Out of Step

by Maggie Makepeace

  ‘He’ll help,’ Rob said, ‘He’ll take them off our hands some of the time. It’ll be easier, you’ll see.’

  ‘And what about food?’

  ‘We’ve got a turkey ordered, haven’t we? It’ll stretch to one more easily. You worry too much.’

  But I’ll have to clean the house, Nell thought. He’ll be super-critical of everything, and I haven’t the energy … and we’ll need heaps more booze … and a gift for him … She felt defeated before she’d even begun. ‘I thought you didn’t like your father?’ she objected. ‘Especially after last year.’

  ‘I never said that.’ Rob was indignant. ‘It was Cassie who messed things up.’

  ‘Oh well, I expect we’ll manage.’ After all, Nell admonished herself, if my parents were alive, I’d want them to come, wouldn’t I?

  Bert arrived late on Christmas Eve, later than he had said he would. He was driving a flashy car, which turned out to have a boot full of fancily-wrapped presents. Nell went out with Rob to greet him and, seeing them in the light from the porch, was pleasantly surprised.

  ‘Clementines,’ he said, handing her a carrier bag. ‘And Rob, take this wine, would you. No kids?’

  ‘Asleep upstairs,’ Rob said. ‘Don’t bang the doors, eh?’

  They helped him in with his things, and put his presents on top of the others under the Christmas tree in the sitting room.

  ‘I hope you’ll be all right on that?’ Nell asked, indicating the makeshift bed on the floor. ‘I’ve put a hot bottle in it.’

  ‘Positive luxury,’ Bert beamed. ‘You should see some of the places I’ve slept in my time. I think the worst was in a desert full of scorpions in North Africa! Freezing cold, it was. Did I ever tell you abut that, Rob?’

  ‘Once or twice.’ Rob smiled at Nell. ‘Have you eaten?’

  ‘Oh, don’t go to any trouble,’ Bert said cheerfully. ‘A light omelette would do just fine. Cheese and tomato for preference.’

  Nell sighed audibly without really meaning to.

  ‘When’s it due?’ Bert asked, as though coming upon her condition unexpectedly.

  ‘Fortnight,’ Nell yawned. She could barely keep her eyes open.

  ‘Oh, it’ll be late,’ Bert said confidently. ‘First ones always are.’

  God! Nell thought, I do hope not. But she smiled politely.

  ‘You get off to bed,’ Rob said to her unexpectedly. ‘We’ll manage.’

  She went upstairs thankfully, cleaned her teeth, undressed, and manoeuvred her large bulk into bed without washing. And she was just lapsing into blissful unconsciousness when Rob popped his head round the bedroom door. ‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘do we have any cheese?’

  The children woke unnecessarily early on Christmas morning as always. Nell came to to the sound of Josh chanting, ‘Fat head, wet the bed! Fat head, wet the bed!’ and knew that Rosie would be goaded into retaliation at any moment. She nudged Rob. He had a happy knack of sleeping through mayhem, which Nell wished she could emulate.

  ‘Happy Christmas,’ she said into his ear. ‘Can you get up to prevent a murder?’

  ‘Whaaa…?’

  ‘In the children’s room. They’re awake and –’ The bedroom door burst open and someone came in. Nell switched on the bedside light. Josh was dragging a sheet behind him.

  ‘She’s done it again,’ he said, ‘and it’s Christmas Day!’ He sounded exactly like Cassie.

  ‘That’s unkind, Josh,’ Nell protested. ‘She can’t help it.’ Rosie stood sulkily in the doorway knuckling her eyes.

  ‘Guess what?’ Nell said, on sudden inspiration. ‘Your granddad’s down in the sitting room.’

  ‘Yeah!’ Josh dumped the smelly sheet, pushed Rosie aside and ran. Rosie bounced off the doorpost and clattered downstairs after him. Nell breathed a sigh of relief and closed her eyes again.

  ‘That was a bit inconsiderate, wasn’t it?’ Rob protested. So Nell began Christmas in the wrong, and her inner bells felt jangled not jingled.

  ‘There ought to be snow,’ Josh complained at breakfast in the kitchen, glowering through the window at the driving rain.’ ‘Snot fair!’

  ‘Life isn’t fair,’ Bert said, ‘but then again, why should it be? There will always be some people better off than others,’ He smoothed his thick white hair, and put a lot of butter on his toast.

  ‘I want prethents,’ Rosie announced.

