by Tom Ellen
‘You specifically went out of your way to get a slightly more expensive bottle?’
‘Yeah.’ I take it out and show her. ‘You said the one you bought was forty quid. This one was forty ninety-nine. It’s a symbolic gesture. To show how sorry I am for drinking it.’
‘Mmm. Ninety-nine pee’s worth of apology. Nice.’ She turns her attention back to chopping potatoes, but I can sense the frost in the air beginning to thaw.
I begin unpacking the bags, and as I dump the items on the counter, Daff reaches immediately for the tube of sour cream and chive Pringles. She pops it open and scoops out a fistful.
‘Oi! Those are supposed to be for everyone.’
She scrunches her nose up and raises a hand to her brow. ‘My head hurts, I need carbs,’ she mutters, packing her mouth with crisps.
‘I knew it!’ I laugh. ‘You are hung-over!’
She smiles, and covers her mouth to prevent Pringle detritus spilling out. ‘Well, I’m surprised you’re not too,’ she says. ‘To be honest, you seem weirdly sprightly for someone who drank a whole bottle of wine last night.’
‘I feel weirdly sprightly.’
I’m well aware that I’m behaving oddly – in that I’m not being a sulky, uncooperative douche – but I can’t help it. I feel almost childishly excited. The last time I can remember experiencing this kind of nervous, tingly anticipation was on Christmas Day when I was a kid. That infectious sense of knowing that the next few hours would bring nothing but good things.
I’ve spent the past few days constantly retracing old steps, and even though surprises have popped up along the way, I’ve always known roughly what was coming. Now, though, I have absolutely no idea. And it feels brilliant. Like I’ve been given a second chance. A blank slate.
I’m still having to fight the urge to tell Daphne how much I’ve changed, to promise her that things will be better from now on. But she’s right: the first thing we need to do is get through today. Then, tomorrow, I can focus on rebuilding our relationship – being the kind of husband she deserves.
I finish unpacking the bags. ‘Right. Shopping’s done, turkey’s in, veg are simmering.’ I clap my hands together. ‘What else can I do?’
Daff gives me the same look she’s been giving me all morning; half pleased, half mildly bewildered. I am so different from the sullen grump she left at home last night that I wouldn’t blame her for suspecting that some sort of Invasion of the Body Snatchers scenario had taken place.
‘Well … You can give the table a wipe if you want,’ she suggests. ‘And then maybe hoover the living room?’
‘On it.’ I grab a cloth from the sink and start cleaning the table while Daff stirs the veg. She’s listening to the radio on her laptop, and the opening violin strains of ‘Gangsta’s Paradise’ by Coolio suddenly ring out.
‘Oh, what a tune,’ she says, through another mouthful of Pringles. Her fingers are coated with crisp dust, so she has to tap the volume up with her knuckles.
‘A classic,’ I say, nodding to the beat.
‘I think I still know all the words to this.’ She shakes her head. ‘What a depressing use of brain space.’
‘Go on then,’ I say.
‘What?’
‘If you know all the words …’
She laughs and turns around to face me, and we are suddenly rapping Coolio’s lyrics back and forth at each other, striking increasingly ridiculous poses with the oven gloves and the J-cloth.
At some point during the second verse, I’m seized by a rush of love so overwhelming that before I know it, I’m bolting across the room to wrap my arms around her.
She laughs into my chest. ‘Oi. You cut me off mid-flow.’
‘Sorry, it was just too much.’
‘Told you I knew the words. I think I would make a great rapper, actually.’
‘You really would. It’s not too late. You should quit your job and go for it.’
I hug her tighter, and rest my chin on the top of her head. For a second, there’s only the sound of water bubbling and the turkey sizzling and spitting in the oven.
And then Daff murmurs, ‘I’ve missed this.’
‘What?’
‘This. Us. Just … being stupid. Having fun together.’
‘Me too,’ I say. I lean down and kiss her on the lips. The kind of kiss we had in the maze. The kind of kiss I haven’t given her – in the present – for years. ‘Things are going to change, Daff,’ I whisper. ‘I promise. I’m going to change.’
