A Typical Family Christmas

by Liz Davies

  Beverley – she chickened out the witch is staying

  Helen – I’m not going anywhere until we can sit down like adults and discuss this properly.

  Sam – Im itching. I think im allergic to Nannys dog

  Abruptly, Kate felt considerably better about absconding. No one had missed her, no one had even noticed she’d gone – apart from the inconvenience of no loo roll (there was plenty of toilet paper in the cupboard, but obviously no one had bothered to look) and shredded tissue paper all over the bathroom. That’s all she was to them – a skivvy. Someone to sort out their problems, clean up their messes, make their lives easy and comfortable; and none of them, not even her own mother, had any consideration for Kate at all. And Brett hadn’t been in touch all day, either.

  She sent her husband a message, Gone away for a few days. Need some space. I’m OK, I’ll be back after Xmas.

  Kate hesitated, wondering if she should put a kiss at the end of the text, then decided against it. Lately, Brett’s texts had a severe lack of kisses, or anything at all affectionate, so she pressed “send” before she could change her mind.

  Then, in a right old funk, she answered the rest of her family.

  To Portia – Clean the bathroom yourself – you’re perfectly capable. The toilet roll is kept where it’s always kept. Open your eyes.

  To her mother – Take Pepe for a much-needed walk and buy your own humbugs. The fresh air will do you both good.

  To her mother-in-law – I really don’t want to talk to you. Ever. That text was a bit on the childish side, but it was the way she was feeling and after hearing what her mother-in-law believed, she honestly didn’t want to talk to Helen for a good long time. Maybe never.

  To Sam – Ask your father to give you an antihistamine.

  There, that made her feel a little better.

  And with that, she threw herself down on the bed and had a good, long cry.

  Chapter 24

  Brett was feeling much better about life when he stepped through the front door of his house. Unfortunately, the much-better feeling only lasted three seconds.

  ‘Your wife has gone off in a huff,’ his mother said, before he’d even managed to take his coat off. ‘And,’ Helen paused dramatically, ‘she told me she wanted me to leave.’

  ‘She actually said that?’

  ‘No, she didn’t say—’

  ‘There you go, then. I’m sure you’ve just caught hold of the wrong end of the stick.’

  ‘She said she didn’t want to talk to me ever again. I’ve got it in writing, so there’s no denying it.’ Helen’s voice was triumphant, and she waved her phone at his face, inches from his nose.

  Brett batted it gently away. ‘Why would she say something like that?’ he asked, scratching his head. Maybe he was allergic to Pepe, too; not that he thought his mother was allergic to the dog. Or maybe it did have fleas. Sam was certainly scratching a lot.

  ‘I don’t know, I’m sure,’ Helen sniffed.

  ‘Yes, you do, you liar,’ Beverley shouted from the living room. ‘I can hear you, you know.’

  ‘Take no notice of her,’ his mother hissed. ‘She likes causing trouble. Oh, hello Beverley.’

  Beverley had stepped through the living room door, one foot in the hall, and one foot still in the living room. ‘You’re the one who’s causing trouble, going around telling people that other people should never have married them.’

  ‘Eh?’ Brett looked questioningly at Beverley.

  His mother-in-law stared balefully back at him. ‘She wanted me to fetch my own humbugs. Said I should take Pepe for a walk.’

  ‘Has he been out?’ Brett asked, fearful of the dog’s propensity to cock his leg and sprinkle anything that took his fancy.

  ‘No, I was hoping Kate could do that. It’s too dark for me, and I don’t like the cold neither. It plays havoc with my rheumatism.’

  ‘I thought you had arthritis,’ Brett said.

  ‘It’s the same thing,’ Beverley retorted.

  Brett was fairly sure it wasn’t, but he let it go. ‘Where’s Kate?’ he asked again.

  ‘I told you – she went off in a huff,’ Helen said, pursing her lips together in disapproval. ‘I don’t know what she’s planned for dinner, but I hope it’s not fast food again.’

  ‘You mean, she’s not here?’ Brett asked, looking around the hall as if he expected his wife to be hiding under the stairs ready to jump out at him.

