The Christmas Party

  She’d been at the salon for hours and as a result she was freshly highlighted in honey blonde and her glossy locks hung in loose curls to her shoulders. Her nails had been sculpted too. A whole day had slipped away, never to be seen again, just on making herself pretty. She hoped it was worth it. Perhaps even Tyler would notice. Though, in fairness to him, he’d been very solicitous in recent months. But that made her anxious too. There was usually a reason for Tyler being attentive to her. And it was never an edifying one.

  Picking up her blusher brush, she flicked it over her high cheekbones with studied determination.

  ‘Are you nearly ready, darling?’ Tyler said as he came in from the adjoining bathroom. He was freshly showered and he rubbed at his damp hair.

  She looked at his reflection in her mirror. The white towel, slung low on his hips, accentuated his toned stomach. Despite a surfeit of business lunches and functions like this over the years, he still kept himself in reasonably good shape. He spent hours at the gym. Or, at least, he told her that was where he was going. She did sometimes wonder. He certainly came home from his ‘workouts’ looking flushed in the face and pleased with himself, but sometimes he smelled just a little too fragrant. Not the wholesome scent of shower gel or soap, but a whisper of another woman’s perfume still clinging to him.

  He planted a kiss on her shoulder. ‘It’s quite a drive to Wadestone Manor. We should be on the road soon.’

  ‘Yes, nearly there.’ Kirsten slipped in her diamond earrings. An anniversary present. Or was it birthday?

  ‘I do love a Christmas party.’ He rubbed his hands together with glee. Tyler was obviously feeling very jolly. ‘It’ll get us in the festive mood.’

  ‘I want this year to be different,’ Kirsten said.

  ‘Different?’

  It probably wasn’t the best time to raise this, but when was? They never talked to each other any more.

  ‘You know how it is, Tyler. Because of the stupid way Fossil Oil works, we’ve never been able to put down roots anywhere. We have no friends, no social life. Which means that, invariably, on Christmas Day it’s always just the two of us staring at each other over the dining-room table.’

  ‘I like it quiet.’

  ‘I get so bored. I want us to do things. Together.’

  Her husband looked slightly worried by the prospect. ‘Like what?’

  You’d think after ten years he might know the things she liked. It seemed not. ‘I’d like us to curl up in front of the fire, or go for a long walk in the snow.’

  ‘How do you know it will snow?’

  ‘If there is any. We can walk with or without snow. It’s fun. Romantic.’

  Despite years of her trying to persuade him otherwise, Tyler felt there was no point in a walk unless he was following a little white ball with a golf club in his hand.

  She remembered a time – before Tyler – when those small pleasures had been hers. Country pubs, long walks through rustling autumn leaves, romance, contentment. All when she was young, wide-eyed, filled with optimism and spirit. And with no idea what life would throw at her.

  ‘All we do is sit unspeaking, watching terrible television.’ Late afternoon, Tyler normally cracked and shut himself away in the study for a few hours, leaving her to the terrible telly until she could no longer stand it. Normally, she couldn’t wait for Christmas Day to end. ‘I don’t want you to work.’

  ‘Last year was a one-off,’ he insisted. ‘We’d only just arrived back from Paris.’

  Ah, yes. A six-month stint in Fossil Oil’s French headquarters. Executive Development. They were big on that.

  ‘Before this, in one year alone you’ve been posted to the USA, Greece, Belgium and France.’

  ‘It’s excellent experience,’ Tyler reminded her.

  ‘For you, perhaps,’ she countered. ‘Less so for me.’

  The Executive Development Programme was as exhausting as it was unnecessary, in Kirsten’s opinion. Fossil Oil were well known for placing impossible demands on their employees, often relocating them at a moment’s notice for no good reason other than the fact that they could. Even families with schoolage kids were dragged all over the globe for scant reason. Without children, the Bensons were cannon fodder for the corporate machine.

  They’d landed back from Paris the week before Christmas. Her husband, keen to get back up to speed in the UK, had spent most of Christmas Day taking phone calls from other Fossil Oil executives who failed to understand the concept of a work/life balance. Kirsten had locked herself in the hall closet and cried, only emerging an hour later with eyes red-rimmed and raw. Tyler hadn’t noticed that either. If Christmas had come round every five years, say, she might have been able to stomach it.

