Chapter Twenty-Eight
‘It’s Chrisssstmaaas!’ my brother yelled, Noddy-Holder-style as he barrelled into the kitchen late on Christmas Day. ‘I’ve been sent to help you wash up.’
‘You have?’ I threw a tea-towel at him. ‘Who sent you?’
‘Oh, you know, all the strong female characters in the family. My wife, my niece, my mother.’ He grinned, a little inebriated from the bottle of port he’d finished off over dinner.
‘I think even Joe’s mother mentioned it before they left to brave the horror of the dual carriageway.
’ He picked up a plate. ‘They’re a funny pair aren’t they, his parents? ’
‘Funnier than your in-laws?’ I raised an eyebrow.
‘Hell, no! My in-laws are fucking mental!’ he said cheerily. ‘I’ve only met Jaqueline’s father once and that was enough. Charming but shifty. Like a Gallic used-car salesman. And her mother is terrifying.’
‘I remember,’ I said. ‘From the wedding. The speech she gave.’
‘About how she’d counselled her daughter against marrying me.’ He gave the plate a cursory wipe. ‘Yes, that was a highlight. Anyway, proved her wrong, didn’t I? Tenth wedding anniversary next year.’
‘It’s our twentieth in June,’ I said, running clean water into the sink. ‘Not that it’s a competition. But if it was, I’d be winning.’
‘Twenty years. I forgot you were a child bride.’
‘A heavily pregnant child bride if you recall.’
He returned the dry plate to the rack. ‘How was it that Aunty Jean described you walking down the aisle? Stately as a galleon?’
‘Just how every bride wants to be seen on her wedding day. A huge boat.’
‘Can’t believe Layla’s going to be twenty soon,’ he said, picking up a single spoon to dry. ‘It just seems impossible that my little sister has a child that age.’
‘Tell me about it,’ I said. ‘I’m sure I’ll feel the same when Hugo and Lawrence go off to university.’
‘I bet you’ll be a granny by then.’
‘Oh. My. God,’ I said severely. ‘Who thought it was a good idea to send you in here to help me wash up?’
He laughed. ‘You were the one projecting fifteen years into the future, Hattie. Don’t blame me. Anyway, who knows, the world might have blown up by then.’
‘Ahh.’ I patted his arm. ‘What a lovely festive thing to say.’
‘It’s true though. Just think how much has changed in the past two decades. It feels almost impossible to predict where we’ll be in another two. A whole new generation.’
‘Do you think this is how everyone feels when they hit middle age?’ I said, sluicing the roast potato crumbs down the sink and praying it wouldn’t clog.
‘A kind of dawning realisation that we’re now the grown-ups and we’re in charge of all this shit.
And we need to keep it in some semblance of order so that our kids don’t inherit a complete car crash. ’
‘I suppose it must be part of getting older.’ Rich picked up another spoon.
‘There’s more talk at work about legacy since I hit my fifties.
Like, when you start out in business it’s all about climbing to the top, making your mark.
But now people are starting to think about what they’re going to leave behind.
How they’re going to be remembered. It’s definitely a shift in tone.
But in terms of who’s in charge, it’ll be Layla’s lot soon enough.
And god help us then – a load of snowflakes running the show. ’
I opened my mouth ready to launch into a robust defence of my daughter’s peer group and the challenges they face, mainly ones that we’ve left them with, and how the weight of expectation on their shoulders probably feels crippling and how that would be enough to test anyone’s mental resilience – but then I realised my brother was goading me, as he has since time began.
‘Gotcha,’ he said, smiling broadly. ‘I mean, don’t get me wrong, there’s a few flaky kids about, but I think it’s safe to say that my niece won’t be one of them. Not when she’s got a share of my genes and is currently studying at the world’s finest academic institution.’
‘Second finest,’ I said, swiping him with the tea-towel. ‘After Nottingham.’
‘Nice try. But seriously, she seems like she’s enjoying herself? Coping with the work, making the most of the opportunities?’
I pulled a sceptical face, not sure how honest to be with my brother.
He seemed to be in deep and meaningful mode, but you never can tell with him.
‘I think there have a been a few teething issues,’ I said, diplomatically.
‘Some of it’s just luck. Who you end up living with, who’s on your course, you know.
