by Cathy Kelly
It was worth it to see the look of horror on Gloria’s face. Even Finn looked a bit alarmed. Nobody mentioned Fay in front of his mother.
‘We do not speak of Fay,’ intoned Gloria icily.
Tara smiled as sympathetically as she could and put her head to one side. ‘That’s so sad, Gloria. It would be wonderful to forget the past and welcome Fay home. Christmas is for families, after all.’
Gloria’s face darkened.
‘Look at the time,’ said Desmond gently, getting to his feet. ‘We should get to bed or we’ll be tired tomorrow. Merry Christmas, everyone.’
He hugged Tara and Finn, then put his arm round his wife. ‘Come on Gloria dear, time for bed.’ He led her from the room and Tara turned in time to see Finn swallowing the last of his Cointreau.
‘Another one?’ he said, making for the cabinet.
‘No,’ Tara said, suddenly suffused with guilt. ‘Do you need one? Don’t you think we’ve had enough for one night?’
‘There’s no point blaming that little scene on you having too much to drink,’ Finn teased, pouring himself another. ‘Anyway, you’ve certainly found the ideal method of sending my mother to bed quickly.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Tara apologised. ‘I didn’t mean to upset your dad.’
Desmond had looked so very sad at the mention of his daughter’s name.
Finn sat back with his drink. ‘Dad’s fine. He talks to Fay too, you know. He can e-mail quite happily from home because Mums never goes near the computer. You’re right, though, Fay should come home. She just wants Mums to suffer.’
Tara could identify with that.
‘There was no excuse for mentioning her,’ she added. ‘I feel bad. For your father’s sake.’ She didn’t regret any hurt to Gloria. She’d been asking for it.
‘Forget about it.’ Finn didn’t seem concerned.
She looked at him curiously. ‘How come you’re so laid-back about it all? Your mother drives me mad, but you never bat an eyelid.’
He shrugged. ‘You get used to her. She’s highly strung, that’s all and a stiff drink helps you deal with her.’
Tara mused silently on the concept of stringing her mother-in-law from somewhere high, then shook her head guiltily. She was turning into as bad a bitch as Gloria.
‘Anyway, that’s what I admire about you,’ Finn added. ‘You don’t pull your punches, Tara. You say what you think.’
Tara had a sudden vision of the ever-tactless Aunt Adele and shuddered. She’d have to watch her tongue or she’d turn into her aunt.
At the same moment in Kinvarra, a very drunk Mrs Freidland was objecting to being given a soft drink.
‘I’m having wine,’ she said loudly when Stella tried to hand her a tall glass of lemonade.
Not after the bottle and a half I must have served you already, thought Stella. ‘We’re stopping serving alcohol now, in honour of Christmas Day,’ she said gravely. ‘We always do at the end of the night.’
‘Weally?’ Mrs Freidland was fascinated at the very idea. How eccentric these Millers were. Still, it would be rude to argue and she felt very tired all of a sudden. She might just sit down and have a little rest. Or a sleep, even. Rose had lovely, comfy cushions on all her chairs.
Stella helped Mrs Freidland to a chair and peered around the room for Mr Freidland, who had originally said he and his wife would be driving to another party by ten. It was now half eleven. She spotted Mr Freidland in a corner with a glass of something ruby red which was definitely alcoholic.
The Kinvarra taxi men would make a fortune tonight. Rose always pre-booked and the drivers knew she’d make it worth their while with a decent tip.
With Mrs Freidland safely ensconced in a nest of cushions, Stella resumed her trip round the house to make sure that everybody had enough drinks. There were hordes of people, all chatting, laughing and eagerly eating Rose’s home-made canapés. Slipping through the crowd, Stella found her mother in the kitchen making coffee. Rose looked as immaculate as ever, her hair swept up and the soft copper colour of her v-necked dress bringing a gentle flush to her face. But Stella noticed that there was a weariness evident in her mother’s eyes. Rose had worked very hard to make the party a success, never stopping for so much as a bite to eat or more than a sip of water herself while her guests were there. Everyone else saw Rose Miller gliding through her lovely house, charming everyone and with a kind word to all. They didn’t see the heightened activity in the kitchen during the party, or the hectic preparations before.
