‘Sounds great,’ he said, smiling and nodding, even though he was certain that somewhere an elf had just died. He should stop being so cynical, and Adam was right – whatever his and Sofia’s motives, it was a far nicer option than making small talk over canapés for hours.
‘Excellent, that’s settled then.’ Adam looked at his watch. ‘Hadn’t we better get ready for lunch?’
Sofia looked down at her sumptuous skirt. ‘I am ready, darling. All I need to do is film a quick video and then pop this lot away. It won’t take more than a few minutes. Could you just press the button for me while I…’ She trailed off to pick up a stack of gleaming white plates from the counter.
Adam, on cue, moved behind the tripod, pausing for a moment while Sofia got into position before pressing the appropriate button. He then exited the dining room in the other direction, moving through the connecting door into the sitting room, out into the hallway and back into the kitchen, where he came up behind them. Not a word was said during the entire manoeuvre. It was clearly a practised procedure.
Making no reference to what had just happened, Adam busied himself opening a bottle of wine which he took from the fridge, leaving Henry and Blanche to gape at what was happening in the room next door. Sofia swept – Henry could think of no other word for it – around the room, adding a plate to each of the settings around the table, almost as if she were leaving a gift there. Once finished, she crossed to the dresser at the back of the room, also heavily decorated, and lifted something from it. Henry was astonished to see they were placecards, annotated in a dark, swirly script. Sofia placed one in the centre of each of the plates, adding a sprig of red berries for extra…he couldn’t quite think of the word.
Blanche caught his eye from across the room and raised her eyebrows – just a tad – but enough for her meaning to be clear. Maybe this Christmas was going to be even more ridiculous than the last.
7
‘Here we go, Blanche, another cup of tea for you.’
Henry put down the tray he was carrying on the table beside her chair and removed his own mug from it. Another cup of tea…he was already sick of the stuff.
‘Are you warm enough?’
‘Yes, thank you.’
Henry nodded. Right…All there was left to do was turn on the television and hope to find something which he and Blanche might have some common ground over. Either that or sit in awkward silence. He took a seat opposite her and picked up the remote control.
‘You didn’t fancy it then?’ said Blanche, leaning forward in her chair. ‘The golf club do? Can’t say I blame you. It wouldn’t be my cup of tea either, even if I had been invited.’
‘No…nor mine. I might be wrong but I get the feeling they wouldn’t be my kind of people.’
‘Hmm…’ Blanche looked at him over the rim of her mug. ‘So, looks like you drew the short straw again and got stuck babysitting me instead.’
‘Babysitting?’ queried Henry, with a wry expression on his face. ‘How old are you, again? You can’t be that much older than me; our kids are almost the same age.’
‘I’m seventy-five,’ announced Blanche. ‘Sofia was a rather late addition to the family. I didn’t have her until I was forty-two.’
‘Well, that’s…positively ancient.’ Henry was pleased to see a corresponding twinkle in Blanche’s eye.
‘Although Sofia often makes me feel twice that age. She doesn’t actually say as much, but like so many things she doesn’t say, the implication is there just the same – that I’m a doddery old fool who can’t be trusted on her own.’
Henry wasn’t sure how to reply. Despite Blanche’s admission, he didn’t want to be overly critical of her daughter. But he had also had enough of biting his tongue, of trying to do and say the right thing in order to be the perfect guest. So he decided to tell the truth.
‘Sofia isn’t the only one who’s good at making assumptions,’ he replied. ‘Adam is adept at it too. I don’t know where he gets his ideas about me from, but it wouldn’t do him any harm to listen every once in a while.’
Blanche nodded, and Henry saw the truth of who she was. She might be thirteen years older than him, but she certainly wasn’t the frail or befuddled old lady that Sofia would have him believe. She had more than her fair share of wits about her. And a wicked sense of humour, which for some reason he was only just beginning to discover.
‘Of course, the big question,’ continued Blanche, ‘is why we both put up with it. And why we both come back for more every year. You don’t have to answer that, of course, I’m just voicing out loud what you’ve no doubt thought in your head on countless occasions.’
Henry raised his eyebrows. ‘Because we both love our children and worry we’d never get to see them otherwise?’ Blanche put down her mug and regarded him steadily. She was right – therewasno need for him to have answered her question, but itdidfeel good to say it out loud.
‘I do love my daughter,’ said Blanche. ‘But I don’t always like the way she behaves. She never used to be obsessed withthings. Or impressed by shallow people who have more money than sense. But now those kinds of people seem to account for most of their friends. The ones I’ve seen anyway. Perhaps that’s harsh. Perhaps they only see those people over Christmas, when I’m here, but I suspect not. They used to have such a lovely group of friends where they lived before, but I’ve no idea what happened to them. They certainly don’t seem to be around now. I blame Sofia’s career. It’s given her fancy ideas.’
‘You might be right…’ said Henry. ‘I mean, look at this house, for one. It looks lovely, but I’m scared to walk around in case I make anything dirty, or touch anything in case I move it out of place.’ He frowned. ‘I think my son is as much to blame, though. He never used to be so materialistic either, but since his mother and I divorced, he seems hell-bent on ensuring he turns out nothing like me. I can’t say anything, because suggesting he should make up his own mind about the way I live my life, instead of believing what she’s told him, sounds like sour grapes. Maybe it is.’ He shrugged. ‘I hate feeling so defensive, too – it’s like we’re all still in the school playground. Somehow, I thought getting divorced when your child was an adult would be easier, but I’m not sure it is.’
‘I think it’s called being a parent,’ replied Blanche. ‘Doesn’t matter how old they are, we still worry about them. And it doesn’t matter how oldweare, we’re still more than capable of having a difficult relationship with them. My daughter and I used to be very close, once upon a time. Can you believe that?’
‘I can. It was the same for me and Adam.’ He smiled. ‘So tell me about yourself, Blanche. Because I’m ashamed to say I don’t know much beyond the fact that you live on your own.’
‘Which might as well be on the moon for all the times Sofia comes to visit. I live in a retirement complex, without which I’m convinced I would have gone doolally a long time ago. I have friends, we go places, we drink wine with our meals and occasionally get drunk on Friday nights playing cards. All things which my daughter has never bothered to find out and would undoubtedly be shocked by. She thinks I sit in my chair all day, watching reruns of soaps while my brain atrophies to the size of a pickled walnut.’
‘Yet you don’t put her straight?’
