by Judy Astley
‘Sorry,’ she said as she slowed for the traffic lights at Mortlake. ‘I’m just so …’
‘Wound up?’ Sam looked at her. He was smiling, looking fond. Was that an example of being passive-aggressive, she wondered, or was he just being nice? Whatever it was, it was confusing. If he’d been scowling at her she could have retaliated. Now she just turned her attention back to the road ahead as the heavy Sunday-lunch traffic inched forward. The blue Toyota in front had gone hazy. Oh, not tears – not now.
‘You need to learn to let go a bit, Em,’ Sam said softly, passing her a tissue from the box on the floor. ‘I haven’t completely screwed up on the home front, you know. The kids get fed, exercised and read to, don’t they?’
‘I know, I know,’ Emily said, at last driving across the lights. ‘It’s just Christmas coming up and there’s so much to do and I’ve got to clear the decks workwise because January is the busiest time …’
‘I can do the Christmas stuff for you. I’ll shop, get all the food, everything. Do the tree, get the cards. Just give me a list.’
‘For you’ and ‘a list’ – and that was what summed it up, didn’t it? Emily felt her eyes filling again and dabbed at them carefully, not wanting her make-up to shift. Sam made a wonderful stay-at-home husband and had fewer than a couple of thousand words of amusing journalism to come up with per week, but even after two years of it he still needed a list. He was still doing the childcare for her.
‘Mummeee. Are we nearly there yet? I need a wee,’ Alfie called from behind Emily’s seat.
‘Yes, sweetie. We’re here. Right now.’ She turned the car off the road and in past the iron gates that had gone so rusty that they no longer even closed. The gravel skittered beneath the wheels and she stopped just short of her brother Jimi’s BMW. She climbed out of the car and looked up at the house as she opened the Golf’s back door. The windowframes all needed painting, and the windowboxes where her mother would have planted next spring’s frilled purple and pink tulips looked as if they could crash to the ground any second, supported as they were at a dangerously lurching angle on the splintery ledges. But it was still the house she thought of as ‘home’, the haven – albeit now a bit shabby – she could feel comforted by.
Their own house was a constant work-in-progress, a building that was still only halfway to being the snug family nest she’d planned it to be. Would the tiles in the children’s bathroom ever be grouted? Would the wind-blown garden fence-panels ever be replaced? Why were there two much-needed bookcases still flat in their packs? Stop it, she told herself as she helped Alfie down from the car. Things could be far worse. For a start, she wouldn’t trade places with her sister, that was for sure. Who would want to be suddenly cast back into singledom after all those years with someone, even though Thea had always been the one in the family who’d got all the gorgeousness genes. Where were the men of her age that would be any use? Single ones were either ditherers, serial shaggers or mummies’ boys. Divorced ones had alimony and enough children already, thank you.
‘OK – in you go, kids,’ Sam said as Milly and Alfie celebrated their release from the car by running round and round the plum tree planted in the garden’s central patch of scuffed grass.
Emily locked the car and took a deep breath. ‘So now we’ll find out what this big thing is that they have to tell us,’ she said to Sam. ‘I hope it isn’t that they’ve decided to sell this place. They can’t keep up with it much longer, it’s obvious, but I’ll be so sad if it goes.’
‘Hmm,’ Sam replied. ‘But surely for them, moving might be a good thing? They must rattle around in here.’
‘Yes, I know, but don’t forget that according to them they’re not even officially together any more, so they think they need plenty of room.’
He laughed. ‘Oh, the irony. They split up and so they need to stay together in this great big house. Mad, your parents. Tell me I’m wrong on that.’
Emily couldn’t. She called the children away from where they’d crawled under the jungle of hydrangeas by the side wall and went up the steps. Thea opened the door and Emily hugged her, scenting from beyond the hallway the tempting aroma of a full-scale Sunday roast.
‘Have they told you anything yet?’ she whispered, peering past Thea to see if their mother was coming to greet them.
‘No. No hint of anything different. I expect they’re waiting till we’re all here.’
