by Linda Green
‘I helped decorate it,’ said Matilda. ‘I put the crackers out.’
‘Smells good too,’ said Chris, rubbing his hands. ‘Do I get my usual job?’
I nodded and handed him the carving knife. ‘Maybe do it over there on the counter,’ I said.
‘Why, what’s wrong with the table?’
I nodded my head towards Lydia. ‘I just thought …’
‘Oh, no honestly, it’s fine by me,’ said Lydia. ‘Chris always used to carve it in front of me, didn’t you?’
‘Yeah,’ said Chris, still avoiding eye contact.
He got the turkey out of the oven, put it at his end of the table and started to carve. I took the nut roast out. I wasn’t altogether sure what it was supposed to look like, but it seemed done to me. I turned it on to a plate and put it on the table next to the cranberry sauce.
‘Please help yourself,’ I said, handing Lydia a metal slice to use. ‘I hope it’s OK.’
‘It looks great,’ said Lydia. ‘Thanks.’
‘Why isn’t she having the same as us?’ asked Matilda.
‘Her name’s Lydia,’ I reminded Matilda. ‘And she’s vegetarian. She doesn’t eat meat.’
‘Why don’t you eat meat?’ Matilda asked her.
‘Um, because of the animal thing, really,’ said Lydia, flicking her hair back from her face.
‘What about the animals?’
‘Well, eating them isn’t exactly being nice to them, is it?’ said Josh.
I gave him a suitable look and passed Matilda’s plate up to Chris.
When it came back with a couple of slices of turkey on, Matilda looked at it, poked it a bit with her finger and said, ‘Can I have what Lydia’s having?’
‘It’s nut roast, love,’ I said. ‘It’s got nuts and mushrooms in. I don’t think you’d like it.’
‘I’d still like to try some,’ she said. ‘You always say to try new things.’
I picked the plate up, cut a small slice of the nut roast and popped it on to Matilda’s plate. Chris went to take Josh’s plate.
‘It’s OK, thanks,’ said Josh. ‘I’m having the nut roast.’
‘You always have turkey,’ said Chris.
‘I know. I fancy a change.’
Lydia looked down. She was fiddling with the handle of her fork.
‘Anyone else?’ I asked, when Josh passed the nut roast back.
Chris shook his head.
‘No, thank you, love,’ said Barbara. ‘I’ll have some of your gravy, though.’
I passed it down to her and started dishing up the roast potatoes.
‘I have to say, Barbara, you’re looking incredibly well,’ said Lydia. ‘Are you still doing a lot of walking?’
A silence hung over the table for a moment. It could go one of two ways.
Josh put his fork down and looked at Barbara. I think it was that which swung it.
‘Yes, still rambling, thank you.’
The table breathed again. Josh’s face visibly relaxed. Maybe it was going to be OK, after all.
‘Right, I’ll pour the wine, then,’ said Chris.
Lydia’s bottle of red was already uncorked on the table. Chris got the white from the fridge. He started with Barbara, just half a glass of white, then me, rather a large glass of white. He walked round to Lydia’s place and poured her a glass of red. He didn’t ask which she’d prefer. Clearly he didn’t need to.
‘Thank you,’ she said, looking up at him.
It came out like a purr. She probably didn’t intend it to. Or maybe it was simply my ears that heard it that way. He made eye contact with her, the first time since she’d arrived. He said nothing. Just continued round the table, back to his seat.
‘Hello, am I invisible?’ asked Josh as Chris walked past him.
‘No, but you’re under-age,’ replied Chris.
‘Mum lets me have some,’ said Josh.
The table fell silent again.
‘Only a little bit, like,’ he added quickly.
‘It’s what they do in Europe, isn’t it?’ said Lydia. ‘Let them have a taste of wine at family meals rather than go off binge drinking on their eighteenth birthday.’
‘They do a lot of things in Europe,’ said Barbara. ‘Doesn’t mean we have to do them.’
‘I thought we lived in Europe,’ said Matilda. ‘Mrs Eddington at school said so.’
‘We do, love,’ I said. ‘It’s complicated.’
Chris was still standing next to Josh, a bottle in each hand.
‘Maybe just a taste,’ I said. ‘As it’s Christmas.’
