It was as though he were a kid all over again, afraid to say a word, scared to fracture the fragile atmosphere. ‘As long as it’s Chinese, I’m in.’
His words broke the strain in the atmosphere and Ian took out a menu from a pile on the table. They sat like any normal family, selecting items from the menu folded into thirds, Myles ringing through the order on his phone ready for delivery in an hour. It would give them a chance to talk.
‘Cup of tea?’ his mum offered.
He’d rather have a beer, or a big glass of red, but, he supposed, from a woman who’d drunk herself into oblivion way too many times, it would be torturous and completely inappropriate to offer him alcohol right now. ‘Tea would be great. Black, no sugar, thanks.’
He sat at the only sofa, tucked on one end while his mum made the tea, tapping the teaspoon on the edge of the cup exactly five times as she usually did after she’d stirred it. The ritual used to irritate him when he was younger and still living at home, but there was something strangely comforting about it now.
Martha handed Myles his cup of tea and gingerly sat down at the other side of the sofa with her own. His dad sat on one of the kitchen chairs opposite so it was easier to talk, so they weren’t all sat like ducks in a row, making it more like an inquisition.
‘It’s wonderful to see you, Myles.’ She looked nervous, her voice came out quieter than usual. ‘And this inn is lovely.’ She blew across her tea. ‘I can stay tonight but we’ll have to move as of tomorrow, which is a shame. But I’m not surprised it’s fully booked.’
‘You didn’t book anywhere else?’ Now wasn’t the time to be critical and Myles knew if each of them didn’t tread carefully, they’d get nowhere. So he didn’t say anything more.
‘The lovely girl downstairs has been calling around and said she’ll do her best, so fingers crossed. I really want us all to be together at Christmas.’
The tension in Myles’s hands made it almost impossible to lift his mug to sip his tea. What was he supposed to say? That yes, it would be nice?
‘If it’s OK with you, that is,’ Martha added.
Throughout, Ian had stayed quiet, hovering on the sidelines in case his input was needed. Myles looked over to him and realised what he really needed was to have a conversation with his mum, on her own. He couldn’t remember the last time they’d done that without anyone in the background and, although he hadn’t realised before, now he knew that he desperately needed it to be that way.
‘Dad, would you mind giving us some time?’
‘Martha?’ Ian looked torn between giving his son what he wanted and staying by his wife’s side. He’d told Myles how guilty he’d felt for not being there for Martha, not seeing her, so asking him to stand aside now was a tough request.
Her voice shook. ‘It’s fine…I’m fine. Go and enjoy that beautiful lounge downstairs and you can intercept the Chinese food.’
Myles put his cup of tea on the table. He hoped he could work up an appetite because in the few minutes since placing their order, he’d suddenly lost all desire to eat.
The door clunked shut as Ian left them to it, but the silence now was louder than any other sound: the buzz of traffic outside, a yell from someone walking past in the street, the hum of the fridge in the corner of the kitchenette.
‘Are you drinking again?’ He may as well come straight out with it. She wasn’t today, he could already tell. She’d hugged him and there wasn’t the faintest whiff – and although she usually tried to disguise it, she could never do it so well that he couldn’t guess. He’d caught her out many a time.
‘I was.’
‘I appreciate the honesty.’
‘Myles…I know I hurt you a lot over the years and I’m not asking you to pretend none of it happened. I don’t think any of us can do that.’
‘I know I can’t,’ he admitted, unable to look at her. She stayed at her end of the sofa and he at his. He felt like a pre-teen, unable to process his emotions and see the bigger picture. ‘So you’re not drinking now?’
‘I haven’t had a drink in more than a week. I didn’t reach the depths I’d reached before either, because your father has been there for me, he wasn’t going to let it happen on his watch.’ Myles’s shoulders sagged in relief. ‘I’m not making light of it. I know I need to be strong so I never go down that path again. I joined a support group.’
‘You did?’
