‘Well, isn’t it a bit…I don’t know…desperate?’
‘Desperate?’ Henry frowned. ‘That sounds as if I was making some kind of play for her when it wasn’t like that at all. Not that it’s any of your business, but her husband died four years ago…on Boxing Day. So it’s not a great time of year for her and, like I said, I knew she’d be on her own. I also knew how fond she was of her aunt, and I just thought it might be a kind thing to do.’
‘Is that what they’re calling it these days?’ said Sofia, an amused smirk on her face.
‘Look, she was nice. We had a really pleasant chat, but that’s all it was. And where’s the harm in that? It’s not like we’re going to keep in touch. Not that it would matter if we did. I’m on my own now.’
‘Yes, and you never seemed concerned by that before.’
Henry swallowed his irritation at Adam’s comment. Was his son ever going to stop going over the same old ground? He was determined to think that Henry hadn’t been bothered by the break-up of his marriage, despite his repeated protestations to the contrary.
‘I’m not. Besides, I doubt I’ll ever see Peg again – not unless we go to the carol service next year, and bump into her a second time.’
‘Okay,’ said Adam. ‘I believe you, although I still think what you did was odd, given that you’d only just met the woman.’
From beside him on the back seat, Blanche cleared her throat. She was right; this was neither the time nor the place to have this conversation. Henry shot her an exasperated look, knowing that she sympathised with him. Just as she also knew that he would never be allowed to forget his ‘transgression’. He sighed.
‘Haven’t you ever done anything on the spur of the moment?’ he asked.
Adam started the engine, catching Henry’s eye in the rear-view mirror. ‘Plenty of times, Dad…but you haven’t.’
9
CHRISTMAS DAY
Henry swung his legs over the side of the bed and groaned. Not at his body’s reaction to sleeping on a mattress which was much harder than his own, or his head’s reaction to the wine he had drunk the night before, but the fact that there were still two more activity-packed days to be got through, both filled with food and people. And he had little appetite for either. He ran a hand over his face, feeling the lines underneath his eyes, the stubble on his chin and the sag of the skin beneath. He felt tired and old. Merry Christmas, Henry.
Even when he was a child he had mixed feelings about Christmas Day. The day couldn’t come soon enough for all his friends – it was all they thought about, talking about the countless hours they lay awake on Christmas Eve, unable to sleep with excitement. But all Henry had longed for was the quiet solitude of Boxing Day. Not that he didn’t enjoy Christmas Day, he did, but the day after was always so peaceful. His parents had been happy to let him do his own thing, and for Henry, that mostly meant reading. Of course, as he got older and had a child of his own, he realised that the day after Christmas was also the day to relax, safe in the knowledge that another one had beensuccessfully navigated, expectations had been fulfilled and the stress of the season could take a back seat. So throughout his life, it had always been thoughts of the calm oasis to come which had sustained him through the madness of the big day itself. This year, however, like all the others in his recent past, there would be no quiet interlude to look forward to, and tomorrow would be just as crazy as today. The fact that his son didn’t follow the traditions of his youth also grated on him enormously, but there was nothing he could do about it, except comply. He glanced at the clock beside his bed. It was time to get moving.
When he arrived in the kitchen, preparations for the day were already well underway. He desperately wanted a coffee, but one look at Sofia’s face convinced him that he could wait. Breakfast would not be served for another hour yet, a lavish affair, and given the quantity of food they would be eating later, in Henry’s eyes an unnecessary one. But Sofia would not be deterred and so that was that.
‘Morning!’ He smiled brightly, nodding at Adam, who was standing in the dining room, peering at their long oak table and another smaller one which now sat beside it. ‘Happy Christmas,’ he added.
‘Happy Christmas, Henry,’ replied Sofia, moving past him. Her reply was perfunctory at best, and Henry realised you could cut the atmosphere with a knife.
‘This is ridiculous, Adam,’ she said. ‘Having ten people for brunch is not extravagant these days and yet house builders insist on making dining rooms such poky little places.’
There was nothing poky about Sofia’s dining room. Theirs was a modern house, and designed around the type of open-plan living that was so popular at present. Compared to Henry’s house, and therefore the house which Adam had grown up in, it was positively palatial.
‘I’ve made the slip covers for the chairs especially for today, so thankfully the fact we have mismatched seats won’t be so evident. As long as you don’t look too hard, that is. But what is the point of having two tables when the second one is lower than the first and, whatever you do, the join will be incredibly obvious?’
‘Will it, though?’ asked Adam. ‘Once it’s decorated and so on, I don’t think folks will even notice.’
‘Of course they’ll notice. Don’t be ridiculous.’ She gave Adam a look which let him know just how ridiculous hewasbeing.
‘So what do you suggest I do?’ asked Adam. ‘Put the second table up on bricks? Cut the legs down on the first?’
Sofia glared at him. ‘Now you’re just being stupid.’
Henry smiled, trying to catch his son’s eye. It was Christmas Day, after all, and as yet Adam hadn’t even greeted him. It wasn’t hard to see why, however.
‘Is everything all right?’ he asked, wondering how best he could help.
Finally, Adam smiled. ‘Hi, Dad. Yes, fine. We’re just trying to work out the seating arrangements for tomorrow’s brunch. We’ve got another six people to accommodate and our original table isn’t big enough.’
‘The room isn’t big enough,’ countered Sofia.
Henry imagined that many families were in a similar position come Christmas. With extra people coming to stay, it was a time when spare chairs were gathered from the corners of the house and pressed into service. Similarly, put-you-up beds were dragged down from attics, and spare pillows and duvets were removed from cupboards. It was all absolutely fine and nobody minded having to make do. Nobody except Sofia, that much was clear.
