“You can’t just stop there,” a familiar voice calls out.
Oh for fuck sake. Is that Nathan? I look up and it is. He’s standing outside my window.
Nathan’s Dad lives around half a mile from my mum’s house. Every year he’s given me a lift, but with things being off with us this year, I didn’t want to ask.
I wind down the window. “Hi.” This is so awkward.
“You should have asked. You know I drive this route every year.”
“If I had a crystal ball, I would have.” I smile, rolling my eyes.
“Get out then,” he says, taking a step back. I unclip my belt and step out in the winter sun. “I bet you’ve not serviced her since you’ve had her, have you?” He’s right, but I’m not going to tell him that. “When was the last time you changed or checked the water and oil?”
I shrug, crossing my arms in the cold wind. “I think Pete put some water in for Cate not so long back.”
He laughs. “Women and car maintenance, recipe for disaster.”
He pops the hood and takes a look at the engine. He likes to think he can fix everything. It makes him feel all macho. He holds the dipstick up to the light, then runs his finger down it, tutting.
“You have absolutely no oil, Liz.” He blows out, nodding his head at me. “I’ll have to tow you. I have a rope in the boot.”
Now feeling useless, I open the boot of his Audi. I should have known it would be something as simple as having no oil.
I hand him the rope then climb back into Beryl. He clips one end to Beryl, and the other beneath the back bumper of his Audi.
“Take your handbrake off and steer. Use your brakes,” he warns me through the window, smiling. “You go into the back of this, you’re in trouble.” He jogs toward his car.
FINALLY WE STOP OUTSIDE Mum’s house. I reluctantly glance up because I know what my vision is going to be inflicted with. God, she’s outdone her efforts from last year. There’s flashing fairy lights around every window and across the guttering. An awful tacky inflatable Santa waving in the wind next to the drive. And I hear them, the annoying jingles. I suck in air as Nathan gets out and unclips the tow rope.
He knocks on my window. “Right, I’ve got to go. I have six missed calls and five messages,” he complains. “Dad’s getting more and more smashed in each one.”
“Thanks.” I quickly get out before he disappears. I guess I’ve missed the normality of having Nathan around.
“It’s fine. And I’m sorry. You know.” He twitches uneasily. “About you and...”
I butt in and grumble, “Cate told you.”
“She was worried.” I’ve not seen him blush ever, but his cheeks are getting pinker by the second. “Believe it or not Liz, I do still care about you.”
Mum suddenly bounces out of the front door, excitably and mercifully breaking up this difficult conversation. She’s wearing the traditional Christmas jumper, the one Geoff gave her last year. It has Santa’s bum cheeks on show, sticking out from a fireplace. Nathan can see it in my face, just how much I’m not looking forward to this, and laughs at me.
“Oh Nathan, you’re looking all dapper,” Mum flirts. Clearly she’s been on the wine.
I haven’t really noticed, but he does look well-groomed today, in his indigo jeans and cream roll-neck jumper.
“For god sake Mum. Please,” I grumble.
“Oh come here you two, give me a squeeze.” She wraps an elbow around each of us.
I pull away and see Geoff. He hasn’t got his jumper on. Has he actually stood up to her this year? I smile and give him a quick hug, before Nathan shakes his hand.
“Your car?” Geoff asks me.
“Long story,” I reply.
“Look Nathan, I’ve spoken to your father, and invited you all for drinks this evening,” Mum announces.
Nathan side-glances at me. I don’t mean to do it, but I’m scowling, and he now thinks I hate the idea. Perhaps I’m selfish, mean, and not in the spirit of things. I simply cannot lighten this frame of mind, and I don’t think any amount of alcohol, or company, will help.
“Let’s just see how it goes eh?” He winks in a dejected way. “Have a wonderful day. Eat, drink, and be merry,” he says, getting back in his car.
I break away from Mum and dash across to the Audi. I tap on his window as he fights to turn his stereo down.
“Fuckin piece of shit,” he huffs, looking up at me. “Liz, get yourself inside. It’s freezing.”
“Thanks again.”
