Weasel face

My husband is upstairs enjoying a lie in, and my son is in his bedroom playing happily with one of the many boxes of Star Wars Lego he received for his birthday and Christmas, only three days apart. My nine-month-old labrador retriever, Jonathan, the apple of my eye, is lying down across my feet clearly relieved that we’re once again united under one roof. 

I have to admit I am relieved to be finally home. I make my second cup of PG tips and look out the living room windows down past the wee- stained garden (thanks Jonathan) and towards the lake at the bottom of our garden and feel I can finally breathe after a disrupted and strange few days. This is what the Christmas period is all about. Barely moving, taking a breath and looking towards the future. I feel excited and relieved that we disappeared over Christmas to avoid any drama.

We had decided for a number of reasons this year to escape for George’s birthday and for Christmas itself. I love the idea of Christmas but increasingly as soon as December arrives, I feel this deep sense of stress and dread. It feels as if someone has started a timer in which you must complete a number of tasks, or you will self-destruct. The pressing deadlines at work to ensure everything is published before the end of the year so that our sales directors can receive their hefty bonuses. Sitting at my desk at work, I am surrounded by a swarm of sales colleagues who transform into Hitler's henchmen before they enjoy some peace. Increasingly I wish that we hadn’t created a holiday let business with the pressure to ensure so many guests have the perfect Christmas. The material aspects of being forced to buy something substantial for everyone you’ll see on Christmas Day. Even for those who are incredibly ungrateful. The awkward cousin who doesn’t ask you a single question when in company and doesn’t keep in touch for 360 days of the year. The slight irritation you feel towards said cousin who lives so far away and barely calls her mum who now in her late seventies could do with someone on hand to help make decisions and take her to hospital appointments, but which instead falls on the rest of us.

And then there is also the huge drama that my sister usually creates. Our relationship has been fractured since moving closer. Her constant need to keep our parents at her beckon call. She has experienced something ‘none of us can understand’ according to my mum who now waits in all day just in case my sister needs her. My brother and his wife stay away as they feel she is punishing my parents.

This used to make me angry but with time, my best recourse was to stay away and enjoy my family. 

And with that in mind, we booked a week skiing in the French Alps. A quiet resort which looked pretty in the photos.

After a few hours' sleep, we gather up George in the early hours of the 21 December and drive an hour to Exeter airport. It all feels so easy. Only an hour's flight and a bus ride the other side and we’d be in the resort and ready to go. 

‘Good morning.’ We were met by cheery air hostesses onto our TUI flight. 

‘I want to be by the window’ George had declared as sat down in our seats, took out the flight information and shop card to see what our food options were.

‘I don’t think I’m going to try that curry.’ Kieron declared. 

‘I think that’s a wise idea. There’ll be enough flatulence from our row for the plane to contend with.’

‘Ha!'

I pulled out my book and Kieron said, ‘Why have you brought such a big book?’

‘I’m so excited to read these scripts.’

‘It is a great show.'

As a present to myself I had bought the entire Succession scripts and had brought along Season one for the ride. We had loved the TV show and had talked about rewatching the entire show but this time with the subtitles but hadn’t got that far yet. 

I couldn’t contain my excitement so pulled out the hefty first book and started giggling thinking about some of the characters. It was Shakespearean and Jesse Armstrong is a genius. I started to read his intro when I noticed a familiar face in the aisle in front of us. Surely not. It can’t be. Oh, it is. I subtly whispered to Kieron, ‘It's weasel face.'

‘I can’t hear you.’

I put my head down and Kieron whispered. ‘The girl in front is looking at you like she knows you.’

‘I know. I went to school with her.’

I put my head down but occasionally looked up in the direction of her daughters. All three of them were mini weasels. 

As the plane landed, I encouraged Kieron and George to get off the plane promptly and surprisingly we were out the door and onto our taxi very quickly.

‘So the girl in front of us was weasel face from St Joseph's.'

'Weasel face?'

'Well, I know it sounds mean, but she was a nightmare. She used to deliberately cause trouble and she and her squad we’re definitely the mean girls. I can’t remember what we fought about. Probably something stupid but I know it wasn’t pleasant on the school bus home.'

As we arrived at our hotel it started snowing and we spent the next week out in nature, skiing together and eating in beautiful mountain huts. Fully restored and fully rejuvenated. All of us feeling healthy and fitter.

At the end of the week, we were picked up by a taxi and walking into the terminal at Chambery airport, was surprised to see how many people were standing around in a small space. Looking up at the boards flashing in red ‘En retarder/ delayed’

‘Oh Christ, we're retarded’ said Kieron, the peace and goodwill to all instantly sucked out of him.

‘It’ll be ok’ I said, the eternal optimist. We’re early and I’m sure the flights will catch up. What ensued was like a scene from one of those awful fly- on- the- wall documentary series, ‘worst airports’ or 'airports from hell' only it was Chambery airport with a tiny runway and a history of delays. All the things you don’t investigate when planning a holiday. 