  ‘That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you,’ Helen grumbled. ‘It’s been pandemonium here this afternoon and Kate stormed off, leaving me to deal with it all.’

  ‘What kind of pandemonium?’ Brett asked.

  ‘The kind where your mother tells your wife that you should never have married her,’ Beverley said with a get-out-of-that-one look on her face.

  ‘Mum...?’

  ‘I never said that,’ Helen said.

  ‘You did. I heard you with my own two ears, and so did Kate. You need to apologise.’ Beverley folded her arms and nodded, as if that was the final say on the subject.

  ‘I don’t have anything to apologise for,’ Helen retorted. ‘It’s true, Brett never should have married her.’

  ‘Mum...’ Brett’s voice was low and a bit growly. He really, really hoped Beverley was exaggerating and his mother hadn’t said anything so nasty.

  ‘Well, it is,’ Helen said. ‘You were going out with that nice little girl from over Droitwich way – she’s a barrister now you know – and then you met Kate, and you didn’t have eyes for anyone else.’

  ‘What nice little girl from Droitwich?’ Brett wanted to know.

  ‘Her mother worked in the post office for years. Dark hair. Lovely skin.’

  ‘Her mother?’

  Helen sighed. ‘No, the girl. I think her name was Darlene?’

  ‘Oh, her?’ Brett barked out a laugh. ‘She wasn’t my girlfriend.’

  ‘What was she, then?’ Helen’s brows had shot up to her hairline.

  ‘Just a friend who happened to be a girl.’

  ‘But... but... you said you were going out with her. You even brought her home once.’ His mother’s eyebrows rose even further.

  Brett shook his head. ‘Have you been thinking that I dumped Darlene Wilberforce for Kate, all this time?’

  His mother’s expression turned sheepish. ‘She’s done extremely well for herself,’ Helen said. ‘Her mother’s always telling me how well she’s doing.’

  ‘She had an affair with a solicitor,’ Brett said, ‘and the last I heard, her husband left her because of it.’

  ‘Well, I never!’ Helen’s indignation verged on the comical. ‘Her mother never told me that!’

  ‘She wouldn’t, would she?’ Beverley piped up. ‘That’s not the sort of thing you brag about. At least my Kate has never been unfaithful.’

  ‘That we know about,’ Helen muttered.

  ‘Mum. Stop it. If this is the way you behaved, no wonder Kate doesn’t want to speak to you. If you don’t apologise to her, I’ll send you home.’

  Helen’s eyes filled with tears.

  ‘Don’t bother turning on the waterworks because no one’s interested,’ Beverley said. ‘No one likes a cry baby.’

  Helen’s tears dried up quicker than a raindrop in a desert. ‘No one likes a miserable cow, either. You’ve done nothing but moan about how you hate Christmas ever since you got here.’

  ‘You’re a fine one to talk! All you’ve done is carp and snipe. Nothing is ever good enough for you, is it? You’ve got to stick your beak in.’

  ‘At least I try to help. All you do, is sit on your backside all day and watch TV.’

  ‘STOP IT!!!’ Brett yelled.

  The two women fell silent and stared at Brett, their mouths open, their eyes wide.

  ‘Right, now that I’ve got your attention, can someone please tell me where my wife is?’

  The front door slammed open, ricocheting on its hinges. ‘Yeah, that’s what I’d like to know, too,’
Portia exclaimed. ‘She said she’d pick me up from the stables. I had to cadge a lift off someone.’

  ‘At what time?’ Brett asked, glancing into the living room and taking a quick look at the clock on the wall.

  ‘I dunno, she didn’t say.’ Portia shrugged, pushing past her father to get to the stairs.

  ‘You didn’t ask her?’

  ‘I told her I needed a lift back.’

  ‘But you didn’t arrange a time?’

  Portia shrugged again, and Brett took that as a “no”. Phew, she’d had him worried for a minute. He thought Kate might have had an accident or something...

  He slapped a hand to his head. She’d probably tried to call or message him, but he’d turned his phone onto silent and hadn’t looked at it since.

  Checking it for messages, he saw there were twenty-three, twenty-two of them from work. The other one was from Kate. Gone away for a few days. Need some space. I’m OK, I’ll be back after Xmas.

