The Shop Girl and the Priest

The next morning, I took the short ten-minute walk from Cheryl's place to the house I grew up in, but hadn't been to in three years. I thought about knocking the door, but I'd hardly used the front door when I lived there.

I walked along the short passage to the side of the house and opened the door I knew would bring me straight into the kitchen. Thankfully, the door was unlocked and I stepped in with my bag of gifts.

Mum was on the phone to someone and chatting brightly about an event the next day at the church, and her mouth just stopped moving.

"Norma... I'll call you back." She turned off the call, mouthed 'Jaime' and ran across the kitchen to pull me into her arms and hug me so tightly. Shortly after, I could feel her tears at my neck as I hugged her back.

"Jaime..." she gasped. "I'm..."

"Hiya, Mum," I said quietly, enjoying this moment of just us. I had a feeling that Dad and my sister wouldn't be as positive, but hey, I'd soon find out.

Mum pushed me back by my shoulders to look me up and down in my new clothes, stuff that I'd bought and suited me, miles away from the things that my parents had bought for me.

"Oh, Jaime," she said. "You look... wonderful! You look... so well!"

"Thanks, Mum! So do you!"

She pulled out a kitchen chair and pushed me down into it, pulling me up again to remove my coat, then taking the seat next to it and taking two mugs to fill from the teapot that had been there for all of my life.

"So... how are you, what have you been doing!?"

"I'm doing great," I said. "I've finally gotten into University, started in September."

"Studying history?" she said with a smile, putting the cosy back on the teapot.

"Of course," I said. "I still have Nanny Dorie's book, and because of it, I'm studying Ancient History." My referral to my lovely maternal Grandma Dorothy was the perfect thing, and Mum beamed.

"I'm so pleased for you, Darling," she said, and it actually sounded like she'd meant it, she leant forward, "Which University?"

"Oriel," I said sipping from my mug with a grin I felt I'd earned.

"Oriel," she said, "in Oxford?"

"Yep!"

"Oh, Jaime!" she sighed, a huge smile on her face. I remembered that Karen had set her sights on Keble for her degree. I dug out my smartphone and showed her pictures of the college, my rooms, the view across the greens, me and a friend in 'The Eagle and Child' and me outside Morton's Café where her favourite TV characters, Lewis, Hathaway and Dr Hobson would buy their sandwiches. Mum was charmed.

We were getting on well; time had passed and whatever might have been shouted across the living room those years ago was forgotten, perhaps temporarily, but we were good.

"I still work for the supermarket part-time, but obviously in the Oxford branch, and I'm an evening's team leader..."

"Oh YOU'RE back, are you?" it was Karen. She had put on some weight, probably because I hadn't been around, and she had no one that she that she had to compete with over looks; it was bound to be my fault somehow or other.

"Hi, Karen," I said, standing up and moving towards her.

"Don't hug me," she said with some distaste, as if I'd brought a disease or a bad smell with me, "Mum might have fallen for your shit, but I won't."

"Fallen for what?" I said simply.

"Whatever spiel you used to get through the door this morning and to try and insinuate yourself back into our lives and our good books." She folded her arms.

"I didn't insinuate at all, Karen," I said calmly. "Used the kitchen door, in fact."

She took a breath and nodded towards the department store bag on the table as if it might explode,

"Well, it ain't gonna work, BUCKO! Your bedroom, the room you used to sleep in, is a gym and an office so if you think you're just going to stroll..."

"I live in Oxford, Karen," I said, "I'm just here for a visit."

"OXFORD!" she said grandly adding all the ridicule she could. She truly was her father's daughter now. "Studying hard, are you?" she fake-guffawed. "In between stacking tins of beans on shelves, of course. Once a shopgirl, always a shopgirl!" She chirped at her extreme funniness and put her weight on her right leg and shook her head. "I was so embarrassed by you when I was at school." She chuckled derisively, "Come the end, I told people I was an only chi..."

"I work part time in the store there; I'm a manager," I said, Karen shifted her weight to the other leg and I could see she was readying herself for her next triumphantly spiteful blast, "But I'm also studying Ancient History at Oriel College."

"A Manager‽" she all but shouted. "But still just a..." she stopped and the smile left her face as she tuned in to the second part of my statement, "Oriel?" She had the tiniest hint of a gulp. "The ACTUAL Oriel College Oxford?"

"The very same," I said simply, not wanting to give my bitch sister a reason to snap back at me.

