by Shari Low
If Graham noticed their sexual drought, then he certainly wasn’t saying anything. He was too consumed by work, too wrapped up in his life outside the house, that their interactions when they were alone had become almost completely perfunctory.
Did you manage to collect the dry cleaning?
Oh, David was saying that they’re looking at skiing the first weekend in February next year. Can you give Samantha a call and suggest meeting them there?
That bloody light is flashing on my dashboard again. Can you get it booked in for a service?
But as for her? She couldn’t remember the last time he’d touched her, spoken to her properly, the way… She squeezed her eyes shut as the thought set her brain on fire. The way that Ned Merton had talked to her. Like he cared. Like he wanted to hear what she had to say. For a minute back on that night they’d had dinner, she’d even thought that he was interested in her sexually. She’d felt something, a moment. Now, she knew it was all a figment of her imagination. Of course, he didn’t. She’d just had her head turned by the attention. They’d met many times since then and he’d never been anything but friendly and warm. What did it say about her and her marriage that she was so starved of genuine affection she was actually imagining her sister’s boyfriend may have been attracted to her?
Christ, even thinking that through, she could hear how pathetic it sounded, how needy she was becoming.
That didn’t mean it wasn’t her reality though.
And the kids… well, they couldn’t care less about anything that didn’t come from their phones. It wasn’t their fault, of course. They’d turned thirteen a few months ago and they were just being teenagers and she adored them with every fibre of her being.
This morning, she’d pushed herself up in bed, deciding that none of that mattered right now though. What mattered was that she created a wonderful Christmas.
All day, she’d bit her tongue as she cooked, she cleaned, she passed around gifts. She saw the kids’ faces light up when they opened their iPads, then turn to frowns when she’d tried to give them a hug afterwards. She’d watched Graham laugh with delight when he opened his gift – a letter detailing the agenda for a golfing trip to Marbella that she’d spent weeks planning for him and his chums. And she tried not to show her disappointment when she opened hers – a cashmere cardigan that he’d probably sent his secretary to buy in her lunch hour. She’d been hinting for weeks about a Chanel scarf, but, of course, he hadn’t heard her. He never did.
Holding back her feelings, on she’d toiled, making the house look spectacular, the food and wine divine for her family. And what happened?
Later, she’d feigned delight when she opened the annual cookbook from her mother-in-law, who’d shot thinly veiled barbs and jibes at her all day, Graham was too busy playing the jolly host to notice, the kids moaned every time they were asked to put down their gadgets, Verity bloody fainted in the kitchen, her mother turned up with Nigel, who may be the most boring man on God’s green earth, Zoe went on some touchy-feely gratitude rant, which was easy for her when she was living the perfect life with a man who actually cared about her, and now? Now, her best fucking Cath Kidston towels were being used as a tourniquet!
And, as she’d mused right at the start of this damn groundhog Christmas Day, she didn’t have an option and she had to suck it up because – and this was the biggest bloody bitch of all – she knew the damage that breaking up a marriage caused and she wasn’t going to see that happen to her family. No way. Not now. It wasn’t happening here. Not on her watch. Merry fucking Christmas.
‘What happened?’ she gasped, still staring at the bloodfest in the kitchen, still unable to work it out.
It was Verity who finally enlightened her. ‘Yvie was just being her usual clumsy self, knocked an empty wine bottle off the worktop and then stood on a piece of glass. The cut doesn’t look deep though.’
‘It’s nothing,’ Yvie stressed. ‘I just need to keep it elevated for a few minutes and it’ll be fine.’
Marina felt her rage, already simmering, begin to threaten to boil over. It wasn’t fine. Her Cath Kidston towels were definitely not fine.
‘And you?’ she fired at Ned, probably unduly harshly, but she couldn’t work out why he was in here in the first place.
He put his hands up as if in surrender. ‘Nothing to do with me,’ he said, grinning. ‘I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.’
Her gaze spun as Yvie emitted a weird strangled sound.
‘What?’ Marina demanded. ‘I thought you said it was okay?’
