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Erm, she didn’t say she had heard wonderful things about me! The stepchild putting a roof over her head. Charming. I give myself a mental shake, reminding myself that I need to think clearly, and only (privately, obviously) dislike Gail if she very clearly says and does things that I don’t like, and not just because she’s Dad’s new wife. I like her more than I do him, so she’s got that going for her, at least.
‘Wonderful to finally meet you, Gill,’ Jess replies.
I purse my lips.
‘Can you help us with the bags?’ I ask her.
Gail makes a move towards the front door with nothing but her handbag.
‘Sure,’ Jess replies to me, before calling after Gail. ‘The door is open, Gill, head in.’
I slink up alongside Jess while Dad finishes unloading the bags and locks up the car.
I give her a wide-eyed look.
‘I know she’s called Gail,’ she whispers to me. ‘I just think it’s funny to get her name wrong too.’
‘It is, but we need to be mature, if we’re going to get through Christmas with our sanity,’ I tell her.
Jess frowns for a second.
‘You’re right, I’ll cut it out,’ she replies. ‘You know how much I hate being called Jessica.’
Years of the kids at school calling you ‘rabbit’ will do that to a girl. If it were me, now, I would more than welcome the comparison, but anything that makes you feel singled out as a kid is pure torture, especially when every kid in your class runs with it.
‘I’ll say your name at every possible opportunity,’ I tell her. ‘She’ll soon catch on.’
‘Thanks,’ she replies. ‘Although I think I might not spend much time in the house, if they’re here, I’ll go visit friends or something.’
I can’t really blame her for looking for places to escape to. I imagine Mum will have friends to visit too, just because it’s Christmas time, so here’s hoping Dad and Gail won’t be in much. I might actually get some time to myself still, in all of this unexpected chaos.
Jess rests her head onto my shoulder for a second.
‘Right, girls, come on, let’s get all this inside,’ Dad commands cheerily.
I sigh – again. Let’s get this show on the road.
We find Gail hovering inside the hallway, checking her hair in the mirror.
Dad rummages through a bag to find one of those metal Christmas tree stands with the screws that you tighten to hold it in place. With that in one hand, and the tree in the other, he looks at me expectantly.
‘Where is this going?’ he asks.
That’s a very good question.
‘If you want to come through to the living room,’ I suggest, ‘we’ll see if we can find somewhere.’
‘Oh,’ Gail says as we walk around the corner, into the open-plan living space. ‘It’s very… festively busy already.’
That’s one way of putting it.
‘Wow, Billie, this is a stunning room,’ Dad says. ‘It’s so modern, for the age of the house.’
‘Yeah, it used to be two rooms, a lounge and a kitchen diner, with old-fashioned arches between them either side of the fireplace, so I opened it all up,’ I explain.
‘They say open-plan living is on the way out,’ Gail says thoughtfully as she takes in the room.
‘Well, I live here on my own, so they’ll get over it,’ I reply. ‘And they’re just walls. It’s much easier putting them back in than it was taking them out.’
