by Emlyn Rees
‘How about a Christmas drink?’ he said. ‘I can’t vouch for the year, but it’s the only one the pub had.’
He poured them both a mug of wine and they sat down on opposite sides of the table.
‘A toast,’ she said. ‘To you. For all the effort you’ve put in. For making today fun and for putting a smile on a girl’s face.’
‘The smile’s worth it.’
It was. It was addictive. Kellie had made him remember how much fun flirting could be. The more he made her smile, the more he wanted to make her smile again – and the more it fired the spark he felt between them. He wanted to know how it would be, the two of them together as a proper couple. He imagined it as perfect. As to whether he’d ever find out, well, Kellie was like a guessing game to which he had no answers. He could only try his best and wait and see.
She rolled her wine around the rim of her mug, as if she were in a restaurant and gazing at him through a fine crystal glass.
‘It’s funny, isn’t it?’ she said.
‘What?’
‘How quickly we – you know, people – can adapt and adjust. Like being with you now, here, in this cottage, sitting down for lunch . . . it almost seems normal.’
‘Maybe that’s what normal is: being able to relax.’
‘But I don’t normally relax with people I don’t know.’
‘Perhaps,’ he said, ‘you know me better than you think.’
‘We only met yesterday.’
‘But surely getting to know someone isn’t only about how much time you’ve spent with them. I mean, you can spend a lifetime with some people and not know the first thing about them. But then you can also become close friends with someone else’ – he clicked his fingers – ‘just like that.’
‘Is that what we are now then?’ she asked. ‘Friends?’
‘I’d like to think so.’
‘I normally don’t make new friends either,’ she said.
He pictured her again, the ice maiden walking past him on the quay in Fleet Town, but he sensed that something about her had changed. Even here, in the past five minutes, it was as if she’d finally begun to thaw.
‘Why not?’ he asked.
‘Because normally I don’t need to, because I’m already with old friends.’
‘Like your sort of boyfriend?’
‘Yes,’ she reflected. He was surprised she’d answered. He’d half-expected her to move the conversation on. ‘That was how I described him, wasn’t it? Last night . . . in the pub . . .’
‘Yes . . .’
The buzzer on the cooker sounded and she smiled.
‘Saved by the bell,’ she said, pushing back her chair and getting up. She stood by the oven and rubbed her hands together. ‘Right,’ she said, ‘what do you need me to do?’
Chapter 17
Stephanie looked up at the clock on the mantelpiece and calculated that it had taken just thirty-three minutes for them to eat Christmas dinner. Thirty-three minutes. She looked at the wreckage on the table: the turkey carcass, the last remaining roast potato, the dribble of gravy on the white cloth, the bread sauce that nobody apart from her father had touched, the burnt devils on horseback, the wilted cabbage and the congealed glazed carrots. It had all been such an effort and now it had taken thirty-three minutes to devour it all. What an incredible waste.
She looked at her family, red faced and bloated, each wearing a lopsided paper hat from the crackers they’d opened. At the other end of the table, Elliot was making everyone laugh with an anecdote about one of his cases. Nearer to her, Simon was scratching a groove in the leg of the table with his set of mini screwdrivers that he’d got from his cracker. Nat, who was equally bored, was trying to stuff the sparkly doll Isabelle had given her into one of her grandfather’s best wine glasses.
Stephanie had never felt so un-festive in all her life. She downed the rest of her red wine and refilled her glass. She’d already drunk far too much, but David’s surprise holiday offer and Isabelle’s shocking announcement earlier had left her with too many mixed-up emotions to process. She’d felt humiliated, resentful, guilty and upset all at once and hadn’t been able to show anything. Instead, she’d had to bite it all back and congratulate Isabelle and Elliot. Afterwards, she’d quickly escaped to slug back a large glass of cooking wine in the kitchen to steady her nerves. She hadn’t stopped since.
She leant down to retrieve her napkin from the floor. Under the table, Rufus was licking a roast potato and Taylor was fiddling with the iPod in her lap. As Stephanie sat back up, she could see now that Taylor had one earphone in place, the white wire cleverly hidden by her hair. No wonder she’d been so quiet.