She paused and I could see that her brain was spinning in the same way that our father's did when we'd argued and he started to lose.

"Reeeeally?" was the best she could come up with. "I could see you cleaning the toilets or serving in the canteen at Oriel, Jaime, BUT actually an undergrad?" she folded her arms and smirked Dad's disbelieving smirk and heaved her shoulders in silent mirth and shook her head, "I'm preeeeetty sure they don't take SHOPGIRLS at Oriel, HONEY—I'm sorry, but I don't believe you!" She even gave his huffed, suppressed contemptuous laugh that I was spreading an obvious myth about being an actual Oxford undergraduate.

"That's up to you," I said simply, and picked up my tea for a sip.

"So you just went back to school and resat your exams did you? Just like that? Sure I would have noticed, after all I WAS THERE!" She was getting self-righteously angry like Dad did. "Or did you buy some GCSE's and A-levels off the internet?"

"My GCSE's got me onto a diploma course. That got me into Oriel this September."

"Ooooooh a DIPLOMA!" She leant forward on the table bringing her face closer to mine and lowering her voice.

"Yes, not just any diploma, it was the best diploma in the south of England Karen, got the Education Board's gold medal—first one awarded in four years," I smiled, but left off the 103% bit, just more ammo for her and I really couldn't be arsed.

That just increased her anger and she fumed,

"Oh... oh... so you're a CHARITY CASE then! Oriel took the 'city-thicky diploma shopgirl' who was too stupid to get A-levels off the estate and stuck her on some course they were short on—obviously."

My almost two years of customer service desks had taught me patience, and more importantly not to bite, and EVEN MORE importantly how to reeeeeeeally piss people off, but in a very nice way,

"I don't know about that," I said. "You'd need to ask them." I smiled.

"Still a diploma though, LOVE, still JUST a..."

"Oriel chose me as one of the nine students out of over three hundred applicants. Like I said you'll really need to ask them, Karen." I shut her down simply and with my 'customer service' apologetic smile, one breath away from 'and is there anything else I can help you with today?'

My non-response seemed to make her angrier, and the colour rose in her cheeks,

"So... so what the hell are you doing here—at Christmas?" she added as if that made it worse.

"Thought I'd bring some presents round," I said, patting the expensive department store bag that was on the table.

"Well, we've got FUCK ALL FOR YOU, LOVE!" she leaned towards me wobbling her head with each word.

"Karen!" Mum hissed. "You will moderate your language in my house!"

"Like she did, you mean?" she snapped, "She swore at Dad, he told me."

"That was..." Mum recovered her breath, "just once, and a long time ago, Karen, and it was rather recipri..."

"DAD!" Karen interrupted Mum, and I could see she was second in command in the house now, and she stuck her head into the hallway, "You'll NEVER guess what the cat dragged in..."

My sister obviously needed reinforcement, I could hear Dad's heavy footfall and suddenly he was at the kitchen door with a smile he'd so rarely had for me,

"So, what's the mat..." his eyes locked on mine.

"Hi, Dad," I said.

It went quiet for a moment, until Mum cut in,

"Haven't you got anything to say to welcome Jaime, Rod?"

I could see the internal struggle going on in Dad's strait-laced head.

"Well?" Mum added, which put him more on the spot.

I could see the struggle; here I was almost three years on, looking slim and fit, my hair styled in a smart but very grown-up look with minimal make-up. I was smartly dressed and very feminine, without being overly sexy, with a green waxed cotton Barbour behind me (something he was forever talking about buying one day) and a department store shopping bag; part of him I could see was impressed, but the other part of him wouldn't allow that.

My sister was in grey trackie trousers, which emphasised her belly, and a PJ shirt at 10 in the morning.

I read his face and the problems he was having with my return; I'd left his perfect little world and despite his predictions that I'd be back in a week 'with my tail between my legs,' I was obviously doing well and he really couldn't process it.

I think he'd only really have been happy if I'd looked thin and dishevelled, my supermarket issued jacket over a baggy, over-washed T-shirt and asking if I could have a loan until payday, if not actually begging him to be allowed back into his house and his life, under his rules.

I made direct eye contact with him, awaiting his response.

"DAAAAD!" whined Karen, still waiting for him to let me have it with both barrels.

The time continued in its embarrassing way, until he finally found a response.

"Have you come to apologise?" It was the best he could manage.

"What for?" I replied.

