Four Christmases and a Secret

by Zara Stoneley

  ‘Anyway, enough about us, I’ll be embarrassing your father if I’m not careful.’

  ‘What about me!?’

  ‘Oh, at your age you must have heard it all before! Now, so if you’re not keen on Frankie, are you and Ollie an item yet then? You do live together!’ She ignores the fact that he has just walked up and is standing right next to her. He has a bottle of something in his hand. I shove my glass out for a refill, right now I don’t care what it is as long as it is not alcohol-free. ‘He’s free isn’t he? You are, aren’t you? Well isn’t this lovely?’ I don’t know whether it’s the drink that’s lovely, or the prospect of matchmaking. She lets him top her glass up as well. I hope it’s something strong. ‘Vera says that the Juliet girl is after him again, went to their house she did looking for him!’

  ‘She didn’t?’ Ollie looks shocked, and slightly annoyed.

  ‘Oh, she did, didn’t she Vera?’ Vera who was passing by on her way to the buffet is stopped in her tracks and dragged into the conversation. ‘The Juliet girl? What on earth is this, it’s rather delicious, Ollie! Aren’t you clever!’

  ‘Rhubarb and ginger gin liqueur with Prosecco. I didn’t make it, Terence did.’ Ollie frowns. ‘Why did—’

  ‘Rhubarb? Good heaven’s and there was me telling your father to rip ours out of the garden. It’s unsightly you know.’ Vera looks at Mum, who nods.

  ‘Very, wild, you can’t stop rhubarb when it’s on the rampage!’

  ‘Mum, why—’ Ollie is looking a little bit impatient and flustered.

  ‘I wonder how difficult it is to make this, it can’t be worse than jam can it?’ Vera knocks the rest of her glass back, and my mother sips hers thoughtfully.

  ‘Well it doesn’t have to set, does it? Pectin can be such a problem, that’s why it won’t set you know according to an article I read in the paper. Jam not gin, that is. So, last time I boiled mine up again, added a whole packet of pectin and it was still wobblier than a jelly on a bicycle. I was at it for three hours, added the whole box of the stuff and then Stuart turned round and asked why I didn’t just buy a jar! Honestly!’ She pauses to draw breath. ‘Do you think you have to buy that proper knobbly ginger?’

  ‘Mum, Juliet! Why did she come to your house, you never told me!’

  Vera blinks. ‘Don’t shout, Oliver dear. She wanted some ideas for your Christmas present!’Then she squeezes his hand, ‘don’t worry darling, I didn’t tell her about your obsession with flying toys.’

  ‘Flying toys?’ I think this gin stuff is working, I have instantly forgotten about my mother’s match-making attempts and want to know more. This is a side to Ollie I did not know about!

  ‘It’s a drone, Mum!’ He blushes, does an eye roll and looks incredibly little-boyish, not at all serious consultant. I want to hug him. ‘And I’ve only got one, it’s not an obsession!’

  ‘And I certainly didn’t tell him about your crush on that Lara Croft girl!’

  I start to giggle, I can’t help myself. After the last few heavy days at work, I think I’m slightly hysterical. ‘Lara Croft?’

  He is even more embarrassed now, and the desire to hug him is even stronger, so I grab a handful of cheese straws instead.

  ‘That was years ago, Mother!’

  ‘He had a poster!’ She says in a confidential whisper that everybody can hear.

  ‘Can we talk about my career or something instead?’ says Ollie. ‘I like talking about my career!’

  This party is turning out to be the best Christmas Eve party ever!

  Vera and Mum seem to have joined forces rather than competing (Mum has probably given up and decided she can never win). It just seems so much more chilled than the last few, but maybe that’s because I’m more chilled. I’m enjoying myself.

  ‘Daisy had a poster of that Poldark character!’ Adds my mother, ‘and that was only last year!’

  ‘It was at least five years ago!’ I give her the evil eye, but she just laughs.

  ‘Ah but he did have such a glorious scythe!’ Uncle T pats my shoulder. ‘Mulled wine anybody?’

  Much later, as my feet begin to ache from the standing, and my face starts to ache from all the laughter, I catch up with Stanley who has discovered my favourite bookish corner and is curled up with a cuddly reindeer which I am sure Terence must have given him.