But she’s made some good friends.’ I didn’t want to blow Layla’s cover completely.
She’d just spent the past four hours reassuring her uncle that everything was completely brilliant, but I had seen the lie of it in her eyes and wondered whether Richard had too.
‘Sure,’ he said. ‘It can take a while to settle in but once she does, honestly, she’s going to have such an amazing time. By the end of her first year, I bet she won’t even want to come home.’
He clocked my expression. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. She will want to come back. Of course she will. What I meant was – she’ll feel equally as at home there as here. No, that’s not really helping, is it? Ignore me. I’ve had too much to drink.’
‘Yeah, and to be fair, you don’t really know how it feels,’ I said reasonably.
‘It’s years until your kids will leave home.
So, just make sure you enjoy them while they’re around.
’ I paused, my arms submerged beneath the bubbles in the sink.
‘Rich,’ I said, thinking I might not get this opportunity again.
‘Please don’t send my lovely nephews to boarding school.
They’re too little. And there’s so much you’ll miss if you’re not with them on a daily basis.
It’ll fly by and one day in the not-too-distant future you’ll be washing up after Christmas dinner thinking, oh, I’ve only got them home for another week or so.
Because that’s how it is for me now. When Layla’s back here there’s always a part of me that knows it’s temporary.
Even when we’re all really enjoying ourselves – and there have been some lovely times already this holiday, decorating the tree, going to the carol service together, even pootling around the supermarket, it’s perfect – but there’s always a little voice in my head saying fifteen days left, twelve days left…
’ I trailed off. ‘So yeah, I guess what I’m saying is don’t send your boys away before you need to. ’
He nodded, his expression as serious as my tone. ‘They’re not going anywhere,’ he said. ‘I know Jaqueline sometimes moots the idea, but I think she just wants to toughen them up a bit, make them resilient. She hates the thought of either of them being vulnerable, like she was.’
‘I get it,’ I said. ‘But there’s nothing wrong with being vulnerable or sensitive or even clingy and emotional.
Your Hugo, he’s just the most adorable, earnest little soul.
He doesn’t need toughening up. They’re both perfect as they are.
And they’d both miss you terribly. They talked about you the whole time they were here with me. ’
He smiled fondly. ‘They had a lovely time, Hattie. Thanks for having them.’
‘Honestly, I’d do it again in a heartbeat,’ I said. ‘I mean it. If the boarding school conversation ever comes up again, I want to put it out there that they can come and live with me instead. I’ll take them to school every day.’
He laughed. ‘I don’t think that’ll be necessary. Particularly when you have such a cavalier approach to their education, such as taking unsanctioned snow days.’
I pulled a guilty face. ‘Yes, I might have made a unilateral decision but, come on, you remember how much fun a snow day was when we were little. I wasn’t going to let them miss that.’
‘Weren’t going to let who miss what?’ asked Layla, bringing through the remains of the Christmas pudding and a bowl of congealed brandy butter.
‘Oh, nothing. Your uncle’s just established that I basically enabled truancy while the boys were here.’
‘She’s a terrible influence, Uncle Richard,’ Layla said. ‘It’s a wonder I turned out the way I did, frankly.’
‘Lucky your father’s such a rigid disciplinarian,’ I said. ‘Otherwise, goodness only knows where you’d have ended up. Not on a degree course at Uncle Richard’s former esteemed seat of learning, that’s for sure.’
‘Uhm, speaking of Dad, he wondered whether it was time to crack open the cheese and pickles,’ said Layla. ‘And the Christmas cake.’
‘Bloody hell,’ I said. ‘Surely not. We’ve only just finished lunch.’
Layla looked at her watch. ‘Yes, but it is six o clock,’ she said.
‘Well, you tell him, if he wants more food he can come in here and sort it out himself,’ I said, dragging the last of the roasting trays out to drain on the side. ‘I think there’s still a few presents to open anyway so maybe we’ll do those and then cheese and biscuits after that…’
‘And then we’ll head off,’ said Richard. ‘But yes, there are a couple of presents left, including one for you.’
‘Me?’ I said. ‘I thought I’d had all of mine?’
‘No, the boys have got something extra for you.’
‘Oh, gosh. Well, they really didn’t need to. The Jo Malone candle was so generous. It’s more than enough.’
