* * *
They were not able to be alone together until much later that evening, the youngest and oldest having been persuaded to go to bed early.
Tim and Squeezy were bringing all the presents up from the cellar where they’d stashed everything out of sight on arrival. The tree was beginning to disappear under the brightly wrapped parcels. Excused this duty because he was responsible for feeding everyone over the holiday, Ben had slumped on the sofa with his eyes shut in front of the fire, having finally persuaded his daughter that Father Christmas couldn’t evenset offuntil she was asleep. As he’d allowed her a glass of wine all to herself during the meal, getting her to bed had not been a particularly onerous task. Aleksey, having no duties ever, given he owned and paid for everything, had cautiously sat down next to him.
Ben hadn’t stirred, although he obviously knew who it was.
It was decidedly pleasant studying Ben’s profile in the flickering firelight, so he didn’t press him for some interaction. Ben had not shaved that morning, given Kittiwake’s lack of adequate ablutions, and his stubble contoured his already startlingly beautiful jawline. He’d gotten his hair cut the previous week, probably to look more fatherly for Jennifer’s approval, and the short back and sides suited him. Aleksey did not want to think that Ben was too old now for the longer hair he’d once favoured, but it was true, and this realisation took him back to the photo of Ben and Kate on the motorcycle, both so young. He pursed his lips, pondering his feelings about it and realised that, as with a lot of things in life, what you saw was not necessarily the truth of the situation. Ben had chosenhim, not her. Despite Kate’s undeniable beauty and intelligence, and despitehisundeniable lack of any particular attractions at that time, Ben had nevertheless chosen him. And did not appearyetto regret that choice. He smirked, rummaged and produced his phone.
He did not take enough photographs of Ben and now intended to remedy that situation this holiday. Ben’s eyes blinked open when he heard the camera click, and he took the phone from him, checking the photo, then, fending him off, took one back. Laughing, they laid their foreheads together.
‘More of a pillock than usual?’
‘Could that be seen as a good thing? Given it’s Christmas?’
Ben kissed him. ‘No. Take that as your punishment.’
‘Excellent. If we both get reanimated somehow you can punish me some more later.’
Squeezy was dragging a huge parcel in, a cube well over five feet in all directions. Ben, hearing the noise, turned. ‘What the f—?’
Aleksey laid his palm over Ben’s lips. ‘You told me to buy Molly’s present. Nothing expensive. So that is it. Don’t worry,min skat, yours is much smaller…’
‘‘S’ not what you told me the other day.’ Squeezy finished pushing the ridiculously large parcel behind the tree and flung himself down next to Ben.
‘You two heading to the House of Humping now?’ It was a sad state of affairs when neither of them had enough energy to thump him.
* * *
They both heard the text coming into Ben’s phone—their summoning. Aleksey was amused to observe the temptation in Ben’s eyes to pull the covers up and go back to sleep. By his reckoning, they’d been in bed for about four hours. As Ben had predicted, no punishments or other fun had been had. They’d barely made it back to Kittiwake before they’d crashed. Now, still not yet dawn, the tyrant was apparently awake. The rest of the family, Aleksey was fairly sure, would have been more than happy to slumber on until a more civilised time. In the end, Ben just mouthed, ‘Happy Christmas,’ at him and climbed reluctantly out of his warm spot.
When they reached Guillemot, they were very surprised to see a motley assortment of people out and about in pyjamas and dressing gowns, walking around. On spotting them, there was a scream, and a tiny dart flew towards him, and he knelt to pick her up. ‘Papa! Look! Look! Daddy! Look!’ She held her arms out for Ben, so he took her, but she wriggled to be put down and grasping both their hands, pulled them further forward and showed them what everyone was studying. There were great tracks in the lawn—two parallel lines, at least six inches deep, running from one end right to the other as if someone had ploughed the tennis court.
Harry was standing with his hands on his hips, legs braced as if some recalcitrant junior officer had had the audacity to play a prank during the night, and he was even now seeing if he was lurking. Squeezy and Tim were pacing the divots, apparently measuring them. Babushka was picking fragments of something out of them, and when Aleksey looked more closely, it appeared to be stalks of hay. Emilia and Miles were taking photos, she placing him in various positions to give perspective. Jennifer, the only one decently dressed, was clutching her husband’s arm as if the dire predictions she’d always made about her only grandchild being raised in such heathen chaos were coming true.
The empty glass and trail of crumbs which led from the patio to the lawn were not so mysterious to either Aleksey or Ben, as they’d polished them off on the way to Kittiwake the previous night. But the deep scours in his lawn were slightly worrying. For one frantic moment his old fears that he was still in the mine shaft on Dartmoor crossed his mind. If heweredead, why would all his imaginings revolve around heaven—a Christian version of the afterlife? Would not it be equally likely that you went to some bizarre fairytale world where…?