  He has already chewed both antlers off and pulled its squeak out. But he looks so contented wrapped around it, a little bit of brown felt sticking out from the corner of his mouth.

  I sit on the chair next to him and he clambers onto my knee, as the classical string trio in the corner play the most amazing renditions of Christmas tunes ever. This is Uncle Terence’s latest surprise, he’s really pushed the boat out this year – with live music. And it is beautiful. They’ve gone from ‘White Christmas’ to ‘Silent night’ to ‘Last Christmas’ effortlessly and now a few people are even dancing on the mini patch of floor space between ‘Fantasy fiction’ and ‘Self-help’.

  ‘Help me!’ At least I think that is what poor Ollie has just mouthed at me. I smile back at him contentedly, too warm and comfortable to do more.

  My mum has him in a firm grasp. She spins him round, rather inappropriately I’d say, given that we’ve just switched from a rather lively ‘I Wish it Could Be Christmas Every Day’ to the much gentler ‘Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas’, before grabbing his hand as though she’s about to charge down the centre of the shop. Instead, she loses her balance, treads on his toes and sends him careering backwards into a pile of books. Before landing on top of him. I can hear the oomph as all of the air is expelled from his lungs.

  There is a crash. The hum of conversation stops, but the music continues after the very slightest of hitches. The shoulders of the violinist closest to me are shaking, I think she’s trying not to laugh.

  ‘Oh goodness gracious me, this is fun!’ Mum is on her hands and knees staring down at Ollie. She is looking at him like Stanley looks at me in bed, before he tries to French kiss me. I hope Mum isn’t about to do that to Ollie.

  She doesn’t. She straightens the tinsel she has tied around her head. I’m beginning to wonder what Terence put in the mulled wine this year, she is rather flushed. ‘Oh look! I’ve always wanted to fondle Rupert Campbell Black’s bottom!’

  For a moment my heart is in my mouth as she reaches down, and I have visions of her turning Ollie over, and debagging him so she can check for pimples.

  Instead after a heart-stopping moment when she is nose-to-nose with him, and even from this distance I can see panic in his eyes, she straightens up and waves something triumphantly in the air.

  Phew.

  ‘Haven’t we all!’ Says Vera, bending down beside her.

  She picks up a book from the collapsed pile, which appears to be some rather racy Jilly Cooper novels.

  That’s the thing with Uncle T and this place, it’s full of surprises. You never know what you’ll find around the next corner.

  They both stroke the covers of the books they are holding.

  ‘Something tells me I should have stocked up on hangover cures!’ Says a voice in my ear. It is my dad, seldom seen out in the open at these parties – he has his own favourite nooks to hide in. ‘Are you having a good time, darling?’

  ‘Perfect thanks, Dad! All ready for tomorrow?’

  ‘Well we were, I think. Not sure your mum will be up to boiling sprouts if she carries on much longer. I think it’s time maybe we made a move.’

  ‘You could be right, Dad.’ We share a smile. I guess I’ve always been a bit of a daddy’s girl. He’s never been particularly touchy-feely, but he’s been a quiet steadying figure in the background. I’ve always known he’s been there for me if I need him. ‘Lovely to see you so happy, Daisy.’ His arm is round my shoulders, and he squeezes then kisses my forehead.

  ‘Oh Stuart, come and dance, they’re playing our tune!’ Mum is still grasping Rupert to her chest but is now swinging her hips suggestively in time to ‘Fros
ty the Snowman’ and beckoning him with one finger even more suggestively.

  ‘Your tune?’ I raise an eyebrow.

  ‘It’s not, honestly!’ He takes a step forward, smiling at her. They’re so different, but they love each other for the differences. I watch them for a second, then sidle over to Ollie – who is busy reassembling Jilly Cooper and looking rather flushed. I straighten his hair, I can’t help myself. I’ve never seen him looking so dishevelled and flustered.

  ‘Vera?’ Uncle Terence offers her his hand, and she hands me her copy of the book before kissing him on the cheek and joining him.

  I’ve never seen Uncle Terence dance before, but with Vera in his arms he looks a natural. They’re cheek to cheek, and both of them have soft, dreamy smiles on their face. Her eyes are shut as she moves to the music, and they look like a couple from the movies. Elegant, graceful, perfectly in tune with each other.

  I’m distracted as Dad steers Mum our way. He’s had enough, he never was very keen on dancing, but he’d do anything for her. ‘We’re off darling.’