‘You’re a bit of a swan, Mum,’ Tara would say fondly to her. ‘Serene on the surface with your legs going like mad underneath!’
Rose adored that comparison. It was a pity Tara wasn’t here tonight, Stella thought. It wasn’t the same without her, though Holly was doing the work of two: going round with a tray of food and drinks. And she looked marvellously festive in a slinky black lace dress with a Christmassy red silk flower in her hair and her lips glossed up in poinsettia scarlet.
‘Pre-sale,’ Holly had revealed delightedly when Stella admired the dress and the way it clung to her sister’s curves. ‘It was dead cheap because there’s a tear under one arm but I’ve fixed it. You know I don’t like things that are very fitted because they show off all the lumps and bumps, but Bunny said it suited me…’
‘What lumps and bumps?’ Stella had demanded. ‘I don’t think you should be allowed near Dad’s friends: they’ll all be grabbing you and saying you’ve turned into a beautiful woman.’
Holly laughed. ‘Some hope of that.’
Dear Holly. Stella wished with all her heart that she could give her sister a confidence transplant.
‘Should I ask the taxi firm to check on the whereabouts of the cars we’ve booked?’ she asked Rose now.
‘That might be an idea,’ her mother replied. ‘I meant to do it but I got tied up here…’
‘It’s OK, I’ll do it.’
‘I booked ten taxis for half eleven,’ said Rose, ‘but they’re bound to be a bit late tonight of all nights. Maybe you and Holly could round up the people who definitely shouldn’t be allowed to drive home and steer them in the direction of the hall.’
‘Mum looks a bit stressed,’ said Stella to Holly as they stood in the hall and waved goodbye to the Freidlands, the Wilsons, and a gang of other happy, swaying people, most of whom had dropped in ‘for half an hour’ several hours before.
‘I know,’ Holly said. ‘She was fine until she got a phone call an hour ago. She literally went white. To be honest, I thought Tara had been in an accident or something.’
‘Who was it?’ Stella asked curiously. She’d never even heard the phone ring.
‘I don’t know. It wasn’t anything to do with Tara. She said it was nothing. Probably a wrong number,’ she added.
Stella looked worried. ‘I hope Mum would tell us if there was anything wrong. But you know how determined she is to cope with everything herself. She’s as stubborn as a mule…’
‘How are my lovely girls?’ Their father’s best friend, Alastair Devon, came into the hall with Hugh and put an affectionate arm round both Holly and Stella.
‘Thank heavens at least there’s one guest leaving the premises sober,’ said Hugh jovially as he opened the hall door.
‘Somebody has to stay sensible,’ said Alastair, kissing both Holly and Stella goodbye. ‘This rabble have been drinking like there’s no tomorrow.’
‘I haven’t.’ Alastair’s wife, Angela, who had followed him from the party, sounded insulted.
Her husband grinned and took her hand in his. ‘Sorry, darling. There are two sensible people in the rabble.’
‘What about us?’ said Stella, grinning and gesturing at herself and Holly.
Hugh ushered Alastair out the door. ‘Get out of here before you get lynched, Alastair. You know we can never say the right thing with women.’
Slowly, the guests went home and the family were left alone. Glasses and crumpled up napkins littered every available sur
face and Stella sighed at the thought of clearing it all up. Parties were wonderful but the aftermath was not.
‘I’ll get started here,’ Rose said, picking up a tray. ‘We don’t need to leave for midnight mass for another ten minutes.’
‘No, you won’t,’ said Stella firmly, taking the tray from her mother. ‘You have a rest and beautify yourself. I don’t have to get ready, so I can do this.’ She was staying at home with Amelia who, despite begging to be allowed up with the grown-ups, was fast asleep in bed.
For once, Rose acquiesced. ‘Thanks, Stella love.’
‘Mummy, is it time?’ said a sleepy voice from the doorway. Amelia, eyes crinkled with tiredness, stood there fully dressed in purple corduroy trousers and an embroidered lilac jumper. She must have been awoken by the sounds of people leaving. ‘I’m a big girl now, can’t I go with you?’
Rose sat with her family in a middle pew of the soaring Kinvarra cathedral and stared at the altar. Amelia leaned against Rose with her eyes half-closed.
