Harry （Part 2） #3
I gasped. ‘I…’ I said. But I couldn’t think what to say.
I thought about my job and wished for a moment that I could take my family to work with me, for one day, so they had some conception of what I was dealing with.
‘I don’t understand…’ I said, sinking into one of the kitchen chairs. ‘It all seems so out of the blue. Where’s this coming from, Haz?’
‘It’s been a long time coming, actually,’ he said. ‘I’ve been trying to say something for ages. But Christmas and tier 4 have kind of forced my hand.’
I shook my head at the madness of it. ‘You really are asking me to move out, then? For Christmas?’
‘Look…’ Harry said.
‘Just say it. If that’s it, then at least admit it.’
‘The thing is, even I don’t want to be around you when you’re like this,’ Harry said. ‘God knows how the kids feel. I actually feel a bit sick about coming home.’
‘Then why don’t you move out?’ I asked, my tears morphing to anger. ‘This is my home.’
‘I would,’ Harry said. ‘I’ve thought about it. I have. But the kids agree with me. And this is their home, too.’
‘God, have you been discussing me behind my back?’ I asked.
‘Have you been planning this whole little intervention, turning them against me? Is that why they’re both so uptight all the time?
’ I swallowed with difficulty and then repeated, ‘This is my home, Harry. This is my family. And it’s Christmas. It’s bloody Christmas.’
‘Yes,’ Harry said. ‘Yes, I know. But I thought – I mean, you’ve done it before loads of times – so I thought if you could – I mean, if Jill’s place is free – and seeing as you’re working all the time anyway – and seeing as there’s so much Covid around right now – well, we…
I just thought you might be able to ask her if it’s OK.
So the kids can come home for Christmas stress-free.
And then we can take things from there in the new year.
Maybe see someone together. Or separately. Work out where we’re going.’
‘I didn’t realise any of us were going anywhere,’ I said.
Fiona came downstairs at that moment and, being sleepy, failed to pick up on the icy atmosphere in the room. She slouched her way across to the counter, hair falling forwards so that I couldn’t even see her face, then pulled a box of cornflakes from the cupboard and one of the bowls from the shelf.
I turned my chair so that I could address her.
‘Wendy,’ Harry said quietly, pleadingly. ‘Don’t…’
‘No,’ I said. ‘You’re the one who keeps saying “we”. Let’s see what my darling daughter has to say about it all.’
Fiona turned to face me, the pack of cornflakes still in one hand. ‘What’s happening?’ she asked, speaking through her hair. ‘Are we arguing already? I mean, it’s not even eight o’clock.’
‘Your father says you want me out over Christmas,’ I said. ‘Is that true?’
‘I thought you were working anyway,’ she said, pushing hair behind her ear.
‘Not at nights, I’m not.’
‘But if we’re not gonna to see you, it hardly seems worth the risk,’ Fiona said, glancing at Harry for support. I saw from the corner of my eye that he winked at her encouragingly.
‘The risk…’ I repeated. ‘We’re all vaccinated. Todd’s had it; I’ve had it twice. At some point we are going to have to live with it.’
‘Shelley’s mum gave it to the whole family even though they was vaccinated,’ Fiona said.
‘Were,’ Harry corrected, I thought rather pedantically considering the context. ‘Even though they were vaccinated. They being plural.’
‘Whatever,’ Fiona said.
‘And please don’t say “whatever”,’ Harry said. ‘I’ve told you about that before. It’s chavvy.’
‘Anyway, it was like a cold,’ I said, interrupting Harry’s grammar lesson. ‘You told me that yourself. The whole family had a bad cold. Big deal.’
‘But it’s not just the Covid,’ Fiona said. ‘It’s this.’ She waved her hand vaguely in the space between us.
‘This?’
‘The arguments. Like right now, at 7.45 on a Friday.’
‘Well, of course we’re having a bloody argument,’ I said, raising my voice yet trying my hardest not to shout. ‘I’m being told, by my daughter and my husband, to fuck off somewhere else for Christmas.’
‘Oh, is that OK?’ Fiona asked, addressing Harry. ‘Are we allowed to say “fuck” these days, as long as we avoid “whatever”?’ She looked at me and gave me a strangely aggressive nod of the chin. ‘Eh?’
I lost it – I’ll admit it. But talk about provocation! I jumped from my seat and lurched towards her fully intending to slap her face, only Harry grabbed my wrist before I made contact, hurting me as he deflected my swipe.
‘No,’ he said. ‘Not that. Not today.’
‘No, let her!’ Fiona snarled. ‘Go on, Mum. Hit me! That’ll definitely make Christmas more festive.’
‘Oh… bugger you all,’ I said, spinning on one foot – already leaving the room. ‘Really. Just go to hell, the lot of you!’
I locked myself in the bathroom where I sat on the toilet and cried.
I felt certain that Harry would knock on the door at any moment, either because he was worried about me or he wanted to talk, or at the very least, because he or Fiona needed the bathroom.
Between sobs I tried to prepare the best possible comeback for when he did so.
But Harry did not knock on the door, and by the time I’d showered and fixed my face, the house was empty.
Numb with shock, I hesitated all morning about what to do before finally packing two bags and phoning Jill. In the end, I couldn’t face the stress of having the whole argument again when Harry got home. I also incorrectly assumed that faced with my absence, he’d feel regret.
I spent Christmas Eve with Jill and Bern watching Christmas specials on TV, and went into work with a gin-and-tonic hangover.
The horror of Christmas night itself, I solved by sleeping on a gurney in the nurses’ quarters, helping out when things got out of hand.
I think everyone assumed I was still on shift.
Because Jill was so used to having me stay she assumed that Covid was once again the cause, and I chose not to correct that assumption.
New Year’s Eve came and went without even a smidgin of news from the family. Bern fell asleep just after ten and Jill and I sneaked out to the local pub. But I can’t say I enjoyed it. I just went through the motions for Jill’s sake.
On the second of January, Todd posted a photo of Christmas dinner on Instagram. In it, he, Harry and Fiona, plus a girl I’d never seen before (new girlfriend, perhaps?) were grinning broadly, cutting into the cake I’d made a month before.
They all looked so happy, it broke my heart. Like poking a sore tooth, I kept going back and staring at that photo and it made me cry almost every time.
Eventually, on about the fiftieth peek, I couldn’t resist commenting, What could be more important than family at Christmas? And yes, I know it was snide, but in my defence, I had been down the pub with Jill…
By the next morning, Todd had deleted the photo which at least saved me from ever having to look at it again.
On the fifth of January, Jill came knocking to ask what was ‘really going on?’.
She’d received a booking request for February, she said, and wanted to know if she could accept. So I told her the truth and bless her, I think she cried more than I did.
Jill’s point of view was that they were a bunch of ungrateful pigs who wouldn’t know a woman sacrificing her family life to keep them safe even if she walked up and slapped them in the face. Which, by the way, was exactly what they deserved. I found it hard to disagree.