‘Just a… shooting pain,’ Yvie said, through gritted teeth.
‘Holy crap, what happened in here?’ Zoe joined the party, striding into the kitchen, her hand flying to her mouth as she spotted the state of Yvie and rushed immediately to her side. ‘Honey, are you okay? What can I do? What do you need?’
It didn’t escape Marina’s notice that that was the reaction she should probably have had. Some things just came easier to others.
‘I’m fine. I really am. I’m just going to call a cab and get home, so I can bathe this. I’m knackered too. I really just want my bed.’
‘Don’t be daft, you’re not phoning a taxi on Christmas night, you’ll never get one, and if you do, it’ll cost a fortune. Ned and I will take you home.’
‘No!’ It came in stereo, as both Yvie and Verity blurted it out at exactly the same moment.
Verity was the first to follow it up. ‘I’ll take her. I’ve only had one glass of wine because I was planning to drive home anyway.’
‘Honestly, I’m happy to do it,’ Zoe offered.
The valve on the pressure cooker of Marina’s head could withstand the force no longer. It shot off, allowing the contents of her brain to explode.
‘You will fucking not!’
The heads of the four other people in the room – her sisters and Ned – spun towards Marina, shock written all over their faces and she knew it was because her words had come out as some kind of low, malevolent growl. But she was just getting started and she was completely incapable of holding back the oncoming tirade.
‘Do you really think you can all just piss off and leave me here with a mother-in-law who fucking hates me, a husband who barely knows I exist and OUR MOTHER? Our bloody mother and her fricking boyfriend, a snivelling little shit, who has sat there and judged us all day?’
So much for her general rule of not using profanity in the house.
Right now, however, that was the least of her worries. Her mouth was still barking out thoughts without having put them through any form of filter.
‘Why do you think you can do this to me every year? I work so bloody hard to make this day perfect and then you three come in…’ She made eye contact with each of her sisters in turn, skirting past Ned because as far as she could see, he was just a bystander in all this. ‘And you bring all your self-bloody-centred dramas and woes and you turn what should be a perfect day into a complete… complete… CLUSTERFUCK every time. Verity, I don’t know what was going on with you this morning, but whatever it is you really need to get it sorted out. And, Yvie, when are you going to get a grip and find some balance with your work so that you’re not permanently exhausted and you can actually get a life? And, Zoe, we’re happy for you, we really are, but your relentless fricking optimism is starting to get right on my tits. And meantime, none of you notice, YOU DON’T NOTICE,’ she repeated to make sure that they didn’t miss the point, ‘that all I’m trying to do is make everything perfect for everyone and nothing, NOTHING,’ she echoed again, ‘is fucking perfect for me! You three are the most selfish bitches I’ve ever encountered in my life.’
Silence. Complete, utter, tense, awkward silence. In her peripheral vision, she could see that Ned’s gaze was fixed on the floor, but her sisters were all just staring at her, wordlessly, with wide eyes and dropped jaws. Marina knew why. The Danton family didn’t do confrontation. They didn’t do honesty. They spent all their time tolerating prob
lems, smoothing them over and hiding the cracks.
No more. She wasn’t doing it. Although, a massive boulder of regret was already forming in her gut and about to detonate in her chest. She shouldn’t have picked today for this. It was too… fragile. Too sore. Too close to the heart.
‘Marina, I’m sorry.’ Zoe was the first to speak, and Marina could hear genuine regret among the shock and confusion. ‘You’re right. Although, we do appreciate that you do this for us every year, but I guess we don’t show it because we’re all… distracted. Maybe it’s easier to focus on ourselves than on the day and all the crap stuff it throws up for us.’
Something dropped in Marina’s mind and she immediately saw what Zoe was saying. She was surprised she hadn’t considered that before. It wasn’t an excuse, but it was the start of a tangible explanation, and it brought Marina’s fury down just enough to make her stop shouting at everyone.
‘If I’m relentlessly optimistic,’ Zoe went on, not letting Marina off the hook on that one, ‘it’s because I don’t like the alternative.’