She laughs softly. ‘What the hell happened last night? Did Harv give you a pep talk or something?’
I shake my head. I suddenly want to come out with it – tell her about everything I’ve just been through. But I know how utterly insane it will sound, and I don’t want to risk ruining things just when they’re starting to get better.
So all I say is: ‘Nothing happened. It’s just that before you left for that party last night, I felt like things were really bad between us.’ She looks down at the floor, and I take this as agreement. ‘I guess they’ve been bad for a while now,’ I continue. ‘It’s all my fault, I know it is, and I’m so sorry. But honestly, Daff, I really feel like I’ve figured things out. I’m going to be less crap from now on, I promise you.’
She raises her eyebrows. She looks pleased, but not totally convinced. Which is fair enough. It’s up to me to prove it to her.
The doorbell blasts out, and she breaks out of the hug.
‘That’ll be them.’ She gives me another kiss. ‘I’m glad you said all that. It feels like maybe we’re finally on the same page.’
I feel my heart soar. ‘We are. Honestly.’
The doorbell trills out again in five short, sharp blasts. Daff rolls her eyes. ‘Bloody hell, are they letting the twins ring the bell?’ She leaves the kitchen to go and let them in. As I follow her out, I absent-mindedly dip my hand into my pocket to check my phone.
I stop dead. There’s a new Facebook message.
Hey Ben, I was really sorry to get this message. Are you sure you can’t do 29th? I’ll be around all that week, so eve of 28th or 30th could work too? I was really looking forward to seeing you. Was so good to catch up at the wedding and I felt we had more to say to each other. The truth is, I’ve missed you. What happened in Paris meant a lot to me, and I know it meant something to you too. Let me know about those other dates because I’d really like to see you again. Hope we can sort something. And Merry Christmas … Alice xxx
I hear the front door open. The hallway is suddenly full of laughter and the excited squeal of children’s voices. I stare down at the message again, feeling some unpleasant emotion I can’t quite define.
I’m about to hit delete, but before I can, Daphne’s five-year-old nephews come barrelling down the corridor towards me.
‘Hey, you two! Merry Christmas!’
I slip the phone back into my pocket and bend down to hug them.
After lunch, we all stagger back through to the living room, drowsy from too much turkey and wine.
So far, the day has gone pretty much perfectly, apart from my making a slight hash of carving and having to be rescued midway through by Daff’s dad. I think her family are just as surprised by my sudden buoyancy as she is; the last few times I’ve seen them, I’ve been typically downbeat. And the weird thing is, I’m not even having to try. I just feel good: totally positive about life for the first time in forever.
Every so often, Alice’s message pops into my head, but I make a concerted effort to chuck it straight back out again. I’ve told myself to just ignore it. I’ve cancelled the date, that’s the important thing. Now it’s time to forget about Alice and focus on Daphne.
We all settle down in the living room to watch the carpet become a multicoloured sea of wrapping paper as Charlie and Fred tear their way through their presents.
Kat and Joe are slumped on the sofa next to me, while Daff sits with her mum and dad on the other one. Charlie and Fred have just uncovered our gifts to
them – a pair of matching Nerf Zombie Strike FlipFury Blasters – and are scrambling to load them with foam bullets.
‘These are BRILLIANT!’ shouts Fred.
‘I bet you can’t hit me,’ I say, and their eyes light up as they start chasing me round the room, firing wildly.
I’m hit again and again and I dramatically flop to the ground to a backdrop of excited shrieks. The boys pile on top of me, and Daff’s mum, Clio, laughs.
‘You’re so good with them, Ben. Isn’t he good, Daphne?’
‘Yes, Mum.’ Daff sighs obediently, and we both exchange a grin. Clio, being Greek, is hilariously blunt. Within minutes of stepping through the door, she’s usually asking when Daphne and I are going to give her some more grandchildren. To be honest, I’m surprised she hasn’t broached the subject yet today.
Kat giggles as the twins continue to maul me on the carpet. ‘Seriously, though, Ben, if you want to take them for a couple of days, please be our guest. We could do with a break.’
‘Amen to that,’ says Joe.