  ‘Go on then,’ Nell encouraged her. ‘Pop and get one for each of us, and we’ll open them now.’ Rosie disappeared into the next room with alacrity and was gone for some time. Scrabbling noises could be heard and mutterings as she read the labels, but when she reappeared she was carrying only one parcel. ‘Can’t find any.’ Her lower lip trembled.

  ‘Go and help her, Josh,’ Rob urged.

  ‘She can’t read!’ Josh taunted his sister. But he was gone for some time too, and when he came back he looked bewildered.

  ‘What’s up?’ Rob asked.

  ‘The presents,’ Josh said, ‘they’re all for him.’ He pointed accusingly at his grandfather. Everyone turned to stare at him.

  Bert looked entirely unabashed. ‘I get given so many,’ he explained modestly. ‘It would have been a waste to leave them all in London.’ He shrugged charmingly. ‘What’s a man to do?’

  By lunchtime the family presents had been unearthed from beneath Bert’s pile, and the children were busy eating chocolate money from the tree, picking off the realistic gold wrappers and dropping them all over the floor. Nell, occupied in the kitchen, had detailed Rob to make sure they didn’t spoil their appetites for lunch, but he was deep in conversation with his father and, as she came into the sitting room to call them in to eat, she saw the evidence and sighed. She wondered whether Rosie or Josh had yet discovered the two real pound coins that she had slipped in amongst the chocolate ones, but so far neither of them had come running up to announce a happy find.

  ‘… I’ll have a word,’ Bert was saying to Rob. ‘I’m sure I can talk some sense into her. Unfortunately she hasn’t a cat’s chance in hell of getting back into television these days. She’s just too long in the tooth and too out of touch.’

  ‘And you’re going to tell her that?’ Rob snorted. ‘Rather you than me!’

  ‘Is this Cassie you’re discussing?’ Nell enquired, wiping her hands on her pinny.

  ‘Yes,’ Rob said, smiling. ‘Bert thinks he can persuade her to stay.’

  ‘Sadly, I’ve had a lot of experience of having to warn people off attempting to be actors or television presenters,’ Bert said, affecting weariness. ‘They come to me in droves expecting instant fame, and I just have to tell them life’s not like that.’

  Except for you, of course, Nell thought, recognising the all-too-common scenario – successful people like Malachy/Bert trying their damnedest to prevent anyone else from sharing their good fortune: I’m in, Jack. Pull up the drawbridge! She hoped Cassie would have the wit to see through him too.

  ‘Would you come and get the turkey out of the oven?’ she asked Rob. ‘I’m about to dish up.’

  ‘Right then, kids,’ Bert said, clapping his hands. ‘Grub up! Get those paws washed pronto!’ and he swept the children before him into the kitchen.

  Nell was relieved to find that the Christmas lunch looked fine. Everything had cooked properly and was ready at the right moment. She brushed the sweat from her brow with the hem of her apron and sank into a chair as Rob carried the crisp browned turkey to the table, and Bert prepared with a flourish of knife and steel to carve it. Bowls of vegetables steamed invitingly. Rich gravy, cranberry and bread sauces waited in a huddle with ladles at the ready. Bert lifted slices of turkey, spoonfuls of stuffing and charred chipolatas on to warm plates and passed them round.

  ‘I don’t want any,’ Josh announced.

  ‘What on earth d’you mean?’ Nell asked, upset.

  ‘I don’t want this. I want sandwiches.’

  ‘Oh, Josh…’ Nell began.

  ‘Well, I suppose I could mak
e you a turkey sandwich,’ Rob said. ‘If that’s what –’

  ‘What nonsense!’ Bert interrupted. ‘This is terrific food! And it’s all there is, so eat it or go without!’

  He’s right, Nell thought with reluctant admiration, but he doesn’t understand what a bind Rob’s in. If children live with you all the time you can afford to be tough. But if they’ve got another home to go to, and you’re hard on them, then there’s always the fear that they might go there and never come back. I can see it so clearly from Rob’s point of view, so why can’t his father?

  Josh held out for ten minutes, watching furiously as everyone ate.

  ‘Roast parsnips!’ Bert said rapturously. ‘Manna from heaven!’

  ‘Rob grew them,’ Nell said. ‘And they’ve been well frosted, which makes them sweet.’

  ‘Is that so?’ Bert queried. ‘I’ve never heard of that.’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Rob assured him.