Another chink of understanding.
Verity wasn’t quite so conciliatory. ‘You’re not the only one going through things,’ she said, her tone close to sulky and petulant. ‘At least you’ve got something. A husband. A family. Your life isn’t so bad, so maybe you want to think about that instead of feeling so sorry for yourself that you think it gives you permission to speak to us like that. You’re not in charge of us, Marina. You never have been. You just thought you were.’
The mercury on Marina’s ire scale began to rise again as she faced Verity down. How dare she?
‘I think what Verity is trying to say is that none of us gives enough thought to the others,’ Yvie jumped in, the peacemaker as always, and Marina had a flashback to the little girl, always trying to make everyone happy, always scared in case something else was going to go wrong, when the truth was that the worst had already happened.
‘You don’t have to explain me, Yvie,’ Verity spat.
‘I know I don’t, but I also know that in your heart, you’re a really good person and you wouldn’t want to hurt anyone,’ Yvie persisted, her skin devoid of all colour, wearing the physical and emotional pain of what was happening here all over her face.
‘Wouldn’t I?’ Verity challenged her.
‘Enough!’ Zoe again, stepping in to nudge things back on course.
Marina was still standing against the wall, arms folded, feeling a huge balloon deflating inside her. How long had it been since she’d lost her temper like that? Ten years? Twenty? They’d just pressed her buttons… No, that wasn’t true. Life had just pressed her buttons and she’d snapped. And now that the pressure cooker had been taken off the boil, the fury had subsided and left room for remorse to begin to creep in. Zoe had a point. And poor Yvie was sitting there with blood oozing from her foot. No-one was skipping through daisies here.
‘Look, I’m sorry,’ she heard herself saying. ‘I’m just… going through something. I don’t even know what it is, but I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.’ The next shock of the day was the single tear that was running down her cheek. She never cried. This wasn’t her at all. ‘But I meant it when I said that I didn’t want you all to go.’ She suddenly realised that she couldn’t think of anything lonelier that being here, in this kitchen, after they’d gone tonight.
‘It’s fine, we’ll stay,’ Zoe said, her eyes flicking to Ned, who nodded. He hadn’t said a word during the entire fight. Clearly a man who knew not to get in the middle of a family when tensions were high.
‘I will too,’ Verity said grudgingly. ‘But only if you promise to stop being a bitch.’
‘Yvie?’ Zoe asked. ‘If we dress your foot from Marina’s mighty first-aid kit and then prop you up on the couch, do you think you can stay?’
Marina didn’t even have to wait for the answer. Yvie would always try to take the path that made the people she loved happy.
‘You may have to fill me with wine and Quality Street,’ Yvie countered. ‘And let me win at Pictionary. I think those are reasonable demands.’
Trust Yvie to try to lighten the mood. Marina’s remorse was now being joined with a sliver of shame. She shouldn’t have exploded, and she shouldn’t have said those things.
A flashback to another kitchen filled her head. The four of them. Teenagers. Home-made Christmas decorations draped around them. All of them stunned, shocked, tears on some faces. ‘We just have to stick together,’ she heard her younger voice saying. ‘Always,’ Zoe had added. ‘Deal?’ Yvie and Verity had nodded with sad, heartbroken determination. ‘Deal.’
Maybe they all needed a reminder of that.
Marina sighed. ‘I was just thinking about that day… when we all said we had to stick together. We still do.’
‘You’re right,’ Zoe agreed.
‘I think we all need to cut each other some slack,’ Yvie offered. ‘And maybe spend more time together. I feel like we’ve become a bit disconnected. Maybe we need to take care of each other a little more.’
Marina wasn’t going to argue with that.
‘Shit, I forgot!’ Zoe blurted. ‘Yvie, you’re right. I started to tell you earlier, before Verity fainted and I got distracted. I’ve got news for you all. Actually, I’ve known for ages, but I wanted to keep it as a special Christmas surprise.’
Marina closed her eyes. What now? What fucking bombshell was Zoe going to hit them with now? Getting married? Pregnant? Won the lottery? Bought a fricking puppy?
