It Must Have Been the Mistletoe

by Judy Astley

  Thea had put the card on her kitchen dresser, making sure Liz and the white-fluff monstrosity were obscured by a card with a jolly robin on it. Surely it couldn’t have been normal for Liz to have been so jealous of her brother’s fiancée? What kind of weirdness was that? When Thea and Rich had told his family that they were engaged, Liz had privately told Thea that their relationship ‘will never work’. And she’d sneered, ‘Rich is a dog person, through and through, like all our family but you are quite obviously cats.’

  Thea did not have a cat, hadn’t had one since she was about thirteen and big ginger Barry, who’d been two years older than her, had quietly died while asleep in his favourite patch of sunshine under the wisteria – but she got the general idea. Liz also once said that she’d found a perfect dress to wear for their wedding – a green one. She didn’t need to explain that green at a wedding was unlucky. An odd family.

  It had taken a while, but that card was one more hand-hold up on that climbing wall to thinking she’d had a lucky escape from a lifetime of dog shows, puppies and the annual near-orgasmic excitement about Cruft’s. In fact, and the thought lightened Thea’s spirits quite a bit, once Christmas was over she would get herself a little cat. It would not be a fancy breed, would not require daily grooming or special food or mates chosen for their bloodline or have a pedigree that was up there with feline royalty. There were plenty of rescue mogs needing a warm home and a comfy lap to purr on.

  Thea was in luck – there was a resident’s parking space outside her house. She staggered up the path with her bags as Mr Over-the-Road was passing with the little Westie. ‘You’re coming tonight, aren’t you, love?’ he said. ‘About seven thirty?’

  ‘I’ll be there – looking forward to it. Anything you’d like me to bring?’ She dumped a few bags on the doorstep and put the key in the lock. She hoped the answer to her question would either be ‘a bottle’ or just no, otherwise she’d have to run down to the supermarket for some canapés that she could tinker with till they looked homemade. There was still the spreadsheet to tackle.

  ‘No, darling, just your lovely self. There’s a bit of mistletoe with your name on.’

  It was too dark to see whether he was winking at her, but if she had to bet on it, she’d feel pretty safe to risk a tenner. Either way, at least she didn’t have to go out for sausage rolls.

  He was keen, Anna would say that for him. She hadn’t really expected that someone twelve years younger than her would be so enthusiastic. It was very thrilling and of course hugely flattering, being adored by this delightful man, but even though it had been over a month now she was having trouble quite believing in it. It couldn’t last, could it? She wasn’t even sure she wanted it to as she certainly wasn’t looking for another long-term partner, but for now it was just what she needed to launch her into the next stage in her life, the stage where she wouldn’t be living with Mike any more.

  She walked down the High Road, heading for the bookshop where she and Alec had first met as guests at the launch of a collection of poems written by one of her book-group friends. Over warm white wine and tepid mushroom vol-au-vents they’d bonded by having the giggles as Miriam (pushing eighty and with bright orange spiky hair, dressed in flowing purple which made Anna think of the Pope) read – in that intense, important way that poets so often do – a sonnet comparing a garden slug to a penis: ‘the shaft thickens, glides and glistens, shifts its slickness on the moisted moss …’

  ‘… falls into beer trap, deflates and drowns.’ Alec, who till that moment she’d never met, had whispered his own next line to her and she’d swiftly had to hide behind the science-fiction shelves and stifle an outburst of inappropriate laughter.

  ‘Sorry,’ he’d said, not remotely meaning it, as a few minutes later Miriam finished her reading to a polite blast of applause. ‘I just couldn’t resist.’

  ‘No, please don’t apologize,’ Anna had said, still wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. ‘It was very funny, and – er, probably poetically apt – the beer and so on …’ She’d felt flustered then. Perhaps he hadn’t meant to imply the thing about brewer’s droop. But of course he had. He’d grinned at her: he had a very naughty sort of face and his eyes were full of laughter, something she later learned was very much a default setting.

