Guess Who's Coming to Christmas Dinner

by Laura Lockington

  ‘Yeah, it’s frustrating more than anything else,’ Davina said. ‘We are trying to suggest improvements but just get battered with budgets all the time…’

  Lisa sighed. ‘I don’t know how or why you want to do the bloody job.’

  Lisa’s pretty face clouded with what would look like bitterness to other people but Davina knew her better. Her apparent hard exterior was a camouflage for her compassionate soft centre – she had a heart as big as a lion.

  ‘I’m beginning to wonder myself, Lisa,’ she muttered as she sipped her coffee.

  Lisa tugged at her white tunic stretched tight across her bulging midriff and looked at Davina with eyes full of concern. ‘It’s more than that though?’

  Davina knew there was no point trying to camouflage her other worries because Lisa would see straight though her. She nodded her head and sighed. ‘It’s the baby-making thing with Michael again. It’s just not happening and the more we try the more frustrated he gets and the more I’m beginning to dread it. Why can’t I do it?’

  She choked back the sadness in her throat and looked anxiously past Lisa towards the open door. Lisa followed her eyes and kicked the door closed. ‘Look, love, it’ll happen. Just relax…’

  She frowned and clenched her jaw. ‘Lisa, if one more person tells me to relax, I’ll scream!’

  Lisa got up from her chair and put her arm along her shoulder. ‘I know. I’m sorry that was a rubbish answer but I don’t know what else to suggest…’

  Davina sighed heavily and shook her head. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped.’ She twirled her finger through the handle of her coffee mug. ‘You know, two years ago when we started trying in earnest, it was a new challenge and exciting waiting for the first few months. But then after six months I’d start to get upset when the period came and I’d bite my lip trying not to cry in front of him. But now it’s just seems like the norm to be ratty and horrible every month and I know I’ll get my bloody period no matter how many times we do it.’

  She swallowed the tears and Lisa squeezed her shoulder in comfort. ‘I know, love. It must be awful for you. And as I’ve said many times before, it’s a crying shame because you’d make a lovely mum.’

  She could feel Lisa’s chubby arm in the sleeve of her tunic. It reminded her of her mum and she grabbed a tissue from the box struggling not to break down. She blew her nose hard and took a deep breath. Trying an upbeat tone in her voice she mocked, ‘I mean bloody hell, it’s not like I want a hoard of them like Michael does – that would terrify me – but just one would do.’

  Lisa grinned and tilted Davina’s face up with her finger. ‘You can always borrow one of my little blighters…’

  ‘Aah, they’re not blighters – they are lovely. And well you know it,’ she said feeling better, and then wanting to change the subject, she asked. ‘How are things out on the ward this morning?’

  They discussed the morning’s theatre list and the consultant’s ward round which would take place after lunch then Lisa drained her coffee. ‘I’d better get going and leave you to it. I’ve got to arrange to see some upset relatives…’

  ‘Do you need me to come?’ Davina asked hoping she would agree. It would be lovely to feel wanted and useful again.

  But Lisa shook her head. ‘No, thanks. I’ve got it covered. Stewart’s going to help me.’

  Davina noticed how her face lit up when she said his name, and wondered if Lisa had fallen under the same spell as the junior nurses. And if that was true she would be astounded because since the day Lisa’s husband had walked out she’d been bitterly averse to every man within a ten-mile radius of her.

  ***

  Michael lifted the turkey out of the oven in the small development kitchen. He stuck a probe into the thickest part of the turkey breast and when the temperature reached over 78° C he knew it was well cooked. The aroma filled the kitchen, which had only a sink, two ovens and hobs and a row of cabinets above eye level. The smell of cooked turkey wafting down the corridor brought Tony hurrying along from the office into the kitchen.

  ‘Mmm, smells great. Shall I ring Stella or do you want to?’ he asked mischievously.

  Michael frowned and grumped, ‘You can. I’m not interested.’

  Stella walked into the kitchen and looked around. She smiled. ‘Oh, my, this is small but perfectly formed, isn’t it?’

