by Judy Astley
‘Oh, great. Well, at least it’s warm in here. It can go under the table while we have lunch.’
‘So long as you don’t forget to pick it up,’ Sam said.
‘For heaven’s sake, Sam.’ Emily reared up. ‘Do you really think I’d let Alfie walk back to the house with no coat in this?’ The sky was going a bruisey shade of purple-grey, and some icy rain spattered against the pub windows, half-wet, half-snowy.
‘OK, OK, no need to pick on me, Em. It’s not my fault.’
‘Sorry, sorry. Oh God, everything’s wrong.’ Emily’s eyes welled up and Sam gave her a tissue from his pocket. Thea looked up at her from the far end of the big table they’d bagged, and smiled wanly. Well, that was a relief. Emily really wanted to go and hug her but that would possibly lead to a full-scale session of mutual sobbing so she gave her a small return smile and sat down, a fidgety child each side of her.
‘I think someone’s hungry,’ Mike said tactfully, handing her a menu. ‘Let’s be quick and order – and hey, look, there’s Maria working behind the bar.’
The pub was a light, roomy one with a pale wood floor, big windows and a view over the bay. It had been recently modernized and smelled of its new pale blue and white paint. Driftwood-framed pictures by a local artist were on the walls and a sail was hung across the ceiling. There were photos on the window-ledges of bands playing, and Mike went to have a look. Alongside the chalked-up menu was a list of up-coming events.
‘I see there’s plenty of music going on here,’ he said to Maria after he’d put the food and drinks order in. ‘I could bring my guitar down.’
‘You’d be very welcome,’ Maria said. ‘We could do with some new blood. We mostly get the same old chancers singing the same old stuff, and a few of the young ones thinking they’re the next One Direction. Boxing Day’s going to be a good one. You could come to that. Music starts at about seven that night. It’s usually later, but there’ll be a lot in that night.’
Anna drifted up and stood next to him. ‘You’d better check with Thea first,’ she said. ‘It might clash with something.’
‘Well, she did say she’d accept a degree of flexibility. Maybe we can all come up here instead?’ Mike felt the phone buzz in his pocket. It would be Charlotte. Again.
‘Back in a minute, just off to the bog,’ he said to Anna, putting his pint of beer on the family table and loping off to the door in the corner. Once through it he pulled the phone out and sure enough, it was her.
Missing you babes. And surprise – unexpected time off. Got a lift down your way tomorrow. See if you can escape for a bit?
On Christmas Eve? What kind of pantomime production suddenly decides to let its cast go swanning off on the busiest night of the run?
Mike went down the corridor past the loo and found a door to a courtyard that had a smokers’ shelter in it. The stuff that was now falling from the sky was more snow than rain. He hadn’t expected that, not down here in the far south-west. Wasn’t it usually a lot milder here than everywhere else? His fingers almost froze on the phone keypad as he clicked on Charlotte’s name. Voicemail. Damn. He started leaving a message asking her what she was planning for the next day, making it vague from his point of view so that she wouldn’t think he was actually inviting her down. She wouldn’t expect that, of course – she hadn’t even met his family – let alone imagine she’d be welcome to come and hang out with them on the night before Christmas.
‘You OK, Dad?’ Jimi came out, clutching a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Mike, feeling like a caught-out schoolboy, quickly shoved his phone back in his pocket, his message only half-spoken and left up in the air.
‘Fine, fine,’ he mumbled. ‘Just checking what the weather is doing. Wondering about going back for a car after lunch to come and pick up the little ones. This weather’s a bit of a horror, isn’t it?’
‘Oh, they’ll be OK.’ Jimi inhaled deeply and grimaced. ‘I hate these things. Going to quit, definitely. They just speed up the inevitable body rot.’ He inhaled again and blew smoke upwards. It twirled away on the wind. ‘The children won’t mind the walk and it’s not far. Alfie’s kneeling up at the window all shiny-eyed at the snow and Milly is demanding a sledge.’ He stubbed the cigarette out. ‘Vile habit. Lucky it’s my only real vice.’
Mike opened the door to go back in. ‘Jimi? This was a good idea, wasn’t it? Coming down here?’
Jimi looked at his father as if he didn’t quite understand the question. ‘Of course it was. It’s just, you know, a little bit tense …?’
