by Linda Green
‘Dad, I need to talk to you,’ he said. ‘It’s about Christmas.’
‘You mean, you’ve found out that Santa doesn’t exist?’ said Chris, before looking up and seeing Josh’s deadpan face. He slowly closed the lid of his laptop.
‘Mum’s invited me to her place for Christmas lunch,’ said Josh.
Chris sighed. ‘She has, has she?’
‘Yeah.’
‘And I suppose you want to go?’
‘Yeah, but only if it’s OK by you.’
‘Of course it’s fine by me. You go and spend Christmas Day with the mother who hasn’t sent you so much as a card for the last fifteen years.’
‘Chris,’ I said. ‘That’s not fair.’
‘Why not? It’s the truth.’
‘It’s not Josh’s fault. He’s in a difficult situation, and he’s trying to do the right thing.’
‘It’s OK,’ said Josh, turning to me. ‘I knew he’d be like this.’
‘Like what?’ asked Chris.
‘Flying off the handle. Being unreasonable.’
‘And she always behaves reasonably, does she?’
‘Oh, forget it,’ said Josh, the colour rising in his cheeks. ‘If it’s going to cause this much grief, forget it. Forget the whole fucking thing.’ He turned on his heel and left the room.
I heard his feet running up the stairs. There was no slamming door, though. He always thought of Matilda, even when he was having a strop.
I looked at Chris. He was sitting with his head stretched back on the sofa and his eyes shut. Normally, I would have gone straight to put my arms around him. I didn’t, though. Not on this occasion.
‘Oh God,’ he groaned. ‘I handled that well, didn’t I?’
‘He was really making an effort, you know. He cares so much about what you think.’
‘I’m sorry. It’s just … I can’t bear it.’
‘What?’
‘Losing him.’ His voice cracked as he said it.
I got up and went to sit next to him. ‘You’re not losing him.’
‘Well, that’s how it feels. First Christmas Day … what’s next, family holidays?’
‘I said last year it would probably be the last one we had all together.’
‘Yeah, but that was because you thought Josh and Tom would want to go off somewhere next summer, not because his mother would turn up and whisk him away.’
‘She hasn’t put a foot wrong since that incident, you know. Maybe it was a one-off. Maybe it’ll be a positive thing for Josh to have her in his life.’
‘You don’t know her.’
‘So you keep saying.’
‘What do you mean by that?’
‘I’ve been thinking, maybe it’s time I did. Maybe it’s time we all got to know her. Not the Lydia who left but the one who’s come back.’
‘You’re scaring me now,’ said Chris.
‘Look, you want to spend Christmas Day with Josh, right? To have all of the family together. We could still do that. All we need to do is invite Lydia here.’
Chris looked at me and started laughing. ‘You are joking?’
‘No,’ I said, ‘I’m deadly serious. It’s the only way I can think of to keep everyone happy.’
‘Well, I won’t be happy.’
‘Why not? It’ll be a damn sight better than not seeing your son for most of the day.’
Chris looked at me and shook his head. ‘Even if I agreed to it,’ he said, ‘what would we do about Barbara?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘She won’t be in the same room as Lydia.’
‘Of course she will, if we explain that we’re doing this for Josh.’
‘No,’ said Chris. ‘Really. You’ve got no idea.’
I tried to imagine Barbara putting her foot down, refusing to do something Chris was asking of her. I simply couldn’t see it.
‘Why don’t you talk to her, then? Explain the situation. I’m sure you can talk her round.’
Chris hesitated. ‘I’m still not sure it’s a good idea.’
‘Neither am I. But I can’t think of a better one.’
* * *
I knew as soon as I popped my head round the waiting-room door that all was not well. Kelly and Luke were sitting with a spare chair between them. Luke, with his legs splayed wide, was staring up at the ceiling. Kelly, with her hands clenched tight, was looking down at her feet.
I smiled and gestured to them to come in. They entered silently and sat down, taking up the very same positions on the chairs. This time they had the table between them. Though I suspected the Berlin Wall would have made them feel more comfortable.
