by Adale Geras
‘You don’t think I should, Charlotte, do you? I promised the girls I wouldn’t.’
‘Well … a promise is a promise. You’ve made promises to Bob too … Those are less difficult, aren’t they? But time will pass. The wedding … after that’s over, things’ll be different. With Zannah happy and settled, you won’t feel as though you’re unbalancing her, or reminding her too much of how she felt when she left Cal.’
‘But what about Em?’
‘She’s so much Bob’s daughter, isn’t she? She’s sure to be upset on his behalf. You have to expect it, Joss. You have to accept that you can’t do this without hurting them. Don’t think you can.’
‘But I don’t want to hurt them … Oh, God, Charlotte, why’s everything so hard?’
‘You’ve got to be tough. One thing I learned in prison was this: unless it’s going to destroy something you love and need, you’ve got to do whatever you have to, for yourself. Such a cliché, I know, but a lifetime is so short. So short. Some people would choose everyone else’s good opinion of them over their own happiness. Don’t be like that, Joss.’
Joss picked up the teacup from the saucer in front of her. ‘This is cold now. I’ll make some more. And I think we could treat ourselves to a scone.’
For the first time in many days, she told herself, as she filled the kettle, I feel a little like myself. Like how I used to feel.
*
The plane was making a comfortable droning sound as it flew south. They’d been in the air for about six hours and now Gray was sleeping. Or he’s pretending to be asleep so as not to have to talk to me, Maureen reflected. Well, sod him. He’d been behaving most oddly for a few weeks now and she’d said nothing. That, she’d found, was the way to deal with his moods. Very occasionally, he did go into a silent phase and walk around like a zombie. After a bit, the mood (or whatever it was) always lifted and he was fine again. South Africa would do that, Maureen was sure. It would cheer him up. Perhaps he’d been working too hard. Jon couldn’t put the two of them up in his little flat and it was with some glee that she’d chosen the fabulous-looking hotel they were going to stay in. She’d found it on the Internet, and over the last few days she’d visited the site more and more often, staring at the turquoise water in the pool and drifting into daydreams of the two of them, stretched out on white sunloungers. She’d quite got over her regret at not doing Christmas in Guildford. This was going to be perfect from beginning to end.
She thought of her best Christmas present, which she’d packed carefully in her luggage. Darling Adrian! How clever of him to think of such a thing! Matching camera phones. She’d give him one; he’d give her one. ‘This way, we can take pix of our respective Christmas dinners and send them to one another. It’ll be great. And you can email all your friends with photos of that swimming-pool and make them really, really jealous.’ Maureen smiled to herself. Her son knew her so well. But what a good idea it had been! She’d had special permission to open her present in advance, so that Adrian could teach her how to operate it. I can’t wait to take some pictures, she thought. I should have packed the phone in my hand luggage.
Never mind, she thought. She reached into her bag and felt a pang of guilt at the extravagance that had made her splash out on a Mulberry. She’d hovered over the new Bethany, but decided in the end that Bays-water, in a delicious shade of pistachio green, was a better shape for her needs. It was years and years since she’d had such a holiday and some sort of celebration was called for. She stroked the leather – what a thing of beauty this handbag was! – and took out a printout of the wedding menus that Genevieve had sent her. She’d managed to pin down Zannah and Adrian to choosing desserts, and they’d been sensible and agreed with her, so there was no problem there. It would all, she knew, be amazing. She’d decided right from the beginning that you had to stay away from pork, because so many religions forbade it. Chicken was too much of a cliché and brought to mind things like ‘the rubber-chicken circuit’ even though that was political dinners, so duck was a good substitute. Salmon would be popular and you had to consider how many people were veggies, these days. Perhaps they ought to have another main course for them.
Maureen looked out of the window at the lumpy white clouds below the plane. Adrian would be in Altrincham by now with Zannah and the others. She tried to imagine what Christmas there would be like. Well, perhaps she’d see when Adrian sent her his photographs on the phone. It seemed to Maureen that the modern world was packed with things that worked by what she regarded as a kind of magic. I wonder, she thought, whether he’ll have the sense to take a picture of their Christmas table. She was curious to see what it was like. She turned to Gray but his eyes were firmly closed. A little strange, at this hour of the morning … He was probably sleep-deprived. There had been an article about that in the Daily Telegraph only last week.
