Alberta Clipper

by Lambert, Sheena

  Mark would be alone.

  And lonely.

  He thought about the turkey breast wrapped in cellophane, sitting in the fridge in his kitchen. He had bought it on his way home from work out of some sense of tradition. He didn’t even like turkey. He tilted the bottle over his glass, and sat back into the sofa. He wondered what Christine might be doing. Probably snuggled up with her boyfriend in front of a roaring fire. Wearing something Christmassy. Red. Satin. Mark covered his eyes. He couldn’t bear this. He’d heard people say how Christmas was the loneliest time of the year, but he had never really understood them. Christmas had always been a time of fun, and holidays and skiing and partying. Christmas had never been like this.

  He necked the whiskey in his glass and pointed the remote at the TV. The room went dark apart from the glow from the laptop screen. Mark stood and headed upstairs to bed. Maybe if he tried really hard, he would sleep through the whole of the blasted holiday.

  Sixteen“I love it, Dad.” Christine looked up from the open box on her lap.

  “Ah well, it's not an antique or anything. I just thought it would look well on the wall in your place. I'm sure you don't need an old-fashioned one like it, you probably have a barometer and everything else on your computer nowadays?”

  “Not exactly, Dad. Anyway it's beautiful. I've always wanted one like it.”

  “Yeah, well, the more practical part of your present is on the mantelpiece there. You might need some of it for the races tomorrow.”

  Christine walked over to the fireplace and took down the envelope that was propped up next to a photograph of her mother. “Aw Dad, that's too generous. Really.”

  “Shush now. Here's your coffee.” He handed her a delicate china cup and saucer, and poured himself a cup from the silver coffee pot on the tray. It struck Christine that it looked tarnished. She thought about her mother sitting at the dining table in the good room, holding a green cloth to that coffee pot with blackened hands, panting with exertion through the chorus of some Billie Holiday song. “We'd better phone Aggie after these,” her Dad said as he sat back on the sofa. “It's getting late there now.”

  “Open one of yours.” Christine nodded at the small pile of oddly shaped presents next to her father. “Don't get too excited now.”

  “Right so.” He tore at the paper on the first one. A set of spatulas peeked out. “Ah lovely. You can never have too many spatulas.” They laughed. “Now what could this be?” A hard-backed Italian cookery book appeared. “Perfect.” He flicked through the pages. “Thank you Christine.”

  “The next one is from both of us. Me and Ag.”

  Her father untied the bow on a large cream-coloured envelope. “Very mysterious,” he muttered. He opened the card inside and caught a slip of paper that fell out as he read the message with a serious expression. Christine sipped her coffee as she watched him from the armchair. “I don't understand,” he said. “Is it a voucher for a restaurant?”

  “It's a chain of hotels and restaurants. You can use it for any of the places listed on the card there. Some of them are really nice.”

  “Well, sure that's lovely.”

  “It's from both of us.”

  “I see that.”

  “We thought, Aggie and I, that you might like to take Grace away.” Christine could feel her cheeks redden. “For a weekend or something. And we -” Her father looked up from the card he was still holding. His hands were steady as a surgeon's, while Christine's coffee cup rattled on its saucer. “Or you could just use it for meals. There are lovely restaurants on the list too.” She stood quickly and brought her cup to the tray on the little table next to her Dad. As she set it down, he put his hand on her arm.

  “Thanks Chrissy.”

  She pressed her cheek to his. “I love you Dad. We both do.”

  Just at that moment, a cloud covered the morning sun and the room darkened, highlighting the flickering Christmas tree lights reflected on the wall. Christine felt happy and sad all at once. She stood up straight, and father and daughter smiled at each other.

  “Come on. Let's phone Aggie.”

  “Honestly,” she put an elbow on the table and rolled her eyes, “this is incredible. No offence Mum,” she looked up at the ceiling in a half-laugh. “I don't think I've ever had a Christmas dinner like this.”

  “Ah now, it's just a little change here and there. And of course my secret recipe gravy. And my homemade cranberry sauce.”

  “Where's that? I don't even have that.” Christine scanned the table.

  “And there are apricots in the stuffing. Your mother's stuffing was never her strongest suit. I actually tried to make a few changes to it years ago, but she insisted that it was a Kingston family heirloom, and I was not to fiddle with it.”

  “It's just unbelievable.” Christine shook her head at her plate.

  “Wait 'til you try the trifle. I didn't make a pudding. I hope you don't mind. Too many memories in those puddings.” He laughed at his forkful of turkey like they had shared a joke.

  Christine raised her almost empty glass of red. “To Mum.”

  “To Mum.”

  They sat with only the sound of scraping plates and a muted Julie Andrews for a few moments.

  “So are you coming to the races tomorrow? I missed us not going last year. It wasn't the same with only Emily. She barely placed a bet. She was only interested in meeting horsey-types in the reserve enclosure.”

  “No, not tomorrow. I've been invited to Grace's tomorrow.” Christine caught her Dad's eye as it flickered up from his food. “Meeting the family, actually.” He took a long drink of his wine.

  “Dad. Wow. Big day. Are they all going to be there?”

  “Yep.”