She was smiling now. ‘I’ve made a couple of lovely friends and we’re all there for each other. Your dad is right by my side but it helps to have outsiders to talk with as well.’
‘You and Dad do seem much better than ever before.’
‘We’re getting there.’ She coughed to clear her throat. ‘We did a disservice to our children. To you and Winston. We should’ve been setting an example, paving the way for you two to grow into happy, rounded young men, but instead our own problems got in the way.’
He noticed her hand stray to her side, a few inches closer to him, but she put it safely back in her lap again. ‘Some of those days are so foggy I can’t remember them.’
‘I can. I remember every last detail.’ Silence hung between them. ‘I remember finding you passed out in a chair on more than one occasion, having to cook an entire Christmas dinner with Winston when we had no idea where to start. The funny thing was, it wasn’t that we were incapable or we didn’t enjoy it. It just would’ve been nice to have you a part of it.’
‘After the house was broken into I was terrified.’
Myles was catapulted to the other side, the side that showed all this from her perspective. ‘Dad told me all about it. Why did you never say anything? Winston and I could’ve handled it.’
She shook her head vehemently. ‘It wasn’t what I wanted. In hindsight it may have been better to be honest, but at the time I just wanted to protect you from all harm. That man, he was terrifying. All I could think about that night was you two boys. I thought I’d get over the break-in after a couple of weeks. We had locks changed, a high-tech alarm installed, we even redid the windows on the ground floor to make it next to impossible to break one. But, still, I rarely slept. I had a prescription for sleeping pills for a while, and they worked at the start. I don’t know, maybe I got too used to them. I started to have a glass of wine in the evening. It was the only way I could relax and not be paralysed with fear in my own home. But one glass soon turned into two, which soon turned into many. If you asked me to pinpoint exactly when I went from enjoying a few drinks to an alcoholic, I couldn’t even tell you.’
‘Why didn’t you get help back then?’
‘I was ashamed. I was failing as a mother. Plenty of people lived alone while their husbands worked away, but I was unable to hold it all together.’ She fiddled with the bottom buttonhole of her cardigan. It looked new and he found himself wondering whether she’d bought it especially for this visit. Some days back when she was drinking she’d looked so bedraggled in tatty old leggings and threadbare jumpers that he had started buying her clothing for Christmas and birthdays because it broke his heart to see her looking so bereft.
‘There’s no shame in being scared,’ he said.
‘I felt like my mum was the only one who understood me. She didn’t lecture me, she saw all the hurt and fear deep down, and she did her best to come in and support my children while I tried to sort myself out. The counselling your dad arranged should’ve been a turning point, but I was too blind to see it. I’d got myself into this state, this rut, and getting out of it was going to take a lot more than I ever realised.
‘When your grandma died I reached new depths, Myles. It made me realise how I’d shut myself off from everyone else, including your father and my boys. You were both doing so well but I couldn’t take any credit for that. I saw what my mum did with you two, I saw the encouragement from your father, but I thought I was just an embarrassment. Sometimes I’d think, right, today’s the day I’m going to talk to them both. I’ll sit Winston and Myles down and I’ll tell them
everything that happened. I’ll let them know that none of it was their fault, that this was my doing, and that I loved you both very much. But I never quite managed it. You were both at that age where any frank conversation with your parents was beyond embarrassing.’
Her wry smile made him grin too. ‘Winston has all that to look forward to with his kids. He says they’re already monosyllabic at the dinner table and he has to coax information out of them.’
Martha nodded. ‘I think kids grow up much more quickly these days.’ She looked at her youngest son. ‘I hope you have that to look forward to one day as well.’
Myles shrugged. ‘Who knows.’
‘That’s my biggest regret, you know.’
‘What is?’
‘That I ruined the idea of family for you.’
‘I’m not stupid, Mum. I know that not all families are happy, some have plenty of problems.’
