The Christmas Spirit

by Susan Buchanan

  After ensuring final preparations for the following day’s dinner were taken care of, Amelia joined her family to watch The Grinch. They’d seen it so many times, but it had become customary to watch it on Christmas Eve, whether it was on TV or not - they had the DVD. Meredith watched her sister take in the scene in front of the fire - Amelia’s house sported an original coal fire, not one of those pretend living flame ones - children, dog, semi-snoozing husband, and then her gaze fell on Meredith. Their eyes met and no words were needed between the sisters to convey how glad they were to be spending Christmas together.

  ‘It’s so good to see you, darling,’ Rebecca’s father hugged her, almost lifting her off her feet, as they stood together on the platform at Banbury Station. He’d come to pick her up, even though she’d said she would call a taxi. Nonsense, he’d said, It’s no trouble at all. Plus, he said, he’d waited too long to see her already. What he really meant was he wanted a chat with his daughter, a friendly one, without her mother, and for that Rebecca was grateful. She’d always been close to her father, less so her mum, who meant well, but was very opinionated and as stubborn as they came. As she returned her father’s embrace, Rebecca felt glad she’d made the effort. Christmas was for families, for better or worse.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Christmas Day

  Meredith awoke to shouts of ‘Santa’s been, Mummy, Santa’s been.’ She was pretty sure she recognised the owner of the voice as Edward. Smiling as she dropped her legs over the side of the bed, she thought back to when she was his age and Christmas had still held that sense of wonder. Her presents had included a doctor’s kit and the most beautiful doll’s house she had ever seen. No-one knew this, but she still had it in her attic.

  She cleaned her teeth, threw on her dressing gown and traipsed downstairs. She was last down. Jasper and Alannah were at the front of the tree, passing presents back to everyone. Edward and Max were given most of their presents before the others. Edward tore the wrapping paper off his first present, uncovering an Avengers Assemble figure; Thor. Alannah helped Max remove a Peppa Pig space rocket from his parcel, to shrieks of delight and exclamations of ‘Look Mummy, Peppa!’ Amelia didn’t need to feign enthusiasm; the expression on her son’s face was all she needed to exude genuine pleasure.

  The children’s presents were torn open, marvelled at, and wrapping paper discarded, as the next gift arrived on their lap or into their outstretched hands. Gareth went around picking up all the abandoned gift wrap, stuffing it unceremoniously into a bin bag he’d fetched from the kitchen. There, they could see the floor again, and the rest of the presents. There was nothing worse than a new toy being trodden on and broken or damaged because someone hadn’t seen it for the carnage that was their living room on Christmas morning. One of Edward’s train carriages had gone that way the year before, so Gareth had learned his lesson.

  In between hugs and kisses and cries of Thank you, Mummy, Thank you, Daddy, Amelia and Gareth moved the previous toy to the side of the relevant child. Each child had their own corner of the room to place their gifts. The children had their own rooms and a playroom, but Christmas Day was sacred in Amelia’s house, and they were pretty much allowed to do what they wanted. Christmas was all about the children. Mess and chaos reigned and that was the way it should be. Gareth knew full well that his role was to assemble everything that required it. Already he was pulling the cable ties off boxes and trying to get inside, so he could insert batteries, ever mindful of a patiently waiting child who wanted to play with it.

  Wordlessly he cursed the toy manufacturers - who packaged these things? They were a nightmare to get into, as if the manufacturers were having a good old laugh at the expense of the parents.

  Unable to contain himself any longer, Max dived on another present which had been given to him, and asked his mum to help him open it. She was helping Edward, so Meredith suggested she do it for him. Paper removed, it revealed a Bananas in Pyjamas funhouse, which was met with whoops of glee from Max, who was literally bouncing on the spot, he couldn’t contain himself. Involving no assembly, with packaging that hadn’t been put together by a contortionist and only requiring two AA batteries, Max was soon playing with his funhouse whilst his older siblings took a few minutes to open their gifts. An iPad Mini had Jasper grinning from ear to ear, and Alannah’s digital camera with integrated video camera provoked squeals of joy. The children continued to open their gifts, exclaiming in wonder at many of them, each having a bigger wow factor than the last.