Whatever the cause of this surreal damage to the newly cut and tended lawn, he would not have missed Ben’s pleasure in Molly’s almost hysterical delight that she’d been visited in the night. It occurred to him that once Ben’s mother had died, Ben’s Christmases had probably been as lacking as his had been. He doubted anyone had encouraged young Benjamin Rider to live in a fantasy world. He nudged him. ‘Seeing he’s made the effort to find us all the way here in the middle of the Atlantic, shall we go see what he’s left?’
Ben snorted and caught his daughter on her next dash past them along the tracks, and they all repaired to the huge sitting room. It was quite a sight to see. Trying to calm things down a little, Ben put Molly in charge of handing out presents, something she was more than willing to do. She seemed more excited by other people getting things than finding anything for herself, which puzzled Aleksey exceedingly. The first thing she found was an envelope addressed to Jennifer and Reginald, which clearly surprised all three of them. Jennifer opened it, studied its contents, and all she could apparently think of to say was, ‘Oh, Molly,thank you, darling.’ She showed something to Reginald and his eyebrows shot up.
Molly, rather ruining the intent of the gift, asked them what it was, and smiling indulgently, Jennifer showed her. ‘You bought us tickets for a cruise to Antarctica. Next Christmas. It’s our dream trip, isn’t it, Reggie? How did you know, you clever girl?’
Aleksey wondered if either of them would ever work out that if you placed your finger onto Light Island on a globe, and then drilled through from that point, you would come out just off the coast of Antarctica…in other words, the furthest possible point away. ‘It had to be Christmas, unfortunately, because it is summer there then, of course.’ He’d come up with this excuse as he’d been booking the trip for them. ‘Molly insisted on the Presidential State Room—with a private balcony. She has good taste.’
Molly was too intent on handing her grandmother another envelope to comment on this or enquire what it meant. Expressing surprise that she had another gift, Jennifer opened it, and her slight gasp of shock as she discovered a Christmas card from a rather well-known couple made everyone peer closer to see what it was. She turned it around and there, highly airbrushed in Aleksey’s opinion, were the new King and Queen of England. They’d personally signed the card as well. Completely catching Aleksey off guard, however, was the additional note which was folded into the envelope. He’d arranged for Phillipa to send the greeting but had not expected her to do more than to post off one of the many thousands she had to send around the world this time of year. But he recognised the ivory tint and expensive heft of the paper before Jennifer even unfolded it. It was their writing paper from Barton Combe. He seemed to recall choosing it. Jennifer read slowly:
I hope this card finds you well. Nikki tells me you are having Molly for a few days in St Albans after the wedding. Do give me a ring and pop in with her for tea. I have a little Christmas something for her—such a bother to post. Nikki has my number. I’ll send a car for you both, of course.
Yours, with warmest blessings for the season, Phillipa.
PS, do wear oldest things with flat comfy shoes or you-know-whose pressy will be a nightmare for us both!
Jennifer was silenced for the rest of the day.
It was time for the present-giver to have something herself, she had clearly decided, and so Ben allowed her to open the present Squeezy and Tim had bought her. It was an instant success, once it was explained to her. An instamatic camera. And enough film canisters to last even a four-year-old with the need to take photos of everything and everyone, but particularly dozens of photos of Jenna, most actually missing her, or containing a blur which could have once been her—or a passing orange UFO, it was hard to tell. Smiling for her own photo, Emilia gave her a little parcel which contained an enormously long ribbon with little craft pegs, with which Molly could now peg up her masterpieces.
Aleksey, being prodded by Babushka, now rummaged in the pile for Emilia’s present. He’d ordered some clothes for her from the same designer where Jennifer had bought Molly’s hippie outfit—although he hadn’t told the grandmother what these wildly expensive designer outfits had looked like to him. He’d seen them and thoughtmusic festival, and that had made him think about a certain student at Cambridge. When the clothes had arrived and he’d shown them to Babushka to check they were a good size, she’d scoffed that she could have run them up herself and saved him a bit of money. Never one to save money if he could help it, this had given him another idea. Had he known Ben had already roped Harry in to manage Kittiwake’s renovations, he’d have possibly spared the old man this additional task. But, nevertheless, hands in front of her eyes, Babushka led Emilia to the scullery. Only Aleksey and Molly got her joke, given that it was in Russian, that her clever granddaughter had better learn to wash some dishes if she wanted a real skill after Cambridge. Emilia opened the door to discover the little neglected room had been transformed. In the centre was a long trestle with a sewing machine on it and a file full of patterns. In one corner stood a dressmaker’s dummy, and the walls had been lined with boxed shelves, each holding intensely coloured fabrics, all of which Babushka fingered longingly. She’d always wanted a craft room, apparently, and now she—Emilia—had one.
