Moira approved of Christmas. As the season approached and she surveyed her well-filled diary, the stack of thoughtfully chosen presents and the stock of delicious food in the freezer she felt at peace with the world. Comfortable. Secure. This was how things were supposed to be.
The daily post was already full of Christmas cards and letters and Moira enjoyed opening each envelope. Moira was meticulous in composing her own Christmas letter which was printed on embossed card with a border of holly. The text this year was the usual catalogue of successes: James’ promotion to the board of directors, Sally’s gold cup for fencing, Giles’ scholarship and of course not forgetting her own little bid for fame, her election as President of the Parish Show committee. Just enough room to mention the timeshare in Barbados and the cruise of the Greek islands. Moira sealed the last card into its envelope with a feeling of satisfaction.
Two weeks before Christmas and a busy day lay ahead. She just had time first to open the post.
The first one was Angela’s writing – just a quick scrawl ‘From Angela and family.’ The next handwriting was large and assertive– Julia? Elaine and Robert? No of course, Margaret from Carlisle. God knows how she managed to survive up there but Margaret, as everyone knew, believed in following where her husband led.
Moira picked up the next envelope, turning it over in her hands. Rather inferior quality paper, address written in a hurry, posted in Bristol. Bristol? Now who could it be? Not Caroline, she emigrated to Toronto. Janice – of course. A small smile of derision curled Moira’s lip as she carefully slit open the envelope. Janice! Janice in a rush, coat half open, always late for lectures. Janice entangled with one boy after another. Janice in despair, using handfuls of Moira’s tissues, sobbing through a seminar. Janice knocking on her door late at night, begging for advice. Janice in love. Janice in pain. Janice in fits of laughter.
Moira pulled out the small card with the tips of her fingers. It must be fifteen years since they last met. There had been annual bulletins of course – several changes of jobs, a few liaisons and then seven years or so ago marriage to a lecturer in marine biology – David was it? Moira and James had not gone to the wedding – there had been no question of cancelling their California trip just to please Janice.
A badly printed charity card with white doves. Inside a folded sheet of green letter paper. Moira sipped her latte, sighed and unfolded the letter. She checked her watch. Still plenty of time.
Janice’s writing spooled erratically all over the page – ‘Hope you and James are well etc. Dave and I separated last Easter. I have the kids most of the time and trying to hold down a part-time job. Sometimes I feel I just can’t cope – just living from day to day.’ How like Janice Moira thought. At the bottom there was a scrawled PS – ‘Will be in your area two days before Christmas visiting my aunt. Hope to pop in and see you for a chat in the pm. Don’t worry – no kids. Must dash. J x’
Well that was the limit. No. No. I will phone her up, put her off, any excuse. I cannot endure a session with Janice and her problems – not at Christmas. Not after all these years. Moira scanned the letter again. No phone number or email. How typical of Janice.
By bedtime, as Moira coaxed night cream gently into the delicate skin under her eyes, she had reached a decision. Let Janice come. Moira would receive her for the sake of their old friendship but Janice would leave enlightened by seeing how life should be. Moira felt positively evangelical.
Two days before Christmas and Giles had been home for three days. Moira noticed that her son was starting to treat her like a slightly tedious aunt. Sally was also home but was spending most of her time at Rebecca’s still sulking that her friend had a pony and she did not.
Moira felt on top of all her arrangements. She walked about the house, adjusting a curtain here, a cushion there. The cards were arranged tastefully on golden banners in the hall, the tree twinkled in the bay window and the holly wreath on the door announced prosperity and comfort within. Janice would see how rewarding a secure and stable family life could be. Moira would be firm but gentle with her, prepared to give stern advice if necessary. The rest was up to her.
The door bell rang. Moira glanced in the mirror and smoothed her hair.
“Moira! How good to see you. I hope I’m not interrupting anything?”
“Janice – come in dear. How nice. I was so pleased to hear from you.”
Smarter than I expected thought Moira. She has at least made an effort. Really quite a good suit – and expensive shoes.
“You really do have a lovely home Moira. You’re very lucky.”
“Well thank you Janice.”
“And this must be Giles and – Sally isn’t it? So grown-up.”
“Yes that was taken last summer in Mexico. They would love to have met you but you know how it is at this time of year – everyone’s so busy. James too of course – he sends his regards. Now I’ll make some coffee in a minute but first Janice – how are you? Do tell me all about it. I’m here to help.”
There was a short silence.
“About it....? Oh – you mean my problems and things. Oh Moira no – I’m fine now. Really fine. Did I write you an awful letter? I do apologise – I think I was having a bad week.”
“Now Janice you mustn’t feel you have to put on a brave face. Remember how we used to tell each other everything. That’s what are friends are for. I’ll just go and get the coffee and then I’ll be all ears.”
In the kitchen Moira placed cream, sugar, spoons, napkins and biscuits on the tray with the cafetière. How like Janice to pretend everything was fine. She hasn’t changed at all. In five minutes she’ll be crying and pouring all her troubles out.
“No don’t get up Janice. I can manage. I’ll just put the tray there like that – then we can just help ourselves. Just like in the old days.”
“It all looks lovely Moira. So tasteful. You were always so organised I remember.”
“Now Janice – I was touched by the tone of your letter. I have been worrying about you ever since.”
“Oh Moira I hope you’re not serious. What on earth did I say?”
“That you were desperate – unable to cope” prompted Moira.
“Oh Moira” – Janice laughed apologetically. “Don’t you ever get days like that? When you can’t see the way ahead?” She crossed her legs and continued.
“I think it was just after then that things started to improve – I remember writing the Christmas cards feeling really low and a bit depressed. Then I got the job offer – I’m head of Personnel with Smithsons now. And I’ve met Ralph. I’d already decided to give David his divorce so it’s all good. The kids seem to love Ralph but we’re not rushing anything. To be honest it’s quite exciting at the moment – just like being young and in love all over again. Not to mention the sex.” Janice smiled and sipped her coffee. “But enough about me. What about you? You and James have been married for ever haven’t you? You must tell me the magic formula.”
“Oh we’re fine. Absolutely fine. Always busy.”
“You never worked after Uni did you Moira? Any regrets?”
“None at all. I have a very full life. It would take an age to tell you all the things in my diary. And I always say that a marriage is a job in itself. More coffee? I’ll just go and refresh the cafetière.”
Moira retreated into the kitchen. She felt a sudden surge of indignation. To think she had cleared her afternoon for this. If Janice didn’t need her advice then so be it. She’d find out how quickly things go sour soon enough.
When James came home, genial with office whisky, he said,
“Was that the famous Janice I saw leaving?”
“She had to go. She was in a hurry.” Moira’s voice was shrill and she had the beginnings of a headache.
“So did you sort her out? Set her on the straight and narrow?”
“I tried but in the end you can’t live someone else’s life for them can you? She’s still the same old Janice – always in a mess. She’ll never change.”
But James had picked up the newspaper and had already stopped listening.
Author: Author bio Gwenda Major lives in the Lake District. Her passions are for genealogy, gardening and graveyards. Gwenda’s stories have featured in numerous print and digital publications. Gwenda has also written four novels and three novellas which are still unpublished. Gwenda has a website and blog at www.gwendamajor.wordpress.com
Very amusing. It was great to see Moira get her comeuppance!