  ‘Why?’ Bert challenged. ‘How could frost affect the physiology of a parsnip?’

  ‘Well, it obviously breaks down the cell walls and causes the starch…’

  Oh no, Nell thought. Don’t let’s have one of those discussions where no one knows what they’re talking about, and as a result argues even more fiercely. She heaved herself up and went over to the stove to check the pudding.

  ‘Have we got any brandy?’ she interrupted them.

  ‘Miniature in the cupboard, I think,’ Rob answered after her third try.

  ‘Come on, young Josh,’ Bert said heartily. ‘Let’s set fire to it, eh?’

  Josh could not resist, and as his grandfather poured the warmed spirit over the pudding, he struck a match and ignited it, crowing over the fleeting blue flames. Then, having forgotten about the necessity to sulk, he ate a huge bowlful of it with cream and brandy butter, and found more hidden five-pence pieces in his than anyone else.

  ‘It’s no good being afraid of your children,’ Bert said confidentially to Nell later on over the washing-up – which he was doing with great flamboyance and too much foam. ‘You have to show them who’s boss.’

  Nell retired to a stool to dry a handful of cutlery with the teatowel, feeling resentful. Rob had taken the children for another rainwalk to dissipate some of their energy, and Bert had stayed behind rather obviously to help her. She got the impression that he didn’t like her very much. Perhaps she wasn’t beautiful enough. Perhaps he was influenced by the fact that she’d worked in a shop. Nell knew by now that Rob was not a snob, but suspected his father might well be.

  ‘I’m glad to have this time on our own.’ Bert said to her conspiratorially. ‘I’ve got a little present for you. It’s really to celebrate the birth of your first child, but now seems an appropriate moment.’ He dried his hands and went to fetch a small package.

  Oh no! Nell thought. What if it’s… She tore off the blue tissue paper nervously and opened the box. In the virgin white interior lay a beautiful malachite necklace. ‘No,’ she said at once. ‘It’s very kind of you, but I couldn’t possibly accept it.’

  ‘Why ever not?’ Bert’s eyes were wide with ersatz affront.

  ‘I just couldn’t.’ She wanted to say, ‘You know very well why not!’ but was afraid to do so.

  ‘You’re being illogical,’ Bert said quite gently. ‘You like it, I can see you do, and I want you to have it. Surely those are good enough reasons?’

  ‘It would upset Rob,’ Nell said stubbornly without looking at him.

  ‘Oh, I see … That old canard!’ He put out a hand and raised her chin so that she could not avoid looking at him. ‘You don’t believe that nonsense surely?’

  ‘Yes,’ Nell said stoutly. ‘I think I do.’

  He dropped his hand abruptly. ‘I’m disappointed in you,’ he said, closing the box and slipping it into his pocket. ‘And to think I was so glad when Rob found himself someone after Cassie …’ He sighed. ‘I suppose I shouldn’t have expected you to be alike.’ He made for the back door, shrugging himself into an immaculate Barbour jacket and pulling on a fisherman’s cap at a rakish angle. ‘Fresh air,’ he said. ‘That’s what’s needed.’ And he went out into the weather. Nell took herself into the sitting room to recover her composure, and saw him through the window, striding out along the coast path all boldness and self-confidence; a man unburdened by insight.

  Poor Rob, she thought. No wonder.

  Ten minutes later Rob and the children came back with Bert, and there was a great disrobing and shaking of waterproofs and pulling off of muddy boots. Nell let them get on with it. She had cleared up most of the torn wrapping paper and the empty nets which had held the chocolate money. She felt she had done enough for the day.

  They came into the sitting room with faces pink with cold and glowing with exercise. Josh’s feet were bare. ‘Not another welly-full?’ she asked.

  ‘It was an accident.’ He grinned cheerfully.

  ‘It always is!’

  ‘Look what I’ve got, Nell!’ Rosie pranced in joyfully. She was wearing the malachite necklace, and it hung down her flat little chest like an oversized garland of green pebbles. Nell glanced straight at Rob, but his face was expressionless. She cast about for something neutral to say.

  ‘Rosie and Josh,’ she said, ‘did you find the real pound coins we put in amongst your chocolate ones?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Josh answered for both of them. He looked cautious.

  ‘So why didn’t you say so?’

  Now he looked shifty. ‘I thought they might belong to someone else.’

