by Rosie Thomas
There was only one spare twin bedroom in the cottage, in which the boys would be sleeping. She would have to ask Miranda for a bed in the house. Katherine longed for Miranda’s company right now, and Polly’s. When she looked out and saw Miranda crossing the yard with Nic, she had to stop herself from running out after them.
Amos stood helplessly with the sheets spilling out of his arms.
She directed him to the washing machine, and told him which cycle to use. The remaining jars and packets were put away in the proper places, then she swept up the spilled sugar and swilled out the sink. Sam slid away to watch television, but Amos still hovered in the kitchen. In the past, or in a parallel world, she would have had a meal under way by now.
‘I’m going across to see Miranda,’ Katherine said.
His face fell. ‘What for?’
‘I’m going to ask if she’ll give me a bed.’
‘But…’
She went to him, put her hands on his arms. It would be easier to capitulate and do what he wanted, but knowing this gave her the determination not to concede the ground already gained. She felt a little surprised at how hardhearted she could find it in herself to be.
‘Amos? I’ve come back for Christmas because you asked me to, and because I know the boys want me to be here, and because I don’t want just to discard our family. But you and me’ – as she said it she felt his bodily warmth through his sleeves and the palms of her hands, an engine completely separate from her own – ‘we’re not the same as we were, and it would be a mistake to pretend otherwise.’
He cleared his throat. ‘This is very humiliating, making your withdrawal from me so public. Is that what you intend? It’s understandable, as an act of retaliation for what has gone before. What I don’t understand is why you have left it until now.’
‘I left when I did, and I haven’t come back as a wife, only as a mother. Surely you don’t have to feel humiliated, Amos? You’re among friends here.’
He gave a gusty sigh. ‘All right. Toby said he’d be getting here about eight, depending on the traffic out of town. Shall I, ah, Sam and I, start putting some dinner together?’
It was one of those questions that expect an answer in the negative.
‘Good idea,’ Katherine smiled at him.
She paused outside their front door. Smoke rose from the chimneys on all three sides and there were lights in most of the windows. Sheets had been tacked at the new windows upstairs in the barn, presumably to offer the twins some privacy once they arrived. In spite of the proximity she had the impression of three redoubts, with the Knights and the Davieses respectively holed up within theirs, the pains and pleasures of other people’s families and lives as ever opaque to outsiders.
Miranda’s theory, that families were only a temporary intervention whereas friends should last for ever, seemed not be to holding up particularly well.
Miranda herself, of course, had neither husband nor children, so her theory wasn’t subject to personal testing.
It was cold. She hurried on to Miranda’s kitchen door.
The kitchen was bright, steamy with warmth and the smells of cooking. Joyce and Colin and Nic were all there, variously occupied, and there was music playing quite loudly. It was a noticeably harmonious scene. Katherine went straight across to Joyce, who was in her chair beside the range. She told her how glad she was to see her, and how well she was looking, both of which were true.
‘Have you seen my feet?’ Joyce demanded.
She extricated them from her slippers and stretched them out for Katherine to admire. Ten bright orange toenails decorated bunioned blue-white toes.
‘Beautiful.’
Joyce pointed, adding quite loudly, ‘She did them. Very nice young girl, not what you’d expect. I can’t remember her name.’
‘Nic,’ Nic laughed from the table.
Katherine said to Nic how good it was to see her at Mead, then hugged Colin and in answer to his murmured question said yes, she was all right so far.
Miranda came in. A draught knifed in from the passage and she latched the door quickly behind her. She placed three bottles of wine on the dresser, which left her arms free to hold out to Katherine.
‘You’re here. Come on, there’s a fire in the drawing room. Let’s go and sit in there.’ She said more loudly, ‘You’ll be all right here, Mum, with Colin.’
‘I’ll be all right, will I? Where are you going?’ Joyce was confused, but not distressed.
There was a huge tree in the dim hall, lights shimmering, wrapped presents laid out beneath. Colin’s would be the ones dressed with wired bows and sprays of crystal beads. There was indeed a fire in the drawing room – fresh logs crackled and showers of red sparks were sucked up the chimney. An immense garland of silver-sprayed evergreens swagged the stone mantel. Miranda laughed as Katherine pointed to it.
