by Kiley Dunbar
‘That’ll be the last we hear from him, then,’ Grandad said as Calum unboxed the games console he’d been hoping for all year long, and Mari agreed with a wistful laugh that had all of her memories of earlier Christmases when her children were still little wrapped up in it.
Everyone else’s gifts were modest – new pyjamas and slippers, chocolates and smelly stuff, and Kelsey had taken the opportunity to redistribute her wealth of Blythe’s gin jam – and the unwrapping had been happy and relaxed now theirs was a house full of adults adjusting to what Christmases would be like from now on now Calum was growing up.
Kelsey had been thrilled to unwrap Jonathan’s gift to her, a box of vintage, coloured glass filters – attachments for her dad’s camera. She’d scoured eBay for something similar over the years and never found any. How had Jonathan known, she’d wondered, wide-eyed and delighted.
‘Dad gave me them the second I told him you were a camera enthusiast. They were from his old Canon camera so I think they’ll fit, right?’
Kelsey attached them to her camera’s lens straight away, snapping tinted images in pink and orange, red and green, exclaiming all the while how thoughtful Jonathan had been.
‘Thank Art, it was his idea,’ he said.
Christmas had always been a cosy affair at the Andersons, a day for Buck’s Fizz well before noon and musicals on the telly. Lunch was always plentiful and hearty. Mari traditionally hosted the whole family as well as her closest friend Ted and his husband Alex, and it wasn’t unusual for Grandad to be there early in the day to help peel the sprouts, and that’s just what he’d done that morning while the turkey cooked in the oven and everyone lounged on the sofas looking at the TV Times, catching up on the details of Kelsey’s new life and hearing all about Jonathan’s closing night as Hamlet.
Ted and Alex arrived at twelve with their toothless rescue mutts, George and Mildred, and the revelry increased by a few hundred decibels as everyone shouted over the dogs’ yapping every time Calum’s console gargled and beeped with the sounds of the rebooted retro arcade games he was already mastering.
‘Is Jonathan enjoying himself, do you think?’ Mari had whispered during a quieter moment before lunch as she decorated the kitchen table with trailing ivy and holly from the garden all wrapped around a thick red pillar candle that only came out once a year. Kelsey stirred the gravy and kept an eye on the steaming veggies.
‘He’s fine, yeah, just look at him.’
They peered through the doors leading to the living room framing Jonathan sitting beside Grandad helping him with a Polar Express jigsaw, both men talking through their strategies (‘build the edges first, then find all the black bits of the engine’) and frowning with concentration. Mum and daughter smiled and carried on with their preparations while the Robbie Williams Christmas album played from the ancient stereo that had been Kelsey’s dad’s.
‘Love, there’s something I need to tell you,’ Mari said as she finished setting out the holly leaf paper napkins, glancing nervously at the kitchen clock, but there hadn’t been time to say anything else because the doorbell rang and Mari opened the door to a stranger in a shirt and tie under a gaudy Christmas jumper and she ushered him into the kitchen.
‘This is Rory,’ Mari said to Kelsey over the man’s shoulder.
‘I’ve heard so much about you, Kelsey,’ he’d said gently, his freckled cheeks glowing pink from the cold outside. The wide-eyed look Kelsey threw over Rory’s shoulder at Mari as she gave him a quick hug said that was funny because she hadn’t heard anything about him. Mari only blushed.
‘Looks like you’re about to serve up, do you need a hand with that?’ Rory offered and he and Kelsey worked together on the last of the preparations.
‘Your mum tells me you’re planning an exhibition at your very own gallery?’ he said as he drained the potatoes and his glasses steamed.
‘That’s right, on my little barge.’ It sounded almost comical but there it was. In less than two months she’d be opening her very own gallery.
‘Your mum’s so proud of you. She can’t wait to see it.’
‘You should come to the opening too.’ Kelsey had said it before she’d thought it through. Rory and Mari were smiling and making gasping, surprised laughs across the kitchen as Mari spooned cranberry sauce into a little glass dish. ‘Or, uh, sorry, is that a weird thing to say? You’ll probably be busy working… at your, um…’
‘Opticians?’ he offered.
‘Ah! Yes, you might be busy at the opticians.’