  ‘Oh, we are, early to bed you know!’ Mum grins at me, mischief dancing in her eyes. ‘Ding, dong, merrily on high and all that!’ Then she lurches forward to kiss me. ‘You should try it! I bet Ollie is game, aren’t you?’

  ‘Mum!’ I think I am now the colour of a well-cooked beetroot. Luckily Ollie is still busy crouched on the floor with the books and hasn’t heard.

  ‘See you bright and early tomorrow!’ She winks in a very leery and lopsided way. ‘Maybe!’

  ‘Yes, Mum. Good luck, Dad!’

  Phew, I feel exhausted. All I want to do is sink down into my favourite corner and watch the world go by. And maybe catch up on a little bit of reading.

  There are many lovely spots in the shop, but the little nook I’ve left Stanley in has always been the best, and Uncle T has made sure it is today as well. Nothing over the top, just tasteful swags of holly and berries, clove studded oranges hanging from the shelves that fill the air with the perfect Christmas smell.

  I’ve just taken a step back in that direction when my arm is grasped very firmly.

  ‘Daisy, darling!’ It is my mum.

  ‘I thought you’d gone?’

  ‘Oh, my goodness, I am going to, I’m worn out!’ That makes two of us, but I really feel that as I’m one of the younger partiers I need to stick this out a bit longer. ‘But come on, come on darling, don’t sit with the boring books and be a grump, join in, promise me! It’s Santa Baby, I do love a bit of Eartha Kitt, don’t you? Oh, yes, yes, Stuart I’m coming! Oliver? Ollie, over here! Daisy needs you!’

  He dusts his knees off, waves her goodbye and makes his way over, an enquiring look on his face.

  ‘You need me?’

  ‘No, I don’t.’ I bite my tongue, to stop myself mentioning Juliet.

  ‘But …’

  ‘Well, maybe I do.’ He’s here, in front of me, and I would rather like to join in and have a dance. Because this party has been too good to end without one. And I do actually like a bit of naughty Eartha Kitt. And it can’t do any harm. And books can wait for another day.

  ‘You do?’

  ‘Well I’d look bloody silly dancing on my own, wouldn’t I?’

  ‘Ah, using and abusing again, eh?’

  ‘In your dreams, Joseph. Come on!’

  So he does. He offers his hand, Uncle Terence style. And Terence smiles at me over Vera’s head as we find a small space in a dark corner next to the musicians.

  ‘Happy?’

  ‘Very.’

  Then he moves in slightly closer and I can’t help it, I respond. It’s automatic, I can’t stop myself from slipping my arms round his neck, though I do bury my face in his shoulder so that I don’t have to meet his gaze.

  I am so totally aware of every inch of his body, it’s weird.

  He smells clean, spicy. I can even smell a hint of whisky on his breath, and his jacket smells of holly and evergreens, the greenery he’s no doubt brushed against as he’s sorted the pile of books out.

  His arms are so warm against my back it’s as though there’s no fabric between us. Skin on skin, a thought which makes me shiver.

  ‘Cold?’

  ‘Oh no, I—’ I make the mistake of glancing up as I answer, and then I’m lost.

  I never believed that this really happened to people.

  That you could look into somebody’s eyes and see only them. That the rest of the world faded away, the sounds receded. Only their heartbeat, their breath, their look existed.

  His lips meet mine and my eyes close. I don’t consciously close them, it just happens. I can taste the whisky now, taste the spice of mulled wine, the fruit of mince pies, and then I can taste only him.

  ‘Shit, sorry.’

  The tune has changed, and he’s pulled away. And I’m glowing redder than ever and he’s blinking as though he’s just come to. ‘Christ, Daisy, I’m, I know, well, er, bit embarrassing.’ We both look round wildly. But the only eye I catch is Uncle Terence’s. Nobody else is looking our way.

  And Terence just looks thoughtful, as though he’s got other things on his mind.

  And then he falls to the floor.

  It’s in slow motion at first, a waiver, a slow, slow spin, then a sudden heavy clunk. Abrupt. Frightening.

  ‘Terence! Oh God, help him, somebody.’

  It takes me a minute to realise it isn’t my voice, I haven’t had time to say the words. It’s Vera, high pitched and frightened. ‘Terence, Terence, darling.’ She’s on her hands and knees beside him, stroking his face, shaking him gently.