‘Grown-ups get to go to see Baby Jesus in the crib for the first time,’ she’d said miserably earlier. ‘Why can’t I go? Becky and Shona get to go. I’m not a baby.’
‘You’ll be too tired,’ Stella had said.
‘I won’t,’ Amelia was insistent.
‘She wants to,’ Rose said, ‘why not let her. You can sit beside me, Amelia, and we’ll cuddle.’
Amelia had sat wide-eyed and alert beside her grandmother at first but now tiredness was getting to her. Even the thought of seeing the Baby Jesus in his crib couldn’t keep her awake and she snuggled into Rose’s soft camelhair good coat.
On the other side of Rose sat Holly, who didn’t look terribly awake either. Holly leaned in the direction of her father, who sat at the edge of the pew. She adored her father, Rose knew, and was closer to him than she was to Rose. In times of trouble, Holly had always run to Hugh.
From the corner of her eye, Rose could see her husband’s proud head, his bearing upright and proper even at midnight. Hugh looked as if he was concentrating totally on the service, although Rose knew from experience that Hugh’s mind could be miles away however attentive he looked.
Rose knew that her eyes always gave her away if she didn’t pay attention, no matter how carefully she schooled her expression. She stared at the altar and thought about the phone call that had exploded into her Christmas Eve party like a hand grenade.
It was a miracle she’d heard the phone at all, what with the noise of the guests and the sound of Sinatra crooning old hits.
‘I’m looking for Hugh,’ said the voice on the phone. A woman.
‘Well, hold on…’ Rose had picked up the phone in the hallway so she carried it a few yards so she could look into the living room. She could see Hugh’s silver head towering above most of their guests. He was in the middle of a group of people near the piano and she couldn’t really interrupt him. She hoped Hugh didn’t start a singsong. It always took hours to persuade people to sing and twice as long to shut them up. Nobody would leave until the wee, small hours if the piano got going.
‘I’m afraid Hugh can’t come to the phone right now,’ she said politely. ‘Can I take a message?’ Even as she said it, Rose thought how odd it was that any caller to their home wouldn’t recognise who she was and say ‘Hello, Rose.’ Unless it was business, of course, and it could hardly be a business call at ten o’ clock on Christmas Eve.
‘I need to speak to him.’ The woman was insistent and there was something else in her voice, something Rose couldn’t quite identify.
‘We’re having a party,’ Rose explained, still polite. ‘I can’t get him for you now. Are you sure you wouldn’t like to leave a message? If it’s an urgent legal matter, I can give you the number of someone else from Miller and Lowe.’ She’d picked up a pen by now, ready to write a message on the notepad, although she couldn’t imagine anything so urgent it would require legal assistance right now.
‘No message,’ the woman said silkily. ‘It’s not business. Thank you.’
Rose stood listening to the dial tone. She put the receiver back slowly.
Holly was coming downstairs with some coats. ‘Are you all right, Mum?’ she asked urgently. ‘Was that bad news? It’s not something wrong with Tara, is it?’
‘Nothing like that.’ Rose managed a faint smile. ‘Just a mistake. Now, I must rush and check the oven.’ She flew into the kitchen, shut the door and sat down on the bench seat under the picture window, feeling a cold sweat emerge all over her body. She knew what had been nagging her about the woman’s voice, she knew the unidentified ingredient: mockery.
At noon on Christmas Day, Stella and Amelia drove to Adele’s house to pick her up for lunch. Amelia, thrilled to have got a bumper haul from Santa, not to mention a pink typewriter from the absent Tara and Finn, could only be torn away from her new possessions with bribery.
‘Aunt Adele has your present under her tree and she might forget it if you don’t come with me to pick it up,’ Stella had said disingenuously.
‘Sure, Mum,’ said Amelia, instantly getting up from where she was laboriously typing her name for the tenth time. ‘What did she get me?’
Rose and Stella’s eyes met.
‘Something lovely, I’m sure,’ Rose reassured her.
Hugh would have gone with them but he’d woken up with a sore throat and was sitting in front of the box with his feet up, being mollycoddled by Holly.
Adele had been at a special carol service the previous evening, which was why she’d missed the drinks party. Now, vexation at having missed the festivities made her sharp-tongued.