“Liz, shut up and go inside will you,” he smiles.
I angle my head through his window and peck his cheek. “Merry Christmas.”
“Yeah, merry Christmas, Liz.” He shakes his head, shocked I kissed him, clipping in his belt. “No mistletoe. I’m privileged.” He starts up the engine smiling. “Maybe see you later.” He pulls out on to the road.
I get that homely feeling as soon as I close the front door. I could easily roam around in my PJs and slippers here, with messy hair, slouching around the house like I did in my teen years.
Mum’s Christmas tree this year is the subtlest one yet, with one colour, red. But I’m finding it hard not to associate the ribbons with the silk rope Adrien bound me with. I exhale and place my bag before the coat stand.
“Okay honey.” Mum holds out a small gift box. “Merry Christmas.”
I smile, expecting the worst.
I untie the cream ribbon and open the box. My eyes narrow as I pull out a set of gold handcuffs and a do not disturb door sign, with two stick figures going at it like rabbits. I nod in shame as Geoff sniggers over her shoulder.
“You think that’s bad, wait until you see what she got me,” he says, taking a swig of his apple cider.
“I really don’t want to know,” I cringe.
“Sweetie, eighteen gold carat plated those,” she says. “Thought they’d look good on your bedpost. Of course, just for show.”
“Well, you really didn’t need to.” I drop the cuffs in my handbag.
GEOFF HAS THE CHRISTMAS music up high, while entertaining Uncle Jim and Aunt Carol in the lounge. The dining table has been dressed with silver and white in the conservatory, and the house smells delicious.
I help Mum with the plates in the kitchen, then begin to spoon the different vegetables in separate serving dishes. She takes the huge turkey out of the oven, and starts to scoop out the stuffing. I’m quiet, and she knows there’s something wrong. It’s unlike her not to have begun to interrogate me already.
I pace around the oval table arranging the plates, when the song Last Christmas comes on. I loathe the song, but for some stupid pathetic reason, it’s reminding me of him. When he came to my rescue at Finley’s Bar.
I slam down the last plate. Damn you Adrien, leave me alone.
“Careful,” Mum squeaks.
“Sorry.”
“You think I don’t know what’s wrong with my baby girl,” Mum casually says, placing the bowl of piping hot stuffing on the table. “You’re in love.”
“Mum... I am not!”
“That pent up anger.” Her eyes widen. “You’re in a world of your own, and you persistently lying is a dead giveaway.” She holds the back of a chair, with her long layered red hair hanging over her shoulder. “There’s always a few volatile fall-outs at the beginning of any relationship.”
How does she do it? She gets all that from me not even opening my mouth. I can’t have secrets or heartache. She’s got radar.
“Who is he? Mummy will find out.”
“It doesn’t matter now,” I drone, not wanting her counsel. “I don’t want to talk about it Mum, so please, let’s try and have a nice day.”
“Well, on a scale of one to ten, how good is he?”
Okay, this is getting to be as ridiculous as the rampant rabbit gift incident last year. What kind of personal question is that to ask your own daughter? Instead of going to an empowering sex seminar, maybe she should have gone to parenting classes. Because as
king me that, is a definite no-no.
“Mum!” I growl.
She laughs. “Perhaps an eight then.” She toddles back in the kitchen.
He was off the scale Mum. In fact, there’s no way on this earth to measure how good he was. How can I miss someone, and hate them at the same time? I miss the sex. God, I’d give anything to feel his touch on my skin, my hands skimming around his waist and muscular back. I can still sense the way he felt on my fingertips. His smooth, firm, statuesque like body. The curves of his chest and the soft fine hair on the back of his neck. Shit, I’m so screwed up right now.
Eventually, and way off Mum’s schedule, we’re all sat down, tucking into Christmas dinner. Uncle Jim and Aunt Carol are always the same. And this year they seem to be trying to outshine their previous attempts to slate all Mum’s hard work. Critics. They like to compare and offer their opinion, because they are the kind of people who can always go one better. Mum cooks her potatoes in goose fat, whereas Carol will cook hers in liquid gold. Until both of them have been ploughed with wine, they are intolerable to be around.
