With Love at Christmas

by Carole Matthews

  To fit in the futon, the dining-room table was dismantled – I’d fallen out of love with it anyway – shortly after we found Tom bonking one of his numerous conquests on it some time ago. No mother needs to see her son’s bare bottom bobbing up and down in that manner. The offending table is covered in plastic and resides in the garage, but it’s going to have to be pressed into service again soon otherwise we’ll have nowhere to eat our Christmas lunch en masse.

  I worry about my children. We tried to do our best by them, but I wonder if we really did. Chloe is twenty-four, but seems so young. I’m sure I was more mature than she is when I was fifteen. Yet she’s a single mum with a son of her own and another child on the way. When will she ever grow up and stand on her own two feet?

  Tom, too, is the eternal teenager. He has no drive, no ambition and is quite content to spend his days playing computer games and hanging out with mates, who all seem similarly juvenile. Not one of them is married or has their own place. They all seem happy just to go out drinking or stay at home and play on the Wii. Is that normal behaviour for a man his age? Perhaps it is. None of them seems to have a desire to get on and provide for themselves.

  I never set out to spoil them, but I think somehow we have.

  Tom, distracted by the newspaper on top of one of my carrier bags, has failed to work his way towards the kettle. As no one else is likely to do it, I make the promised tea.

  ‘Think I’ll ask Santa for a Porsche this Christmas,’ Tom says as he flicks through the newspaper.

  ‘Well sick,’ Chloe agrees. ‘Could I get a baby seat in one of those?’

  See what I mean? No wonder, some days, I feel so old. My family are ageing me in dog years. Soon Buster and I will be a hundred and ten years old, and who will care for us all then?

  Chapter Five

  Rick breathed a sigh of relief once he was safely inside the shed. Listen to that. Nothing.

  He felt his heart lift as he settled into his sunlounger. This was more like it! He glanced at his watch. Too early for a tot of whisky? Perhaps. No doubt he’d be on chauffeur duty for someone or other later on tonight. Tom always bleated about having no money, but that didn’t seem to stop him going out drinking with his mates every night of the week. Chloe was still doing her fair share of partying, too – despite the fact that she was with child. Which meant that he and Juliet did more than their share of babysitting for Jaden.

  Last summer their worn-out, rotting shed had been replaced by an all-singing, all-dancing fancy number. No expense had been spared. This was the finest shed Homebase could offer; a shed that dreams are made of. He had promised himself this treat since he and Juliet first moved here many moons ago. The new shed was long overdue. Now he was determined to make the most of it. This was his refuge, his island. He wished he could dig a moat round it and fill it with man-eating sharks, but Juliet would probably object. The older he got, the more he seemed to need some solitude.

  At this time in his life, he’d thought that the kids would be off his hands. He’d hoped they’d be settled down with great jobs and families of their own. Well, part of that was true, he supposed. Chloe was certainly well on the way to a family of her own – it was just the great job that was sorely missing. Goodness only knows what the future held for Tom. His son seemed happy to be a perpetual adolescent. All very well if it wasn’t always someone else picking up the bills. And that was the problem. What Rick hadn’t envisaged was that they’d all keep bouncing back like bloody boomerangs – and particularly resilient ones at that. It looked as if their kids would never be off their hands. He’d hoped that, at their age, he and Juliet would be on their own again, able to do the things they’d missed out on when they were young and had two children and no money to splash about. Now they weren’t getting any younger, still had two kids on their hands and no money to splash about. This hadn’t been his life plan. Perhaps he and Juliet should move to the tiniest cottage they could find, preferably with just the one bedroom, so that none of them could so much as come and stay for the night.

  There was a knock on the door and then it swung open. Juliet appeared bearing a tray. On it were two cups of tea and a plate of mince pies.

  ‘It’s getting chilly out there.’ She shivered as she came inside. ‘Room for a small one?’

  ‘Let me put up another lounger.’ Rick jumped up and set down the other chair next to his own.

  ‘It’s very tidy in here. I’m impressed.’

  ‘I thought you’d been out to do it,’ Rick said.

  ‘No. Not me. Perhaps it’s a self-tidying model.’

