With Love at Christmas

  ‘You can teach an old dog new tricks.’ He winks at me. Buster looks doubtful. ‘Life is for living, Juliet. Never forget that.’

  My life, I muse, is for looking after everyone else. But I don’t voice that opinion.

  ‘I was going to pick your brains. Rick and I are thinking of going away for a quick weekend break before Christmas, just the two of us. We’ve actually been promising ourselves a romantic weekend away, somewhere like Paris or Rome, since our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary, and have never quite managed it. There’s always something else to do, isn’t there?’

  ‘You need to spoil yourselves,’ Dad says. ‘That’s what keeps love alive.’

  God knows how we’ve managed to keep ours breathing, then. It could be on its last legs. ‘Any ideas?’

  ‘Why not go to one of the Christmas markets?’ Samuel pipes up instantly. ‘They have some nice ones in this country, or you could nip across to Europe. The market in Bruges is particularly nice. We loved it there in the spring, didn’t we, Francis?’

  ‘Oh, the chocolate!’ Dad exclaims. ‘You have to go for that alone.’

  Nipping across to Europe sounds very nice. It’s something I’ve never done before. Which is ridiculous, considering it’s on our doorstep. I wonder, could I sell that to Rick?

  ‘I can show you some of the sites that we use on the internet, if that would help,’ Samuel offers.

  ‘That’d be great. And I have another favour to ask, Dad.’ I focus on the bauble in my hand and lower my voice. In this house, walls have ears. My mother, who is as deaf as a post when she wants to be, misses nothing. ‘I’m worried about Mum.’

  ‘Oh?’

  I sigh. ‘It’s little things,’ I tell him, trying to shrug it off. ‘But I’m concerned about leaving her alone if we do go away.’ It used to be the children I was frightened to leave at home on their own in case they burned the house down. Now it’s my mum. Actually, I still wouldn’t trust the kids entirely, and I certainly wouldn’t leave them in charge of their tricky grandma. ‘Could you and Samuel come and stay here to keep an eye on her?’

  ‘Of course,’ Dad says. ‘Wouldn’t like to see the old girl on her own.’

  Concerned as I am about her frailty, the ‘old girl’ would still be capable of slicing off dad’s balls with a blunt knife if she heard him call her that.

  Chapter Seven

  Samuel brings their wine glasses through to the kitchen, rinses them thoroughly and puts them in the dishwasher. He is the most domesticated person I know. Whenever you visit their house, there isn’t so much as a hair out of place.

  ‘Thank you,’ I say.

  ‘No worries. Nice mince pies.’ He pats his tummy, which is cuddly like a teddy bear’s.

  ‘Sadly not home-made.’

  ‘I can do some for you,’ Samuel offers. ‘Don’t feel you have to do everything for Christmas, Juliet. You have so much on your plate.’ As if subconsciously, he glances upstairs to where my mother is dozing. ‘Francis and I are delighted to be invited, and we’re more than willing to help out.’

  ‘I know you are. And of course you’re invited, you’re family.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Samuel has big eyes in his round face, and he flutters his eyelashes at me proudly. ‘I can do the Christmas cake for you, if you like.’

  ‘Tesco has already done the honours.’

  He laughs at that. I don’t know if he thinks I’m joking. I’m not. ‘I’ll make some sausage rolls, then. They freeze easily. Francis does a mean cheese straw.’

  I stand back and look at my dad’s partner. ‘I never thought I’d live to see the day someone said that of my dear dad.’ We giggle together. Samuel is a consummate giggler. ‘You have turned his life around, Samuel, and for that, I’m truly grateful. You’ve made him the man he always wanted to be. Thank you.’

  Samuel flushes.

  ‘I don’t have to worry about him at all.’

  ‘You don’t,’ he assures me. ‘I’ll always look after him. He’s changed my life, too, Juliet. I was very lonely before I met Francis.’

  ‘I can’t imagine that at all.’ Samuel is such easy company to be around, and he embraces every day with joy. In the two years that I’ve known him, I don’t think I’ve ever seen Samuel in a bad mood.

  ‘Beneath all this bluster, I’m actually very shy,’ he adds. As a couple they now have a terrific circle of supportive friends, but they much prefer to be alone together.

  ‘You hide it very well.’ Before he becomes too selfconscious, I change the subject. ‘What have you bought Dad for Christmas?’

