by CJ Morrow
‘Yes Charlie.’ She hugged me tight and whispered into my ear. ‘You’re my favourite auntie.’ A running joke as Kiki has no other aunts because Marlene has no siblings.
I couldn’t help noticing a smell when I hugged Kiki and it took me a second or two to realise what it was. Dog.
‘Joe,’ Marlene started, ‘tell your Mum and Dad about Herman.’
Joe cast Marlene a look then smiled at Mum.
‘Is he all right? He’s not, you know…’. Mum glanced at Kiki and stopped speaking.
‘He’s fine, but we’ve had to bring him with us. I hope that’s okay.’
‘Um, well.’ Mum wasn’t at all pleased about Herman coming with them. ‘Where is he?’
‘In the car. Joe thought he should tell you before we brought him in.’ Marlene laughed. ‘I said you wouldn’t mind. You love animals, Penny, don’t you? He can sleep in the kitchen.’
It’s true, Mum does love animals; when we were growing up we had every pet going, iguanas, mice, fish, rabbits, hamsters. We never had a dog, though, and that wasn’t accidental. Mum has two cats now, William and Harry; she calls them her princes – for obvious reasons.
‘I’m not sure how the princes will react. The kitchen is their domain.’
Right on cue William flipped through the cat flap and wound his body around Marlene’s legs.
‘So cute.’ Marlene wiped the cat and his hair from her legs as she struggled to keep an inane grin on her face.
‘Herman can sleep with us, Mum. He’s so old now he doesn’t do much except eat and sleep.’
‘Not upstairs.’ Mum’s shoulders rose in horror. ‘We don’t have pets upstairs, never have and you know that Joseph.’ She used his full name, his telling-off name.
‘Right. So where can he sleep?’
‘In the annex.’
‘But I’m in the annex,’ I said. I don’t mind Herman but he is an ancient Golden Retriever and he smells.
‘You’re in the bedroom; he can go in the kitchenette.’ Mum turned and walked out of the room, and that was that.
‘He won’t bother you,’ Marlene said, smiling sweetly. ‘He’s no trouble. It’s a big annex, plenty of room for two.’
I suppose Marlene is right.
Mum and Dad moved out of Swindon, where Joe and I grew up, after Joe left for university and I left for London, not long after the Iain incident. It seemed to us both that they moved so we wouldn’t, or couldn’t, move back in with them. They had said they were downsizing, but after six months they decided that Dad’s Mum, Granny Suze, would move in with them so they built the annex. It has two bedrooms, a large geriatric shower room and a sitting room with a kitchenette at one end. Granny Suze died five years ago and the annex has become handy extra space. Every Christmas I sleep in the granny annex because there are only three bedrooms upstairs, one for Mum and Dad, one for Joe and Marlene and one with bunks for the kids.
One year I suggested to Mum that it made more sense for Joe and Marlene and the kids to use the annex, but she said she didn’t want to clear all her crafting stuff out of the smaller annex bedroom. So, I always go in the annex; the bonus is I have the bathroom all to myself.
Joe was despatched to haul a reluctant Herman out of the car and as they entered the kitchen William arched his back and started hissing.
‘Shush cat,’ Marlene said, her authoritarian voice silencing him instantly, which caused Mum to wince visibly. ‘Shoo, shoo,’ Marlene continued and chased William through the cat flap and out into the garden.
‘I’m not sure this is going to work.’ Mum glared at Herman who, by then, had slumped down on the floor and was eyeing the cats’ feeding bowls.
‘Put him in the annex, Joe. Give him his dinner in there.’ Marlene issued her orders before sloping off to the sitting room.
No one said anything else but hackles had risen. Families, eh?
After tea, which consisted of copious ham sandwiches – from the Christmas ham – accompanied by the sausage rolls and at least two each of the mince pies Mum and I had made earlier, the kids watched TV and Mum and I cleared up. Dad busied himself in his workshop – God knows what he was doing – and Joe and Marlene went up for a rest. It’s all right for some.
Once we’d gone through the charade of hanging up the stockings, purely for the benefit of the kids, of course, even though they both know that Santa isn’t real, Joe suggested a trip down to the local. Mum didn’t want to go, neither did Marlene, which was just as well as someone needed to stay home with Ben and Kiki. So Joe, Dad and I went; just like old times.
