I Won't Be Home For Christmas

by Amanda Prowse

  ‘She does.’ Vivienne was undecided, as to whether or not to mention her worry that Emma’s happiness, her grin, had felt a little theatrical.

  ‘Michael’s not what I expected,’ Ellen whispered.

  ‘What, a real doctor, you mean? I can’t believe you asked him that.’ She gave a nervous laugh.

  ‘I was only checking. You can’t be too careful.’

  They continued to unpack, until Vivienne broke the silence. ‘And what do you mean, not what you were expecting?’ She wanted Ellen to voice her thoughts first, which would make it easier for her to discuss her own concerns without feeling guilty or sounding as if she was gossiping.

  Ellen shrugged and shook out a pair of white linen trousers. ‘Don’t know really, just a bit… sober, I suppose is the word.’

  She nodded. ‘Yep, I know what you mean. Maybe he’s shy?’

  ‘Yes. Maybe.’

  There was a beat of silence while they considered the man they’d only just met, both preferring to think that his slight standoffishness would disappear with time.

  Ellen gathered her underwear from the corners of her case and folded the garments into the top drawer of the wooden dresser against the wall. ‘Anyway, you can keep Dr McKinley – what about Gilbert, McKinley senior?’ She sucked in her cheeks and pulled a face. ‘He’s a proper Christmas cracker!’

  ‘Yes, he seems very nice,’ Vivienne replied neutrally, concentrating on her own unpacking.

  ‘Seems nice?’ Ellen tutted. ‘Are you kidding me? He’s like a cowboy. A sexy, quiet cowboy.’

  ‘He’s a sheep farmer!’

  ‘Okay then, Miss Pernickety Pants, a sexy, quiet, sheep-farmer cowboy. All I can say is, lucky Tessa. Getting to wander the farm with him on a lonely night must be a good way to live.’

  Vivienne laughed loudly. ‘You are so nuts.’

  Ellen placed her clean knickers on her head. ‘Are you only just realising this now?’

  ‘No, I’ve always known it. It was my bad luck to be stuck next to you in the register. Why couldn’t I have been called Vivienne Thomas and been sat next to Pamela Tindall. She seemed nice.’ She giggled.

  ‘Pamela Tindall? She was so weird and have you seen her recently – walks around town with her cats in a shopping trolley. Anyway, you don’t mean it – you love me!’ Ellen grabbed her friend and embraced her in a bear hug.

  ‘Get off!’ Vivienne shouted. Reaching up, she pulled Ellen’s knicker hat down over her face and the two stumbled and fell into a heap by the door.

  Suddenly Michael knocked and appeared in the doorway. He looked from his future mother-in-law to her friend, who peered back at him through the leg hole of the pants on her head.

  ‘Hey, Michael!’ Ellen yelled, making no attempt to remove the offending undergarments or release her friend.

  ‘Oh!’ His face visibly coloured. ‘Sorry to interrupt. Emma sent me to say that supper is nearly ready.’ He indicted the terrace with his thumb before retreating slowly, looking more than a little afraid.

  Neither woman could speak for laughing. They snorted their amusement and clutched each other as they tried to stand.

  ‘Bet Pamela Tindall wouldn’t get me into so much trouble, cats or no cats,’ Vivienne managed as she crawled on all fours to the bathroom. Laughing that hard at her age was never a good idea.

  *

  The table was set under the porch at the back of the house. Candles in glass votive holders flickered at each place setting and wine glasses shone in the light thrown from the vast glass atrium, now illuminated from within. The crashing of the waves against the rocks below provided the background noise and with the hum of conversation and laughter it was perfect. It felt surreal to be sitting at this stunning table in this beautiful place, as if she’d been teleported there. The whole experience was quite magical.

  Vivienne was careful not to give Ellen any more ammunition and did her best to avoid making eye contact with Gil, the sexy, quiet, sheep-farmer cowboy, who sat at the opposite end of the table. As she took a sip of wine, the thought of Michael finding them in a heap on the floor earlier made her smile against the rim of her glass.