  However, this year would be different. That was her solemn vow. This year she’d make an effort. There was no way they could go on like this. Their marriage was teetering on a knife edge and she wanted to do all she could to pull it back from the brink.

  ‘We should be settled back in England for a while this time,’ Tyler said, his tone placatory.

  ‘Fingers crossed.’ Though, if she was honest, even England didn’t feel like home any more. Nowhere did. It was as if she was rootless, floating. It was no way to live. ‘It would be nice if you could ease back on your workload, Tyler. It would be good for us to spend some time together. And I don’t just mean sitting watching television. We should concentrate on our relationship—’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with our relationship.’

  ‘—make some friends, perhaps even establish a role in the local community. Perhaps even stay long enough to find out if there is one.’

  She turned from the mirror and looked up at him. ‘I’m fortytwo, Tyler. It feels as if I’ve spent the best years of my life trailing after you as you’ve scrambled your way up the corporate ladder with Fossil Oil.’

  ‘You’ve done all right out of it.’

  ‘Maybe I should have stayed at home while you roamed the offices of the world.’ Kirsten had trained as a teacher and, at one point, had a nice post in a primary school and quite a promising future. She’d enjoyed her job and been good at it. ‘All I’ve got to show for my career is, somewhere in among all the packing cases that have moved across continents with us, a cardboard box full of the sweetest letters from my pupils.’

  ‘That’s nice though.’

  She’d loved children then. Adored them. It was their open curiosity and capacity for learning that filled her with enthusiasm. Now she didn’t see any children, other than to pass them in the street, from one end of the year to the next. They didn’t even broach the subject of having their own family any more. With Tyler it had always been next year when he earned more, next year when he’d reached this or that level, next year when it was quieter at work, next year when they’d stopped travelling. And, of course, next year never came. Then suddenly she’d turned forty and she felt that ‘next year’ had passed her by. Tyler earned more, reached the next level, got busier and busier and travelled endlessly. But many people in this situation still managed to have children. For Tyler it felt as if Fossil Oil was all the family he needed, but perhaps it wasn’t enough for her.

  ‘If it hadn’t been for Fossil, I could have done a lot of things. I could have forged myself a successful career. I might have made headteacher. I could have found some friends, had a normal life. Whatever that might be.’

  ‘Hindsight is a wonderful gift, Kirsten. We’re still young. Relatively. It’s not too late to do those things, if that’s what you want.’

  ‘I wanted to be with you.’ It was what wives did, wasn’t it? Sacrificed themselves on the altar of their husband’s career. How very foolish it sounded now. Here she was, a decade later, relying on Tyler for her income, for her life. ‘I know no one outside of the beauty salon and the gym. I thought about throwing a party at home this Christmas and then realised that, beyond the employees of Fossil Oil, I don’t actually know anyone who I could invite.’

  Tyler
went to speak.

  She held up a hand.

  ‘Don’t say we can invite Lance and Melissa. That’s exactly what I mean.’

  This was the only time they’d actually spent two consecutive Christmases in the same country. The last ten years had been marked by fleeting acquaintances and empty hours. The only people she had long-term relationships with were the women in the Relocations Department at Fossil Oil who engineered her tediously regular home moves.

  ‘We’ve spent so little time in one place and have always lived in rented homes that it makes me feel like some sort of nomad.’

  ‘Look at this place,’ Tyler said, holding out his arms. ‘It’s stunning. People would cut off both their arms to live somewhere like this.’

  ‘We’ve had some beautiful homes, of course. I can’t deny that. It’s always someone else’s choice of furniture though, never my own.’

  This place was amazing: a four-bedroom Georgian townhouse in Hampstead. Handy for both the London office and the M1. It was all chandeliers and original windows in a quiet, leafy street, slap bang in the middle of a conservation area. No one could argue with its pedigree.