‘I know. Col and Nic spent two days on it. They’ve been having a lovely time.’
‘You seem to be orchestrating it all brilliantly. As always,’ Katherine said. Miranda looked uncertain. ‘I don’t know. I…K, it’s so good you’re back. Let’s sit down.’
They took opposite ends of the battered Knole sofa. Close to the fire it was warm but, as always at Mead, the chill lurking in the corners was only temporarily held off. Katherine kicked off her shoes and drew her feet up amongst the velvet cushions. Miranda burrowed for them and rubbed hard.
‘Poor cold thing. You’ve got too used to London central heating. That’s better. Now then. Tell me how you are?’
Katherine hesitated. It didn’t get any easier to confide. It seemed disloyal to Amos to be talking about their marriage, even to Miranda.
‘Where’s Polly?’
Miranda’s head came up quite sharply. ‘Why?’
‘I just wondered. I wanted to tell her too. You know, the three of us. You were both so generous about coming to see me in London. It meant a lot to me,’ Katherine said.
‘We’re friends. That’s what matters, K, friendship is the absolute. It’s the solid gold bar in the safe.’ Miranda’s face was shadowed, but she added, ‘The twins and Ben will be here any minute, I expect Polly’s waiting for them.’
With her fingernail Katherine scraped at a blob of wax on one of the cushions.
‘Mirry, can I stay in one of the rooms upstairs? Just over Christmas, you know. After that I’m going back to London.’
There was no need to spell out anything more.
‘Of course,’ Miranda said gently. ‘It’s final, then?’
Katherine nodded. ‘Yes. Our marriage is over. I’m confused and guilty, angry with Amos and astonished at myself, unable to sleep, anxious about what it means for Chris, and as madly in love as a teenager. I don’t know whether to cry or sing or run away and hide, but I do know that much.’
Miranda had to smile. ‘That seems straightforward, at least.’
‘I’m sorry, Mirry. I’m really so sorry to let you down. I know how much you wanted this Mead experiment to work.’
Miranda reached for her hand. ‘At this stage of life you think you have everything stitched up, don’t you? Then love comes along and rips every seam.’
‘At my age,’ Katherine muttered.
‘At our age,’ Miranda echoed, very softly.
Katherine had only instinct to go on, but a question that until now had been floating in her mind was snagged and held by gossamer threads of conviction.
Their eyes met. ‘What’s going to happen?’ she breathed. ‘To all of us?’
Miranda’s head fell back. ‘God knows. Nothing at all in my case. Bar of gold in the safe, eh? Let’s have our seasonal revels and forget ourselves.’
The door leading from the yard banged open. Colin, Joyce and Nic turned to see who was there. Framed in the doorway, wintry air sweeping in with him, stood Ben. His hair was completely hidden by a grubby knitted beehive hat. His beard had been reduced to a patchy goateee, and various scarves and messenger bags trailed from his coathanger shoulders.
His eyes went straight to Nic.
‘I love you,’ he shouted as if the room were empty but for her.
Everyone gaped at him.
‘Why did you run away? Did you mean to break my heart? Was that the idea?’
Colin lifted one hand to his eyes. Joyce leaned forward in her chair, peering with interest at everyone in turn. Nic sighed as Ben bounded across the kitchen and dropped to his knees beside her. One of his bags slid to the front and threatened to choke him. Batting it away, he stretched his arms wide and rested his ear against Nic’s jumper.
‘You look so pregnant.’
‘Yeah? What did you expect?’
‘Who is this?’ Joyce demanded.
‘Ben, please try not to be such a dork,’ Nic said, with some restraint. ‘Get up, will you?’
‘Doesn’t he know about shutting a door behind him, whoever he is?’
Colin got up and closed it. Ben was still kneeling at Nic’s feet, head on her belly and eyes shut, his face wreathed in a beatific smile.
‘He’s my baby’s father,’ Nic told Joyce.
‘Is he? You mean this is Selwyn’s boy? He looks more like a tramp. Why do all young people dress like refugees nowadays?’
