A Typical Family Christmas

by Liz Davies

  ‘He’s got a day off,’ Portia said. ‘Can you drop me off at the stables?’

  ‘No,’ he replied, the laptop still eluding him. He lifted one of the cushions on the sofa, as if he expected it to be hiding underneath.

  ‘Don’t be so mean,’ Portia said.

  ‘He won’t go to Boots and get me my foundation, either,’ Ellis added. ‘He’s just being selfish.’ She turned to him, her hands on her hips. ‘I expect you’re going to play golf, are you?’ she demanded.

  ‘No.’ He hesitated. It was about time he let the kids know what was happening. ‘I’m going to find your mother.’

  Ellis rolled her eyes. ‘She’s in work,’ she said, scornfully. ‘And she hasn’t bothered to wash that top. I wanted to wear it tonight.’

  ‘Wash it yourself,’ Brett said.

  Ellis snorted, as if the concept of doing her own laundry was totally alien to her.

  ‘I’ve got to muck out this morning,’ Portia said. ‘It’s my turn.’

  Brett got down on the floor and peered under the sofa. No laptop. ‘For one thing, if it is your turn and both your mother and I were in work, like we normally are, how did you plan on getting there? And for another, you’re still grounded.’

  Portia stamped her sock-clad foot and folded her arms. ‘Mum didn’t mean the stables,’ she said. ‘She meant parties and stuff.’

  ‘Your mother’s not here, and I am,’ he retorted. ‘I say grounding includes the stables.’

  ‘I’m going to tell Mum,’ she said, furiously.

  ‘If you can get hold of her,’ Helen said from the doorway. ‘She didn’t come home last night.’

  ‘Mum!’ Brett snapped. ‘Leave it.’

  Portia’s arms dropped to her side. ‘Dad?’ She sounded a little uncertain. ‘What’s Nana talking about?’

  ‘Nothing you need to concern yourself with,’ he said.

  ‘You’d better tell them, Brett. They’re going to find out sooner or later,’ Helen said.

  ‘Find out what?’ This was from Ellis.

  ‘Brett?’ Helen glared pointedly at him.

  He glared back, and mouthed, ‘Thanks a bunch.’ He had every intention of telling the children, but not like this; he wanted to do it in his own time. He’d been hoping to speak to Kate first, before he broke it to the kids that their mother had gone away for a few days.

  ‘Dad?’ Both his daughters looked worried.

  ‘Your mum has taken a short break,’ he said.

  ‘Hmph!’ Helen snorted.

  ‘What do you mean, a short break?’ Ellis asked. Portia took a step closer to her sister.

  ‘She’s gone away for a few days,’ he said.

  ‘Where?’ That was from Ellis.

  ‘Your father has no idea,’ Helen said.

  ‘Mum! Butt out; you’re not helping.’

  ‘Well, I never! Don’t you speak to me like that, Brett Peters. I’m your mother, and I deserve some respect.’

  ‘You don’t know where Mum is?’ Portia slipped her hand into Ellis’s.

  ‘Not at this precise moment,’ he admitted.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘She didn’t tell him,’ Helen said. ‘She just marched out without saying anything to anyone. Irresponsible, that’s what I call it.’

  ‘I meant, why did she go, not why doesn’t Dad know where she is,’ Ellis said.

  ‘It’s obvious, isn’t it?’ Helen said. ‘It’s because of you kid—’

  ‘That’s it!’ Brett was furious. ‘Mum, I want you to go, right now.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘You heard. You’ve caused enough trouble; I don’t want you causing any more.’

  ‘All I said was—’

  ‘I know exactly what you said, and it wasn’t nice.’

  ‘What did she say, Dad?’ Portia’s voice was small, her face, usually so defiant, creased in worry.

  ‘Just go,’ he said to his mother. ‘You’ve done enough damage.’

  Helen, her hand over her mouth, let out a sob and made her way unsteadily out of the room.

  ‘Dad, please, tell us what’s going on,’ Ellis pleaded.

  ‘I want Mum.’ Portia sounded like the child she so recently was, and his heart went out to her.

  ‘It’s not your fault, it’s mine,’ he said, leading them to the sofa and sitting them down. He squashed in between them and put an arm around each girls’ thin shoulder. ‘I’ve not been pulling my weight around the house, and I think your mum got a bit fed up.’

