Birth in Suburbia, Carol Falaki [electronic reader .TXT] 📗

She tried not to wince.
“Can I go to the barbecue daddy, please?” Jonathan asked his dad, and Michael Powel turned to look at Chrissy, who again surprised herself by saying:
“You are welcome to come, with your wife, of
course, if you are not sure about leaving him with me.”
“Jonathan and I would both like to come, thank you.” Chrissy thought he was smiling, but she wasn’t sure.
“Do I look alright, Natalie?” she asked once they were safely seated in the car.
“You look lovely, Mummy.”
“Flatterer.”
Chrissy did not sleep well that night. She spent half the night working through a mental list of preparations for the following day. Higher on the agenda than usual was what to wear. Chrissy dressed well, but she usually did this spontaneously and without much planning. There were far too many other things to do.
At eight o’clock in the morning Natalie came into her bed and snuggled up for a few precious minutes, before becoming restless and impatient to start the day.
Chrissy slipped into her comfortable house trousers and a tee-shirt. They ate a light breakfast together before she enjoyed her first cigarette in the garden, while Natalie watched T.V. She was cutting down on the cigarettes, but it wasn’t easy. Delaying her first one until after breakfast had been the most difficult part of the plan. Now she felt quite proud of herself, yesterday she had smoked only seven. A year
ago it would have been 25.
She had enjoyed her week away from the office, but it had passed too quickly. It was Saturday already, and Chrissy was determined to make the most of what was left of her holiday.
Luckily the weather was fine and dry. She had spent some time working in the garden during the week, so it was tidy and colourful. The first job was to ensure that there was plenty of seating on the patio, and more seating by the pond and under the goat-willow tree in the corner. Once this was done she could concentrate on the food preparation. From the bottom of the garden she could hear the muffled voice of a sports’ commentator, coming from a neighbours’ open window.
Chrissie’s thoughts took her back to her childhood when Saturday meant endless horse racing on T.V. when her father was home. She remembered, although she preferred to forget, how he would behave like he was riding his selected horse, perched on the edge of the sofa with an imaginary whip in his hand, his bottom lifting off the settee when the race neared its climax; then he would slump back, beaten, to rise from the ashes of his cigarette and make his selection for the next race. His fantasy world of a quick and easy financial fix was often interrupted by her mother's shouts of annoyance and frustration. Diffused smog of cigarette smoke, and burned fat from the previous night's chips, cooked by her father through a haze of
beer after the pub had closed, was another feature of Saturdays, cleared after the racing was finished and her father had gone out. Their chip pan ought to have been given a place in the Guinness Book of Records for fire damage, but it was not the only thing to overheat in that house. How she hated it.
Blazing arguments were the norm; and shouts, often followed by crashing, sounds of broken glass, or flying objects hitting or missing their mark. She would lie awake in bed with her sister Marie listening, waiting for peace. When it was quiet it was safe to go to sleep.
Chrissy could never ask her school friends to her home. They wouldn’t understand the ripped wallpaper, the broken window – there was always one - the chaos. They came from homes where dinner, cooking on the stove, greeted you with its appetising aroma, and the knowledge that someone was preparing for your homecoming; where the soap in the bathroom was perfumed and smooth, not soggy with dubious grey ridges. They never knew how she envied them.
As soon as she was old enough Chrissy escaped. Growing up in that environment had taught her how to survive. Before long she was able to help Marie, who was a year younger than Chrissy, leave home and join her. They helped each other through college sharing a small bed-sit, and when Chrissy started full-time work, they progressed to a flat. Their
parents had long since gone their own separate ways. Her dad lived somewhere down south, she didn’t care where. Her mum had made a new life in America, where she had married a distant uncle for her green card. Chrissy and Marie had not seen either of them for years.
Her childhood was another life, a secret life, and one that Natalie would never experience. Chrissy was determined that Natalie would have all of the chances she hadn’t had herself.
She turned her back on the sound of the commentator next door and finished sorting the garden furniture.
Inside, Natalie had gone up to play in her bedroom, leaving the cartoon characters on the T.V. screen to perform crazy antics to an empty room. Chrissy switched the T.V. off and turned on the radio.
As she prepared trifle, and fruit salad, she sang along, joining in with the selection of songs being played; humming when she didn’t know the words. She enjoyed the preparation for entertaining. Her guests were coming around four; there was plenty of time. The wine, beer and numerous fruit juices were already in the refrigerator.
Throughout the morning Chrissy washed and prepared the salads, made the marinade, set out the glasses, cutlery and crockery and sorted the lighting, including candles. Natalie came into the room.
“Can I help, Mummy?”
“Of course you can, darling. I want you to go and pick out your prettiest dress and lay it on the bed ready for later; then we are going to the supermarket to collect the bread. When we come back we are going to make ourselves look beautiful.”
“Can I be Peter Pan, Mummy, please, please?”
Chrissy smiled, Natalie had been role-playing for the past couple of years. The roles she picked were invariably male, no princesses for Natalie. A pirate - Jack Sparrow was the most recent - but she always came back to her favourite, Peter Pan. Peter Pan could fly. The outfit she planned to wear today was new, her second; she had grown out of the first.
“At least the eye patch with the skull and cross-bones on it will remain in the wardrobe,” Chrissy thought with relief.
“You can wear anything you like darling, but you must remember it’s a barbecue, and you might get ketchup on it.”
“I’ll be very careful, I promise. When I’m eating I’ll use a serviette,” Natalie said, jigging up and down with excitement.
Time passes swiftly when every minute is full. Very soon it was time to shower and change. Natalie followed her mum into her bedroom, to watch herself un-sheath her plastic dagger in front of the full-length mirror, and fence with her reflection.
“What shall I wear, Natalie darling?” Chrissy asked,
although she already had something in mind.
“I’m Peter. You are Wendy Darling,” Natalie replied, and Chrissy knew that she would be Wendy for the rest of the day, when she wasn’t Mummy.
“Of course, my apologies to you, Peter.” The telephone rang. It was Debbie.
“Do you want us to come over a little early, Chrissy, so Sean can light the Barbecue?” she asked
“No, its okay, everything is sorted. Helen and Nigel will be a bit late. They rang half an hour ago. Nigel wouldn’t explain, not over the ‘phone, so you both just come when you’re ready. Sean could light the barbecue when you arrive, if he doesn’t mind.” Then she added: “I hope everything is okay with Helen.” As she replaced the receiver Chrissy replaced a mildly nagging concern with logic.
“Nigel would have said if there was a problem,” she thought, “And they would have cancelled.”
Returning to the wardrobe she elected a stylish pink dress. It was cut on the bias. This flattered her figure, and although the neckline was low enough to allow some anticipation, it was not so low as to threaten impending escape.
“You look pretty, Mummy.” Natalie said. Chrissy finished styling her hair.
“Thank you, darling Peter, now let’s finish our preparations downstairs.”