  ‘I’ve booked us afternoon tea together at the Ritz,’ he confides. ‘It’s so charming, Francis will love it.’

  ‘Oh, he will,’ I agree. I wonder why I can’t think of wonderful presents like that.

  Rick comes in from the shed. ‘Brrr,’ he says. ‘Getting cold out there. Hiya, Samuel.’ He claps Samuel on the back.

  Samuel always tries to be more gruff and manly when Rick is around, and fails miserably. ‘Hi, Rick.’

  ‘Do you want some more tea?’ I ask him.

  Rick rubs his hands together. ‘Oh, yes.’

  ‘Dad’s in the living room, keeping an eye on Jaden. Can you see if he wants any, please?’

  ‘Will do.’ Rick disappears.

  ‘It’s not like Francis to turn down a cuppa,’ Samuel says.

  ‘No.’

  ‘You sit down, Juliet. I can do this.’

  ‘You are a love,’ I tell him. Then Samuel coughs again, and it really catches his breath. He puts a hand to his chest.

  ‘You really should go to the doctor about that,’ I advise. ‘You might need antibiotics.’

  ‘I’ll make an appointment,’ he assures me. ‘It has gone on for too long.’

  ‘Can’t you take a couple of days off work and stay in bed?’

  ‘We’re so busy at the bookshop in the run-up to Christmas, and I couldn’t leave the others in the lurch.’

  Samuel and I share a love of books, as does my dad. I currently have a job in one of the many estate agents’ offices in the High Street in Stony Stratford but, before that, I was an assistant at the town library for years, a place that’s now under constant threat of closure due to council cutbacks. ‘It sounds like you should be the one having a rest. I’m glad you’re busy at work, but take it easy. The last thing we want is for you to be poorly on the big day. I’m looking to you to lead the karaoke, Samuel.’

  He titters again at that. Samuel specialises in the songs of Gloria Gaynor and is always the life and soul of the party, while my father sits and smiles adoringly at him.

  ‘Chloe said she’s got some new songs for the Singstar.’

  ‘Oh, you know Chloe. She likes to make everything into a competition. It’s Back to the 80s, or something. I’m surprised she’s not been practising.’

  ‘Sounds just up my street.’ He coughs again. ‘I’m hoping to have a few days off over the holidays so that Francis and I can sit with our feet up and catch up with some reading.’

  ‘You go and sit down right now.’ I usher him towards the door. ‘Why don’t you stay for dinner tonight? It will save you cooking.’ I never want my dad and Samuel to go home. If we had room, I’d want them here all the time. ‘I’m going to roast a chicken. Dad’s favourite.’

  ‘That’s settles it, then,’ Samuel says.

  ‘Good.’ We smile at each other. ‘Perhaps we can have a look at the internet later, and you can help me decide on a destination for our trip.’

  ‘I’d love to.’

  Rick pops his head round the door. ‘Tea all round,’ he says.

  ‘Fancy a bit of cake, Samuel?’

  ‘I don’t like to spoil my dinner.’

  ‘Just a little slice? That won’t hurt.’

  ‘Oh, go on then. You’ve twisted my arm. I wouldn’t say no to a tiny morsel.’

  ‘I might open that Tesco Christmas cake now, and we could have a home-made one for Christmas proper.’

>   ‘I’m happy to oblige,’ Samuel says. ‘There’s a nice recipe I’d like to try.’

  ‘Then let’s do that.’ I make the tea, open the cake and, bracing myself, even take a cup up to Mum.

  Chapter Eight

  Dad and Samuel do stay for dinner, so we all crowd round the table in the kitchen. It’s fair to say that there’s not much elbow room. Any more and it will be standing-room only. But this is when I love my home the most. I’d have no idea what to do if it was just Rick and me again.

  ‘We’ll have to get that dining-room table back in, Rick,’ I say to him while he’s spooning carrots into a serving dish.

  ‘I’ll do it,’ he says. ‘I promise.’

  I stir some hot milk and butter into the mashed potatoes. Rick drains the pan of peas. ‘Dinner’s ready, Mum,’ I shout up the stairs for the second time. I start to carve the chicken. Thank goodness it’s a big one. I think they must have been feeding it neat steroids, but I try not to dwell on that. Rick makes up some gravy granules. Delia would throw herself on her sword.

  I cut up some of the scraps and put them in Buster’s bowl. He trots over gratefully, always worried that he’ll be lost in the crowd.

