by S. Quinn
‘It’s okay Dad,’ I say. ‘We know you’ve had a lot on this last week. It’s been a tough time. I wasn’t expecting a present. And I’m sure Marc wasn’t either.’
‘No. Not at all,’ says Marc.
‘You’re both very understanding,’ says Dad, taking a seat.
There’s an awkward silence.
‘Dad,’ I say, after a moment. ‘Had you thought any more about Marc and I getting married? Are you … still feeling the same way?’
Dad glances at Marc, then looks down at the table.
‘I still need a little more time to think,’ he says. ‘But I’m happy Marc is here. It’ll be a good chance for me to get to know him. And you never know, by the end of Christmas I just might be able to give you both my support.’
‘That would be amazing,’ I say, feeling hope warm my chest. ‘Let me get everything cleared up.’
We let Sammy open one present after breakfast. That’s another rule in our family – the children can open one gift first thing, and then they have to wait for the rest like all the adults do.
I’m not sure Sammy really gets that the day is special or anything, but he chooses Marc’s toy to open first, and he smiles and smiles when we help him tear off the paper and he sees the logging truck.
‘Nice gift,’ says Dad, getting down on his knees to help Sammy release all the logs, which go rolling around the living room rug. ‘Thank you.’
‘My pleasure,’ says Marc.
After breakfast, we go for our traditional Christmas walk around the country lanes, with Marc pushing Sammy fast over the bumpy mud, and Sammy whooping with delight. Then we head home and I start on the Christmas dinner. I put the turkey in before we went for our walk so, in between chopping vegetables, I baste it and add more seasoning.
Dad plays with Sammy in the living room and, to my surprise, Marc comes and joins me in the kitchen.
‘I have a starter planned,’ he says, opening the fridge. There’s a white parcel inside that I don’t recognise.
‘Where did that come from?’ I ask, as Marc takes it out and cuts the string.
‘I had it sent over yesterday. Rodney bought these at London Bridge market.’
The white paper falls open to reveal eight fat red lobsters.
‘Wow.’ I look at the seafood. ‘They look amazing.’
Marc brushes hair out of his eyes and goes to the knife rack. He effortlessly sharpens a knife on the steel, and I watch him, surprised.
‘You look very at home in the kitchen, Mr Blackwell. I thought you couldn’t cook.’
Marc throws me that delicious spiky smile. ‘I don’t recall saying I couldn’t cook.’
‘But doesn’t Rodney do all your cooking for you?’
‘Yes. Mostly. I’m sensible enough to stand back and let a master do his work. The same goes for when you’re in the kitchen.’
‘So you can cook?’
‘I wouldn’t go that far. But I can prepare certain things. Lobster being one of them. And I can sharpen a knife.’
‘Where did you learn how to do that?’
‘I toyed with the idea of opening a restaurant in LA for a while, and I thought if I was going to do that, I should learn everything there is to know about the restaurant business.’
‘A perfectionist in everything you do,’ I say, with a smile.
‘I always give one hundred per cent,’ says Marc, his eyes fixing on mine and sending shivers down my arms.
‘Am I one of your projects, Mr Blackwell?’ I ask. ‘Something you give one hundred percent to?’
‘I wouldn’t call you a project.’
‘Oh? What would you call me?’
‘My soul mate. The only woman in the world who could break down my barriers.’
‘I don’t think I’ve broken down all your barriers,’ I say. ‘At least, not yet. But I’m working on it. Especially when it comes to trust.’
‘Trust?’
‘Leo Falkirk.’
‘I trust you,’ says Marc. ‘It’s him I don’t trust.’
‘I’m hoping that will change. So. Tell me more about how you learnt to cook.’
Marc gives a half smile. ‘I can’t cook. But I learnt everything I could about professional kitchens. The equipment. The quality of the food. How the best chefs prepare seafood and meat.’
‘You learned to prepare lobster just by watching a chef do it?’
‘Not just one chef. Lots of chefs.’
‘Impressive.’ I watch him twist the lobster tail from its body. ‘You’re a fast learner, Mr Blackwell. I could never learn anything just by watching.’
