I had no fears for my future, although my relationship with Alfie was a total mess, was arguably non-existent given that he appeared to be a non-person. I had no clear idea what Marek meant to me, or if I meant anything to him, but these problems lay in the future. I knew I’d find a way of sorting them out, or at least extricating myself from any awkward consequences. I was a coper. Always had been.
When it came to facing the future, I was pretty damn fearless. But facing the past? That was a different matter altogether.
~~~
When Gwen entered the kitchen she was greeted by all four sisters who wished her a merry Christmas, despite the fact that Deborah sat slumped at the kitchen table, in tears. Gwen returned their good wishes and stared at Deborah who was being comforted by Hattie. Alfie, frying bacon and eggs, registered Gwen’s dismay and said, ‘Don’t worry, it’s not bad news. Deb’s son just rang from Africa to wish her a Happy Christmas.’
‘Thereby assuring,’ said Frances, peeling a pear, ‘that she has a thoroughly miserable Christmas, since the mere sound of his voice sends her into floods of tears.’
Deborah raised her head from a handful of crumpled tissues and said, ‘No, Fanny, you’re wrong. I was thrilled to bits to hear from him. Sounding so happy and healthy! It’s just that he’s so far away.’ Deborah blew her nose vigorously, turned to Gwen and smiled. ‘Sorry, Gwen. I must look a proper sight!’
‘Oh, don’t worry about me. I know Christmas can be a very emotional time for families.’ Alfie shot her a quick look and, avoiding his eye, Gwen sat down at the table. Simultaneously, a mug of coffee and a plate of bacon and eggs appeared in front of her. She looked up and beamed at the retreating backs of Alfie and Viv.
‘You never stop worrying, that’s the trouble,’ said Deborah.
‘Not even when they’re twenty-two and six foot tall?’ Hattie asked, squeezing her sister’s hand.
‘No, it’s a life sentence,’ Deborah replied. ‘They’re always your babies. And I only ever had the one, you see, so Daniel’s always been very precious.’
‘Where’s Daniel working?’ Gwen asked, lifting her coffee mug.
‘In Malawi. He loves it! Says he’s never been happier. And he’s made lots of friends. He monitors food aid and they’ve given him a motorbike to help him get about. When I think of my little Dan riding round Africa on a motorbike! Well, I feel proud and terrified at the same time, if you know what I mean. Have some toast, Gwen,’ said Deborah, pushing a rack towards her. ‘I won’t eat all this. Or rather, I will, but I shouldn’t.’
Gwen helped herself to toast and tried to think of an intelligent question to ask about Malawi, but Deborah needed no prompting to continue. ‘Young people are so brave, nowadays - well, some young people. I really admire them for that. Dan and I talked it all through before he applied. He knew I was worried sick but he explained it all to me. I could absolutely see his point. He said, “Look, Mum, I could commute to London, do a boring job in a nice safe office and be blown up by a terrorist bomb on the 17.50 from Liverpool Street. Or I could go to Malawi and do my bit to change the world.” It’s true, isn’t?’ Deborah exclaimed with a tearful laugh. ‘So that’s what he’s doing. He says he wants to leave the world a better place than he found it. Isn’t that marvellous?’
‘You must be so proud of him,’ Gwen said, buttering toast.
‘Oh, I am! Terribly proud. But that doesn’t stop me missing him. I’m divorced, you see, and very single. And I’m a teacher—’
‘Deputy Head actually,’ said Hattie.
‘Well, yes, as it happens. So I don’t have the time or energy to get out as much as I should. And when I do, it’s usually with other women. Other teachers, in fact,’ she added pulling a wry face. ‘I belong to a terrific reading group - we have a great laugh! - but it’s all women. These things usually are. We did have a man for a while, but he was gay and I think he felt a bit… out of it. So I do miss Daniel. He lived at home while he was a student, you see. I’ve got a tiny terraced house in Beccles. Do you know Beccles? It’s a nice little town on the Norfolk/Suffolk border. Very pleasant. Dan went to UEA - that’s the university in Norwich - and read Geography. He worked terribly hard and got a first! I was so proud. But I still worry… It’s natural, isn’t it? Your babies are always your babies, even when they’re grown men. So when he told me he was applying for VSO in Africa… Well, you hear such horror stories, don’t you? And I’m ashamed to say, I didn’t even know where Malawi was before Dan said he was going to work there. My African geography is pretty vague, I’m afraid. I’m much better on India. We teach that to Year Five every year and they just love it! I’ve always wanted to go. In fact, that’s what I plan to do when I retire. And if I can’t find anyone to come with me, I’m jolly well going on my own!’
