Marianne enjoyed the FaceTime catch-up and Gio could tell how desperate she was to see them all in person.
‘It was good to see them on the screen,’ she said as they got ready to sit down to lunch. Gio had just put a bottle of Appletiserin the centre of the table and he poured two glasses while his mum brought over the gravy boat.
‘I don’t expect you to avoid alcohol for my sake,’ she said, watching the fizz settle in the glass he’d just poured.
‘I’m not fussed, Mum.’ He was lying and she probably knew it. Christmas Day with no work was usually a definite excuse for a few drinks, maybe even a visit to the pub, but he wouldn’t do that to her. She was in control of her life and decisions but he sure as hell wasn’t going to be the one to derail that, so he went with a small white lie. ‘I took pain meds after my walk anyway – not a good idea to drink on those.’
They chatted their way through dinner and she reminded him thatThe Wizard of Ozwas on the television.
‘I remember watching that as a kid.’ He went for yet another few slices of turkey and several roast potatoes he probably – definitely – didn’t really need. ‘We’d be allowed to put our pyjamas on, demolish our selection boxes.’
‘I worried you’d make yourselves sick with all that sugar.’
Back then, she had very much been a mother. Things had been different.
They cleared the table together, and even that, Gio treasured. Because with the simple task of clearing up came normality and Gio didn’t think he’d felt so close to his mum in years.
Earlier that day, they’d exchanged small gifts and as they walked off their Christmas lunch, Marianne rolled up her coat sleeve to look again at the silver knot bracelet with an emerald stone he’d given her. Gio was wearing the gloves she’d given him, welcome in the cold when he couldn’t shove his hands in his coat pockets because he had to keep hold of the crutches. He was getting better on them, though – faster, less clumsy.
Back at his place, they played a few games of cards, by which time, his mum was shattered and wanted to go back to Bess’swhere she planned to watch an old black and white movie and enjoy some time on her own. Gio had planned to have a quiet night in alone himself but he’d had a text from Jeremy at the fire station to say that the crew members who were single and, in their words, weren’twhippedand under instruction to get home straight after shift had decided to congregate at the pub on Christmas night.
When Gio walked into the Whistlestop River Inn, he felt a sense of relief, the sense of belonging he was missing these days.
‘Glad you came.’ Jeremy, a probationary firefighter, was shouting the beers next and included Gio.
Gio thanked him for the beer. The first sip was the best; he needed this today. ‘You settling in all right?’
‘I think so. Unless you heard different.’
‘Not at all.’
It felt great to be in their company. He’d been slightly worried putting his mum in the taxi back to Bess’s in case the festivities of the day were making her crave a drink more than ever, but he had to stop obsessing for both their sakes.
He fidgeted in his chair at a table in front of Jeremy, stretched his leg out a bit better.
‘Your knee still painful?’ Jeremy swigged from his bottle.
‘On and off, which is better than constant like it was at the start.’
‘You gonna get back on the job, though, right?’
‘Of course.’ He wasn’t about to admit that there were no guarantees. It was bad enough reminding himself of that fact, let alone anyone else.
Gio managed one game of darts but holding yourself steady while leaning on a crutch and with one foot off the floor was such a challenge that the lads, who’d sunk way more beers than him, had decided they should have the same encumbrance.
It was amusing to watch. Jeremy tried first – a crutch beneath one arm, the opposite foot off the floor. The dart missed the board entirely. It was Jock’s turn next and his first dart did well, so did the second, but the third fell south of the board by a good metre when he lost his balance.
Gio got his crutches and had just hobbled back from the bathroom when he spotted a familiar, curly-haired beauty at the bar.
He scanned the crowd to see whether his mum had come in here with her. But it seemed Bess was with the crew of The Skylarks.
‘You’re handling the crutches like a pro,’ she said as he sat on the high stool next to her, ideal seating for someone with his injury.
‘You’ve been watching me?’
Her glass hovered in front of her lips. ‘How was your Christmas Day?’
‘Good. Managed not to incinerate the turkey at least. How’s the tree?’