As I heard lots of voices shouting at twenty something tour reps who were probably paid peanuts, I suggested to George and Kieron that we try and find a seat upstairs away from the heat. We found a cleanish looking space on the floor and plopped ourselves down. 

‘Drinks boys?’ I suggested in an upbeat manner.

‘Sure, I’ll have a latte.'

‘Mummy may I have a coke?’

‘No. Water?

'Ok.' 

I then had a look at the flight board for updates before heading to the bar. On entering the stuffy bar which smelt of rubber, I found myself face to face with weasel

‘Hi Cheryl, it’s Rebecca. Rebecca Vickerstaff from St Jo's.’

Pretending that she didn’t know ‘oh goodness I didn’t recognise you.’

Mmm. really? Was that a dig? Lost weight have I? ‘How are you?

She ignored my question. ‘Hi, I’m Tim, Cheryl’s husband.’

'Hi'

'Oh, yea this is my husband.'

'Hi. Nice to meet you. Well I’m not sure why we are delayed?'

'This happens every year and every year we say we’re not flying into this fucking airport.'

‘Cripes’

'Last year there was also fog and the pilot had to get sign off from the authorities to take off. The pilot made an announcement to us all saying, ‘we’ve got 10 mins to get going or I’m going to lose my license.’

‘Yikes. Yes, I think I’ll stick to Switzerland next time.’

‘Yea we did fly into Geneva last year and I just expected a bit more of everything, but it was so busy and chaotic. I expected to come back with better skin. Give me better skin Switzerland.’

Is she on crack? ‘Oh, I know, we decided to fly here as it was so close to home. When we head to Switzerland, we usually have about four train journeys the other side but it’s pleasant. They know how to run trains. They’re clean and have a restaurants car.' Why am I talking? She's clearly not listening.

‘So, are you here with your children Cheryl?

‘Yea can you believe I have an almost 21-year-old. Two are at medical school and one at prep school.'

'Amazing. How lovely.'

'Well yea but can I get them off their phones all holiday?' 

'I can imagine that’s tough.'

Conscious there may be an announcement about the flight and feeling a slightly awkward situation. ‘ I may just head back to the boys.’

‘How many boys do you have?’

‘Just the one and my big boy Kieron. Ha' Tumbleweed moment.

We wondered out into the waiting room to look at the board. George came bounding over to me and whispered, ‘Is that the girl from St Josephs?’ Concerned about what he may say next I said ‘Wait a minute darling. Mummy’s talking.’

‘Cheryl this is George and my husband Kieron.’

Silence….

Feeling awkward, I then said ‘Well it’s lovely to see you. What a small world.’

‘Talking of small worlds. There is a girl from St Joseph's who I think was in your year who teaches Floss. Floss, come over here.’

Her mini-me daughter walked over. Her mum barked ‘Floss what’s the name of your music teacher? Charlotte?’

‘I don’t know mummy. I only know them as Mrs…’

‘Charlotte Fenner? Charlotte …’ I was really struggling to think. Oh, I know Charlotte Greenaway.'

She pulled up her phone and scrolled through Facebook. Charlotte Banks.

'Aah yes, she was very musical and got on really well with Mrs Mann, the director of music.'

'Yes, I didn’t know her. She was a good girl. None of the teachers liked me.'

'Oh, didn’t they? Why?'

'Urgh..maybe the fish heads in the staff room?

'What? That’s hilarious. When did that happen? How do I not remember that?'

'You were a good girl.'

'I guess so. I wasn’t happy at school, but I just got my head down and tried to get through it. It wasn’t a kind environment. When I changed school, it was such a shock to suddenly be in such a nice environment compared to being taught my all those nuns.'

'One of them was very sexual. Do you remember? Sister dementia?'

Smiling I said ‘Sister Dolores. Oh yes, I heard she ran off with a priest.’

‘Jeez I just think about what our girls experience now. They all clap for each other when someone has done something kind. I have no idea why my mum didn’t pull me out of St Jo's. I was always getting into trouble. At parent- teacher meetings they used to say, ‘Cheryl is 29/30 in all aspects of school life.’

Oh, jeez that’s so harsh.’

‘They were just very dismissive. If the teachers didn’t like you, you were screwed.’

‘I used to find that with sport. If you weren’t amazing, you were dismissed.’

‘It’s so young to dismiss a child’

‘Indeed. Right, I’ll let you go back to your girls.’

‘They won’t notice. They’re completely hooked on their devices.’

‘Ha! Lovely to see you!’

No response.

Cheryl walked off and sat at the far end of the room. Not sure if deliberate.

I turned to Kieron and said, ‘Well that was weird.’

In his usual honest way, he said ‘mmm, maybe you should have just blanked each other? It looked a bit stilted from where I was standing.'

'True but you think after all this time, we could at least be civil?'