by C F Dunn
Pat invited us all to help ourselves to more food. “So, I’m curious, are you a traditional English family?”
“In what way traditional, Pat?”
Harry grinned. “I think Grams means do you live in a castle and take afternoon tea?” A rumble of laughter rolled around the table.
“I do not,” she protested. “Well – do you?” she asked.
“Only the castle,” I said earnestly, “and then only on Sundays.” Joel and Harry cracked up and even Ellie raised a smile while their father laughed into his glass. Pat tried to silence them with a reproving look, but that didn’t work so she turned back to me. “Sorry, I do know what you mean, Pat. I think we would be considered fairly traditional of our type of family, yes, but it is a long time since we lived in castles, and afternoon tea disappeared with my grandparents’ generation. I think women going out to work put paid to that. But I can still just about remember my great-aunts and the rattling of teacups when I was very little.”
“And cucumber sandwiches?” Pat asked with a smidgeon of hope.
“Yes – and tea from a silver teapot set on tables between herbaceous borders, and the vicar, and croquet on the lawn. All very Jane Austen – without Mr Darcy. But we abandoned all that along with the petit fours and the shooting parties years ago.”
Pat looked triumphantly at her grandsons.
“What’s petit fours?” Joel asked.
“Little fancy cakes, dummy,” Ellie hissed at him.
“But that was a long time ago,” I reiterated, “and nobody has time for afternoon tea any more, and if we did we’d go to the supermarket to buy the cake – if you allowed yourself to eat it at all, that is – and the tea comes in bags, and the vicar serves so many churches that she spends all her time in the car travelling to them.” I hadn’t meant the note of regret to creep into my voice, and it surprised me how much I cared about the loss of something so simple that it had been taken for granted by my spinster great-aunts.
“Well, that is a shame,” Pat exclaimed. “At least you can uphold the tradition if you wanted to. You can bake, can’t you, Emma?”
No matter what I did to avoid it, the subject of food always seemed to crop up. Matthew shifted in his chair and stroked the stem of his wine glass, ready to intercede if need be.
Joel chortled. “Emma can’t cook, Grams – she said so.”
I shot him a look. ‘It’s not that I can’t cook…” I began.
“Naw, it’s just that you won’t cook, right?” Joel finished.
“Something like that,” I said.
“How sad. Didn’t anyone ever teach you?”
“Uh-oh, watch out, Grams has got her charity face on. You’ll be adopted if you’re not careful,” Harry grinned.
With all eyes turned in my direction, I had that closed-in feeling creeping up and smothering me. I took another drink. “My family tried their best, but I’m afraid I’m a hopeless case where food and cooking are concerned. I’m just not interested,” I said firmly, in the hope that Pat wouldn’t pursue me as a project.
At the other end of the long table, Maggie had stopped talking to Henry and was now listening intently to the conversation.
Jeannie leaned around Harry so that she could see me. “I’m not particularly interested either,” she sympathized.
Joel snorted. “Yeah, we noticed.”
“Mom’s not that bad,” Ellie said. “She managed to feed us well enough.”
Harry pulled hamster cheeks and smirked at his older brother across the table. “Yeah, just look at you.”
“Can it, you three,” Dan said. “Your mother did a pretty good job considering what she had to put up with. I’m surprised she didn’t put you all up for adoption. I bet your family don’t behave like this, Emma.” It was well meant, of course, and perhaps he thought that well brought-up English girls didn’t argue, but it struck a raw nerve, made more tender by Pat’s kindly probing and the alcohol in the eggnog. The familiar knot tightened in my stomach, and I felt Matthew’s leg press against my own. I stared at the intricately embroidered tablecloth where a tiny splash of gravy stained it, unable to formulate an answer.
Matthew lifted the jug and filled my glass with water. “I thought that the twins get on remarkably well – they’re what, eight years old, aren’t they, Emma? And the baby is teething – which needs no explanation, does it, Harry?”
The rest of the family groaned as one, except Maggie, who continued to watch me.
“I couldn’t help it, I was only a baby,” Harry wailed.