“Okay, crackers.” Mum laughs, and I know that laugh, she’s up to something. “Come on,” she says animatedly.
I pick up my Christmas cracker, and we all cross hands at the table to pull at the same time. The pops sound around the room as the contents drop from the silver tubes. Oh my god, she hasn’t. I glug down my full glass of wine, noticing the very inappropriate items on the white tablecloth.
Carol picks up the deep purple ring, and begins to swish it around on her forefinger. Shit, she has absolutely no idea what that is. I sink into my chair as Mum sniggers.
“So, what is this for?” Carol asks, still swishing away.
Uncle Jim takes his prize in his hand, a tiny tube of lube. He quickly puts it in his pocket and winks at me. He’s finding Carol’s unaware innocence, hilarious.
“It’s a finger exerciser love,” he giggles, holding back the tears. “Feel those muscles working.”
Discreetly, I cover my tiny pink pleasure wand up with my napkin and scowl at Mum. Not one year since she’s opened, Tickles you Toys, have I got away with having some sex toy or game shoved down my throat.
“Finger exerciser, hmm.” Carol stares at it. “Never heard of them.”
She pulls out the tiny instruction paper from within the cracker, while everyone around the table, apart from me, waits for her to click. As she reads, her blue lined eyelids open to full stretch.
“It’s an exerciser alright. Sure you can get Jim here to show you later how it works.” Geoff laughs raucously as Carol tosses it across the table in repulsion.
“I should have known it would be something filthy from you,” Carol whines at Mum. “Having a little decorum at the dining table. No chance of that here.”
“Oh stop being so uptight Carol. If I remember rightly, last year we had to restrain you from stripping off to Santa Baby,” Mum says to a reddening Carol. “So shut up, and eat your pudding.”
Usually Geoff washes the dishes, but today I volunteered. I’d rather be stuck in this hot messy kitchen, scrubbing grease and burnt fat from trays, than out there playing happy families. I’ve been in here nearly one hour now, and have only just begun to make a difference.
Mum comes in with a merry glow. She leans against the archway that leads out to the conservatory. She watches contently as I shuffle around the damp black floor tiles, putting away dishes to make room to wash more.
“Why don’t you leave it? Come and join us,” she pleads. “Geoff’s about to give his rendition of the power of love. You know how he likes an audience.”
“When I’ve finished Mum.” I can’t look at her, she can read me too well.
“Would you like a drink, you’ve only had two glasses. Tis the season.” She waves her glass. “I don’t like this. You’re all depressed sweetie.” She sways back and forth.
If she doesn’t leave me alone, I’m going to yell at her any second. I’ll scream this frigging funhouse down.
“Talk to me, please sweetheart,” she implores.
That’s it, I’m losing the will to live here. Every time someone tries to break me open, it’s bringing him back to the forefront of my mind.
I chuck the roasting trays in the cupboard and slam the door, as the tears over him return. I didn’t want this today. I should have known it would happen. I should have cancelled Christmas.
I hold the hob and bend over, unable to breathe through the wound he’s caused inside my chest.
“Honey.” Mum rushes over and rubs my back. “I’ll bloody kill him.” She means that too. “Who is he; tell me what he did to you?”
I puff out and raise my head high. “Mum, I’ve been an idiot.”
“No you have not. It’s not Nathan again is it?”
“No.” I laugh and sob at the same time. “God no.”
“Well, who’s made you like this? Did he hit you; cheat on you?”
I gather my thoughts. If I don’t, I will end up spilling the beans, and I really don’t need her advice on relationships. I don’t even know if that’s what Adrien and I had.
“I’m fine Mum.” I wipe my cheek with my wrist. “I’ll be in soon.”
She screws up her face, unhappy with my stubbornness to keep him a secret.
“Oh Lizzy, when did we get to the point we couldn’t talk openly,” she saddens. “We’ve always talked. I know sometimes I can be a touch over the top, and think I know best. But don’t ever think you can’t chat with me about anything.” She picks up her glass and now I feel worse than what I did.