‘Oh I don’t know about that. You pick things up pretty quickly.’
‘Why thank you.’
I watch Marc twisting and manipulating the red lobster in his strong fingers, revealing white meat under the shell.
‘Aren’t the best lobsters still alive when you buy them?’ I say. ‘And uncooked?’
‘I bought these pre-cooked,’ Marc tells me. ‘I didn’t think you’d appreciate me cooking a live animal in front of you.’
‘You’re right. I wouldn’t have liked it.’
I watch in fascination as Marc slices each side of the lobster tail, then peels apart the shell and artfully cuts the flesh to remove the green and black parts.
‘You’re very good at that,’ I say.
Marc laughs. ‘Wait until you’ve eaten it before you judge.’
As Marc cracks and peels, and I prepare vegetables, there’s a knock at the front door.
Marc lifts his head. ‘Surprise number two.’
I grin at him, dusting my hands on a tea towel. ‘Who is it?’
‘Go to the door and see.’
31
My grin broadens as I walk to the front door and pull it open.
‘Oh my god.’ I throw a hand to my mouth and beam at the two guests standing on the doorstep. ‘I can’t believe it. Oh wow!’
Standing right outside our little cottage are Denise and Annabel.
‘Happy Christmas Sophia,’ says Annabel, smiling shyly. ‘I hope you don’t mind us coming.’
‘Mind? I thought you couldn’t make it. Marc said ... something about the hospital, you being kept there. I’m so happy to see you. And Denise … Marc told me he’d ask you to come, but he never said you’d be here for certain. I’m so happy. Come in, come in.’
I grab both their arms and drag them into the living area. ‘This is my dad. And Sammy.’
Dad looks up and smiles warmly to see two new people in the house. He’s the same as me – he likes the house full on Christmas day.
Denise and Annabel say hello and shake hands, and Sammy crawls around so he can get a better look at the new guests.
‘And of course, Marc you know,’ I say, smiling as Marc comes in from the kitchen area and gives them both a kiss on the cheek.
‘Take a seat,’ I tell Denise and Annabel. ‘Make yourselves comfortable.’ I just can’t stop grinning now. ‘It’s so good to have you here.’
Denise is wearing a sparkly black Christmas dress that has a V at the neckline and really flatters her fuller figure. She smells of exotic perfume and has fixed her make-up so it sparkles too.
Annabel still looks a little thin, and is dressed simply in a blue turtleneck sweater and jeans. But she looks so much better than she did. Much healthier, and her eyes are happier and more alive.
It feels great to have the house full of people. It hasn’t been like this for a while. Not since my grandparents and my mother passed away.
‘It’s so good to have you here,’ I say again. ‘Let me get you both a drink.’
*****
‘You look happy,’ says Marc, as I return to the kitchen area and hunt around the fridge.
‘Very, very happy.’ I pause to wrap my arms around him and bury my head against his chest. ‘This feels like the Christmases we had when I was young. The house all warm and full of people. Mum would have liked to see the house so alive again. And she would
have loved to meet you.’
Marc’s arms come around me. ‘You don’t usually talk about your mother.’
‘Don’t I? I thought I talked about her all the time. I’m always thinking about her. Especially at Christmas.’
‘No.’ I feel Marc’s head shake against my hair. ‘You don’t mention her often. But I understand. You learn to keep your thoughts to yourself when you’ve lost a parent. Most people don’t understand how it feels to have that part of yourself missing.’
‘That’s a good way to describe it,’ I say. ‘Is that how you feel too?’
‘Yes.’
I grip him tighter.
‘But I have you now,’ says Marc. ‘So there’s nothing missing anymore.’
32
Usually we drink beer on Christmas day, and maybe a cheap bottle of port. So it’s weird to rummage around the kitchen and find expensive sherry and bottles of champagne. But since we’re celebrating the arrival of honoured guests, I decide to pop open a bottle of Dom Perignon.
We don’t have any champagne glasses, so I serve the champagne in red wine goblets that used to belong to my grandparents.
‘Drinks,’ I call, heading into the lounge.
I notice my dad has taken a seat on the sofa next to Denise.
