“Wait,” says Suze. “Before we go in, Bex, I need a word about…something. Jess, do you mind? Maybe you could take Minnie in?”
Suze waits until Jess has disappeared into the restaurant, holding Minnie’s hand. Then she turns to me and says in an undertone, “What do you really think about Luke’s mustache?”
“Hate it,” I mutter back. “But I’m being supportive.”
“Got it.” Suze nods, then, as we enter the restaurant, she gives Luke a dazzling smile.
“By the way, Luke,” she says. “Fab mustache!”
* * *
—
It seems to take about an hour for us all to order brunch, partly because Janice can’t pronounce “chia” and Martin doesn’t want turmeric in his mango smoothie, whereas Mum wants extra shots of spirulina in everything, even her cup of tea. Dad orders smashed avocado on sourdough in an over-casual, self-conscious kind of way, and Mum says to me, “He has avocado every day, Becky! Every single day!”
But at last our waiter has gone and we’re all sipping coffees and juices and Minnie’s crayoning in her How the Grinch Stole Christmas coloring book. I’m just telling her that grinches don’t have to be green, they can be pink (we haven’t got a green crayon), when Mum taps a fork on her saucer for attention.
“Now, everyone,” she says, “I’d like to welcome you to Shoreditch and thank you for coming to see our new home!”
We all applaud lightly and Mum beams around the table.
“And now,” she continues, “I’m going to hand you over to Becky, who is hosting Christmas for us all this year. Becky, this is your Christmas, love. It’s your day. We won’t interfere at all. Do it any way you like! As long as we watch the queen’s speech.”
“As a republican, I’ll be boycotting the queen’s speech,” says Jess at once, raising her hand. “But I understand that you want to support the monarchy in its repressive and toxic traditions. Just tell me when it’s over.”
“As long as there’s a turkey,” says Martin with a nervous laugh. “I do like a turkey on Christmas Day.”
“Martin’s sister once made fish pie,” says Janice in a pained whisper, as though confessing to a murderer in the family. “Fish pie on Christmas Day! Can you believe it?”
“Of course we’ll have a turkey,” I say. “And a vegan turkey for Jess,” I add proudly.
I’ve found a vegan turkey online, made from soybeans and mushrooms. It’s in the shape of a turkey, with legs and everything!
“Thanks, Becky,” says Jess, looking pleased. “That’s really good of you.”
“And stuffing,” says Martin. “I do like plenty of stuffing. And pigs in blankets…”
“Bread sauce,” says Dad.
“I like brussels sprouts with chestnuts,” says Janice. “There’s a super Delia recipe, Becky. I’ll send it to you.”
“No, no, no.” Mum shakes her head. “Brussels sprouts don’t need any fussing. Just boiled with a bit of butter.”
“I don’t eat butter,” puts in Jess at once.
“We’ll have all of that,” I promise. “And Christmas pudding and Christmas cake and…er…”
What else is there? My mind’s gone blank.
“Crackers!” says Suze. “I’ll bring crackers. Unless, Jess, do you want to bring crackers?”
“Christmas crackers are problematic,” says Jess without a flicker. “The toys inside are forgettable bits of plastic that contribute to the choking of wildlife and destruction of our ecosystem. But I’ll bring some if you want,” she adds.
“Right.” Suze looks a bit shellshocked. “Or we could maybe…not have crackers?”
“I’ll find some eco-crackers,” I say hurriedly.
“Martin and I were thinking we should have a piñata!” puts in Janice brightly. “The children would like that.”
“A piñata?” I echo, puzzled. “Is that a Christmas thing?”
“Martin and I have been watching Christmas Around the World, love,” Janice informs me. “It’s an afternoon show on BBC Two. Very educational. And the Mexicans have a piñata at Christmastime! So why not us?”
“Well,” I say, a bit flummoxed. “Er…”
“We want to do Santa Lucia too,” continues Janice. “You put candles on your head and wear a white robe and sing Swedish songs.”
“Lovely!” agrees Mum with enthusiasm. “Let’s have an international Christmas!”
“That’s cultural appropriation,” says Jess disapprovingly.
“It’s not if you borrow from all cultures,” Mum counters. “Then you’re being fair.”
