Widows & Orphans

by Michael Arditti

  ‘Orange juice?’ Duncan asked, not trusting himself to say more.

  ‘Presents!’ Jamie replied, a child again if only for one day.

  ‘Just a moment.’ Duncan went to his bedroom, returning with a parcel that he handed to Jamie, who ripped it open, indifferent to the inept wrapping.

  ‘But these are the ones, Dad!’ he said, rubbing a pair of trainers against his cheeks. ‘The new Lebron X. You’re a star!’

  ‘You’re very welcome.’

  ‘They cost a shitload of cash.’ Jamie looked anxious. ‘Are you sure you can afford them?’

  ‘I’ve kept the receipt. If it were me, I’d get a refund, buy a cheaper pair and spend the difference on something else.’

  ‘No way! These are the best. Just wait till I text Craig.’ He rushed to his room, returning not with the expected phone but with a parcel. ‘This is for you.’

  ‘Thanks very much. You’re a far better wrapper than I am.’ Jamie laughed. Duncan pulled the paper off a small book, struggling to sustain his smile as he read out the title. ‘Le Mot Juste.’

  ‘Have you got it already?’

  ‘No, not at all. I’m delighted.’

  ‘It’s a dictionary of loads of foreign and old-fashioned phrases. Mum suggested it.’

  ‘I thought so,’ Duncan said, wondering if she had meant it as a joke or a rebuke. ‘She told me you’d set your heart on the trainers too, so she’s done us both a favour.’

  At 11.30, with Jamie proudly wearing his new trainers, they drove to Ridgemount to be greeted by Chris, flaunting a flashing bow tie and a Michelangelo’s David apron, the muscular torso taut across his flabby chest. Duncan handed him a bottle of whisky and nudged Jamie to do the same with the box of chocolates that he had bought on his behalf.

  ‘Happy Christmas,’ Jamie said, looking at his feet.

  ‘I didn’t expect … You shouldn’t have spent your money on me. I’m sorry,’ Chris said, rubbing his eyes. ‘Too much cooking sherry!’ He scurried back to the kitchen.

  ‘Was he crying?’

  ‘He was touched. What did I tell you?’

  ‘What a dork!’

  They entered the sitting room where Duncan curbed an impulse to switch off the lights, which were all on despite the clear blue sky and string of Victorian lanterns on the Christmas tree. The tree, neatly trimmed with woodland fairies and red-and-gold glass baubles, was the only seasonal decoration apart from a solitary row of cards, two of which came from his mother’s hairdresser and dentist, the latter instantly identifiable by the sketch of Santa drilling Rudolph’s teeth. Chastened by the reminder of her dwindling acquaintance, he planted a kiss on her forehead and gave her his present, which, after effusive thanks, she asked him to place under the tree, where it was dwarfed in both size and splendour by the elegant packages from Alison, Malcolm and their sons.

  ‘Happy Christmas, Granny,’ Jamie said, brushing his lips against a cheek that he had just described as ‘soggy’, and handing her his gift.

  ‘Is this for me, darling? How naughty! I told you last week that having you here for Christmas was the only present I wanted. Now I have a little something for you.’ She gave them each an envelope.

  Jamie tore his open as if expecting a cheque. ‘A book token! That’s great, Granny … Will you buy it off me?’ he mouthed at Duncan.

  ‘I think I’ve got one too,’ Duncan said quickly. ‘No, what is it?’ He took out a card. ‘An IOU?’

  ‘You’re always so impossible to buy for. I’d rather you chose something special for yourself. On my account.’

  ‘Thank you, Mother.’

  While Duncan poured drinks and Jamie inspected the pile of parcels, Adele relayed greetings from Alison and Malcolm, who were spending the day with their neighbours in Oxfordshire, one of whom, as she never tired of repeating, used to play polo with the Prince of Wales. Duncan passed Jamie a bowl of peanuts, which he proceeded to toss in the air and catch in his mouth, until Adele asked with glacial sweetness if he were training for a job in the circus.

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Why are you sitting so far away? Come somewhere I can see you!’ Jamie lumbered across the ancient carpet to a chair by her side. ‘That’s better. Now be honest. Wouldn’t you rather be here than halfway across the world? A barbecue at Christmas isn’t natural.’

  ‘It’s great,’ Jamie muttered.

  ‘So tell your old Granny all the exciting things you’ve been doing.’

  ‘None.’

  ‘God blessed you with the power of speech, darling. You needn’t be so monosyllabic.’