Clio clicks her tongue. ‘Take yours? They should have some of their own!’
Everyone cracks up, and Daff’s dad chuckles and shakes his head. ‘Clio, honestly.’
This has been their dynamic as long as I’ve known them: Clio says crazy, forthright things and Michael (being English) feigns embarrassment on her behalf. It sounds weird, but it works. For some reason, they complement each other perfectly, and they’re clearly still head over heels in love. I suddenly wish Mum was here too, to complete this family Christmas. She always got on brilliantly with Daphne’s parents.
Clio thumps the sofa arm, refusing to be deterred. ‘I’m serious!’ she cries. ‘When are you two going to give Charlie and Fred a little cousin?’
‘All right, Mum, maybe leave it for today?’ Daff says with a smile.
Clio flaps her hand in a vague gesture of comedic frustration, and the twins take this as a cue to launch a new assault on me. Under heavy fire from Nerf ammo, I scramble up from the floor. ‘Right, you two, see if you can catch me!’
I leap over the sofa and sprint out into the corridor, the sound of little footsteps thundering behind me.
The three of us pile into the kitchen, where the twins unload their entire foam arsenal into my chest. I fall to the ground clutching my stomach as they leap on top of me.
‘AGAIN! AGAIN! AGAIN!’ Fred screams.
‘In a minute!’ I plead. ‘Don’t you guys want pudding?’
‘YES!’ they cry at the same time.
I load up bowls with ice cream and strawberries, and we take them back through to the living room.
Charlie barges the door open with the announcement: ‘Ice cream!’ But no one reacts. It feels like everyone has stopped talking the moment we enter, and there’s a strange, stilted silence in the room.
‘Ben. What is this?’
Daff stands up and comes towards me. Her eyes are glistening and her jaw is set tightly, like she’s trying hard not to cry. I feel a sharp sting of panic in my chest. She’s holding something in her hand. My phone. I pat my empty pocket instinctively. It must have slipped out while I was rolling around under Nerf fire.
‘Ice cream!’ Charlie shouts again, holding a bowl up to Daphne. Kat pulls him gently towards her. ‘Not now, sweetheart.’
Her whole family is looking at me now, frowns plastered across their faces. My heart is thudding in my chest and my neck suddenly feels boiling hot.
‘What’s going on?’ I say, even though, deep down, I think I know.
Daff says nothing. She just hands me my phone.
There on the screen is my entire message chain with Alice.
At the bottom, there’s a new picture message, sent one minute ago. It shows the two of us in the photo booth at Marek’s wedding, our eyes closed, our lips pressed together.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
I sit at a corner table in The Raven, two glasses of Guinness in front of me, trying very hard to ignore the glances I’m getting from the solo drinkers at the bar.
I’m not surprised they’re staring. I must look an absolute state: red-eyed and tear-stained, as I sip my fourth pint in three hours. But fuck it: let them stare. Things can’t be going too well for them either if they’re sitting alone in a pub on Christmas Day.
I take a big gulp of Guinness and flinch as it washes stickily down my throat. My head is woozy, I’m definitely drunk, and all I want to do is stop thinking. But I can’t. I can’t get that look out of my head: the one on Daphne’s face as she handed me the phone. The hurt shining in her brown eyes like she just couldn’t believe this was happening. All those jokes she’s made over the years about Alice fancying me. All the times I laughed along at them. The betrayal, the humiliation she must have felt reading those messages and seeing that picture. I can’t even bear to think about it.
In that split second, the whole world crashed down around me. It felt a little like waking up after an 11.59 p.m. jump: the combination of confusion, dizziness and motion sickness, as if I’d just been swung around and then punched hard in the stomach.
Before all this time-travel madness began, I thought that maybe this was what I wanted. Up in the attic on Christmas Eve, I dreamed of a blank canvas, getting the chance to start all over again. I wondered if, maybe, Daphne and me splitting up might be for the best.
Well now I know: it’s not. Not for me, anyway.
I can’t bear the idea that I’ve lost her, and no matter how much I drink, the stabbing pain of it won’t go away.