“Yeah, but it went on for years, bro’,” Joel snorted, “and I had to share a room with you. I didn’t get enough sleep.”
“Stunted your growth, retard,” Ellie snickered at him, and the siblings exchanged good-natured insults until Pat intercepted them with an offer of more food.
Under the table, his diversionary tactic working admirably, Matthew held my hand, his thumb stroking my palm in slow, soothing movements until the tension dissolved and I became an adult again and not a het-up, confused, and defensive teenager at war with her family.
Pat wiped her hands on a damp tea towel as she made an announcement. “Gifts time with kaffe og kake.”
“Coffee and cake – very Scandinavian,” Matthew said quietly at my quizzical look. Pat overheard him. “I have tea for you, Emma, don’t you worry. Ellie will make it.” It wasn’t a request and Ellie smiled stiffly but went to do as asked.
“Can I help?” I offered hopefully.
Matthew took the drying cloth from my hands. “No, you can’t, you’ve done enough. Come and sit down.” He led me through to a deep, wide armchair near the fire and pulled me next to him.
“I only wanted to help,” I objected.
“Really? And I thought it might be because you want to avoid being the focus of attention.”
My mouth turned down in a moue of protest but he snuck a finger between my shirt and the waistband of my skirt just above my hip where his hand couldn’t be seen, and began gently caressing a square inch of skin, his face a mask of innocence. I found it immensely distracting and tried to elbow him to stop but he just slid his hand around towards the centre of my back where I couldn’t reach and continued to stroke softly.
Having organized her grandchildren into serving the cake and coffee, Pat settled comfortably in a chair next to ours, looking a tad tired and glad to be off her feet. At home across the Atlantic, my parents would be thinking about putting the turkey in the oven for the long, slow roast towards dinner, and my mother would be looking just the same: a little time-worn and frayed around the edges.
Pat strained towards me, peering at my earrings. “I couldn’t help but notice your earrings – did you inherit them? They look old and they are just so pretty!”
“Thank you. No – they were a gift, but you’re quite right, they are old. I like old things.” I nudged Matthew’s arm and, mercifully, he ceased stroking my back. “Tell me about the beautiful embroidered tablecloth, Pat – it looks very complicated.”
Pat’s face warmed with pleasure. “My Grandmother Andersen made it. It’s called Hardangersøm, like the fjord, you know? It’s very difficult to do and it must have ruined her eyes. We use it for every special occasion we can: Christmas, Easter, weddings, christenings.”
“It’s very lovely,” I agreed. Matthew resumed his stealthy embrace; I clenched my teeth against the delicious sensation and was only saved when Harry brought a tray over and set it on the low table in front of Pat. It bore a darkly rich, moist cake on a wavy-edged plate. I took the opportunity to remove Matthew’s hand and brought his arm around in front of me, where it remained fully visible and under my control.
“Spoilsport,” he breathed in my ear.
Pat turned to me; “Cake, Emma?”
“Thank you,” I said, keeping a straight face, although he was trying to make me laugh by tickling my stomach with his little finger.
Ellie brought a tray around with tiny white coffee cups on little sau
cers, and placed a dainty cup in front of me. The heady aroma of strong, black coffee seared my senses and in the same instant, Matthew’s hand tightened around my middle and his eyes hardened. He opened his mouth but I made a hushing face, willing him to silence and she moved away, unaware of his annoyance.
“It doesn’t matter, she probably just forgot,” I soothed. “Anyway, it’ll help wake me up a bit.” The pressure around my waist relented a little, but he continued to scrutinize his great-granddaughter as she took her own cup from the tray and settled next to Maggie on the other side of the room.
With Ellie’s indiscretion unobserved by the others, and my desire to forget it lest it spoil the festivities, I joined in raising my cup as Pat lifted hers, singing out “God Jul,” in her strong, clear voice, echoed by her family.
When the first bite of the bitter liquid burned my throat I gave Ellie nothing – she could have derived not even the slightest iota of satisfaction from my response – and I replaced the empty cup in the saucer as if it had been entirely to my liking. She exchanged looks with Maggie, and the older woman shrugged. At least it looked like a shrug, but the minute movement of her shoulders might have been a nervous twitch – it was hard to tell.