Chris looked at me. For a moment I thought he was going to argue the toss. He didn’t, though.
‘Red or white, sir?’ he asked.
‘Red, please,’ said Josh.
Chris poured a very small amount of red into his glass. Josh opened his mouth to say something, caught me looking at him and obviously thought better of it.
‘Crackers,’ said Matilda, as Chris poured his own glass of red, put the bottles in the centre of the table and sat down. ‘We haven’t done crackers yet.’
She picked up the cracker in front of her, held it out to me and whooped as the hat, gift and joke flew out of her end. She pulled crackers with Barbara and me in turn.
‘Come on, the rest of you,’ said Matilda.
Josh picked up his cracker and turned, holding it out to Lydia. I watched as they did it, Josh’s eyes smiling, Lydia laughing at her inability to pull it open. When it finally banged, Lydia and Chris both offered Josh their crackers at the same time. He sat there, seemingly unsure whose to take.
‘Pull both of them at once,’ said Matilda. ‘Go on, I bet you can’t do it.’
Josh had never been one to turn down a dare. He grabbed hold of both crackers. Chris had no choice. He had to pull. He was connected, albeit via Josh, to Lydia. They all pulled. Lydia almost fell off her chair at one point. Chris’s cracker was the first to bang, seconds before Lydia’s. He held his fist aloft in triumph. Lydia laughed. Josh did too.
And I sat there imagining them on that first Christmas with Josh. Here, in this very room. Maybe they got him to sleep while they had Christmas dinner. Maybe he sat propped up on Lydia’s lap. I wouldn’t know. I wasn’t part of that family. I was suddenly acutely aware of that fact.
Matilda, whose purple paper hat kept slipping down her silky hair and over her eyes, instructed everyone else to wear theirs. Josh put his on upside down, Chris’s sat awkwardly on top of his wavy hair, Lydia wore hers (which just happened to match her top) at a jaunty angle and somehow managed to look cool, Barbara played it straight with hers and I popped mine on, knowing it made me look like a photo captioned ‘The British Being Naff at Christmas’.
‘Right,’ I said, picking up my glass, ‘we need a toast.’ I looked at Chris as I said it, hoping he’d be able to think of something suitable.
‘Here’s to Christmases, past, present and future,’ he said. I stared at him, trying to work out why he’d said it when the Ghost of Christmas Past was sitting at our table.
Everyone raised their glasses, even Matilda with her Ribena. We all clinked together at our end of the table before stretching our arms out to the other end. Lydia reached out her glass to Chris and Barbara. There was a wordless, gentle clink.
It was only seconds later that Lydia’s phone beeped with a text message. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, fumbling in her bag which was hanging over the corner of the chair, ‘I should have turned it off.’
She got out her phone. I watched the lightness fade from her face as she read the message. Her eyes became dark and heavy. Her fingers jabbed at the keys under the table. She sent the message, turned her phone off and thrust it back into her bag.
‘And a Merry Christmas to you too,’ she muttered, raising her glass and taking several big gulps before putting it back down on the table.
I glanced at Chris. He was eyeing Lydia warily. I had a pretty good idea who the message had been from. And a pretty good idea th
at it had not been welcome news.
‘So, what have you got in store for us tomorrow?’ Chris asked Barbara.
‘I thought we’d walk down to Jerusalem Farm,’ said Barbara, ‘and maybe come back over Midgley Moor.’
‘Ohhh, that’s miles,’ said Matilda. ‘My legs won’t go that far.’
‘Barbara always likes to come up with a family walk for us on Boxing Day,’ I said to Lydia.
‘Yeah. I remember. Although I used to be able to get Chris out of it sometimes, didn’t I?’ she said, turning to smile at Chris. ‘If we had something more pressing to attend to.’
Chris put his knife down on the edge of his plate and looked at her sharply. Barbara pursed her lips.
‘Roast potatoes are lovely, Alison,’ she said. ‘And turkey’s very tender, i’n’t it?’
‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘Help yourself to cranberry sauce, everyone.’
Lydia took another large swig of wine. My stomach tightened. I was willing everyone to eat more quickly.
‘Can I have some, please?’ asked Matilda.