Sunday
Since their conversation with Joss a couple of weeks before, Emily and Zannah had discussed what might or might not have been going on in their mother’s life a few times and then, as though by common consent that there was no longer anything useful either of them could say, they’d stopped. Zannah had so much on her mind with the wedding arrangements that she seemed to have stopped worrying about their mother altogether. And now, buying presents, wrapping them, talking about who was going to be in Altrincham and when they were arriving and how long they’d be staying had pushed most other subjects out of the way. Even the wedding had taken a back seat, and Emily was grateful for small mercies. She’d begun to make some preliminary arrangements for the hen night, but nothing that took too much of her time.
Now they were in the thick of Christmas and although she’d been a little nervous about confronting her mother again, she had to admit that Ma seemed absolutely normal. No angst discernible anywhere, and Emily had had her eyes peeled at all times and her antennae out for signs of a broken heart. Everyone seemed to be behaving well. There could have been rows about many things. Magazines often spoke of the festive season being a minefield for all concerned, but the Gratrixes seemed to be having a great time.
Even the decoration of the Christmas tree the night before had gone without a hitch. Pa and Isis had undertaken to do it with no help from anyone else and they’d made a good job of it, although Emily could see that it took an almost physical effort on Zannah’s part to keep from interfering. True, she’d probably have made it somewhat more artistic. Isis was obviously mad keen on hanging glass baubles in lurid colours and masses of tinsel on every available branch and Pa had generously decided to give her a free hand. There was a star at the top of the tree, and a fairy doll as well. Why not? Emily couldn’t think of a better time than Christmas to over-egg every available pudding. That was part of the fun.
Now they were in the living room and the opening of presents was going quite well. The Gratrix family tradition, begun when she and Zannah were very small, was to gather straight after breakfast with a pile of everyone’s gifts on the carpet at their feet. Then they took turns, youngest first, then round the room in order of age, to pick a parcel out of the heap, with everyone chiming in to admire what others had received. The process took ages, but no one minded. Mince pies were eaten, sherry was drunk and if anyone happened to receive a box of chocolates, the custom was to open it at once and pass it round. Every so often Ma left the room and went into the kitchen to put this or that bit of the dinner into the oven. Over many years, Joss had perfected her routine. Every component – turkey, stuffing, potatoes, sprouts, pudding – had been prepared the night before and needed only to be cooked. Various attempts to change the menu, do something different, be creative, had been resolutely vetoed by Emily and Zannah. Change was all very well for other things but Christmas dinners had to stay the same, always and for ever.
They’d nearly finished doing the Pile, as it was called. Drifts of gift-wrap lay all over the floor. Presents were carefully arranged by each person’s chair. They’d exclaimed over everything and – this happened every year – the g
ifts were pronounced the best ever. Adrian had just opened a present from Maureen. He held it up for everyone to see. ‘Well, I knew I was getting this but have a look everyone … I’ve promised to use it to send some shots of our Christmas to my mother in South Africa.’
A camera phone shone silver in his hand. Could it be that Adrian hadn’t owned one until now? No, apparently he had, but this one was clearly the latest model.
‘Take a picture of me, Adrian. I want to see it. Please, please.’ Isis was excited and pushed herself closer.
‘Hang on a mo, Isis,’ said Adrian, sounding cross and clutching his present to his chest in what seemed to Emily a rather childish reflex. ‘I’ll take your picture in a minute. Sit down for a sec. I want to get a shot of the whole scene.’
He sprang up and went to stand at the window. Everyone froze, transfixed by the sight of a camera. ‘Right … Don’t move. There you go!’
He walked around after taking the picture, showing everyone the result of his labours. To give him his due, Emily thought, it wasn’t bad. He’d got everyone in except Ma. Zannah, Isis, Pa and Charlotte were smiling. She herself didn’t look as dreadful as she sometimes did in photos. The tree was as sparkly and, garish as it was in real life.
