flashes me a ‘duh!’ expression. ‘The Sparkle Sisters? Ring a bell? Betsey’s coming in again at eleven.’
That sobers me up.
Oh God, yes, of course. Somehow it’s slipped my mind that our lives might be about to be turned upside down.
If Carol really is planning to sell up, none of us will be laughing …
I press the bell and start humming ‘We Wish You A Merry Christmas’ in a bored fashion, even before the festive chiming starts up.
As a novelty bell ring, it has gone way beyond irritating. Especially in July. But Mum refuses to change it. She says it makes people smile.
She comes to the door in stretch trousers and short-sleeved T-shirt, even though it’s early October and the evening is raw. Her cheeks bear the tell-tale flush of central heating turned up to the max. Last year, I bought her a ‘slanket’ to keep her warm on winter nights but she just laughed and asked me whether she ought to be considering bars on the side of the bath and a stair lift as well.
I pop my head into the living room, batting away a length of tired gold tinsel that has come adrift from its mooring, and say ‘hi’ to my brother. He’s busy battling zombies on his Xbox, though, and can only manage a grunt in reply.
I corner Mum in the kitchen.
‘How is he?’
Mum nods. ‘He’s okay. Dying to go trick-or-treating.’
‘That’s weeks away.’ I frown. ‘And the name-calling?’
‘Oh, you know what he’s like.’ She shrugs helplessly. ‘He never tells me anything.’
‘He seems in good spirits, though.’
She nods. ‘Although I was talking to Ryan when he came for a sleepover. Apparently Tim’s been telling everyone at school he’ll be six inches taller once he’s had the op.’
We smile wearily at each other.
Mum fills the kettle and bangs it down on the work top. ‘He’s been on that bloody waiting list forever,’
‘So hopefully it won’t be too long now.’ I sound a lot brighter than I feel.
We stand in gloomy silence for a moment and I stare at the garish, plug-in Christmas tree that sits by the kettle. It could do with a good old dust. I’d like to sling it in the bin but then Mum wouldn’t speak to me for days.
‘I know you’re talking about me,’ Tim shouts. ‘I’ll be okay, you know. When can I get my Scream mask?’
I smile at Mum and nip back through to the living room.
‘Can I come trick-or-treating with you?’
I perch on the arm of the sofa and he looks at me in horror. ‘No way! I’m not going if you’re going!’
‘Thought you might say that.’ I stretch over for the socks that are lying in two discarded balls on the floor. ‘Tim, why do you always take these off?’ I brandish them at him with fake annoyance.
He grins and annihilates another three zombies.
‘I could lurk at the gate, out of sight,’ I suggest.
‘No!’ he groans. ‘Please don’t say that to Mum. It would be so embarrassing having my sister there!’
‘I’ll buy you a new baseball cap if you let me come,’ I say, picking up his tatty old one and plonking it on his head. I know I’m overprotective, but I can’t help it. ‘Tim, put that damn thing off and talk to me.’
‘In a sec,’ he says, stepping up the action and concentrating on what looks like the final pitched battle with bits of bodies and blood spattering everywhere.
‘Result!’ he shouts, throwing down the controller.
‘A new cap?’ I remind him.
He smiles. ‘I think I’m getting one for Christmas anyway. Pass me my drink.’
I poke him in the stomach. ‘Please pass me my drink, dearest and most beautiful sister.’
He hoots with laughter. ‘Please pass me my drink, most revolting and ugliest sister.’
‘That’s better.’
As I retrieve his glass from the coffee table, a long white envelope falls to the ground.
‘Tea’s made.’ Mum comes into the room. ‘Tim, it’s high time you were in bed.’ She sees me holding the envelope and whips it out of my hand. ‘I need that,’ she says, pocketing it and disappearing again.
I go through and she tells me with a weary sigh that I’ve just missed her new friend, Bunty.
‘She never gives up, that woman. I’ve told her I’m not thespian material but she won’t take no for an answer!’
‘Are they that desperate for new recruits, then?’ I laugh.
Mum groans. ‘I think she’s decided I need rescuing from my dull little life. I’m sort of a pet project now that her husband’s died.’
I sympathise. I’m all for Mum getting herself a social life but I’m not sure Bunty, who runs the local amateur dramatics club, is really her cup of tea. She’s tall and thin, very ‘jolly hockey sticks’ and about as subtle as a tank in a glassware shop.
I used to try and persuade Mum to have a night out with her old friends. But she seemed happier to stay at home. So I was quite surprised when she showed me a leaflet from the am dram club and said she thought she might pop in and see what it was like.
She came back full of it and I could tell she’d had a good night. The folk were so welcoming, she said. But it definitely wasn’t for her, she’d never have the nerve to get up on stage. She couldn’t imagine what she’d been thinking.
Bunty, however, doesn’t seem to agree.
‘Their narrator’s gone into hospital for a hip operation.’ Mum pours the tea. ‘Bunty’s told everyone I’d be perfect.’
‘You should do it,’ I say. ‘I can babysit Tim on the nights you’re rehearsing.’
Mum laughs. ‘I’ve told her I’d rather eat my own arm than get up on stage at the town hall in front of hundreds of folk.’
‘I’m not a baby!’ yells Tim.
‘Stop ear-wigging!’ I call back.
‘By the way, I was thinking about Fez’s Christmas party.’ She turns away and folds the tea towel. ‘I – er – went into that trunk of yours in the garage and pulled out some of your dresses. I put them in a bag over there.’
I stare from her to the carrier bag on the counter. ‘You did what?’
‘It’s
