It Must Have Been the Mistletoe

by Judy Astley

  ‘No, trust me,’ Charlotte said, looking briefly at Alec. ‘I’ve been very greedy.’

  ‘Have you been at the wine, Chazz?’ Mike asked.

  ‘No more than usual, darling,’ Charlotte purred at him. ‘Just a little livener for later, to put me in the mood.’

  ‘You always seem to be in the mood,’ Rosie said, rather unexpectedly but not without good humour.

  ‘That’s me, sweetie,’ Charlotte said. ‘Life’s too short not to grasp every opportunity, isn’t it?’

  Mike watched as Charlotte reached into her jumper and adjusted her bra strap, showing as she did so a soft creamy expanse of breast. A few weeks ago, barely even that, he’d have found the gesture madly stimulating but at the moment he was simply reminded of Les Dawson, dressed as a gossipy woman in an overall and adjusting his bosom before passing on a titbit of scandal to a neighbour over the fence. He now preferred the grace with which Anna glided round the place. He’d almost forgotten – only almost, thank goodness – how elegantly she moved. She’d done a lot of ballet in her youth, she’d told him years before when they’d first met in a teepee while watching Bob Dylan at the Isle of Wight festival, and she had never lost the poise. Over these few Christmas days Mike had realized he’d never get tired of watching her simply walking around the place. Whatever had they been thinking of? And was she on the same page as he was about this? He very much hoped so.

  Thea wasn’t sure what to wear. It was only the village pub they were going to but she wanted to make an effort. She was tired of being bundled up in jeans and jumpers and layers of scarves. She had a dress that would work – dark blue, simple, warm and not over-the-top fancy, with a strange looped-up hem in places which made it look quite wacky – but it wouldn’t really go with the sheepskin boots she’d be needing to tramp over the snow to the Fisherman’s Arms. She decided she’d take the medium-heeled ankle boots she’d brought with her in a separate bag, in the hope that the simple act of changing from one pair to another in the loo wouldn’t mark her out as an overdressed upcountry emmet. It wasn’t Sean she was dressing up for, definitely not. He wouldn’t notice anyway, although he did seem quite … what was the word … fond of her. Twice, she recalled, he’d even had a go at kissing her under that damn mistletoe, but it had all been just a fun, polite thing, the same as the way she kissed Jenny at home and her other female friends hello and goodbye. Nothing more than general affection. Shame really, but that was the way things went sometimes.

  Emily came into her room as she was applying mascara. ‘I’m not coming tonight,’ she told Thea. ‘Rosie offered to babysit but I think I’ll just have an early night. If we can ever get out of the village, we’ll be going home tomorrow and it’s such a long, tiring way when half the world is on the road with you. It’ll be jams all the way, won’t it?’

  ‘Probably. I wonder if we will get to go, though?’ Thea said, fumbling through her make-up bag for the right lipstick. She did wonder why she bothered with it – the stuff never seemed to stay on. She wondered what Charlotte’s trick was; her mouth seemed to be permanently a deep rich scarlet. ‘Like a baboon’s arse’ her mother had said, just after Charlotte had arrived.

  ‘I need to get home.’ Emily sat on Thea’s bed. ‘Is there no one who can clear a road in this county? Where are the snowploughs?’

  She was sounding frightened, Thea thought. ‘Even if there are any, they can’t do every country track, Em. But it’ll be fine. I had a feeling earlier that it’s starting to melt. Another couple of degrees up and it’ll be gone in hours, and then we’ll have a mass of mud to complain about instead.’

  ‘I wouldn’t complain. I’d just be grateful. You and that Sean were very lovely with the children on the beach earlier. He’s OK, isn’t he?’

  ‘He is.’ Thea smiled at Emily by way of the mirror. ‘And if things were different …’

  ‘How different?’

  ‘He’s gay.’

  ‘He so isn’t. And he likes you. He was holding your hand. Sweet.’ Emily chuckled.

  ‘No, he is. He and Paul …’

  ‘Paul? No, no, no, you’re wrong. I bet you fifty quid.’ Emily was adamant. ‘And you can’t argue with a—’ She stopped abruptly.

  ‘Pregnant woman?’ Thea risked it.

  ‘How did you know? Did Mum say something?’ Emily frowned. ‘It’s too early days to tell anyone.’

