With Love at Christmas

by Carole Matthews

  ‘You’re happy to have him living here?’

  ‘Of course. He’s a great kid. Easier than either of our children.’

  ‘Any ideas where we might put him?’

  ‘Not yet,’ I admit. ‘I’m going to have to rethink our bedroom allocations.’ I could probably do with creating a spreadsheet, it’s getting so complex.

  He kisses me on the cheek. ‘See you in a few minutes.’

  Then he’s out of the door and I make gravy with some cheap red wine, and bread sauce. Merak sorts everyone out with drinks.

  ‘Have you phoned your mother yet?’ I ask Merak.

  He shakes his head. ‘It is very expensive to call Poland.’

  ‘But you must do it on Christmas Day. Go upstairs to our bedroom and call them from there.’

  His face lights up. ‘I will not talk for long.’

  ‘Take all the time you need. Give them our best regards, too.’ Then I relieve him of his apron and usher him out of the kitchen. Rick will, no doubt, faint when we get the phone bill, but so be it. He can’t not talk to his mother on Christmas Day, for heaven’s sake.

  I’m just parboiling the potato mountain when a mobile phone on the table tings to say that there’s a new text. It’s Rick’s phone, and he’s getting as bad as my mother for leaving it behind everywhere he goes. I’ll bet he doesn’t even realise it’s not in his pocket. Picking up the phone, I glance at the message and, despite trying not to think the worst, already a feeling of dread has settled in my heart.

  Sure enough, the text is from Lisa. It reads: Thanx for lovely pressies. Have a great day. CU in new year. Lots of love Lisa and Izzy xxx

  I toss down the phone as if it’s burned me. So Rick’s buying this woman presents, and Izzy, I assume, is her daughter. She has a daughter. I hope to God that Rick hasn’t been doing an Arnie Schwarzenegger and has got a love child somewhere that I don’t know about. We have been so tight financially that I can’t believe he would buy gifts lightly. And she hasn’t just sent love, but lots of love.

  I wonder why Rick hasn’t been more careful about taking the phone with him? If this is an affair, then surely he might have guessed that she would text him today, of all days? Why didn’t he call her when he was out collecting Chloe, or take the phone so that he could do so while picking up Mum and Dad? In his shoes, that’s what I would have done. And I’m well aware that I have, myself, been in this same situation. I know that it takes skill and cunning to conceal a lover, and I have never considered Rick to be a deceitful man. But then I never considered myself a deceitful woman. We all have dark places inside us, below the surface.

  Then I hear the car pull into the drive. Rick’s back with my parents. In a minute he’s going to be opening the front door, laughing, chatting and he won’t know that I’ve discovered his secret. What to do? How can I behave normally when my world could be crashing round my ears?

  Sure enough, the key’s in the lock. I can hear Mum and Dad. Quickly I slip Rick’s phone into the kitchen drawer. I don’t want him getting a message from her. Not on Christmas Day.

  I know that we’ll have to deal with this in the new year, but for now I can’t face it. It’s Christmas, and I want a perfect day, to pretend that my family is happy and united, that there aren’t cracks and flaws threatening to break us apart. I push all negative thoughts aside. This is the season to be jolly.

  The pan of potatoes boils over just as Rick comes through the door. ‘All right, love?’

  ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘Just running out of hands.’

  ‘I’ll be with you in two ticks. Let me get your mum and dad a drink.’

  ‘Are they OK?’

  ‘Your mother’s perfectly well. Her old self.’

  ‘You mean she’s being rude, obnoxious and difficult.’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘I heard that,’ comes her voice from the hall.

  ‘Whatever else is wrong, her hearing isn’t suffering,’ I whisper.

  Rick nods and lowers his voice too. ‘I’ll get her started on the snowball cocktails early.’

  Rick fusses about making drinks. He seems like my normal husband, exactly as he is on any other day. But he has a secret, and that’s not like him at all.

  Chapter Seventy-One

  The turkey is browning nicely. When the potatoes are safely roasting in the oven, I nip upstairs and change into my scarlet dress. If Rick can have his secrets, then so can I. Taking the jewellery box from my dressing-table drawer, I slip on the beautiful necklace that Robin Westcroft bought for me – ostensibly for providing administrative and shoulder-to-cry on services. The necklace I haven’t yet told my husband about. Knowing Rick, he won’t even notice it.

