All at once Esther feels choked up. She’s picturing Luc carving the turkey and her mum and dad delving into the various dishes, topping up glasses and tucking in. As her mum and Luc run a bar, they know how to make an event of it. There’ll be carrots and parsnips with thyme, perfect devils on horseback and all the sauces: cranberry, proper gravy and even bread sauce that no one’s that keen on but you still want to be there. It’s a funny set-up, Esther supposes, with her parents being divorced and still spending Christmas together. But they’ve always done it and it’s always been fine. Her mum gets on at her dad a bit, but he takes it well and she doesn’t mean it. She’s still fond of him really.
Esther looks down at her meal in a box. All the Christmassy things are there, but in miniature: tiny stuffing balls, gravel-sized roast potatoes and a single slice of turkey that’s almost transparent, it’s that thin. There’s a teeny carrot, and a single sprout, and the whole thing has been liberally scattered with seeds. ‘D’you think they needed to do that?’ she asks. It seems unnecessary at Christmas.
‘It ups the nutritional content,’ Miles says, mouth full. ‘Seeds are little powerhouses of energy.’
That’s weird because the words are barely out of his mouth and he’s fast asleep, head flopped back on the sofa, mouth open, snoring. Esther lifts the granddad tray from his lap and gently prises the disposable wooden cutlery from his hands, thinking about her family again with their roast dinner, the chocolate Brazils, raucous board games and a huge tin of Quality Street. Even though they can all be annoying, her heart aches for them. She wants to be with them, with her dad nailing the Trivial Pursuit science questions, her mum the art and literature ones, her the history ones and Luc not getting very many right at all.
To the accompaniment of Miles’s throaty snores she scrolls through her contacts on her phone, wondering what Gracie and Jess are doing right now. Whatever it is, she bets no one’s snoring in their vicinity at quite this volume. He can do this, Miles. It’s one of his talents: the ability to go from fully awake to fast asleep in a second, as if a switch has been flicked.
Esther mooches through to the kitchen and pings off happy Christmas messages to everyone she can think of, just to get a response, to feel less alone. She calls her mum, who sounds tipsy and gets a bit emotional about her not being there: ‘I just want to hug you, Esther. Are you all right, honey? What did Miles get you?’
‘We decided not to do presents, Mum.’
‘Oh, that’s sad, darling. Christmas should be big and excessive, don’t you think?’
‘Yeah, I guess so,’ Esther murmurs.
‘I once said to Luc, “Let’s not honour Valentine’s Day,” but I didn’t mean it.’ She laughs. ‘It was a test. I’d’ve killed him if he’d believed me. Anyway, sweetheart, here’s your dad …’
Esther clears her throat. ‘We’ve had a lovely day,’ she hears herself telling him. ‘It’s been great. Laid-back. Y’know, quiet …’ Who wants a ‘quiet’ Christmas at twenty years old? Not that she’s implying it’s been dull, God no. They’ve eaten stuffing balls off padded trays and she’s watched her boyfriend’s tonsils rattling as he snored.
Of course she doesn’t tell Dad any of that. ‘We’ve really missed you,’ he tells her, ‘but I’m glad you’ve had a good day.’
From time to time people have said, ‘You shouldn’t just be an influencer. You could be an actress. You were amazing on that reality show!’ Esther has always shrugged it off because great actors are incredibly skilled, and what has she ever done really? On theWillow Valeshow she was just being herself.
She was picked for it because she was confident and looked fairly striking, she supposes, with her long red hair. (Esther would never say she’s beautiful.) But she’s a terrible actress, and of course her dad knows her day hasn’t really been wonderful. ‘What’s that noise?’ he asks now.
‘Just something outside,’ she fibs. It’s actually Miles snoring.
‘A motorbike?’
‘I think so, yeah.’
‘So, um … what’re you doing tomorrow?’ her dad wants to know.
‘I’m not sure yet.’Perhaps more off-tray eating and tonsil watching?
‘Fancy doing something nice?’ he suggests, with a hopeful note to his voice. ‘I don’t mean all day or anything. Not if you have plans. But maybe we could have a walk through the park or something?’
A few years ago, around the time of the wrongly named coastal path and flip-flop controversy, she’d have thought,Ugh, a walk?and felt the lifeblood draining out of her. But not now.
‘I’d love that, Dad.’ Right now she can’t think of anything better.
‘We could get coffee and cake somewhere?’ he suggests.
Her dad knows she loves cake. Miles would no more consume his own leg hair than allow sweet carbohydrates past his lips. ‘Will anywhere be open?’ she asks.
‘There’s bound to be somewhere,’ her dad replies. ‘How about I come over around eleven?’
‘Perfect,’ she says, her spirits lifted, even though her champagne hangover is already kicking in, and she’s ravenous. What she’d give for something crumb-coated right now. But that’s okay because now there’s her dad and coffee and cake to look forward to tomorrow.
Tomorrow will be a better day.
Only, it doesn’t turn out the way Esther expects because much later, long after she and Miles have gone to bed, she is woken by mutterings in the living room.
It’s not a big flat. So even though she’s still in bed – and Miles was there too, his side is still warm – she can hear him quite clearly.
‘Stop calling, Daze,’ he hisses. ‘I’ve told you we’ll talk when I can.’
