by Emlyn Rees
Chapter 15
In Gerald Thorne’s dining room, the frenzy of present opening was in full swing. Isabelle’s Christmas with the Rat Pack CD was playing and Frank Sinatra was crooning ‘Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas’ as the fire hissed and crackled. Despite the cold weather outside, the room was stiflingly hot. The smell of cooking turkey and boiling potatoes wafted in from the kitchen, clashing with the sickly smell of the ‘Christmas-scented’ tea-light candles that Isabelle had distributed around the room.
By the piano in the corner, Elliot popped a champagne cork, before filling up the glasses on the silver tray. Stephanie, who was kneeling on the floor by the Christmas tree, wished he would hurry up. If they didn’t get the rest of the presents opened soon, she wouldn’t be able to get back to the kitchen in time and lunch would be ruined.
Perhaps she was turning into Isabelle, she thought grimly, annoyed with herself for being annoyed, but she couldn’t help it. Thanks to Elliot and his trip out this morning with Taylor, present opening had been thrown off schedule and Stephanie had better things to do than wait around for her brother, especially since Gerald had insisted that lunch should be on the table at one o’clock so that everyone would have the chance to go out after lunch if they wanted to. Where exactly he thought they would go was a mystery to Stephanie, and after the snow yesterday it was far too cold anyway.
Elliot didn’t seem to be in any kind of a hurry. She watched him handing out the champagne. Uninterested in fashion as she’d become this last year but informed none the less from her coffee-time browsing of the glossy magazines in the surgery’s waiting room, Stephanie recognised how tragically preppie and establishment Elliot’s combination of blue blazer and slacks was. She supposed it was inevitable after all these years, but he really had morphed into Isabelle’s perfect cardboard cut-out Chelsea husband. Today, for example, he’d clearly dressed up for Christmas in a way she’d never seen before. He’d even had a shower and shave.
He was only thirty-nine years old, for God’s sake, younger than she was. Just where had this middle-aged, middle-class wannabe patriarch come from? What had happened to the rebellious teenager who’d used to extol to her the virtues of the Buzzcocks and the Sex Pistols? The same kid who’d been suspended from school for having a copy of Men Only in his desk, the kid she’d taught how to smoke and to swear, and who’d sat in the bath in his jeans until they’d clung to his skinny little legs like bark round two trees?
Was it just age? She knew she’d changed, but Elliot had changed more in the past few years. Perhaps if she’d been more attentive she could have stopped them drifting so far apart; she didn’t seem able to access him any more on a level where he would acknowledge that they had once been so close. Now it made her sad to think that she didn’t really know him, or have the first clue what was going on in his head.
As if sensing her thinking about him, Elliot looked over at her. He smiled and raised his eyebrows, trying to be friendly. Perhaps he was still the old Elliot after all, she thought, but she couldn’t be sure.
What did he feel when he looked at her? she wondered, suddenly self-conscious. Was it pity? She didn’t know. She rarely even looked in the mirror these days, let alone took time to change her clothes in order to impress somebody else. She’d used to love clothes for their own sake. It had felt like magic, the way the simple act of putting on a short skirt and a pair of high boots had once been capable of making her feel confident and glamorous, even after a day spent examining unidentified rashes and handing out prescriptions. She half-smiled now, remembering her guilty shopping trips with her best friend, Tessa.
Then her smile faded. The time had come when clothes had made no difference to the way she’d felt. Her feelings had locked like the hands of a broken clock and nothing had been able to make them turn.
She’d give anything to make them work again, only she didn’t know how.
She pinched herself hard on the back of the hand, pushing the thoughts from her mind. They did no one any good, she told herself. Instead, she surveyed the wreckage from earlier this morning, when Nat and Simon had opened their stockings. Wrapping paper and empty boxes were strewn all over the floor, despite her attempts to keep things tidy.
She looked at them together by the fire, head to head, as David prised open the battery compartment of Simon’s mini remote controlled car. Nat was busily peeling off hologram stickers from a sheet and sticking them on the carpet. Then Stephanie noticed Gerald standing beside her, inspecting his feet in the green Shrek slippers Simon had given him.
He handed Stephanie a glass of champagne. ‘I rather like being an ogre,’ he said. ‘Any chance of getting me the rest of the outfit for my birthday?’