“Mum,” I call before she leaves. “His name is Adrien Knight, and he was so much more than a ten.” I faintly grin.
“Oh.” Her eyes widen. “The rich yank in property, who’s only been here for two minutes. Seriously?”
“Yep, that’s the guy. But I don’t even want to think about him anymore, so let’s just do Christmas, please.” I pick up a bottle of chardonnay with my name on it.
As soon as my butt hits the form of the brown sofa, Nathan walks in. Great. Well, I have wine. I’ll just sit here and drink away quietly.
He trudges behind me carrying a crate of beer. His pupils twirl, indicating it was his dad’s idea, not his. I guess I should go easy on him. He’s not done anything wrong, apart from trying to look out for me. This is what Adrien has done. He’s made me into some unreasonable fuck-up. Well Adrien, you are now going to vacate my head thanks to this wine, and not come back. I raise my glass to toast discreetly.
Goodbye Mr Knight.
Chapter 21
Elizabeth
Why the hell did I consume all that wine? Oh god, I didn’t. I vaguely remember belting out my version of Beyoncé’s Listen, then Nathan holding my hair back as I projectile vomited in the bathroom sink. Oh shit, I was sobbing on his damn shoulder.
I crumple my eyes and force my dying body to sit upright, licking my dry lips and smelling the rancid taste in my mouth. Did I actually lick an ashtray last night? I breathe in and out a few times, fighting to keep my eyelids open.
The winter sun spills through the wafer thin grey curtains in my old bedroom, and I cannot bear it. I’m completely appalled with myself. I should have known, Nathan was here and he’s always been a bad influence on me. I bet he had me downing shots at some point last night.
“Lizzy, Lizzy,” I hear Mum yelling. Oh, I really don’t want to move today. I fall back onto my pillows, ignoring her. “Lizzy!” I blink open my eyes, noticing her voice is coming from the window.
“Okay-okay.” I moan out in pain.
I fling my green duvet on the floor, rubbing my gritty swollen eyes as I slowly stand up. I tug the curtain open a little to see Mum outside, standing in an inch of snow, wearing her sunglasses and puffy padded coat. What the hell is she doing; has she not been to bed yet?
She looks up at my bedroom window and throws her arms out to her sides. Baffled, I pull the curtains wide-open, to see there’s a brand new charcoal colour
ed car parked on the drive.
“What the hell!” I quickly stagger, slipping my brown boots over my cotton pyjama bottoms, while clumsily grabbing my coat.
Out of breath, I race downstairs and out through the front door. I trip and skid in the snow, while clutching my coat together because it’s freezing. Mum dances side to side, smiling at the vehicle. I don’t know whose car it is. Perhaps she’s been entering one of those daytime television competitions again, and actually won this time.
“Mum?”
“Looks like Santa’s left a belated present,” she sings.
“Mum!” I blow out, feeling the most horrendous head pain.
She hands me an envelope with my name printed on the front. I study it for a moment, then frantically rip it open. I take out the thick paper and unfold to read:
Dear Elizabeth
A note to wish you a Merry Christmas. I sincerely hope you are well, and I hope you don’t mind the gift. But when I saw it, I thought of you. All the relative documents are in the glove-box.
Deepest regards
A. Knight.
“What the hell!” I hiss down at the note.
I lower the letter down by my side and gape at the brand new Jeep Cherokee. The same car I drove in Killiecrankie. I’m totally lost for words.
What kind of letter is this anyway? Relative documents and regards. It’s shit, cold, and formal. Come to think of it, how did he even know where I’d be staying? I never told him my mum’s address.
“Wow, honey, this is one grand gesture.” Mum beams at me as though I should be over the moon.
It is. It’s just a gesture. A meaningless gift. And why? So he can keep me on my toes, on his hook, waiting to reel me in when he wants. I wanted him, that’s all. This car is worth jack-shit to me. In anger, I rip the note up in to small pieces, and scatter it in the snow.
In a rage I charge back inside the house. He’s not even called me, and he sends me a frigging car. Well he can have it back.
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