  ‘No, she didn’t say anything. It was just a feeling. And something about you. And the fact you keep refusing wine – I’ll admit that was a bit suss.’

  ‘You don’t mind? At the risk of sounding like Charlotte, the word “greedy” does come to mind.’

  ‘The words “lucky cow” come to my mind but that’s only envy, not actual jealousy. I think it’s brilliant.’

  ‘It was a mistake.’

  ‘Yeah, and? Mistakes can be great things. And besides, you’ve got the maiden aunt to help out with the other two if you need her.’

  Emily’s eyes filled with their usual easy tears. ‘Thanks, Thea. You’re a lot more than I deserve.’

  Thea’s instinct about the temperature rise had been spot on. As they all walked up the lane to the pub, lit by the boot-room torch, the snow underfoot was now definitely slushy, soft as a sorbet. Snow dripped from the trees, and every now and then a whoosh of the stuff fell into the road. Some landed on Elmo’s head and he brushed it off impatiently, saying, ‘Oh man, my hair,’ and tweaking at it furiously.

  ‘That’s new,’ Rosie commented to Thea. ‘He’s never given a flying one about his hair before now. I’d only just got used to the constant whiff of Lynx. Next it’ll be hair products and a ton of bathroom clutter.’

  Thea thought she wouldn’t mention seeing Elmo kissing Daisy. A teenager was entitled to conduct his first romances without parental gloating and questions. ‘He’s quite a looker. He’ll get a lot of attention,’ she told Rosie.

  ‘Do you think so? Hard to tell, me being his biased mother. Am I going to get a stream of minxy young girls in the house, making me feel old and fat?’

  ‘Yes. That goes with the territory,’ Anna joined in. ‘But they’ll be lovely young things, and just as you get used to them and decide they’re part of the family, the two of them will break up and you’ll be asking “Where is Lucy/Sophie/Chantelle?” and Elmo will just shrug and bring in a new one. My top tip is never learn their names – that way you can’t send them into a sulk by calling them by the wrong one.’

  The pub was busy, full of people taking refuge from the remains of Christmas and looking thrilled to have come out in the snow to find the world still functioning. The clientele was a mixture of locals in what Paul would call ‘dung-coloured’ clothes, and holiday-makers and families from up-country in woolly hats and ski jackets. There were a lot of bright, new Christmas scarves and Thea felt a bit overdressed in her blue frock and arty necklace of multi-coloured chunky stones, but not as bizarre as Charlotte who almost struck the main bar to silence when she changed her boots for strappy high silver shoes and took off her coat to reveal her sparkly taffeta dress, fishnet-clad legs and a lot of exposed flesh.

  A small stage had been set up in a corner of the bar, complete with a drum kit and amplifiers and microphones, but the music hadn’t begun yet. There were several guitar cases propped alongside various tables, and Mike commented that it looked like a popular gig. ‘Who’d think, out in the wilds here, in the snow? I thought it would be a couple of folkie geezers and maybe one of those fey, wispy girl singers who don’t bother with consonants.’

  Mike and Charlotte went to talk to the barman who seemed to be in charge of the running order, and Thea – from the big corner table they’d bagged – looked quickly round the bar in case Sean was there. He’d said he would be, and as it was her last night, she really wanted to make the most of seeing him, even if he turned up with Paul. She did like both of them, after all. And it could well be the last time ever that she’d see them. Maybe they’d stay in touch via Facebook or email, or maybe by thi
s time next month Sean would have forgotten she was ever there and have moved on to being charming, funny and just that little bit flirtatious with a new house-guest. The thought was quite painful. What an idiot she was, she told herself. Sean was so firmly not on the availability list that she shouldn’t even be thinking of him this way. And yet – when Emily had been so sure she was wrong, she’d felt a little spark of something that felt like hope. Perhaps she had been wrong to believe he was gay? She didn’t think so, but it was definitely a bet she’d be happy to lose.

  Mike came back with a tray of drinks for everyone and Charlotte followed, laughing.

  ‘What’s so funny?’ Anna asked. ‘Are you going to share it?’

  ‘I shouldn’t laugh,’ Charlotte said, sitting down. ‘But it is so damn typical.’

  ‘What is?’