Simon was increasing the pressure on the screwdriver and Stephanie could hear a nasty scraping sound, as he leant back in his chair.
‘Simon, stop it,’ she said.
David tore his attention away from Elliot. ‘Don’t keep having a go at him,’ he said under his breath. ‘What’s the matter now?’
She hated him for not backing her up. Why did she always have to be the bad parent with Simon? Why wouldn’t David give him any discipline at all? All she was doing was trying to bring up her kids to be decent human beings and yet, at every step along the way, he undermined her.
‘Fine,’ she said. ‘Simon, your father thinks it’s absolutely fine for you to scratch a hole in Grandpa’s antique table. You go right ahead.’
‘For God’s sake,’ David said.
Simon put the screwdrivers back on the table and sat on his hands. ‘Sorry, Mum,’ he mumbled.
David ruffled Simon’s hair and then turned back to his conversation with Elliot. Stephanie took another slug of wine.
‘Can I leave the table?’ Simon asked.
‘No.’
‘Mummy, do you think Father Christmas goes to McDonald’s for lunch?’ Nat asked.
Stephanie was so tempted to tell Nat the truth, to tell her that Father Christmas didn’t exist, that Stephanie herself was Father Christmas, to explain that it was all just a giant hoax in order to exploit people into spending more money on presents that nobody wanted – and that the reason everyone hoodwinked their kids was to divert their attention away from the inevitable truth that they were going to discover as adults: that Christmas was shit, a horror show of forced smiles and unhealthy food. She wanted to tell Nat that, if she had any sense, she would start saving all her pocket money now, so that she could spend future Christmases on a beach with her friends, because Christmas was never going to get any better for her from this moment on.
‘I don’t think there’s a McDonald’s at the North Pole,’ Stephanie said instead.
‘There is everywhere else,’ Simon said.
‘I think he has lunch with all his helpers,’ Nat said, ‘and maybe Snow White and Tinkerbell come too.’
‘No, they don’t, durr brain.’
Nat yelped. ‘He kicked me.’
‘Did not,’ Simon said.
‘Did.’
‘I’m going to the bathroom,’ Stephanie said, leaving the table.
Once there, she sat on the side of the bath and buried her head in her hands. What was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she handle this? It was all David’s fault. If he hadn’t presented her with the tickets, then she could have soldiered through this Christmas until they were safely back home.Instead he’d deliberately piled on the pressure. He’d deliberately brought things to a head. And now he’d left her with no choice – she knew, with absolute certainty, that they didn’t have a future. They couldn’t go to Vienna for the weekend. They’d couldn’t even spend five minutes in the same room with each other without arguing. No, the future was for couples like Elliot and Isabelle who were having another baby. Not for her and David. She couldn’t even look at his face without hating him.
She took a deep breath. She had to hold it together, just for a few more hours. Then Christmas would be more or less over. She could plead exhaustion and go to bed. She could knock herself out with some sleeping p
ills and when she woke up it would nearly be time to go home. And then?
And then, she’d give it to David straight. She’d break whatever delusion he was under. But until then, she must not lose control. This was her dad’s Christmas. Simon’s Christmas. Nat’s Christmas. Even Stephanie and Elliot and Taylor’s Christmas. This wasn’t just about her and her marital crisis. She had to remember that.
She went back downstairs, holding on to the banister for support. She felt flushed and drunk and unsteady on her feet. She was about to go back into the dining room, when she saw through the crack in the study door that Isabelle and Elliot were loading the dishwasher in the kitchen.
‘It cost a fortune from Lidgates,’ Isabelle was saying. ‘I had to order it six weeks ago.’
‘She totally over-cooked it,’ Elliot said.
‘I told her she’d had it in the oven for too long, but she wouldn’t listen. I gave most of mine to Rufus. At least he appreciated it.’
Stephanie’s face began to burn. Her heart raced.
‘I would have said something, but she’s so bloody oversensitive,’ Elliot said.