‘I know. I wish we hadn’t said anything about the divorce now.’
‘I think we all do, Dad.’
SEVEN
‘Did you get them?’ Emily was hovering in the hallway as the Golf pulled up outside and Sam came in, looking tired. He brushed snow off his coat.
‘I did. Two shiny new bikes stashed in the back of the car, boxed up for easy wrapping unless you just want to have them out of the packaging and propped up by the tree with a couple of big fancy ribbons on?’
‘No, they’re fine in the boxes. I’ve got plenty of paper. Unwrapping is the best bit.’
‘Is it? Excellent. I wish you’d told me that a fifty-mile round trip and three hundred quid ago. I’d have just picked up some cardboard boxes from the village shop.’
Emily laughed. ‘You know what I mean. Thanks, Sam, they’ll be thrilled.’
Sam started gazing up at the ceiling.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Looking for mistletoe. For a minute there I thought you were going to kiss me but there isn’t any so I suppose you won’t.’
‘Do you want me to?’
He shrugged. ‘Only if you want to. Don’t do it now, though, or I’ll think you’re only doing it because I mentioned it, not because it’s what you want.’
Emily felt confused. She did quite want to kiss him but now he’d pretty much said definitely not to. How to get these things right, even after several years together? And why was he now analysing something that hadn’t happened? She tried breathing slowly, remembering to be mindful of the moment. You were supposed to be mindful in a positive way, so going over something that was bound to make her feel down wouldn’t be a useful thing – so maybe she should stop? She took his hand, hoping that he wasn’t actually flinching at the gesture.
‘Thea’s got the children at the kitchen table, making paper angels to hang up,’ she told him. ‘She’s so good with them. Come and see.’
‘OK, but let me just tell you, in case this snow decides to settle, I got some cheap plastic sledges as well. Including one for Elmo.’
‘Did you? That was thoughtful. I was hoping the snow would go away but now I mustn’t wish that because they’ll be disappointed if they can’t use the sledges.’ There she went again, being negative. Or was she? She was putting the children first, which had to be good, surely?
Sam smiled. ‘Well, it’s definitely settling on the roadsides out there, but if it’s all gone by morning, we can always haul the kids around on the sand. It’ll be just as much fun for them.’
Sam went through to the kitchen to see what the children were up to and Emily went to the front door and had a quick look out. Did snow ever stop being a magical thing to watch? she wondered. Would there be a moment – perhaps a few years later on – where she’d look out of the window at it falling and get no thrill from it at all? She hoped not. She put a hand out beyond the porch and felt the soft icy drops landing on it. Snow always reminded her of fur, whereas rain made her think of leather. The flakes melted on her warm fingers and dripped to the ground. That was good. Snow falling was a beautiful thing but she didn’t want it any deeper than the couple of inches it took to make everything look pretty. She was frightened of its power to cut off roads and villages and to make the world as she knew it stop functioning. That silent, white menace was actually chaos and she was terrified of chaos.
‘Emily? Are you coming? Mum and Dad have got the DVD thing all set up an
d ready to go. We’re supposed to all come and watch.’ Thea went to stand beside her at the door. ‘What are you doing? Oh wow, it’s falling really fast!’
‘I know. Suppose we get snowed in?’
‘Oh, we won’t be,’ Thea replied. ‘Or at least … well, we’ve got several days here yet so it wouldn’t matter, would it? We definitely won’t run out of food – there’s tons of it.’
‘But it could be weeks. What if it’s weeks?’
‘It won’t be. It hardly ever snows at all this far south so it’s not going to hang about, is it?’ Thea was beside her in the fast-gathering dusk, watching the snow falling on the camellias. The bushes already had fat buds on them, some of them even breaking open and showing flushes of red. Short spikes of daffodils had also pushed up through the ground beneath, battling towards spring.
‘I’m sorry about what I said on the beach, Thea,’ Emily murmured.
‘It’s OK, you already said.’
‘Yes, but—’
‘No, really – it’s fine. I’m over it.’
‘Over what I said, or …?’
‘Both.’
‘You’re so good with children. Mine are lucky to have you.’
Thea laughed. ‘Well, that’s my job, isn’t it? The role of the maiden aunt.’ She closed the door and pushed her fingers through her damp hair.