  She watched as Emma ate dainty mouthfuls and continually glanced at Michael, placing her fingers on his forearm and smiling when she caught his eye. Vivienne wished the affection was more readily and obviously reciprocated. It sent a quake of anxiety into her gut, reminding her very powerfully of how she had fawned over Ray, desperate for any crumb of affection. Don’t be silly, Viv, she told herself. As Ellen had said, he was probably shy or maybe it was a cultural thing; she had, after all, only known him for a matter of hours.

  Dinner was a great success: a hearty tomato and avocado salad with new potatoes and spicy lamb chops that had been blackened on the enormous outdoor grill. There was something about meat cooked on an open flame and eaten al fresco that gave it a taste like no other. She barely had room for the chocolate tart and Chantilly cream that appeared for pudding, but she did her best.

  Michael had remained quiet throughout, apparently preferring to whisper to Emma rather than share what he wanted to say with the wider group, but that was fine too. It felt strange to see her daughter with her head cocked to one side, listening intently to the quiet words of her lover and laughing softly into her napkin. The Emma that Vivienne knew and loved had a loud, infectious, open-mouthed giggle and was more prone to dancing on the table than sitting demurely at the end of it. She tried to look at things from his perspective and decided he probably felt a little overwhelmed. She also reminded herself that she was looking at the world through the veil of fatigue, which was never that reliable.

  The evening progressed, and the wine slipped down easily. The fuzzy stupor in which she found herself was quite lovely. She didn’t even mind the sound of Ellen’s booming voice asking Gil how he dared eat lamb when the poor wee thing’s mum was his pet.

  She liked his hearty laugh and the way he humoured her friend.

  ‘You are right, they are all my pets!’ He chuckled.

  ‘Do you name them?’ Ellen asked.

  ‘Yes, of course,’ he said dryly.

  ‘How many do you have?’

  ‘Two thousand, two hundred and twenty-seven.’

  ‘Can you tell them apart?’ Ellen pushed.

  ‘Yes, it’s easy.’ He smiled.

  ‘How?’

  ‘Let me see… Daisy has a freckle on her nose, Ruby has beautiful eyes…’

  ‘Are you teasing me?’ Ellen banged the table.

  ‘Not at all.’ Gil gave another chuckle.

  ‘Do you ever get lonely up here, Gil? I mean it’s beautiful, but there’s not much to do if sheep and boats aren’t your thing,’ Ellen asked in her typically frank manner.

  ‘No. I like the peace and I like sheep and boats, plus I am only a short drive away from coffee shops, cinema, the market, there’s plenty of life and bustle within reach. Truth is, Tessa and I are quite used to the pace of life here. It suits us.’ He smiled, as if picturing Tessa with love.

  ‘So do you and Tessa ever go away?’

  Vivienne knew Ellen was trying to glean information. Nosey thing. She was, however, strangely interested in his responses.

  ‘I take holidays. Well, I did, a few years back.’

  ‘Where on earth would you go when you live somewhere this stunning?’ Vivienne asked.

  Gil turned towards her. ‘I went to Bali, actually. I’d always wanted to see the temples.’

  ‘Was it amazing?’

  He nodded. ‘It really was.’

  Ellen suddenly bellowed. ‘My cousin Gwen’s boy lives there! You might have seen him, quite small build, beautiful dancer, has a fancy for foreign food. Went on a cruise ship and never came home. Loves it there.’

  ‘I don’t think I met him.’ Gil looked at Vivienne and gave an almost imperceptible wink.

  ‘Come on, Mum!’ Emma leapt up and pulled her arm, dragging her from the table.

  Vivienne stood and followed Emma ou
t onto the wide deck with its incredible view over the Tutukaka coast. In the far distance, the lights of the boats moored along the jetty of the marina bobbed against the darkness like captured stars. Even in the dark, the jagged shadows of the rocky clifftops stood out against the indigo sky.

  Emma sat on the wide wicker sofa padded with cushions and curled her feet under her legs, her favoured position since she was a toddler.

  ‘This is so far away, Emma.’ Vivienne looked out across the water and took the seat next to her daughter.

  ‘From where?’

  ‘From everywhere!’ She threw her arm around in an arc. ‘From home, from Bedminster, from all our memories. It’s another world!’

  ‘I love it here,’ Emma whispered.

