The Christmas Spirit (15 page)

Christmas Day

Meredith awoke to shouts of
‘Santa’s been,
Mummy, Santa’s been.’
She was pretty sure she recognised the owner of
the voice as Edward. Smiling as she dropped her legs over the side of the bed,
she thought back to when she was his age and Christmas had still held that
sense of wonder. Her presents had included a doctor’s kit and the most
beautiful doll’s house she had ever seen. No-one knew this, but she still had
it in her attic.

She cleaned her teeth, threw on her dressing gown and
traipsed downstairs. She was last down. Jasper and Alannah were at the front of
the tree, passing presents back to everyone. Edward and Max were given most of
their presents before the others. Edward tore the wrapping paper off his first
present, uncovering an Avengers Assemble figure; Thor. Alannah helped Max
remove a Peppa Pig space rocket from his parcel, to shrieks of delight and
exclamations of
‘Look Mummy, Peppa!’
Amelia didn’t
need to feign enthusiasm; the expression on her son’s face was all she needed
to exude genuine pleasure.

The children’s presents were torn open, marvelled at, and
wrapping paper discarded, as the next gift arrived on their lap or into their
outstretched hands. Gareth went around picking up all the abandoned gift wrap,
stuffing it unceremoniously into a bin bag he’d fetched from the kitchen.
There, they could see the floor again, and the rest of the presents. There was
nothing worse than a new toy being trodden on and broken or damaged because
someone hadn’t seen it for the carnage that was their living room on Christmas
morning. One of Edward’s train carriages had gone that way the year before, so
Gareth had learned his lesson.

In between hugs and kisses and cries of
Thank
you, Mummy, Thank you, Daddy
, Amelia and Gareth moved the previous toy
to the side of the relevant child. Each child had their own corner of the room
to place their gifts. The children had their own rooms and a playroom, but
Christmas Day was sacred in Amelia’s house, and they were pretty much allowed
to do what they wanted. Christmas was all about the children. Mess and chaos
reigned and that was the way it should be. Gareth knew full well that his role
was to assemble everything that required it. Already he was pulling the cable
ties off boxes and trying to get inside, so he could insert batteries, ever
mindful of a patiently waiting child who wanted to play with it.

Wordlessly he cursed the toy manufacturers -
who packaged these things?
They were a nightmare to get
into, as if the manufacturers were having a good old laugh at the expense of
the parents.

Unable to contain himself any longer, Max dived on another
present which had been given to him, and asked his mum to help him open it. She
was helping Edward, so Meredith suggested she do it for him. Paper removed, it
revealed a Bananas in Pyjamas funhouse, which was met with whoops of glee from
Max, who was literally bouncing on the spot, he couldn’t contain himself.
Involving no assembly, with packaging that hadn’t been put together by a
contortionist and only requiring two AA batteries, Max was soon playing with
his funhouse whilst his older siblings took a few minutes to open their gifts.
An iPad Mini had Jasper grinning from ear to ear, and Alannah’s digital camera
with integrated video camera provoked squeals of joy. The children continued to
open their gifts, exclaiming in wonder at many of them, each having a bigger
wow factor than the last.

Eventually all the children’s presents were opened and the
younger ones began to play with their toys, as Alannah and Jasper passed gifts
to their parents and aunt. Meredith loved the cashmere jumper Amelia and Gareth
had bought her. Max had wrapped a gift for her, which turned out to be his Mr
Matey bubble bath. She was touched that he had thought of her, and promised to
use it that night, and she meant it. She might be much more accustomed to
Crème de la Mer
products, but her beloved youngest nephew
had donated his much-cherished bubble bath, so she was determined to use and
enjoy it. Mr Matey - she couldn’t believe he was still around. That was one of
the gifts their parents had bought them every year. Clearly Amelia had
continued the tradition.

As Amelia instructed the children to make some space, so
they could play with their toys, Gareth said he was off to make bacon rolls. It
was now six o’clock and Christmas lunch was still a long way off. Meredith
offered to help, and as she passed Edward and Max, playing happily together,
showing each other their new toys and finding each other’s toys even more
interesting than those they had received themselves, Meredith felt privileged
to be a part of their Christmas.