‘That’s the common-sense approach, but I think you absorbed a lot of negativity over the years that you’ve never been able to step away from. You’ve battled on in your career and come out on top, and we couldn’t be more proud of you. But with every promotion, every move up the career ladder, I had a pang of sadness that I couldn’t instil in you the importance of having other things in your life.’
‘You didn’t completely fuck up my life, Mum.’
She raised her eyebrows. ‘I’m still your mother and I can still tell you off for your language.’
‘Sorry, it just seemed the easiest way to describe what you feel you’ve done. But it wasn’t all you. Winston seems to have coped with it all, processed it and moved on. It’s me who couldn’t see past everything that happened.’
Her fingers stilled on her lap. ‘You know, I sometimes wonder if it was because you were the youngest. I think Winston partly saw it as his responsibility to grow up and set an example for the both of you. You always were close, and I’m so glad it stayed that way.’
‘Me too.’ He relaxed back into the sofa.
‘Do you ever talk? You know, about the years when I was…’
‘An alcoholic?’
She looked down at her fingers rather than look at her son. ‘It took me a long time to admit I was one. That I’ll always be one.’ Her eyes didn’t leave her hands. ‘I went through the denial for a long time. But then, one day, something snapped and I couldn’t keep doing it. Your father was there for me and helped me through it all. I think I saw all those wasted years flash in front of my eyes, the mess I’d made for my two sons, and instead of sinking further into depression, finding solace in a bottle, I made the decision that no, this wasn’t it. Not for me, not for us – me and your father – and certainly not for my boys.’
‘So why did you start drinking again recently?’
‘I didn’t go back to being as bad as before, but I could’ve easily done so. We’ve shared Christmas many a time, but the tension has been…well, at times unbearable. I guess lately it’s all I’ve been able to think about.’
‘I thought you’d put everything behind you and were just carrying on as normal.’
‘I tried to, but who was I kidding? You can’t go through the stuff that we all dealt with and then assume it’ll just fizzle away without addressing it. I needed to sit both you boys down and damn well apologise. That should’ve been the first thing I did, back before Winston got married. But I was pathetic. I was scared you’d both turn around and throw it all back in my face. I saw Winston get his happy ending and assumed you’d follow suit, but the more time went on I saw the animosity you still held on to about those years you’d seen me in a state – when you’d taken over basic household tasks if I was too far gone to do them, the things you’d missed out on because of me – and, well, I knew you were going to be different from your older brother. Sometimes, when you came into the room I’d say your name with every intention of having the conversation that needed to start with ‘I’m sorry’, but it never happened. There was always my fear that you’d run even further away.’
‘Is that what you thought I was doing by taking the job in New York?’
Her face had already given it away. ‘I thought you needed to get far away from me.’
‘You’re not completely wrong.’ He risked a glance at her. She looked so hurt, fearful, desperate for reassurance. ‘It wasn’t why I went for the position and took it up, but it was an added bonus.’
‘Oh Myles…’ She trailed off, pulled a tissue from the box on the countertop.
‘All those Christmas days when you were drinking were hell for me. Decorating a tree without your mum was wrong. She was the person who should’ve been leading the proceedings. Dad tried to be that person but I started to resent him not being enough to make up for the missing piece.
‘Do you remember the year the stockings were ruined? I was fifteen.’ When he heard a sniff he knew she remembered it too well. ‘It was Christmas Eve and you’d hung our stockings, stuffed full of presents, and for the first time in a long while I thought, at last, she’s pulled herself together and we’re going to have a proper family Christmas. Dad was coming home early that evening and we were all excited about the next day. We’d said we’d cook together, Winston and I argued over who got to do the most and you were so proud of us. “My boys”, you said, “My little chefs.” We were so excited.’
‘And then I ruined it.’
‘It was a disaster. You’d had a couple of drinks, which I think Winston and I didn’t notice because we were too happy and you weren’t that far gone. You kept adding logs to the fire, piling them up, and, boys being boys, we thought it was fantastic. We kept saying it was an indoor fire that would make Guy Fawkes proud. You kept it going long after we went to bed, and then you fell asleep.’