‘Tell me about it. I couldn’t believe how she reacted about the Vienna trip. Poor David went to all that effort. I mean, I know I booked it for him, but it was his idea. You know, he’s such a great guy and she’s vile to him . . .’
‘It’s none of our business,’ Elliot said. ‘She’s still so upset about Paul. Perhaps you shouldn’t have mentioned the baby.’
‘I did try and talk to her last night, but it would have made no difference anyway. She’s just locked in this horrible negative space. She’s got to move on. For herself. For all of them. She’s just terrible to those kids. She won’t let Simon so much as breathe, and she practically ignores poor Natascha who’s just desperate for attention. Even your father agrees.’
‘When did you talk to him about it?’
‘I haven’t yet, but I can tell how he feels. The way he looks at her when she snaps at David, or the kids. We all feel it, don’t we?’
‘We mustn’t go jumping to conclusions. We should just stay out of it.’
‘You know, when I see how unhappy they are and how dreadful she looks, I just thank God we’ve got each other.’
‘You know, Izzy, I wish you’d told me before. About being pregnant.’
‘I wanted it to be the perfect Christmas surprise.’
‘Well it was certainly that.’
‘Good.’
‘You still should have told me. And Taylor. Did you see the look on her face?’
‘She’ll get used to it. She’s always wanted a sibling.’
‘But she didn’t think she was ever really going to have one,’ he said. ‘I didn’t think we could any more. I thought that’s why you said it was safe to come off the pill.’
‘Yes, but I was wrong, honey, and isn’t it such exciting news? Imagine. You and me together as parents again. We were so young the first time, and now we know so much more. Just think about it. A little baby. It’s going to be so much fun . . .’
Stephanie walked back to the dining room and took her seat. She was so shocked, she felt entirely numb, as if she was seeing herself from the corner of the room. She refilled her glass yet again.
Elliot was carrying the Christmas pudding when he came back in. He hurried over and put it on the place mat in front of Stephanie.
‘Why don’t you divvy up?’ he said, smiling at her.
He took a pile of china bowls that Isabelle handed him and put them down next to Stephanie. It took all her effort not to hurl them at his head. Instead, she rose to her feet, grabbing the table for support. She picked up her wine glass and took a gulp.
‘Steph. Haven’t you had enough? Maybe you should have a glass of water,’ Isabelle said, laughing to try and make light of it.
Stephanie banged her glass down, hitting the side of the pudding dish by accident. The stem snapped, and the wine seeped into the tablecloth, like blood on snow. Everyone went quiet.
‘Don’t you dare tell me what to do,’ Stephanie said, measuring each word. She knew that she was breaking a sacred and unspoken family code. No one ever rowed at Christmas. It had been her mother’s golden rule. But after what she’d overheard in the kitchen, Stephanie felt as if war had been declared. Suddenly, the whole atmosphere of the room had changed.
Isabelle ran her tongue over her teeth. She made a big show of taking a controlled breath. ‘You know, Stephanie, I have just about had it with you being rude to me today. You’re sitting down there at the end of the table in some kind of black cloud. Whatever it is that’s bugging you . . . how about you just keep it to yourself, OK?’
‘Why don’t we all calm down?’ David said. ‘I think –’
‘Shut up! Just shut up!’
It came from Stephanie’s mouth before she’d even thought about it. As an out of control shout.
There was a horrible silence.
Gerald scraped his chair back. ‘Stephanie, I won’t have you behaving like that at the table. Not in front of the children.’
‘You don’t understand,’ she said. ‘None of you do.’
‘Mummy, stop it!’ Nat said. There were tears in her voice. Stephanie couldn’t look at her. She stared down at the Christmas pudding, her vision blurring.
‘Don’t worry, darling,’ David said to Nat. ‘Everything’s fine.’
The doorbell rang.
‘That’ll be Michael,’ Taylor said, jumping to her feet and throwing her napkin down on the chair. ‘I’ll go.’
