Confessions of a Reluctant Recessionista

and ‘ Tim and Susan, 28 happy years ’ underneath in pink. From there we went to the dry cleaner’s to fetch Mike’s ‘good’ suit, to the florist’s to pick up the fifteen floral centrepieces (it’s a good thing Celia drives an Espace), and from there to the school to pick Tom up from karate. We drove him home for a hurriedly devoured sandwich, after which he too was left with Jo.
    ‘All right then, we’d best get over to the Holiday Inn and start getting everything ready,’ Celia said as we drove off, waving goodbye to a tearful Rosie who isn’t used to spending quite so much time apart from Mummy.
    ‘Yeah,’ I said slowly, wondering if I should have broken the news about the present to Celia when she wasn’t behind the wheel of a large, fast-moving vehicle. ‘The thing is, Cee, I sort of forgot, you know, there was so much going on at work this week and worries with Dan and everything and …’
    ‘You forgot what?’
    ‘The present.’
    After several minutes of screeched expressions of disbelief, Celia finally executed a furious and dangerous U-turn and we headed back into town to Peacocks, the local department store.
    ‘You have twenty minutes,’ Celia hissed at me, ‘to find something decent and pay for it. I cannot believe you have done this, Cassandra. Today of all days.’ Shopping, needless to say, was a fraught experience, made all the worse by the fact that everything I selected was dismissed by my sister as overpriced and useless.
    ‘What on earth would they do with a hurricane lamp? We don’t get many hurricanes around here, and in any case, they never burn candles except on birthdays.’ The set of Georg Jensen silver leaf bowls was also rejected out of hand, as was a beautiful purple and turquoise glass platter. Eventually, muchagainst my will, I was persuaded to purchase a Mini Chopper food processor which, Celia insisted, Mum had been hankering after for some time.
    ‘Not much of a gift for Dad though, is it?’ I objected.
    ‘Of course it is,’ she said crossly. ‘Mum makes the food and Dad eats it, so they both benefit.’ Too cowed to argue, I got out my credit card and went to the till. Fortunately they offered a gift-wrapping service in-store, so all I needed then was a card. I picked out something bland and unmemorable from the stationery shop next door.
    By the time we got to the Holiday Inn, Celia was in a vile temper.
    ‘We’re an hour behind schedule,’ she snapped at me as she slammed the door of the car and marched around to the boot. ‘By now we should have …’ she fished a list out of her handbag, ‘… arranged and set tables, put up the “Congratulations” banner and decorated the memory tree.’
    ‘The what tree?’ I asked as she shoved a box full of baubles into my arms.
    ‘Memory tree. It’s like a Christmas tree, only decorated with mementoes from Mum and Dad’s past. Their wedding invitation, honeymoon pictures, stuff like that.’
    Despite myself, I raised my eyes to the heavens. Big mistake.
    ‘Don’t roll your eyes at me, Cassandra,’ she screeched at me. ‘It’s a lovely idea. And if it doesn’tturn out perfectly it will be all your fault.’
    The decorating went relatively smoothly, but unfortunately, final preparations for my parents’ arrival were marred ever so slightly by me knocking over a table laden with canapés just as Mum and Dad were due to show up. In front of the assembled guests, Celia went into apoplexy.
    ‘Cassie!’ she hissed at me as I crawled around on the carpet, picking up sausage rolls. ‘What on earth are you doing?’
    ‘I’m sorry,’ I huffed back at her. ‘It wasn’t like I did it on purpose.’ Tom and Rosie, who had just arrived with their dad, had joined me on the carpet. Tom grabbed a handful of mini chicken kievs and lobbed them at his sister, who shrieked with delight, prompting their irate mother to grab each child by an arm and drag them to their feet.
    ‘I told you not to have that second glass of wine,’ Celia snapped at me. ‘You’re drunk already. Honestly.’
    I was just about to launch into a riposte about my legendary capacity to hold my liquor when my parents marched proudly through the door to be greeted by the sight of their warring daughters and howling grandchildren. It wasn’t quite the welcome Celia had planned.
    Fortunately, that was the low point of the evening. Things got a great deal better from then on. My parents, decked out in what my mother might term their