  ‘Oh, I get it, I really do. It is so beautiful. But seeing it makes me realise how far you’ve gone from me, from your old life.’ Vivienne knew that the wine had erased many of the inhibitors that usually made her speech more guarded.

  ‘My old life wasn’t that great, Mum, if I’m being honest. Bits of it were – you and Aaron, of course, and I miss you both, I think about you all the time. It’s been my wish to show you how I’ve been living, and here you are.’ She beamed. ‘But I was looking for something and I felt lost and then I met Michael and everything kind of fell into place.’

  ‘Does he make you happy?’ she asked tentatively.

  ‘Of course he does!’

  ‘Does he make you laugh?’

  ‘Well, he’s not a giggler like me, but he’s solid and dependable and that makes me feel really safe.’ She folded her arms across her trunk.

  Both were silent for a second, as if considering this response.

  Vivienne took a breath, again emboldened by the wine, which had lubricated her thoughts and her tongue. ‘I guess I never thought you would settle down somewhere like this, it’s so quiet, peaceful and beautiful, no doubt, but it feels more suited to someone like me who likes to potter and knit and sit with the dog, but you?’ she shook her head, ‘you have always been surrounded by friends, noise, laughter. You love the hustle and bustle and you love a natter! Good lord, Emma, I remember coming home from work one day and you were sat on the stairs, chatting away on the phone for an age and when I tapped my watch to tell you to get a move on, worrying about the phone bill, as usual, I asked you who you were chatting to and you covered the mouthpiece and told me it was a wrong number!’

  ‘I remember that!’ Emma laughed, ‘it was a lady from Newcastle, she was sweet, told me about her allotment.’

  ‘And that’s my point: you are a people person, everyone loves you and even though I have only just arrived, my worry is that you seem a little quiet.’ Vivienne raised her arms with her palms facing upwards into the vast expanse of darkness.

  She looked to her left, as there came the unmistakeable sound of Emma crying.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mum.’

  ‘Oh, love, why are you sorry and why are you crying? You’re getting married! This is a happy time.’

  ‘I’m crying because I do miss you and I do miss people and also because I’m a bit drunk,’ she admitted.

  Vivienne nodded. ‘I know.’ She reached over and kissed her child on the head, the novelty of being able to touch her after all this time apart was still wonderful.

  ‘My life has just kind of happened,’ Emma continued. ‘I never planned it. But the further I get from Bristol, the more I understand how tiny the world is and I like knowing I can go home whenever I want to.’ She sniffed and wiped her nose on her arm.

  ‘But you don’t, Emma. You don’t come home. And you think home is crappy, and that makes me sad, not only because I miss you, but also because I think you might be looking for a home, looking for happy, and it’s not a place. It never was. Happy is in here…’ She placed her hand on her chest. ‘I should know. I have lived in our crappy home in our little street for pretty much my whole life and apart from moments of self-doubt and the odd bout of loneliness, I have nearly always been happy.’

  ‘Maybe I’m not like you,’ her daughter said.

  Vivienne took this as a slight, whether it had been intended as one or not. ‘Maybe.’

  ‘I wanted to spread my wings and breathe!’ Emma opened her arms wide and threw her head back. ‘I wanted to keep discovering, keep moving.’

  ‘And I get that, love, I do. But my question is, how do you know when to stop?’

  ‘Well that’s easy, when you find someone like Michael who shares your dreams and wants to take you with them.’ She turned to face her mum. ‘And if things get too much or we get bored, then we can move on, together. You heard him – China, America, it’s all there for the taking!’

  Vivienne nodded and pulled her girl towards her in a loose embrace as they listened to the sea below. It took a big gulp of courage for her to find the words that came next, ‘I understand, and China and America sound wonderful, exciting, but I think there is a fine line between seeking adventure and running away. And for the record, when things get too much or are boring, they are often the most interesting bits, that’s when you grow and learn and in those times, having roots that hold you steadfast to weather the storm is often better than to keep on running.’

  ‘I love Michael, I do. I love him.’

  Vivienne wished her daughter’s words hadn’t sounded so self-reassuring. She took a deep breath.

  ‘You know I will always support you in whatever you choose. I think you are amazing and brave and beautiful. I never…’ She paused, wondering how best to phrase things.

  ‘You never what, Mum?’