‘We’ll hold you to that, Deb,’ said Vivien, clearing away empty plates.
‘I’d come with you,’ said Hattie with a sigh. ‘But I hate curry.’
Alfie sat down beside Gwen with a plate of bacon and eggs. As he lifted his cutlery, a mobile phone rang and he cursed. ‘Who the hell is ringing me on Christmas Day? It’d better be Steven Spielberg.’ He went over to the worktop where he’d left his phone, looked at the display, frowned, then answered, saying, ‘Hi, Kate. What’s up?’
Gwen looked up and watched with a growing sense of foreboding. At a sign from Viv, Hattie picked up Alfie’s plate and put it into the Aga to keep warm. Alfie said nothing more for a few moments, but his face turned pale, then looked thunderous. He closed his eyes and they remained shut. As the call went on he screwed up his eyes and said, ‘Shit!’’ The caller said something else, then Alfie spoke rapidly, his voice unnaturally calm.
‘How much did they take? Was it just valuables or have they cleared me out? CDs?… DVDs?… I assume the laptop went too?… Suits?… Bloody hell. Have I got any clothes left?… OK, well, tell the police it looks like they’ve taken anything of any value and it’s probably the same outfit as last time. Tell them I was burgled in the exact same way seven months ago. I’d only just finished replacing everything… I know, Kate, but there’s nothing I can do about those bloody French doors, other than put an iron grille across them!’ Alfie was silent, clawing at his hair while he listened. ‘Yes, OK, I’ll drive up now… No, don’t bother, just leave everything as it is. Is it snowing in London?… Well, could you do me a favour and put some cardboard or something across the doors to keep the rain out? That’s a new carpet. I presume they didn’t have room for that in the van… I’ll get there as soon as I can. There won’t be anything on the roads, so say a couple of hours… Thanks for letting me know… No, don’t be ridiculous - you weren’t to know! Thank God you didn’t go down and check. These guys are obviously professionals. You might have got hurt. Look, I’d better get going. I’ll see you later. ’Bye.’
Alfie switched off his phone, put it down on the kitchen table and surveyed the five anxious faces turned towards him. ‘That was the woman who lives in the flat above me. As you probably gathered, I’ve been burgled. Again. So I have to go back to London to sort things out and talk to the police.’
Hattie started to cry. Deborah slid the box of tissues towards her and put an arm round her shoulders.
‘I’ll come back tomorrow, Hat,’ Alfie said. ‘As soon as I can.’
‘Do you need somewhere to stay in London?’ Frances asked. ‘If they’ve trashed your place, I can give you a key to my house. There’s no one there.’ She looked away and prodded her untouched pear with an expression of distaste. ‘Mike moved out last month. He’s living with his mistress now,’ she added sullenly.
There was a silence in which the sisters registered another shock. Frances had always been the one who walked away. This was the first indication that in the latest marital breakdown, she was the one who’d been abandoned.
‘Thanks, Fan,’ Alfie said gently. ‘If the flat’s not habitable, Kate will put me up for the night. If you’ll excuse me, ladies, I’d better go and break t
he news to Rae, then get on the road.’
‘It might be easier if you leave that to me,’ Viv said. ‘She’ll get very upset. I really think you’ve got enough on your plate at the moment.’
‘Thanks. If you wouldn’t mind, I’d really appreciate that.’
Gwen stood up. ‘I’ll come with you. You’ll need some help tidying up.’
Hattie looked up, her face distraught. Seeing her expression, Alfie said, ‘No, stay here, Gwen. I’d rather deal with it on my own. I’ll be totally foul and that really isn’t how I wanted you to spend your Christmas Day. Stay here and entertain the troops. Perhaps you could spend some more time with Rae. Distract her a bit.’ He turned to Viv. ‘I’ll try to be back for Boxing Day lunch.’
‘Don’t worry, we’ll hold it for you,’ Viv said with a forced smile.
‘But what about your presents?’ Hattie exclaimed. ‘You can’t go without opening them!’
