Last Christmas (11 page)

Gabriel could hear the bird’s frantic cheeping before he saw it. It was a bright, sunny day and he’d been walking in the woods. He frowned. Hadn’t it been snowing earlier?

Suddenly the skies went grey and he was filled with an urgent sense of foreboding. The bird’s cries became more frequent and desperate. Gabriel knew it was vitally important that he reach the bird. Had to try and help. But couldn’t think why or how.

‘Daddy!’ A shout came from behind him. What was Stephen doing here? He was meant to be at home tucked up in bed. The anguish in his son’s voice tore at Gabriel’s heart. He should go to his son.

But the bird…

Why was the bird so important?

Couldn’t he help them both?

The bird was too far away. He could just about see it now, caught in barbed wire, but he couldn’t ignore his son’s cries, which were getting louder and more persistent.

‘Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!’

Gabriel ran in the direction of Stephen’s voice, but the wood seemed different today. Less open, more hostile. Dark twisted trees crouched menacingly above him, small spiteful bushes barred his way. Soon he was lost, and frantic. Where was he? Where was Stephen?

‘If you love something, let it go.’

‘It can’t be—’

Eve was there in front of him, blocking the way towards Stephen.

‘Eve!’ he called out in anguish. She looked at him with such sadness in her eyes, and then she was gone. But there was Stephen, a small sobbing bundle calling his name…

Gabriel woke with a jerk, blearily aware that he was cold and stiff. It was midnight, and his tumbler of whiskey was half full, though the bottle beside it was nearly empty. He had vague memories of sitting drinking it, wallowing in nostalgia, but had no idea how long he’d been asleep. He did know that he had a thumping head. The fire had gone out in the grate and through the gap in the curtains he could see it was still snowing. He should go to bed.

‘Daddy.’ A small shadow appeared in the doorway.

‘Stephen.’ Gabriel felt uncomfortable. He didn’t want his son to see him in this state. Stephen had seen enough that he shouldn’t have already.

‘Why aren’t you in bed?’said Stephen.‘I had a bad dream, and woke up and couldn’t find you.’

‘I’m sorry.’Gabriel felt worse than ever.‘I fell asleep down here. Come here.’

Stephen climbed onto Gabriel’s lap and snuggled against him.

‘You’re cold,’ he said accusingly.

‘You’re warm,’said Gabriel.‘You can cuddle me and warm me up if you like.’ He held his son tight, and kissed him on the top of his head. Maybe Eve had been right. He couldn’t help her, but he could look after their son.

‘I wrote a note to Santa, Daddy,’ said Stephen.

‘You know he might not have enough Wiis to go round, don’t you?’ Gabriel always made a point of damping down
Stephen’s wilder expectations at Christmas, which were usually, it had to be said, generated by random promises that Eve made and never kept, like the time she’d promised him a trip to Disneyland Paris that had never materialised.

‘I don’t want a Wii anymore,’ said Stephen solemnly. ‘There’s only one thing I want. Do you think if I’m really really good Santa will give it to me?’

Gabriel’s heart sank.

‘It depends what it is,’ Gabriel said carefully.

‘Shh, it’s a secret,’ said Stephen. He held out a crumpled bit of paper. ‘Can I put this by the fireplace for Santa?’

‘Of course,’ said Gabriel. ‘Now really, it’s time you were back in bed.’

Stephen put his letter by the grate and allowed himself to be carried back to bed.

‘I miss Mummy,’ he said, as Gabriel tucked him in.

‘I know,’ said Gabriel. ‘I do too.’

Stephen looked at him expectantly. This was the point at which he should say something reassuring like,
It’s okay, Mummy will be home soon
, but Gabriel couldn’t bring himself to. Painful as this was for his son, how could he lie and promise something that wasn’t going to happen?

With a heavy heart, Gabriel went back downstairs to tidy up. He paused in the lounge and picked up the letter Stephen had written.

Dear Santa,

I have been very god. Can my mummy plees come home for Xmas.

Yours sinserly

Stephen North

Gabriel sat back down on the sofa and wept.

The traffic on the North Circular was predictably dreadful. Magda’s flight was at three so Cat had planned to leave at ten, partly to give herself plenty of time, and partly to get rid of her sulky au pair at the earliest possible opportunity. She hadn’t, of course, factored in Magda’s ability to take three times as long as a normal person to get ready. By the time she had finally emerged from her bedroom with enough bags for half an army, it was nearly ten thirty. Although that still gave them over two hours, Cat wasn’t convinced that they’d make it through London in time, but she was getting to the point where she was past caring. At least Magda was out of her hair for Christmas.

Magda had only been with them since September and she was already shaping up to be the worst au pair they’d ever had. If Catherine could see a way to reduce her workload slightly (unlikely since the Happy Homemaker had taken over her life), she might think of dispensing with an au pair again. But she needed Magda, otherwise her working day would be reduced by at least three hours, and she couldn’t afford that at the moment.

Nor, for that matter, could she afford to spend the best part of a precious day just before Christmas ferrying her rubbish au pair to the airport. Magda had originally planned to go to her boyfriend, Sergei, for Christmas Day, but that was before a frantic phone call from Latvia from which it transpired that her mother was desperately ill—dying even—and Magda needed to get home. Catherine hated herself for being dubious about how ill Magda’s mother really was, but she couldn’t help thinking it was incredibly convenient that this mystery illness had arrived just before Christmas, considering that Magda had spent months moaning that she didn’t have enough money to get home for the festive season. But, of course, this being
a crisis, Cat had felt duty-bound to cough up the money for a plane ticket. She had done it with the strictest of provisos that on her return Magda would be repaying the money out of her wages, but Catherine had the feeling that somehow Magda would wriggle her way out of that one.