  He read it, then he read it again.

  ‘She’s gone,’ he said in a quiet voice.

  ‘Who’s gone?’ Helen wanted to know.

  ‘Kate.’

  ‘Yes, I know. I told you she’s gone out. She left me to deal with the mess in the bathroom.’

  ‘What mess?’ Brett asked absently, still staring at his phone.

  ‘The mess Beverley’s dog made.’

  ‘It wasn’t Pepe’s fault. He was just playing,’ Beverley retorted hotly. ‘Dogs will be dogs.’

  ‘Gone?’ Brett repeated. ‘Gone where?’

  ‘That’s what I’d like to know. These children need a proper meal, and I’ll be damned if I’m cooking it, not after last night.’ Helen glared at Beverley. ‘Your blasted dog ruined that, too.’

  ‘It wasn’t his fault. Someone moved a chair and he jumped up on it.’

  ‘It’s never your fault, is it? It’s—’

  ‘She’s gone!’ Brett shouted, although not as loud as a few minutes ago, and once again the nans ceased their bickering for a moment.

  ‘Yes, Brett, you keep saying,’ his mother sniffed, ‘but I’m sure she won’t have gone far.’

  Brett marched into the kitchen for a bit of privacy and called his wife’s number.

  It went straight to answerphone, so he left a voice message. ‘What do you mean, you’ve gone away for a few days? Stop being silly and come back home. My mother said you stormed off in a huff.’

  He still didn’t believe it. Not really. Kate was winding him up, making them worry a bit as a punishment. Wandering back into the hall where the two nans were still hovering, he opened his mouth to say he’d left Kate a message when a bloodcurdling scream made everyone jump.

  It came from upstairs.

  The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, and a shiver of absolute dread travelled down his spine.

  ‘Mum! Mum!’ Portia cried, her voice breaking on a sob.

  Dear God!

  Brett raced up the stairs, taking them two at a time, and burst into Portia’s room expecting to see...

  He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting to see, but the awful thought that it might involve blood or a body stayed with him for a moment, until he’d calmed enough to focus on what Portia was holding in her trembling hands and staring at, with a horrified expression on her face.

  One solitary Doc Marten boot.

  The pink, red, and grey skull pattern which adorned the side of the boot wasn’t quite as pristine and sharp as Brett remembered it being when Portia had proudly shown them off to him a couple of weeks ago. He remembered thinking at the time, that they were rather attractive in a morbid kind of way. He could also remember thinking that Portia had only waved them under his nose to get a reaction from him, and not because she expected him to approve her fashion sense. Wisely, he’d refrained from saying much at all, not wanting to be dragged into an argument over whether such boots were suitable attire for a fourteen-year-old girl to wear to school, which they weren’t, obviously, as Portia had found out when she’d received a detention.

  Now, though, they were looking decidedly chewed.

  ‘Look what that effing dog has done to my Doc Martens,’ Portia screamed, taking a step forward and waving the solitary boot in Brett’s face.

  Brett took a step back and bumped into his mother, who had raced up the stairs behind him and was now panting in his ear.

  ‘Brett, are you going to let her get away with that kind of language?’ Helen demanded.

  ‘Butt out, Nana, this is nothing to do with you,’ Portia snarled.

  Brett peered behind his mother, looking for Beverley, but she was nowhere to be seen. Hopefully, she was rounding up that poodle of hers and putting it someplace where it couldn’t do any more damage.

  ‘OK,’ Brett said, as an opening gambit, trying to think. Should he tackle his daughter’s foul mouth first, then take her to task over the way she’d spoken to Helen, or should he let it slide for the moment, and concentrate on what had caused her outburst in the first place.

  Damn her, but Kate should be dealing with this. She was so much better at handling the drama than he was – she was always able to smooth things over and calm everyone down.

  He tried her number again, hissing, ‘Kate, answer your phone,’ when it went to voicemail yet again.

  Christ, he hadn’t even managed to change out of his work clothes yet, and the house was already in an uproar.