‘I just want to be the father,’ Ben mumbled. ‘I want to do what’s right.’
‘You’ve done all that’s required so far,’ Colin put in. Nic grinned at him as she pushed Ben away.
‘If you don’t get up, Ben, I’m going to kick you.’
He rocked back on to his heels. ‘Say what you like. I’m going to stand by you, Nic. You can count on me.’
‘Right now I’m counting on you to stand up.’
Ben bounced to his feet, sending his accoutrements flying.
He beamed. ‘I’m just so happy to see you, Nic. And so pleased you feel you can be here, for Christmas with me and my mum and dad, and everyone…’ The realization that there were other people in the room now dawned on him. He flew to Joyce and reminded her that the last time they had met had been when he was twelve, and towards Colin he directed his warm, absolutely disarming smile. Even with the misshapen hat and goatee, he was a good-looking boy.
‘I’m sorry guys, that was really rude. Only, this is just such an amazing moment, I can hardly believe it. Nic, you’re actually here.’
Now there was a knock on the back door and a girl’s head appeared.
‘Hi? Can we come in?’
It was the twins, pretty and long-legged, consciously differentiated in their presentation but still as alike as their own reflections. Unlike their brother, they had evidently taken the time to go to the barn and deposit their luggage. There were more greetings and exclamations. Nic was briefly enveloped by them.
‘Crewe Station,’ Joyce grumbled. ‘Is it going to be in and out like this all Christmas?’
Alph and Omie wanted to know where Miranda was? Polly said would everyone come over and have a drink right now? Now that they were all here, they wanted to christen the barn really properly?
Their sentences often ended on a rising inflection.
On cue, Miranda appeared with Katherine. She clapped her hands and kissed all the newcomers. She looked bright-eyed, even slightly feverish.
They streamed out into the yard, light from the open door splashing the cobbles. Headlights swung briefly over the old flint walls as another car drew up. Toby Knight loomed out of the darkness and joined the tail end of the procession into the barn.
Polly stood at the door and welcomed them all in.
She had decorated a fifteen-foot tree that almost scraped the huge cross-beams. The vast open fireplace held what looked like half a blazing tree trunk, and on the newly laid stone hearth stood Selwyn, arms outstretched, glowing with triumph. The backdrop of leaping flames made him appear even more demonic than usual.
The floors were laid, even though there were no skirtings. The walls were solid against the weather, although they were raw plaster. Upstairs the bedrooms all had doors even though the mattresses were laid on bare boards. In two bathrooms as well as in the kitchen, hot water lavishly gushed from the taps. Selwyn had done what he had set out to do, as Polly had always known he would. It was a serious achievement, and through the hubbub she smiled her admiration at him. He gave her a wink in return.
Ben gazed about him. ‘Hey, Dad. Wow. Not bad.’
Amos crossed the room. He held out his hand.
He said, ‘Well done. It all looks wonderful tonight.’
Selwyn shook, grinning at this generosity. ‘Thanks, Amos. I’m not going to say I wish we were doing this in your glass palace instead of my old barn, because – well, that would be a lie, wouldn’t it? But next Christmas, trust me, we’ll be round at yours.’
They shook, and everyone applauded. No one whispered about where yours might be, if it was not to be the glass palace in the meadow.
Joyce was placed in the only armchair, as the Davies children hurried around with glasses and bottles. Polly took her place beside Selwyn. Everyone else drew into a semicircle around the hearth.
Selwyn lifted his glass. Uncharacteristically, Polly noticed, he seemed to be taking the trouble to choose his words. A flicker of foreboding darkened the room’s brilliance and in spite of herself she glanced at Miranda. Miranda’s gaze seemed to be directed into the heart of the fire.
He said, ‘Here we all are. I don’t believe in speeches, as you know.’
There were various catcalls but he raised his voice over them.
‘It’s taken us a while to get here, to Miranda’s pastures old. Forty years, as a matter of fact. A blink of an eye, you might say, to an Iceni princess, but a long time to all of us. Let’s drink a toast to history.’