  ‘I’ve reached a stage in my life where having the biggest or shiniest home on the road just isn’t enough. Nothing in this house is ours. I don’t clean it, don’t decorate it, don’t plant a single flower in the garden. When we move – as we will – there’ll be nothing in it to show that we’ve ever been here. All I do is stare at the four walls.’

  ‘We can move somewhere else,’ Tyler said, frowning. ‘If that’s what you want.’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘That’s not what I want at all. You’re missing my point entirely.’

  ‘But this is a great place, and you didn’t want to live near the office.’

  Fossil Oil’s latest venture had been to build a shiny new head office in Milton Keynes and the company had now moved, lock, stock and barrel, out of its base in central London, which was deemed too expensive.

  Another reason she’d taken to travelling with Tyler was that she hadn’t been able to trust him unless he was right under her nose. In her holidays from university she’d worked as an office temp and had endured a number of bosses who were just like Tyler, as libidinous as they were ambitious. Not that her being hot on his heels had ever actually stopped him from playing away. It was just that she had endless hours in which to be suspicious of him. She really should have kept up a job. Or had children. Or both. Perhaps she should have worked hard and climbed the greasy pole to the top of her own profession. Or maybe she would have been more content to spend her time at home if it had been somewhere filled with kids of their own. Then again, no doubt Tyler had the dominant genes and all their offspring would have ended up just like him. She’d have had no chance then. One Tyler Benson was more than enough.

  ‘I’ve promised you I’ll take a few days off over the holidays,’ Tyler soothed.

  After she’d nagged him incessantly. He never usually took time off and always dashed back to the comfort of Fossil Oil as soon as Boxing Day was over. He’d probably go in even earlier if the offices actually opened. But, with the few days at home that he’d promised her, perhaps he was going to try his best this year too.

  ‘We’ll talk about these things then.’

  ‘Promise?’

  ‘Cross my heart and hope to die.’

  He crossed his bare chest and she lifted her hand to caress the spot.

  ‘I’m going to do my very best, using fair means or foul, to make sure you don’t sneak off to the study for a few hours.’

  ‘I’d rather you use fair means.’ Her husband traced his thumb over her cheek. ‘This Christmas can be fun, Kirsten. If you want it to be.’

  The Christmas tree was up, and that wasn’t always a given. It depended on her mood or whether their belongings were still in transit from somewhere or another. For a change, she’d bitten the bullet and brought in Christmas planners to do it for her. It was a small and viciously expensive company who had been recommended by the chairman’s wife, Melissa Harvey. They’d gone to town on the place and, she had to say, it looked marvellous. Far better than when Kirsten ever did it herself. Even Tyler had commented on the decorations, and Tyler very rarely noticed anything. Though he’d certainly notice the cost when the bill came in.

  After much consultation and the presentation of mood boards, the planners had decorated the house in a rather traditional theme in gold and silver. The real tree that they’d put in the living room was absolutely breathtaking when the lights were on. It could be a cold room and this brought a much-needed degree of warmth to it. The scent from the pine needles was heavenly. On a few evenings she’d even come to sit in here, rather than watch the television over the breakfast bar in the kitchen where she often spent her time. Kirsten decided that she’d definitely use them again next year. If, of course, they were still in England. And there was the rub. She simply never knew.

  ‘I want to make Christmas a happy time for us.’ She wanted to be a person who looked forward to it, embraced it, as she once had many years ago. There’d been too many filled with sadness, emptiness, dwelling on things that might have been rather than appreciating what she had. This year, she’d thrown herself into Christmas shopping and, whereas she normally hated the crowds, she’d quite enjoyed the whirlwind. Both Kensingston High Street and Regent Street looked fabulous in their festive garb, and that had helped. As a result, there was a selection of carefully chosen and beautifully gift-wrapped presents for Tyler under the tree.

  ‘Then let’s start tonight.’

  She felt herself brighten. ‘Do you think we could? At the Christmas party? They’re always so dull.’

  ‘We can liven it up. A few drinks, a bit of dancing. Could be just what we need.’ He pulled her to her feet and held her tightly, swaying in time to non-existent music. ‘It’s the most wonderful time of the year,’ he sang tunelessly as they danced.