"For how you treated your mother and I!" He looked at Mum who threw a stormy look straight back at him.

"It was 50/50, Dad if you remember, you accused me of being an 'idiot shopgirl.' You then suggested that because I was taking a contraceptive pill to control my period pain I was some kind of slut." I stopped and took a sip of my tea, "I know I paraphrase Dad, but you pretty much told me that I'd had my chance and you wouldn't support me going back to that college with all of the whores and drug addicts." I picked up my phone from in front of Mum and the pictures of The Bodleian she had been looking at, "A situation I remedied myself in the end, without resort to drugs or pregnancy, I might add."

Mum stood as well, taking my hand,

"Jaime is an undergraduate in Oxford, Rod," she said, adding some peace-making positivity. "She's at Oriel!"

Dad's eyebrows rose and I could see the grudging respect from him, then a quick look shot across to Karen just in case she'd picked up on it.

"I don't believe her, Daddy," said Karen with a hint of her usual simpering. She called him Daddy; she only ever did that when she was playing up to him or spreading shit about me.

"Her opinion of course, Dad," I said, "Whether she believes me or not is really none of my concern," I grinned my 'customer service apology' grin again. The room was still silent. "This was obviously a mistake on my part."

"Jaime, sit down Darling please, finish your tea at least, have you eaten?"

Dad had recovered some of his disappointed equilibrium and stared at the ceiling as he always had when he was psyching himself up for one of his 'you've let us down AGAIN' speeches, and I could see his mouth open to interrupt her. I did it instead, seeing as I didn't have to listen to that kind of bollocks anymore, and stopped him just as he took his first breath.

"Dad, you complained because I'd blown my exams, you wouldn't support me to retake them at college. When I tried to reason with you, I was told that while I lived under your roof I'd do as I was damn well told or move out." He looked at me as if to confirm that was what he said, "Well, I moved out. I took my exams at the college and did SO WELL that I'm studying in Oxford—but strangely enough, that seems to have annoyed you, as well."

"Daddy! Tell her!" Karen said.

"Yeah, go on, Dad, tell me," I said, "Obviously you're not happy about my qualifications and university place, which is strange because it was the one thing you reminded me that I didn't have, like EVERY OTHER DAY.

"I kind of get the feeling you preferred my failure because it gave you someone to look down on, a reason to complain about me, to spend the rest of my life telling me I had to 'shape up' and meet your exacting standards." I stepped up close to him so he could see how grown up I was and slimmer than my sister, and I saw his lips tremble as he fought some emotion. "Well, you know what Dad? I have stepped up, I'm in better shape than I have been in years, and am studying at the university the civilised world recognises as one of the best; and it was despite your high standards, rather than because of them," I leaned back to cast one of his disappointed stares back at him.

"Jaime won a gold medal, Rob, best results in the country!" said Mum

The room was still silent.

"But you still aren't happy, are you." I said as a statement rather than a question.

He couldn't maintain eye contact with me and looked down, his mouth moving as if he really wanted to say something but couldn't.

Mum was starting to look very agitated, her arms flexing as she decided whether to be 'arms folded belligerent' or 'hands on hips furious.'

"If it makes you feel any better Dad, just be like Karen and believe what you want to believe and call me names behind my back, Aunt Polly and Uncle Frank tell me you do that anyway."

Mum looked, shocked, from me to him, and the hands decision made itself,

"Rod‽" Her hands flew to her hips as she furiously stared at him for an explanation.

Dad folded his arms in his body-language close-down and turned his face away, and I could just see how pissed off he was about everything.

"Oh, what was it, Dad? You stopped calling me Jaime in conversation and instead referred to me as 'that idiot shopgirl'—regularly, so Aunt Polly told me—she said you used to try and fit it in whenever you could, used to make you crease up!" I gave one of his laughs, "Anyway, thank you for my present, here's something for each of you; you have a great Christmas and I'll... I'll see you."

"Don't bother," Karen said.

"Jaime... please..." said Mum taking my hand again and squeezing it in desperation.

"What... present?" said Dad looking at Mum.

Shit.

Again, the only thing he'd taken from the whole conversation was the one inconsequentiality that annoyed him. Moved out and now self-sufficient? National recognition for my diploma? Oxford?

Nah, Mum had bought me a blouse from House of Fraser, and that was what he was going to damn well get to the bottom of.