They began a low obedient murmur, but Polly linked her arm through Selwyn’s and firmly drew him closer to her.
Alpha and Omie squeezed each other’s hands.
Polly hesitated and in the crackling silence the huge log fell an inch, sending a rush of sparks up the chimney. She said in her warm voice, ‘None of us knows what tomorrow will bring, let alone next year. But for tonight, we know who and where we are, and that’s with friends. This is the toast. Here’s to us.’
‘Here’s to us,’ they shouted back to her, filling the barn with a roar. As Polly lifted her glass she saw that Nic’s eyes were shiny with tears. She slipped away from Selwyn’s side and went to her.
‘What’s wrong?’
She gulped. ‘Nothing at all. It’s more that everything’s all right, for now. I’m not used to it, am I?’
Polly drew her hand under Nic’s arm and connected her to the circle. On Nic’s other side Colin murmured, ‘Polly’s right, you know. Us is a good notion. Hang on to that, if you can.’
It was Christmas Eve.
No one at Mead had made a definite suggestion; it was more that a plan had evolved from Amos’s expressed intention to go to the midnight service in Meddlett. Toby and Sam said at once that they would go with him, and both having had girlfriends from good county families they insisted to everyone else that it was traditional to go to the village pub before heading to the church. Selwyn instantly declared that now it was sounding more like his kind of evening and he would come along too.
Polly reminded him that they used always to go when their children were small.
‘I remember, Mum. I loved it,’ Ben dreamily sighed. ‘Being up so late, so excited I couldn’t breathe, looking into the starry sky for a glimpse of the reindeer. I’m definitely up for it. Nic, are you coming?’
She had fixed him with a glare. ‘Round our way it was the night for getting legless on rum and black down some club, then feeling so bad all Christmas Day you couldn’t eat your dinner. It didn’t matter anyway, because your mum had forgotten to take the plastic bag of insides out of the turkey when she stuck it in the oven. It’s not going to be like that for my kid. So yeah, I’ll do church. Why not?’
In the end, by ten o’clock, everyone from all three houses had decided they would come.
Joyce wore a fur coat that had belonged to Jake’s mother. It came down to her ankles, and gave her a marsupial appearance. She topped it off with a knitted hat not totally dissimilar to Ben’s, and as she tottered with him out to the waiting car Polly thought they looked like the old and young of some subpolar tribe. She nudged Selwyn and pointed it out to him.
Selwyn had drunk a lot at dinner. Amos had drunk and eaten well too, gesturing with his fork and describing how he took statins to control his cholesterol level. When the time came to leave, Polly and Katherine manoeuvred the two men into the passenger seats of their cars and took over the driving themselves.
Polly saw Ben trying to corner Nic, but Nic skipped into Colin’s passenger seat as the twins folded themselves into the back. Alph and Omie were wearing little berets and high ankle boots that crunched on the gravel, and together they were a sharp reminder of urban worlds a long way from the crumbling exterior of Mead. Polly was proud of all three of them tonight, even Ben.
Selwyn leaned across Polly and pressed the horn.
‘Let’s get going,’ he shouted, baring his teeth.
The cars set off in a convoy. The curve of the driveway, the trees, and after a few seconds the house itself, were all invisible as the cars headed into a thick mist from the sea. In the lead, Polly hunched forwards and peered into the depths. The beams of the headlamps bounced back at her off a curtain of fog. She was glad that she was driving because otherwise the rolling motion would have made her feel sick. Ben’s head craned over from the back seat.
‘What’s this fog thing? It’s meant to be all frosty and starry,’ he complained in her ear.
Selwyn wound down his window and stuck his head out. Damp air scented with salt and leaf mould instantly filled the car.
‘…Then one foggy Christmas Eve, Santa came to say,’ he bawled into the night. Colin braked hard to avoid hitting Polly’s bumper and happily sang back at the dim red glow of her tail lights. The three girls laughed and joined in, Omie improvising a passable descant line. The four cars edged between the stone gateposts and headed for Meddlett, the chorus of ‘Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer’ drifting raucously into the soundless fog, with Toby and Sam slapping at the side panels of the Jaguar as accompaniment.