  Ellis pulled away. ‘Are you having an affair?’

  ‘Good lord, no! Whatever gave you that idea?’

  ‘Mum wouldn’t just go for no reason.’

  ‘It’s like I said, I’ve not been doing enough to help her.’

  ‘You’re in work all day,’ Ellis pointed out.

  ‘Your mother works long hours, too,’ Brett replied.

  ‘She only does nine-thirty to four,’ Ellis said.

  ‘That’s the day job. Think about all the other things she does as well.’ He paused for a moment to give them a chance to ponder it. ‘She runs around after all of us, all the time. She does all the cooking, cleaning, shopping, laundry, and all the other things that keep the house and us ticking over. Plus, I think having the two nans here, as well as the dog, became a bit too much for her.’

  ‘Will she come back?’

  ‘Of course, she will. She just needs a bit of time out, that’s all.’

  Ellis nodded, but Portia looked sceptical.

  He waited for her to speak, wondering what was going through that pretty little head of hers, hoping that some of what he’d said had struck home, hoping she understood that, although the blame lay with him, the children’s selfishness hadn’t helped.

  Eventually she spoke. ‘Am I still grounded?’

  Chapter 33

  With a resigned sigh, Brett let the girls go. ‘Don’t say anything to Sam,’ he warned, ‘I’ll be up in a minute to tell him myself.’

  He wanted a few seconds alone, to think about Ellis’s and Portia’s reactions. He wasn’t sure whether either teenager had completely understood what he’d said, or their part in Kate’s disappearance. To be fair, he didn’t blame them. It was his fault and Kate’s that the children were as inconsiderate and selfish as they were. Kate had given in to their demands because it was easier than battling with them day in, day out; and he’d done nothing to help. Brett guessed from what he’d seen of his friends’ kids, that children, teenagers especially, tended to live in their own little worlds without any thought or consideration for anyone else. It was a parent’s job to teach them those things, along with empathy and compassion. And he’d failed. Kate had done her best, but she’d been so busy with the nitty-gritty of running the home, that she’d let some things slide.

  When she came back, Brett intended to suggest a family sit-down to discuss everything, and together they should be able to come up with some new rules and new ways of doing things. Responsibility and resilience, that’s what was needed in his children, and in himself, too.

  He heaved a deep sigh. ‘Come home, Kate,’ he muttered under his breath, wanting nothing more than to hold her in his arms and tell her exactly how much she meant to him.

  Wincing at the thought of what was to come, Brett made his way upstairs to talk to Sam and reassure him that his mum would be home soon, then he needed to find the laptop and start looking for Kate.

  A quick visit to the bathroom was in order first, and when he saw the family bathroom was occupied, probably by Beverley taking her bath, he headed up to the en suite in his room.

  Deep in thought, Brett pushed open the door of the en suite and—

  ‘Arghh!’

  He wasn’t sure who screamed the loudest, him or his mother-in-law.

  Beverley was sitting bolt upright in the bath, her hands covering her chest, a look of horror on her face.

  Brett staggered back, almost losing his footing on the glossy tiles as he hastily zipped himself bac
k up. ‘What the hell?’ he yelled.

  ‘Get out!’ she cried.

  He turned his back swiftly and headed for the door. Once safely outside and out of sight of the disturbing vision of his naked mother-in-law, he called, ‘Why are you in my bathroom? There’s a perfectly good one downstairs.’

  ‘Ellis was in it.’ Beverley sloshed around, and Brett hoped she was getting out of the tub and making herself decent.

  ‘Dad?’ Brett turned around to see Sam standing behind him. The boy tugged on his sleeve.

  ‘Give me a minute, Sam. Your nan is in my bath.’

  ‘I’m out now,’ Beverley said through the door. ‘I’m getting dressed.’

  ‘Couldn’t you have waited until Ellis had finished, rather than use mine?’

  ‘I’m sure Kate wouldn’t have minded.’

  ‘Dad.’ Sam was tugging on his sleeve again.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Spots,’ Sam said.

  ‘I’m sure one of your sisters can lend you some acne cream, although can you wait a minute because I want to speak to you first.’

