by Lee, Mandy
One little question, a tiny step towards normality.
‘You know about the cancer?’ Layla’s voice now.
‘Yes.’
‘The chemo’s going well.’
‘Good.’
‘She’s coming round, gradually, accepting what he was really like. She wants to see you.’
I wait, silently urging him to accept the offer. Finally, it comes.
‘And I want to see her too.’
‘Oh, thank fuck for that,’ I sigh.
Half-opening an eye, I squint out of the glass. We’ve passed the highest point. I straighten up a little, realising that Dan’s sitting to my right, and Layla’s on my left. Reassured by their presence, I keep my eyes open, watching as we descend back towards the water. Before long, we’re engulfed by a mesh of steel. The nightmare’s nearly at an end.
‘It’s good to have you back, Layla,’ Dan says. And then he squeezes me. ‘We’re nearly there, sweet pea.’
He’s not just talking about the ride. He’s talking about us.
‘I know,’ I smile. ‘We are.’
Chapter Twenty-Four
‘This isn’t fair.’ The paper hat slides down Sara’s head one more time. She rearranges it. ‘You two are totally sober.’
‘I’m driving,’ Dan reminds her.
‘Yeah, but what about Maya?’ She takes a glug of wine and glares at me. ‘Why aren’t you drinking?’
‘I’m not in the mood.’
My sister eyes me with curiosity, obviously finding it hard to believe my statement. I could always tell her the truth, I suppose, but I’m only six weeks’ pregnant. It’s too soon. Instead, I lean back in my chair and wish I hadn’t eaten that last mince pie. On top of a pile of turkey, sprouts and roast potatoes, not to mention the huge mound of Christmas pudding, it was definitely a step too far. I’m stuffed – fit to burst – and ready for a good lie-down. But there’s no chance of that because I’m stuck in the middle of Christmas Day, wedged at the dining table with Dan and Sara, enduring the traditional after-dinner game of Scrabble. And even when this yearly torture comes to an end, it won’t be over, not by a long shot.
‘I expect you’ll be going early,’ she grumps. ‘Leaving me with this lot. You’ll want to go back to your posh cottage.’
‘It’s not posh.’
In fact, it’s a tiny, cosy little place a few miles down the coast, complete with open fire and sea views – all we could manage to rent for a few days at short notice, but it’s perfect. We’ve already spent three days on our own, making love, taking walks, cuddling up in front of the fire. And right now, I’d love nothing more than to return to our hide-away, as compact and bijou as it is, and simply relax.
‘We’ve got to go over to Layla’s,’ I explain. ‘So take your turn. We can’t stay here all night.’
‘But I’m pissed. I can’t spell any more.’ Her head slumps to the table.
‘Then stop drinking. Come on.’
Raising her head again, she struggles to focus, examines her selection of letters and finally, with extremely wobbly hands, places out the pieces. My eyes expand as the word appears. I’m just glad Dad’s slipped upstairs for a while. When she’s done, she sits back, distinctly pleased with herself.
‘You can’t have that.’ I can barely believe what I’m seeing. ‘It’s filthy.’
‘I bet it’s in the dictionary.’
‘I don’t care if it is. What if those two see it?’
I nod towards the two boys. They’re busy arguing over the instructions to a Lego castle.
‘They’re not interested in Scrabble,’ Sara muses, slugging back more wine and helping herself to an after-dinner mint. ‘All they’re interested in is sodding presents and sodding arguments. Thank God they’re going to their dad’s tomorrow. At least I’ll get some peace.’
I look at her in astonishment. I might only be six weeks pregnant, but I can’t imagine ever feeling that way about my own child.
‘You need to cheer up. Get a bit of the festive spirit into you.’
‘Festive spirit?’ She raises her glass. ‘This spirit is good enough for me.’
Typical. She’s having a bad time and she wants the whole world to dance to her miserable tune.
‘You’re ruining Christmas Day.’
‘It’s already ruined. My marriage is a wreck. I’m living in a poky shithole down the road. My kids barely notice I’m alive.’ She takes another swig of wine before she delivers her final point with all the vitriol she can muster. ‘And I work in a chip shop.’