  “Even the grandchildren?”

  “The lot of them.”

  “Wow.” Christine sniggered. She couldn't help herself. “No pressure then. Lucky you have your new shirt and jumper to wear.”

  “Yeah, thanks for those. That is handy actually. I hadn't thought too much about what I would wear.”

  “And gifts?”

  “What gifts? Christine, don't talk with your mouth full.”

  “You have to bring gifts Dad.” Christine swallowed. “Well, at least for her grandkids.”

  Matt began to look worried. “I hadn't thought of that. I have something for Grace, but that was difficult enough. I didn't think any further about it.”

  “What did you get her?” Christine tried to sound nonchalant, but the significance of it fought with her best efforts to be supportive.

  Matt seemed to understand. “Just a bracelet. It's not fancy. I didn't want to go over the top.”

  Christine smiled. “She'll love it Dad. Look at you, out shopping by yourself.” He made a face at her. “Anyway, a few selection boxes will be perfect for the kids. They're still selling them down the road. You can pick them up tomorrow on your way. You won't even have to wrap them.”

  “Great idea. You're sure that will be okay?”

  “Show me a five-year-old that doesn't love chocolate Dad,” she started to laugh but stopped suddenly.

  Matt looked up at her. “You're right. That'll be perfect.”

  Christine took a drink from her glass.

  “Chris?” Matt patted her hand, then squeezed it. “That'll be perfect.”

  ~

  Mark looked at the stack of dirty plates and shook his head. And then he laughed. He laughed like a person gone mad, at nothing, at no one, he just stood at the deep sink full of dirty water and laughed until he had a pain in his stomach.

  “Are you alright?” A lady with a jolly red face who was slapping thick slices of ham onto plates looked over at him with a grin, hoping to share in whatever was making this very attractive man double over in two.

  “Never better.” Mark wiped his eyes with his rolled-up sleeve and lowered the stack of plates into the sink.

  “Like to share the joke?” asked another lady who was pouring an equal amount of a gloopy white sauce onto
each slice of ham, before passing the plates to a third lady who was dabbing what looked like an ice-cream scoop of mashed potato onto each plate in turn. She looked at the other two and winked. “Sure we'd all love a joke.”

  Mark smiled at them over his shoulder while he scrubbed the plates. “I was just recalling last Christmas.”

  Mark guessed he should tailor the story to the audience. If he told them he was wondering how the hell he had ended up washing dishes for homeless strangers on Christmas Day, they might have been offended.

  “It's just that, this day last year I was skiing in Italy. With my partner of ten years.” He looked over at the three ladies to try and gauge their reaction. They seemed interested, kind, standing there looking at him like he was some exotic animal, their arms moving all the while in a seemingly confederated, mechanical fashion.

  “She's gone now,” he said. “To Edinburgh,” he added so as not to falsely over-dramatise the situation. He didn't want to sound like one of the sad-storied hobos out in the dining hall. His plight was far less drastic than most everybody else's there. He turned back to his dishes. “I was just thinking that it's funny how much can change in a year.”

  Just then, a sprightly older man came through the swinging doors with an enormous tray in his arms. “Ladies, you are playing up a storm as always. Great compliments coming from outside.” He winked at Mark as he balanced his tray on the bench next to him and stacked more dirty plates in the spot Mark had just cleared. “No rest for you Mark, I'm afraid. How are you getting on sir? Are these lovely ladies keeping you company?” He swung around and winked at the three. “Don't forget to have a plate yourself when things quieten down. We can't have our volunteers falling in a faint on us now, can we?”

  “You just keep taking these plates out and stop your gabbering,” the sauce lady said. “We'll mind our own in here.”

  “Yes Mrs. Burns, whatever you say.” The man held his tray out for refilling by potato lady, and winked again at Mark. “You let me know if you need any male backup in here,” he grinned.

  “Will do,” Mark called as the man disappeared out the swinging doors with his tray full of dinners.

  “That fellah's an awful eejit,” sauce lady said.

  “Ah he's a good enough sort.” Ham lady lifted the foil from a new platter of steaming sliced ham. “If it weren't for him, none of this would have been organised.”

  “So why did she leave for Edinburgh?” Sauce lady seemed to have no desire to discuss the man further, and looked more interested in the possibility of some scandal from the handsome stranger washing the dishes.

  Mark scraped some plates into a black plastic sack suspended from a metal frame. He looked up at the three ladies. They seemed to be waiting for an answer.

  “Eh, she got a job there.” He kept on scraping.

  “Must have been some job.”

  “Miriam!”

  “Well, it must have been.” Miriam elbowed her companion, holding the sauce boat steady all the while. “Would you leave him for a job in Edinburgh?”

  Mark smiled. “It was a good job. But you're right. We should probably have broken up long before.” It felt oddly cathartic to be talking like this. He hadn't really talked about it at all, to anyone. Well, he had a little with his mates, and with Shay and Nina, but this felt different. This is what it would be like having Mum around to talk to, he supposed. He looked at the three women who were still working away methodically, without fuss. His mother would never have been found dead in a place like this. A place like this would just never have been on her radar. She would have given generously to the church collection that had paid for the ham, but doling it out dressed in a pinny and a hairnet would have been beneath her.