‘Wonderful.’ Denise takes her glass, and pats my arm. ‘Just the thing.’
Annabel looks at the glass warily. ‘Sophia. I’m so sorry. But I can’t drink. It’s part of my rehab programme.’
I look at the champagne. ‘Oh god. That was stupid of me. Annabel, you’ve got nothing to be sorry about. I don’t know what I was thinking.’
‘Annabel, we’ve got some nice fresh orange juice if you’d prefer?’ says Dad. ‘Or tea?’
‘Tea sounds great.’
‘I’ll get it for you.’ Dad seems to have really cheered up now guests have arrived. He’s acting much more like his old self. Maybe, just maybe, by the end of the day he’ll see sense and give Marc and I his blessing after all.
Dad clambers up from the sofa, and I take his seat.
‘I’m so glad Marc invited you both,’ I tell Denise and Annabel. ‘It’s just the best Christmas present, having you arrive on the doorstep.’
Denise smiles. ‘My pleasure. Really it was. I can’t tell you what a shock it was when Marc invited me over. Usually, he ignores Christmas completely. I’ve long given up trying to persuade him to do anything other than work. What have you done to him, Sophia?’
‘I’d love to take the credit,’ I say, ‘but really I haven’t done anything at all.’
‘I think it must be your influence,’ says Annabel, with a knowing smile. ‘I’ve never seen my brother so head over heels. Before you came along, I never thought he’d settle down. Ever.’
Denise nods. ‘Who’d have thought anyone would break down the Marc Blackwell wall?’
‘Who’d have thought?’ Annabel agrees. ‘And yet, Sophia has.’
Dad comes over with a cup of tea for Annabel, so I slide onto the floor to let him take a seat.
‘Age before beauty,’ I say, and Dad playfully cuffs my head.
‘How was hospital?’ I ask Annabel, noticing a plastic medical cuff around her thin wrist.
‘Hell at first,’ says Annabel, creases appearing around her eyes as she tries for a smile. ‘But, you know, it got better. Day by day. It’s what I need. I know that. So I can bear it for a little longer. I have a good reason for bearing it.’
‘Is there any news about your son?’ I ask. ‘About getting custody?’
‘There might be. It’s being looked into. If I can just stick with rehab this time, and stay away from my old friends … if I can do that, there’s a chance Danny can come back to live with me.’
33
As I set the table for Christmas dinner, I feel Marc slide up behind me and slip his arms around my waist.
‘Let me help you,’ he says.
‘Did you study the best waiters as well as the best chefs?’ I squeeze a knife beside a paper napkin and a Christmas cracker. Our dining table is pretty small, but it’s nice to be crowded in. It reminds me of when Mum was alive and Christmas dinner was all about knocking elbows and laughing.
‘No,’ says Marc. ‘In fact, I could use a few pointers.’
We both pause as Marc squeezes my waist tight, and I give an involuntary gasp.
‘Did you like your surprise?’ Marc asks.
I turn to him, a bunch of cutlery still in my hand, and feel his cool fingers move around my waist. ‘You know I did. I loved it. I think Denise was pretty surprised to be invited. She told me you don’t usually bother with Christmas.’
‘True. I need a pretty good reason to celebrate Christmas.’ He moves his fingers up to run them through my hair, watching intently as strands move over his palms.
‘And did you find a good reason this year?’ I ask.
‘The best reason.’
I feel a tug at my ankle, and look down to see Sammy trying to climb my leg. ‘Sammy!’ I dump the cutlery and duck down to scoop him up.
Sammy tries to grab at the cutlery on the table. ‘You want to help lay the table?’ I ask him.
‘Looks like I have competition,’ says Marc, smiling at Sammy. ‘I’ll lay out the starters.’
*****
Once the lobster plates are laid out, I pour champagne into a mixture of mugs, tumblers and the red wine goblets we used earlier, and everyone crowds around the table.
The lobster, of course, is delicious, and we all take huge forkfuls of seafood, swig champagne, pull crackers, put on silly hats and laugh as we bump elbows – just like we did years ago, when Mum was alive. Except of course in those days, we didn’t have lobster or champagne.