  Tony agreed and Michael couldn’t stop himself smiling at her. When they’d first met in the factory she’d been in the obligatory white coat and mop cap but now dressed in a dark green trouser suit and a loose white blouse, he could appreciate her trim figure. Her hair was a mass of shiny copper curls and she wore large pink-framed glasses which accentuated her cute facial features.

  Michael picked up a sharp knife and carved the turkey expertly while she chattered easily with Tony.

  ‘I can see you’ve done this before, Michael,’ she simpered looking at his strong arms and steady hand holding the knife.

  He placed a thick slice of turkey and a good serving of stuffing onto a disposable plate and handed it to her. ‘Yeah, it’s something I do all year round so one could say I have had plenty of experience…’

  He’d sounded quite stilted but meant it in a polite manner not wanting to encourage her. But when he heard Tony sniggering behind him he realised the connotation and fumed. He could feel his face flushing and sweat stood out along his shirt collar making him feel uncomfortable.

  She took a mouthful, chewed, and then sighed sweetly. ‘Mmm, that’s a lovely flavour. I don’t think I’ve had fennel before but it’s something I’ll definitely try again. Have we used it in production before?’

  While Tony began to explain that it would be a new ingredient and that the technical team would look into any significant challenges, Michael gazed at her animated face. He could tell she had a bubbly personality, which was refreshingly new in a team of staff that he’d worked alongside for years.

  She nodded. ‘And when will this launch? I hear the factory is incredibly busy in the run up to Christmas.’

  Michael smiled. ‘Yeah, we work flat out from the middle of November until late on Christmas Eve. Usually, by then most people have bought their turkeys and done their last big food shop before the day itself.’

  Tony’s mobile rang and he excused himself and left the kitchen while Michael helped himself to a slice of turkey and rolled the stuffing around his mouth relishing the combination of flavours. He could see her gazing at his mouth and throat while he swallowed the meat which made him squirm and shuffle his leather shoes on the floor tiles making a squeaky sound.

  ‘If you’re always so busy I bet you hate Christmas?’ she asked quietly.

  Unable to stop himself he grinned at her. ‘Oh, no. I don’t mind being busy – it’s my favourite time of year. I love Christmas, always have done. And I can’t see that changing. We’re very traditional at home with old-fashioned cards, a real tree and the same baubles are given an airing every year,’ he said imaging the scene and gazing sentimentally above her head. ‘We have the same decorations and lights, watch our favourite TV programmes, go to church and have turkey on Christmas Day of course, and then a joint of pork on Boxing Day.’

  She glanced down at his left hand and stared at his wedding ring. ‘And does your wife love the same things every year too?’

  For one split second he couldn’t grasp what she meant and then suddenly he remembered Davina mentioning a purple tree last year in John Lewis and how she thought it would fit in perfectly with the décor in the lounge. But she’d only been joking – hadn’t she?

  ‘I’d better be off,’ Stella said and thanked him again for the tasting before leaving him standing in the kitchen thinking about Davina and their usual Christmas.

  Was she happy with the same rituals every year? He knew he was and didn’t want to change a single thing but maybe he should ask if she wanted to do things differently. They were both only children and always had both sets of parents to their home for the whole d
ay. He cooked Christmas lunch and proudly showed off the stuffings he’d been working with and cooked the turkey to perfection. He couldn’t think of one thing that he would want to change – it was perfect the way it was. Nah, he thought, it was Stella putting strange worries into his head. He cleared away the remains of the turkey and decided he’d have to be careful with this new manager.

  ***

  Before driving home from work Michael bought Davina her favourite Hotel chocolates and a large bouquet of white roses which she loved. He couldn’t think of anything he’d done to annoy her since their holiday but if they would help get him back into her good books again and put a smile back on her face they’d be well worth it. He was praying she’d want to make love tonight because she was going away for the weekend and this would be their last chance in the ‘good’ week. And a week in which, he reminded himself, they hadn’t done it once so far.