  Eventually all the children’s presents were opened and the younger ones began to play with their toys, as Alannah and Jasper passed gifts to their parents and aunt. Meredith loved the cashmere jumper Amelia and Gareth had bought her. Max had wrapped a gift for her, which turned out to be his Mr Matey bubble bath. She was touched that he had thought of her, and promised to use it that night, and she meant it. She might be much more accustomed to Crème de la Mer products, but her beloved youngest nephew had donated his much-cherished bubble bath, so she was determined to use and enjoy it. Mr Matey - she couldn’t believe he was still around. That was one of the gifts their parents had bought them every year. Clearly Amelia had continued the tradition.

  As Amelia instructed the children to make some space, so they could play with their toys, Gareth said he was off to make bacon rolls. It was now six o’clock and Christmas lunch was still a long way off. Meredith offered to help, and as she passed Edward and Max, playing happily together, showing each other their new toys and finding each other’s toys even more interesting than those they had received themselves, Meredith felt privileged to be a part of their Christmas.

  ‘Merry Christmas, everyone.’ Sophie’s father raised a glass of pink champagne to his daughters and wife.

  ‘Merry Christmas, Dad,’ ‘Merry Christmas, darling,’ came the replies as they chinked glasses together.

  Sophie’s family had arisen at the much more respectable time of nine o’clock, with her parents waking the girls only at ten o’clock. Sophie hadn’t slept much. Jacob had been populating her dreams, awake and asleep. She had lain for hours the night before reliving their evening together. He’d finally kissed her when he walked her home and it had been everything she had expected and more. Warm, inviting, sexy, she couldn’t wait until the next one. Fortunately she didn’t have much longer to wait. He’d asked her if she wanted to meet up on Boxing Night, so she had precisely thirty-four more hours to go. She hadn’t told her family yet, not even her sisters, to whom she was very close. She didn’t want to jinx things. For now she hugged the secret to herself and said, yes, she would like a cup of tea, when her sister asked her for the third time.

  As she opened her presents with her family, she tried to keep her mind on the day. But Christmas had come a day early for Sophie, and she couldn’t be happier.

  Stanley’s routine didn’t change on Christmas morning. The wedding reception had lasted well into the wee small hours and it was gone two o’clock by the time the taxi dropped him home. He’d hung up his dress clothes, so they could air, gone through his usual ablutions, then gone to bed. He’d decided he would tell Edie all about the wedding in the morning.

  At half past six, Stanley was up once more. Irrespective of what time he went to bed, he woke at the same time; the curse, or joy, depending on which way you looked at it, of getting old. He made two cups of tea and carried them over to the kitchen table. Sitting down, he picked one up and took a sip. Ah, that was better. He then wished Edie a Merry Christmas, and told her about the wedding in as much detail as he could remember. He told her of the guests, the bride’s dress, even though as a man he didn’t know anything about styles, cuts and materials, he described it as best he could. He knew if Edie was here with him, she’d be rolling her eyes and telling him he didn’t have a clue about fashion.

  The sumptuous menu was gone into in great detail, everything from the Loch Etive smoked salmon terrine he’d eaten for starters, the beef wellington he’d had with fresh roaste
d asparagus, green beans spritzed with lemon juice and a carrot mash. It had been visually pleasing and hadn’t gone unnoticed by his palate either. He’d chosen the more traditional dessert of homemade apple pie and custard, although it had also included pumpkin, which was new to him. He had avoided the sorbet, which had always seemed like an excuse not to serve real ice cream, and panna cotta really didn’t sound his kind of thing.

  Stanley regaled Edie with tales of the ceilidh and the fun he’d had. Even he had joined in insofar as he was able. He’d declined Strip the Willow, a lethal dance which often ended up in sprained ankles, or someone getting an elbow in the face by accident, and which almost always left its participants covered in bruises. But he’d managed Pride of Erin and a few other waltzes, and had really enjoyed himself, as he’d danced with the bride and a few of the bride’s relatives who had flown in from Canada. He recalled when he and Edie had been courting and they had gone to a ceilidh in a hotel in Killin in Perthshire. They’d stayed with relatives of Edie back then and they had danced to every jig and reel, only finishing breathless when the band declared they would be back again the following week, but that was them done for the night. He knew Edie would be thinking of that night, too, and he was warmed by the thought.