  ‘Another glass?’ he’d offered, taking her empty one from her hand. And then later, there’d been shared chips and Prosecco at the bar across the road, neither of them fancying more to eat than that after overdoing party food at the launch.

  ‘So how do you know the great poet Miriam?’ he’d asked.

  ‘From our book group. She’s one of our more, shall we say, opinionated members. And you don’t want to sit too close because when she’s in full flow she’s a great one for waving her arms around. We’ve had several wine-glass disasters and a messy vase of tulips accident. How about you? How do you know her?’

  ‘She’s my mother,’ he told her. And they’d both laughed so ridiculously hard (the Prosecco effect?) that they ended up clinging to each other for support.

  Anna was smiling at this recollection as she arrived at the bookshop. She stopped to look in the window and saw several books that would make such perfect Christmas presents that she felt thorough gratitude to whoever had arranged the window. You had to be so careful with books; this year it would be the height of tactlessness to, say, give Thea a selection of the romantic comedies she’d always liked till Rich went. And Emily, with her current mood of anxious gloom, would certainly not have her state of mind perked up by a dark and meaningful Scandinavian opus.

  She went inside with a mental list already in her head, picked out what she wanted and made a heap of them on the counter.

  ‘Have you got a good one for me?’ Alec came up behind her and ran his fingers across the back of her neck, making her tingle.

  ‘You’ll have to wait and see what Santa brings you,’ she said, putting a last book, a stunningly illustrated one about container gardening – Jimi’s wife Rosie would love it – on the pile.

  ‘Across to the usual place?’ Alec suggested after she’d paid.

  She nodded. He took the bag of books from her and clasped hold of her hand. His felt warm, in spite of the near-frosty air. She used to think anyone past teenage years looked utterly imbecilic holding hands on the street, but now she just found it rather romantic. And besides, the pavement was uneven and a bit slippery. She tried not to think this was even part of the reason for holding on to Alec. That way, the next stop would be a trusty cane and she hoped she had many years to go before that was the safest option.

  The bar was screechily noisy with office Christmas parties but their usual table in the corner alcove was free. ‘Tea or the usual?’ Alec asked.

  ‘Usual, please,’ she told him. ‘I’ll get them.’ And she went to the bar to order two glasses of champagne before he could protest at her paying. He seemed quite old-fashioned that way and she was surprised. Surely he’d grown up in an age where women’s equality was well established, as opposed to Anna herself, who had been thoroughly involved in the early seventies’ battle for it?

  ‘So you’re off to Cornwall at the weekend,’ he said, after the waitress had come over with the drinks and two shot glasses full of Smarties. He sounded rather down about the idea.

  ‘Yes. The big family Christmas. How about you? Seeing the children?’

  ‘Well – on and off. Suki’s taking them up to Cheshire to spend Christmas with her parents. I had them last year so it’s only fair. I’ll see them before they go and we’ll do the presents and stuff at my flat. They’ll stay over and we’ll have crackers and a goose. Will teenagers like goose, do you think?’

  Anna couldn’t clearly remember how hers had been about food. Their teenage years were half their lifetimes away now. Alec’s children were younger than her oldest grandchild. That had taken a bit of getting her head round. ‘Well, I only really know one these days and he eats everything. It’ll be fine.’

  ‘Supp
ose so.’ He didn’t sound too sure.

  ‘You won’t be on your own for actual Christmas?’ Anna asked.

  He shrugged. ‘I might go to my brother’s. He’s said I could if I’ve got nothing better to do.’ He laughed. ‘Not the most gracious invitation I’ve ever had, I’ll admit.’

  It didn’t sound very merry. Anna thought for a minute. How terrible would it be, to add one more to the Cornwall party? Very terrible, probably. Terminally terrible. And so wrong. You didn’t just impose a stranger on the family like that. And what about sleeping arrangements? She’d so far spent a few happy afternoons in bed with Alec and they had been very delightful times but it had been in his flat, in a darkened room. Her body was in good enough condition because of years of yoga, but all the same it was still the body of a woman who wouldn’t see middle age again. She didn’t want to be wandering about in full daylight in underwear, still less share a bathroom with a man again, even for a few days. Nor did she want to be conscious that her day-to-day knickers were what Elmo’s friends would call granny-pants. But apart from those vanity questions, what about the family? You couldn’t shock them by suddenly introducing an unexpected lover to the mix. No, she couldn’t invite him. It wouldn’t work. It wouldn’t be fair on the others and especially not on Mike, even if he had got this … Charlotte in his life. He certainly hadn’t mentioned inviting her.

