Jenni Keer - The Unlikely Life of Maisie Meadows

Everywhere she looked there were delicious piles of food. The sideboard was covered in bowls of nuts and crisps, the fridge was bursting at the hinges, saucepans overflowed with pre-prepared veg, and the whole back worktop was loaded with bottles of wine and spirits. But most exciting of all, presents cascaded from underneath the Christmas tree like a waterfall of cheery wrapping paper. (This year, she’d only poked exploratory holes in a couple because she was a big girl now and had learned through bitter experience that anticipation was part of the fun.)

Dad was doing silly dances in a Santa hat and naked-lady apron to the loud music throbbing from the kitchen. Lisa, her eldest sibling, who had been her usual sarcastic and grumpy teenage self all morning, was unusually human by lunchtime – having found some festive joy from somewhere. Her brother, Ben, sat upstairs, contentedly bashing away at his drums. The beats echoed through the house, and even though they weren’t in time to Mum’s cheesy Christmas CD, it was all happy noises and general jollity. Maisie’s morning was spent either sneaking small fistfuls of salted peanuts from the sideboard or flat on her tummy arranging and rearranging Rose Cottage, only getting shouted at once by Lisa, who tripped over her sprawled legs when she came through to flop in front of the television.

Both sets of grandparents arrived in time for lunch, showed great interest in all Maisie’s presents (Granddad even playing board games with her) and then fell asleep en masse in the armchairs after the Queen’s speech – the only truly boring bit of the whole day. Later, the elderly contingent was roused for tea but decided to go home early. Maisie guessed all the excitement and post-dinner brandies were too much for them. Daylight ebbed away, and Zoe, older than her by five years, played with her instead – which was a first as she usually whined that Maisie was too babyish to play with. As Mum laid out another magnificent spread of food that everyone was too full to eat but still managed to devour, Dad took his parents home. Granddad had given up driving when his eyesight started to deteriorate but they lived locally and her dad told Maisie to save him a caramel square as he winked and slipped out the front door. Two hours later, he burst back into the house, laden with surprise presents for everyone and a huge bunch of flowers for Mum. The day was so full on that it seemed to Maisie it had ended almost as soon as it had begun. Lisa disappeared to bed uncharacteristically early, shortly followed by Maisie, who was full of delicious food and totally content. It was, she fondly recalled, how a Christmas Day should be …

Pulled out of her reverie by the buzzing of her mobile on the kitchen worktop, Maisie put down her nearly empty wine glass and walked over to the counter.

‘Merry Christmas, baby doll.’ It was Zoe Skyping across a vast expanse of ocean and continents.

‘Merry Christmas.’ Maisie leaned her bottom on the edge of the worktop, her heart temporarily lifted by Zoe’s beaming face. ‘What are you still doing up? It must be midnight there?’

‘I suddenly realised I hadn’t spoken to you, but now that I come to think of the time zones, you’re probably in the middle of a romantic Christmas dinner with that hot bloke of yours.’

‘Not at all. I’ve always got time for you.’ It wasn’t necessary to bring the mood down with Gareth’s tongue-thrusting exploits.

‘I miss you.’ Zoe reached a hand out to the screen and Maisie mirrored it with her own. ‘It seems ages since your visit.’

The three-week trip to South Australia was one Maisie would never forget even though it nearly bankrupted her. Despite the memorable art gallery, the adorable pandas at Adelaide Zoo and the winery tour in the Barossa Valley, spending intensive, quality time with her sister had only made her miss Zoe all the more upon her return.

‘Who are you chatting to?’ There was a chirpy voice in the background and a man’s mid-section appeared in front of the screen; the yellow cotton T-shirt and dark shorts of her favourite non-family member. The figure bent down and a beaming upside-down face appeared.

‘Cheers.’ A glass of red was waved in her direction. ‘How’s it going?’ Oliver was like a second brother to Maisie – a slightly less grunty and more interactive one.

‘It’s good.’ It was all the positivity she could muster. ‘I’m full of glorious food and about to kick back, pour another glass of wine and toast absent friends.’

‘And absent sisters?’ Zoe said, raising a Martini glass of something that looked far too colourful to be good for the waistline. For the Meadows family, weight, while not a major issue, was certainly something that tended to misbehave if it wasn’t monitored.

‘I shall toast them most of all.’ There was a moment when the two girls looked at each other on their respective screens, glasses aloft, and neither could readily form more words.

‘I promise I’ll be over soon,’ said Zoe.

‘Make sure you are, ’cause I miss you like crazy. Mum still made you up a stocking, you know? Says she’ll post it in the New Year.’

Maisie blew the biggest, most heartfelt kiss into her phone, and hoped her sister couldn’t see the burgeoning tear in the corner of her eye as she ended the call.

Later, with Nigel scampering over the sofa, cheeks so stuffed with pieces of raw vegetable he looked like he’d eaten two ping-pong balls (or possibly two whole Brussels sprouts) Maisie reflected on her day. Childhood memories were taunting her, probably because most of the Merlot was sloshing around in her tummy and there was no one to play Balderdash with. The gaping hole caused by the shifting tectonic plates of Gareth’s deceit was deep and cavernous. The happiest people she knew were those surrounded by family, supportive and ever-present. Surely there was a way she could pull her fragmented family together again to help fill that gap? And, if anyone could gather the scattered Meadows, it was her – largely because she was the only family member everyone was still talking to.

But with two siblings abroad, parents who couldn’t be trusted alone together in any room that contained sharp objects, and another sister who managed to generally rub everyone up the wrong way, it was a seemingly impossible task.

‘This way, my dear, this way.’

Maisie swallowed. She was only applying for this position at the auction house because it was close to home and the first job advert she’d seen that was vaguely appropriate, so she tried to calm herself by repeating in her head that it was all good practice, regardless of the result. The suitability of the job was questionable but the location – in a tiny village just outside Tattlesham – was perfect.

The ovoid man beckoned Maisie through the front reception area and into a tiny office out the back. He was like an extremely well-dressed hard-boiled egg in his tweed jacket and contrasting waistcoat. Unable to drag her eyes from the broccoli hair (short back and sides, with a crown of glorious silver curls sprouting from the top of his head) and two highly animated and fuzzy eyebrows, she nearly walked into the doorframe. An old-fashioned leather button-back chair stood behind a cluttered mahogany kneehole desk and, for a moment, it was as if she’d stumbled into a Dickensian novel. The man was even wearing a maroon silk cravat, for goodness’ sake.

He followed her startled eyes as they swept the higgledy-piggledy scene before her. A thin shaft of light cut across the room, originating from a small window high up the back wall, and dust motes danced through the beam. A ceiling-height glazed bookcase dominated the side wall, bursting with reference books, and a wobbly stack of the Antiques Trade Gazette stood on the floor – several empty coffee cups balanced precariously on top. Used to a bright, open-plan office, full of light and clean surfaces, this crowded space was anathema to her.