Confessions of a Reluctant Recessionista

guilty about using Jude as my example. She was not ‘just fine’ all the months that Matt was away; I remembered quite clearly her watching news reports from foreign countries with mounting alarm. I knew it had been hard for her. I also knew that she’d been able to cope with it because:
    a) they shared the same ideals, and
    b) Jude knew Matt was the one.
    Much as I adored him, I wasn’t entirely sure I could say the same about Jake.
    For all my irritation with Celia, the evening was a success. My parents adored Jake and they were delighted with my attempts at domesticity, as well as my enthusiasm for my new job. And my job did have many fringe benefits. One of the myriad advantages of working for a wine company was that it made gift giving fairly simple. Everyone I knew (everyone over the age of eighteen, anyway) got Vintage Organics vouchers for Christmas. The kids were a little more challenging, but shopping for them was the most enjoyable retail experience I’d had in a long while. Tom got a drum kit (it was expensive, but the look on Celia’s face when he unwrapped it was priceless), Rosie got a bright pink tricycle and Monty got a Thomas the Tank Engine.
    I spent Christmas Eve at Mum and Dad’s, Christmas Day at Celia’s and Boxing Day with Ali and her dad back in London. As she had predicted, although he was initially absolutely furious about the fact that she’d got herself ‘into trouble’ with ‘some bloody frog’, he was also incredibly excited about the prospect of becoming a grandfather.
    New Year’s Eve, ordinarily spent in a champagne blur with City pals, was looking set to be a non-event this year. Everyone else had made alternative arrangements. Including Jake.
    ‘I’m really sorry, Cass,’ he said, ‘but I’m going to be in Manchester with my brother. We organised it a while ago – he and a bunch of his mates are going clubbing and they invited me along – he’d be really disappointed if I backed out now.’ I was completely gutted, but determined not to show it.
    ‘That’s fine, Jake. It’s absolutely fine,’ I said, breezily. ‘I’ll spend New Year with Ali and Jude.’ I didn’t tell him that Ali was going to be in the Maldives (her last opportunity for a real holiday before the baby came) and that Jude was going to be in Edinburgh with Matt (who was paying one of his flying visits to the UK) and a group of their friends. I didn’t want to make him feel bad.
    ‘Are you sure?’
    ‘Of course,’ I said, wondering whether spending New Year alone in my flat would be preferable to spending it with Celia and Michael, which was really my only other option this late in the day.
    I decided that it would be a) a bit sad and b) not very kind to do nothing in preference to accepting my sister’s invitation, so on the thirtieth I packed some things and headed off to King’s Cross to get the train. Jake rang just as I was leaving the house.
    ‘You off to the station now?’ he asked.
    ‘Yeah,’ I said, not terribly enthusiastically. ‘Celia’s picking me up at the other end.’ I’d had to admit to him that I was spending New Year with my sister since Jude had told him she was out of London and Ali had announced her Maldives plans on Facebook.
    ‘Don’t sound so glum,’ he said. ‘I’m sure it’ll be fun.’
    ‘I’m sure it’ll be a hoot. I’ll give you a call when I get there, OK? Have a lovely time,’ I said, congratulating myself on being such an incredibly sweet and easygoing girlfriend.
    Killing time while waiting for the train, I had just purchased a couple of magazines for the journey and was heading over to Starbucks to pick up a latte when someone grabbed me from behind. I shrieked and flung my elbow back, whacking my assailant in the face.
    ‘Bloody hell, Cassie!’ Jake yelped, clutching his bleeding nose.
    ‘Oh, my God! Oh, my God! I’m so sorry,’ I said, fishing around in my bag for something to stem the blood flow. ‘What the hell are you doing sneaking up on me like that? Oh, God, have I broken it?’
    ‘I don’t think so,’ he said, dabbing at it gingerly. ‘Christ, remind me never to piss you off.’
    ‘Are you all right, miss?’ A member of the British Transport Police had appeared at my elbow. ‘Is this man bothering you?’ I looked around – we’d attracted quite a crowd of onlookers.
    ‘No, I’m fine. It was a misunderstanding. This is my boyfriend,’ I explained. The policeman looked sceptical. ‘Honestly, he is my