  Tabitha sat cross-legged whilst she still could, her bump small, but discernible, and passed presents over to Jacob. She had been, as ever, too generous, and Jacob felt bad that he had been able to buy her so little, but she had waved away his protests of ‘this is too much,’ as well as having ignored his fifty pounds maximum he had set on gifts this year, as he simply didn’t have the money. ‘Tabs, you’ve spent at least six times our limit.’ Jacob was perplexed.

  ‘Jacob, it’s not about the money, it’s about the giving,’ she told him.

  Realising there was truth in this and wondering if his parents had ever thought of it that way when they lavished gifts on them all throughout their childhood to make up for their absence, Jacob relented and decided just to accept his gifts in the spirit they were given.

  He’d chosen a few items of maternity clothing for Tabitha. She had been moaning that her tops were starting to get too tight and he’d zoned in on that comment. He was surprisingly good at choosing clothes and knew his sister’s tastes well.

  Tabitha had ordered most of the food and ingredients from Fortnum & Mason, determined they would have a fabulous Christmas dinner together, since it was just the two of them, although technically she pointed out, there were three of them present. How weird was that?

  Jacob agreed it was odd and felt a rush of anticipation surge through him. This time next year he’d be an uncle. There would be a baby to contend with, buy gifts for and care for. It would be marvellous. He loved children. And on top of that, he might have a girlfriend. OK, he’d only had one date with Sophie, but he had a good feeling. Next year could turn out to be a pretty exciting one.

  Contrary to expectation, Rebecca hadn’t been subjected to the third degree by her mother on arrival the night before, and in fact she had spent an enjoyable evening with her parents having a low-key meal and a few glasses of wine, in her case, and sherry in her parents’. So on Christmas morning, she was expecting some throwaway comment from her mum, which would be chock-full of meaning, but it never came and gradually she felt less and less on edge. By the time the Queen’s Speech came on at three o’clock, there was little likelihood of her mother broaching the subject of Ethan and how much she thought he was right for Rebecca. Maybe she had got away with it.

  Dinner was a lovely, quiet affair with the TV off and discussion which centred around what there was to do in Oxfordshire, as well as the hot news items Rebecca had brought to the table; her job and her new home. In fact her mother had been nothing short of helpful, giving advice when asked, as opposed to sticking her oar in where it wasn’t wanted, which she was wont to do. Rebecca surprised herself by discovering she was having a good time; surprise which must have manifested itself in her expression, as her father at one point gave her the thumbs-up sign. It was terrible being the only child a lot of the time. You always had to be there for your parents as they had no-one else to call upon, and whilst Rebecca didn’t mean this to sound uncharitable, being the constant focus of your parents’ attention could be exhausting sometimes.

  Rebecca’s father was a mild, understated man, who took comfort in the simple things in life. Having his daughter home for Christmas was present enough for him, as he sat in his armchair and watched her relaxing. Never one to cause a fuss, this time he’d stood up for her. When his wife had been hysterical about their darling daughter splitting up from Ethan, for once he had intervened. Rebecca was having a hard enough time of it, having to give up her beloved flat, not to mention also having to mend her broken heart. What she didn’t need was her mother wading in with her size sixes and making her feel as if no-one was on her side. Rebecca’s mother had been so flabbergasted at being addressed in this way that she capitulated. It was rare for her husband to cause a scene or voice opinions contrary to her own, so when he did, she knew he meant it and he wasn’t to be trifled with.

  As she sat in her parents’ cosy living room, watching Only Fools and Horses and Who Wants To Be A Millionaire’s Christmas episode, eating orange Matchmakers, the occasional leftover After Eight and sipping her glass of shiraz, Rebecca realised she felt more at peace here than she had done for the past year with Ethan.

  She thought back to the previous Christmas when she, excited, had got out of bed at ten o’clock, which by Christmas morning standards and by her estimation, was pretty late, and brought Ethan a cup of tea and a boiled egg with toast soldiers. He’d once let slip when drunk that it was his guilty pleasure, but that she mustn’t tell anyone, as he’d never live it down.