Still, at least Magda had opted not to talk on the journey, preferring to sit in the back listening to the Cheeky Girls on her iPod. Mind you, the downside of that was that Cat had to listen to her slightly out-of-tune rendition. Too bloody right she was a cheeky girl.

The traffic started moving again and Cat felt a bit more hopeful. Maybe she’d be back by lunchtime. She didn’t trust Noel to get through all the jobs she’d left for him. Magda’s bed had to be washed and aired ready for her mother-in-law’s arrival and the playroom desperately needed a tidy—the kids were all on tidywatch for that one, though if left to their own devices they would make things worse rather than better.

As she made her way on to the M4, Catherine was busy running through lists in her head: presents for mothers, check; presents for kids, mainly check, but Noel was going to have to go out on a frantic last-minute search to get a Baby Annabel who had mysteriously appeared at the eleventh hour on Ruby’s list (being the youngest she generally got hand-me-downs, and Cat felt for once she really ought to get a decent present that she actually wanted); present for the husband, uncheck. She’d drawn a complete blank this year for Noel. Apart from a book she knew he’d like, some socks and a couple of CDs, she’d barely got him anything. Which was most unlike her. But things had been so busy recently and, what with working more or less full time now, she’d had less time to shop than normal. Feeling incredibly guilty, she did a last-minute dash round the shops in Heathrow and came out with a leather manbag, which
she wasn’t even sure Noel would like and which was far too expensive. But that’s what last-minute, desperate Christmas shopping always entailed—buying something hideously expensive that you’d see reduced the next week in the sales. She hoped he’d understand. After all, Christmas was for the kids.

‘Your mother doesn’t like me.’ Marianne was fixing in a pearl earring as she got ready in her cosy little cottage for the Nicholas family annual Christmas lunch, held at Hopesay Manor. This would be only the second time she’d been there, and she hadn’t met Luke’s grandfather since their embarrassing encounter with him in the summer. She’d endured enough of her prospective mother-in-law’s snobbiness over the last few months to be sure that she wasn’t being welcomed into the bosom of the family with open arms though.

‘Don’t be daft.’ Luke was staring in the mirror as he adjusted his tie. ‘She thinks you’re great.’

Marianne’s heart gave a little lurch, the way it always did when Luke was near. He was so gorgeous and he was hers. Sometimes she had to pinch herself. And sometimes the insecure part of her worried that it couldn’t last, and one day he would leave her. Despite Luke’s denials when she raised the subject, she couldn’t help the gnawing anxiety within her, which made her feel that she was way out of her depth in his family. After all, how many men really married women their mothers so obviously disapproved of?

‘Do I look all right?’ Marianne gave a twirl in the little velvet black dress she reserved for all occasions when she didn’t know what to wear. She felt rather self-conscious though. Was it too short for Hopesay Manor?

‘You look fine,’ said Luke, who seemed more interested in making sure his own appearance was okay.

‘You barely looked at me.’ Marianne gave him a friendly poke.

‘You look lovely,’ said Luke, kissing her on the top of the head. ‘Come on, we should go.’

Marianne followed him into the car, her insecurities rising. She was nervous, couldn’t he see that? But it was almost as if he didn’t care.

Things got worse when they arrived and she realised her clothes were all wrong. All the other women were wearing twinsets and pearls and she was in a cocktail dress. Luke’s mother didn’t say anything, but her eyebrows rose to the ceiling when she saw the length of Marianne’s skirt.

‘My skirt’s too short,’ she hissed at Luke.

‘Not for me,’ he said, giving her a lascivious look before diving off to talk with one of the directors of the family firm.

Marianne was left standing on her own in the magnificent drawing room. There were about thirty members of the extended Nicholas clan and their friends, but not one of them came anywhere near her. She was too nervous to start a conversation with any of them, so instead concentrated on looking at the picture above the magnificent fireplace, which featured a rather dashing Cavalier on a horse.

‘My ancestor, another Ralph Nicholas.’ Luke’s grandfather was suddenly standing beside her with his twinkling smile.

‘I can see the family resemblance,’ said Marianne. It was uncanny how alike the man standing beside her was to this portrait of a man from four centuries ago. ‘What happened to him?’

‘Oh, family legend has it that he helped Charles II escape, and in gratitude was knighted on his return.’

‘You certainly have an interesting family,’ said Marianne. ‘Mine is quite dull by comparison. Labourers and dock
workers back to the time of the Conquest. I don’t think we even have a convict who went to Australia to liven things up.’

‘I’m glad you think so,’ said Ralph. ‘It’s rather a pity that my grandson can’t be persuaded to take more of an interest. But that’s the trouble with youth. It’s wasted on the young.’

Marianne laughed. She was glad to see her future grandfather-in-law didn’t seem to have held the awkwardness of their initial encounter against her.

‘Now, we can’t have a lovely young thing like you standing all by yourself,’ continued Ralph. ‘Let me introduce you to the rest of the family.’