  The two of them parted on the pavement, Alec to walk up to the tube station and Anna to catch a bus. He put his arms round her and kissed her, their accumulated years falling away so Anna felt they were just a pair of entwined teenagers.

  ‘Euw, look at the olds.’ A bunch of teens jostled beside them on the pavement. ‘Get a room, perlease,’ one of them called.

  Anna and Alec ignored them. ‘I won’t see you for ages,’ he murmured into her hair. ‘Don’t forget about me, will you?’

  ‘Of course not,’ she reassured him. ‘It’s not for long. And if you get too lonely, I’m only a train ride away. Even if it is a five-hour one.’

  ‘Really?’ He stepped back and looked at her, all bright-eyed. ‘Well, I might just take you up on that.’

  Oh lordy, she thought minutes later as she zapped her Freedom Pass on the bus. After all her reasoning, what the hell had she just done? She would blame that second glass of fizz and hope he’d forget what she’d said.

  After a hot bath, Thea would have been far happier on this last school work day to get into bed with a book and a mug of tea and snuggle deep into her duvet than to put on a slinky dress, full-scale make-up and killer heels and go out to a duty-party full of neighbours that she barely knew. On the other hand, if she didn’t turn up, she wouldn’t put it past the Over-the-Roads (she really should think of them as Robbie and June) to come and knock on the door to demand she stop being a party-pooper. They were very keen on neighbourly get-togethers, even if it was mostly to have a thoroughly pleasing grumble about some people’s slapdash parking and some shocking wheelie-bin habits. So she made an effort, putting on a black crushed-velvet dress, a glittery necklace, silver lacy tights and a pair of not-too-high black patent shoes that were her favourites for parties where there would be a lot of standing around.

  She and Jenny had agreed long ago in a staff-room discussion that serious heels could be walked in quite easily over a good distance but could be strangely painful for simply standing about. You learned that the hard way, it now occurred to Thea as she flicked her hair into fronds. In her twenties, parties had been for dancing and running about and she hadn’t given her footwear a thought. It was only on the more sedate, grown-up occasions that she seemed to go to now that she’d discovered this sneaky truth about heels. All the same, she was far too young to give them up, and she liked the extra height.

  ‘Ah, you’re here. Come in, come in!’ Robbie opened his front door and welcomed her in with exuberance. Thea’s arm brushed past the massive ornate wreath on the OTRs’ front door, dislodging a satsuma that rolled and bumped its way down the path.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said.

  ‘No problem, plenty more in the fruit bowl,’ Robbie told her. ‘No coat? You’ll freeze, a little thin thing like you.’ He took hold of her upper arm and gave it a rub. She hoped she’d only imagined his fingers were pressing against her breast. It must have been accidental and besides, he was definitely on the far side of a lot of mulled wine. There was almost a haze of it round him.

  ‘Let me get you a drink,’ Robbie said then, taking her hand and leading her through to the kitchen.

  June noticed the hand-holding and raised an eyebrow. ‘She’s a grown-up, Rob, she can walk without your help,’ she warned her husband, grinning at Thea.

  Thea wriggled her fingers free of his hot paw and accepted a steaming glass of wine. She took a sip. It was sweet and cloying, but wonderfully scented with cinnamon.

  ‘It’s the perfect taste of Christmas, isn’t it?’ June said. ‘I do like to keep to the old traditions. You young people – if we left it to you lot they’d all die out. You haven’t put up decorations, have you?’

  Hmm … so June had been peering through her windows. She wouldn’t think of it like that, though, more a vague looking-around while the Westie peed against the gatepost.