‘Merry Christmas, everyone.’ Sophie’s father raised a glass
of pink champagne to his daughters and wife.

‘Merry Christmas, Dad,’ ‘Merry Christmas, darling,’ came the
replies as they chinked glasses together.

Sophie’s family had arisen at the much more respectable time
of nine o’clock, with her parents waking the girls only at ten o’clock. Sophie
hadn’t slept much. Jacob had been populating her dreams, awake and asleep. She
had lain for hours the night before reliving their evening together. He’d
finally kissed her when he walked her home and it had been everything she had
expected and more. Warm, inviting, sexy, she couldn’t wait until the next one.
Fortunately she didn’t have much longer to wait. He’d asked her if she wanted
to meet up on Boxing Night, so she had precisely thirty-four more hours to go.
She hadn’t told her family yet, not even her sisters, to whom she was very
close. She didn’t want to jinx things. For now she hugged the secret to herself
and said, yes, she would like a cup of tea, when her sister asked her for the
third time.

As she opened her presents with her family, she tried to
keep her mind on the day. But Christmas had come a day early for Sophie, and
she couldn’t be happier.

Stanley’s routine didn’t change on Christmas morning. The
wedding reception had lasted well into the wee small hours and it was gone two
o’clock by the time the taxi dropped him home. He’d hung up his dress clothes,
so they could air, gone through his usual ablutions, then gone to bed. He’d
decided he would tell Edie all about the wedding in the morning.

At half past six, Stanley was up once more. Irrespective of
what time he went to bed, he woke at the same time; the curse, or joy,
depending on which way you looked at it, of getting old. He made two cups of
tea and carried them over to the kitchen table. Sitting down, he picked one up
and took a sip. Ah, that was better. He then wished Edie a Merry Christmas, and
told her about the wedding in as much detail as he could remember. He told her
of the guests, the bride’s dress, even though as a man he didn’t know anything
about styles, cuts and materials, he described it as best he could. He knew if
Edie was here with him, she’d be rolling her eyes and telling him he didn’t
have a clue about fashion.

The sumptuous menu was gone into in great detail, everything
from the Loch Etive smoked salmon terrine he’d eaten for starters, the beef
wellington he’d had with fresh roasted asparagus, green beans spritzed with
lemon juice and a carrot mash. It had been visually pleasing and hadn’t gone
unnoticed by his palate either. He’d chosen the more traditional dessert of
homemade apple pie and custard, although it had also included pumpkin, which
was new to him. He had avoided the sorbet, which had always seemed like an
excuse not to serve real ice cream, and
panna cotta
really didn’t sound his kind of thing.

Stanley regaled Edie with tales of the ceilidh and the fun
he’d had. Even he had joined in insofar as he was able. He’d declined Strip the
Willow, a lethal dance which often ended up in sprained ankles, or someone
getting an elbow in the face by accident, and which almost always left its
participants covered in bruises. But he’d managed Pride of Erin and a few other
waltzes, and had really enjoyed himself, as he’d danced with the bride and a
few of the bride’s relatives who had flown in from Canada. He recalled when he
and Edie had been courting and they had gone to a ceilidh in a hotel in Killin
in Perthshire. They’d stayed with relatives of Edie back then and they had
danced to every jig and reel, only finishing breathless when the band declared
they would be back again the following week, but that was them done for the
night. He knew Edie would be thinking of that night, too, and he was warmed by
the thought.

Tabitha sat cross-legged whilst she still could, her bump
small, but discernible, and passed presents over to Jacob. She had been, as
ever, too generous, and Jacob felt bad that he had been able to buy her so
little, but she had waved away his protests of
‘this is too
much,’
as well as having ignored his fifty pounds maximum he had set on
gifts this year, as he simply didn’t have the money. ‘Tabs, you’ve spent at
least six times our limit.’ Jacob was perplexed.

‘Jacob, it’s not about the money, it’s about the giving,’
she told him.

Realising there was truth in this and wondering if his
parents had ever thought of it that way when they lavished gifts on them all
throughout their childhood to make up for their absence, Jacob relented and
decided just to accept his gifts in the spirit they were given.