‘Oh, you won’t always be one,’ Emily assured her. ‘There’s someone out there with your name on him.’
‘Hey, I’m not looking, I’m really not. And I love being an aunt, maiden or otherwise. It’s fun, and when I’ve had enough I get to hand them back and revert to wine and irresponsibility. Come on, Em, let’s go and be mortified by our on-film childhood.’
Rich would have hated this, Thea thought as she watched a shaky piece of home movie of her tenth birthday party. It was a circus theme and she was dressed as a ringmaster, annoying her friends with a riding crop in lieu of a whip. They shrieked and giggled as she got them to run round the garden pretending to be lions that she’d tamed. Rich would have started sighing and shifting about after the first five minutes and have found an excuse to leave the room after fifteen. ‘Your family are always so pleased with themselves,’ he’d once said on the way home from a barbecue in Mike and Anna’s garden one Sunday the previous summer.
The comment had completely taken the edge off what had been a beautiful day. She’d been convinced he’d been enjoying it, cheerfully playing a loose form of garden cricket with everyone, having a long and commiserative conversation with Jimi about the downturn in fortunes of Manchester United and dozing comfortably on the swingseat under the cherry tree, Benji asleep at his feet, after a garden lunch of Mike’s homemade burgers and a fabulous pear tart. It had – at the time – felt like a pretty perfect summer afternoon, and then out he came with that mean little comment as Thea drove them both home.
‘We get on OK, that’s all. Is that so unusual in a family? And I haven’t seen any of them for nearly a month. It’s perfectly normal to like their company now and then, isn’t it?’ she’d asked, feeling very rattled. What he’d said had really hurt and she’d barely trusted herself to speak.
‘Is it?’ He’d seemed seriously puzzled. ‘Don’t most families go their separate ways once they’re grown up? You lot still seem to have barely left home. You’re always either seeing your parents or phoning them or going out to Emily’s or off to your mum’s for a chat. It’s … I don’t know … a bit infantile? My lot are quite happy with the odd visit in the year.’
‘Apart from your sister,’ Thea retaliated. ‘She hasn’t exactly let you go, has she?’
‘That’s different. It’s all about the dogs. That’s a shared interest as well as being her business.’
Thea had left it at that, not wanting to hear his reply to the question that was in her head: will you feel like this about our children?
‘Oh bloody hell, look at my hair!’ Rosie was pointing at herself on the screen, a bride at the register office wearing a 1940s-style pink- and flame-coloured floral tea-dress with her hair piled up in rolls at the side and one on the top. The style hadn’t been entirely successful. ‘I never went to that hairdresser again,’ she said now. ‘I knew as soon as I saw the wedding photos that she must really hate me.’
‘You look better than me,’ Jimi said, chortling at the sight of himself in an over-sized chalk-striped suit and a cream straw panama hat. ‘What were we thinking of? What the hell made us go for a forties’ theme?’
‘Oh God, I’m sooo never getting married,’ Elmo growled. He hid his eyes behind his hands. ‘This is too random. When’s food?’
Thea glanced across to where her parents were sitting close together on the big sofa. They were laughing at the film but also actually holding hands. She looked at Jimi and jerked her head in their direction. Her brother noticed and grinned at her, giving a discreet thumbs-up. How could they, with all this happy history between them, even think of splitting up for good?
‘So – what’s tonight’s entertainment then, team leader?’ Sam asked Thea as they started loading the dishwasher together after Maria’s fabulous chicken casserole.
‘Ah. Well, it’s up to you. I think watching the second DVD might count as family overload, so – er, maybe you could all just make your own fun?’
‘“Your”?’ Anna chipped in as she rinsed a plate. ‘You make it sound as if you’ll be elsewhere. Having an early night? Are you OK?’
Thea now wished she’d mentioned her appointment (obviously she couldn’t call it a date, because it wasn’t, really) with Sean earlier. Now it just looked as if she’d deliberately kept it a secret. Had she? Possibly. They’d only have teased her.
‘Er, I’m just off out for a little while. Going out to get something with Sean. Not for long.’
That got their attention, especially the women. She sensed the eyes of Emily, Anna and Rosie on her and could feel herself going pink, though there was absolutely no reason to.