Chapter Eight


School Friends, Old Friends


Natalie’s excitement was overflowing by the time doorbell rang announcing the arrival of their first guests.
It was Marie, Chrissie’s sister, and her husband David, with baby Emily, six months old, chubby and delectable.
“You look fabulous, Marie,” Chrissy said with delight. Marie had felt low for some time following Emily’s birth. She had put on a lot of weight when she was expecting Emily, and her self-esteem had plummeted for a while. Yet here she was, looking like her old self again. Chrissy hugged her with joy.
“Size 14,” Marie said giving a twirl in the hallway. “And Emily has started to sleep through. It’s amazing what a good night's sleep can do for you.”
“Not every night,” David added. He carried Emily in and a huge innocent and beautiful smile, from a drooling mouth, exposed the eruption of two bottom front teeth, set in pink gums.
“She gives kisses,” Marie added proudly, and to demonstrate David held Emily out towards Natalie, whose attempt to kiss her was returned with wide open slobbery lips.
“Eeeh,” Natalie complained, and rubbed her wet face with her hand. Chrissy held Natalie’s dry hand and led the way into the kitchen.
No sooner had Chrissy poured her guests a drink when, the doorbell rang again.
“I’ll get it,” Natalie exclaimed, running off down the hall. Chrissy followed her. It was Debbie and Sean. It struck Chrissy that Debbie looked tired, and so did Sean.
“You look lovely, Debs," said Chrissy. "Hello Sean, come in, Marie and David are here already. They’re in the kitchen. Come and get