‘I suppose last night was the big event of the season,’ she snapped as soon as Stella and Amelia stepped inside her hall door. ‘I’m sure your mother outdid herself, as usual.’
Stella told herself to count to ten. No, she reflected, make that a hundred.
‘The party was lovely, Aunt Adele,’ she said evenly. ‘We missed you.’
Adele harumphed a bit. ‘I’ll get my handbag,’ she said, beetling off. ‘The presents are in the living room, Stella. You can manage them, I imagine.’
A Mount Everest of parcels sat on the living room floor. Stella sighed, thinking of dragging them all out to the car. Adele always bought big, un-Christmassy things like frying pans and fake bamboo magazine racks that she liked the look of in catalogues. Over the years, Stella had received two trays specially designed for use in bed and at least three decorative tea towels covered with slogans about the kitchen being the heart of the home.
‘Can I open mine now?’ whispered Amelia, dropping to her knees to check the labels.
‘Better not,’ said Stella.
In the car, Adele thawed out a bit but the ice shield went back up when she got to Meadow Lodge and saw the hall table groaning under the weight of a huge bouquet of flowers which one of the previous evening’s guests had brought for Rose. Too late, Stella saw Adele reading the card, eyes narrowed as she scanned the message full of praise for Rose and her ‘famous Miller hospitality’. Stella thought it was sad that Adele had never been able to get over her jealousy of Rose. Neither of them had sisters; wouldn’t it have been wonderful if they had been able to love each other in the way that Stella loved Tara and Holly.
‘Poor Hugh, how are you?’ Adele sat down beside her brother and held his hand as if he was a Victorian hero on the verge of expiring from consumption.
‘Coping, Adele, coping,’ said Hugh stoically.
Stella bit her lip as she arranged Adele’s presents under the tree. Then, leaving Amelia to bash out more typing, she went into the kitchen.
The smell of cooking was delicious but Rose’s normally pristine kitchen was dishevelled, with saucepans, vegetable peelings and various implements all over the place. At least half of the cupboards were wide open and squares of paper towel were strewn on the terracotta tiles where something had spilled. Rose was attempting to wedge a turkey the size of a small ostrich back into the oven.
> ‘That smells incredible, Mum,’ said Stella, looking round to see what she could do to help. Her mother was normally so organised and this chaos was unusual. ‘Has Dad been helping?’ she asked with a grin.
‘No.’ Her mother shut the oven with a resounding bang and straightened up, sighing as she did so. ‘He’s in front of the television playing the dying swan and asking for hot lemon and honey drinks.’
There was an uncharacteristic edge to Rose’s voice.
‘Adele’s arrived, so she can look after him,’ Stella said easily.
‘She’s welcome to him,’ Rose snapped as she flicked the switch on the kettle.
Stella began wiping up the gunk on the kitchen floor.
‘Are you missing Tara?’ she asked sympathetically. When her mother didn’t reply immediately, Stella answered for her. ‘It is strange without her but I suppose we’ll have to get used to things being different now that she’s married.’
Rose dunked a couple of teabags in two mugs. She missed Tara like hell and resented the notion that bad-tempered Gloria, who didn’t appreciate her daughter-in-law, was benefiting from her company. But the lack of Tara was short term, something Rose could live with because she knew that in a few days, she would erupt into Kinvarra like a tidal wave, making everyone laugh and instantly forget about her absence at Christmas. What rankled deep in Rose’s heart was the memory of the enigmatic phone call. Painful as the ache of a deep-rooted toothache, it throbbed away maliciously. Rose knew exactly what that phone call had meant.
‘Of course I miss Tara.’ Rose handed one of the mugs to Stella. ‘But it’s only natural that she spends time with Finn’s parents. I didn’t sleep well, to be honest; that’s all that’s wrong with me.’
‘Mum, why didn’t you say that?’ said Stella, exasperated. ‘Holly and I could have cooked dinner and you could have had a rest.’
‘Merry Christmas, Rose,’ said Adele, sweeping into the room carrying the detritus from Hugh’s various sore throat remedies. She sniffed the air, wrinkling her nose doubtfully. ‘Turkey? We always had goose at home…’