‘Afraid I have to, Hat. I’ll open mine tomorrow. And I’ll give you mine tomorrow. You can have a two-day Christmas this year. Double the fun.’
He turned and left the kitchen. The women sat in silence, apart from Hattie who sat weeping quietly on Deborah’s shoulder, then raised her head to announce tearfully, ‘He didn’t even eat his breakfast!’ Gwen pushed her own plate away, then rose from the table and went in search of Alfie.
Gwen knocked on the door of the room known as the Nursery, a room she’d not yet seen.
‘Come in.’
Alfie was packing toiletries into a bag and didn’t look up until Gwen exclaimed, ‘Oh my God… It’s a museum.’
‘Yes. And I’m one of the exhibits.’
The room was a good size, light and painted in cheerful blues and yellows. The walls were decorated with a series of framed fairy tale prints which Gwen recognised were by Arthur Rackham. There was a single bed in a corner, covered in a bright patchwork quilt and on the bedside table stood a lamp shaped like a sailing ship and a Mickey Mouse alarm clock. Beside the bed was a bookcase full of old children’s books, the kind with embossed and illustrated cloth covers and titles such as The Boys’ Book of Steamships and The Romance of Modern Invention. A complete set of Tom Dickon Harry books in hardback and paperback occupied the top shelf.
In the centre of the room, on a faded rug, stood a wooden rocking horse, his tail and mane sadly depleted. A motley collection of soft toys in various states of decrepitude propped each other up on a chest of drawers. Numerous board games and jigsaw puzzles were stacked on open shelves and a tennis racquet, hockey stick and cricket bat protruded from an umbrella stand. In the corner of the room stood a model castle with archers on the battlements and mounted swordsmen at the drawbridge. Under the window, on top of a blanket box, stood a wooden ark surrounded by Noah, his family and numerous animals arranged in pairs. On the floor beneath, a wooden engine waited on a circular track, ready to haul six brightly painted carriages in perpetuity.
‘The blanket box is also full of toys,’ said Alfie. ‘So’s the cupboard.’
‘They’ve kept everything?’
‘Yes. Well, maybe not everything. I’ve never done a full inventory. But there’s enough here to while away a wet afternoon or two, wouldn’t you say?’
‘Oh, Alfie, it’s horrible… I think I’m beginning to understand.’
‘Really?’ he replied sharply. ‘I doubt it… Some of the stuff belonged to my sisters of course, but most of it was bought for the beloved son and heir.’ He zipped up his toiletries bag and put it in a holdall. ‘I hope you’ll be all right on your own. Don’t let Fanny get to you. Just ignore her when she gets drunk. And she will get drunk.’
‘Are you sure you don’t want me to come?’
‘Positive. I expect it to be a very painful experience and, as with all painful experiences, I prefer to go through it alone. That’s the way I am.’
‘I do understand that.’
He looked at her. ‘Yes, maybe you do. I’ll see you tomorrow, then. Happy Christmas.’ He leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek, then bent to pick up his bag. As he turned to leave, Gwen noticed a framed photograph on the bedside table, behind the clock. It was Alfie as an adult - an Alfie she recognised - but he was wearing some sort of ragged costume and his face was smeared with dirt. She picked up the photograph.
‘What’s this?’
‘Me when I was a drama student. Final year. I was playing Edgar in King Lear. That’s the bit where he’s on the heath, pretending to be Poor Tom, barking mad. It’s a terrible part. Known as “the actors’ graveyard”. But the critics were kind to me. Said I was very affecting.’
Gwen stared at the photo, perplexed. ‘It seems out of place here. It’s the only adult thing in the room.’
‘That’s because I brought it with me.’
‘Do you always travel with it?’
‘No, only when I come here. It reminds who I am. Prevents me from going barking mad… See you tomorrow. Look after yourself.’
After he’d gone, Gwen sat down on the bed and surveyed the room again. A grim-faced Action Man, adorned with fearsome knives and an ammunition belt, caught her eye. She couldn’t imagine Alfie playing with it, then remembered that perhaps he never had. Overcome by a sudden wave of panic, she fled from the room.