I roll my eyes.
‘There’s nothing wrong with working in a chip shop.’
The truth is Sara’s just not used to working at all. Reality’s hit her hard.
‘You must be getting maintenance from Geoff.’
She laughs. ‘Not much.’
‘Well, you should take him to court. What’s your new place like?’
‘Small and smelly. I suppose it’s karma. If you act like a shit, you end up in the shit.’
And now we’re truly descending into the realms of self-pity.
‘Bollocks,’ Dan interrupts. As the only sober person at the table with any grasp of maths, he’s been busy totting up the latest score. ‘Plenty of people act like shits and get away with it. There’s no such thing as karma. You’ve had a run of bad luck, that’s all.’
‘So when’s it going to end?’
‘Probably sooner than you think.’
‘What do you mean?’
He shakes his head.
‘Eleven,’ he says, scribbling down the score. ‘You got eleven for that.’
‘And you need to take it off before Dad gets back.’ I tap the board.
‘Can’t.’
‘Well, haven’t you got an A?’
‘No.’
‘What’s going on?’ Mum demands from the sofa. Graciously giving up her Scrabble place for Dan, she settled down with her Christmas crossword a good half an hour ago.
‘Nothing.’ I wave a hand dismissively.
‘It’s staying,’ Sara insists. ‘It’s all I’ve got.’
‘Dan, she can’t have it, can she?’
‘Well …’ He rubs his chin, speaking quietly. ‘It probably is in the dictionary.’
‘Do you fancy explaining it to my dad?’
He pulls a face, as if I’m asking him to lick a gutter.
‘Because I’m not going to.’
‘Surely he knows what it means.’
‘It’s staying,’ Sara grunts, pushing herself up from the table, nearly upsetting the Scrabble board in the process. ‘I need more wine.’
I watch as she staggers over to the sideboard.
‘I’m sorry about this,’ I whisper to Dan.
‘Sorry about what?’
‘Christmas Day, Scotton style.’
‘I wouldn’t want it any other way.’ He twirls the biro in his fingers. ‘Hat included.’
Smiling like an idiot, I toy with the idea of smuggling the paper hat back to the cottage and forcing him to wear it … and nothing else.
‘Well, Sara’s getting on my nerves.’ And that’s only bound to get worse. She’s currently pouring herself yet another huge glass of Pinot Grigio. I turn to Dan. ‘Are you alright?’
‘Why wouldn’t I be?’
‘The last time you were here, it wasn’t exactly easy. Are you okay with her?’
‘The wine demon? Of course.’ He lowers his voice. ‘It’s ironic.’
‘What?’
‘When we were kids, she made both of us miserable, and now look at her. Who’s the most miserable person in this room?’
She is, of course. Slugging back more wine, she’s currently busy scowling at her sons.
‘She hates everyone and everything at the minute,’ I observe.
‘She hates herself. And maybe she always has.’ He puts down the pen, rearranges his Scrabble tiles and looks back up at me. ‘Does it worry you?’
‘Of course it does.
’ Because when all’s said and done, she’s still my sister. ‘I’d like to help her … I think. Even though she’s never helped me … or anyone for that matter.’
‘I have an idea.’
‘Which is?’
‘We can buy her a house.’
Well, that’s a bolt out of the blue. I stare at him, stunned.
‘A house?’ Probably sooner than you think. So that’s what he meant.
He nods.
Oblivious to our conversation, Sara’s already given up on her boys. She’s now examining the soap I gave her, failing completely to hide her disdain. At least Mum managed to feign satisfaction with her own slab of congealed oil. Dad, on the other hand, instantly fell in love with his new biscuit tin, and my two nephews were more than happy with a twenty pound note each. ‘Universal gift vouchers,’ I informed them. ‘Redeemable at any store.’ It seemed to do the trick, but I need to do better. Silently, I resolve to be far more organised about the whole gift thing in future.
‘It won’t solve everything.’ Dan’s voice nudges me out of my Christmas present debrief. ‘But it’s a start.’
I turn back to him, overwhelmed by the idea of what he’s proposing.
‘You’d do that for her?’
Because after everything she did to him, he owes her nothing.