  ‘Mum, mum, stop. Go and call an ambulance.’ Ollie is there almost before I realise he’s left my side. ‘Give him some space.’ All I can do is watch, my hand to my throat, every last bit of Christmas cheer evaporating into the air and away as though it never existed.

  Chapter 20

  6p.m., 28 December

  Uncle Terence looks so pale and small in the big hospital bed that for a moment I’m not sure it’s him. Stripped of his peacock finery – the colourful waistcoat, the bowtie, the cheery smile he just looks like an old man.

  I’d never thought about just how old he was, his age hadn’t seemed to matter. Logically I knew he had to be around the same age as my parents, as Ollie’s. But he was different and always seemed so full of energy and life. I’d never thought for one second about one day losing him.

  Uncle Terence isn’t even my uncle, but I’m closer to him than to most of my own relatives. What do they say about being able to pick your friends and not family? Well, Uncle T is honorary family, and I’d have picked him any day of the week.

  ‘Sit down, sit down dear. I always imagined this moment as rather different. The whole family gathered around my bed, clutching my hands, sharing fond memories. Rather over-inflated opinion of myself, don’t you think?’ His eyes open and he winks at me.

  ‘That’s on your death bed Uncle T, I’m just stopping by to visit.’

  ‘Oh, well that explains it. Consultant not declared I’m about to expire then?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘Wonderful.’ He coughs. ‘I was beginning to wonder seeing as they wouldn’t let me out! I do hope you haven’t brought grapes? Look at the bloody things.’ He waves a hand to encompass the bedside cabinet, and the table at the foot of the bed. ‘Fruit is no good to anybody, until it’s fermented! Wine, whisky and women have always been more to my taste, and a spot of good literature.’

  ‘Well, I could bring you some books, but I’m not so sure about all the W’s.’

  ‘Oh bugger.’ He manages to put on such a sad, morose face, I laugh. He’s obviously feeling much better than he looks.

  I had been planning on popping in to see Uncle T tomorrow and attending the after-Christmas work’s bash at my office tonight, until Ollie had rung just as I was gazing at my wardrobe and trying to decide what to wear.

  ‘Couldn’t do me a favour, could you?’ He’d said.

  Ollie has
never asked me for a favour, so it must be serious. ‘Sure, if I can.’ I am tempted to wear my little black dress, but that is just boring. I shift the hangers along, only half-listening. Sasha has told me to let my true character shine though, but as I think that involves wellingtons, a big jumper and hair that hasn’t seen straighteners for a while maybe not. I need to find my inner true professional character. If I have such a thing.

  ‘It’s Uncle T. I’m concerned.’

  ‘Oh.’ I stop shifting clothes around for two reasons. One, Uncle T, because he’s important to me and he’s still ill, and two because Ollie is concerned. He’s only ever concerned when people are really ill (he’s used to distinguishing between the stuff that might not be nice but is easily got over, and the real stuff). I sit on the bed. ‘Is he okay?’

  ‘Medically he should be, but he’s really low.’ He pauses. ‘Mum was quite upset when she got back from visiting him this afternoon, she was agitated. It’s not like her.’

  It’s not. Vera is not an ‘agitated’ type of person. She’s like Ollie; sensible and grounded, able to find the positives and not get het up and overreact. Like I do.

  ‘I can’t get away from this conference unless it’s an emergency, so I was wondering if you could pop in, cheer him up?’

  ‘Of course, I can! Er, now?’

  ‘It would be good, if it’s not too much trouble?’

  ‘Of course, it’s not.’

  ‘I mean, if you’ve got anything on, don’t worry.’

  ‘Nothing on at all.’ I shut the wardrobe door. ‘I’m on my way. I’ll give you an update later!’

  ‘You’re a star!’

  I quite like being a star. It’s making me feel all warm inside. But I also quite like being able to repay Uncle Terence in some, however small, way.

  After all he has done for me, no way can I let him down if he needs me now. And there will always be another office bash, won’t there?

  So here I am, bearing sweets and smiles. But luckily no soft fruit.

  ‘I was rather hoping that I’d die full of good whisky and in flagrante with Stella from the Bull’s Head, or a much younger wife.’ Says Uncle T, shaking his head.