  ‘Antidisestablishmentarianism.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Saved by the bell!’ Duncan said, as a sharp ring interrupted the exchange. ‘That’ll be them. Now remember both of you, best behaviour!’

  ‘That’s telling us,’ Adele said.

  ‘They’re the guests. They’re the ones who should behave,’ Jamie said.

  Duncan hurried into the hall, narrowly missing Chris. ‘I’ll get it. I hope you’ll join us for a drink before lunch.’

  ‘A woman’s work is never done.’ Chris scratched a sculpted pectoral as he returned to the kitchen.

  Duncan opened the front door to reveal Ellen, with Barbara and Neil on the step below. Refusing to let her mother’s presence inhibit him, he kissed Ellen full on the lips. ‘You look lovely,’ he said, charmed by the blush on her cold cheeks.

  ‘Happy Christmas,’ she said, the blush spreading.

  ‘How are you, Neil?’ he asked, squeezing his shoulder. ‘Happy Christmas.’

  ‘Can I come inside?’ Neil said gruffly.

  ‘Yes of course,’ Duncan replied, taken aback.

  ‘He’s missing his sister,’ Ellen said.

  ‘I am not! It’s so not fair that she’s in Antigua while I’m stuck here.’

  ‘You should talk to Jamie,’ Duncan said, eager to foster any bond between them, however negative. ‘Hello, I’m Duncan.’ He held out a hand to Barbara, who ponderously removed a mitten to shake it.

  ‘Barbara,’ she replied curtly.

  ‘Delighted to meet you,’ he said, determined to allay her remaining doubts about his motives. ‘Please come in.’ He led them into the sitting room, trusting that his mother would not notice or, at any rate, comment on the pink streak in Barbara’s raven hair.

  ‘It’s very kind of you to ask us,’ Barbara said on being introduced to Adele. ‘I’m sure you’d rather have been alone with your family.’

  ‘Not at all. We have a long tradition of inviting waifs and strays. Lovely to see you again, my dear,’ Adele said to Ellen. ‘It’s the first time Duncan has brought one of his lady friends here since Linda.’

  ‘No pressure there then,’ Duncan said.

  ‘I’ll take it as a compliment,’ Ellen said to Adele.

  ‘This is Neil, Mother.’

  ‘A pleasure. Oh, what icy hands! Are you a friend of Jamie’s?’

  ‘No,’ Jamie and Neil replied in involuntary unison.

  Barbara extracted a small picture from her shopping bag and gave it to Adele. ‘I’ve brought you this. I don’t believe in wrapping. Did you know that in Britain alone we produced 40,000 tons of extra paper waste last Christmas?’

  Duncan shot a glance at Ellen, who raised her eyebrows.

  ‘A painting! How exciting,’ Adele replied, oblivious to Barbara’s indignation. ‘Where are my glasses?’ She picked them up off her work basket. ‘It’s a cliff.’

  ‘Durdle Door in Dorset.’

  ‘And it’s on glass. How unusual! Have you seen, Duncan?’

  ‘Yes, Mother. It’s beautiful.’

  ‘It’s one of mine,’ Barbara said.

  ‘Really? But won’t you miss it? Or are you, in that wretched phrase, “downsizing”?’

  ‘I painted it!’ Barbara replied fiercely.

  ‘You did? How silly of me! You never told me we had an artist coming, Duncan.’

  ‘Barbara has a gallery,’ Neil said.<
br />
  ‘Who’s Barbara? Oh yes, of course. He calls you Barbara?’

  ‘It’s my name. What else should he call me?’

  ‘Granny.’

  ‘That’s not a name; it’s a label.’

  ‘Oh dear. I’m afraid I’m an old stick-in-the-mud but I rather like labels, don’t I, darling?’ Adele appealed to Jamie.

  ‘Yes, Granny.’

  ‘Won’t you all sit down while I see to drinks?’ Duncan asked, suspecting that his fears about the two boys’ animosity would have been better directed at their grandmothers.

  ‘I have presents for you and Neil,’ he told Ellen, as he poured her a glass of sherry.

  ‘I hope you’ve stuck to the £10 rule.’

  ‘Not entirely,’ he admitted, picturing the lavish perfume bottle in his bag.

  ‘Me neither,’ she said with a smile.

  ‘Have you always been an artist?’ Adele asked Barbara.

  ‘That’s another label I try to avoid. I believe we’re all artists. Just that some of us are lucky enough to be given the opportunities.’