  My mother wafts in. She’s wearing a spangled evening dress in black and is carrying a clutch bag, though it’s clear she hasn’t combed her hair since she woke up from her nap. Rick and I roll our eyes at each other. She has lipstick on, but has almost entirely missed her mouth. As I’m just about to dish up, I don’t have time to go and help her change. ‘Sit down, Mum.’

  Samuel moves up to create a space between him and Dad.

  ‘Hello, young man,’ she says to him. ‘Have we been introduced?’

  ‘Yes, Rita. We’ve met before.’

  ‘Oh, lovely,’ she continues. ‘Was it in Cairo?’

  ‘Mum, you’ve never been to Cairo.’

  ‘Really?’ She looks surprised at that. ‘I’m sure I was there in eighty-two.’

  She wasn’t.

  Mum sits down. ‘Are you here with someone?’

  ‘Yes,’ Samuel says. ‘I’m here with Francis.’

  ‘My husband?’

  ‘Er . . . ’ He looks at me, slightly panicked.

  ‘Samuel is a . . . a friend . . . of Dad’s.’

  ‘How nice,’ she says. ‘From the Conservative Club?’

  He nods uncertainly.

  ‘Well, any friend of Frank’s is a friend of mine.’ She shakes his hand. Then she takes a compact from her handbag and powders her nose.

  ‘Gran,’ Chloe says with a laugh. ‘You’re losing the plot.’

  ‘She thinks she’s in the bloody cocktail lounge of the QE2,’ Rick mutters to me.

  ‘Shut up,’ I mutter back. ‘Just help me serve.’

  We load up the table with food and everyone tucks in.

  ‘Champagne, madam?’ Rick says to Mum.

  ‘I don’t mind if I do.’

  He pours her a glass of the Tesco own-brand orange juice that everyone else is having. ‘Buck’s Fizz.’

  ‘My favourite.’ She swigs it down and holds out her glass for more. Rick obliges.

  Mum is definitely more malleable these days if she’s drunk or thinks she’s drunk. But I am concerned that her grip on reality seems to waver. Sometimes she’s very lucid, just like the mum I’ve always known – cantankerous, opinionated, difficult. At other times she seems to slip into a world of her own, just out of reach. I must try to persuade her to go to the doctor’s with me.

  ‘I bet you’re glad she pissed off, aren’t you, Grandad?’ Chloe says as she cuts up Jaden’s chicken.

  ‘Chloe!’ I admonish. Mum, however, is intent on her food, and doesn’t seem to notice that the conversation concerns her.

  ‘Well,’ Chloe counters. ‘He’s much happier with Samuel, aren’t you?’

  My dad nods. ‘I am. But relationships are complicated, Chloe. They need work all the time.’

  ‘You and Samuel get along OK.’

  ‘You’re right,’ he says. ‘We do, and I try never to take that for granted.’

  I think that, discreetly, Dad and the object of his affections squeeze hands under the table.

  ‘I’m going out with Mitch tonight.’ Chloe wrinkles her nose. ‘What do you reckon?’

  ‘You should try to make it work with him,’ Dad advises. ‘He’s Jaden’s father, after all. Life would be a lot less complicated in the future if you could figure out how to get along.’

  ‘I should take you on our date with us, Grandad. You’d sort us out.’

  ‘I’m going up to the Living Room for a few bevvies,’ Tom says, still shovelling food into his mouth. ‘I’ll give you a lift if you want, Chloe.’

  I wish they were like this all the time, rather than constantly bickering as they normally are. But they’ve been like it since they could talk, so I don’t think it’s going to change now.

  ‘Cheers, bro.’

  ‘That’ll be in your mother’s car,’ Rick notes.

  ‘Well, it’s not as if you two ever go anywhere,’ Tom flings back.

  That just about sums up our life.

  ‘It’s fine,’ I say. ‘We’re not going out.’ As if.

  ‘We might go out,’ Rick offers.

  I raise my eyebrows at him. ‘Really?’

  ‘You can’t,’ Chloe says. ‘You’re babysitting. Remember?’

  That just about sums up our life too.

  ‘Can I please take your car, dear mother?’ my son asks. ‘If it’s not too much trouble.’

  ‘Dad will run you both up to the city centre,’ I say. ‘I don’t want you drinking and driving. I’ll give you the money for a taxi home.’

