‘Everyone thinks ten years is forever but it’s not, it’s the blink of an eye and I still remember him.’
‘Shush, I know,’ he says gently.
The door rattles and suddenly it’s opened and there, looking astonished at the sight of the two of us hugging, is Angie.
‘Hi, Angie,’ says Nate urbanely, as if he’s always being caught in tiny cloakrooms with women other than his wife, ‘poor Bea was upset.’
‘Really?’ says Angie, staring at both of us in a blast ofice-cold disapproval.
Mortified, I push out past her. ‘Sorry, Nate. Sorry, Angie,’ I say, and rush out the front door. I can’t stay. What will this look like?
25
Sid
I rock up at Nate’s and Marin’s to find it’s a winter wonderland. There are people all over the house. Marin and Rachel have obviously been working incredibly hard decorating, because everywhere is festive in a pretty and warm way. There are no expensive decorations, just nicelythought-out ones. A tree in a pot so you can plant it again, which I approve of, all sorts of elderly decorations, including lots of rather battered children’s ones, presents under the tree. In one corner there is a table set up and several people are playing cards with much squawking and giggling. Holding my juice, I wriggle into the room and begin to circulate with Rachel introducing me. There are lots of little groups of people here and children running around. I don’t know many people but that’s one of the benefits of growing up in any communal sort of living: you get used to fitting in. I look at the party of card players, one of whom turns out to be Marin’s mother, who looks fearsome and is crammed into afire-engine-red dress.
‘Granny’s very into her cards,’ whispers Rachel, who has shown me in. ‘Likes to win.’
There’s Marin’s father, who is sitting quietly talking to aglamorous-looking blonde who might be Marin’s sister, and he’s eating chocolates out of a box as if someone is about to come over and wrench them out of his hand. Steve’s mother and Angie’s father are there, Rachel points out, along with another lady who lives next door, who is clearly thrashing them all at poker.
‘Aha,’ says this lady, who looks by far the oldest person in the room and is already wearing a gold hat from a cracker. ‘I win.’ And she hauls the coins across the table, starts gleefully piling them up. They are only copper coins and I suspect none of the people playing would care if they were playing for matchsticks or buttons, because it’s the joy of winning with this lot.
‘Beryl, I am sure you have several cards stuffed up your jumper,’ says one of the women.
Beryl, the older lady, laughs uproariously. ‘You are a terrible tease, Millie. You say that every year. Just because I beat you every year.’
Great roars of laughter come from the table and it’s clear that this is not some serious accusation of cheating, but more an enjoyable tradition that goes on every Christmas.
Granny inFire-Engine-Red looks up. ‘Hello,’ she says, with very unfriendly eyes, ‘you’re new.’
‘Sid,’ I say. I hold out my hand, amused.
No surprise as to how Marin is always racing around doing things for other people if this gorgon is her mother.
‘Sid – that’s a strange name. I’m Eithne, Marin’s mother. You’re with Finn now?’ The woman looks at me shrewdly. With interrogation techniques like that, she could work for any of theInterpol-related agencies.
‘He’s just my friend,’ I say, which is an understatement, ‘and he’s not here yet, is he?’
I looked very hard when I came in but there was no sign of him.
Rachel, who is obviously trained at rescuing people from her grandmother, appears beside me. ‘Now, ladies and gentlemen, can I get you anything else? I know you already have some punch but I am also serving teas and coffees, because we don’t want anyone staggering.’
‘Are you talking to me, young lady?’ says Beryl in a pretend annoyed voice. ‘I can hold my liquor.’
The others start laughing again. Clearly this is some joke and Rachel and I look at each other.
‘They are like this every year,’ she says. ‘Respect your elders, I’m told.’ The giggling goes on, except that, clearly, Eithne is not a giggler.
I help Rachel distribute tea, coffee and what are undoubtedlyhome-made mince pies to the card players, who nibble and drink and then shove it all to one side, so they can get back to the game.
‘Who,’ I whisper to Rachel, ‘is the lady beside your father?’
Rachel whispers back: ‘My aunt, April.’
At this precise moment, April bursts into tears and Nate hugs her.
‘I thought she might be,’ I say. ‘Should we do something?’