  ‘And the talent,’ Adele replied tartly.

  ‘Barbara used to be a hippie,’ Neil said.

  ‘Really?’ Adele said. ‘You warned me that she was a vegetarian, Duncan. I’d no idea she had so many other distinctions.’

  ‘You make it sound like play-acting,’ Barbara said to Neil. ‘I was part of a Utopian community. We were out to create a new world. It was the late Sixties.’ She turned back to Adele. ‘You’ll remember: Grow your own; make your own; build your own! The personal is political.’

  ‘Not in Francombe,’ Adele replied with a shudder.

  ‘Very wise,’ Ellen said. ‘Like every other Utopia, somebody always ends up left out.’ Duncan wondered whether she were alluding to her father or herself.

  ‘Sometimes I see my parents in you so clearly,’ Barbara said.

  ‘For those of you who don’t know, that’s a bad thing,’ Ellen explained. ‘Moving swiftly on, did Rose get off all right, Jamie?’

  ‘Expect so.’

  ‘Such a brave little thing,’ Adele said. ‘I don’t know how I’d have managed if she’d been mine.’

  ‘You’d have put her in a home, Mother,’ Duncan said, to his instant regret.

  ‘You can be very hard, Duncan,’ Adele replied. ‘Jamie, please don’t monopolise those nuts.’

  ‘Her mum’s put her in a home,’ Neil said. ‘She’s taken my sister instead.’

  ‘That’s not true!’ Jamie said. ‘The journey’s too much for Rose. Any case, my mum needs a rest.’

  ‘She didn’t take you either,’ Neil said to Jamie.

  ‘I wanted to stay with my dad.’

  ‘That’s not what I heard.’

  ‘That’s enough now, Neil,’ Ellen said. ‘I don’t know what’s got into you. It’s Christmas.’

  ‘You mustn’t blame him,’ Adele said smoothly. ‘Christmas can be so hard when your parents are divorced. Divided loyalties. Having to choose who to spend it with.’

  ‘Neil doesn’t have much choice,’ Jamie said.

  ‘Jamie…’ Duncan warned him.

  ‘It’s a time when all the problems of a broken marriage come to a head,’ Adele said, leaving Duncan uncertain whether she had conveniently forgotten her own parents’ divorce or held that her father’s genius made it a special case. ‘My husband and I were together for twenty-five years. He died two months before our silver wedding anniversary. Of course we had our ups and downs. Who doesn’t? But we worked through them. Nowadays, marriage is as instantly disposable as everything else. We might as well be Jews – or is it Arabs? – “I divorce thee; I divorce thee; I divorce thee.” And it’s the children who suffer. No continuity in their lives; no real sense of their place in the world.’ She turned to Jamie and Neil. ‘My heart bleeds for you both.’

  ‘Stop it, Granny, please,’ Jamie said, squirming.

  ‘Yes, stop it, Mother,’ Duncan said. ‘Surely it’s better for children to grow up seeing their parents happy than stuck in a miserable marriage for the sake of appearances?’

  ‘I’m well aware of what you’re implying, Duncan, but you’re wrong. It wasn’t for appearances; it was for you.’

  Duncan floundered as he realised that far from forgetting her parents’ divorce, Adele remembered it only too well. She had once told him that shortly after they moved to Francombe, her mother had made her write to her father accusing him of destroying her life and demanding that he cease all correspondence. Might she even suspect that her letter had contributed to his death? It put her brusque dismissal of his own schoolboy ‘sooyside’ threat in a new light.

  ‘I just wish Sue would get in touch,’ Ellen said. ‘I’ve sent her umpteen texts.’

  ‘There’s a four-hour time difference,’ Duncan said.

  ‘It shows she’s enjoying herself,’ Barbara said. ‘You’d hear soon enough if she weren’t.’

  ‘She’s enjoying herself all right,’ Jamie said. ‘I’ve had a photo from Craig.’

  ‘Really? Did she look happy?’ Ellen asked.

  ‘See for yourself. I’ve got it here.’ He took out his phone to show Ellen.

  ‘Are you sure it’s not private, Jamie?’ Duncan asked, suspicious of his sudden eagerness to please.

  ‘They’re on a public beach,’ he replied, scrolling through his photos. ‘Here you are.’

  ‘She’s naked!’ Ellen said.

  ‘Show me.’ Barbara grabbed the phone from her daughter. ‘Nonsense, she’s just topless.’

  ‘How can you tell?’ Ellen asked. ‘The picture’s cut off at the waist.’

