‘Mother…’ Miles started. ‘Are you—’ He was clearly at a loss what to say next…Are you okay? Are you sure you should be doing that?In the end he just said, ‘Is there anything we can do for you?’ If we didn’t have an audience, I would have kicked him in the shin. She’d find something for us to do all right, and I already had a ton of stuff I needed to be getting on with.
‘You can make a start on tonight’s dinner while Mrs Harlow trims the verge. It’s a beef casserole, just cut up the carrots, onions, mushrooms and potatoes– they should be in the pantry. I’ll see to the rest.’
I watched as Miles nodded, resigned, and made his way to the kitchen. The normalcy of Jeannie’s actions felt surreal, almost jarring, given the circumstances. But perhaps this was her way of coping, of maintaining some semblance of control in a situation that had seemingly spiralled into unforeseen tragedy.
Toots cleared her throat, drawing our attention. ‘It’s just like the Christmas of 1962,’ she said, her voice creaking like old floorboards. ‘Snowed in for days we were. Your grandfather insisted on decorating, said it would keep our spirits up. Here, Martha, there’s a big empty patch in the middle.’ A gnarled finger rose from under her layers and pointed towards the tree.
Martha paused in her tree decorating, a glittery bauble dangling from her fingers, before putting it where she’d been instructed.
‘So, my dear, what’s this I hear about you being alesbian?’ Toots pierced Martha with a look of disdain.
‘Grandmother—’ Miles started.
‘It’s okay, Dad,’ said Martha breezily. ‘Yes, Great-Grandma,’ she added, her back straight as she smiled for the first time today. ‘I am gay. I have a girlfriend; her name is Sarah.’ She fixed Toots with an unflinching gaze and I marvelled at her. How the hell had I raised such a brilliant, confident young woman? I hadn’t; the truth was, this was all completely her. I’d always been a bit of a wallflower, so to see the emergence of this fiery, fearless queen was astonishing. I had never been more in awe of my daughter than in this moment.
She plucked another bauble of out the box and filled another gap. Toots shook her head and mumbled her disapproval. Miles studied me, the way my eyes were blazing as I looked at Toots, readying myself to say something. Maybe I could sometimes be accused of being a wallflower, but not when it came to Callum and Martha.
He pulled at my arm. ‘Martha’s got this,’ he said under his breath. ‘Look at her.’
I looked. Martha was smiling darkly as she plumped out the branches to make them fuller. She was getting a kick out of seeing the family’s reaction. She truly seemed to be enjoying ruffling their feathers.
Toots’s instructions alongside the soft crackling of the fire were all that could be heard as we left to prepare the stew. The house felt paused in time, as if the bricks themselves and everything and everyone within bated their breath, for what had been and what was yet to come.
I helped Miles with the preparation, gathering the vegetables from the bracingly cold pantry and hauling them over to the sink to be washed. As I took out the carrots and potatoes from their hessian sacks, I contemplated how, despite my best efforts, the trip had indeed turned out to be a ‘working holiday’. As I held the veggies under the running water, an unwelcome flashback of Miles’s bloodied boots entered my mind. I shook my head, batting the image away. Of course his boots would have Tristan’s blood on them; he was one of the first on the scene, he would have walked all over those scattered, contaminated pine needles.How did the blood get on the toes of the boots, though?
I began peeling the potatoes, feeling like we’d found ourselves in the midst of some war that I didn’t understand the rules of. I slashed at their skins as if the peeler was my weapon against these trumped-up crazies who couldn’t even handle death in a healthy way… whatever ‘healthy’ meant. Crying? Screaming? Tearing at their clothes in the snow? I don’t know what I expected of them. Maybe just a little more emotion would have made me feel less on edge. I handed the naked spuds to Miles, who was stationed at the chopping board, lost deep in thought. He didn’t seem to notice I’d been murdering the Maris Pipers as he reached for the knife block. Then his hand paused, wavering.
‘Have you seen the chopping knife?’ he asked.
I looked over at the block. Indeed, the bread knife and the smaller ones were present, but a vacant slot sat where the long knife was usually held.
‘Check the dishwasher?’ I said, still distracted by yesterday’s events.
After searching, Miles shrugged it off and used one of the smaller knives from the block instead.
‘Do you think my mother’s okay?’ he asked, struggling to cut through the large potato with the small knife.
‘Well, no. But that’s to be expected. Her husband and son have died within days of each other,’ I checked behind me to make sure she wasn’t there. I dropped my voice low. ‘And she’s never learned how to deal with her emotions, so she’s trying to “keep calm and carry on.” And this isn’t the tough part, the tough part is when we all leave, and she’s alone in this huge house.’
Miles nodded, sadly. ‘Despite our issues, I don’t like the idea of her being alone.’
I nodded in understanding. ‘And how are you feeling? I mean– obviously, it’s awful but…’
‘I feel strange, Detached, almost. I think the only thing I feel is regret. Regret that I didn’t have a better relationship with my family. Regret that they are… were… incapable of such things.’
I nodded, understanding his mixed emotions. The kitchen fell silent again, save for the rhythmic chopping of vegetables. Outside, the snow continued to fall, muffling the world beyond our windows.
* * *
We’d spent most of the day keeping to ourselves, trying not to tread on anyone’s else’s toes whilst maintaining some level of usefulness. The house was looking characteristically beautiful, bedecked with red berry garlands and wreaths and warm gold fairy lights that gave the impression that the events of the past few days hadn’t actually occurred.
Aunt Clem and Uncle Fergus emerged, seemingly utterly unembarrassed that the last time we had seen Fergus he was roaring drunk. As Clem set the table, a serene smile on her face, I had half a mind to ask her whether she had registered the fact that Tristan had been practically cut in half yesterday. I’d never really understood the upper classes and how they operated, so as usual, I kept schtum.
I called the kids down to dinner, and the four of us, plus Fergus and Clem, sat down at the table whilst we waited for the others. Mrs Harlow busied herself bringing in the bread and butter, followed by the huge steaming pot of casserole and accompaniments. The poor woman was trapped indoors with all of us, and I wondered if she was missing out on seeing her friends and family because of all this snow. I invited her to sit down next to me, with the idea of getting to know her a little better.
Jeannie and Toots were next to arrive, Jeannie leading Toots in and depositing her at the head of the table, while Jeannie took the other end. I poured water into everyone’s glasses, and we sat making small talk whilst we waited for Mimi and the twins. After a few minutes, Toots began huffing, puffing, tutting and squirming at the indecency of their lateness, continuously pulling her sleeve up to peer at her wrist, to look at a watch that wasn’t even there.
Just as Toots’s agitation reached fever pitch, Mimi sauntered into the dining room, the twins trailing behind her. She wore a black peplum dress, and if she could have, I’m sure she’d have worn a big black hat complete with veil and sunglasses to top off the widow-in-mourning look. The girls, in contrast, wore baggy sweats and oversized crew necks, their sleek dark hair slightly mussed as if they’d just rolled out of bed.