Emily relaxed. ‘You know what it’ll be? They’ll be wanting to ask us what we’re all doing for Christmas.’ Her sister’s face fell and she wished she hadn’t mentioned it.
‘Sorry, Tee, I didn’t mean … I shouldn’t have …’
‘No, no, you’re OK,’ Thea said flatly as they all headed for the kitchen, Emily’s heels tap-tapping on the old tiled floor. ‘And anyway, you’re probably right. All it’ll be is something about Christmas.’
TWO
Anna was almost having second thoughts. Almost, but not quite. She fired up the little blowtorch that she always imagined as a Barbie Doll’s flame-thrower and carefully scorched the icing sugar on top of the lemon tart. As the sugar caramelized and browned, she wondered how it was going to be after the start of the new year, not to see Mike every single day. They would still be friends, they’d promised each other that; in fact, the very best of friends. How could they not be? Forty-five years of living with someone was at least half a good long lifetime, and you couldn’t throw it all away just because there was a thrilling new path to take. Also, as she hadn’t met him till she was nearly twenty you had to say it added up to more than the middle and best parts of her life, all things considered. You didn’t give up on it lightly.
Was Mike feeling the same? Now they’d made their big bold decision to go their separate ways in reality, not just apart-but-together, still sharing the house, as they’d been for over a year now, was Mike too having moments of wavering? She both hoped he was and that he wasn’t. She had to hang on to the feeling that this was a bold and bright new adventure. It was a beginning far more than it was an ending. She mustn’t think about what was over or have any regrets, because that was something else they’d promised each other.
She made a pattern of little hearts all over the top of the tart and watched as they blurred into shapeless splodges. It was all very well her and Mike being so cheerily positive about the arrangements they were making for the rest of their lives – but what on earth were the children going to say? And when did you stop thinking of them as ‘the children’? When they hit forty (nearly there in Jimi’s case)? Fifty? Never? The trouble was, they thought of her and Mike as parents first, ‘people’ second. They were going to see her and Mike’s decision almost entirely from their own point of view, and it could get messy. Still they had to be told before the estate agent came and put up a For Sale sign by the gate. She’d know soon enough what the fall-out would be.
Anna could hear Thea in the hallway, letting Emily, Sam and the children in. Jimi was down the garden in Mike’s studio, probably being asked about which storage warehouse would be the most reliable for his large stock of paintings and wondering why his father needed the information.
Time to face them all.
She switched off the blowtorch and put it on the worktop next to the toaster. All this ‘stuff’, she thought as she scooped a few old toast crumbs off the granite. She flicked them into the bin then stood back and, as if she were compiling an inventory, looked at the four pepper grinders, the lop-sided pot Emily had made in primary school which held at least two dozen wooden spoons and spatulas, the knife rack from which she only ever used two of the many knives, the mismatched heap of saucers that she used to put under plant pots, the metal basket of eggs from Win-up-the-Road’s chickens. There were three woks and at least seven assorted-size colanders and sieves hanging from the hooks on the wall. Who needed that many?
She saw all this with the fresh and eager eyes of someone who would soon no longer be in possession of more than the essentials that would have t
o fit into a kitchen that was certain to be a lot smaller than this one. There was so much de-cluttering to be done; so much to get rid of to make way for the new start. It would be so liberating, no longer to be lumbered with all this excess kit. Recently she’d felt completely weighed down by it all. The house was massive – way too big for two people, even if they were occupying separate bedrooms and bathrooms. And the place was growing tired and shabby at the edges. It needed a lovely young family who had plenty of years ahead of them to update it and love it and make it sparkle again. That was what she wanted now too – somewhere light and new, without any dark, neglected corners, and where you didn’t feel that, at any second, the ancient boiler was going to pack up or that the water tanks which had been in the loft for decades might give way in a big frost.
The back door opened and Mike came in. Jimi stayed outside having a sly cigarette, still cupping it into his hand and blowing smoke over the fence as if Anna was going to tell him off as she had in his teens. She did wish he didn’t do it, but he’d been a grown-up for a long time now and, besides, he knew the risks.