I take another sip and realise that I’m crying again, the tears dropping steadily onto the sticky table. I don’t even bother to wipe my face. I can’t find the strength to care about what I must look like.
‘Are you all right, son?’
I look up, half expecting to see the watch-seller standing over me. But it’s not him. Just another old bloke with a kindly smile.
‘Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry. Thank you.’
He pats me on the arm and walks back to the bar.
The door opens and Harv enters in his comically huge parka, cold wind rushing in behind him. I scrub my eyes hard on my sleeve and try to pull myself together.
Harv’s face is already etched with concern before he even spots me. Fair enough, really, since I wasn’t clear about why I urgently needed to see him at 8 p.m. on Christmas Day, in the very same pub we met up in last night.
As he sits down, I slide the full pint towards him.
‘Guinness?’ He wrinkles his nose. ‘Didn’t we have this conversation yesterday?’
‘Shit, yeah. Sorry. I forgot.’
He pushes the glass aside and looks at me. ‘How many of these have you had?’
‘This is my fourth.’ I hiccup and taste cranberry sauce. I’m finding it very hard to focus. ‘Sorry … I didn’t drag you away from family stuff, did I?’
‘No, I was coming back tonight anyway,’ he says. ‘My sister just dropped me off.’
‘How was your Christmas? Are your mum and dad all right?’
He swats these questions away impatiently. ‘Never mind all that. What the hell is going on, man? What are we doing here?’
I want to explain, but I’m worried I might start crying again. So instead I find Alice’s message chain and slide my phone across the table.
Harv’s brow gets progressively more furrowed and his eyes progressively more saucer-like as he scrolls down. By the time he reaches the photo-booth kiss picture, he looks like he’s seen several ghosts.
He stares up at me. ‘What the fuck?’
I nod.
‘Alice? Alice-from-uni Alice?’
I nod again.
‘When … when did this happen? How long has it been going on? And what does she mean about Paris? What happened in Paris?’
I opt to take a large gulp of Guinness rather than address any of these questions.
Harv is looking down at my phone again. ‘So Daphne saw all this? The messages, the picture: everything?’
‘Yep.’ I take another swig to try and hold back the lump that’s rising fast in my throat. ‘The phone must have slipped out of my pocket. I tried to explain and apologise, but she just said she wanted me to leave. She said she needed to think. All her family were there too, and the way they looked at me …’ I squeeze the bridge of my nose tightly and feel my voice starting to tremble. ‘I can’t bear the thought that I’ve hurt her. I’ve been such an idiot, Harv.’
‘Mate …’ He exhales and shakes his head. For a few seconds we sit in silence, listening to Shane MacGowan and Kirsty MacColl bicker on the stereo. I feel weirdly grateful to Harv for not judging me – or at least, not judging me out loud. Right now, I’m not sure I could take someone else’s disdain on top of my own.
Finally he says: ‘So, what … are you and Alice, like, a thing?’
‘No! Not at all. I just … I don’t know what I was thinking. I guess all this stuff happened because things between me and Daff have been bad for a while now. Maybe that’s why I arranged to meet Alice in the first place – because I was thinking that Daff would be better off without me.’
Harv scratches his stubble and frowns. ‘Well, that’s pretty fucking patronising.’
‘What? Why?’
‘Because Daphne’s a grown-up, Ben. She’s not some weak, submissive idiot. It’s up to her to decide whether she’s better off without you. It’s not your decision to make. If she’s with you, then it’s because she wants to be with you. Simple as that.’
I stare at him, letting the words settle inside my head. Even in my Guinness-fugged brain, I can see that he’s absolutely right. Yet again I was shifting the responsibility for my actions off myself and onto someone else. I feel guilt and shame tag-team me sharply in the chest. ‘You’re right,’ I murmur. ‘You’re totally right.’
‘You don’t have to sound so surprised,’ Harv says sniffily. ‘I do have my moments.’ He picks up the full pint and takes a swig.
I can’t stop myself smiling. ‘I thought Guinness was worse for you than a Zinger Burger?’
He wipes his foamy top lip. ‘These are extreme circumstances.’