  ‘You’re disgusting,’ Neil said to Jamie.

  ‘I’m not the one flashing my tits!’

  ‘There’s nothing disgusting about the female body, Neil,’ Barbara said. ‘Sue’s sixteen; she has beautiful breasts. Why shouldn’t she show them off?’

  ‘But in front of all those West Indians?’ Adele said. ‘You hear such terrible things about what they do to white girls.’

  ‘Mother!’

  ‘It’s no use burying your head in the sand.’

  ‘Who else has Craig sent this to?’ Ellen asked Jamie.

  ‘Just me. He sends me everything.’

  ‘Please delete it.’

  ‘No way. This is a free country.’

  Jamie snatched back his phone and slipped it in his pocket just as Chris entered, apron removed but bow tie twinkling. ‘C’est servi, Madame! Grub’s up for those of you who don’t parlez français.’

  ‘This is Chris, my Man Friday. I’d be lost without him,’ Adele said. ‘He’s gay,’ she added proudly to Barbara.

  ‘Not that they’d have known,’ Chris said, dropping a curtsey, which drew a thin smile from Barbara and snorts of derision from Jamie and Neil. He then moved to help up Adele, whose degree of incapacity bore a direct relation to the assistance at hand. She led her guests into the dining room where she apologised for having to put two men beside each other, despite – or perhaps because of – being the only person present who cared. With everyone seated, Duncan poured the wine, his relief that it was only cava dulled by the suspicion that it was indifference rather than economy that had caused his mother to forgo the customary champagne. He proposed a toast to Absent Friends, which was echoed more mutedly than expected, before wishing them Bon Appétit as they ate their starter: slices of melon wrapped in parma ham (or, in Barbara’s case, garnished with kiwi fruit). When Chris returned to the kitchen to check on ‘the bird’, Duncan asked Jamie to help him clear the plates, which he did with such bad grace that Adele called out ‘Do take care, darling. This service was a wedding present from the Cradwycks.’

  Duncan made his way to the kitchen, where he struggled to find a place for the crockery. ‘Should I put these straight in the dishwasher?’

  ‘No, I’ll have to do them by hand,’ Chris said.

  ‘We can help.’

  ‘This is the worst Christmas ever,’ Jamie sa
id, stomping in and depositing his plates in the sink.

  ‘Believe me, it’s not,’ Chris replied with grim certitude. ‘I once spent it with a dying friend who did nothing but ask when his parents were coming.’

  ‘And did they?’ Jamie asked, intrigued in spite of himself.

  ‘No, most decidedly, absolutely, fucking not! Don’t mind me, I’m getting maudlin.’

  ‘Cooking sherry again?’ Duncan said.

  ‘Right.’

  At Chris’s insistence, Duncan and Jamie returned to the dining room where they found Barbara in the middle of a sneezing fit and Adele blessing her religiously. Five minutes later Chris pushed in a trolley laden with the turkey and all its trimmings, including bread sauce, which Duncan had watched congeal, untouched, through every Christmas lunch since his father’s death but which Adele nonetheless insisted on serving. ‘Humour me on this one, will you, darling?’ she had asked as if it were a unique event. Duncan took charge of the carving, while his mother heaped praise on his father, describing him with a nod to Barbara as ‘an artist with a knife’.

  Chris, meanwhile, went back to the kitchen to fetch a small lattice-topped tart. ‘A special dish for a special guest,’ he said, with a flourish of which Barbara looked wary.

  ‘What is it?’ Neil asked.

  ‘Toffee and roasted walnut tart.’

  ‘Toffee!’ Duncan and Barbara exclaimed in the same breath.

  ‘That’s what you asked for,’ Adele replied.

  ‘Tofu, Mother. Tofu or nut roast. Tofu, not toffee.’

  ‘Aren’t they the same thing?’

  ‘Is this some kind of joke?’ Barbara asked.

  ‘Yeah, it’s hilarious,’ Jamie said.

  ‘You’ll be quite happy with the vegetables, won’t you, Barbara?’ Ellen urged. ‘Such an assortment: sprouts, parsnips, peas, carrots and potatoes.’

  ‘I refuse to be blamed,’ Adele said to Duncan. ‘I wrote down exactly what you told me. I’m not used to faddy diets.’

  ‘There are over three million vegetarians in the UK,’ Barbara said, another figure at her fingertips.

  ‘Maybe, but you’d think they’d take a break at Christmas,’ Adele replied.