Before I’d even said anything, Kelly started crying, wiping the tears away with the back of her hand.
Luke looked as though he’d rather have all his teeth pulled without anaesthetic than be in the room at that moment.
‘Kelly, if you need to take some time on your own, of if you’re not up to it today, please just let me know, it’s not a problem.’
‘No. I’m fine,’ she said, in the way people do when they are very clearly not fine. ‘Please start, I’ll be OK.’
I nodded but paused for a moment, trying to give her time to compose herself. It was Luke who broke the silence.
‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘it’s my fault. I’ve been staying at me mam’s.’
His words were greeted with fresh tears from Kelly. ‘He’s left us,’ she said.
‘I haven’t moved out. I need some space, that’s all –’
‘OK,’ I said, cutting in. ‘Let’s go through exactly what’s happened. Luke, when did you move into your mum’s?’
‘Four days ago,’ he said, his forearms resting on his thighs as he clasped his hands together.
‘And was there a particular incident which prompted that, or was it a general build-up of things?’
‘I dunno. I got home from work that day and the place was covered with kiddy things all over the floor, as usual. And then I saw that Callum had broken my iPod. He should never really have been playing with it, of course. But when I said that to Kelly, she went off on one about how she hasn’t got eyes in the back of her head and it shouldn’t have been left somewhere where he could get hold of it. And the twins started crying and Kelly had to go to work, because she starts at Lidl at five, and I stood there in the middle of all that and I couldn’t even hear myself think …’
He paused, finally. It was as if he’d been punctured and the air had come rushing out.
‘And did you talk to Kelly later about how you felt?’ I asked.
‘No. Because I never got the chance. When she got home, she said she wanted an early night cos she were dead knackered.’
‘I were knackered,’ Kelly said. ‘I am most nights.’
‘And have you had the chance to talk since?’ I asked.
They both looked at me blankly. Luke shrugged. Kelly fiddled with her wedding ring.
‘Do you want to move back home, Luke?’ I asked.
‘Yeah, but not like it is now. It’s doing my head in.’
‘And what about your relationship with Kelly? How important is that to you?’
He swallowed hard before answering. ‘She means everything, like. Her and the kids.’
Kelly started crying again. ‘That’s what’s so stupid,’ she said. ‘He still loves me. I still love him. We both love the kids. And yet we’re not living together. And I can’t bear to think about waking up on Christmas Day and him not being there.’ The tears fell heavily now, full-blown sobs.
I waited and watched Luke. He didn’t know where to look. He went to stand up, then seemed to stop. I caught his eye and nodded. He finally got to his feet, walked over to Kelly, sank down on to his knees and gathered her sobbing body up in his arms. His broad back shaking too.
I got up quietly and went to stand outside the room for a few minutes. Sensing they needed some privacy. And feeling that, whatever the problems at home, our Christmas wasn’t going to be so bad after
all.
I feel utterly trapped. I’m only staying with him for the sake of the kids and because I couldn’t afford anywhere decent for them to live if I was on my own. And I’m not going to scrounge off the state. I would never do that. He knows it too, so he doesn’t bother making any kind of effort. He comes home in the evening and just eats, watches telly, grunts at me and goes to bed.
And this is all I’ve got to look forward to for the next ten years or so. I have that Colonel Abrams song ‘Trapped’ going round in my head, it’s like the anthem to my life, and I never even liked it in the first place.
12
‘How long till she gets here?’ asked Matilda for what seemed like the 324th time. She had spent most of Christmas Eve asking, ‘How long till he gets here?’ (At various points in the year she had voiced her doubts about Santa’s existence, but by the time December the 24th came around she had clearly decided that it paid to be a believer.) And no sooner had she opened all his presents than she had turned her attention to Lydia’s arrival.
‘I told you, half past twelve. Look at the clock, you can work it out for yourself,’ I said.
‘Fifteen minutes,’ said Matilda.