He’d chosen a few items of maternity clothing for Tabitha.
She had been moaning that her tops were starting to get too tight and he’d
zoned in on that comment. He was surprisingly good at choosing clothes and knew
his sister’s tastes well.

Tabitha had ordered most of the food and ingredients from
Fortnum & Mason, determined they would have a fabulous Christmas dinner
together, since it was just the two of them, although technically she pointed
out, there were three of them present. How weird was that?

Jacob agreed it was odd and felt a rush of anticipation
surge through him. This time next year he’d be an uncle. There would be a baby
to contend with, buy gifts for and care for. It would be marvellous. He loved
children. And on top of that, he might have a girlfriend. OK, he’d only had one
date with Sophie, but he had a good feeling. Next year could turn out to be a pretty
exciting one.

Contrary to expectation, Rebecca hadn’t been subjected to the
third degree by her mother on arrival the night before, and in fact she had
spent an enjoyable evening with her parents having a low-key meal and a few
glasses of wine, in her case, and sherry in her parents’. So on Christmas morning,
she was expecting some throwaway comment from her mum, which would be
chock-full of meaning, but it never came and gradually she felt less and less
on edge. By the time the Queen’s Speech came on at three o’clock, there was
little likelihood of her mother broaching the subject of Ethan and how much she
thought he was right for Rebecca. Maybe she had got away with it.

Dinner was a lovely, quiet affair with the TV off and
discussion which centred around what there was to do in Oxfordshire, as well as
the hot news items Rebecca had brought to the table; her job and her new home.
In fact her mother had been nothing short of helpful, giving advice when asked,
as opposed to sticking her oar in where it wasn’t wanted, which she was wont to
do. Rebecca surprised herself by discovering she was having a good time;
surprise which must have manifested itself in her expression, as her father at
one point gave her the thumbs-up sign. It was terrible being the only child a
lot of the time. You always had to be there for your parents as they had no-one
else to call upon, and whilst Rebecca didn’t mean this to sound uncharitable,
being the constant focus of your parents’ attention could be exhausting
sometimes.

Rebecca’s father was a mild, understated man, who took comfort
in the simple things in life. Having his daughter home for Christmas was
present enough for him, as he sat in his armchair and watched her relaxing.
Never one to cause a fuss, this time he’d stood up for her. When his wife had
been hysterical about their darling daughter splitting up from Ethan, for once
he had intervened. Rebecca was having a hard enough time of it, having to give
up her beloved flat, not to mention also having to mend her broken heart. What
she didn’t need was her mother wading in with her size sixes and making her
feel as if no-one was on her side. Rebecca’s mother had been so flabbergasted
at being addressed in this way that she capitulated. It was rare for her
husband to cause a scene or voice opinions contrary to her own, so when he did,
she knew he meant it and he wasn’t to be trifled with.

As she sat in her parents’ cosy living room, watching
Only Fools and Horses
and
Who Wants To
Be A Millionaire’s
Christmas episode, eating orange Matchmakers, the
occasional leftover After Eight and sipping her glass of shiraz, Rebecca
realised she felt more at peace here than she had done for the past year with
Ethan.

She thought back to the previous Christmas when she,
excited, had got out of bed at ten o’clock, which by Christmas morning standards
and by her estimation, was pretty late, and brought Ethan a cup of tea and a
boiled egg with toast soldiers. He’d once let slip when drunk that it was his
guilty pleasure, but that she mustn’t tell anyone, as he’d never live it down.

Hungover, Ethan hadn’t appreciated the gesture and had
rolled over and gone back to sleep, leaving his breakfast untouched. Rebecca,
deflated, had gone into the living room and opened a few presents she had
received from friends.

But that hadn’t been the only time he had shown his true
colours, ungrateful prat, and as Rebecca continued to reflect, it struck her
that she had been lonely for a long time. She had never thought she would be
that person who was lonely in a relationship, but now that it was staring her
in the face, she knew that was what she had become and she was glad to be rid
of him. Deciding that the five minutes she had spent thinking of him today was
four too many, Rebecca picked up the TV guide, flicked through it, then asked
if anyone minded if she watched the
Downton Abbey
Christmas
Special.