  ‘No point this year,’ Thea told her, ‘because I’ll be going away. Big family thing in Cornwall.’

  ‘And where has that young man of yours been hiding lately? We haven’t seen him and his lovely big dog for a while.’

  ‘Ah. Er, Rich and I have split up.’ Thea felt uncomfortable saying this. June made a sympathetic face that also managed to be full of curiosity as to what had gone wrong.

  ‘Oh, that’s a shame. So you won’t be getting married after all then?’

  Thea smiled. ‘Seems not.’

  ‘Such a pity. You’d make a lovely young bride.’ Robbie, listening in, winked at her.

  ‘Not that young,’ Thea muttered.

  ‘Of course you are, dear. And there’s someone for everyone, that’s what I think. So don’t give up. Now – do you want me to keep an eye on the house for you while you’re away? You could leave us a key.’

  It was a kind offer but it meant Thea had to banish thoughts of Mr Over-the-Road rummaging through her knicker drawer. All the same, it probably made sense, though what she could do about any disasters he might report from three hundred miles away, she couldn’t guess.

  The party was full of couples: this was an observation that always seemed so obvious to the single and Thea joined a group talking about their children and about when and how to confess that Santa was really Daddy.

  ‘Do you have children?’ one of the bright young marrieds asked her.

  ‘No,’ she replied, ‘but I’m a primary school teacher so I—’

  ‘Ah, but that’s not really the same, is it?’ the woman cut in. ‘You can’t possibly know what they’re like outside the classroom. What you see isn’t even the half of it.’ She seemed to find this amusing and her laugh was tinkly and sharp.

  Thea didn’t find it at all funny and felt hurt. She accepted a third glass of the sticky wine and wolfed down a few mince pies for ballast, wondering how soon she could politely make her excuses and go home to watch TV and wrap some presents. But just as she was getting to that possible moment, someone started playing June’s piano and the room began to erupt in a rousing medley of Christmas songs. Robbie put an arm round her waist and firmly led her into the throng. Thea liked singing. She was a bit drunk by now and she joined in, deciding it was as good a way as any to forget about being the only partnerless guest, about the loss of that year’s promise and plans and the fact that the bloody spreadsheet and list was still only half-formed in her computer. It was only when everyone started on the carols that she made a move to leave. There had always been something about them that made her feel tearful, even in the cheeriest of years, and the wine was likely to make her even more maudlin. The first line of ‘Once in Royal …’ and she’d be off.

  ‘Thanks for a great evening,
’ she said to Robbie as she headed for the front door. ‘I had such a good time.’ And she had, she realized – apart from that woman’s snippy remark.

  ‘Our pleasure, my dear.’ Robbie shuffled closer to her by the front door, showing no sign of intending to open it. She fumbled for the catch, at last managing to get it undone. Robbie was rather too close to her.

  ‘So your boyfriend has buggered off then?’ he remarked, which surprised her.

  ‘Well yes, a while back. I was telling June. Why?’

  To her surprise, he laughed and then lurched towards her, his grey moustache twitching with excitement. ‘Just making sure, because in that case, there’s no one to punch me in the nose for this.’ And he pushed her against the doorframe, waved a tiny twig of mistletoe over her and planted a sticky, cinnamon-flavoured kiss as close as he could guess to her lips.

  ‘Merry Christmas, dear girl!’ he bellowed as she shoved him away far more gently than she felt like doing, hauled the door open and bolted down the path, not turning to see him brandishing his mistletoe after her and shouting, ‘And there’s plenty more where that came from if your Christmas plans don’t work out!’

  She waved but didn’t look back. Her original Christmas plans had fallen to pieces months before but she wasn’t going to think about that now. Instead she ran straight upstairs, brushed all taste of the gloopy wine from her teeth, threw her velvet dress onto a chair in her room and fell into bed without taking her makeup off. Her dreams were full of plump tiny babies who lay silently watching as Santa placed stockings full of presents on the ends of their cots. And when she woke up in the 6 a.m. dark, the pillow was covered in stripes of mascara and her face was puffy from tears.