'My childhood crush kissed me on the cheek and I melted into the floor'
My mother had a short-lived marriage to a man whose life resembled that of Jay Gatsby. He sadly died not long ago, but the Christmas we spent in his house is a memory that seems to grow brighter each year. Looking back, that time was of a different era – Edwardian perhaps. I was about seven and the youngest of five. I always looked forward to Christmas, snuggled up with my siblings under my mother’s wing. Emotional temperatures ran high and there was always an argument or two.
The Christmas tree was a big deal and we made a fuss of it. It was centre stage with the top branch brushing the ceiling. Even on my tiptoes I never saw if it was an angel or a star that was placed on its peak. The decoration box was pulled out from the attic, inside were treasures with the memories of the previous Christmas before.
I got tangled in the fairy lights and my brother laughed. Sitting by the fire, we listened to Paul Robeson, Bing Crosby, Cole Porter, Hutch. Music I was brought up on. We talked and teased each other. The jokes always went too far, and someone inevitably ended up in tears.
Two days before Christmas, he invited his neighbours to join us for carols and drinks in the house. A choir sang Christmas songs on the stairs. One little chorister fainted; he had been at the blue cocktails which my stepfather made every Christmas.
They were bright blue and lethal. My cousin sang the solo in Silent Night and I watched with envy, wishing I was singing instead. I was too young and probably not good enough to ever be asked. My childhood crush, Simon, came with his parents. He was my brother’s age and far too cool for me. I followed him around wondering if he would talk to me. At the end of the night, he kissed me on the cheek to say goodbye and I melted into the floor.
I remember old Lady Dufferin, who was accompanied by a disapproving Pekingese dog. She wore sparkling, mauve spectacles and over her arm was a bag with a large, embroidered owl on it. I wondered what secrets she kept in there. She gave me a torch for Christmas, I’m not sure why? Wrapped in the previous day’s copy of The Evening Standard and labelled “from the very oldest person to the very youngest.”
It was a magnificent party. The house was dressed in its sparkliest outfit, a winter wonderland. Our friend [the legendary clarinetist] Acker Bilk was there and played Stranger on the Shore and White Christmas. We danced like they do in the old films. I stayed up late listening in to the grown-ups’ conversations as they chatted about things I didn’t understand.
Long after I was put to bed, I crept out and peered over the banister watching the beautiful people and women dressed in velvet. My Mother and her sister, Aunt Charlotte were the most stunning, two lights to which people were drawn.
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