Stephanie squeezed his hand. ‘I’ll do my best, Dad,’ she said, knowing he was only trying to cheer her up.
‘Oh! Canapés!’ Isabelle said, rushing off to the kitchen as if it was on fire.
As soon as she opened the living room door, the dog bounded into the room, knocking into Elliot’s legs.
‘Come on, Rufe. Time out in the conservatory, until the pressies are done,’ he said, glancing at Stephanie as he led the dog by the collar to the door and ushered him through. ‘We’re not having a repeat performance from you.’
As soon as Elliot’s back was turned, Taylor shot up out of the leather armchair she’d been sitting in, and quickly swiped a glass from the tray and downed the champagne in one, before flopping back on to the chair and kicking her legs over the side.
‘Steady on there,’ Gerald said to her. ‘Are you allowed champagne, darling?’
‘I drink it all the time,’ Taylor informed him.
Gerald chuckled. ‘Do you now? Well, I think that was David’s.’ He walked over and refilled the champagne glass, handing it to David. ‘You’ve got to be quick off the mark around here,’ Stephanie heard him say quietly.
‘Well, cheers everyone,’ Elliot said, as Isabelle came back in and put down a china plate on the table.
Stephanie looked at the piles of smoked salmon blinis, stacked with crème fraiche and chives. They were guaranteed to take away everyone’s appetite. In the background the dog whined loudly on the other side of the door.
‘Happy Christmas all,’ Gerald said.
‘Happy Christmas,’ Isabelle echoed dutifully, accepting a glass from Elliot and sighing with satisfaction, as if the huge effort she’d just made had been absolutely one hundred per cent, from tip to toe and top to bottom worth it.
Isabelle was radiant this morning. Her make-up was perfect, her eyes glistening. She was wearing tailored cream trousers and a beige mohair jumper, which made her look fuzzy around the edges, as if she was in soft focus. She looked relaxed and happy, but that was probably due to the two-hour bath she’d had this morning, whilst Stephanie had been stuffing the turkey. Timing was everything and Isabelle had it down to an art.
Next to her, Stephanie felt utterly bedraggled, realising that she was still wearing her flour-spattered apron. She’d hardly slept at all. David, who’d come to bed late, had snored all night, and then she’d been up at the crack of dawn when Nat and Simon had wanted to go and open their presents. Stephanie had quickly dressed in what she’d been wearing yesterday and had made a half-hearted attempt to wake David, but he’d grunted and rolled over and she’d hurried downstairs. By the time he’d surfaced, the kids had already opened most of their presents. Stephanie could tell he’d been disappointed, but she’d ignored him. Why should he claim all the glory? He certainly wasn’t the Father Christmas in their family – and if he wasn’t that, then what was he? She wasn’t sure she knew any more.
‘Maybe we should toast absent loved ones?’ Isabelle said, looking expectantly at first Stephanie and then Gerald.
‘Let’s save the toasts until lunch, shall we?’ Gerald said, glancing at Stephanie, as if to remind her of her promise not to get wound up.
It was so hard not to. It wasn’t Isabelle’s place to propose such a toast – Emma Thorne
hadn’t been her mother and Paul hadn’t been her son. She didn’t have the faintest idea what Stephanie or her father felt.
‘Taylor, don’t, darling,’ Isabelle said, reverting back to normal, ‘that’s very annoying.’
Taylor ignored her and continued to test ring tones on her new mobile phone, whilst absentmindedly kicking the huge pile of expensive presents stacked up against the side of her chair.
‘Can I have some bubbles?’ Nat asked, shoving her fingers into Stephanie’s glass and licking the liquid from them.
‘No. Not too much now,’ Stephanie said, trying to lift the glass out of the way. ‘Why don’t you offer the canapés around to the grown-ups?’
‘Keep the presents coming then, Stepho,’ Elliot said.
‘This one’s for you and Isabelle from us,’ Stephanie said, holding up the badly wrapped box containing the glass dish filled with pot pourri.
Isabelle, swallowing a mouthful of champagne, flapped her hand and sidestepped through all the wrapping paper towards Stephanie, who put the present on the carpet.