  Rick shrugged. ‘Must be.’

  Juliet made herself comfortable and they sipped their tea in unison.

  ‘It’s still snowing,’ she said. ‘A sprinkling has settled on the grass. It looks very pretty.’

  ‘I know.’ The swirling flakes were hypnotic, and were slowly sending him into a pleasant trance. ‘Just watching it and thinking.’

  ‘Everything OK?’

  He shrugged. ‘Just one problem.’ He rubbed his fingers together signifying money or, more accurately, a lack of it. ‘Work’s tough. Cash flow is pants.’ Last year when his friend, Hal, had absconded to Gran Canaria to escape the complications of his love life, he’d left his flooring business to Rick. Walk All Over Me had been doing really well through the summer months – so much so that he’d taken on a young lad to help him out, Merak Kowalski. He was a great kid. Polish, enthusiastic, keen worker. Wanted to learn everything he could about the business. If only his own idle son had shown such an interest. He’d always fancied painting Joyce & Son on a van. Tom, it seemed, had other ideas, though goodness only knew what they were. Flooring was clearly beneath him – no pun intended.

  Rick sighed inwardly. ‘There’s hardly anything in the book for January.’

  ‘Money’s tight for everyone.’

  ‘It might pick up.’ He sounded more optimistic than he felt. December was busy, but the Christmas holidays stretched for nearly two weeks this year. That was OK if you were on a nice fat salary and a generous holiday entitlement. Being selfemployed, it simply meant two weeks that he wasn’t earning. Plus, with the state of the economy, people were putting off home improvements if they didn’t really need to do them. Everyone was making their carpet last that little bit longer. If the laminate was a bit chipped, a bit jaded, they’d scrape another year out of it. It was a worry.

  ‘Last thing I want to do is lay off Merak. He’s such a good kid.’

  ‘I’m sure it won’t come to that.’

  Rick wasn’t quite so certain.

  ‘Do you want to give up on the idea of going away for a few days before Christmas?’

  ‘No, no.’

  ‘I don’t mind.’

  ‘It’ll be fine. You’ve been talking about it for ages. I’ll get the money together somehow.’

  ‘I was going to ask Dad and Samuel for some ideas of where we could go. But we don’t have to. I’ve not booked anything yet.’

  ‘You go ahead and organise it,’ Rick insisted. It was the last thing he wanted, really, but how could he let Juliet down when, in truth, she asked so little of him? He’d promised her a glamorous break for their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary which had been and gone over two years ago, and he still hadn’t delivered on it. How could he say no now? ‘We’re going to have precious little time together once the second baby is on the scene.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Juliet took in the ambience of the shed. ‘This is nice, just the two of us.’

  ‘Doesn’t happen enough.’

  ‘I can’t believe we’re going to leave the lot of them to it for a whole weekend.’

  ‘Sounds wonderful,’ Rick agreed. ‘Though knowing our lot, we’ll be lucky if the place is still standing when we get back.’

  ‘It won’t have to cost much,’ she insisted. ‘I’m due to get a little Christmas bonus from work. We could put that towards it. It would do us good to get away. What with having Chloe and Jaden here – and my mo
ther – we haven’t managed a holiday this year. And you’re right, with another baby due very soon, it could be some time before we can sneak off by ourselves again.’

  That was true enough.

  ‘If you can find something cheap and cheerful,’ Rick said, ‘then let’s book it.’

  Juliet kissed him. ‘I do love Christmas,’ she breathed.

  He only wished that he could feel the same. To him it was all about stress, expense and unnecessary work.

  Chapter Six

  Rick has brought the decorations down from the loft. There are boxes and boxes of them, and he always grumbles. Sometimes we splash out and have a real tree, but this year – in a vain attempt at saving money – we’ve gone for the artificial one we’ve had for donkey’s years. I bought it just after Christmas many years ago in the sales, half price. In Woolworths, when they still existed. That’s how old it is.