‘If everyone around us is happy, then you’re happy.’ He surveys his Scrabble tiles one more time. ‘That’s all I care about.’
‘Can I tell her? It’s a better Christmas present than soap.’
‘Not yet. She’s three sheets to the wind. She’ll be overcome by righteous indignation and tell me to fuck off. Leave it for a few days.’
I spend a few seconds admiring my perfect fiancé: the tufts of blond hair sticking out from under his paper hat, the bright blue eyes, warmed by the copper specks. All in all, his ruddy gorgeous face still turns me on big time, and I’m sure it always will.
‘You’ve really have got a soft centre, Mr Foster.’
‘Drop it,’ he mouths, glancing towards the hall. ‘Your dad’s coming back.’
‘Oh, those sprouts have gone right through me!’ Still buckling his belt, Dad appears in the doorway. ‘Is it my go?’
‘Yes,’ Sara calls out, mischievously. ‘I’ve just got eleven. See if you can do better than that.’
‘Sherry?’ Staggering across the living room, and just missing my two nephews along the way, Dad retrieves a bottle from the sideboard. ‘Come on. It’s Christmas.’ He stumbles back towards us, pausing at Mum’s side and waving the bottle in front of her face.
‘Not much for me, Roger.’ She fills in another clue on her crossword. Despite all her efforts to appear normal, it’s obvious she’s already half cut. Her eyes lost focus just after dinner.
Dad tops up her glass and returns to the table.
‘Dan?’ He offers the bottle.
‘I’ll stick with coffee.’ Dan taps the side of his mug with the biro. ‘Driving.’
‘You should have stayed over.’ Dad lowers himself back onto his chair. ‘You two could have slept on the settee. Maya. Come on. You always slug back the sherry with me.’
‘Not this year, Dad.’
‘Why not?’
I watch as Dan’s fingers hover over his pieces, as he picks one up, deep in thought about his next move.
‘I’m just not in the mood.’
‘You’re always in the mood,’ Dad laughs.
And then, Sara’s words cut across us, like a knife.
‘Are you pregnant?’
Dan drops the Scrabble tile.
She’s done it again. There must be something about this living room that transforms Sara into a deadly truth-seeking missile.
‘You are pregnant,’ she insists, joining us. ‘Bloody hell, you’re pregnant.’
‘Yes,’ my mouth shoots out.
Sara’s face descends into chaos. Clearly, she doesn’t know whether to be pleased or shocked, or just plain jealous.
‘Are you?’ Dad falters. ‘Well, bugger me. Audrey, did you hear that?’
‘Uh?’
‘You’re going to be a grandma … again.’
‘Eh?’ Mum drops her pen and frowns at Sara over the top of her glasses. ‘Oh, don’t tell me you’re back with Geoff.’
‘Not me,’ Sara hisses. ‘Maya.’ Finishing off her wine, she refills the glass with sherry.
‘Maya?’ Rising to her feet, Mum’s unaware of the fact that her crossword book tumbles to the floor. ‘Maya’s pregnant?’
I let my head fall into my hands. And then I feel Dan’s hand on mine.
‘Yes, she’s pregnant,’ I hear him confirm. ‘We didn’t want to tell anyone yet. It’s early days.’
‘And it’s yours?’ Mum demands.
I hear him confirm that too, with the patience of a saint, before he goes on to field a tide of questions. It’s due in August. No, we don’t know the sex, and we want it to be a surprise. Jack for a boy, Ruby for a girl. And yes, we’re getting married. In the summer. No date set, as yet. At the house in Surrey.
‘Oh my good God,’ Mum squeals. ‘Come here and give us a hug.’
I’m urged to my feet and before I know it, I’m being squeezed and kissed and squeezed again. And then it’s Dan’s turn. I step back and watch, enjoying every second of it. There’s something quite endearing about a multi-millionaire sex god being hugged half to death in a suburban living room … while wearing a paper hat.
‘Oh my goodness. This is wonderful news. Roger, this is wonderful news.’
‘Mmm,’ Dad murmurs. He leans forward, his attention waylaid by the Scrabble board.
‘So where will you live?’ Mum asks.
‘In Surrey.’