  She laughed. Kirsten didn’t think Tyler really enjoyed Christmas, any more than she did. It was something to get through rather than to be enjoyed.

  ‘I’ve had your suit cleaned,’ she told him. ‘It’s hanging in the dressing room.’

  ‘That’s why you’re my favourite wife,’ he teased. Putting his hands gently on her bare shoulders, he kissed her neck. ‘Let’s have fun tonight.’

  It seemed like a long time since they’d had fun together. Maybe Tyler was right: she should just let her hundred-and-fifty-pound-plus-tip hair down tonight.

  ‘Let’s,’ she said. Her hand covered his. ‘If we both try, it could be like old times.’

  ‘Yes. It will be. Definitely.’ Another kiss and he moved away from her.

  ‘Just promise me you won’t abandon me the minute you get there and talk about work all night.’

  ‘Of course I won’t.’ But Tyler was already searching in the drawer for his cufflinks. He found them with a cry of ‘Ah-ha!’ and disappeared in search of his dinner suit.

  Kirsten sat down again and put on her necklace. A thin gold strand with a single one-carat diamond hanging from it. Christmas present from two years ago? Quite possibly. Idly, she wondered what Tyler might have bought her this year. The value of his presents always went up in direct proportion to the amount of bad behaviour that he had to apologise for. Most years it meant something sparkly with diamonds. At the very least, this last twelve months should secure her an extravagant bracelet under the tree.

  Tyler came out of the dressing room, in his shirt now and fiddling with his cufflinks. ‘Can you fasten these, darling?’

  She didn’t remember buying him these ones, but had never had the nerve to ask where they’d come from. Some questions you really didn’t want answered. He proffered his wrists and she fastened them for him.

  He slipped on his jacket and tugged the cuffs into place. ‘That’s me ready.’

  ‘You look very handsome,’ she told him truthfully.

  ‘We’d better get a move on.’

  Throughout their
marriage, Tyler had very much lived his own life. Half the time, she never knew where he was. There seemed to have been a little less gadding about since he’d been at the office in Milton Keynes, but she wondered how long it would last. Not long, if she was reading the signs right – and she was a past master at that.

  ‘Louise offered to book us a hotel overnight,’ he said over his shoulder. ‘I thought you’d want to come home, but I left it open. I know you rarely drink at these things, anyway.’

  That was true enough. She felt ridiculously superior when everyone else was falling about paralytic, saying the most stupid things, and she was the only one stone-cold sober. Perhaps that was the flaw in her plan. A couple of well-aimed glasses of champagne could cheer her up considerably.

  ‘If we’re going to have fun, party-party and all that, then you might fancy a glass or two. Lance has laid on a free bar for the staff. Madness. That will ensure everyone’s pissed out of their head within an hour.’

  ‘Including Lance?’

  Tyler shrugged. ‘As always.’

  ‘I’ll see how it goes,’ Kirsten said.

  ‘Hotel or cab home, either suits me. Put a few things in a bag. You don’t have to drive. Louise can fix something up if you change your mind.’

  Tyler talked about his new secretary too often. He dropped her name into the conversation too casually and at every opportunity. That was always a warning sign. The last secretary had been Debbie and he’d done the very same with her. Debbie this, Debbie that and, quite obviously, Debbie the other.

  When he spoke of Louise, she imagined her young and beautiful. Louise wouldn’t have lines round her eyes or grooves that ran from her nose to her mouth. ‘Puppet lines’, they called them, and sometimes that was exactly what she felt like. Tyler’s puppet. Whatever Tyler wanted her to do, she did.

  She was still in her prime. Forty was the new thirty, wasn’t it? And yet, some days she felt older than time itself. How old was this Louise? she wondered. Well, she guessed she’d find out soon enough. She’d be there tonight and they’d come face to face for the first time. She’d chosen her favourite dress for the occasion, a white Armani number. It was halter-neck with a plunging neckline and a low back. The material clung to her curves and showed off her toned body. She looked as good as she possibly could. Let’s see how this Louise competed with that. At least the hours spent in the gym proved useful sometimes.