‘Jingle Bells’ wavered, then steadied. I sidled round the door into the hall, fumbled in my bag for some money, and thrust it through the half-open door with a: ‘Very nice – thank you! Good night!’
They had just embarked on ‘Away in a Manger’, but tailed off, muttered, and then trod crisply away down the path.
I had to dampen my hair before I could do anything with it.
Mother was awaiting me in the church porch, inclined to sing ‘Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star’ in a sort of baby lisp, so I tried to persuade her to come home instead, but she clung to the porch door indignantly, still singing.
I’d had much the same struggle with Toby, earlier, when he’d let himself out of his cage again and ravaged the curtain tieback tassel.
‘You come along in with me, dearie!’ Mrs Deakin said firmly, coming alongside and taking Mother’s arm. I took the other and we got her into a seat at the back.
We made quite a noise and several heads turned, including the Wrekins’, who smiled and waved. There was a row of other drunks at the back with us, but Mrs Deakin kindly said she’d stay next to Mother since she had a good view down the aisle and could ensure that at least Mother didn’t fall into it.
‘Twinkle, twinkle, twinkle,’ sang Mother more quietly. ‘Twinkle, twinkle, twinkle.’ Then she broke off and said blearily, ‘James!’
It was, too, and I think he meant to sit with us, except that luckily there was no room, so he ended up on the opposite side of the aisle. This was probably just as well considering how furious I was with him for letting Mother come to church in such a state.
Mrs Deakin said afterwards that she didn’t know when she’d enjoyed a service more, and pointed out a girl slipping out of the back of the church wearing a black fur jacket, short leather skirt and boots. She had long hair and fat thighs: Wendy!
‘Like a play on the telly it’s been, what with her trying to catch your husband’s eye, and him trying to catch yours!’
I hadn’t been aware of it, being preoccupied with trying to keep Mother from springing up like a Jack-in-the-box at inappropriate moments. At least she’d now quieted to a semi-comatose state. At the gate I thanked Mrs Deakin for her help and supported my tottering parent away down the dark lane. I wish she would wear sensible footwear.
A few fat flakes of snow fell, and it was very cold. I longed for bed and a hot-water bottle with my entire being.
Mrs Peach passed us and said good evening, but didn’t stop, which I was thankful for. I expect she was in church too, but up front with the godly.
I made Mother take her boots and coat off at the door, then left her while I put hot-water bottles into both our beds and got ready. When I came down in my dressing gown, she was muttering about ungrateful children and a little drinkie before bedtime, but I told her she must just look after herself.
Fergal: December 1999
‘Friends, new and old, will all be welcome to the midnight carol service …’
Nutthill Parish Magazine
The kindly vicar came up to the hall especially to assure me that I’d be welcome at the carol service, though clearly he sees me as the black sheep among his flock. Still, maybe next year I’ll go and see if I’m struck by a Damascene conversion on the spot.
This was the first time I’d ever set off for the big family Christmas with a reluctant heart and it felt heavier with every mile that separated me from Nutthill. I hope Tish looks after herself in my absence, because that ghastly mother of hers is unlikely to think of anyone except herself. And that husband of hers … I’d like to teach him the hard way that, in my code, single men mess around with other women, but married men don’t. Tish’s mother screwed up: I’d have made a much better husband than James, that’s for sure, even if appearances were to the contrary.
Tish …
All the lights were still blazing away downstairs when I got up on Christmas morning – later than usual since I’d been listening to the radio, drinking Coffette from the Teasmade, and eating chocolates with gooey centres out of the spare box I’d got from Mrs Deakin, which I’d decided to award to myself.
There was no sound other than snoring from the spare room, so I thought it would be lunchtime, at least, before Mother emerged.
Outside everything was lightly frosted with snow: very Christmas-cardish. Bess and I had a quick stroll – she didn’t like getting snow on her feet, and kept trying to lift them all off the ground simultaneously with the obvious result.
Back home I switched on the radio for the Christmas programmes and gave Bess her stocking. She disembowelled it all over the kitchen, but wouldn’t let the pups near it. Toby got a peeled satsuma and half a Jaffa cake, which would glue his beak up nicely for a bit. Then I put the turkey roast in its tin and prepared the vegetables.