‘This is something special though,’ said Richard. ‘They’ve been really excited about it.’
‘Excellent.’ I peeled off my washing-up gloves and dropped them on the side of the sink. ‘Let’s go!’
We found Hugo and Lawrence with Jaqueline, Joe and Mum. Not a natural trio of grown-ups but the boys were providing sufficient distraction and social lubricant for everyone to appear quite relaxed.
‘I hear Uncle Joe has been asking for more food!’ I said to the boys. ‘Is that possible when he had two helpings of pudding and some of the pavlova?’
‘When we ask for more food sometimes Magdalena calls us Senor Gloton, which means Mister Greedy in Spanish,’ said Hugo, looking up from the game of Battleships he was playing with Lawrence.
‘Senor Gloton,’ I said. ‘I like that.’
‘And Maman says we have a stomach in our heels, which is l’estomac dans les talons,’ he continued.
‘That’s a bit like having hollow legs,’ I said, ‘which is what Granmerry used to say when your daddy and I were little.’
‘Boys,’ said Richard, crouching down to their level. ‘Didn’t you have something special you wanted to give Aunty Harriet?’
Hugo gave a sharp intake of breath. ‘We did!’ he said. ‘We do. It’s in my new messenger bag I got for Christmas. People who do important jobs have messenger bags,’ he said, turning to me. ‘My best friend Temi has one.’
‘Lucky Temi,’ I said. ‘Has he been your best friend for long?’
Hugo gave me his default serious look. ‘Quite a few weeks,’ he said. ‘Yes. Temi doesn’t speak very much English so it means we can just get on with fun stuff like karate and chess.’
‘At the same time?’
‘Hmm. No. Not usually. Anyway, Aunty Hattie, I’ll go and get your present, but you’ll have to close your eyes.’
‘Is it a messenger bag?’ I said, squeezing my eyes shut.
‘No,’ he laughed. There was a general rush of movement, and I felt a sheaf of paper fall into my hands.
‘Is it a copy of the Beano?’ I said.
‘No,’ giggled Lawrence, who had evidently joined his brother. ‘’Nother guess Aunty Hattie.’
‘Is it… a list of everything Uncle Joe has eaten today?’
‘No!’ The two boys were both laughing in that borderline hysterical way.
‘Good thing too, that would have taken ages to write down,’ I said. ‘Can I take a look?’
‘Yes!!!’ they both screamed in excitement.
I opened my eyes and looked down. In my hands was a booklet of ruled paper sandwiched between two pieces of blue card with ‘The story of the cat who lived in a haunted castle and was a ghost. Written by Hugo Sinclair and illustrations by Lawrence Sinclair (and Hugo Sinclair also)’ emblazoned across the front, along with a picture of a bright orange cat with an inordinate number of very long whiskers, who seemed to be the same size as the grey turreted castle he stood beside.
‘It’s a story,’ said Hugo.
‘Just for you!’ said Lawrence. ‘I did pictures.’
‘The cat is called Clarence,’ said Hugo.
‘And a man does die!’ said Lawrence.
‘Yes,’ said Hugo. ‘A terrible death. But he’s a really bad man anyway so it’s okay, and then he’s a ghost and he’s good.’
‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Great character arc.’ I flicked through the pages and stopped at the first picture, which was of a stick figure in a scribble of red crayon.
‘Dis is blood,’ said Lawrence, pointing to the scribble.
‘It’s quite scary,’ I said.
‘But it’s funny too,’ said Hugo, worried. ‘I put jokes in. Mostly knock-knock ones. They’re my favourite. And there are dinosaurs. Some have cheeky names and wear underpants on their heads.’
‘And do farts,’ giggled Lawrence.
‘Wow, it really does have something for everyone,’ I said.
‘But it’s not for everyone,’ said Hugo, serious again. ‘It’s for you. See?’ He pointed to the back page where it said:
For Aunty Hattie Only! Keep Out!!! everyone else who might want to read this book!!! (but Layla can read it if she wants to).
‘Boys,’ I said, placing the book on the floor and scooping them both up into a big hug. ‘This is one of my absolute favourite presents of all time. For ever and ever.’
‘Amen,’ said Lawrence, like an evangelical preacher.