‘Still standing.’
‘Joint effort,’ he smiled.
‘Totally.’
‘How was work today? Busy shift?’ He’d spotted some mistletoe at the top of the archway leading through to the eating area but there was no sign of any near the bar now. Pity.
‘Not too bad at all: only three calls, no fatalities, all patients likely to fully recover. And people are lovely at Christmas, no matter what predicament they’re in, and so thankful.’
People were always grateful but something about Christmas gave them a whole new appreciation when you showed up as if it was any other day. Which to them on shift it was.
‘Is that Hudson over there?’ Through the crowd, Gio spottedthe patient and family liaison nurse laughing loudly with a couple of others from the Whistlestop River Air Ambulance.
Bess frowned. ‘It is. I’ve no idea what’s going on with him. I thought he’d be home with the kids the second he finished work. Maybe his other half has taken them away.’
It was Gio’s turn for a round so he ordered bottles of Budweiser for himself and the others. ‘Can I get you another?’ he asked Bess when the landlord saw to the first part of the order.
‘No, I’m good, thanks.’
‘What are you drinking anyway?’ It looked like a soft drink to him.
‘It’s a Coke. I’m saving money so I’ve allowed myself this and then I’ll go home. If I want some wine, I’ve got a bottle in the cupboard. Or there’s Prosecco in the fridge. It is Christmas Day, after all.’
He winced, knowing his mum was in the house, probably alone right now, with temptation in her path when she opened the fridge door. He wasn’t sure why in all the time he’d known Bess, he’d never told her his mother had a problem with alcohol. She’d been aware for a long time that his family life was difficult but if Gio had told anyone the details, it would have made it all the more painful. Instead, he’d dealt with whatever came up, and then tried to return to his own life and block some of the bad stuff out.
He fought the urge to order a taxi and go via Bess’s place to check up on Marianne – he decided he’d call her in a bit instead. He’d be able to tell when he heard his mother’s voice whether she’d had a drink; they didn’t need to be face to face.
‘So this is the first time you’ve rented out your spare room?’ he asked in an effort to deter his mind from going places it was probably best not to.
‘It is, and it’s going really well. Your mum is a model lodger. I could’ve got someone terrible but we get on, we talk, she’s nice.’
‘I’m glad you think so.’ He wondered what they talked about – was it deep or just the minutiae of daily life?
‘She says she’s no good at cooking.’
‘She’s not terrible but she’s not great either – remember that time you were over and I told you about the meat pie, potato and pea dinners?’
‘I do. And when she first moved in with me, she really only ate beans on toast or pie with a side of potato but a few nights ago, she made chicken pasta in a sauce; tomorrow, she’s doing a pork stir fry.’
‘I’m impressed.’
‘Didn’t she help you with the Christmas lunch?’ Bess asked.
‘She offered but I told her to relax. She headed out for a walk instead.’ He watched her; she was holding something back. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘It’s not my place to say.’
When it came to his mother, he really needed people to share what they could; he needed as many clues as he could get. ‘Bess, what is it?’
She hooked a stray corkscrew curl behind her ear. She had her hair down today – it was always tied back at work. It was so thick, he wondered what it might be like to run his fingers through it. ‘She wants to make you and your brother and his kids a proper Christmas dinner one day. I get the feeling it’s really important to her.’
‘So I should have let her help, that’s what you’re saying?’
She shrugged. ‘I just thought you should know.’
‘Christmas dinners were usually down to Marco and me. For a long time. Not the best memories, I’m afraid.’
‘You mentioned Christmas a few times over the years: how it wasn’t always a happy occasion.’