‘Never too busy for your mum. That’s where we first met, actually; when she came in for her sight test.’
‘You didn’t meet on a dating app?’ Kelsey was surprised.
‘Uh, no, I wouldn’t know much about that sort of thing.’ Rory’s ears were turning pink and he focused hard on buttering the carrots.
Mari untied her apron, coming to Rory’s rescue. ‘You know, Rory, it would be nice to take a trip somewhere together.’
Kelsey slipped away, peering into the fridge, trying to make herself look busy.
‘You wouldn’t mind if I came along to the gallery opening?’ Rory said delightedly.
‘We can make a weekend of it… if you wanted to? It’ll be Valentine’s weekend…’ Mari said.
Kelsey listened to the shy, relieved laughter behind her; the kind that betrayed how new and tentative their relationship was, and she heard the little kiss Rory placed on her mum’s cheek and her soft laugh in response.
‘Right, well, we should probably eat then. Do you want to sit down, Rory? I’ll call the others,’ Kelsey said at last, breaking the blushing buzz in the air, mainly generated by a starry-eyed Mari who somehow looked about ten years younger than Kelsey ever remembered her being. Kelsey was surprised to find she wasn’t a bit put out about Rory joining the family for Christmas lunch, in fact, it felt exactly right. Her lovely Dad would have wanted this for Mari and the thought made her smile as well as a little misty eyed.
The kitchen windows were steamed up and rich foody aromas filled the air as Mari and Kelsey carried dish after dish to the table. When they were finished, Rory had stood up to pull a chair out for Mari and bowed his sandy head to kiss her as she sat down while her mum flustered like a schoolgirl.
Soon they’d all settled around the table and piled their plates high. Jonathan was happily wearing the tasteful Christmas jumper Kelsey had given him that morning – Shakespeare in a Santa suit with drooping red bobble hat on his bald pate. They’d all laughed as they pulled their crackers in a circle with crossed arms and Grandad had joked about how that was enough exercise for one day and asked for extra roasties to make up for the calories burned.
Jonathan had been surprised to learn that the pigs in blankets he’d already eaten three of were in fact the ‘kilties’ that had confused him the day before. ‘Let me get this straight,’ he’d laughed. ‘It’s a sausage, wearing a little bacon kilt?’
‘Aye, what else would it be?’ Grandad had replied matter-of-factly, making everyone laugh again.
There had been wine and cracker puns that made everyone groan and a Christmas pudding that wouldn’t light until Ted took over heating the brandy in a ladle over the gas ring before taking a match to the liquid and pouring the licking blue flames over the pudding, immediately setting off the smoke alarm.
That evening, as Jonathan dried the dishes and Mari made the turkey sandwiches, Kelsey watched them together from the kitchen doorway. They were talking, heads bowed and conspiratorial, and she’d smiled to see how easily her American boyfriend had fit in and how welcome everyone had made him.
* * *
Now it was late and Christmas Day was almost over. Everyone had gone to bed. Kelsey yawned on the sofa in her new pyjamas and dragged the duvet around her. Jonathan had showered and wore nothing but a towel around his waist, his hair occasionally dripping as he flicked through the pages of the acting manual of a nineteen-thirties stage star – pictured in tights and codpiece on the cover �
�� that Kelsey had given him that morning, one of Blythe’s donated book haul. As he stood over her, reading aloud, he seemed strangely agitated and in high spirits after the long, exhausting day of eating and merry-making but she didn’t think any more of it.
His hammy, faux-English accent rang out. ‘Ensure to raise one’s voice without elevating the pitch. Consistency of tone is everything and one must employ Received Pronunciation at all times in order to make the Bard accessible to the common theatre-goer. Assume a grand attitude with shoulders and chest broadened. Stretching the throat will create the resonant boom required in large auditoria…’
Kelsey giggled as Jonathan adopted an exaggerated stance, his legs comically wide and face contorted like a Carry On film actor.
‘This stuff is so dated,’ he laughed, folding the book shut. ‘I wear a tiny microphone in my hairline now. Stage acting’s more like TV acting these days, so much smaller and quieter.’
‘So less chest-puffing and booming then?’
‘And less occasion to wear tights.’
