I picked up the nearest cushion and lobbed at her face.
“Oww!”
“Serves you right. And I have wrapped the presents.” Badly, it had to be said, but they were all disguised in the wrapping paper I’d also remembered to buy.
Or rather, Victoria had reminded me to get.
“Is the wrapping as creative as your attempt at a tree dec?” She pointed to the wooden Christmas tree that I vaguely remembered making when I was about six. It was horrible: sequins and glitter, a couple of jiggly eyes and a message to our mother about how she would always be my Christmas angel.
I ignored Ava, something I was a genius at, and stood up, placing the decoration on the highest branch I could reach.
It was an old Callaghan tradition from before I was born, to decorate the tree on a few days before Christmas Eve. Given the size of the house, there were three trees: one in the entrance hall, one in the formal lounge and this one, which was in the large kitchen-diner.
“There’ll be decorations you’ve made in there, Aves.” I knew Mum had kept all the ones we’d made, just like she’d always kept the homemade Christmas cards too.
“But mine will be tasteful and not sound slightly incestuous.”
I chucked another cushion at her.
“Just be careful you don’t knock anything over, Joseph. It’s bad enough stopping Teddy and Eliza from destroying everything. You being calm would help.”
The matriarch herself entered, coffee in hand. I wouldn’t actually be surprised if the coffee had a little Irish Cream in there already.
“Ava was just admiring my handiwork.” I pointed to the decoration.
Mum chuckled. “I kept them all. Right from the first Christmas I was here.”
The door opened and Jackson walked in, carrying his son who was asleep. “I remember that Christmas. I remember Christmas dinner especially.”
Ava sat down on the sofa and arranged the cushions I’d thrown at her. “What happened that Christmas dinner?”
Jackson laughed and I saw him glance at our mother. “Cooking for six isn’t easy, not when you’re only used to cooking for two.”
Mum shook her head and sent daggers at Jackson. “For more than thirty years this has been a well-kept family secret and you have to announce it to the world now. I might come to the conclusion that you’re volunteering to cook tomorrow.”
“There’s no one on this planet who would think that was a good idea. And your cooking’s improved since that dinner.” Jackson sat down on the other sofa to Ava, Teddy sprawled across him, a defensive barrier in case someone decided to launch an attack.
We reverted back to children here, in the safety of this house, a place that Marie had made safe. It was rare that any of the elder four – Maxwell, Jackson, Claire or Callum – talked about those years where their birth mother had struggled with mental ill health, our father lost himself in work, and Max was the one who tried to take care of Callum. It was the same house, but not the same home.
“So what was dinner like?” It was Ava who dared ask.
Personally, I’d have let it go. Mum had that look in her eye that suggested anyone who irritated her was likely to become Christmas dinner.
“I’d never cooked a turkey before. I was twenty-nine and we’d eaten out every Thanksgiving and Christmas dinner wasn’t cooked by us. At least it was over-cooked.” She looked at Jackson. “Max knew how to make pizzas from scratch and we had the ingredients so…”
“Turkey pizzas,” Jackson ended her sentence. “And Mum and Dad took the heathens out for dinner on Boxing Day.”
“I had no idea what Boxing Day was. I thought you English watched boxing matches or something.” She picked up Teddy from Jackson’s lap as his eyes had opened and his arms had stretched out towards Nana.
Jackson laughed. “It was the day off for the servants in the big houses – they’d apparently box up food for the master of the house and his family to eat; and the day when the charity boxes in churches would be opened. I had to explain it to a client last week.”
“I know that now. That’s why I take every Boxing Day off. Even servants should have a holiday, isn’t that right, Teddy baby? Isn’t that right?” She bounced him on her knee as he giggled.
Ava made some reply, but I wasn’t listening. All I could focus on was Teddy; his laughter, his smile, his tiny hands and how much he looked like me. He was Jackson’s son all the way, but the family resemblance was uncanny.
He was maybe what my own son would look like.
I loved my family. Unlike the four eldest, my childhood had been pretty much idyllic – besides having Payton as a twin, of course. There had always been someone to talk to, someone to throw a ball with, be with. I knew my siblings thought I needed to become used to my own company, and they were right, but I loved having family with me.