To be strictly accurate there aren’t many old times. I think, since Mum and Dad moved to Aston Bassett, we’ve probably been to the pub on Christmas Eve three times. The pub was quite empty by the time we arrived, the fire was burning low and it looked as though it was being allowed to die.
‘Bit quiet for Christmas Eve,’ Joe commented to the barman when he ordered our drinks.
‘No food tonight, so not many in. Full house tomorrow, Christmas dinner’s never been so popular. That’s why we’re closing early.’
‘Early?’
‘Ten.’
It was already nine-thirty, we didn’t have long. As soon as Joe came back with the drinks and told us this, I went straight back and ordered another round. I was on white wine, they didn’t have my favourite pinot, so I was drinking the house white. Dad and Joe were on pints of bitter. We managed to squeeze a third round in before we were ushered out.
Three large wines in half-an-hour is quite a feat, even for me, and I really knew it once we stepped outside and the cold air hit me. Dad and I felt momentarily dizzy so Joe and I linked arms with Dad and the three of us giggled our way home.
Marlene had already gone to bed when we got back, and Mum was waiting to ply us with cheese and biscuits before bed. This was followed by more mince pies and a final chocolate orange split between Joe and me. I felt quite sick by the time I went to bed, especially after we had a nightcap – just a tiny port.
You would think after all that alcohol that I would have slept well, but I didn’t. Not, I hasten to add, that it was my fault. It was Herman’s. I’ve never really been bothered by snoring, either my own or anyone else’s – I’ve never been with a man long enough for that to become a problem – but Herman’s snoring penetrated the deepest parts of my brain and gave me a headache.
‘That’s what you get for drinking so much.’ Mum arched her eyebrows at me the next morning as I fumbled in the kitchen for coffee and paracetamol.
‘No. It was Herman’s snoring that kept me up all night. It was God awful.’
‘Yes, he is old, he does snore,’ Marlene quipped, sipping a green smoothie at the table. She was wearing her jogging gear and had, apparently, done 5k that morning, as had a reluctant Joe. 5k on Christmas morning, what the hell?
I wanted to tell her to shut her face but it’s not nice to start a row at Christmas, so I said nothing at the same time wondering where I could buy some earplugs on Christmas day.
The kids were allowed to open some of their presents after breakfast and Ben and Kiki were delighted with my gifts. For Kiki, some great little clothes from a fabby London kiddie boutique which I knew she would love, and a game for Ben’s new PS something or other, which Marlene and Joe had bought him. Marlene had emailed the exact details so I knew it was the correct one and the look of delight on his face confirmed it. Phew. It’s so easy to get these things wrong.
The rest of us waited until after dinner, which I helped cook while Marlene, Joe and Dad sat on their backsides in the sitting room. To be fair Dad did ply us with drinks – no alcohol for me and Mum until dinner was ready and special juices he’d had to order online for Marlene. Joe just refuses to drink that stuff – good for him – he opted for canned beer with Dad.
Dinner was great, Mum is a great cook and I’m a good, if reluctant, kitchen helper. After we’d stuffed ourselves, and the dishwasher, we all retired to the sitting room for the grand present openi
ng. There’s an order to these things in our family and only one person at a time opens their presents while everyone looks on and oohs and aahs accordingly.
We make the kids wait until last, that way they pay attention to everyone else, even though they only have a couple of presents left that they’ve not opened earlier.
Mum always starts; she opened everything so slowly that I wanted to rip it from her hands. Then Dad, then Marlene, then Joe, then, finally, me.
I’d taken a couple of my presents down with me, my Secret Santa from work and the present my best friend Gen had given me. Gen’s present was perfume, the kind she knows I’ll never buy myself because it’s too expensive. Joe and Marlene had bought me a designer top, Mum and Dad had given me theatre ticket vouchers, which was what I had asked for, and Ben and Kiki had given me new pyjamas, pale blue with snowmen on them.
‘I’ll wear them tonight,’ I grinned, holding them against me for size. ‘Thank you.’
My last present, the last one of the grown-ups, was my Secret Santa from work. I felt confident it would be rubbish, the limit was ten-pounds, so it was likely to be a joke present, they usually were. Last year, I had a mug which said I’m so sweet when empty but as soon as hot liquid went into it said I’m a bitch. One trip through the dishwasher fixed that, it’s now permanently stuck on I’m a bitch, which makes me smile when I see Yan drinking out of it. I dragged out opening my Secret Santa just to tease Ben and Kiki who were itching to get to their own presents.