‘You’re not in the shot, Joss,’ Adrian said.
‘I don’t mind, really,’ said Ma, turning her face away from the camera, which Adrian was now pointing in her face. ‘I hate being photographed. And especially not now … I look … I’m not ready, honestly.’
‘Nonsense,’ said Adrian and clicked. ‘There you go! Lovely shot.’
Ma was flustered. Adrian showed the picture to Pa, who announced that it was terrific and that Ma looked ‘a treat’.
‘Now me, Adrian. Please. You promised.’ Isis was jumping up and down.
‘Okay, okay! Anything to stop you nagging!’
Adrian didn’t sound as light-hearted as he should have done and Emily glanced across at Zannah to see whether she had spotted this exchange. Of course she had. Her sister would notice the smallest detail right across a room. She was frowning. Emily didn’t fancy Adrian’s chances of getting through the day without a row.
‘There you go, Isis. How d’you like that?’
He sounded more friendly. Isis said, ‘Can you print it out for me? Later, on the computer.’
‘No problem,’ said Adrian. ‘Now, watch out, everyone. I’m going to see if it works. I’m going to send these shots to my mother in South Africa.’
He did a bit of fiddling with buttons on the silver face, then said proudly: ‘There they go. And, what’s more, I’m expecting some back from her any minute. We gave one another matching presents.’ He smiled at Zannah.
Ma stood up and said, ‘I’ve got to check the turkey.’
She left the room rather quickly. Emily thought she’d caught panic on her mother’s face and followed her. No one else was bothered. They were all too busy with their presents.
‘Ma? Are you okay? Is anything wrong?’
‘No, not really. I’m a bit annoyed, though, to have my photo beamed to South Africa so that Maureen can gloat about how awful I look in comparison to her. You wait, she’ll be dressed up to the nines in the one she sends back.’
‘You look fine to me, Ma.’
‘I suppose so,’ she said, sounding unconvinced. ‘It’s just that I’m not even properly dressed yet. I don’t really relish being photographed in this state.’
‘Don’t worry about it, honestly. No one takes that kind of photo seriously. They just delete them and move on to the next thing. And maybe Maureen’ll have pulled a horrible face. She’s just the sort of person who mugs in front of the camera.’
Ma bent to open the oven door. She basted the turkey with its own juices and replaced it before she answered. ‘I’m sure you’re right, Em. Silly, really, to be so vain at my age. I’m going to put on some make-up now. Can’t believe Adrian won’t be taking photos as we’re tucking in to Christmas dinner.’
That’s the spirit,’ Emily said. It was only after her mother had gone upstairs that she realized what was behind her mother’s unwonted vanity. It was about Graham Ashton, she was quite sure. He’d be seeing those photos too. Even though Ma had promised she was never going to see him alone again, it must still be flattering at her age to have a man declaring his love, and she’d be less than human if she didn’t want to look her best.
*
‘Have a look at this, Graham!’
Maureen’s voice sounded too loud in his ear but it was Christmas Day so he smiled and said, ‘Adrian’s sent you a pic already, has he?’
‘It’s the Gratrixes’ lounge. It’s rather a mess but it’s hard to judge properly. They’ve obviously been opening presents. Still, that tree’s a bit of a disaster. I’m surprised. Zannah should have been allowed to do it herself. That’s probably Joss trying hard and not getting it right. I’m not at all sure her talents lie in an artistic direction.’
Gray stared at the small screen. There they were, smiling, happy, and Lydia wasn’t in the picture. Perhaps she’d stepped out of the way. It was perfectly possible that she wouldn’t want to have her photo beamed across the world to him.
‘Here’s a picture of Joss herself … and this one’s the dining room before they sit down to eat. Good old Adrian! I did ask him specially to take one of the table. It looks all right, doesn’t it? Old-fashioned, of course, but very nice and traditional. I like the centrepiece. There was something not unlike it in Martha Stewart’s Christmas book. Joss is pale, isn’t she?’