  ‘Has Kate come home?’ Beverley shouted, and Brett had a feeling of déjà vu. Not again, he prayed.

  ‘Can we talk about this later?’ he said.

  The door opened, revealing a dressing-gown clad Beverley with a shower cap perched on her head. ‘Do the kids know? Have you told them yet?’ she asked.

  Brett glared at her. ‘Later,’ he insisted. ‘I’m just about to speak with Sam.’

  ‘You can’t keep it from them,’ she said. ‘They’ll have to be told that their mum won’t be back until after Christmas.’

  ‘What’s Nanny talking about, Dad?’

  Brett narrowed his eyes meaningfully at Beverley. ‘Hang on a sec, Sam.’

  ‘But Dad, I’ve got spots, real spots. See?’ And with that, Sam lifted up his T-shirt to reveal his chest and stomach.

  ‘I’m off,’ Helen announced from the landing, and Brett turned to look at her. ‘I know when I’m not wanted,’ she added.

  ‘You’re going?’ A huge smile lit up Beverley’s face. ‘That means I can have the spare room.’

  ‘Dad, what are they?’ Sam cried, hopping up and down. ‘They itch really bad.’

  Brett’s eyes widened as he caught sight of his son’s torso, which was covered in a nasty red rash. The child’s face didn’t look much better, either.

  ‘That looks like chickenpox to me,’ Beverley announced.

  Helen took a few steps closer and peered at her grandson. ‘It certainly does.

  ‘Has he been feeling a bit under the weather these past couple of days?’ Beverley asked, and Brett blushed. He had no idea whether Sam had or hadn’t.

  ‘Itchy,’ Sam said.

  ‘Anything else?’ Beverley wanted to know.

  Sam nodded. ‘Tired, headachy, hot. My legs ache.’

  ‘Typical chickenpox symptoms,’ Helen said.

  ‘I’m really itchy.’ Sam clung to his father like a three-year-old. ‘I want Mummy.’

  ‘Mummy’s not here, Sammykins. You’ll have to make do with me,’ Brett said, bending to plant a kiss on the top of his son’s damp head – the only place where the poor child appeared to be spot free.

  When was the last time Brett had heard Sam say “mummy”? Not for ages, and Brett hadn’t called him Sammykins for a long time without causing his youngest child a great deal of embarrassment.

  ‘Have you got any calamine lotion?’ Beverley asked.

  Brett wasn’t sure he knew what it was, let alone whether there was any such thing in the house. He looked at his mother-in-law helplessly.

  ‘Never mind,’ Helen said. ‘I’ll pop to the chemist and get some.’

  ‘In the meantime, Sam can have a cold shower. It’ll take some of the heat out of his skin.’ Beverley said. ‘Give him some Calpol. You’re bound to have some in the house.’

  Ah, yes, they did. He knew where it was kept, so he went to fetch it, pouring out the recommended dose onto one of those funny plastic measuring spoons. Sam took it without a murmur, then Brett made him have a cool shower.

  ‘Where’s Mum?’ he asked, afterwards, and Brett could tell he was beginning to feel a little better. ‘Is she in work?’

  ‘Um... no, she’s... um... gone away for a couple of days.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘I’m not sure...’

  Sam looked at him doubtfully. ‘When will she be back?’

  ‘Soon.’ Brett mentally crossed his fingers again.

  ‘Today?’

  ‘Erm, possibly not.’

  ‘By Christmas?’

  ‘She’ll be back by then. Stop scratching, you’ll make it worse.’

  ‘I can’t help it.’

  ‘I know you can’t, but try, eh? You’ll be as right as rain in a few days,’ he added, praying it was the truth.

  Sam didn’t look convinced. ‘If it was a school day tomorrow,’ his son asked, ‘would you be making me go?’

  ‘I doubt it.’

  Sam looked even glummer. ‘That’s what I thought. Bummer.’

  ‘Yeah, bummer,’ Brett agreed. ‘Nana will be here with the calamine lotion in a while, and you’ll soon feel better.’

  ‘I don’t want her to put it on me, I want you to do it.’

  ‘OK, but until she comes back, I’ve got a few phone calls to make. Is that alright?’

  Sam nodded, curling his hands into fists to stop himself from scratching.