Mother came down much later in unusual silence, except for complaining of a headache, so I gave her two aspirins, wished her Happy Christmas and recommended a walk.
She gave me a look and continued sitting hunched over the kitchen table drinking gallons of weak sugary tea, while I lunched on Christmas cake and four satsumas. Then I suggested we go into the living room and open our presents.
Granny’s to me was a book of helpful hints on divorce, which Mother said was further evidence of her senility, but that was after she’d opened her own present and found thermal underwear.
‘But it’s just the thing for this weather, Mother.’
‘Don’t be silly, dear – it’s the kind of thing old women wear!’
‘I think this sort of lacy vest top is very pretty. If you don’t like it, I’ll have it.’
When she unwrapped my box of chocolates, she said, ‘Thank you, darling. I suppose you’ve been too busy lately to think of Poor Little Me!’
Her present to me was, as always, a small bottle of an expensive scent that I particularly dislike. I kissed her cheek and thanked her.
After that I reluctantly ripped off the glossy paper enclosing James’s offering, to reveal an indecently large bottle of ridiculously expensive perfume, which quite took me aback, and made Mother miffed because her little bottle looked nothing beside it.
‘Oh blast! What am I going to do with this?’
‘But – aren’t you
pleased
, Leticia?’
‘Pleased? It must have cost the earth! I can’t possibly accept it.’
‘But surely it must touch your heart, his spending all that money on this lovely perfume?’
‘No – it’s vulgar! And impersonal.’ But I could see she didn’t understand. I put the bottle on the dresser. ‘I’ll give it back when he comes round later.’
‘But you can’t. He’ll be terribly hurt!’
‘I can’t do anything else, Mother.’
While I put the finishing touches to dinner, she sat in front of the TV eating her chocolates and destroying her liver.
The table looked very festive with the holly and fir cone decoration I’d made, and a red cloth. I’d done roast potatoes and all the trimmings, but Mother was predictably outraged that I hadn’t bought an enormous turkey.
‘But it’s such an economy – you can cut at it for days, and there’s always something to eat if visitors come round.’
‘I get sick of it by the second day, and I’m not expecting visitors.’
‘James!’
‘Let him eat cake.’
‘Really, it’s no wonder you couldn’t keep him with an attitude like that.’
‘Oh, do you think so? But I’m sure Blondie isn’t a cordonbleu chef either – unless she’s feeding a different appetite.’
‘Leticia!’
‘Have some Christmas pudding, Mother, but mind you don’t choke on the silver charms – that wouldn’t be lucky.’
We both found one and she insisted on keeping hers to put on her charm bracelet although already she rattles like the Ghost of Christmas Past. I don’t know how she can lift her wrist.
After the meal we lay about in front of the Wrekins’ telly, replete, with Bess, who’d escaped her maternal duties yet again. It was snug, even though outside the snow was falling and the sky a strange, unearthly colour.
The Incubus was kicking and protesting at the amount of food pressing on its swimming space and I wished it would have a nice long sleep until digestion had done its bit.
Mother watched the film, while I fell asleep part-way through reading
Quick Divorce Solutions
, and woke later when she was talking on the phone to her beau; he seems pretty keen and apparently calls her at least once every day!
I heaved myself up and went to make some ham sandwiches, and had just brought them in on a tray with mince pies, fruit, and chocolate finger biscuits (with Mother still bemoaning the lack of turkey), when James arrived.
They both spurned my coffee in favour of something stronger.
James followed me out to the kitchen afterwards, though he didn’t offer to carry anything. ‘I’d forgotten about the puppies!’ he exclaimed, but when he made as if to go nearer Bess growled and looked defensive, so he had to content himself with peering at them from a distance.
‘Funny-looking things! Do you know what the father is?’
‘I’m beginning to suspect it’s that enormous Old English sheepdog that’s always roaming round the village.’
‘Good God! You’ll never get rid of them if it is. Perhaps you ought to have them put down?’
‘I certainly will not! I’ll find homes for them.’
He sat down at the table, and the light showed all the lines and wrinkles that were forming, and the way his skin seemed to be coming detached from the craggy bones of his face. It gave me some idea of what he’d look like as an old man if he didn’t cut down on the self-indulgence – and it wouldn’t be a pretty sight.
