19. A Teeny-Tiny Glass of Sherry
Chapter 19
A Teeny-Tiny Glass of Sherry
W hen they got back to the cottage the boys were upstairs, the house was peaceful and there wasn’t a hippopotamus song to be heard. Diane sat next to the fire, reading glasses perched on the end of her nose.
‘Is everything okay?’ Amy asked, nervously.
‘Ah, there you are. I seem to have prevailed with the boys. They were playing with the lights when I went upstairs just now. I made them turn them off and get back in bed. I don’t know why they’re being so silly,’ she said with a tone of exaggerated martyrdom.
‘Because they’re kids and it’s nearly Christmas. Surely even Stella and Veronica must have got overexcited at Christmastime?’ Matt suggested.
‘I don’t recall them thinking it was appropriate to behave like little hooligans, or stuff themselves with chocolate biscuits, especially when they’re in the care of someone unfamiliar.’ Diane looked directly at Amy, who sighed and unwound her scarf from her neck.
‘You’re not unfamiliar. You’re Olly’s grandmother,’ Matt said .
‘I do wish you would use his proper name; the one his mother gave him. It’s disrespectful to her memory.’
‘He’s my son too, Diane.’ He sounded tense.
‘Do you think you could make sure the boys are okay, Matt? Make sure they didn’t mean that S.O.S. signal, and maybe remind them not to use that one unless they do mean it.’ It would be best to get Matt out of the room before he said something he regretted – or Diane did. As Matt went upstairs, Amy moved through to the cloakroom to hang up her coat and she didn’t rush to get back. When she did, Diane was sitting with her arms crossed, waiting for her return.
‘I presume that you didn’t have enough time to organise our Christmas dinner?’ Diane said. There was a certain smugness to her tone. ‘Such a pity. This entire break is turning into a bit of a disaster, isn’t it? Whatever is James going to say?’
‘Actually we’re on a list for a cancellation.’ She sank down on the mossy green sofa opposite Diane.
‘Well, that’s hardly likely to happen, is it? I think you’d still better make sure you get some shopping done tomorrow. And please don’t for even one moment think about leaving me with the boys again. Oliver is an angel when he’s on his own, but the two of them are altogether too much for someone of my age. Really, I think Harry brings out the worst in Oliver.’
‘I don’t think he does,’ Amy said.
‘Well, you wouldn’t, would you? I’m sure –’
Matt appeared in the doorway behind Diane. ‘I’m afraid I have to disagree with you there, Diane. Harry cheers Oliver up. He’s less likely to mope about when Harry’s around.’
‘If he feels miserable, doesn’t he have reason to? Poor darling.’
‘That’s why I’m always happy when Harry’s around to cheer him up,’ Matt insisted, and Amy flashed him a smile of thanks as Diane reached to pick up her paperback.
‘I think I’ve had enough excitement for one night. I’m going to rest here by the fire with my book.’ She opened it forcefully and cracked the spine in a way that made Amy wince.
‘Actually, Diane, there’s something we need to talk about.’ Matt took a seat on the sofa next to Amy. Before Diane had time to respond, they all looked up at the sound of one of the boys coming down the staircase.
Harry appeared in the doorway. ‘Oliver says he’s got a tummy ache. Can you come, Matt?’
‘That’s not surprising if he’s drunk half of one of those big bottles of Coke,’ said Matt.
‘I’m surprised you haven’t got one too.’ Amy followed Harry back up the stairs and tucked him back into bed as Matt checked Oliver’s forehead.
‘I’m sorry, Mam. I did eat lots of biscuits. But it was Olly who opened the bottle –’
‘It doesn’t matter who did what. Now just try and settle down, and tomorrow I think you both need to say sorry to Granny Diane for being silly. Mrs Willis –’
‘Mrs Willy! Silly Willy.’
‘Mrs Will is , isn’t used to boys and it was very good of her to look after you.’
‘So you two could go to the pub and make out in the bushes,’ Oliver announced loudly.
‘Ssh. We asked you to keep that secret in case your granny gets upset.’
‘You were making out in the bushes then. Told you, Harry! ’
‘Urgh. Gross.’
‘We were not making out in the bushes; we were at the pub trying to book Christmas dinner.’
‘Did you do it?’ Harry asked hopefully. ‘And can I have Yorkshire Puddings with mine?’
‘We’re on a list.’ Matt replied.
‘As long as Granny Diane isn’t going to cook. She’ll do sprouts and I hate sprouts and she makes me eat them,’ Oliver said with an exaggerated sigh.
‘We’re not sleepy. Can we have some more of the story?’ Harry asked, though his eyes were red with tiredness.
‘If it’ll help you get to sleep. Snuggle down under your covers and I’ll read you one last chapter.’ She flicked through the pages of the book to find the bookmark.
‘I’ll go and sort out the mess you two’ve made in the kitchen. I’ll see you back downstairs, Amy.’ Matt went out of the room.
‘Where have you got to? Oh, here. So, the tarn has frozen, and Dick and Dot are showing the others how to skate.’ Amy sat down on the floor between the boys’ beds.
