As he awkwardly did as I asked, our hands brushed. ‘Thank you.’ I tightened the knot and wrapped the bouquet in paper. ‘Usually, there are two of us in here,’ I said. ‘But with all our Christmas orders to deliver, we are nonstop.’
‘I can see.’ He glanced around the workshop, at the rows of table displays, the bowls of spring flowering bulbs. Then he looked at the bouquet. ‘I know my grandmother will love this,’ he said. After paying by card, he picked up the flowers. ‘Happy Christmas,’ he said quietly, his eyes lingering on mine briefly.
‘Happy Christmas.’ I watched him turn and walk towards the door, oddly touched. But in the emotional desert of my life, this simplest, uncomplicated exchange seemed to hold so much humanity.
Of course, there was a very good reason. It was because I lived with someone who only rarely showed affection or appreciation towards me. By Christmas Eve, I was exhausted by the time I got to bed. I’d watched Ryan closely, you and Ollie more closely still. Increasingly it crossed my mind that the three of us would be better off without him. But we’re a family, I kept telling myself.
I had the strangest dream that night, one I’d had before, that left me with a very real sense of a different kind of life. It was a dream that I’d lost you both, my life as I knew it shattered. On Christmas morning, it hung over me, leaving me wondering if it was some kind of premonition, while I started cooking our lunch and did my best to pin on a smile, determined to make it a happy day.
You shrieked with glee as you unwrapped the guitar you’d been dropping massive hints about. But when I passed Ollie his presents, he glanced anxiously at his father.
‘Open them, Olls,’ I said gently, watching the expression on his face change as he saw what was inside.
He turned to me. ‘Thanks, Mum.’
‘When I was a child…’ Ryan muttered under his breath.
‘But you’re not now,’ I said quietly, furious inside that he begrudged his children the magic of Christmas; the smile not leaving my face, thankful that it was out of Ollie’s earshot. ‘For fuck’s sake, let them enjoy this.’
Ryan’s mother joined us for lunch, one of her rare visits. She’d always been gentle with you and Ollie, though a little critical of me, whereas in her eyes, Ryan could do no wrong. But it was Christmas. A celebration, and the day went as I’d hoped it would, you and Ollie happy; Ryan managing to stay moderately sober – until the evening.
As he opened the whisky his mother had bought him, I rustled you and Ollie into the kitchen. ‘Let’s play Scrabble,’ I said. ‘And somewhere, I think I’ve hidden some chocolates…’
In an ideal world, the four of us would have been playing this together, Ryan making all of us laugh, you and Ollie clamouring for Daddy’s attention. But we were used to doing things just the three of us. And even at Christmas, nothing was perfect.
By the time bedtime came, you could barely keep your eyes open.
‘Night, Mummy.’ You were yawning and your eyes were closing as I pulled your duvet over you and kissed your cheek. ‘It’s been such a lovely day.’
‘I’m glad,’ I whispered. ‘Sleep well.’
When I went into Ollie’s room, he was sitting up in bed. ‘Why does he do it?’ He looked brighter than he had in days.
I assumed he was talking about Ryan’s drinking. ‘Dad, you mean?’ Sitting on the edge of his bed, I sighed. ‘Ollie, I wish I could explain it. But I can’t.’
‘He said all those mean things before.’ Ollie looked at me. ‘He made me feel really bad. Then today, it was like he’d completely forgotten about it.’
‘I think it just shows he didn’t mean it. Anyway, we both know none of those things he said are true. You do know he is quite up and down, don’t you?’ I ruffled his hair gently. ‘Alcohol does strange things to people. It makes them say all kinds of things they wouldn’t usually say.’
‘I don’t understand why he drinks it.’ Ollie looked thoughtful. ‘You don’t.’
I didn’t tell him that I was terrified that if I did, someone might have looked at me the way I looked at Ryan. ‘You know how some people smoke cigarettes? And can’t stop doing it? Alcohol is the same. It’s a drug. It isn’t easy to give it up.’
‘But he did once, didn’t he? I remember when we were in France. It was fun.’
My heart twisted – with gratitude that he remembered it that way; with sadness that it didn’t last. ‘I know he did.’ I paused. ‘I’m going to find the time to talk to your dad about it – and don’t worry. I won’t mention you’ve said anything. But now, don’t you think it’s time you got some sleep? We’re going to Lucy’s tomorrow.’ Lucy’s daughter, Mia, was spending this Christmas with her father; we were surrogates.
His face lit up in a half-smile. ‘Cool. Night, Mum.’
‘Night, Olls.’ I leaned down and kissed him. ‘Love you.’
‘Love you too,’ he mumbled.
Outside his bedroom, I pulled the door almost closed, standing there for a moment. I didn’t take any of this for granted. Days like this together, my beloved children who loved me back, who were my world. But at the same time, I felt a deep resentment inside me that there was a need for a conversation like the one I’d just had with Ollie.
Downstairs, I put away the washed-up pots and pans from lunch, then finished tidying the kitchen, pausing before I cleared Scrabble away, gazing briefly at the words my children had formed before I picked up the board and they were lost. For some reason, I felt a pang. These childhood days wouldn’t last forever. And today hadn’t been a bad day, but it worried me more than ever what you and Ollie would take with you into your futures.
Outside the lounge, I paused in the doorway. An eighties comedy show was on the TV and I glanced at Ryan’s Christmas whisky, into which he had already made inroads. Hearing a snore come from him, I thought of the book Lucy had given me, on my bedside table. Leaving him to it, I went upstairs.