‘Let’s do them at the same time. Ours are there for you and David. Here, this one’s yours,’ she said, stepping over Stephanie to lift a heavy-looking present and hand it to her. ‘David, here’s yours,’ Isabelle continued, pretending to lose her balance as she gave him an oversized parcel.
David shot Stephanie a glance and she knew what it meant: he was embarrassed about the present. They both knew he was right. It was too measly. Stephanie had been planning on telling Isabelle what had happened to the glasses, but now, aware of David staring at her, she chickened out. She didn’t want to risk Isabelle thinking she was stupid for buying glasses too. She would just have to try and find a way to tell Elliot what had happened later.
‘Go on, you first,’ Isabelle said, her face alight with expectation, as she knelt down next to Stephanie.
Stephanie unwrapped the large package. Inside was a bottle of perfume and matching body cream, which together must have cost a fortune. There was also a fashionable make-over book that Stephanie had wanted to buy for herself, but had thought too frivolous. Embarrassment of another kind now hit her. Did she look so awful that people were compelled to buy her books to improve herself?
‘Oh . . . goodness . . .’ Stephanie said.
‘My friend says it’s fantastic,’ Isabelle said. ‘Totally changed her life. I mean, it’s so difficult to know what to wear as you get older, isn’t it? You stick to the same style . . .’
Stephanie was gratified that Isabelle was digging herself a hole.
In the background, Simon’s remote control car burst into life. Next to her, Taylor started throwing peanuts up into the air, trying to catch them in her open mouth. There was a peal of laughter as Elliot, David and her father shared a joke.
‘ . . . I mean, I’ve been so lucky, you know, having Lucy. She’s been my personal shopper at Selfridges for years and knows exactly what I like . . . but for other people . . .’ Isabelle continued.
‘I’m sure it’ll be useful,’ Stephanie said, letting her off the hook and leaning over to kiss her cheek.
Isabelle smiled. ‘Well, let’s see what we have here,’ she said, picking up Stephanie’s present from the floor, childishly lifting and balancing it as if to guess the contents.
Stephanie folded up the expensive wrapping paper from Isabelle’s present, feeling sick. Once again, she tried desperately to formulate the right sentence to tell Isabelle that this was just the secondary, reserve present, but again, she couldn’t find the right way to say it, without sounding as if she was making excuses. What was more agonising was that Isabelle was deliberately eking it out, carefully pulling Stephanie’s cheap wrapping apart, until, finally, the bowl of pot pourri was revealed.
‘Oh, my!’ Isabelle said, kneeling up and leaning over to kiss Stephanie. Either she was an exceptionally good liar, or she really did like it. ‘It’ll go perfectly in our lounge room.’
‘That’s what I thought,’ Stephanie said, feeling like an utter heel.
She smiled briefly at Isabelle who smiled back and there was a small pause. That was it. All of Isabelle’s excitement and anticipation had gone in a moment, popped like a bubble with a pin. Just like that. Neither of them could pretend that it was anything other than a huge anticlimax.
It was all so pointless, Stephanie thought. Everyone was making out that Christmas was wonderful and that it all meant something, but none of them had gone to church. Even though there hadn’t been a service, Stephanie regretted not simply going into the building to say a prayer. It would have been good to take the kids. There was no context at all for the frenzy of fluffy consumerism going on around her. She glanced over at Simon, who was stuffing his face with crisps, whilst pounding the control for the small car. He didn’t have a clue what it all meant. And why should he? What had she done to advance his spiritual well-being? As the car sped under the table, she felt like a complete failure.
‘What about you, Dad?’ Taylor was saying. ‘Shouldn’t you give Grandpa his present. That is why we went into town this morning, after all.’ There was an edge to her voice, a deliberate nastiness that none of them missed.
Isabelle tutted and laughed as she stood up to walk over to David who was opening his present. ‘Honestly, Gerry, talk about last-minute shopping.’
Elliot smiled at Isabelle and Taylor. ‘You two. Will you stop grassing on me. Happy Christmas, Dad,’ he said, handing over a small box. ‘Sorry it’s not wrapped properly.’
‘It’s the compass I wanted for the boat,’ Gerald said, opening the box. He was clearly delighted. ‘Thank you, son.’
‘He got it from the chandler’s,’ Taylor said. ‘Didn’t you, Dad? That’s where you went this morning.’
