co-ordinated.
‘You don’t need all those shoes,’ I gasped. A couple of pairs will be plenty.’
‘A couple of pairs? Are you mad? Well, I’m not leaving here without them,’ she stood, arms folded, the vulnerable little lady from ten minutes before now gone in a puff of smoke and bluster.
‘Tamsin, don’t forget you also “need” all your designer gowns too. I mean, you never know when I’m going to throw an impromptu drinks party in my bijou flat above the bakery,’ I said sarcastically. For a moment she looked at me quizzically, she never quite got my humour. ‘No, Tamsin, I won’t be throwing any impromptu parties, just pack your jumpers and jeans and let’s get out of here.’
It transpired, to my horror, that Tamsin didn’t actually possess a pair of jeans because she apparently ‘never had cause to wear them’. I sighed and wandered through into the main bedroom before I lost my patience. I had to remember what she was going through, but watching her pile up boxes and boxes of shoes and designer gear she wasn’t going to wear was a test. ‘I’m going to start downstairs,’ I said, leaving a pile of empty bin bags on the bed. ‘You can bring from here what you can carry and no more.’
I went downstairs and into the dining room where a huge contemporary white sideboard filled one wall. I got down on my knees, opened the doors and inside were rows and rows of boxes, all different shapes and sizes and all labelled. How very Tamsin, I thought with a smile – she was so organised, not like me who shoved everything in draws and cupboards only to fall out every time they were opened.
I wondered if this was yet more stuff Tamsin ‘needed’ or could some of it be thrown away? We had nowhere to store any of it, the way things were going there wouldn’t even be room for me and Jacob once Tamsin and her shoes moved in. Looking through quickly, there were boxes filled with birthday and Christmas cards she’d liked and bought and never sent. Boxes filled with glassware, some china and a lot of cutlery – all labelled, all very expensive. Then I came across a box labelled ‘Xmas Trinkets’, and as she already had enough ‘Xmas Trinkets’ for the next hundred years getting rid of the box may be a good kick start to a declutter. I pulled it out from under other boxes and opened it up. I couldn’t quite make out what was in there at first, it seemed to be mainly stuffed with old, yellowing newspapers, but once I’d delved deeper, I opened up some of the now crispy balls of paper to find a glass owl. I held it up to the light, remembering how every Christmas we would hang it on Nan and Granddad’s tree. I delved into the newspapers, finding more old Christmas ornaments from my grandparent’s home. Then I found the little wooden rocking horse, and my favourite as a child, the blue Cinderella slipper. I wondered why she’d kept them, because Tamsin would never use them on her own tree. They weren’t fashionable or beautiful enough, but as I opened each one it took me straight back to that cosy little terraced house on Hyacinth Street. I shook the lovely snow dome, noticing a faint crack across the glass as the
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