‘All ready?’ Mike asked, opening the fridge and taking out a bottle of champagne. He smiled at her, his eyes shining and excited. He surely also looked at this Charlotte woman like that these days. Anna wasn’t jealous – not at all. Even so, she didn’t really want to dwell on it.
‘All ready, though maybe we should leave the big announcement till pudding?’ she said with a brightness that was not entirely genuine. ‘In case they all kick off a bit.’ Emily was the most likely to, when she thought about it: of the three of them, she was the most traditional. There were times when Anna was half-convinced she’d been swapped over in the hospital nursery soon after birth. Who would have thought that an artist and a textiles lecturer would produce a daughter who’d chosen to be an accountant? It reminded her of a Monty Python sketch in which a poet disparages his son’s choice of career, with: ‘You and your namby-pamby coal mining.’
‘OK,’ Mike agreed. ‘Though as they already know we’ve got some big thing to tell them, they’ll be hinting like crazy and pretty much bouncing on their chairs by then.’ He laughed. ‘Which is part of the fun, isn’t it?’ His laughter stopped abruptly. ‘They won’t think it’s fun, though, will they? They might take some persuading. It’ll be a shock.’
Anna had a sudden urge to take hold of his hand, to hug him, to snuggle up tight against the battered old purple Aran sweater that she had knitted for him about twenty years ago. This was going to be a big moment and they needed to face the assembled party properly united because for the others, if not for her and Mike, it might not be that easy.
It wasn’t so much an elephant in the room as a big electric charge fizzing slightly in the background and waiting to go bang, Thea thought as she helped herself to another roast parsnip. The moment they’d all sat down, Jimi had asked what the big mystery was but Anna had brushed him off, saying just to relax, eat and hang on till pudding. It made conversation a bit brittle. Everyone seemed to be talking (and eating) too fast, as if they’d get to the big reveal moment a lot quicker that way.
‘How’s work? School OK?’ Mike asked Thea during one of the many slightly strained little breaks in conversation.
‘Oh, school’s great, always is, except the children are all completely hyper about Christmas. It’s hard to get them to settle to anything now they’ve got the decorations up and the classroom is full of paper-chains and tinsel. I’m up to here in entertainment politics with the parents too. We’re having a Yule celebration instead of a nativity play but there are three mothers who I’m sure have been training up their infants for the Mary and Jesus roles for years.’
‘Awkward,’ Jimi commented. ‘But you can see their point – nativity costumes are so much easier to put together than sorting a Green Man outfit. You only need tea towels for headgear, a dolly and a toy lamb.’
‘It’s not the costumes they’re fussing about, it’s who gets the leading role,’ Thea said. ‘They all look completely puzzled by the idea that there might not be one.’
‘Yes, but it’s good to have something not nativity sometimes, because you need to embrace the multicultural aspect, don’t you?’ Emily put in. ‘By the time children are eleven they should have some grounding in all the major festivals, not just one.’
‘Embrace the pagan too? I’m all for that,’ Anna said. ‘Though I can see some parents might object.’
‘You need a PhD in diplomacy skills to be a teacher, I think. I don’t know how you do it, Thea. I’d be exhausted.’ That was Sam. ‘When I’m picking up Milly from school I see the same pushy mummies strutting on serious heels into the classroom almost daily to demand why little Tobias or Tabitha’s genius is not being properly recognized. The nativity-play battle must be the least of it.’ He then turned to Anna. ‘So, in-laws, now we’re on the Christmas theme: what are your plans for this year? Why don’t all of you come to us this time?’
Thea saw him wince suddenly and guessed he’d been sharply kicked on the ankle by Emily, who was glaring across the table at him.
‘Not run that one past you then, Em?’ she murmured to her sister.
‘Nope,’ Emily said tightly. ‘Not that I’m surprised. Typical Sam.’
‘Christmas!’ yelled Alfie. ‘Father Christmas is bringing me a bike!’
