As I walk round the department store, Christmas shopping list in one hand, bulging basket of presents for my in-laws in the other, my phone pings with a notification to say I’ve gone overdrawn. Again.
I’m £550 in the red.
I sigh and think furiously of my husband, Rick*, who probably hasn’t bought a single present and yet earns five times as much as me.
Since we have separate bank accounts, he also remains blissfully ignorant about my precarious financial circumstances.
Why separate, you might ask, if you’re married and a team?
The answer is it’s an arrangement that suited us both years ago when we first got together in our 20s, and we just haven’t changed it.
And yet, I think, as I carry on juggling the mental – and financial – load of Christmas, it clearly doesn’t work now we’re in our 40s and share three children. Certainly not at this time of year.
As a self-employed writer my income varies month to month, whereas my husband is a partner in a financial firm with a very tidy six-figure salary to match. He’s on about £150,000, whereas I’m closer to £30,000 – less than the average annual salary of £38,100.
We have quite a traditional arrangement as far as money goes. He covers the mortgage and bills and I pay for the children’s outgoings, plus days out and fun stuff – clothes, uniforms, dinners, school trips and so on. We both do food shopping depending on who’s got the time.
But it’s December – with its presents for all the family, its Secret Santas, tickets for the festive lights trail, Christmas jumpers, the wreath for the door, a new tree, and on and on – that always leaves me cursing the way we do it. And sometimes him, too.
For although his expenses have risen (our mortgage has gone up by £500 a month this year), Christmas outgoings are truly soaring.
A recent survey by the charity Family Action found that more than half of parents (55 per cent) said they would struggle to buy presents this Christmas and almost half (49 per cent) would feel as though they had failed if they couldn’t buy all the presents their kids asked for.
I know we are considerably better off than most when you combine our joint salaries. I’m not asking you to play me anything except the tiniest of violins.
But can you guess who ends up sorting out the bulk of the Christmas presents for not just our children – a pre-teen and two teenagers – but for my in-laws too? And all on my below-average salary. Bah humbug.
I’ve already bought a brooch for my mother-in-law (£45) and some lovely scented candles for my sister-in-laws (£70), and spent a small fortune in Sephora for my nieces. I’ve got a football book, a new designer hoodie and some obscure Xbox game for our eldest, which has set me back more than £150. I’ve shelled out more than £100 on Taylor Swift merchandise, stationery and hair products for our youngest, too.
But I haven’t finished with the kids yet, and I haven’t bought Rick’s present, either. He’s still wearing the Barbour jumper I got him from Bicester Village last year. I might get a gilet or shirt to go with it.
Our present-giving has never been especially romantic – he once gifted me a year’s road-tax payment.
I have tried to discuss this imbalance with him and asked him for a contribution.
‘I’m £250 down after buying presents for the children and your family,’ I tell him. Notice I’m not exactly honest with the figures here. ‘Are you OK to give me a top-up?’
He keeps saying that he will transfer some money into my account, but it has yet to arrive. He has been away on a work trip and I am reluctant to keep asking, but the longer I leave it, the more the resentment builds up.
The last time we tried to talk about money, we ended up in a big argument. You see, our youngest started private school in September, so my husband says that by the time he’s paid the fees (around £8,000 per term) there’s really nothing much left over each month.
I know. Tiny violin time again. If she’d passed the 11-plus exam like her siblings she would be at the same grammar school as them, but she didn’t, so we made the decision to go private.
So I do, to some extent, have to suck it up and try my best to budget.
I bought half of her uniform second-hand, for example – though it still cost £500.
Private school comes with added Christmas costs, of course. State secondary-school teachers don’t expect gifts, but I’m told private ones do, and that a Baylis & Harding candle doesn’t really cut it.
One parent has already bought the form teacher an expensive set from Charlotte Tilbury, and another a cashmere scarf.
Then there’s my daughter’s dress for the school Christmas ball. I was hoping to get one from Vinted or New Look but have instead shelled out more than £90 on a Monsoon number and new shoes.
Rick would tell me this is frivolous, which is his go-to word when it comes to my spending in general.
Meanwhile, I think he’s stingy. I shop at Sainsbury’s and Waitrose and he goes to Aldi. I usually meet friends for drinks or dinner once or twice a week, whereas he is quite happy to stay at home. I love fine wine and he’ll buy much cheaper beer, and so on.
For Christmas lunch, he will get the turkey (from Aldi) and a case of Cremant (also from Aldi) while I do the rest. Christmas isn’t Christmas without brandy butter and mince pies (from Waitrose), or top-quality goose fat and high-end crisps (from the local farm shop), is it?
The truth is, deep down, I know he’s much more responsible than I am. He’s the one who is building a pension pot we can both hopefully live off (although I have a small one, too).
I think this is why I’ve never pushed the joint bank account issue. Not being held accountable for what I spend has its upsides.
Thank goodness I’m not married to someone as frivolous as me. We’d probably be hideously in debt – by far more than my £550.
And so, with reluctance, I’ve decided to take a leaf out of his book and tighten my belt this year. Many families are in the same boat, and many are without an income that’s anything like ours.
Cheesy as it sounds, a happy family Christmas isn’t about what’s under the tree, but the people around it.
Now what should I cut from this present list? The teens have been asking for some disco lights for months, and that would be a lot of fun. Oh, and I can’t resist the Jellycat teddies they also want, even though I winced when I saw the price.
Obviously I can’t cut the stocking fillers, though that’ll add up faster than the Cremant will go flat.
It’ll just have to be Rick’s gilet or shirt. I wonder whether Aldi does a menswear range…
Jane Sharp is a pseudonym. Names and identifying details have been changed