  I fluff up my hair and quickly put on a bit of slap and my brave face before going to join my family and friends. I ignore the fact that my heart is tight in my chest.

  The living room is crammed full, with virtually every seat occupied. Rick has brought in a couple of kitchen chairs. It all looks very festive in here, and it’s nice for our home to be filled with family and friends. And strangers. Someone has turned off the television and my favourite Christmas songs ring out – I suspect that may have been Rick, too. It means that Mali’s two children are sitting, arms folded, emanating waves of hostility at their source of entertainment being curtailed. I look across at Tom, but he’s oblivious to the children, entranced as he seems to be by the acres of Mali’s smooth, coffee-coloured thigh on show beneath the red leather. My father, though he is now supposed to be gay, looks pretty interested in it too. My mother, in her own world, sits next to her ex-husband, knocking back snowballs like they’re going out of fashion – which, I believe, they are. Behind her back, Rick holds up three fingers. I don’t know if he means that she’s had three fingers of advocaat in one glass, or three glasses. Either way, I hope she’s not sick later.

  Rick comes over and slips his arm round my waist. ‘Nice necklace,’ he notes. ‘Have I seen that before?’

  Damn! Rick never notices jewellery. I finger it self-consciously. ‘It was a present from Robin,’ I say.

  His eyes widen. ‘That’s a very generous gift.’

  ‘I know.’ Too generous. I think the art of gift-giving at Christmas is to be generous rather than ostentatious. But secretly I’m glad that Robin has been so lavish. ‘He’s been having a hard time at home,’ I tell Rick. ‘I’ve been trying to help just by being there to listen, nothing more. His wife’s getting a ruby bracelet worth over two grand in her Christmas stocking.’

  His eyes widen a bit more at that amount. ‘Oh.’ Thankfully, it seems as if he’s decided to drop the subject. Perhaps he realises that if you can’t compete, it’s simply better to keep quiet. ‘Can I get you a drink, love?’ he asks.

  I nod gratefully. ‘Red wine please.’ He goes to pour me one. ‘Small,’ I add – even though my heart cries Large! I usually try not to drink too much before serving dinner, as I don’t want it to end up decorating the walls or on the floor. I’ve found it’s generally best if the cook stays sober.

  ‘You ought to keep your children under control, young woman,’ Mum says to me. ‘They’re very rude.’

  ‘They’re not my children, Mum. Tom and Chloe are my children,’ I start to explain, but that blank look comes into her eyes again, and I decide to give up. ‘Shall we open the presents before lunch?’

  ‘Those two fat boys have eaten all the chocolate decorations off the tree,’ Mum continues. ‘Look at them. They don’t need anything else to eat!’

  I turn to the boys who lower their heads, but not before I see telltale smears of chocolate round their mouths.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Mali,’ I begin, but she is too engrossed in her wine and Tom to care about what Niran and Kamol are doing. Perhaps Mum has a point. I just wish she wouldn’t make it so loudly.

  ‘Eh?’ Mali says, as she drains another glass.

  ‘Never mind.’

  Still, even without the enhancement of chocolate coins, the tree looks stunning
with its lights twinkling and colourful presents heaped underneath. Mitch and Chloe are snuggled up side by side on the sofa, cuddling their new daughter between them, and my heart soars to see them as a family together again. Christmas can be a difficult time, a catalyst for rifts and arguments. But it can also be one for healing wounds, too. I hope that happens in this case. Jaden, at their feet, is getting fractious, and it’s clear that he can’t wait to start opening the pile of gifts with his name on.

  Rick and I have bought our grandson an electric guitar and keyboard, and I wonder how soon it will be before we live to regret that moment of madness in Argos.

  I also wonder if Tom has thought to buy anything for Mali or her boys, or whether I should nip upstairs to find something to wrap for her. But really it’s too late and, while I might have been able to find a suitable scarf or some perfume for Mali, I don’t know if I have anything suitable for two boys/men/trainee gangstas in my emergency present stash. They probably want Wiis or Xboxes or sawn-off shotguns. I dread Jaden being this age, and I hope he’s never too old to play with trains or be totally enthralled by his Roary racing-car garage.