  ‘We’ll get you another pair,’ Brett tried to say but was interrupted by a furious Portia who yelled, ‘You can get me another pair in the next half hour, can you?’

  ‘Why in the next half hour?’ he wanted to know.

  ‘Because I’m supposed to be going to Taylor’s party. Duh!’ Portia sneered.

  Brett didn’t help the situation by saying, ‘Didn’t your mother say you were grounded?’

  Portia’s scream of fury set Brett’s teeth on edge. ‘I hate you. All of you. I wish I was old enough to move out! I wish I was dead!’ she shrieked, then threw herself on her bed and sobbed loudly.

  Brett thought it best to retreat and regroup. His daughter might be more amenable to reason when she’d calmed down a bit.

  He turned around and pushed Helen away from the door, closing it softly behind him, and winced when a loud thud indicated that Portia might well have thrown her ruined boot at the door.

  ‘Well I never,’ his mother said with a huff. ‘I’ve never seen such a display of temper, bad manners, and sheer rudeness from a child.’

  Brett was tempted to tell her to hang around for a while – this was nothing compared to some of the meltdowns his kids were capable of, but before he’d opened his mouth a little voice floated up the stairs.

  It was Beverley. ‘See, I told you Christmas was shite. Now, do you believe me?’

  Brett honestly thought the evening couldn’t get any worse. And it mightn’t have, if Pepe hadn’t chosen that very moment to sidle across the landing and decide to cock his leg and water Brett’s trousers. The fact that they were turn-ups made the whole thing just that tiny bit worse...

  Chapter 25

  Hunger drove Kate from her room an hour or so later. She’d eaten nothing since the piece of cake at the abbey and now she was starving, and there was no better thing to have at the seaside than fish and chips, no matter what time of year it was.

  She splashed some water on her face, noting with dismay her blotchy skin and the bags under her eyes. Thinking of bags made her remember her suitcase, sitting where she’d left it by the door, and she went back into the bedroom and lifted it onto the bed. She supposed she’d better unpack, considering she intended to stay for a few days, but when she opened the lid she was bewildered to discover exactly what it was she’d brought with her: three T-shirts, a summer skirt, pyjama bottoms (no top), her toothbrush but no toothpaste, two pairs of knickers, a bright red bra, a pair of slippers, one Wellington boot, and the hairdryer.

  Dear God, what had she been thinking? Clearly, she hadn’t been thinking at
all, too busy being shocked and hurt by Helen’s words.

  She glanced at the clock on the bedside table. It was too late to go shopping now, so she’d have to go out this evening in what she was already wearing, but tomorrow she’d see what the local stores had to offer in the way of fashion. At least she could wear the pyjama bottoms and one of the T-shirts to bed, and her slippers might come in handy. The bra was festive, even if no one would see it and she was suffering from a serious lack of the Christmas spirit. At least she had enough underwear for a couple of days, even if she had to rinse a pair of knickers out in the sink.

  Wrapping up warmly in her coat, hat, and scarf, she left her phone on the bed, grabbed her handbag and the hotel key and went in search of supper.

  Brixham was more of a small town than the little fishing village she’d been expecting. As she wandered towards the harbour, she saw loads of shops (selling mostly tourist stuff), but there were a couple of places where she should be able to find a pair of jeans and some socks. She was in dire need of socks, only having brought with her the pair which were currently on her feet.

  There were plenty of restaurants too, but the image of golden, battered fish and salty, vinegary chips drove her on until she reached the harbour itself. It was difficult to tell in the dark, but it looked pretty enough. Many of the boats had Christmas lights strung on them and together with the official decorations on the lamp posts and draped overhead, the whole harbour twinkled, the water reflecting the lights like stars shining in its depths. The little streets were thronging with people off out for some liquid festive cheer, and the aromas of cooking competed with the smell of the sea. She’d never been to the seaside at Christmas time before and she felt slightly disorientated.

  ‘Isn’t it odd—’ she started to say, before she realised Brett wasn’t by her side, and intense loneliness swept over her.

  What was the point of being in this cute little village if she had no one to share it with, and for a moment she was tempted to jump in the car and high-tail it back up the motorway.

  “He never should have married her.”