"Straight to the point Dad!" I said brightly. "The wrong point again, but hey." I paused, leaned across and kissed Mum. "You've always been good at that." I mouthed the word 'pill' to her, patted my tummy, picked up my expensive Barbour raincoat, a gift I'd bought myself a few weeks before, and slipped it on. I could just see my profile in the hall mirror, and I DID look good. I added, "I'll see myself out."

"Jaime!" Mum said, angry but with a hint of desperation, "Rod, say something to Jaime!"

I waited for a moment as Dad struggled again with his internal mental battle. He looked back at Mum.

"So... you bought Jaime a present?"

Mum's lips pulled into a perfect furious straight line as even she saw he'd ignored everything that had been said.

I'd had a present from 'Mum and Dad' every year for the last three, and I guessed that Mum bought them and delivered them to Cheryl. They'd only been from Mum, obviously, and while I wanted to tell him that, the last thing I wanted to do was drop Mum in it. After all these years, Mum clicked and turned her anger on him.

"RODERICK‽" Mum snapped back at him, binning the hope and replacing it with anger, and with hands on hips, snarled, "Roderick Connor, if you don't damn well..."

Even Karen had taken a step back, seeing that Dad was on the ropes, but he decided to come out fighting, but at me rather than her.

"Well, I don't want your present," he spat like a spoilt nine-year-old. "And any you've received were NOTHING to do with me!" He folded his arms and stuck his nose in the air, copying his youngest daughter for once. I raised my eyebrows and just looked at him, just as he'd done when we were kids and he thought we were giving him 'sass.'

Game set and match to the girl in the tight sweater, short skirt and the thick black tights—hell but that was a great body I was looking at in the mirror, all mine.

I pulled his wrapped gift out of the bag and pushed it towards him across the table. It was a new cloth cap of the type he always wore in the garden or on his walks, plus the expensive 'special occasions' pipe tobacco he loved, and the smell of it was obvious. He looked at the beautifully wrapped parcel and his nostrils flared at the smell he loved so much.

"Me neither!" Karen snapped, backing him up and just to remind me she was still there, but I knew she recognised the distinctive shape of the seasonally wrapped but distinctive circular box of the expensive perfume she'd always favoured that I placed in front of her.

"Your choice," I said. "If you want to give them away to someone then please do. Bye, Mum." I turned and kissed Mum's cheek again, stepping back to the kitchen door.

"Jaime..." Mum pleaded again, "Jaime, please!"

"I'll see you Mum, promise." I winked and blew a kiss, opened the door and stepped down, the familiar smell of the kitchen and garden fresh in my nostrils and pulling me back just the tiniest bit. I walked along the concrete path that I knew every dip and rut on until I reached the pavement, and turned to head back to Cheryl's.

"WHAT THE... WHAT THE HELL IS UP WITH YOU!" It was Mum in absolute fury. My normal quiet and balanced little Mummy was finally letting my dad have it, both barrels.

As I closed the gate, I could hear her snapping at Dad and his studied and (what he thought) sensible responses. Karen joined in,

"And as for YOU!" Mum snapped back at her, "you got a B and 2 C's in YOUR A-level exams—the failure there, the idiot shopgirl, she got best in the bloody country! You didn't get into bloody Oxford did you—you told everyone you were going to." The further I got away, I could hear someone shouting that University of Brighton was just as good as Oxford.

Brighton? When we'd sat at the kitchen table having dinner, Karen had pronounced that she would only settle for Oxbridge or one of the other 'Russell Group' Universities, at the very least. That was for my consumption, of course, and would only be discussed when I—the educational failure—was in the room. She would look at Dad and smile, and he would look at me for any kind of response that he could be disappointed about. I'd given up even mentioning me going back to any form of study, as it would either laughed at or greeted with anger.

How the mighty had fallen; I'd moved on and 'reached for the stars,' as told to by the college principal, and had duly done so, made it to Oxford. I just knew that at some point Dad would blame my leaving for whatever reason Karen hadn't headed for one of the brighter academic lights.

There'd be other Christmases. I walked back to the place I now really thought of as home and let myself into that kitchen.

Cheryl saw me and looked at the time. I'd left at 9.45 and was back to hers just over fifty minutes later, which included two ten-minute walks.

She dropped her head to one side and pulled me into a hug, and try as I might I couldn't stop the tears—again.

Cheryl's youngest daughter Ruby would have none of my sadness though, pulled me into the front room and pretty soon we were playing games on her Nintendo Switch through the TV, and all was good.