  ‘This gig. It’s a true SOBs one. I’ve just had a look at who else is playing and you couldn’t get a more typical open-mic night line-up.’

  ‘What is SOBs? Is someone crying? Have they been told they can’t play or something?’ Rosie looked puzzled. ‘I thought anyone could, if they fancied it, even if they’re rubbish.’

  ‘Oh yes they can,’ Mike said. ‘There’s no quality control at things like this. You take your chance and if you’ve got the balls to do it, then good luck.’

  The first act started up, a girl with a pink Fender Stratocaster, long blonde hair, a very short green skirt and lime tights with yellow stripes.

  ‘Bit of a Kermit look, that,’ Charlotte whispered as the girl tuned up and nodded to her goth friend on drums who started softly with brushes on the snare drum. The hum of conversation in the room dropped as she started to sing, fairly badly, David Bowie’s ‘Starman’. Mike winced a couple of times as she didn’t quite hit the notes but the audience joined in the singing and it really didn’t matter that this wasn’t a top-rate act.

  No sign of Sean. Thea felt disappointed as two more guitar-based acts, both men old enough to be able to play their instruments really competently, sang – one of them specializing in Bob Dylan and the other with a strange and slightly creepy take on very old Cliff Richard songs, performed as if they were a bit punk.

  ‘See what I mean about SOBs?’ Charlotte said as the second one finished.

  ‘Not really. You still haven’t told us what it means,’ Anna pointed out.

  ‘Sad Old Bastards,’ she said, rather too loudly. She was on the far side of two large glasses of wine now and several people turned to look at her. ‘It’s from a song I heard, about going into any pub, any bar and there are sad old bastards with guitars. I saw it on YouTube, a really funny song about gigs like this by a bloke called Terence Blacker. You should have a look at it.’ She pointed a purple-nailed finger at Mike. ‘Well, not just you, sweetie. I didn’t mean you. You’re not a sad old bastard.’

  Alec was smirking, trying not to laugh openly. Thea looked at her father’s face. He seemed to be considering a reply that would be exactly the right one but just then the barman waved across the room and said, ‘You’re on, mate.’ So instead he got up, took his guitar from its case and said, ‘This sad old bastard is off to do his thing. Give me a bit of a cheer at the end, won’t you?’

  ‘You just had to say that, didn’t you?’ Anna rounded on Charlotte the moment Mike was out of earshot. ‘If you had to come out with it, couldn’t you at least have waited?’

  ‘Sorry! I didn’t mean Mike, honestly. But you’ve got to admit, some of the others are SOBs, all pony-tails and biker jackets, thinking every young chick in the place will want to shag them.’

  Mike started playing, and Thea felt massively proud of him. He was playing an acoustic guitar, which most of the others weren’t, and he sang ‘Arnold Layne’ again, which went down well with the older ones who knew it and with the younger ones who enjoyed the wry comedy of it, and ended with Willie Nelson’s ‘You Were Always on My Mind’, which had Anna wiping a tear or two away. At the end he called Charlotte over to do her bit.

  ‘They haven’t rehearsed much. This could all go horribly wrong,’ Jimi said to Thea, grinning wickedly.

  ‘Oh, don’t say that.’ Thea crossed her fingers. ‘Charlotte will only manage to make it Dad’s fault, not hers, if it does.’

  ‘What with him being a Sad Old Bastard,’ Anna said crossly, taking a large gulp of her wine. ‘Honestly, what did he ever see in her?’

  ‘She’ll be brilliant,’ Alec said, gazing at Charlotte with a look of devotion.

  Charlotte, arranging herself on the front of the stage and moving the microphone up its stand to the right position for her, took her time to start singing, and just as Mike started on the opening notes, she casually hitched up her skirt to adjust a suspender, to great cheers from the men in the audience.

  ‘I think that might be a bit of a clue,’ Thea said to her mother.

  Anna laughed. ‘Well, if she has to resort to being that obvious to pull the blokes, then you can only feel sorry for her.’

  ‘It’s only a bit of performance art,’ Alec said.

  ‘You keep defending her.’ Anna suddenly turned on him. ‘What’s got into you?’

  Jimi leaned close to Thea and whispered, ‘Maybe it’s more a case of him getting into Charlotte.’