‘Well done. Now sometimes people are early and sometimes people are late, especially when they haven’t got a car. It’s not always easy to judge these things. So please be patient.’
I still hadn’t worked out whether Matilda was excited or apprehensive about Lydia’s visit, but I suspected a bit of both. She wasn’t the only one. Josh had been on edge all morning. The closer we got to her arrival, the more he seemed to be doubting the wisdom of it. Him and me both.
I was well aware that I’d taken a huge risk in inviting her. And now here we were. About to try to play happy families. And the one thing I realised I hadn’t even considered, while trying to keep everyone else happy, was how I would feel about it. Having Lydia in our home. Her old home. The one she’d made with Chris.
Maybe she’d chosen it. Brought him here to see it and begged him to say yes. Or maybe he’d found it, picked something out that he’d known she would love. Whichever it had been, their shared history was here. As much a part of the house as the stone and the slate. And yet I’d invited her back here. Inviting that shared history, and all the emotions mixed up in it, to reignite. Debbie had said I was barking, when I’d told her. I’d insisted, at the time, that it was the best of a bad set of options. But now I wasn’t quite so sure.
There was a knock at the door. Matilda jumped up but I managed to catch hold of her.
‘Let your brother go,’ I said. ‘It’s his mum, remember.’
Josh clambered up from the floor, where he’d been playing a game with Matilda, his face uncertain.
‘Go on,’ I whispered. ‘It’ll be fine.’
Chris was standing by the fireplace, staring into the flames, the colours warming his otherwise icy face. Barbara was sitting rigidly on the sofa. Her face set to neutral. Clearly the best she could do in the circumstances.
I heard the door shut. There were hushed voices in the hallway and then, a minute or two later, Lydia was standing in our lounge, resplendent in a swirling black skirt and a black and red V-necked top, the splash of colour presumably her concession to the festive season.
She smiled, somewhat uncertainly. Josh hovered next to her in the doorway. Neither Chris nor Barbara said a word.
‘Happy Christmas,’ I said. ‘Come in and warm up.’
I took a couple of steps towards her. Enough to be able to smell her perfume. I wasn’t sure whether to kiss her on the cheek or not.
‘And happy Christmas to all of you,’ she said, looking around the room.
Chris nodded at her and mumbled something, which may or may not have been “Happy Christmas”.
Barbara stared straight at her without saying a word, then looked away again.
Lydia appeared unperturbed. She was studying the room in detail. Her gaze settled on our wedding photo on the mantelpiece. I wondered what she was thinking. Whether she would make some comment about how slim I was in the photo. I sucked my stomach in a little. She said nothing.
‘Oh, these are for you,’ Lydia said, handing me the bottle of red wine she was carrying and a bag containing presents.
‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘Really, you didn’t have to.’
She shrugged. ‘I wanted to.’
I nodded, glad I’d got a present for her too. Only Josh knew. I’d asked his advice before buying it. His own present to Lydia was also under the tree. I hadn’t even got around to asking him what it was.
‘There you are,’ I said, passing the bag on to Matilda. ‘A job for Santa’s helper, I think.’
Matilda looked inside the bag. ‘Oooh, presents,’ she said. ‘Is there one for me?’
‘Matilda,’ I said, ‘that’s not very polite.’
‘It’s OK,’ said Lydia. ‘And yes, there is something for you.’
She smiled at Matilda, who dutifully ran off to arrange the presents under the tree, giving each one a squeeze as she did so.
The rest of us stood there.
I glanced at Chris, hoping he’d say something, maybe offer Lydia a drink, but he appeared to be incapable of speech. He also appeared to be avoiding any eye contact with Lydia. I noticed her left hand shaking. The other one was fiddling with a loose bit of cotton on her skirt.
‘Can I get you something to drink?’ I asked.
‘Yeah, thanks. Whatever everyone else is having.’
‘Barbara?’ I asked.
‘Tea, please, love,’ she said.
‘Chris?’
‘Same for me, please.’
I looked back at Lydia, suspecting she’d wanted something stronger. Though I also suspected she may well have already had some before coming here.