‘Do you think our tarn will freeze?’ Harry asked, before she had a chance to begin reading.
‘Probably not. This winter’s cold, but it’s not as cold as in the book.’
‘I hope it does. I want to go skating. And sledging. But we don’t have a sledge. Or snow. Or skates. So probably we can’t.’
‘It won’t freeze hard enough to skate on. The ice has to be very thick and it’s dangerous to go on ice that isn’t thick enough. The Swallows and Amazons wouldn’t have done that.’
‘Stupid global warming. It’s not fair. I want it to freeze so I can skate.’ Harry had gone past the stage of silly tiredness and into the stage of petulance.
Oliver was unusually quiet, even for him, his eyes heavy, and he spoke slowly. ‘Me too. I’m good at skating, I went to a skating party once and I was the best at it.’
‘You were not.’
‘I was. You weren’t there.’
‘Nobody in our class ever had a skating party.’
‘You weren’t invited. Anyway it was a boy from my street, he doesn’t go to our school.’
‘Be quiet, both of you, so I can read.’
They were both asleep before she’d even finished the page.
‘I helped myself to a teeny-tiny glass of sherry. I hope you don’t mind,’ said Diane with a smile when Amy came back downstairs. She indicated a large wine glass full of the honey-coloured sherry that had been Amy’s mam’s favourite Christmas drink. She liked to raise a glass on Christmas Eve in her honour, but at this rate Amy would need to buy a second bottle if she wanted to toast her mother the next evening. This was Diane’s second glassful.
‘No, of course not. Help yourself,’ she said, conscious Diane already had.
‘I’ll get us some red wine.’ Matt came in from the kitchen where he’d finished cleaning the spilled milk.
‘Oh, you drink red, do you? Stella always preferred white,’ Diane said, as if it had been a point of principle.
‘I do like white in the summer, but red in the winter,’ Amy said as she sat down in the fireside seat opposite Diane. The fire glowed nicely now. The room was very warm; they wouldn’t need to add any more fuel tonight as it was already getting late.
‘The boys are asleep now, are they?’ asked Diane, as Amy took her first sip of wine.
‘Fast asleep. I’m sorry they were naughty for you.’
‘Boys will be boys, I suppose. My girls were very different; they never had to be told anything twice. Oliver’s like his mother was at that age.’
‘I see a bit of Veronica in him as well. He has her stubbornness at times,’ Matt said.
‘I suppose I’m just lucky that both my girls – and Oliver – were so advanced for their ages. I suppose we can’t all be so fortunate. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll just be a moment.’ She headed for the downstairs toilet.
‘I don’t think it’s luck that has made Oliver mature for his years,’ Matt said. ‘I think it’s because he lost his mother. I wish to God she was still here and he was behaving like a normal young lad.’
‘I know, Matt. I do understand how hard it is for you and Oliver, and I’ll do everything I can to help, even if it means –’ she began to say, but before she could finish a small, pale figure appeared at the foot of the stairs.
‘Dad … I think I’m going to be sick,’ Oliver said.
‘You’d be better off in bed, lying down. I’ll bring you a bucket,’ said Matt.
‘Come with me, Daddy? I don’t want to be on my own.’
‘Of course.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll bring the bucket, you take him upstairs,’ Amy said, and followed Matt and Oliver up to the twin bedroom with the grey bucket from the cupboard under the sink. Oliver looked very small and pasty in his bed. Matt stroked his forehead.
‘Poor lad,’ said Amy .
‘Daddy, will you stay here in this bedroom with me?’ Oliver said. ‘I don’t want to wake up and feel sick all on my own.’
‘Harry would be here, and he could get me,’ Matt suggested. ‘I’m just downstairs.’
‘I want Mummy.’ Oliver’s voice shook.
‘Oh Olly …’
‘Please stay.’
‘I …’ Matt looked at Amy, clearly torn.
‘You should stay,’ Amy said. ‘Don’t worry, we’ll talk to Diane tomorrow. She’s probably had too much sherry tonight anyway. You have Harry’s bed for tonight and Harry can share the double with me.’
It took a while to transport Harry into her room and get him settled to sleep. By the time Amy went downstairs again Diane was nodding beside the dying embers of the fire, an empty glass in her hand.
‘Matt’s staying with Oliver. He’s not very well,’ she explained.
‘I hope it’s not something infectious.’ Diane’s lip curled. ‘That would spoil Christmas for everyone.’
‘Too much fizzy drink, I think,’ Amy replied.
‘We’ll see. Poor Oliver. I just hope you’re right and he hasn’t picked up some germs. I’m off to bed now too. I’ll see you in the morning.’ Diane stalked off towards the door and left Amy to make sure the fire was safe and all the lights turned out. Alone in the room she paused for a minute, and watched the decorations on the Christmas tree move gently in the swirling heat of the fire with the subdued twinkling of Christmases past. How many other Christmases had been celebrated in this old house? A shiver shuddered down her spine. A draught from the window or the door, perhaps, or the ghosts of Christmases past whispering in her ear.
Cursed be the path, cursed be the hearth, cursed be the bed .