  “Well now, I'd say you're better off without her.” Miriam was not to be deterred. “If she couldn't see what a fine thing she had, then she was undeserving of you.” The last few words were uttered with extra emphasis. Mark saw ham lady roll her eyes.

  “How long did you say you were together, love?” Potato lady asked gently.

  “Ten years.”

  “Ten years!”

  “And never married?”

  “Miriam!”

  “He said partner. He didn't say wife.”

  “My goodness.”

  “Well wasn't it just as well? Aren't they split up now?”

  “And no children?”

  “No.” Mark turned back to the sink. “No children.”

  “Well isn't that maybe for the best.”

  “Miriam!”

  “Well wouldn't it be very hard on the little ones if their mother upped and left for Edinburgh?”

  “Oh, Miriam.”

  “No, no. You're right. It is better, really.” Mark was amused. He had only met them two hours ago, he still didn't even know their full names, and yet they had his life story pretty much down. He resumed his washing and stacking routine. The situation ruminated in silence for a moment.

  “Well, sure aren't you still young? You could still meet a lovely girl, and get married and have babies.”

  Mark smiled. “I could. Sure amn't I looking? I don't suppose any of you ladies is unattached?”

  “Oh would you listen to him,” the three squealed and blushed and laughed, almost breaking the perfect cycle of slap, pour and dab.

  “What's all this?” The elderly gentleman chose that moment to reappear with more empty plates on his gigantic tray. “Sounds like the real party is here in the kitchen. Is our newest volunteer distracting you from your duties, ladies?”

  “Oh, the standard of volunteer is certainly improved on last year,” Miriam stated. “We'll have all the young women of the parish here next year if they see the likes of Mark helping out.”

  “Sounds like you have an admirer there Mark, I'd be careful if I were you,” the man leaned in over the sink with another conspiratorial wink.

  “Off with you, Eddie. We'll have your plate ready for you after you bring this last lot out. Mark,” ham lady put a hand gently on his arm, “leave that now. This is for you. Sit. Eat. We can finish this later.”

  Mark followed her to a sparsely set table for five. They all sat down with their own meals. A mountainous plate of food was set before him.

  “I'll have to eat again with Joe at home later,” potato lady groaned, although she still sat and started eating with the rest of them.

  “Well may I say that this is one of the nicest-looking Christmas dinners I've had the pleasure of being served.” Mark lifted his pint glass of water. The three women’s faces flushed like teenagers. “Merry Christmas, ladies.”

  “Merry Christmas, merry Christmas.” They touched glasses and exchanged smiles.

  “Now let's get eating before Eddie comes back in and we have to listen to him tell us how wonderful we all are,” said Miriam.

  Seventeen“Goddamn three-legged nag.” Emily tore at small piece of paper before stuffing it into her pocket.

  “Aw sweetie, don't despair. Gavan won the last race. He can buy the drinks.”

  “Hey!” Gavan squeezed Christine tighter as they stood huddled together on the grandstand.

  “Oh yeah, I could murder a hot whiskey.” Jack rubbed his hands together, blowing into them like bellows.

  “Right so. Come on. We can watch the next one in the bar.”

  “Might be more sensible to spend the money on a drink rather than giving it to a bookie anyway,” said a glum Emily. “At least you get something for your money.”

  “Aw, come on Ems,” Christine linked arms with her friend as they walked along by the track to the bar. “You're supposed to be enjoying yourself.”

  “I am. I should just not place any bets. Then I could say I broke even and everybody would be happy.”

  A rush of warm air met them at the door of the bar. Inside it was dark, and full of punters escaping from the cold. Huge screens hung from the ceiling and walls, showing the races being run outside. One or two were showing races live from England for the serious gamble
rs. The air was thick with the smell of stale beer and fried food.

  “At least it's warmer.” Christine removed her jacket and pounced on two high stools vacated just at that moment.

  “We'll get the drinks.” Gavan looked towards the scrum of bodies gathering around the bar. “Might take a while. What would you guys like?”

  “Hot port for me.”

  “Me too.”

  “Right.” He kissed Christine. “Don't go anywhere.”

  The girls settled into their seats.

  “So you're really okay?” Christine said as soon as the boys were out of earshot.

  “Yeah, actually.” Emily smiled. “It's better this way. We've only been living together two months. And he was so sweet about it.” She looked coyly at Christine. “I think he really had wanted to ask me, and he was worried that I would be really upset.”

  “Poor Jack,” Christine smiled. “And has his brother set a date?”

  “No, but he had the ring wrapped up under the tree on Christmas Eve, and she said yes straight away. They've been together for years. It would have been bad if we had stolen their thunder really.” Emily seemed to be trying her best to be positive. “He confided in Jack early on Christmas Eve, he was so nervous she would say no.”

  Christine squeezed her arm. “Well, it will be a great day, especially if Jack is best man. And then your wedding will be twice as good. They'll have all the groundwork done.”

  “Hmm.” Emily smiled. They sat for a moment, watching people rush through the doors, faces red from the cold outside. “Remember last year?” she said. “We were both here on our own last year.”