‘Come on Auntie Charlie, hurry up.’ Ben was spinning one of his few remaining presents between his fingers, the paper crinkling as he spun.
‘It’ll soon be your turn,’ Mum admonished. ‘Just have some patience.’
All eyes were on me as I slowly unwrapped the package. I wanted to delay the moment when everyone groaned – which was guaranteed. I’d warned them it would be something cheesy, I explained that it was my Secret Santa from work, so they knew what to expect.
I removed the wrapping paper to find an innocuous box. I slowly screwed up the paper and tossed it towards the bin bag that Dad had brought in to collect all the rubbish.
‘Auntie Charlie,’ whinged Kiki.
I grinned as I slowly opened the box, lifting the lid and discarding it.
‘What’s that?’ Kiki asked as an eight-inch dildo slid out from the bottom of the box.
‘Oh my God,’ I yelled, scrabbling to catch it before it hit the floor. But I didn’t. It was Herman who, having slumbered in the corner most of the day, had suddenly come to life. He clamped the dildo between his teeth and it began to vibrate.
Joe, jumping up, tried to wrestle it from Herman’s jaws. Marlene started hitting Herman across the back and shouting ‘drop, drop.’ But Herman wasn’t letting go of his prize.
‘Is it for Herman, Auntie Charlie?’ Kiki’s innocent voice filled the room. ‘That’s nice of your friends to think of him.’
‘What’s he got? What is it?’ asked Dad who hadn’t seen it properly before Herman got his jaws around it. ‘Is it a bone?’
I shouldn’t have laughed, I know, but I couldn’t help it.
While I laughed, Marlene and Joe wrestled Herman as Dad and Kiki looked on bemused; but it was Mum and Ben’s reaction which was priceless.
‘Disgusting,’ said Ben, who at eleven evidently knew what he was looking at. ‘You’re an old person.’ He shook his head at me and blushed.
I cringed with shame and annoyance. I am not old.
‘Charlene,’ shouted Mum. Oh dear, she was using my full name, my telling off name. ‘Do something.’
I jumped up and between the three of us, my brother, his wife and me, we bundled Herman into the kitchen and Joe finally got the dildo out of his dog’s mouth. He handed it – covered in Herman’s drool – back to me.
I stepped back. ‘No thanks.’
‘Okay.’ Joe flung it at the bin but Herman leapt into the air and caught it as it flew past him.
It was Marlene who tempted him to drop it a second time with the lure of a mince pie or two.
‘I thought he wasn’t supposed to have rich food,’ I said to Marlene once the furore had died down. The dildo was finally in the bin and Herman was on his third mince pie.
‘He’s not supposed to eat plastic and batteries either,’ she spat at me. ‘But he would have.’ She shook her head in disgust as we slinked back to the sitting room so the kids could open their final presents.
‘It wasn’t my fault. I didn’t buy it,’ I snapped back as I sat down.
‘That’s enough, Charlene,’ Mum said, as though I were a child.
I bit my tongue and nodded at Ben to open his presents.
Everything after that was an anti-climax – excuse the pun. We ate and drank more than we needed or wanted and slept in front of the TV until bedtime. Joe and I did manage a sly snigger about it in the kitchen when we were making coffee but other than that no one mentioned Herman and the dildo again.
That was Christmas day, done and over for another year. I was tired and even Herman’s snoring from the annex kitchenette didn’t keep me awake. But his howling woke me up from the deepest, sweetest sleep.
‘Shut up, Herman,’ I yelled through the wall.
He howled more. It went on and on and I waited for Joe or Marlene to come and sort him out. But no one came even when the howling got louder.
Finally, I hauled myself out of bed and yanked open my bedroom door.
The smell nearly knocked me off my feet.
I flicked the light on and Herman stopped howling, instead wagging his tail in delight at seeing me. He’d had diarrhoea all over the kitchenette; thank God the floor was tiled and not carpeted.
‘Urgh,’ I gagged putting my hand over my mouth and nose. I could taste it.
