‘Good grief!’ said Jake, stopping in front of the Christmas tree in the reception area. ‘Look at the size of that thing – it’s as big as the one in Trafalgar Square. What the hell is that on the top?’
‘It’s a fairy,’ said Eve. ‘Knitted by one of the residents. Just keep walking, Jake. Pretend it’s the sort of thing you see every day.’
As they approached the open doors of the lounge, Mrs Donaldson stumbled out, wearing a pink paper hat and holding the end of the cracker it had probably come from.
‘Merry Christmas!’ she trilled. ‘Welcome one and all! There’s a glass of sherry waiting for you just in there, and the kitchen staff have produced some wonderful canapés.’
‘Excellent,’ said Jake, rubbing his hands together. ‘I thought something smelt good. And to think you didn’t want me to come!’
Eve had tried very hard to persuade him to stay at home. She wanted to spend time with Flora on Christmas Day, but had been dreading the forced bonhomie of Three Elms, anticipating there would be elevator-style Christmas music playing in the background, packets of shop-bought mince pies sitting on the coffee tables, and a dried-out, institutional Christmas lunch to be tackled. This hadn’t felt like the right time to introduce her mother to Jake, or to introduce him to the musty, claustrophobic corridors of the care home and the eccentricities of its residents.
But he had insisted. ‘I can’t stay in the house while Katie’s cooking,’ he’d said. ‘She’s a really messy cook. Unbelievable.’
‘I’m creative!’ Katie had called from the other room.
‘She burns holes in pans and throws food at the walls,’ said Jake. ‘I’ll need to get out of the place for a couple of hours to preserve my sanity.’
So, while Katie stayed at home to create a Christmas lunch for them, Jake and Eve had driven to Three Elms, their arms full of gifts for Flora.
‘Happy Christmas, Mum!’ said Eve, leaning down to hug her mother. ‘How are you?’
‘Oh, I’m tip-top, thank you darling,’ said Flora. ‘Tippedy-top. Yes indeed. I am having a rather marvellous day.’ She lifted up a glass from the coffee table beside her chair. ‘Cheers! Down the hatch we go.’
Eve felt a tap on her shoulder, and turned to see Nathan standing behind her. ‘Merry Christmas!’ he said, beaming.
‘You too, Nathan,’ she said. ‘How many sherries has she had?’
‘Oh, three or four.’ He laughed at the expression on her face. ‘Don’t worry, I’m keeping an eye on her. Anyway, she doesn’t notice when I water down the sherry, so she’s not going to get nearly as drunk as she hopes she is.’
‘Who is this?’ asked Flora, pointing her glass up at Jake.
‘Mum, this is my neighbour – and good friend – Jake. His daughter Katie is cooking us lunch today, so Jake and I thought we’d come to see you first.’
Flora was peering at Jake’s chest, her head tilted to one side. ‘What,’ she asked, ‘is that?’
Jake knelt down beside her chair and proudly puffed out his chest. ‘It’s my best Christmas jumper,’ he said. ‘So here we’ve got Father Christmas, on a unicorn, carrying a Christmas stocking. Do you like it?’
Flora looked up at him and smiled. ‘I like it very much, young man. It is extremely tasteful. Do you like mine?’ She sat back and tugged at the bottom of her own jumper, pulling it forwards to show Jake the snowman. Eve wished she’d had the nerve to suggest she and Barbara swap: the outsized pale blue jumper was now baggier than ever on her mother, nearly reaching her knees.
‘Mrs Glover, that is exquisite,’ said Jake. ‘What an amazing snowman.’ There was no trace of irony in his voice; Eve knew he really meant it.
Flora beamed. ‘I think you and I are going to get on like a house on fire, Eve’s good neighbour friend,’ she said, raising her empty glass. ‘Get me another one of these will you, and one for yourself while you’re at it.’
Eve had bought Flora a new cushion for her bed, some lavender hand cream and a pretty mother-of-pearl photo frame. All her gifts were carefully wrapped, alongside Daniel’s present, a Chocolate Orange, which he had wrapped himself – so badly it looked as if it had exploded inside the paper.
‘Daniel got you this,’ she said, passing it over. ‘I’m sorry he’s not here today, he would have loved seeing you at Christmas.’ Her voice caught slightly and she took a deep breath, feeling Jake’s hand on the small of her back. It was fine. She was fine. ‘He’s at Ben’s today. They asked if he could spend Christmas with them this year, and he was very excited about it.’
And I cried, she wanted to add. I smiled and said, ‘Yes, that would be great. What a lucky boy you are, you’ll have a fabulous day with Daddy and Lou.’ Then I went upstairs and lay down on my bed and wept.
It was only fair that Ben got to spend Christmas with their son, she’d had him all to herself every year so far. But she’d been dreading the prospect, and had felt physically sick as she waved him off yesterday afternoon, listening to his excited chatter as Ben strapped him into the back seat of the car.