I passed it to her and watched her smother the nut roast with it so she could actually eat it and pretend she liked it. She still hadn’t touched her turkey.
‘That Aga’s always cooked good roast potatoes,’ said Lydia. ‘I’m hopeless at cooking but they always tasted good out of there, didn’t they, Chris?’
Chris stared at her and nodded slowly.
‘Do you still have that same man come to service it? The little beardy weirdy guy with the odd laugh … what was his name?’
‘Malcolm,’ said Chris.
‘Oh God, yeah, Malcolm. He was a blast. You’ll have to send him my regards next time he comes.’
‘Which was your bedroom?’ asked Matilda. ‘When you lived here, I mean.’
It was as if she’d been programmed to ask the most inappropriate questions.
‘The same one your dad has now, I expect,’ said Lydia. ‘With the lovely cast-iron fireplace and the big sash window looking out across the back.’
‘That’s it,’ said Matilda. ‘That’s Mummy and Daddy’s room.’
‘Is it still black and white?’ asked Lydia.
‘No, it’s a sort of beige colour. “Coffee and cream” Mummy calls it. Do you want to come and have a look?’
‘Not now, Matilda,’ I said. ‘We’re having Christmas lunch.’
‘Afterwards, then,’ said Matilda. ‘I’ll show her it afterwards, while you’re clearing away, and she can tell me what it used to be like.’
I remembered my less than pristine dressing gown hanging up behind the door. My pyjamas, which I’d flung on the bed in the mad rush to get dressed and downstairs in time to see Matilda open her presents. It was freezing in our bedroom, you needed pyjamas at this time of year. Although I couldn’t imagine Lydia ever wore them. I decided to change the subject in the hope that Matilda would forget all about the guided tour. I also knew that Lydia had plans later, as Josh had told me. Although I didn’t know if that was still the case after the text message.
‘So, Josh, what film have you got lined up for us?’ I asked.
It was our family tradition. One that Lydia wouldn’t know about. We took it in turns to choose the film to watch on Christmas evening every year. Last year, Matilda had made us sit through Santa Paws. I suspected Josh was about to get his own back.
‘I’m between three at the moment,’ he said.
‘So are you going to tell us what they are?’
‘Nope. I’ll make you sweat on it.’
‘And you’re sticking to the criteria, are you?’ asked Chris.
The criteria were that it had to be a U or PG certificate, something which wouldn’t give Matilda nightmares. And ideally something that wouldn’t make the rest of us, apart from Matilda, want to throw up.
‘Yep,’ said Josh. ‘It’ll be something dark and satanic and scary as hell.’
‘Thank you,’ said Chris.
‘Just be aware that it’s my turn next year,’ I said. ‘So I can always get my own back.’
‘I know what you’re going to choose already,’ said Matilda, tugging my sleeve. ‘You said about it last year. It’s a Wonderful Wife.’
There was laughter from all corners of the table.
‘What?’ said Matilda.
‘I think you’ll find it’s called It’s A Wonderful Life,’ said Josh.
‘And it’s a classic,’ I said. ‘I think you’d both like it.’
‘It is pretty good, actually,’ said Josh.
‘When have you seen it?’ I asked.
‘At Mum’s, last Saturday,’ he said, in a tone which implied this should have been obvious.
‘We used to watch it every Christmas Eve, didn’t we, Chris?’ said Lydia.
He nodded and looked down at the table. Lydia drained her glass and poured herself another one. I was tempted to have some red myself. Anything to limit the amount she had at her disposal.
‘Curled up on the sofa, in front of the fire,’ she went on. ‘With Josh feeding on me that first Christmas we had him. We used to have our family traditions too, you see.’ She spat the words out, looking at me as she said them.
Josh shifted in his seat. His face was pleading with her to stop, but she wasn’t looking at him. I tried to make eye contact with Chris but he avoided it. His jaw had tightened. I suspected he was trying very hard not to say something.
‘Was Josh a good baby?’ asked Matilda.
Normally I’d have been pleased at her interest and conversational skills. But right at that moment I wished she would keep quiet.
‘Not really,’ said Lydia, already halfway through her next glass. ‘He cried a lot. Never liked going to sleep, you see. You were a bit of a night owl, like your mother, weren’t you?’