‘Come on kids. Why don’t we all go and answer the door together?’ Gerald said, standing up and taking Nat’s hand. He flicked his head at the door and then at Simon. His expression was icy as he looked at Stephanie. ‘And then why don’t we go and see if there’s any brandy to put on the Christmas pudding?’ he went on. ‘And by the time we come back, hopefully the grown-ups will have started to behave themselves.’
Stephanie stared after him. She’d broken her promise and let him down, but she hadn’t been able to stop herself. She knew she should apologise and sit down and shut up, but she couldn’t make herself.
‘Well done, Steph,’ Elliot said, slow clapping. ‘Ruin Christmas lunch, why don’t you?’
‘You really can be a sanctimonious bastard,’ she said. ‘So what if I’ve ruined Christmas lunch? It was already ruined. I know what you two think. I heard you in the kitchen just now.’
Elliot looked panic-stricken at Isabelle. But Isabelle looked defiant.
‘Well . . . it should do you good to hear a few home truths,’ she said.
‘Stephanie,’ David began, ‘leave Elliot and Isabelle out of this. I know you’re feeling emotional –’
‘You don’t know how I feel.’
‘I do.’
‘No, you don’t. You don’t know what feelings are. You don’t have any.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
Did he really not get it?
‘If you did have any feelings, or any modicum of intuition, you wouldn’t be sitting here, laughing away when . . .’
‘When what?’
‘When Paul isn’t here,’ Stephanie shouted. Then she turned on Isabelle. ‘Oh yes, that’s right, you think I should be over it, don’t you? I should move on?’ she said, quoting her from the kitchen. ‘Or did I mishear you?’
‘Don’t try making this about me,’ Isabelle said. ‘It’s not.’
Stephanie had had enough. ‘Why don’t you just butt out, you smug, meddling bitch. I’m sick of you lording it over me, with your perfect fucking marriage and your perfect fucking life. Well, you know what? You can stick it all, right up your perfect fucking arse!’
Isabelle sucked in her cheeks. ‘I can see that you’re not being rational,’ she said. ‘So rather than focusing your anger on me, maybe you and David should take some time to sort this out. Come on, Elliot.’ She stood to leave. Elliot stood up too.
‘Please,’ David said. ‘Can’t we just �
�’
‘And for your information, Isabelle . . .’ Stephanie continued, ignoring him. She was shaking. ‘ . . . I do love my kids. Very much. And I’m a damn good mother. At least I don’t shove them off to boarding school and pay someone else to look after them. You should look at your own mothering skills before you start judging mine.’
Isabelle had gone red. ‘You leave Taylor out of this. You’re just jealous.’
‘Of what? Of the fact you can’t control your own daughter? At least I’m there for my kids. What are you going to do with this baby, Isabelle? Use it as a designer accessory? Palm it off on a nanny, like you did with Taylor? That’s not being a mother –’
‘You –’ Isabelle began, but Elliot was holding her arm and steering her quickly out of the room.
‘Come on,’ he said, throwing a dark, angry look at Stephanie.
Left alone with David, she felt indignant tears well up as she waited for David to speak. She was ready to fight anything he said. She wanted to fight him. She’d tell him the truth. About what she thought about Isabelle and Elliot. And him.
David walked over to her. For a moment, she thought he was going to slap her face – not that he ever had before – but
when he spoke, his voice was soft.
‘I find it hard, too.’
She let out a suppressed sob. ‘No you don’t.’
‘I miss him as much as you, but that won’t bring him back.’
Stephanie had wanted to talk about Paul’s death for so long with David, but now that they had actually reached this moment, she realised that it would serve no purpose. She’d gone beyond the point where she could try and make sense of it all with him. She found the sympathy in his voice too much to bear. The tears she’d felt so close vanished again, replaced by a stony determination.
‘I can’t move on,’ she said.
‘He was my son, too. But we can’t change what happened.’
‘You could have.’
Her statement hung between them, like a bullet. She knew that they were words that could never be taken back. David stared at her, his mouth open.
She turned away from him, terrified by what she’d just said. Her stomach felt strange, as if she’d just stepped off the top of a building and was falling.