‘Is he, sweetie?’ Anna said. ‘You’re a very lucky boy.’
‘He might not be,’ Emily hissed in Sam’s direction. ‘We thought perhaps Santa might leave bikes till next year.’
‘But Daddy said!’ Alfie was building up to a wail.
‘Yes, I expect Daddy did.’
Thea felt sorry for the child. ‘I think Father Christmas likes to bring surprises,’ she told him, ‘but always really, really nice surprises. So whatever it is, I’m sure you’ll love it.’
‘He’d love a bike,’ Milly growled.
‘Oh God,’ said Emily. ‘Let’s just wait and see, shall we? And will someone have that last potato so that I don’t?’ She tweaked at her dress, pulling it away from her stomach and frowning. Jimi reached across and took it from the dish, putting it straight into his mouth.
Alfie giggled. ‘Mummy says that’s naughty.’
‘Mummy’s right,’ Jimi said. ‘But it’s not badly naughty.’
‘Mummy is just trying to teach Alfie some manners. But self-discipline is all out of the window these days, isn’t it? Like all the people who just won’t even look at their accounts till the last possible day. Oh, I dread January! It’s a nightmare, and all this last-minute tax-return panic could be avoided if everyone just had a system. How are accountants ever supposed to enjoy Christmas?’ Emily rubbed her fingers briskly across her face and Thea got the impression her sister was about to cry. She’d always shed tears easily. Their mother had mostly ignored them unless there was actual blood or a limb looked badly angled or a pet had died. She’d shrug and say tears were the obvious youngest-child weapon against more articulate and stronger siblings.
‘Not boo-hooing, are you, Em?’ Jimi teased.
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Emily mumbled, blinking hard.
‘Oh, darling.’ Anna reached out and took Emily’s hand. ‘You do sound so tense. I’m so sorry.’ Thea saw her glance across at Mike, looking worried. He picked up a bottle and offered Emily a top-up of wine.
‘No, thanks, Dad. Sam’s driving home but I don’t want any more.’ She sighed and closed her eyes. ‘I just want to know – actually, we all want to know – what it is you and Mum want to tell us. Are you ill?’
‘Ill?’ Mike repeated, looking puzzled. ‘No, we’re not ill. Not that we know, anyway. No more than any other old hippies of our age, I suppose. What made you think we might be?’
‘Because you’re being so secretive, all mysterious!’ She was close to shouting.
‘She’s got a point, Dad. On the phone you sounded as if you had some seriously major thing going on,’ Thea told him, then she joked: ‘Have you had a massiv
e lottery win? Aren’t you taking the No Publicity element a bit far by not even telling us?’
‘OK, look, let’s clear all this lot away and get the lemon tart and the cheese and we’ll tell you. It’s nothing terrible, I promise.’ Anna started collecting plates. ‘I’m so sorry if you thought it was going to be. And it does involve Christmas too, so, Emily, please don’t go thinking about having enough chairs and ordering a giant turkey. It’ll all be fine, trust me.’
Jimi laughed. ‘Hmm. Trust. We’ll see …’
Thea stacked up a heap of dishes and followed her mother across the kitchen where she started rinsing plates and loading the dishwasher. She thought about Rich for a second. He’d be standing beside her, his tall lanky body looming over her, reaching a hand in now and then like a swift-moving crab to reposition crockery from where she’d stacked it and doing it his way. He’d have palpitations if he could see her putting the spoons in the same compartment as the forks. She shoved a knife in with them at the same time as a kind of sod you gesture and had one of the few moments of sudden lightness of heart about not having him overseeing her every move. In retrospect, it had been pretty wearing at times. ‘I just like everything to be organized properly,’ he’d say if she came up with any small objection – or even an amused comment – about him arranging shampoos, conditioners and shower gels in height order in the bathroom cupboard. On one occasion when she’d just come in from work and had gone for a quick hello-I’m-home kiss, he’d put a hand up for her to wait, walked to the front door and straightened the mat after her incoming boot had skewed it an inch.