The room spun, then steadied. I complimented Pat on her cake. It had been soaked in what tasted like an infusion of coffee and chocolate – very rich and very sweet but quite delectable – and it managed to douse the aftertaste of the coffee, enough at least so that I could smile and accept another cup from Harry, who had taken over drinks duty.
I cleared the second cup and had another mouthful of cake, feeling increasingly reckless. Caffeine coursed through my body, the unfamiliar sensation both exhilarating and alarming as my pulse became a staccato beat. I could feel Matthew’s anger simmering as clearly as he could feel my racing blood. The room brightened, throbbed. I shook my head to clear it.
Henry began handing out the presents that had been left under the tree, each person receiving one present as a token gift to welcome the Christ-child.
Now, sitting among the family with my body in a state of hyper-alertness, I became aware of an energy flowing between them. I attempted to reach out and touch the air but my arm remained static. My heart flustered.
Matthew sensed the change, pulling me close to him, a casual embrace to anyone watching. “Emma?” His voice echoed, remote. I tried to answer but became distracted by colours made brighter, the room sharper, as if a fog had been lifted from my eyes, and I could hear and see things that I hadn’t noticed before: the hum of the reading light on its stand as the current ran through the wires, and the tik, tik of needles dropping from the branches of the fir tree. I heard the whisper of snow falling ever faster beyond the shutters, and the room pulsed and glowed as I had never noticed before. I even fancied that I could hear the hidden conversation in the mind of the girl across the room from me, but in colours, as if I could read her heart. I turned my head to look at her, following the trail of orange and brown and green she left as she moved across the room… and I saw her fear, I felt her jealousy.
I understood. I smiled.
Ellie’s face froze in realization that I knew her thoughts, and it was seconds – but the fleeting moment in which my heart stopped – when everything became knowledge.
“Emma!” Matthew’s voice pierced the veil between us, sharp beside me. I opened my eyes. Still encased by his arms, I rested against him, but Henry now crouched in front of me, his fingers on my wrist although I couldn’t feel them, his brow deeply furrowed. Shocked white, Pat still sat beside us and the boys were unnaturally silent. Only Ellie displayed any other emotion, and that was of disbelief.
I hadn’t imagined it.
I became aware of my body as it roared back to life, the pressure of Henry’s fingers on my wrist almost unbearable although he held it lightly. He shook his head slowly, counting silently. “She’s fine – pulse is fast, but it’s strong and regular. I don’t know what happened there.”
I sensed Matthew’s shock, but his voice came low and dark. “I do.”
“That was fantastic,” I purred, still between worlds. “So bright.”
He spoke quietly, words thunderous in my head. “What was, sweetheart?”
I tried to hang on to the neon-bright images, but they were fading fast as voices intruded on my dream world. “She’s on something; she’s wired,” I thought I heard Harry say. Or did I just sense his disappointment?
Joel’s voice cut through the haze. “Happens all the time in the corps – guys off their heads. Crap, didn’t take her for a dope-head.”
“Joel!” Jeannie whipped at him.
My hand flapped weakly against Matthew’s chest. “Tel’you later,” I whispered to him, my words slurring unnaturally.
Pat craned forward. “What’s she saying? I can’t hear what she’s saying.”
Henry squinted at each of my eyes in turn. “What do you think it was?”
“Coffee,” Matthew said, engaging Ellie in a hard stare. She blanched.
Pat gasped. “Ellie, you were asked to give Emma tea – what were you thinking?”
My disembodied hand found Pat’s arm, negotiating the complicated stitch work of the knitted jacket, feeling her worry in waves. “Pat, leave her, she didn’t know how I would react…” She wouldn’t dose me with caffeine again, that was for certain. “I didn’t know how I’d react.”
“Caffeine junkie!” Joel whooped, relieved. “Great!”
Henry frowned. “Anaphylaxis?”
Matthew shook his head. “No. No, I don’t think so. Emma, have you had any problems with your heart? Or has anyone in your family?”