  ‘Come on, fatso.’ Tom to Chloe. ‘Are you ready?’

  ‘Tell him, Mum.’

  ‘Don’t call her fatso, Tom. It’s not nice.’

  ‘You look like you’re about to drop, sis. Better not get too much of a swagger on tonight on the dance floor.’

  ‘Mitch and I are going somewhere quiet where we can talk.’

  ‘Good luck with that, love,’ Dad says. ‘You try to make up with him. He’s a nice lad.’

  ‘I don’t want you eyeing him up, Grandad,’ she teases. ‘He’s mine.’ Then she puts her arms round his neck and kisses him, pressing her face against his. She adores her grandad, and they have a lovely bond. I sigh inside. Sometimes I wish that my daughter could be as soft and cuddly with me as she is with my dad. All we ever seem to do is bump up against each other. Dad knows how to sweet-talk Chloe in a way that no one else can. I think that if Chloe and Mitch do get together, then he should give that boy some lessons. ‘Here,’ she hands Jaden to me. ‘Go to Nana. Be good for her. Kiss Mummy goodbye.’

  Jaden, always an angel, does as he’s told.

  ‘I love you to the moon and back,’ she tells him.

  He wriggles to get comfortable on my lap, and then I reach for his plate and feed him the rest of his dinner.

  ‘I want you back before midnight,’ Rick says to Chloe.

  ‘Get a life, Dad.’

  ‘If I had a life of my own, I wouldn’t be able to spend it running you two everywhere.’

  ‘True.’ Chloe picks at the last of her chicken and then stands up. ‘I’m ready.’

  I want to tell her to wear a cardigan, put on a warm coat, not to drink any alcohol, but I keep my lip buttoned.

  ‘Laters,’ Tom says. ‘Might not be home tonight, Mum. If I’m lucky.’ He gives me a hug and kiss.

  ‘See you, Samuel. See you, Grandad. See you, Gran.’ Chloe kisses me too.

  ‘Are you off out somewhere?’ my mum says.

  ‘Fill her in,’ Chloe throws over her shoulder. ‘Byeee, darling!’ She waves at Jaden.

  ‘Laters!’ Rick mimics as he picks up his keys with a reluctant air.

  ‘Parteeeee!’ Chloe says, and she and Tom dance out of the door, their father trailing unhappily in their wake.

  ‘I want to go with Chloe.’ Mum pulls a petulant face.

&nb
sp; ‘You can’t, Mum. She’s seeing Mitch,’ I remind her. ‘You’re to stay here with us. That’ll be fun, too.’

  Even Samuel and Dad look at me as if to say, That’s stretching it.

  ‘Oh,’ Mum says. ‘Is there something on in the ballroom tonight?’

  ‘No,’ I say. ‘Thought we might just sit and watch Emmerdale.’

  ‘Oh.’ So no fun at all, really. I feel as disappointed as Mum looks. It would be nice to be drifting into a ballroom now for some cocktails and entertainment. Sadly, it’s not to be.

  ‘We’ll clear up,’ Samuel says. ‘Won’t we, Francis?’

  ‘You’ll do no such thing. Leave it to me. Take Mum through to the living room and give her some Baileys, or whatever she fancies.’

  Her face brightens at that.

  Chapter Nine

  While Dad and Samuel keep my mother entertained, I take Jaden upstairs, give him a quick bath and put him to bed.

  ‘Story, Nana,’ he says.

  ‘A quick one.’

  ‘The Snail and the Whale.’

  Current must-have. ‘We did that last night.’

  ‘Again.’ Jaden pats the bed. ‘Lie down, Nana.’

  So I feed myself onto the bed alongside his little body and open the book. This is a dangerous time of the day, as I could so very easily fall into a deep sleep myself. Sometimes it’s a toss-up who will be in the land of nod first. I read the story that I’ve trotted out so many times before, but neither Jaden nor I tire of it.

  Tonight Jaden cracks first and is asleep after just a few pages. Slowly, I lever myself up and slither away. I kiss him and tuck him in, then leave him with just his little night light on. He hates waking up by himself in the dark.

  Rick comes back from the city and I sneak upstairs with Samuel to look at Christmas markets on the internet. With his advice, I print off a few details of a trip that looks great but won’t break the Joyce budget. Then we all sit together and watch a repeat on ITV of Michael Bublé’s Home for Christmas.