His mum carried on for him as though reiterating the words helped her process what she’d done, one of the many things she must regret now. ‘Your dad came home and the stockings had fallen down, the flames had caught the material alight, the presents were all ruined, and if he’d been much later it could’ve been so much worse.’
‘Do you know what I remember the most?’ Myles couldn’t look at his mum. Instead, he stared at the wall opposite, with the single painting of the Empire State Building standing tall and proud in Manhattan, tiny dots of people scuttling around on its viewing deck. ‘First of all it was the smell, the unmistakable stench of fire mixed with plastic, the reminder of another ruined Christmas. But then it was the shouting, the yelling, the crying.’
‘Your father went mad.’
‘Are you surprised?’
Taken aback by the way he snapped at her, she said, ‘I’m not excusing it. He had every right to be angry.’
‘You could’ve burnt down the house, Mum.’
‘That wasn’t why he shouted, Myles.’ She was looking at him, he could feel it. ‘He yelled because I’d put you two in harm’s way, yet again.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Did you know he threatened to leave me?’ Myles looked at her now. ‘He was going to take you and Winston and walk out. And you know what? I’m glad he said it to me. I’m glad he didn’t pussyfoot around and treat me kindly. He told me the way it was going to be. I think his fear drove him to say enough was enough, and I needed it.’
Myles got up, paced, and settled against the countertop.
‘I know you can never forgive me for all of those years, Myles. That’s not what this is about. I’m not asking you to wipe those memories away. But what I am asking for is another chance, with you. To start again with my son and make some new memories, if you can let me.’
Could he do it? He’d held on to his anger for so long, half the time without realising it, that he didn’t even know how to exist without that grudge. It’d been ingrained in his psyche, become a part of him, and it was hard to shoehorn himself out of it.
‘Your dad and I have something for you.’ She stood up, went into the bedroom and picked up a small wrapped box, which she brought over to him. ‘Merry Christmas, Myles. And thank you for the hamper you
sent, it’s beautiful and it’ll be something to enjoy in the New Year for us.’
‘I should put this beneath my tree upstairs,’ he said, distracted, still clutching the gift. ‘It’s not Christmas yet.’
‘Trust me, you want to open this before the big day.’ She managed more of a smile than she’d been able to give since she’d arrived.
Myles tugged at the green satin material tied around the gift and the bow unravelled. He pulled the Sellotape until it peeled away from the red paper and allowed him to remove the box from inside. When he opened it, he reached in and when he realised what it was his eyes filled with tears.
‘Where did you find it?’ Looking back at him was the snowman on skis ornament that he’d chosen as a young boy. He’d thought it long gone.
‘It was never lost, Myles. I kept it safe every year.’
‘But I thought it’d been broken, thrown away.’ He ran a finger along the black painted ski, the white leg of the snowman, careful as he handled it for fear it would break now it was so old.
Martha shook her head. ‘I knocked it off when I was drunk, remember. It crashed to the floor, and I still remember your face when you saw it happen. It was as though it was another piece of your life I’d taken, thrown away without a concern, and smashed to pieces. You examined it, it was fine, but you took it and wrapped it in tissue paper and pushed it in a drawer in the study. I found it there once when I was looking for something else.’
‘I forgot I put it there,’ he said. He couldn’t remember her knocking it off. Perhaps it was something he’d refused to let surface in his mind. ‘Why didn’t you get it out the year after and hang it on the tree?’
‘Because…’ Her voice faltered. ‘…because after that year, Christmas was never the same again. You had so much anger inside, so much fury, and I’d caused it all. I thought that if I put that ornament on the tree, you’d smash it up yourself in a fit of rage at everything that had happened.’ Her tears came and instead of standing there waiting to see if he said anything in reply, she turned and fled into the bedroom and shut the door.
Snowflakes and Mistletoe at the Inglenook Inn Page 23