  It went on raining solidly all Christmas Day and Nell was glad when it got dark so she could draw the curtains and no longer have to look out at the brown river and the brown trees and the brownish leaden sky. At least indoors there were bright lights and cheerful decorations. By eight o’clock in the evening the children were tired and peevish, and only staying awake to spite each other. Nell didn’t want always to be the one to send them to bed, and wished Rob would be more decisive and take charge. He didn’t notice, of course, and seemed quite happy lolling on the sofa, occasionally administering a mild reproof to one or other of them.

  ‘Right!’ Bert said, looking at his watch. ‘Bedtime for kids. Who’s going to be up the stairs first?’

  ‘I don’t want –’ Josh began, but Bert, rising from his chair and bent double, rushed at him, grabbed him in a fireman’s lift and bore him aloft laughing and complaining all at the same time.

  ‘Me too, me too, me too!’ Rosie shouted joyfully.

  ‘I’ll come back for you,’ Bert promised, disappearing. They heard the clump of his feet on the wooden stairs and Josh’s squeaks and giggles. Then he was down again for Rosie. ‘Which way up is this parcel?’ he teased, standing her on her head. ‘Ah, that’s right.’

  ‘No, it ithn’t!’ Squeals of joy.

  ‘This better?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Or this?’

  ‘No!’

  Nell and Rob exchanged glances as he went up with her too, and as the bedroom door closed and the noises diminished, Nell said, ‘It’ll never work. He’ll get them so hyped up that they won’t sleep for a week!’

  ‘Mmm,’ Rob agreed.

  ‘There’s a programme about painting on BBC2 that I wouldn’t mind watching,’ Nell said. ‘D’you think Bert would mind?’

  ‘Shouldn’t think so.’

  ‘Or you?’

  ‘Fine by me.’

  Bert came back a quarter of an hour later, looking tousled but pleased with himself. ‘Out like lights,’ he reported.

  ‘Asleep?’ Nell was astonished.

  ‘Yep. Now then…’ He walked across to the television, switched it on and pressed the button for ITV. ‘Good, he said. ‘Just in time.’

  It was his own programme and there he was in his surgeon’s mask, saving lives, making impossible decisions, seducing nurses and fighting the hospital management committee. Nell looked anxiously at Rob. He never watched the programme on purpose. She waited for him to prot
est, but he just sat there. For her own part she was intrigued to see Malachy in action, so she made no move to dissent either.

  Bert sat back on the sofa with legs crossed widely, ankle on knee. ‘Now she,’ he said, pointing to the actress playing the theatre sister, ‘is actually a lesbian. Never know it, would you? Looks a real doll. And he, with the red hair, has done time for actual bodily harm, but he’s as mild as baby food, bless him. And watch this bit coming up … you can just see the overhead mike, that fuzzy bit of grey… got it? It took us a ridiculous amount of time to shoot that scene because the bloody casualty kept on corpsing. Look, you can see him trying not to laugh … there!’

  Even Rob was smiling. Nell couldn’t help but be amused, and was flattered by his indiscretion. During the ad breaks she got Rob to fetch drinks; beer for himself, orange juice for her, and malt whisky for Bert. The three of them sat comfortably in front of the log fire, totally relaxed. This is more like it! Nell thought. This is what Christmas should be like. She didn’t even feel annoyed about her missed art programme since everyone was enjoying themselves so much.

  At ten o’clock Elly phoned, and Nell went into the kitchen to speak to her. ‘Happy Christmas!’ She sounded cheerfully tipsy.

  ‘And to you. Have you had a good day?’ Nell asked.

  ‘Very good. We’re all at Sibyl’s and Hat is taking the boys out for a treat tomorrow, so I wondered if you’d meet us in the Wheatsheaf for lunch?’

  ‘Oh, I’d love to,’ Nell said, ‘but we’ve got the children, and Bert’s here … and I don’t suppose you want to see him…’

  ‘He’s not my favourite person, no!’

  ‘So I’m afraid …’

  ‘Well, why don’t you leave the kids with Bert, and you and Rob come?’

  ‘Wouldn’t that be rather selfish?’ Nell said, thinking (as always) of the awful example set by Anna’s stepmother.

  ‘What, escaping for a couple of hours? What d’you want to be, feminist or doormat?’

  ‘Something in between for preference!’

  ‘Well then, you do have to put your foot down sometimes and do what you want for a change. Get a life!’ Elly urged. ‘Go on, we haven’t met for ages, and I’m dying to see you.’