She leant over towards Josh and put her arm around his shoulders. Josh smiled awkwardly.
‘He was a very good baby, actually,’ said Chris quietly.
‘I’m sorry?’ said Lydia.
‘Just saying.’
‘More potatoes, anyone?’ I asked, holding out the dish. I suspected it was futile. I was right.
‘So I don’t know my own son, is that what you’re saying?’ asked Lydia, her face hardening, her words starting to slur.
‘Well, it’s hardly surprising, is it?’ said Chris.
‘Leave it, love,’ I said.
‘No, I’d like to hear what he has to say,’ said Lydia.
‘Of course you don’t know him. Until a couple of months ago, you hadn’t seen him since he was a few months old.’
‘Six months,’ said Lydia.
‘You know what I mean.’
‘Why don’t you fill me in, then?’ said Lydia. ‘Tell me what I missed.’
‘OK, we’ll start with the night you left, shall we?’ said Chris, his tone falsely jolly. ‘He cried because he couldn’t feed on you, and he couldn’t understand why, because there is no way to make a baby understand that his mother has run off and left him. I had to drive down to the petrol station with a screaming baby to get some formula. That was fun, I can tell you.’
‘What did you want me to do?’ screamed Lydia. ‘Take him with me? You wouldn’t have liked that, either, would you?’
‘Stop it, both of you,’ said Josh. His voice was breaking, and he swallowed hard.
Chris looked down at his plate.
Matilda got up and came to sit on my lap. ‘I don’t like it, Mummy,’ she said. ‘Why is everyone being cross?’
Lydia drained her glass and went to pour a refill.
‘I think you’ve had enough,’ I said, moving the bottle out of the way.
‘Oh, you do, do you?’ said Lydia. ‘And of course, you know everything, don’t you? You know what’s best for everyone. At least, you think you do.’
‘Leave Ali out of it,’ said Chris.
‘Ahhh, touching, isn’t it? Sticking up for your little wifey here. Only she’s not Josh’s mother, is she? She’s got no right to stick
her nose in where it’s not wanted.’
‘She’s been more of a mother to him than you ever were. Who do you think was there when he got picked on at school? When he fell off his bike and knocked his tooth out? It wasn’t you, was it? You obviously had better things to do. Like you had better things to do on Bonfire Night, when Josh was sitting waiting for you in a cafe. I hope he was worth it, that’s all I can say.’
‘Shut up!’ screamed Lydia. ‘You have no fucking idea.’
Josh’s eyes were screwed tight shut. I knew I had to do something before this escalated any further.
‘Barbara, can you take Matilda up to her room for me, please?’ I asked.
Barbara nodded, wiped the gravy from her mouth with her napkin and stood up. Matilda ran to her, burying her head against her chest.
‘That’s right,’ said Lydia. ‘Run to Grandma. Good old Barbara. Never good enough for your son, was I? Thought I was corrupting him. That butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. And all the time he was smoking dope while he was shagging my arse off.’
Matilda started crying. Barbara tried to lead her towards the stairs, but she refused to move.
‘That’s enough,’ shouted Chris, getting to his feet and jabbing his finger in the air towards Lydia. ‘Get out. Now.’
Lydia picked up her glass.
‘Mum. No!’ shouted Josh.
But it was too late. She threw it. Chris ducked. It narrowly missed Matilda and smashed against the wall behind her, fragments flying everywhere. Matilda screamed and covered her eyes. I ran over to her. There were bits of glass in her hair, splashes of red on the collar of her dress. Chris bent down next to her, prized her hands away from her eyes, eased the paper hat up over her forehead.
‘It’s OK,’ he said. ‘Her face is fine. I think the red’s just wine.’
Barbara strode over to Lydia, who had scrambled unsteadily to her feet.
‘You have done enough damage to my family to last a lifetime,’ she said, her voice an unrecognisable steely rasp. ‘Don’t you ever come anywhere near them again. Do you understand me?’
Lydia picked up her bag and headed for the hall. She walked straight past Josh, who was still sitting at the table, his eyes small and scared, his face pale.
A few moments later, the door slammed behind her.