‘Er . . .’ Elliot began.
‘Phil?’ Gerald said. ‘I didn’t think he’d be open on Christmas Day.’
‘Oh yes,’ Taylor said. ‘You’d be surprised what people do on Christmas Day. Isn’t that right, Dad?’
Elliot half smiled at her. ‘Shall we make a start on those blinis?’ he said.
‘Wow! This is great!’ David said, unfolding the soft brown leather jacket Isabelle had given him.
‘Do you like it?’ Isabelle said. ‘I thought the colour would really suit you.’
Stephanie had bought David a jacket, too. He’d unwrapped it earlier and she’d been able to tell in an instant that he didn’t like it. She didn’t particularly like it either, but it had been reduced in the sale.
‘Here’s one for you, Nat,’ Stephanie said, diverting attention away from David, who was trying on the jacket whilst Isabelle fussed around him, brushing the shoulders.
‘My, you look handsome,’ Isabelle said, laughing as David kissed her cheek.
Stephanie turned her attention back to Nat, who was ripping open her package and pulling out a full length fancy dress princess outfit with matching sparkly shoes. Nat held the dress up against her, gasping with delight.
‘Aunty Isabelle, it’s my best present ever,’ she said.
Stephanie felt her reaction like a stab in the stomach. Yesterday, Nat had been petrified of Isabelle, now she was acting as if she was her favourite person in the world.
‘A princess dress for a real princess,’ Isabelle said, smiling at Stephanie and coming over to see Nat. ‘I just couldn’t resist.’
‘Is this mine too?’ Nat asked, pulling a small sparkly doll out of the mound of crisp pink tissue paper. Her eyes widened with incredulity as she looked at Stephanie.
‘I couldn’t leave her in the shop now, could I?’ Isabelle said.
‘What do you say?’ Stephanie prompted.
‘Thank you,’ Nat said, throwing her arms around Isabelle’s neck.
‘Really Isabelle, that’s far too generous of you,’ Stephanie said, meaning it.
Isabelle started to help Nat into the dress. ‘Oh go on! They’re only children once. It’s so important to spoil them.’
Elliot came over to admir
e Nat in her dress. ‘How are we doing? Is there a present under there for Isabelle?’ he asked.
Isabelle clapped her hands together like an excited toddler. ‘Oh, goodie, is it my turn?’ she asked.
Stephanie rummaged through the debris of the presents, but couldn’t find anything.
Elliot made a show of getting down on his hands and knees, finally locating a tiny package right under the tree.
‘Ta da!’ he said, with a flourish, handing it to Isabelle.
It was jewellery, Stephanie concluded, spotting the Tiffany logo on the small box. She quashed the jealousy she felt and the annoyance that her brother flashed his money around as he did. David had never bought Stephanie anything extravagant. This year he hadn’t bought her anything at all.
‘Oh my!’ Isabelle exclaimed, looking at the box, and then she opened it. She shrieked with delight before lifting out the contents.
Stephanie hated herself for her curiosity. Why was she even bothering to rubber-neck Isabelle’s present? Why did it matter? But she couldn’t help herself. She stared at Isabelle as she took out the beautiful necklace. It was a heart-shaped diamond pendant on a twisted platinum chain.
Isabelle twirled to the fireplace and admired herself in the tinsel-adorned mirror over the mantel, smoothing the diamonds against her flawless skin with her fingertips.
‘Oh darling. It’s wonderful,’ she said, turning to fling her arms around Elliot. He looked suitably pleased with her reaction, patting her on her back as he smiled at everyone over her shoulder, rocking his head and rolling his eyes in a self-deprecating way.
Stephanie couldn’t watch any longer. Isabelle was so unbearably smug. She had no idea how tough life was for everyone else. How dare she show off so blatantly, as if they all lived life the whole time in a De Beers advert.
‘Can somebody clear all this up and lay the table?’ she asked, standing up, her legs stiff and full of pins and needles from where she’d been kneeling too long. ‘I’m going to crack on with lunch.’
‘Wait! Aren’t you going to open this?’ David said, flapping a badly wrapped thin red package towards her. In the leather jacket Isabelle had given him he looked like a stranger, as if he belonged in a seventies TV detective show.