Chapter Sixteen
As Vivien carved the turkey, standing in for Alfie at the head of the table, she averted her eyes from the long faces beneath tissue paper hats. Hattie sat dejected, fiddling with her napkin. Frances, her thin face pinched with tension, had already emptied her wine glass and was helping herself to the bottle of Merlot that Vivien could have sworn she’d placed far enough down the table to be out of Frances’ reach. Rae sat slumped in her chair, gazing into space, apparently unaware of the cheerful remarks addressed to her by Gwen and Deborah, seated either side, trying valiantly to compensate for the absence of the guest of honour. Glancing up, Vivien saw the wreckage of her mother’s hopes etched in the deep lines of her face and she looked down again quickly. Carving more turkey, she said, ‘We should have asked Tyler to join us. There’s a ridiculous amount of meat on this bird. Do you think it’s too late to give him a ring?’
Gwen avoided Vivien’s eye and offered Rae the dish of cranberry sauce. Hattie looked round the table at the glum, silent faces and said, ‘I think he’d have more fun on his own, don’t you?’
Frances laughed - a brittle, high-pitched sound, not altogether pleasant. ‘Hattie, really, you are priceless!’
‘Oh, come on, everyone!’ said Deborah, helping herself to roast potatoes. ‘I’m sure if we all make an effort, we can rise above our disappointment and have a jolly good Christmas without Alfie. After all, we managed without him for years.’
As Gwen handed the gravy boat to Deborah, she noticed Hattie’s quick sidelong look at her sister and her anxious eyes. Deborah started to speak but Vivien interrupted. ‘Deb’s referring to all the years Alfie lived abroad with his father, Gwen. She’s quite right - we’re well used to family Christmases without Alfie. It’s just that we enjoy them so much more when he’s with us. When all the family are assembled. Come on, Hattie - we haven’t pulled my cracker.’
Vivien flourished the cracker under Hattie’s nose and they pulled it apart, spilling the contents across the table. Rae sat up with a start. She looked round the table as if searching for a face and said, ‘Tom’s gone?’
‘Yes, Ma,’ said Viv, donning her paper hat. ‘He had to go back to London. To the flat. Don’t you remember? I explained before lunch. He’s been burgled and he has to deal with the police.’
‘Alfie’s gone too,’ Rae said, her expression tragic.
Gwen saw the old woman’s eyes fill with tears and took her hand. ‘He’ll be back tomorrow. As soon as he can.’
‘Alfie?’ Rae shook her head and her hat slid over her eyes at a rakish angle. ‘No, he’s gone. Gone for good.’
‘No, Ma,’ Vivien said, barely able to suppress her irritation. ‘He’ll be back for lunch tomorrow. He promi
sed.’
‘And you know he always keeps his promises,’ Deborah added.
Rae brightened a little and straightened her hat. ‘Tom’s a good boy… He’ll come back, won’t he? Tomorrow, did you say?’
‘Yes, that’s right. Not long to wait.’
‘And he’ll have a present for you,’ Gwen added, smiling.
‘Won’t that be exciting?’ Vivien said, with forced gaiety. ‘Now eat your dinner, Ma, before it gets cold. Who’s for more stuffing?’
Deborah lifted her plate eagerly. ‘Yes please!’
Rae looked down at her plate and murmured, ‘I’m not hungry.’ She turned to Gwen and inclining her head, she peered at her face and said, ‘Forgive me, my dear, but I’ve forgotten your name. Is it… Gwyneth?’
‘It’s Gwen.’
‘Gwen! Yes, of course… Well, don’t worry, Gwen. Alfie will be back tomorrow. He’s a good boy. He keeps his promises.’ Rae lifted her knife and fork, cut herself a small piece of turkey and lifted it to her mouth. She chewed slowly and began to dissect a potato, then, suddenly defeated, laid down her cutlery with a clatter. She lifted her napkin and held it to her mouth. A faint mewing sound indicated that she’d started to cry.
‘Oh, for Christ’s sake!’ hissed Frances. ‘Do you think Tyler would mind if we descended on him for the afternoon? A troop of Polish ghosts playing Musical Chairs would be more fun than this!’ She stood up, tossed her napkin on to the table and left the room, taking her wine glass with her.
It was some time before anyone spoke. Deborah picked up the slip of paper that had fallen from Vivien’s cracker and unrolled it. She read it and dissolved into giggles. ‘Oh, Hattie, where did you get this one? It’s a cracker! Oh, I mean—’ She became incoherent with laughter again and Hattie, smiling reluctantly, took the paper from her and read aloud, ‘What is Santa’s favourite pizza?… Deep pan, crisp and even.’
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