‘Tea’s fine,’ she said.
Matilda returned from present duty. ‘Would you like to see what Santa gave me?’ she asked Lydia.
‘I’d love to,’ she said and followed her to the corner of the room where Matilda had carefully arranged her presents.
Josh hesitated, seemingly unsure which side of the room to be on. He sat down on the sofa next to Barbara. She smiled and patted his leg.
‘Right,’ I said, smiling at everyone, ‘I’ll go and put the kettle on and check on lunch.’
Normally, I found making Christmas dinner quite stressful. All that pressure not to screw up on the big day. But today I was grateful to escape to the kitchen. I checked on the turkey. I’d rather have had chicken myself, but Barbara was a great one for tradition. I’d made a nut roast as well. Josh had said vegetarians didn’t really eat nut roasts any more, it was something out of the seventies, but I’d figured that if we were going to be traditional, Lydia may as well be too.
I could have asked Chris, I suppose. If she’d been veggie when they were together, he could have told me what she used to have for Christmas dinner. He may even have cooked it for her. I hadn’t asked him, though. I kidded myself it was because I hadn’t wanted to upset him. When really it was more because I hadn’t wanted to hear about their shared Christmases.
I lifted the tray of roast potatoes out of the Aga, putting it down quickly on the trivet as the heat pierced through the oven gloves which had seen better days. I didn’t even know what you were supposed to serve with nut roast. We were having roast potatoes, Yorkshire pudding, honey-glazed carrots and parsnips. Maybe they wouldn’t really go with a mushroom nut roast. Anyway, it was too late to do anything different now. It would have to do.
I flicked the radio on. They were playing ‘A Spaceman Came Travelling’. Even BBC 6 Music couldn’t resist it on Christmas Day. I boiled the kettle. I didn’t even hear Chris come in until he was standing right next to me.
‘Are you OK?’ I asked.
‘Yeah. Just needed a minute to myself.’
I nodded and poured the water into the mugs. ‘I do appreciate this, love,’ I said. ‘I know it must be really hard for you.’
‘It’s me
ssing with my head,’ he said, pacing up and down. ‘Her being in the house. It doesn’t seem right. Like some kind of dream where people from different parts of your life are all mixed up together.’
‘Please try to talk to her, though. At least over lunch. It’ll be hard for Josh if you and Barbara don’t talk to her.’
‘I know. I’m working up to it. I’m not sure Barbara will say anything to her, mind.’
‘Did she never like her?’ I asked. ‘Even before she left, I mean?’
Chris shook his head. ‘She thought she was a bad influence on me. I never smoked till I met her, you see.’
I nodded. Though I suspected it was a lot more than the smoking. Lydia was not the sort of woman you’d want your young son to hook up with. She was sex and drugs and rock ’n’ roll. Not future daughter-in-law material. And certainly not the bearer of your first grandchild.
‘At least she’s making an effort,’ I said. ‘I mean, she’s been the perfect house guest so far.’
‘I’ve never said she couldn’t be charming,’ said Chris.
‘When she’s sober, you mean?’
‘She’s not sober,’ said Chris. ‘That’s her after two or three drinks.’
‘She was probably nervous about coming here,’ I said.
‘Yeah,’ he replied. ‘Something like that.’
I fished the tea bags out of the mugs and started pouring the milk in.
Chris stopped me on the fourth one. ‘No,’ he said, his hand on my arm. ‘She has it black.’
I put the milk down slowly, feeling a clawing sensation deep inside. ‘Right,’ I said. ‘Thank you.’
* * *
We sat down at the kitchen table at one o’clock. The seating arrangements had been thought out meticulously so that Lydia was not next to either Chris or Barbara, nor within ‘Can you pass the gravy, please?’ distance of them. Everyone sat in their appointed places. Chris and I were at either end of the table, which was dressed with a vintage table runner, holly and berries from the garden and antique candlesticks which I’d picked up at various shops over the years.
‘The table looks beautiful, as ever, Alison,’ said Barbara.