  ‘Good lad. I’ll be downstairs – once I’ve found the laptop,’ Where the hell was it? He could always use his mobile but reading on a small screen for any length of time made his eyes ache. He should ask Kate to make an appointment at the optician for him.

  Ah.

  He was doing it again, wasn’t he? Expecting Kate to sort things out when he could just as easily make an appointment himself. Easier in fact, because what usually happened was that he would say “any day is fine”, only for her to arrange a date, and him so say he couldn’t make it. Then Kate would have to ring the optician/dentist/doctor back and rearrange.

  ‘The laptop is in the kitchen on top of the fridge,’ Sam said.

  ‘What’s it doing there?’

  Sam shrugged, and Brett left him in his room taking selfies of his spotty chest and posting them to his mates. From a disaster of epic proportions, Sam, who was now clearly feeling much better, was having great fun showing off his rash, and taking gleeful delight in anticipating which of his friends would come down with the virus next.

  Shaking his head (he never would have thought to look up there), Brett went to fetch the laptop and settled down at the kitchen table.

  He knew he couldn’t possibly phone all the hotels and guest houses in Brixham, but he intended to give it a damn good try.

  Starting at the beginning of the alphabet, he dialled the first number he saw.

  ‘Allinson’s Guest House, how can I help you?’ a cheery female voice sang.

  ‘Er...’ he began, and cleared his throat. ‘This might sound a little strange, but could you tell me if Kate Peters is staying with you?’

  There was silence on the other end for a moment, then a decidedly frostier voice said, ‘No, sorry, it’s against company policy to give out any information about our guests.’

  ‘Does that mean she is staying with you?’

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t comment, sorry.’

  ‘But I’m her husband—’

  ‘I don’t care who you are, I’m not telling you anything about anyone.’ Then she hung up on him and Brett was none the wiser about whether his wife had booked into Allison’s Guest House or not. From the way the conversation went, he thought she might have done, but he wasn’t totally sure. Also, the fact that this was the very first place he’d tried (and what were the odds of that?) made him think she probably wasn’t.

  ‘Dad, what are you doing?’ Ellis peered over his shoulder.

  ‘Trying to find your mother.’

  ‘I’ve already
found her. I think.’

  ‘You have? How? Where?’

  Ellis gave a long-suffering sigh. ‘By using the phone’s track and locate.’

  ‘Is there such a thing?’

  ‘Obvs.’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘Yes.’ Another sigh.

  ‘But, I think she’s switched her phone off. Every time I call, it goes to answer phone.’

  Ellis smirked. ‘It’ll give you a location history so you can see where she was the last time her phone was on. She was in a place called Brixham.’

  ‘Yes!’ Brett punched the air.

  ‘Alright, Dad, keep your hair on. Are we going to get her, or what?’

  ‘I am, you’re not.’

  ‘Why not? I’m the one who found her.’

  ‘Yes, about that – do you make a habit of tracking your parents’ phones?’

  ‘There’s no point. You don’t do anything or go anywhere,’ she said.

  The front door opened and closed just as Beverley thumped a hand on Brett’s shoulder and he yelped in surprise.

  ‘Chill, Daddo, it’s only Nanny. I swear you really are going deaf.’

  ‘I’m not,’ he protested.

  ‘As soon as Helen has gone, I’ll ask Kate to change the sheets on the bed,’ Beverley announced, ‘and Portia can have her room back.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ve no intention of staying where I’m not wanted,’ Helen said, having just arrived back. She slapped the bottle of Calamine Lotion on the kitchen counter. ‘I’ll just have to celebrate Christmas on my own.’ She sniffed and dabbed delicately at the corner of her eye.

  ‘It’s not that you’re not wanted,’ Brett began, but she interrupted him.

  ‘You made your position perfectly clear, earlier. To think that my own son has told me never to darken his door again.’ Another sniff, this one louder.

  ‘You’ve been reading too many of those daft magazines,’ Beverley said. ‘They’ve rotted your brain; “Darken his door” indeed. Who speaks like that?’

  ‘First Kate doesn’t want to see me ever again, and now my son has cast me out,’ Helen cried, ignoring both Beverley’s comments and Ellis’s incredulous expression.

  ‘I didn’t cast you out,’ Brett said.

  ‘You did! You told me to go.’