  The tree in question is a six-foot blue spruce that has ‘snow’ sprayed on the leaves. Every time you touch it more of the snow falls off onto the carpet. Rick has already put it up and it’s standing in the corner ready for my artistic additions. Despite its advancing years, it doesn’t look too bad at all. Buster is lying beneath it, hiding at the back, clearly wondering how long it will be before he’s turfed out from under it. We had to stop putting chocolate decorations on it years ago because the dog used to snaffle them all. Now that we’ve got Jaden, I’ve relented and bought a few. Though I’ve taken the precaution of putting them on the higher branches, out of the way of little fingers and doggy jaws. For me, the best job out of all of the Christmas preparations is putting up the tree. It really gets me in the mood. Which is just as well, as no one else in this household wants to do it.

  I have my little time-honoured ritual that I like to stick to. On goes The Christmas Album. All my favourite festive songs are on there. I pour myself a glass of red wine, even though it’s a bit early to be cracking open the booze, and line up another mince pie. Then I open all the boxes and spread out the decorations on the living-room floor, excited as always to rediscover what we’ve had tucked away for the last year.

  The decorations have been collected over years and years. I like to buy one to mark special occasions, and I try to pick one up wherever we go on holiday. There’s one for when Chloe was born. One for Tom. Another for my first grandson. A silver horseshoe highlighted with glitter marks my twenty-fifth wedding anniversary, which was over two years ago now. There were times when I thought that Rick and I wouldn’t make it, but here we are and, thankfully, still going strong.

  The fashion is for everything to be tasteful now, isn’t it? All your baubles have to be coordinating. But I still yearn for the days when living rooms were draped with paper chains all over the ceiling and pinned with concertina Chinese lanterns. I was always envious of my schoolfriends whose parents went overboard at Christmas, as my mother could never be bothered. When we first moved into this house, I wasn’t happy until every available surface was draped with clashing colours of gaudy tinsel. Now everything’s very muted. I have twigs with tiny twinkling lights in a glass vase for the dining room, and a silver garland that wraps round the banister, but I don’t go to town any more. I think that might have to change.

  ‘Hey.’ Chloe comes into the living room. She has Jaden in her arms. It looks like he’s just woken up from his afternoon sleep. A bit late, I think. He’ll be a devil to get down tonight. I can’t quite impress on my daughter the joy of a routine when it comes to little ones, but she’s going to have to get a lot more organised when she’s got two on her hands, that’s for sure. Jaden is blond with big blue eyes, just like his mother. I can only hope that he inherits his father’s temperament. ‘I’m popping out to meet Sarah for a coffee,’ my daughter says.

  She certainly looks all dolled up.

  ‘Can you look after Jaden for an hour?’

  ‘I thought I was babysitting tonight, so that you could see Mitch.’ Now that Mitch and Chloe seem to be meeting up again, I’m doing everything I can to encourage it.

  ‘Yeah,’ she says. ‘This is just while I nip out.’

  ‘I was going to put up the tree, Chloe.’

  ‘Jaden will help you.’

  He’s just turned two. He’ll try to eat all the decorations, or stand on them. My pleasant little ritual will go out of the window and, instead of sifting through all my pretty baubles and running through the memories associated with each of them, picking the special place on the tree that they’ll occupy, I’ll be run ragged trying to keep Jaden entertained. This was one hour I was looking forward to having by myself.

  ‘Can’t you take him with you?’ I want to add, He’s your son, but I don’t.

  ‘Please,’ she begs. ‘Please, Mum. I’ll do anything you ask.’

  I know full well that she won’t.

  ‘It’s really hard to kick back and chat when he’s around. I’ve got to have eyes in my backside.’ She tells me this as if I’m blissfully unaware of the joys of child-rearing. I’m clearly not looking convinced, as she says, ‘Shall I get Gran to, instead?’

  ‘No, leave her alone. I think she’s tired. She’s gone for a liedown.’ In truth, I packed her off for a nap so that she’d be out of the way too.

  ‘Nan-nan,’ Jaden says, and holds out his arms to me and, of course, my heart softens.

  I stand up and lift him from Chloe. ‘You’re getting to be a big boy,’ I say. His blond hair is sleep-flattened. He has a thumb in his mouth, a ragged teddy in the other hand.