“Christmas trees are a German tradition,” chimes in Dad knowledgeably. “Prince Albert brought them over.”
“Christmas trees are problematic,” says Jess, but I’m not sure anyone’s listening.
“Jesus wasn’t British,” puts in Janice. “I don’t mean to sound disrespectful or anything, but he wasn’t.” She looks around as though waiting for someone to disagree.
“Well, obviously Jesus wasn’t British—” Luke begins.
“There you go, then!” says Mum triumphantly. “We can have a piñata! Becky, you can get one, can’t you, love?”
“Er…of course!” I say. I grab my Christmas notebook out of my bag and write down piñata, candles, Swedish songs??
“Christmas trees are problematic,” repeats Jess, more loudly. “A better alternative would be to decorate an item already found within the home, such as a broom.” She turns to me. “You can decorate it with recycled materials such as old tin cans, hammered into festive shapes.”
A broom? I’m not hanging a broom with old tin cans and calling it a Christmas tree. I’m just not.
“I’m sure we can make some sort of ecologically appropriate tree work somehow,” says Luke firmly, seeing my face.
“What about presents?” demands Suze. “Does anyone have any requests, because I never know what to get.”
“I’m going to give everyone a makeover on the day as my present,” says Janice brightly. “There, the surprise is ruined, but at least you know you’ll look beautiful!”
My jaw falls slightly, and I exchange glances with Suze.
“Wow, Janice!” says Suze. “That sounds…What exactly do you mean?”
“I’ll give all the girls one of my special contouring makeups,” says Janice happily. “And the men will have a facial scrub and polish. I’m going to bring all my kit.”
“Right,” I say faintly. “Um, fab!”
I’ve had one of Janice’s special contouring makeups before. First she drew stripes on me as though she were marking up a motorway. Then she tried to use Sellotape to give my eye shadow “nice crisp lines,” and I lost about four layers of skin.
But anyway. It’s very kind of her and maybe she’s improved.
“And guess what? Jess and Tom are giving us all zero-waste presents!” says Janice proudly. “Jess has already told me all about it, haven’t you, love? So imaginative.”
“What are you giving us, Jess?” I say, unable to keep a challenging note out of my voice.
I know I shouldn’t—but I want to catch her out. Whatever it is, I’m going to find something “problematic” with it. Even if it’s a hemp basket from a charity shop, I’ll shake my head sorrowfully and say, “Oh, Jess, but what about the wasteful electricity used in the charity shop?”
“Well,” says Jess after a pause. “I guess I can tell you without totally giving it away. Tom and I would very much like to give you each…a word.”
I stare at her, the wind taken out of my sails. A word?
“You mean, a wooden word that you put on the mantelpiece?” says Mum, looking puzzled.
“No, simply a word,” says Jess. “We will say the word aloud to you, and that will be our gift.”
“Gosh,” says Suze, clearly a bit stunned. “That’s…I’ve never…”
“Bit difficult to wrap up,” says Dad jovially.
“It will be wrapped in significance,” replies Jess without flickering, and Dad coughs.
“Of course it will!” he says.
“What word are you giving us?” I demand, finding my voice.
“That would give away the surprise,” says Jess. “We want to give each of you a different word, according to…” She looks around the table and hesitates. “Well, anyway. That’s what we want to do.”
I stare at her, intrigued. What word is she giving me? I’m desperate to know. It’d better be a nice word.
Oh God. It’d better not be “Visa bill.”
No, I’m OK. That’s two words.
“Hey, Bex,” says Suze in my ear, and I look up to see she’s come round to perch beside me, holding her coffee cup. “A word, huh?”
“I know,” I say with a tiny eye roll. “Trust Jess to win on the virtuous-present front.”
“Well, I was thinking. Shall we give each other zero-waste presents this year too? You know, instead of being hollow consumers and all that?”
Suze surveys me expectantly, and right away I wish I’d thought of it.
“Yes!” I agree enthusiastically. “Only, what? Not a word, because that’s copying Jess.”
“No. But maybe…” She thinks for a moment. “We could write a song for each other? And perform it as the present?”
“What?” I say in horror. “Suze, are you nuts?”
“Or we could make something out of found objects.” Suze’s eyes light up. “That could be fun.”