Herman seemed to take this as his invitation to jump up at me, knocking me over. I slipped in his mess and he had obviously paddled in it because I had poo paw prints on the front of my brand-new pyjamas.
‘You’ve ruined my new pyjamas,’ I screeched. ‘You big shit.’
Herman hung his head in shame and started whining.
Clambering to my feet, stumbling and slipping on the dog diarrhoea, I flicked open the bathroom door and nudged Herman inside. Luckily, the bathroom is a wet room, specially kitted out for Granny Suze, and as I sprayed Herman’s feet and his backside clean, I also peeled off my pyjamas before taking a quick shower too. Thankfully, Mum had put dark towels in the bathroom for me, and after drying myself and Herman I used them to mop up his mess in the kitchenette while he yelped in the bathroom.
Mum uses the annex kitchenette as a makeshift laundry room, which was particularly helpful as I loaded my pyjamas and the towels, as well as Herman’s sleeping blanket into the washing machine and set it going on the hot wash.
He whined a bit when I let him out of the bathroom but that was mainly because his beloved blanket had gone, but after a good sniff around he settled himself down to sleep and I was able to go back to bed. After tossing and turning, I finally managed to get back to sleep myself, even though the stench of dog diarrhoea lingered in my nose.
When I told Marlene about it all the next day she had no sympathy but made a face which screamed serves you right, raising her eyebrows and half smirking at me, as though it was my fault.
‘Marlene seems to be blaming me for your dog shitting everywhere last night,’ I told Joe when he walked Herman and I went with him.
‘Yeah. Just ignore her.’ Joe laughed.
‘It’s not funny. I had to wash all that lot in the night and then again in the morning after Mum declared them not clean enough. The tumble dryer’s on full pelt now. My lovely new pyjamas were in there too. I fell in the shit; I had to have a shower in the night.’ I was really annoyed with everyone for not taking this as seriously as I thought they should. No one had apologised or empathised.
‘How’s work?’ Joe said, changing the subject.
‘Yeah. Fine. You?’
‘Yeah. Same. You w
orking between Christmas and New Year?’
‘Yes,’ I said, smiling. We both knew I wasn’t but I always tell Mum and Dad that I am so I can make an early escape.
‘I wanted to leave early too but Marlene wants to stay for New Year.’
‘That’s so she can sit on her bony arse while Mum waits on her.’ I said this laughing and Joe joined in as we both knew it was the truth.
When we got back Mum had folded all the dry towels and left my pyjamas on my bed. I held them up to me; they had shrunk and the colour had faded.
‘Shit bag,’ I muttered under my breath.
‘Who is?’ Kiki’s little voice came from behind me.
‘Oh nothing. Shall we have a go at that crochet kit Nanny bought you?’ I’m crap at crafts so it would be as much of a learning experience for me as Kiki.
‘No. I don’t really like that sort of stuff. Can I play with your makeup instead?’
An hour later Kiki and I both looked like clowns and Marlene’s pinched face when she saw us made me laugh out loud.
‘I’ll never get that off,’ she hissed.
‘At least it doesn’t stink like dog shit,’ I whispered out of Kiki’s earshot.
‘Ha bloody ha. Come on Kiki, bathroom.’
Boxing Day dragged on. Too much food, too much time together. Marlene, once she’d cleaned Kiki’s face, wanted to go through the exercises she had prepared for me. To keep the peace, I obliged in the living room while Mum gave helpful hints and Dad kept dodging from side to side in an attempt to watch The Great Escape on TV. He’s seen that film so many times he must know it off by heart anyway.
A reluctant Herman was dragged around the block before bed in an effort to ensure that there wouldn’t be repeat of the previous night. I told Joe that if there was they would be cleaning it up themselves. All six of my nearest and dearest had insisted that they never heard Herman howling. How convenient.
I wore my – by then – very snug, new PJs and went to bed early. Herman, bless him, didn’t disturb me at all, neither howling nor snoring. I had a blissful night’s sleep.
It was daylight when I awoke, rested and happy and not just because I’d slept well, but also because I was going home, my home, London. Mum had mentioned something about lunch but I’d told her I needed to get back early and was catching a train around eleven. I’d already persuaded Joe to take me to the station so Mum couldn’t delay my leaving. And, I’d checked the live departure boards on my phone and a train was definitely running, not a coach replacement, not at that time.