But strangely, now that Christmas Day was here, the whole thing wasn’t as bad as she’d been anticipating. She had woken ridiculously early and made herself a cup of tea to take back to bed, sitting watching dawn seep through the curtains, wondering whether her boy was already awake – certain he must be. Last year, he had got up at 4.15am and run into her bedroom screaming with excitement, clutching his bulging red stocking to his chest. ‘Mummy, he was here! Father Christmas came and I didn’t even wake up!’
Nothing she said could persuade him to go back to bed, so she lay dozing as he rifled through the contents of the stocking, littering the duvet with bits of plastic wrapping and cardboard, shrieking with delight at each new discovery. She had been exhausted for the rest of the day and had snapped at him several times as she tried to cook lunch.
But this year she would have given anything to have been woken up in the middle of the night by her overexcited child. She had sipped her tea and listened to the radio, imagining the chaos that was engulfing Ben’s house. What would they put in his stocking? Would they lay it carefully on the end of his bed, like she did, or leave it downstairs by the fireplace? What presents would they buy him? Would they all rush downstairs and open everything at once, before it was even light, or did they eke out the presents, like she did, with a couple after breakfast, then a couple more before lunch.
When it was finally light enough to get up, she had made herself a piece of toast, and eaten it standing up, looking out into the garden. Had Daniel eaten anything vaguely sensible for breakfast, or just stuffed himself with chocolate from his stocking? She always let him do that on Christmas Day. Where was the harm? It was only once a year.
Later – still too early to call anyone – the house had felt horribly quiet, so she went onto Spotify to find some Christmas songs. As Wizzard yelled that they wished it could be Christmas every day, she sat flicking through photographs on her phone, looking at memories of Christmas past: pictures of Daniel opening presents, playing with new toys, working his way through a heaped plate of Christmas dinner.
Eventually, a text from Jake had helped her snap out of the self-indulgence.
And now here he was, standing next to her in the lounge at Three Elms, proudly showing Flora his appalling Christmas jumper and pushing a glass of watered-down sherry into Eve’s hands.
‘Cheers, and a bloody happy Christmas,’ he whispered, leaning forward to kiss her briefly on the lips.
‘Oh goodness me!’ said Flora. ‘I saw that. Who is this young man, Eve – do you know him?’
Eve grinned at him and then stood up on her toes to kiss him back. He smelt of toothpaste and washing powder, with a touch of sherry around the edges. This wasn’t as thrilling as their first proper kiss, but it was the first public show of affection and it made her feel about fourteen years old.
‘Yes, Mum,’ she said. ‘I do know this young man. But I’m intending to get to know him even better.’
Christmas lunch was being served in the dining room at midday, and some relatives used it as an excuse to leave, keen to rush away to the cosier familiarity of their own festivities. But Jake and Eve walked along the hallway on either side of Flora, and found her a place at a round table, its centre decorated with sprigs of red-berried holly, with crackers and snowflake-patterned napkins laid out at each place setting.
‘I can’t believe you’re working today as well, Nathan,’ said Eve, as the young man passed round plates of steaming turkey, roast potatoes and vegetables. ‘Didn’t you want to take time off to be with your family?’
‘They’re all here,’ he said, smiling. ‘My sister works in the kitchens, and that’s my mum – over there.’
Eve looked at the woman carrying plates on the other side of the room. She had seen her at Three Elms before, but wouldn’t have noticed a resemblance.
‘We’re having our own Christmas at home, tonight,’ said Nathan, as he went back towards the kitchen. ‘It means we get to do it twice!’
Jake had helped Flora pull her cracker and was patiently waiting for her to decipher the joke.
‘Who has a… no, who holds… no, hides in a bakery at Christmas?’ she read, holding the scrap of paper close to her face. ‘A mince pie! No, that’s not right. It says a mince spy!’ She looked up at Jake. ‘What on earth does that mean? How silly.’
The lunch took a long time; there was much chewing and gumming of food. Barbara was sitting at a different table, and Eve went over to wish her a happy Christmas.
‘Well, it would be, if I could get through this turkey,’ she said, sawing at the meat with her knife. ‘Tough as old boots.’
The man sitting next to her, who – judging by the amount of food on the tablecloth – had also been struggling with his meal, suddenly put his fingers into his mouth and pulled out his false teeth, setting them carefully on his side plate. He turned to Barbara and winked. ‘Thass better.’
‘Wish I could do that,’ said Barbara.
Eventually the staff began to clear away the empty plates. Eve was conscious that she kept looking at her watch, but couldn’t stop herself.
‘Don’t worry, we won’t be eating for ages,’ said Jake, grinning. ‘If Katie says she’s aiming for 3pm, it will be at least an hour later.’
But she wasn’t worrying about their own schedule: she was wondering what Daniel was doing. What time had Lou planned their meal? Would the children be watching Christmas cartoons while the grown-ups worked in the kitchen? Maybe Lou’s family would be there, even Ben’s parents. Theirs would be a noisy, happy family house, crammed with people who wanted to be together to eat, drink and celebrate. Her own house was so quiet and empty. Thank God she didn’t have to be there.