  Thea recalled the afternoon of Christmas Eve when she’d seen Alec and Charlotte giggling on the landing, having not been to the carol service. Jimi could well be right but, as with Elmo and Daisy, it wasn’t for her to say anything. Their business and all that.

  Charlotte, ready at last, launched into ‘The Lady Is a Tramp’.

  ‘Says it all, doesn’t it?’ Anna said with a giggle.

  Emily watched her children sleeping. Milly was spread out like a star and had kicked her duvet off and chucked her toy owl out of bed but Alfie was cuddled down, all curled up and holding the arm of his teddy bear.

  Sam came into the room behind her and put his arm round her shoulders. ‘Beautiful, aren’t they?’

  ‘When they’re asleep, yes,’ she said, snuggling close to him.

  ‘No, all the time. Sometimes I look at them when they’re running around and I think, Hey, aren’t we brilliant to have made these fabulous creatures?’

  ‘And now another one,’ she whispered, not quite trusting that he’d still be happy about this.

  ‘The bonus package,’ he said. ‘Don’t worry so much. We’ll just go along with it, yes?’

  They left the room and pulled the door halfway shut, then went into their own room. Emily walked over to look out of the window. Melted snow was dripping from the roof and the snowman out in the garden had fallen sideways.

  ‘It’s really melting now,’ she said, ‘which is good – but suppose it freezes in the early hours? It’ll be even worse than just snow – it’ll be treacherous.’

  Sam picked up his phone and flicked at it, then showed her the screen. ‘Look – the weather for tomorrow. Sunny and five degrees, going up to six or seven later. That doesn’t spell ice to me. We’ll be able to get away.’

  ‘Oh, good. I can’t wait to be home.’

  ‘She’s not bad. But your dad’s better.’ Sean appeared as if from nowhere and startled Thea.

  ‘I thought you weren’t coming,’ she said, then wished she hadn’t. It sounded as if she’d been waiting for him all evening, which of course she had, but she’d prefer him not to know that.

  ‘I had to talk to someone in the other bar about some repairs to the house. We’re hoping to get the barn done up like a proper games room later in the new year.’

  ‘We’. There was that little reminder. Oh well.

  ‘Good plan, though it seems to work OK as it is.’ She thought of Daisy and Elmo in their clinch by the table-tennis table. So sweet for them. It would definitely have made their Christmas.

  Anna leaned across and said, ‘We’re heading back to the house now. Are you coming with us?’

  Thea hesitated. ‘Er, maybe.’

  ‘Oh, don’t go yet,’ Sean protested. ‘I’ll wa
lk back with you later.’

  ‘OK, I’ll stay for a bit. That all right with you, Mum?’

  Anna laughed. ‘You’re way too grown up to have to ask me!’ she said. ‘Stay and enjoy yourself – last night and all that.’

  ‘There are lots of mums who would have reminded you that it’s a long drive tomorrow and to get a good night’s sleep,’ Sean joked.

  ‘Hippie parents don’t do that,’ Thea said. ‘My mother’s very keen on the live it while you’ve got it philosophy.’

  ‘She’s not wrong.’ Sean took hold of her hand and she felt confused all over again, then he let go and said, ‘Sorry. I’ve been madly flirting with you and I really shouldn’t.’

  ‘No. I guess not.’

  ‘You must think I do this with all the house-guests.’

  ‘I do. I think it’s a top technique for getting repeat business. They must be clamouring to rebook just so they can be charmed all over again by your devastating smile and your undivided attention. Little do they know just how divided it is and that you play the same game once a fortnight.’

  ‘Bang to rights, Elf. You got me,’ he said, giving her a strange little grin. ‘But you couldn’t be more wrong.’

  Was he playing with her? She was beginning to feel that this was bordering on the unkind. He must know she liked him.

  ‘Is Paul coming tonight?’ She thought maybe she should remind him that he wasn’t exactly single.

  Sean looked surprised. ‘No. I know he did say he might, but then he remembered he had to be somewhere else. He’s taken the children to the pantomime in Truro.’

  ‘Children? Is he a maiden uncle, the equivalent of me?’ she asked.

  ‘Do you even get maiden uncles? Oh yes, you do. They’re called bachelor uncles, aren’t they? Preferably rich gay ones who make wonderful godparents and will introduce their charges to fine wines and teach them how to behave in restaurants without making idiots of themselves.’