‘Oh – thanks,’ he said unenthusiastically as I put a cup and more mince pies in front of him. ‘But I couldn’t eat another thing.’
I
did, though. I think he was just put off by the darkness of the wholemeal pastry.
‘How are you feeling? Is the baby all right?’
I looked at him in surprise. ‘Caring James’ was a new manifestation. ‘Fine – it should arrive at the beginning of April.’ (April the first, actually, but I refuse to contemplate that possibility!)
He sighed. ‘I suppose you wouldn’t consider having another shot at the marriage? I’ve been considering things a lot and it would be different this time. I still think you were a bit hasty, but Wendy must have been a shock.’
‘She was certainly a surprise.’ I selected another mince pie. ‘Lots of fruit and thin pastry!’
‘What?’
‘The mince pies: that’s how I like them. And our marriage is all in the past, as far as I’m concerned. What you get up to with Wendy, or anyone else, isn’t my concern any more.’
‘Yes, but that’s just it – now you’ve thrown me out, she keeps trying to move in with me permanently and hinting that when I get the divorce I should marry her.’
‘Why don’t you and Wendy just live with Alice and Howard?’
‘Alice seems to think it would be better if Wendy moved in with me – I think she wants Howard to herself.’
‘What for, to experiment on?’
He gave me one of his uncomprehending blinks and carried on plaintively, ‘In any case, I don’t want to live with her anywhere, you know that.’
‘Do I?’
‘Of course – I want us to be together again.’
‘There is no “us”. There never really was.’ My bowels of compassion remained unstirred. ‘Sorry, James, you’ll have to sort it out yourself. The divorce goes ahead.’
‘Alice says her father knows Uncle Lionel,’ he said, even more gloomily.
‘Then perhaps she might have the makings of a solicitor’s wife after all,’ I suggested brightly, and he glowered. It would be one solution. Then afterwards, Wendy could eat him alive like a female spider. Tidy.
‘Look, why not just tell her you don’t want to see her any more, if you mean it, James? You’re a big boy now.’
‘You don’t know Wendy.’
‘Well, there is that to be thankful for, I suppose.’
He got himself into this mess and he can find his way out … if he really wants out. I don’t know how much of what he says is true any more.
Anyway, I then compounded his happiness by returning his present and he got mad and said he would give it to Wendy instead. I kindly pointed out that she would think he was really serious if he gave her such an expensive gift.
‘Let’s not argue about it, James,’ I said. ‘It’s Christmas, after all.’
‘Look, if I swap the bottle for a smaller one, would that be all right?’ he said more reasonably.
‘Yes – fine. But the smallest size, mind.’
We went back to Mother, who was snoring in front of the TV, and I crammed half a box of chocolates in on top of everything else, which put an end to the Incubus’s gymnastics for one night.
James had to help me get Mother upstairs, then turned maudlin on the doorstep. I pushed him out into the cold, cold snow: that would sober him.
Fergal rang me just as I was going up to bed myself, to wish me Happy Christmas, and I could hear the sound of family revelry in the background.
‘Look after yourself,’ he said and then I thought he added, ‘and I wish you were here …’ but I must have imagined that, for he said breezily, ‘See you in 2000, Angel!’ and rang off.
I felt exhausted by Boxing Day and made Mother go down to Mrs Deakin’s (who’d said she’d be opening the shop for a couple of hours), for a few things we’d run out of. She was gone for absolutely ages, so God knows what she’d been telling her! My name will be on everyone’s lips by nightfall (if it isn’t already).
I began my new novel:
The Sweet Wine of Love
, which is about a young English girl touring Europe, who loses all her money and has to find a job picking grapes. There she meets a young man who is really the son of a comte, only he has to prove himself in the fields to inherit the money …
Though I didn’t see much of Mother, I could hear the TV booming away: she must be going deaf.
Apparently Dr Reevey called, too – it must be love! He’s probably her last hope of salvation before alcoholism. After Bess’s last run of the evening the phone rang and I thought it might be him again … or even Fergal, but when I picked it up and said, ‘Hello?’ there was no reply other than a silence like an old, rather tiresome, acquaintance.