  Out of the corner of one eye, I watch my son and his new girlfriend. Does Tom seem committed to this rather tarty woman and her brooding offspring? It’s hard to tell. Tom falls in love quickly and heavily, and just as quickly out of it again. I don’t know where he gets that trait from. It’s certainly not from Rick or me. Perhaps it’s from my mother.

  ‘Presents?’ My voice sounds shrill, and I realise that despite my vow not to drink too much, my glass is already empty and I’ve barely tasted it. Oh, well. Should have gone for the large one.

  We all gather round the tree and Rick hands out the presents. He used to perform this task in a Santa’s outfit for the kids, while they pretended not to know it was him. But now it’s gathering dust in the loft, and he won’t even entertain wearing it. Not even for Jaden’s sake.

  By far the largest stash of presents is for Jaden, and I do hope we’re not spoiling him. But that’s what Christmas is all about, isn’t it? It’s for the children. It’s to make it a magical time for them. Chloe leaves Holly in Mitch’s arms and slides off the sofa to sit on the floor with Jaden and help him to rip open his parcels. Not that he seems to be having a great deal of trouble. Shreds of paper fly everywhere.

  He pounces on the guitar and keyboard with glee, and starts playing away with more enthusiasm than skill. Already I can read the expression on Rick’s face. The batteries will be coming out of that guitar very soon.

  We hand presents to Mitch and Chloe, all practical things, and some bits and bobs for the baby. For Dad I’ve bought the latest Stephen Fry book, as I know he and Samuel were big fans.

  ‘Thanks, love,’ he says. ‘That’s champion. Just the ticket.’

  ‘Happy Christmas, Dad.’ Surreptitiously, I squeeze his hand.

  I’ve bought Mum some toiletries and a jigsaw, in the hope that it will keep her brain active.

  ‘What do I want a jigsaw for?’ Mum says when she opens it.

  ‘I thought we could do it together in the evenings,’ I tell her.

  ‘I’d rather watch Escape to the Country. I fancy that chubby one with the red cheeks.’

  ‘It’ll help to keep your mind active.’ Though, from her last comment, some parts of her mind could do with being less active.

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with my mind, Miss Bossy Boots.’ She tosses her present to the floor with disdain.

  I can see that I’ll end up doing the jigsaw by myself.

  Merak is thrilled with his shirt, and he’s bought us some of my favourite Hotel Chocolat goodies at great expense. ‘You shouldn’t have, Merak.’

  He’s shy now. ‘But I wanted to say thank you for all your kindness.’

  ‘You’re very welcome.’

  From Rick, I get a voucher for Marks & Spencer and a hotwater bottle. ‘Thanks, love.’ I give him a kiss. Some women get two-thousand-pound ruby bracelets but, in all truth, I’m more than happy with this.

  ‘I’ll get you a new coat too,’ he says. ‘In the sales.’

  ‘Thank you.’ There’s even a gift for Buster, and he sits wagging his tail as I unwrap a new squeaky toy for him. ‘Oh. I’ve left the price on.’

  ‘I’m not sure the dog will mind that oversight,’ Rick says.

  Buster jumps on his toy and then leaps back when it squeaks. A bit like Jaden’s guitar, we’ll all be glad when the squeak goes out of it.

  Then Mali opens her present from Tom. He’s bought her a garlic crusher.

  ‘What this?’ she shrieks.

  ‘A garlic crusher,’ Tom points out, just in case there’s any doubt. Sometimes, he truly is his father’s son. ‘I thought it would come in useful.’

  ‘You buy woman like me garlic crusher,’ she spits. ‘I want perfume, fancy knickers, big bling-bling!’

  ‘Oh.’ He looks at me for help, but I can only shrug. It’s too late to raid my emergency stash now. But I don’t think that would contain suitable knickers or big bling-bling.

  The offending garlic crusher is tossed on the floor, in a similar manner to my mother’s jigsaw, where Niran and Kamol use it to try to maim each other.

  ‘Cheap, unemployed man,’ Mali grumbles under her breath.

