Sunday
22nd December
29.
And a partridge in a pear tree …
As a way of keeping a whole lot of people warm, cosy and entertained in a castle that is otherwise like a fridge at best, and at worst feels like fifty below plus wind chill in the Arctic circle, the night of films is a winner. By the end ofMama Mia! Here We Go Againit’s a long time after midnight and most people have already curled up under their duvets and dropped off to sleep so we dim the lights, heap more logs onto the fires, and settle down for the night.
Merwyn is delighted that I’ve come to my senses and decided to sleep on the floor at last. And as Fliss and I settle down somewhere between Harriet and Oscar’s travelling cots and Tiff and Tansy’s gentle snores, Bill has already melted away into the shadows. Due to the ‘special (wifi) facilities’ Libby allocated his room a priority fan heater and Milo was given a second, due to how small the room is and how devastated he was about his dad. At least this way if he wants to cry himself to sleep, he can do it in private. And she gave Miranda and Ambie the rest of the heaters, supposedly so they don’t have to get frostbite on their bits on their engagement night. The real reason is Libby said she could put up with many things, but Ambie’s endless moaning about rough sleeping wasn’t one of them. As for the silver surfies, they must be used to their camper vans because they’re settling down in their sleeping bags without a murmur.
When we’re woken next morning by Harriet lobbing her teddies and – more painfully – Postman Pat’s large plastic car onto our heads, the dawn sky is streaked with pale pink beyond the small paned castle windows, and Keef’s back crouching by the fireplace again. As Fliss, the kids and I tiptoe our way through to the kitchen and gasp at the sunlight shining off the colourless early morning sea, we’re welcomed by big piles of what we recognise instantly as Bill & co. muffins.
‘Hmmm, nice, cherry ones and blueberry flavour.’ I hand one to Harriet on my hip and another to Oscar who’s still in yesterday’s lion onesie, bouncing like a kangaroo. He’s also got a vegetable strainer on his head, and he’s banging it with a fish slice. Then I grab a couple of muffins for Fliss and I and follow her through to Bill’s room breathing a sigh of relief that the Do Not Disturb sign has already gone.
We heap the kids onto Bill’s bed and as Fliss holds up her phone she sounds all breathy. ‘Brilliant, I’ve got a line out and Rob’s phone is ringing.’ She makes big eyes at Oscar. ‘Are you going to talk to Daddy on Facetime?’
It wasn’t my best idea to give Harriet a muffin that was bigger than her head, then put her on Bill’s duvet cover. I was hoping to show Rob a picture of baby contentment, and as Harriet buries her face in the sponge she certainly sounds happy. The only downside is the cake explosion on the grey Egyptian cotton. Who knew one head-size muffin would spread so far when baby hands collapsed it into a million crumbs and a hundred lumps of blueberry. It only takes Merwyn a second to inhale the bits on the floor, and I’m doing my best to do the same with the ones spread across the bed cover when Rob picks up.
As his face fills the screen, he lets out a loud ‘waaaaaaaaaaaaahhhh’. Then he closes his eyes, shakes his head and as he rubs his hair I can’t help notice – even though they’re hundreds of miles apart, he and Fliss could have walked straight out of the same festival-hair hairdressing tipi. I know they had a huge wedding list, but obviously neither of them thought to put hair brushes on there.
‘Hi there, Bubsy Harrie, say hello to Daddy-bunny …’ Rob might sound totally knackered, but he’s putting the effort in, wiggling his fingers doing rabbit ears over his head, and the goofy teeth. And it works because Harriet’s exploding into peals of laughter.
Fliss is frowning at me. ‘Has Oscar been in the dishwasher?’
But then Oscar starts making bunny faces, bashing his colander and screaming with laughter too. There’s a moment where Rob breaks off to have a slurp of tea, then they’re straight back to the shrieks. Which is all lovely except for one thing. When it comes to mugs, Rob is an engineer and a bit of a purist, he won’t have a flowery one in the flat. Which is fine, except when he took his sip of tea back there, I know it was weird in close up, but it definitely looked like roses on the mug rim.
It goes on for a couple of minutes, then Rob lets out a yelp. ‘Shit, is that the time, thank Christmas you woke me, jeez, I’ve got to go to work.’ Which sounds a lot like what he said last time.
And then the screen goes blank. But just before it does, he must roll out of bed, because there’s a definite flash of pillowcase. Then Oscar starts banging his fish slice on the phone and Fliss whips it away.
She lets out a whistle. ‘Well, that went well … didn’t you think?’
My smile is fixed. ‘Frigging brilliant.’
She’s still going. ‘Why have I been tying myself in knots, I should have done this all along. What made me think it would upset them? I feel so much better now.’
Oh my. She’s my bestie, she’s been to hell and back for weeks over this, she had the proof she’s been waiting for in front of her eyes and she missed it. If she didn’t spot the alien pastel geometric pillowcases and the floral mug because she was too excited thinking things are okay, I’m not going to rub her nose in them. I mean, my stomach has left the building, I’m too gutted by the implications to start my muffin, so jeez knows how Fliss would feel about this when it’sher husbandin someone else’s bed. At least this way she gets a couple of days of ignorant bliss before the shit hits. But I’m not letting it go totally.
‘Work on Sunday? Is that a regular thing for Rob?’ Of course it bloody isn’t.
She gives a shrug. ‘Maybe he’s just trying to get finished so he can come down tomorrow not Tuesday.’ She’s so optimistic. Deluded even.
Oscar’s gone back to smashing his fish slice on his head. ‘Daddy Facetime, Daddy Facetime, Daddy Facetime …’
I’m busy ignoring my muffin, agonising over the problem, when there’s a throaty cough outside the door, and Miranda pushes her way in.
‘Here you all are! I’ve just been out for a ciggy.’
Fliss frowns. ‘I didn’t think you smoked before lunch.’
Miranda’s eyebrows shoot up. ‘It’s the holidays, rules are for breaking,carpethose effingdiems, shine like a diamond and all that jizz.’
Fliss stares at her. ‘Jeez Mother, listen to yourself, you sound like you bumped into Keef and had a bullshit top up. And I’ve told you before, saying jizz is not okay.’
‘Jizz … jazz … it’s only one letter, how can it matter?’
Fliss sends me her ‘give me strength’ look. ‘Believe me, it does.’