I catch Marc’s eye a few times, and just can’t believe all of this. That Marc is here, with me, and so is his sister. That he looks so relaxed and content, sitting around my old dining table, drinking champagne from a football mug.
When the starter is finished, I take out the big, beautiful turkey from the oven, and Marc helps me carve it at the table. I lay out bowls of steaming roast potatoes, carrots and parsnips, cauliflower cheese for Sammy and sausages wrapped in bacon for my dad.
We eat, talk and laugh, and when we’re stuffed with food I bring out the Christmas pudding and light it. After we’ve sung ‘We Wish You a Merry Christmas’, we eat huge slices of pudding with whipped cream.
As we’re finishing up, Dad bangs a knife against his tumbler, clears his throat and stands up.
We all grow silent.
‘Thank you, thank you everyone,’ says Dad, adjusting his paper hat. ‘This has been a wonderful day. And I’d particularly like to welcome all our guests.’
Dad is interrupted by a knock at the door, and we all turn to the hallway.
‘It must be Jen,’ I say, getting to my feet. ‘She’s kind of early though.’
Hurrying to the front door, I fling it open. ‘Happy Christmas!’ I call out. ‘Oh!’ I take a step back.
It’s not Jen after all.
On the doorstep stands Genoveva.
34
Genoveva is wearing a lime green pashmina and matching trousers, and her hair has been blow dried so it hangs straight and shiny around her face. She’s had more highlights done, I notice – she’s much blonder than when I last saw her. It doesn’t really suit her thick, dark eyebrows and tanned face.
‘Genoveva,’ I say, staring at her like an idiot.
‘Is Mike home?’ she asks, peering over my shoulder.
‘Yes, I—’ I turn around and see Dad has appeared behind my shoulder.
‘Genny,’ he says softly.
‘I’m not stopping,’ says Genoveva. ‘But I had to do this in person. Mike, you have to stop harassing me. Every day, phone calls. And today, text messages too. It has to stop.’
‘Harassing you?’ Dad shakes his head. ‘I never meant … I mean, I miss you. That’s no secret. But today I was texting for Sammy’s sake. He wants to see you—’
Dad looks like he’s been punched in the stomach. ‘A divorce?’
‘Patrick and I are in love. I’m moving on. You should too.’
‘What about Sammy?’ says Dad. ‘Genny, please. This is all too quick. Take your time to think things over.’
‘Patrick isn’t keen on having Sammy living with us,’ says Genoveva. ‘He has children of his own. But we’ll work something out. I’d like to see him Sammy, if he’s here.’
Dad opens and closes his mouth. Then he stands back to let Genoveva into the hallway. ‘I won’t stop you.’
*****
When Genoveva sees the dining table full of people, she looks annoyed.
‘I didn’t realise you’d have all these visitors,’ she says accusingly, going to Sammy’s high chair. She picks him up as though he’s a bag of shopping, and pats him on the head like a puppy.
Sammy looks a little stunned at first. Then, as Genoveva tries to flatten his hair down, he starts to cry.
‘He must be in a grizzly mood,’ she announces, handing him to me. ‘Too many people here, I imagine.’ Her lips push into a little circle as she eyes up Denise and Annabel. ‘Maybe it’s best if he stays with you today, Mike. I don’t want him if he’s just going to cry all day. Who on earth dressed him this morning? That t-shirt doesn’t go with those trousers.’
Genoveva slots Sammy back into the high chair. ‘I’ll come and see him next week, maybe. When he’s a bit more settled.’ She turns to Mike. ‘Our solicitors will be in touch. Happy Christmas.’
With that, she waltzes out, slamming the front door behind her.
35
When Dad and I sit back down at the table, there’s a stunned silence.
Denise has her hands covering her mouth. Marc is frowning. Annabel’s blue eyes are wide and staring. Sammy is completely quiet, gripping his high-chair table and chewing his lip.
We’re all watching Dad, but pretending not to watch, as he picks up his fork and pushes a potato around the plate.
After a moment, I say tentatively, ‘Dad? Are you okay?’