  He pulled up outside their three-storey town house and remembered how at first they’d be at it every night in the ‘good’ week until he’d felt his legs wouldn’t carry him around at work and he’d had to ask for a night off.

  ‘How can we have gone from that to this?’ he muttered under his breath as he walked up the drive. She was never going to get pregnant at this rate.

  He put his key in the lock and climbed slowly up the stairs into the open plan lounge. It was a beautiful room furnished with her good taste in light shades of lilac and darker streaks of purple in the accessories. He placed the bouquet in the kitchen sink with an inch of water, made himself a coffee and sat down to wait for her to come home. At seven o’clock she sent him a text apologising that she was late and saying that she would stop off to pick up a pizza on her way home.

  He watched the rugby on TV and grumbled at the thought of another fast-food night and wished he’d bought something to cook on the way home.

  ***

  ‘If you’d let me know earlier you’d be so late I would have cooked something,’ Michael said poking at the dried up pizza on his plate. It was like chewing rubber, he thought miserably.

  Davina avoided his eyes and looked behind him counting the petals on the purple flowered wallpaper. She took a deep breath determined not to argue with him. ‘I’ve said I’m sorry, Michael. Time just slipped away when I was writing the talk for next week’s seminar. It’s an awful pizza. Shall I make us a sandwich instead?’

  He grunted but then decided that being grumpy wouldn’t get her on the right track. He smiled, reached across the table and stroked the back of her hand. ‘No, it’s okay. In fact I’ve got something for you as a nice dessert which will make up for it,’ he said and disappeared into the kitchen. This would get her in the mood, he thought excitedly as he returned with the flowers and chocolates.

  ‘But it’s not my birthday until Monday,’ she cried burying her nose in the blooms and inhaling the fresh roses. They were beautiful and her eyes widened in delight at her favourite white chocolates lying on the table.

  He stood behind her with his arm draped casually along her shoulders. ‘Two days early – but hey, what does that matter?’ He slid his hand down into her shirt and lightly caressed her breast. ‘We could eat the chocolates upstairs in bed.’

  The touch of his cool fingers startled her and she recoiled as if she’d been stung. Hastily she tried to make amends. ‘Oh, sorry, I-I just wasn’t expecting…’ she gabbled quietly, then lowered her head and bit the inside of her lip.

  Christ, what was wrong with her, Michael thought as he awkwardly removed his hand and straightened his back. He placed both his hands on the back of her chair and gripped it tight staring at his white knuckles. He had to get to the bottom of this. ‘What’s wrong, Davina?’

  She shook her head slightly using her long hair as a shield and continued to gaze down at the chocolates on the table. Jesus, what was she going to say? Her breast was still shivering from where his fingers had been and the involuntary reaction to his touch had unnerved her. She couldn’t bear to hurt him but she didn’t have the energy or desire to make love. She shook herself back to reality, swung round in the chair and looked up at him. ‘It’s nothing, Michael. I’m just really tired.’

  He took his hands from the chair and placed them on his hips. ‘I don’t think so. You’ve been tired before and it’s never stopped you. It’s as if you don’t want to be anywhere near me,’ he pleaded. ‘Talk to me, Dee. Whatever’s wrong I know we can fix it…’

  She couldn’t bear to see the pain in his eyes and her caring nature took over. She caught hold of his hand, kissed the palm and placed it on the side of her face. ‘Not want you near me? What a load of tosh!’ she said. ‘You’re my husband, Michael. And I love you…’

  He ran his other hand into her soft hair and twirled the strands between his fingers. Maybe he was overreacting and she was just tired. He bent forward and kissed the tip of her nose. ‘You sure?’

  She looked into his eyes and noticed the frown on his forehead. She felt terrible for causing him grief. ‘Of course, I am – you silly goose…’

  ‘Okay,’ he muttered and nodded slowly.

  She breathed a sigh of relief that she’d managed to reassure him. ‘Now I have to get moving to pack my weekend bag for tomorrow,’ she said letting go of his hand.

  He pulled back from her and carried the leftover pizza box into the kitchen.