The Trials of Tiffany Trott by Isabel Wolff

Author:Isabel Wolff
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub, mobi
Tags: Romance, Fiction, General
ISBN: 9780451408884
Publisher: Onyx Books
Published: 1999-08-01T23:00:00+00:00

December

Canned carols. Hateful holly. Crass cards. Grotty grottoes. Miserable mistletoe. Tedious, tawdry tinsel. Effing fairy on top of the evergreen, plastic tree. Santa and Rufus and sleighbells going ring ting ling a ling, ring ting ling a ling ling! Gosh I love Christmas! The Salvation Army band. Piping choristers with apple-cheeks and crisp, pleated ruffs. Sitting by a blazing log fire with the man of your dreams, joking and laughing and … oh God oh God oh God – it’s that time of year again. The Bleak Midwinter. Jingle Bells. Such a wonderful time for us Single Belles. Deck the Halls with Boughs of Holly, tra la la la la – tra la la la! ‘Tis the Season to be Jolly Pissed Off, actually. And, of course, Christmas is all about babies, isn’t it? Being ‘in the sixth month’ and all that, swaddling clothes and cribs and all the rest of it, and then giving birth in some sub-NHS middle-eastern manger with a steady stream of concerned visitors.

Siii-lent Night. Ho-ooly Night, droned Bing Crosby in Selfridges today. And the annoying thing was – I mean talk about the potency of cheap music – but the annoying thing was that it really got to me. I tried not to let it, but it did. In fact, it was extremely embarrassing.

‘Why are you crying, Tiffany?’ Alice demanded as we stood in the queue for Father Christmas on the fourth floor.

‘DON’T ask her THAT,’ shouted Amy. ‘Tiffany’s CRYING because SHE’S NOT MARRIED. She HASN’T got a HUSBAND. She hasn’t EVEN got a BOYFRIEND. THAT’S her PROBLEM.’

‘I am not crying because of that,’ I said indignantly, whilst wondering what on earth Lizzie said about me to the girls when I wasn’t there. ‘I’m simply crying because I’ve got some dust trapped under my contact lenses, that’s all.’

‘Of course you have, Tiffany,’ said Lizzie handing me a tissue. ‘OK Alice and Amy – don’t forget, one request only.’

‘Oh Mummy,’ they wailed.

‘Last year they asked for sixty-three things each,’ she said. ‘It was hideously embarrassing. They’d brought a list and refused to leave until they’d got to the end of it. I had to drag them out. Hope it’s not the same man this year. And if he attempts to sit either of them on his knee,’ she added fiercely, ‘I’m suing.’

‘Look, I’ll wait outside,’ I said. ‘There’s no need for me to come in too.’ I wandered down to Menswear to get a tie for Dad. I looked through all the different makes. Dunhill, that might do. Lanvin – lovely, but a bit flash for him. Yves St Laurent – not quite his thing. Ralph Lauren … Ralph Lauren … that reminded me. It reminded me of the time I bought Phillip a silk tie from Thomas Pink. It was rather nice, silvery-grey with a scattering of tiny scarlet motifs. It wasn’t for his birthday or for Christmas. It was just a present. And I felt quite shy about giving it to him because I

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