“Not that I know of. I’m fine, really I am.” I felt a little sick, but then I wasn’t used to drinking coffee.
Releasing my wrist and rising, Henry slowly stood up. “What about allergic reactions, food intolerances, medications?”
“I don’t think so. Coffee doesn’t suit me but it’s never done that before. Is that what you think it was?” I looked at Matthew, at his eyebrows drawn into a deep frown as he considered the options.
“Twenty-four hour heart monitor?” Dan joined in, coming to stand next to Henry and rubbing his earlobe thoughtfully.
“No,” Matthew and I said almost simultaneously, his response measured and calm, mine coming out as an anxious squeak as I looked from one to the other. Matthew gave a reassuring squeeze with his arm around my waist. “That won’t be necessary. It was probably just a reaction to the coffee, but,” he continued, his forehead smoothing as he made a decision, “I think we’ll have some of your blood and run a few tests just to be sure.”
I wasn’t supposed to have seen the look that passed between the two men, but the after-effects of the coffee or whatever it was that had sharpened my senses until they lacerated my being were enough that I caught the tiniest movement between eye and the responding mouth. “Ugh,” I pulled a face, “is that really necessary?”
“Humour me,” Matthew replied, but I saw none in his eyes.
“But if it was just the coffee…” I began.
Harry shifted the tray over to make enough room on the coffee table for him to perch, a trapped sugar crystal grating painfully across the surface setting my teeth on edge. “Hey, Emma, your heart stopped; we’ve got to find out why, just in case.”
“Just in case you drop dead, he means,” Joel stretched out on the sofa, seemingly unconcerned except for the edgy glint in his eyes.
“Shut up, you idiot,” Ellie snapped at him. “I’m really sorry, Emma. I didn’t know, I just thought you didn’t like it, that’s all. I was being stupid…”
“Yeah, right…” Joel drawled.
“Shut up!” she rounded on him, teeth clenching as her temper flared.
Matthew cut across the disorder of voices. “Enough!” Hush fell abruptly. “This needs to be done now. Harry, my bag is in my car, fetch it please. Henry, I’d appreciate your assistance. Ellie, you and Joel run the bloods back to the lab; I’ll m
ake out a list of what I want covered. Ellie, you get them done tonight…”
“Wait,” I interrupted him. “It’s snowing heavily; they won’t get through. It’s too dangerous.”
Joel waved a hand towards the darkened windows to the courtyard. “Nah, it wasn’t snowing that much earlier. Don’t worry about it, Dr D, we’ll be OK.”
Matthew fixed me with a steady gaze I found hard to break. “These can’t wait, Emma, every minute counts.” And he rose immediately, lifting me with him. “We’ll go next door to my study.”
I looked back over my shoulder. “Pat, I’m really sorry…” She dismissed my apology with a wave. “Don’t worry about it. You just get those tests done and I’ll save the washing-up for you.”
“Thanks,” I managed with a passing attempt at being caustic before we were through the door to the next building.
“You’re welcome,” I heard her reply.
Matthew’s study was blissfully quiet after the cacophony of the other room. He sat me in his big armed chair behind his desk and began to undo my cuffs.
“The snow’s really bad out there; I didn’t realize how deep it’s got.” Harry shook the broad bag he carried of the snow gathered in the folds of the leather, and put it on the desk. He knocked his shoulders free of ice.
“Deep, is it?” Henry gave me an appraising stare. “Harry, go warn Ellie and Joel. Is it passable, do you think?”
“If Joel’s driving, they should make it in the 4x4, Gramps, yeah.”
I looked at him anxiously, but a sudden intake of breath from Matthew diverted me. He was running his thumb over the inside of my arm, but I couldn’t see what he looked at. He started to unbutton my other sleeve, rolling it up and out of the way, his thumb tracing the silver-pink line of my scar. “Strap,” he muttered, and Henry fished in the bag and handed him a thick, rubberized band, which he wrapped around the top part of my arm, pulling it tight. I hated that sensation – the constriction – the squeezing just before the needle would go in and suck out my blood.