  She ran her hand over her daughter’s scalp. ‘I never want you to feel pressured into doing something that you don’t want to. There are always options and there are no wrong choices, not in the long run. You can only go with what feels right or feels wrong and everything kind of figures itself out from there.’ She kept her voice low.

  ‘Are you talking about me getting married?’ Emma cut to the chase.

  ‘Not specifically,’ she lied, ‘but I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t check that you are doing the right thing.’

  ‘Oh, Mum, I am! I really am! Do you want to see my dress?’ She leapt from the sofa, distracted by the idea, and took her mum’s hands into her own, pulling her into a standing position.

  ‘Yes, please!’ Vivienne replied, with a little more enthusiasm than she felt.

  Emma raced across the lawn. Suddenly, she dropped forward to plant her hands on the grass and rotated three hundred and sixty degrees with her feet in the air to perform a perfect cartwheel. Vivienne whooped and clapped, delighted by her athletic prowess and spontaneity, as Emma repeated the feat twice more.

  ‘Is that a good idea on top of a big meal and wine?’ Michael called from the table.

  Vivienne watched her daughter shrink from his question, wrapping her arms around her slender trunk, as if embarrassed by the display. She nodded to Ellen to join them, trying not to notice the set of Michael’s jaw, as he emptied his wine glass. It did little to erase her concerns.

  The room Emma shared with her fiancé was like none that Vivienne or Ellen had ever been in. The bed was huge and sat on a raised deck at the back so that when you lay on it you got a clear view of the cliffs beyond the garden. French doors let the cool night breeze whoosh around the walls.

  Opening a mirrored closet door, Emma lifted the white gauze dress-cover from the rail and laid it on the bed before carefully unzipping it to reveal the stunning frock in which she was to be married. The bodice was fitted and fashioned from alternating panels of white lace and shirred white cotton. Spaghetti straps were delicately attached and the front was fastened with tiny pearlescent buttons. The skirt was full, again made from panels of alternating fabric, and its handkerchief hem was edged with lace.

  Ellen sighed. ‘It’s very gypsy but also quite ballet-ish and maybe a bit hippy.’

  Vivienne shook her head to rid her mind of Lizzie’s comments.

  ‘In a good way, though.
Right?’ Emma laughed.

  ‘It’s perfect for you, Em. You will look lovely.’

  ‘You really will,’ Vivienne said.

  ‘I am keeping my hair loose and on my shoulders but wearing a flower crown – a florist up the coast is making it for me, using vintage dried pink rosebuds and some of the blue hydrangeas from the garden. I thought it was important to include part of Aropari in my outfit.’

  ‘Has Michael seen your dress?’ Ellen asked.

  Emma shook her head. ‘No, that would be bad luck. I have told him I’m going barefoot though, so he can probably guess that I’m not going to be all traditional.’

  ‘Your mum’s got flowers for her hair, too. We picked some up in Primark, didn’t we, Viv?’

  ‘I’m not so sure about them now, think I might be a bit old for flowers in my hair. They felt like a good idea standing in rainy Bristol while everyone did their Christmas shopping, but out here? I’m not convinced.’

  ‘Do you know, I have found it really hard to feel Christmassy this year, I think it’s probably because my head is full of the wedding, but also it’s not the same out here. The last couple of years away, I was in the city and working, so that was a big distraction and I had a happy Christmas by sharing the joy of everyone around me, but Michael’s not a big fan of the whole festive thing. I think he sees it all as a bit of a waste of time so it’s kind of put the kybosh on my own silliness for the season.’

  Vivienne and Ellen looked at each other, not for the first time that evening hearing the sound of an alarm bell. This wasn’t like Emma at all.

  ‘It’s made me think of Mendip Road, and the things that used to make it feel like Christmas. The smell of sausage rolls warming in the oven, the little foil trees you used to put on all the surfaces and the Carollers outside Asda in all weather. They were annoying because I had to walk in the road to get past them, but at the same time, the sound of their voices made my tummy jump with excitement, like it did when I was a kid, and Shaun always called for me to go ice-skating and when there wasn’t any ice, we’d take his skateboard and whoosh down the path over at St. John’s. The first time he suggested doing this we were only about eleven.’