Maureen had passed him the phone and he gazed at Lydia’s picture. She was pale. There was a hunted, anxious look about her, and no wonder, with Adrian pointing the camera at her when it must have been the last thing she was expecting. Still, it was a photograph of her and the only other image he had was the jacket photo from The Shipwreck Café. They’d been mad not to send one another photographs over the Internet. He wondered how he would be able to transfer this, his first sight of her for a long time, to his own email. He said, ‘Nice pictures, aren’t they? Send them to my email and I’ll get them printed out for you if you like when we get home.’
‘Will you? How lovely! Thanks, darling.’
She fiddled with her phone for a while and Gray leaned back against the cushions of the sunlounger beside the pool. He was having a much better time than he’d expected. Mostly this had to do with seeing Jon again. He’d forgotten how well they got on; how restful it was to be with a son who loved him sincerely and wasn’t constantly judging him. Ever since he and Maureen had married, Gray had been aware of Adrian contrasting him with an ideal, never-seen father and finding him wanting. This evening, they’d be having Christmas dinner here in the hotel with Jon and his girlfriend, Lynne, and Gray knew Maureen would take pictures of the occasion to send to Adrian’s phone. It couldn’t be helped and a part of him wanted Lydia to see him. Let her think he was having the finest time in the world and getting over her nicely. He smiled to himself at how often the camera lied. It was true that here, at this distance, it was easier to forget about Lydia for hours at a stretch, but then something would remind him of how much he loved her. Whenever they lay beside the hotel pool, Gray closed his eyes against the dazzle of the sun on the turquoise waters and imagined that she was next to him.
Maureen wasn’t waiting for Christmas dinner. She was taking a photo of him now, as he lay there. He opened his eyes and smiled straight at the camera. He said, ‘I hope you’ve got the pool in. The umbrellas, the table and so forth.’
‘Absolutely. You look fine. Now it’s your turn. Take a couple of me and we’ll send them straight away. I don’t want Adrian to have to wait till tonight to see how lovely it is here. What a good time we’re having.’
Dutifully Gray took a couple of shots of Maureen, who was looking particularly sleek and happy. When he’d finished, she called over his shoulder to someone walking behind them. ‘Hello? Excuse me, I wonder if you’d mind? I’d love a photo of me and my h
usband to send to my son. Would you mind taking it?’
The hapless hotel guest who’d been landed with the task did it with rather too much enthusiasm for Gray’s liking. ‘Ach, that’s lovely … Cuddle up now! Put an arm round her, man! That’s right. Terrific. I think I’ll take another. Turn to look at her … Yah, that’s great. Fabulous. Have a look!’
He held out the phone so that Maureen could check the shots. They’re marvellous!’ she said. ‘Thanks so much. It’s very kind of you.’
‘My pleasure.’ The man wandered off and Gray closed his eyes again.
‘I’ve just sent them to Adrian,’ Maureen announced.
‘Fine,’ he answered. Would Adrian show the photos to everyone? He and Maureen had appeared radiantly happy and together. Would that cause Lydia pain? Part of him hoped it would but mostly he flinched at the thought of how she might feel. He wished he could phone her this minute and say: It’s not true. None of it. It’s just a show. I wish I could be with you.
*
‘Best Christmas dinner ever, darling,’ said Bob.
‘You say that every year.’ Joss took a sip of wine.
‘It’s true every year,’ said Charlotte.
‘I don’t want any of my sprouts,’ said Isis. ‘Can I leave them? Can I get down?’
‘Not yet, sweetheart. There’s pudding still to come,’ Zannah said.
‘I don’t like pudding. Can I get down?’
‘Go on, then, if you must. It’s better than having you grumbling away down there at your end.’ She wasn’t exactly irritated, but Joss could tell that Isis was getting excited and that would only lead to Zannah being cross with her later.
‘Who wants more roast potatoes?’ said Bob. ‘I know I do.’
Emily stood up. ‘I want to drink to Ma,’ she said, ‘and say thanks. Not just for a lovely Christmas dinner but also for a really amazing Christmas present, which you might not all know about.’
‘Em, please,’ said Joss. ‘That’s between me and you girls.’