‘You’re looking maudlin,’ Jake whispered in her ear. ‘Have another glass of watered-down sherry. We just need to get through the Christmas pudding, then we’re out of here.’
As he spoke, Mrs Donaldson appeared in the doorway, holding aloft a plate on which sat what looked like a blackened cannonball, blue flames licking the sides and curling around the sprig of holly in the top. ‘Who’s going to get the lucky twenty pence!’ she called out, as she lowered the plate onto the nearest table. ‘It’s in here somewhere.’
Flora looked at Eve and frowned. ‘It should be a sixpence!’ she said. ‘That’s what you put in there, not twenty pence!’
‘I know, Mum. You’re right. But that’s the twenty-first century for you. Traditions get reworked I’m afraid.’
She was kneeling beside Flora’s chair, her hand covering her mother’s, feeling the warmth from her skin. Flora smiled at her as she spooned up the food. ‘This is delicious!’ she said. ‘I do love Christmas pudding.’
Looking around the dining room, Eve realised she now recognised most of the other residents, and knew many of them by name. It was surprising how quickly this warm little community had become the new normal for both her and Flora. They had come a long way since they’d wheeled her battered old suitcase down the corridor for the first time.
After just a few months of coming here, she could hardly remember how it felt to visit Flora in her previous life: driving into the communal parking area outside her old flat, waiting for the noisy lift to descend to the ground floor, taking her out to the shops every week for groceries.
Flora always used to come over for an early supper on Sundays, once Daniel had been dropped home by Ben, and the three of them would then slump onto the sofa and watch Countryfile before Eve drove Flora back home. It had always been a late bedtime on Sunday for Daniel, but it was only once a week. Those days felt like a lifetime ago.
‘Do you know, Eve,’ her mother was saying now, ‘I remember one Christmas, when you were very little, when you nearly choked on the sixpence I’d put in the Christmas pudding.’
‘Really?’
‘I’d mashed up a portion with a fork and put it on the table of your highchair, and you were stuffing it into your mouth, using your hands!’ Flora laughed and shook her head. ‘Oh Eve, you were such a funny child. Then your father tried to feed you with the spoon and you kept pushing his hand away, telling him you could do it yourself.’
At some stage, this will stop hurting, thought Eve, as she watched her mother’s face light up. I will stop caring that what she’s telling me isn’t true.
‘You were such a feisty little thing!’ Flora was saying. ‘You grabbed the spoon from his hand and started banging it on the side of your chair. Food flew everywhere and your father and I laughed so much.’
Not yet though. At the moment, there was still a part of her that wanted to put her hands over her ears and tell Flora to stop talking with such animation about a moment in their lives that never happened. She felt Jake’s hand resting on her shoulder, squeezing it gently.
‘Come on, Flora,’ said Jake. ‘Eat that up or I’ll have to help you out with it.’
‘I don’t want any more,’ said Flora. ‘I hate Christmas pudding.’
The noise level increased around the tables, as the residents finished their food and carers delivered cups of tea and coffee.
‘We’re going to head off soon, Mum,’ said Eve. ‘We’re going back to Jake’s for our lunch. Nathan says you’ll be playing some games this afternoon?’
Flora nodded, but she was looking vague again, her brow furrowing as she stared around her, seeming unsure about what they were all doing there. Just twelve months ago, she had sat in Eve’s kitchen, playing Daniel’s favourite game, Simon Says, as the remains of their turkey congealed on their plates.
‘Simon says put your hands on your head!’ Daniel had shouted, and Eve and Flora threw up their hands.
‘Simon says pull your pants down!’
‘Well, I’m not doing that one,’ Flora had huffed, folding her arms across her chest. ‘My pants are far too big, Daniel. It would take all day to get them back up again!’
Even just a year ago, her mother had been so much more her old self.
Barbara appeared at Eve’s elbow. ‘Right, we’re going back into the lounge,’ she announced. She was holding a short, elderly man by the hand, pulling him along beside her. He looked confused.
‘This,’ she said, ‘is Terry. He’s in here for respite. His daughter has gone to the Bahamas for Christmas. All right for some. I’ve told him he can sit with us for Scrabble, Flora, because he says he’s very good at Scrabble.’
‘What a lovely idea,’ said Flora, pushing her chair back from the table and getting up. ‘We’re very good at it too, aren’t we?’ She took the old man’s other elbow and the three of them moved towards the hallway.
‘Mum, we’ll be off then,’ said Eve, to her retreating back.
Flora waved a hand at her, then turned her attention back to Terry. ‘I used to play with my husband, many years ago,’ Eve heard her mother saying. ‘He came up with all these clever words. But I was better at using the triple word scores.’
As the three of them disappeared into the lounge, Jake put his arm around Eve’s waist. ‘Well done, you,’ he said. ‘Job done. Wasn’t so bad, was it?’
Eve smiled. ‘It was actually rather lovely. Thanks for coming with me. Now, let’s get out of here and see how much damage Katie has managed to inflict on that turkey.’