  Hurriedly, the rest of the presents are distributed and are, generally, more gratefully received. Then I remember that there are some missing. Where are the trendy jumper and child’s outfit that Rick had secreted under our bed? There has been no sign of them. I thought they were for Chloe and Jaden, but it seems I was mistaken. Are these the presents that have gone to this Lisa and her daughter, Izzy, I wonder? I can think of no other explanation. Bile rises to my mouth and I swallow it down. I look at my husband smiling, laughing, helping his grandson to play with his guitar, showing him how to strum, and I am struggling to deal with his duplicity. How can I ask him about it on Christmas Day? This is a conversation we need to have. But, for now, it will have to wait.

  ‘Right,’ I smooth down my dress. ‘Top up everyone’s glass if you will, Rick.’ Rick, who is buying another woman presents that have probably involved more thought than a voucher and a hot-water bottle.

  And though, inside, my heart is silently breaking, I paste a big smile on my face and say, ‘I’ll get the lunch ready.’

  Chapter Seventy-Two

  In the kitchen, I bite back the tears that threaten to come and, instead, bang about with the pots to make me feel better. I won’t cry on Christmas Day. Whatever happens, I won’t cry. This day has to be perfect. I grip the work surface and steady myself.

  Rick comes in behind me to fix the drinks. ‘Everything all right, love?’ he asks.

  ‘Fine.’ My voice sounds tighter than I’d hoped.

  ‘Sure?’ He curls his arms round my waist. ‘I know your presents aren’t much, but we can go and choose something together – that new coat I promised you, for one thing. You know what I’m like.’

  Do I? is just about to spring to my lips when, from the kitchen drawer, Rick’s phone tings. Another text.

  Rick looks round, wondering where the noise is coming from.

  It’s up to me to pull it out of the drawer and put it on the table. When it tings again, Rick glances at it casually. I look at him expectantly.

  ‘Nothing important,’ he says with an uncomfortable shrug.

  Then, when I’ve vowed that I won’t do this today, I look my husband squarely in the eye and say, ‘I know.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I know about Lisa and Izzy.’

  He starts, taking a step back. His mouth drops open and he stares guiltily at the phone. I see a gulp travel down his throat before he says, ‘It’s not what you think, Juliet.’

  ‘How do you know what I think?’

  ‘You think it’s some woman that I’ve been having an affair with,’ Rick offers. ‘But it’s not. Nothing could be further from the truth.’

  That, of course, is exactly what I think. ‘So tell
me.’

  ‘She’s just a girl. A young kid. A single mum who’s struggling by herself. I laid some flooring for her a couple of weeks ago, and we’ve sort of stayed friends.’

  ‘Friends?’

  ‘Nothing more,’ Rick swears. ‘She’s got no one, love. Her house is a tip. There’s no heating or hot water, and she’s trying to bring up a little girl there with no help. It breaks my heart to see her struggle.’ My husband’s eyes fill with tears and he’s not a man who shows his emotions easily. ‘I’ve given her a few quid, bought her some groceries. That’s all. I think of all that we’ve got, all that our kids have got . . . ’ His voice trails away.

  ‘And Christmas presents?’

  ‘A jumper for her, and a little outfit for the kiddie. That’s all.’ Rick takes a shuddering breath. ‘She’s just a young girl who hasn’t got anyone in the world to care for her. Old fool that I am, I thought I could make a bit of a difference.’

  I’m hugging myself tightly while I listen. I really do want to believe Rick. Has he lied to me before in all our years together? If he has, then I can’t think of an occasion now. ‘And that’s really all it is?’

  He nods. ‘You do know me, Juliet. I might be an idiot sometimes. But I’ve always been a faithful idiot.’ Rick hangs his head. ‘But I have come to care about her and her little girl.’ He fiddles with his phone. ‘She and Izzy are on their own today. Completely alone. Just the two of them in that miserable house with no Christmas cheer, nothing. They’ve not even got a tree up.’ A tear squeezes out of Rick’s eye, and I go to hold him.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me? Why keep it secret?’

  ‘You’ve had so much on your plate already. What with Samuel’s funeral to sort out and all this stuff with your mum, and then Chloe, how could I tell you about someone else’s problems?’

  ‘I have been absolutely out of my mind with worry,’ I confess. ‘I’ve seen the texts. I’ve wondered where you were when you’ve been out in the van. My brain has been stuck on overdrive for weeks.’