  Hungover, Ethan hadn’t appreciated the gesture and had rolled over and gone back to sleep, leaving his breakfast untouched. Rebecca, deflated, had gone into the living room and opened a few presents she had received from friends.

  But that hadn’t been the only time he had shown his true colours, ungrateful prat, and as Rebecca continued to reflect, it struck her that she had been lonely for a long time. She had never thought she would be that person who was lonely in a relationship, but now that it was staring her in the face, she knew that was what she had become and she was glad to be rid of him. Deciding that the five minutes she had spent thinking of him today was four too many, Rebecca picked up the TV guide, flicked through it, then asked if anyone minded if she watched the Downton Abbey Christmas Special.

  Natalie, too, was watching the Queen’s Speech and hoping her luck had changed. She’d had a good year this year with the birth of Prince George. Natalie had always admired the queen, second only to Queen Victoria in her opinion, both long-reigning monarchs, with a fair bit of responsibility on their hands, both unlucky in many ways, she always thought, but blessed in others. As she added some more custard to her Christmas pudding, she congratulated herself on a job well done. This year had gone exceptionally well.

  Crackers were pulled, party hats were donned, whistles were blown at Aberlomond House Hotel, as Stanley dined with his grandchildren, for he now thought of Catherine as his granddaughter. They were joined by many of the wedding guests and relatives, who had either come from abroad or who had extended their stay to include a Christmas break after the wedding. In total there were nineteen of them. Stanley thought, except for the absence of his beloved wife and son, this could possibly be the best Christmas Day ever. Who knew that having Christmas outside of the home could be so wonderful and such fun?

  As Stanley tucked into his posh dinner; ham hough in herb ballatine, pan seared black gold fillet steak with roast root vegetables and a red wine jus, rounding off with meringue with Chantilly cream and boozy berries, instead of the usual traditional Christmas pudding, Stanley thanked God for the arrival of his grandson.

  Catherine and Thomas would soon leave to start their honeymoon up north, and he would see them only on their return trip, before they fl
ew out of Glasgow Airport the day after. Yet, although Stanley knew he would miss them a great deal, he felt buoyed by the new friendships he had made at the club and had been invited round to George’s for a small sherry on Boxing Night. Finally there was something he could be grateful for this year and something to look forward to next year.

  Even in as grand a house as Amelia’s, fitting twenty-one people in comfortably for dinner was a tall order. The main dining table which seated twelve was sandwiched between two smaller tables, which had been added on either end. The result was haphazard but it worked, although those at the opposite ends of the table had to shout to be heard by the person furthest away. The seven of them, Gareth’s parents and his siblings, their children, a couple of Gareth’s cousins, Meredith and Amelia’s own parents, plus two of the children’s friends whose parents were working overseas for Christmas, and a work colleague of Gareth’s who was single this year with no family close by, made up the twenty-one. It was quite a haul.

  Amelia had prepared everything from scratch, although being good at delegating, unlike Meredith, who was only beginning to learn, had roped in her older children and her husband with the simpler tasks and even Edward had helped set the table. Festive red runners ran the length of the three tables, whilst tasteful centrepieces of silver and gold intertwined snowflakes and Christmas trees adorned each one. The dinner service used on only special occasions had been polished until it shone, as had the crystal glasses. Edward had done a stellar job. When the guests had arrived for pre-lunch drinks at two o’clock, they had been shown into the lounge, not the living room, which was the children’s haven on Christmas morning, and although now free of wrapping paper and other detritus, was still bursting with toys, books, clothes and selection boxes.

  The lounge also sported a beautiful Scots pine, this covered solely in white lights set on a timer and which had ten different modes. The remainder of the room was lit by red and white candles in elaborate candelabra, many of them antique; one of Amelia’s passions was to collect certain items - candleholders was one of them. A makeshift bar had been erected at one end of the room and Jasper acted as barman, although his mother did check occasionally to ensure he didn’t imbibe. He may be almost of age but she didn’t want him falling face down into his Christmas pudding.