When all the decorating’s finished. For the past month, while the house has been undergoing renovations, we’ve been based in Lambeth. Under my supervision, the plans have been drawn up for my new studio and in the meantime, while I’ve gone back to painting, Dan’s been pushing on with the future, setting up Slaters and overseeing the sale of Fosters. Our perfect life is coming together. And I couldn’t be happier.
Dad squints a little, reaches out and touches a piece on the board.
‘What’s the matter?’ Sara slurs mischievously.
‘Is this in the dictionary?’ He runs his finger across Sara’s word. ‘It’s just I’ve never heard of it.’
‘Yes, it’s in the dictionary.’
‘It is? So, what is it then? What is minge?’
‘Well that was embarrassing.’ I slip my hand into Dan’s.
Hearing your mum explain the word ‘minge’ to your dad can never be anything else. It was enough to signal the time for our departure.
‘Priceless.’ He laughs.
‘It’s not always that bad.’
He’s staring down the road, breath clouding in front of his face.
‘Are you okay?’
He nods towards the house where he spent the first ten years of his life. Tonight, it’s swathed in Christmas lights, but back then it must have been a dark place.
‘Bricks and mortar,’ he mumbles. ‘That’s all it is. Bricks and mortar.’
I link my arm into his.
‘This is hard for you. We didn’t have to come.’
‘It’s not something we can avoid. I just need to get used to it.’ He looks at me. ‘Shall we get going?’
Leaving the Mercedes outside my parents’ house, we walk through quiet streets, hand in hand, saying nothing. He needs time to compose himself, and I’m perfectly willing to let him have it. Within minutes, we reach Layla’s house. Dan hesitates at the bottom of the drive.
‘Ready?’
‘Not really. I have no idea what to say.’
Staring at the curtained windows, he trails into silence, and I understand. He’s about to meet Sophie for the first time in years, and even though the ice has been thoroughly broken with Layla, this is another huge step.
‘The big talk can come later, if it ever comes at all.
’ I squeeze his hand. ‘This is where small talk comes in handy. Exchange a few pleasantries, ask about the kids, that sort of thing. Just get comfortable.’
‘Small talk,’ he grimaces. ‘Good job I’ve had some practice.’
We move to the front door. I ring the bell. Dan lets go of my hand and stands back. It’s not long before Layla appears, her face expectant, bright with excitement.
‘I’ve brought you a present.’ I encourage Dan forwards.
‘Happy Christmas,’ she beams, welcoming us into the hall with a hug. ‘We’re all in there.’
We’re quickly guided through to the lounge. With a Christmas tree dominating one corner, the room hardly seems big enough for all of us. Three children are squeezed together on the settee: Layla’s two boys and a girl, obviously Sophie’s daughter. They’re too busy watching a film to notice anything else. A man hovers by a buffet laid out on the dining table. He helps himself to a slice of pork pie, and nods at us. Layla’s husband, I decide. And sitting in an armchair, a woman in her early thirties, a little gaunt, wearing a headscarf, but the similarity is unmistakable. This must be Sophie. Her eyes light up as soon as Dan enters the room.
‘So, children,’ Layla announces. ‘Here’s your Uncle Dan. And he’s brought Auntie Maya to see you.’
The children look up in unison, and then go back to the film.
‘They’re just watching Frozen,’ she explains. ‘You know what kids are like.’
‘Not yet,’ Dan smiles.
The youngest boy slides off the settee, fetches a piece of paper and hands it to him.
‘I made this.’
Dan takes it, uncertainly.
‘A Christmas card?’ he asks. ‘Thank you. It’s lovely.’
‘You’re my mummy’s brother.’
‘I am.’
‘And you’re my uncle.’
‘I am.’
He stares at Dan for a few seconds more, then takes his place back on the settee.
Sophie’s on her feet now, inching her way towards us. She stops at me first, touching my arm.
‘Thank you, Maya, for bringing him back.’
‘It’s my pleasure. Good to meet you, Sophie.’
‘Good to meet you too. We’re going to be great friends.’
With a smile, she turns to Dan and opens her arms. And without a word, he steps into them, leaning down and letting her kiss him on the cheek.