  ‘It’ll be nice for him this Christmas,’ Chloe says. ‘It’ll be the first one he understands.’ I remember back to when my own children were that age, and how magical it was for them. Who knew then how life would turn out for them, for us all.

  ‘Tree,’ Jaden says.

  ‘I’m outta here.’ My daughter seizes her chance to escape. She kisses her son.

  Would she be a more caring, more attentive mother if I wasn’t always here to take up the slack? I can’t fault Mitch, Jaden’s dad, but sometimes I think that my own child takes her responsibilities far too lightly. I wonder what she’ll be like when she has a baby on each hip?

  ‘Be good for Nana.’

  ‘Don’t be out for long, Chloe.’

  ‘Don’t stress, Mum.’ She kisses me too and bolts out of the room.

  ‘Looks like we’re going to do the tree together, Jaden.’

  ‘Tree,’ he says again.

  The doorbell rings. ‘Frank and Samuel are here, Mum,’ Chloe shouts, and I hear her say, ‘Love you, Grandad.’ My father brings out the softer side of my daughter. She adores him, and they’ve always been close. Seconds later, the front door slams. Shortly after, my dad and his partner join me in the living room.

  ‘We’re not interrupting you, are we, love?’ Dad asks. He has always been my favourite parent. Gentle where my mother is spiky; caring where my mother is self-obsessed. Normal where my mother is bonkers – I’ve added that one for Rick.

  ‘Of course not. I was just going to put the tree up, but I find myself on babysitting duties. There’s a bottle of wine and some mince pies there if you want to join me.’

  ‘I know how much you like doing the tree,’ Dad says. ‘Remember when we used to do it together?’

  I do. Sometimes I think it’s why my mum refused to have it out until the last minute possible. My mother never had the patience for such things, so it was always Dad who was the teacher, the nurturer. In his own quiet, contained way he taught me how to read, ride a bike, climb a tree, fish for minnows. He did the same for his grandchildren, and now I hope that his great-grandchildren will get the benefit of his love and knowledge for years to come.

  Looking as dapper as ever, he slips off his trilby and coat and lays it over the sofa. ‘You crack on, love.’ Dad takes Jaden from my arms.

  ‘Poppee,’ his great-grandson says with a beaming smile.

  ‘We’ll look after this little one, won’t we, Samuel?’ They both dote on Jaden, and love to look
after him whenever they can. Which helps me out no end.

  ‘Absolutely, Francis.’ Samuel unbuttons his jacket slowly, methodically. There’s a slight pallor to his cheeks and he coughs a little dry cough.

  ‘Not well, Samuel?’ I ask.

  ‘A little under the weather,’ he admits.

  ‘I keep telling him to go to the doctor,’ Dad says. ‘But you know what these young people are like. Won’t listen.’

  They smile indulgently at each other. Dad and Samuel have been together now for over two years, and they are still incredibly happy together. I can easily say that I’ve never met a nicer couple. Samuel is the epitome of pleasant. Nothing is too much trouble for him, and he is so solicitous towards my father that it makes my heart glad to watch them together. Even my mother thinks that Samuel is wonderful, and she actually likes very few people.

  ‘Can I get you anything for it, Samuel, or are you happy to rely on the medicinal properties of red wine?’

  ‘A glass of wine would be excellent.’

  Both men make themselves comfy on the sofa, Jaden wriggling between them, while I get two more glasses and some napkins so that they can have a mince pie.

  ‘We’re just planning our next trip,’ Dad informs me as he sips his wine. ‘Samuel and I are thinking of a cruise to Russia in the summer.’

  ‘Wow,’ I say. ‘Russia!’ I sift through my decorations as we talk.

  ‘Da!’ my dad says proudly. ‘That’s Russian for yes.’

  ‘Da, da, da,’ Jaden repeats.

  ‘You two certainly like getting about.’ In the last couple of years, having persuaded my dad to stop thinking of Bournemouth as exotic, Samuel has encouraged him to venture further afield. Together they’ve been to half of Europe, and certainly a lot more places than I ever have. Now I feel that Dad is trying to cram every moment of his days with wonderful experiences, and good luck to him.