‘What is it you’re going to get?’ Emily asked her.
Jimi gave a rather dirty laugh, and made little quote marks in the air. ‘Some “fun”?’ he said, giving Elmo a nudge. ‘Way-hay!’
Elmo rolled his eyes at him. ‘God, Dad – like stop?’
Thea laughed too. ‘I don’t think that kind of fun is very likely, do you?’
‘I don’t see why not,’ Anna said, smiling at her.
‘No, honestly, it’s not an option. You can trust me on that.’
Thea backed out of the room quickly, deciding it wasn’t for her to ‘out’ Sean if the others hadn’t got the drift yet. His and Paul’s relationship was their own business. Instead she went to her room, dug out her chunkiest sweater, her boots, a woolly hat, gloves and scarf and went down the back staircase and across the yard to knock on the Stables door. The air felt warmer, or maybe it was the layers of clothes she’d put on, and the snow that had previously settled was now dripping from the trees.
It was Paul who opened the door, wearing a black polo-neck sweater – cashmere? … and a chunky grey hand-knitted jacket over the top which somehow looked hugely expensive rather than homemade.
‘Hello!’ he said, looking rather surprised. ‘Oh, and don’t you look sweet, all wrapped up like a woolly elf! Is everything OK? No problems, I hope?’
‘Oh hi! No, everything’s fine. I just – er, is Sean there?’ She felt for a moment as if she were asking a neighbouring mum if their child could come out to play. And ‘elf’? OK, she wasn’t very tall, but even so …
‘Yes, he’s here. Come on in.’ He stepped back to let her into the kitchen and bellowed, ‘Sean! There’s a little elf-lady to see you!’ in the direction of whatever was through the door on the far side of the sitting room. Woody came running through, miaowing at Thea and twirling his body against her legs.
‘Sorry about Sean’s cat,’ Paul said. ‘The damn thing’s all over every visitor.’
‘It’s no problem, I like him.’ She bent to stroke Woody and he
rolled over on the floor, purring.
‘Tart,’ Paul said.
‘I hope that refers to the cat.’ Sean appeared, pulling on a beaten-up sheepskin jacket.
Paul chuckled. ‘Of course it does. And you have to admit I’ve got a point. He’ll roll over for anybody.’
‘You’ve had dates like that, Paul.’
‘Oh, I have, I have. Many of them. Back in the day, obviously.’ He sighed and winked at Thea. ‘Have a lovely time, you two, and be careful in the woods. Watch out for mantraps and murderers.’
‘Mantraps?’ Thea asked. ‘Are they—’
‘Only joking, Elf, they’re safely illegal. There won’t even be poachers, not in this weather. There’s nothing to poach in the middle of winter and anyway they’ll all be keeping warm down the pub. Go on, get yourselves going before the snow comes back.’ And Paul chivvied them out of the door.
Thea walked with Sean to the far side of the stable block where a gleaming little silver Mercedes con vertible was parked next to a grubby and ancient Land Rover. She didn’t need to ask which one was Sean’s. They climbed into the Land Rover and he set off down the driveway, the engine chugging and spluttering for the first few hundred yards.
‘He’s pretty funny, Paul, isn’t he?’ Thea said.
Sean hesitated for a moment before replying. ‘He can be. But don’t ever flick mud on his jacket or he’ll turn on you like a tiger. I slopped a teeny drop of olive oil on his sleeve once and you’d think I’d shot his sister. And he can shop for Britain, that one. He was online just now, checking out man-bags at eight hundred pounds a go. Ridiculous, especially as he won’t actually buy one. He’ll go all envious and sniffy and tell me you can get the same thing at Kempton market for about a score.’
Thea laughed. ‘This doesn’t seem the kind of area for men with fancy city bags – not that I’d know.’ She stopped, not wishing to sound as if she were criticizing or mocking. She wasn’t, but she didn’t want Sean to get the wrong idea.
‘Yes – rural south Cornwall, the epicentre of the metrosexual male. Doesn’t really work, does it? Fishermen in wellies, farmers in – well, more wellies – and Paul with his blue suede Jermyn Street loafers and a Mulberry knock-off man-bag. Yep. Can see it. Luckily he has another life that properly accommodates his tastes, up in that big London.’