‘Shame, that.’ Kelsey lifted the hem on Jonathan’s towel with her foot and waggled an eyebrow mischievously.
He threw the book aside and leaned over her, clambering onto their nest of duvets and pillows on the sofa and kissing her softly on the temple.
‘You should write an up-to-date actors’ handbook,’ Kelsey mused.
‘Hmmm.’ He was kissing her neck now.
‘You are, after all, the greatest Hamlet of our generation.’
‘Never forget it,’ he spoke in a low tone near her ear, pulling the covers and enveloping them both in warmth. ‘Actually, that’s not a bad idea,’ he said, lifting his eyes to hers. ‘I could do with another source of income when I move to England permanently in April.’
‘Meeting my family wasn’t enough to send you running for the airport then?’
‘Not nearly enough. You’ll have to do much worse than that to get rid of me. Even your mom’s boyfriend was nice.’
‘Rory? Yes, he was.’ Kelsey smiled, a little wistful. She’d never seen her mum so transformed. She’d been more carefree than she’d ever seen her.
‘Was it strange seeing her with someone else?’
Kelsey thought for a minute. ‘No, it was nice actually. I hope he sticks around.’
‘I didn’t think he was ever gonna leave, they spent so long saying goodnight at the door earlier.’
Kelsey laughed again. ‘Love, huh?’
‘It’s catching.’ Jonathan pulled her closer. ‘Come here,’ he said in a low murmur before he kissed her again, oblivious to the snow falling in fluffy flakes outside and the sounds of the waves, tempestuous and cold, hitting the sea wall just over the road from the cosy little house where they’d spent the happiest Christmas of their lives.
Chapter Thirty-One
‘In nature’s infinite book of secrecy, a little I can read’
(Antony and Cleopatra)
Back in the earliest hours of Christmas morning the barge rocked queasily on the Avon. Mirren sat with her legs drawn to her chest at the end of the bed watching Adrian asleep in the twinkling light from the coloured fairy-strand along the galley kitchen wall. Mirren didn’t know what time it was other than it was well past midnight.
They must have kissed for hours, slowly at first, then hungrily like teenagers, hands fumbling, pulling jumpers over heads like they’d been unwrapping Christmas presents – real, deep moaning kisses that shook Mirren with their heat.
Eventually, they’d pulled apart, still mostly clothed, before they could get too carried away, and they’d sunk down onto the mattress and Adrian had trailed lazy fingertips up and down her spine, smiling like a sleepy wolf as they’d both grown drowsy.
Now her eyes were wide, her hair hanging messily over her shoulders and down her back. She couldn’t find her top or bra in the low light. Letting him cover her in heated kisses hadn’t been part of the plan at all. What happened to a movie and cosy cuppa? She cursed herself under her breath, disappointed.
Could she reach her pyjamas shoved under the pillow? She wanted to be covered up again, even though she could still feel the pressure and suction of his full lips as he mouthed her breasts and stomach and told her it was OK, she could relax, he didn’t expect more, and he’d checked and rechecked she was still happy.
Of course she’d been happy, she’d been delirious. Theirs hadn’t been any old kisses. They were incendiary and had stolen her breath, made her groan his name, and he’d drawn back to look at her in gasping wonder before bringing his mouth down onto her skin again.
The soft spot under her ear, the most sensitive places on her belly and sides, new delicate patches of skin where her nerves had fizzed and thrilled and where she didn’t even know she had wanted to be kissed; he’d found them all.
But now the barge had grown cool, and she didn’t know it but the spiral had already begun.
It crept up so invisibly she didn’t recognise it for what it was. First came the recoiling, then the examination of how exactly she’d let it happen. She replayed the moment they’d first kissed and yes, it had been her pulling at his clothes, reaching for his mouth.
She watched herself now on the bed in his arms and she shook her head to stop the memories. She’d been frantic and greedy. What was it about this lovely, patient, sexy guy that he could do this to her? What was wrong with him that he wanted to?
Then the reprimands lined up in her mouth, so she scolded herself under her breath. Her own words came out first, quietly so that he wouldn’t hear. ‘What have you done? So much for your resolve. Stay single, focus on yourself, stop messing up other people’s lives. Fuck’s sake, Mirren.’ Then she heard the other voices piping up right on cue and the loudest was Jamesey Wallace, salacious and lip-smacking, sneering the words, ‘You women are all the same. You pretend like you want the nice guy who cooks for you and picks you up when it’s raining and all that, but deep down all you really want is a good fucking.’