It turned out it was none of the above. Zoe’s face beamed as she revealed her news. ‘Roger has invited us all to Vegas for the opening of his new hotel. So… erm… yay. Who’s up for a family trip?’
31
The Four Sisters – Present Day; Sunday, 2.10 p.m.
Marina is the first to laugh at the absurdity of it all. ‘This is the craziest thing to happen to us since last Christmas when I lost the plot and…’ she pauses, then goes on, ‘Actually, nope, there have been crazier things than that this year. They should make a reality show with us. It would need an explanatory subtitle though. Keeping Up With The Dantons, the Family Who Never Knows What The Fuck Is Going On.’
Verity tuts. ‘Marina, do you really need to…’
‘Swear?’ Marina retorts, taking a large gulp of her pink cocktail. ‘Yes, I fucking do. It’s the new me. I’ve decided it’s liberating.’
It is official. My family is coming undone. Marina, the grown up who rarely uses vulgar language or indulges in excessive alcohol, is swearing and knocking back the booze. She’s had a nightmare of a year, I think. Been forced to reassess her life and make some changes. There was so much going on that we didn’t even know about and, to be honest, I was pretty bloody shocked when we found out how she was feeling.
Meanwhile, when Verity isn’t working, running, or making cocktails with tinned fruit, she is in a permanent state of irritation. I worry about her. Sometimes I think she’s a bit broken. I just don’t know how badly.
I glance over at Yvie, trying to catch her eye. We’ve always had a telepathy thing going on. Not today, though. She’s said nothing since she tried to encourage us to heal our wounds by eating Jean the Cleaner’s lasagne.
We are unravelling at the seams and my one month marriage is just a part of it. However, I disagree with Marina’s suggestion of a reality show, because no one would believe it.
A choking noise makes my head snap up, and I realise that it’s Yvie. At first, I think that I’m going to have to step in with the Heimlich, but she manages to clear her throat just in time, before she starts turning blue.
‘Yvie! Don’t do that to me! My nerves are frayed enough without any near-death experiences today.’
I mean what I say, but my mind immediately goes back to Roger’s message. It just doesn’t make sense. How could one of our credit cards be used to pay for the room in which my husband shagged someone else? It’s just incomprehensible. Completely baffling.
When I�
�d asked which one of them had slept with my husband, it was just a reaction to Roger’s revelation, but I don’t believe for a second that any of my sisters would do that to me or anyone else.
I would know. Wouldn’t I?
‘Erm…’ Yvie is trying to speak. Probably wants a glass of water.
I begin to get to my feet, careful not to stand on any of the wedding presents that are still strewn around the floor.
‘I’ll get you a drink that doesn’t contain alcohol,’ I tell her. ‘I’ll be two secs.’
‘No. Don’t go,’ she says, stopping me in my tracks and making me wobble so that I almost take an extra step that is perilously close to the soup tureen Marina’s mother-in-law sent over – which did, of course, accompany the obligatory cookbook – 101 Quick and Easy Soups. Shoot me now.
Yvie’s eyes fill and I can see she’s shaking now, and her breaths are coming heavy and fast.
‘Yvie,’ I tell her calmly. ‘Don’t panic. You’re okay. Whatever it is, we can sort it.’
She shakes her head. ‘I don’t think we can.’
I can’t quite comprehend what she’s saying.
‘I’ve got something to tell you. I planned to tell you after Vegas, but then…’ she doesn’t finish that sentence. Instead she wails, ‘You’re going to hate me.’
‘Of course I won’t…’
She cuts me dead. ‘You will. But before I tell you, I just want to say I’m so, so sorry and if I could go back in time, I’d do it all differently.’
‘Do what differently?’ I ask, still grasping for understanding.
‘Everything,’ she says. ‘But I’ll start with the credit card. I think you’ll find that was mine.’
32
Zoe – Las Vegas, One Month Ago
‘What do you think?’ Roger Kemp asked, as they surveyed the sight in front of them.