Her scalp prickled hot and cold with resentment, regret and panic. Jamesey’d had her pinned all those months ago. Her mum saw right through her too. Mirren could picture Jeanie shaking her head and throwing cutting remarks at her.
Mirren didn’t know she was breathing sharp and shallow but the lack of air was making her head ache. For a second she considered waking Adrian and asking him to leave, then immediately she felt even worse. No, he didn’t deserve to be thrown out onto the dark marina in the middle of the night. Maybe if she pulled some clothes on she could walk the riverside until morning when he’d leave?
The spiral had somehow conveyed her to the little bathroom and she found herself scrubbing her teeth with her pink toothbrush and only just realising her gums were bleeding and she was crying. ‘Stupid cow,’ she told her reflection in the mirror, her mouth set in a crumpled, tearful line.
Without thinking, she found herself reaching for the bleach bottle under the toilet and pouring the thick liquid into the sink and setting about scrubbing it with the very same toothbrush. Brush, brush, brush at the taps then onto the row of tiles above it, all the time repeating the insult. ‘You stupid bloody tart. Couldn’t help yourself, could you?’
‘Hey, woah there!’ The look on Adrian’s face as he peered round the door and the concern in his voice shook her from her state enough to drop the toothbrush and hurriedly pull the plug, sending the bleach down the drain. She turned away from him and let the tap run.
‘You should go,’ she said quietly.
‘What? What’s happened, Mirren? Are you OK? Come out of there, it stinks of chemicals, you need some air.’ His hand wrapped around hers and he pulled her through the narrow door. He dashed for the bed and returned with his woollen jumper which he hastily pulled down over her body. It was soft, like his voice now.
‘I got up to get us some water and thought you’d beaten me to it, then I find you in here calling yourself awful things. What happened between us falling asleep and now? Did I do something wron
g? Is there something you need?’ He held her firmly by her arms which she let hang limply by her sides.
‘I’m sorry I woke you. I’m fine, honestly. I’ll sleep in the front of the boat, you go back to bed…’
‘No way. Uh-uh.’ He shook his head. The shock on his face had settled into a smile. ‘Come on, I’m putting the kettle on.’
After he’d pulled his t-shirt back on and placed two steaming mugs before them on the little galley kitchen table he sat down, not at the opposite side of the table but right by her so he could hold her hand. ‘Do you often talk to yourself like that?’
‘Everyone talks to themselves, don’t they?’ Mirren had washed her face and put her glasses on and was hoping she could brazen it out until he fell asleep again. Making light, that’s what she did best.
‘Sure they do, but they don’t call themselves names like that. Whose voice was that? Who first said those things to you? Because you sure as hell weren’t born thinking about yourself that way.’
Mirren’s eyes snapped to his. He knew. Somehow he knew. She could see it in his eyes, pity mixed with kindness. Just when she thought he couldn’t read her any better, he reached over to the packet by the kettle and grabbed the chocolate digestives, turning the open end towards her. ‘You talk, I’ll listen. And we’ll smash this whole packet, yeah?’
It was enough to make her laugh and to feel a little spark of warmth between them again. It wasn’t easy at first, but once the words started to form into stammered sentences she found she couldn’t stop.
So she talked, telling him everything; about walking out on her job, and about her poorly mum and what the alcohol had done to her. How it made it impossible for Jeanie to resist her cruellest urges, but how when she wasn’t tortured by the addiction she was bright and smart and good company.
She’d cried hearing the words coming out of her mouth, and she’d admitted with shame that some of the worst things she’d ever heard herself called had been said by her mum. But it wasn’t all Jeanie’s fault, she insisted. She’d been hurt too, horribly let down when Mirren’s dad ran off leaving her to cope alone, and so soon after Jeanie’s own, loving father passed away. Jeanie’s family had disintegrated within weeks. It hadn’t been fair and the shock had sent her into a spiral of her own, trying to numb her pain and finding Mirren so easy to blame when things got difficult.
