Chapter 27
After the dishes had been cleared and washed up and the excess food put into bowls and refrigerated for the morning, Jack stoked the fire and they gravitated to the chairs placed in a crescent around it.
Jack couldn’t remember the last time he had done nothing and been able to enjoy it. He was a hard taskmaster on himself, always trying to run and be first across a finish line that seemed to constantly move away from him. But now, here, today he felt like a marionette whose strings had been severed, forcing him to collapse.
“Doing nothing is an acquired art,” said Charlie as if he were reading Jack’s mind. “But, take my advice and do acquire it. I was lucky, I had a mild heart attack when I was sixty that made me sit up and take notice.”
“First time I’ve heard anyone say that a heart attack was lucky,” said Jack, raising his eyebrows.
“It saved my life, ironically,” replied Charlie. “After that Robin insisted I retire. I didn’t need to work, we had more than enough money, so I sold the businesses and we lived, didn’t we, Robin?”
“Oh, we did,” agreed Robin, nodding emphatically. “We toured the world, we went on safaris, dived into lakes as deep as forever, traveled to the top of the world and the bottom, swam with dolphins, went whale watching, gambled in Vegas, schmoozed with glamorous glitterati, sunbathed on sugar beaches…”
“Sounds blissful,” said Jack.
“It was.” Charlie sighed. “I’ve had a good life, done almost everything I wanted to. Including, might I add, have a white Christmas this year. I wanted snow, lots of it. I wanted it to blind me with its brilliance.”
“Well, you certainly got your wish, Charlie,” said Jack.
“I’m lucky that I have my loved one here to share it with me, though,” Charlie said. “You’ll be glad to get back to your lady, Luke, and Bridge her dear Ben. And poor Mary, your family must be worried silly about where you are. It can’t last much longer, can it? Though I think I could survive forever in a world full of Christmas trees, log fires, mulled wine, and mince pies.”
“Cholesterol!” yelled Luke for comic effect.
“After all this food, I think I’m mainly constructed of cholesterol now,” said Bridge. “If I cut myself, I bet I’ll ooze brandy butter before blood.”
“I do hope Radio Brian’s having a lovely day, too,” said Robin. “I’ve missed his voice since he went off air.”
“I have enjoyed his prerecorded playlist, though,” said Charlie through a mouthful of mince pie. “It’s as if he’s made it from all my favorite Christmas songs.”
“Shall we play a parlor game?” suggested Luke. “What about charades?”
“Ooh yes,” said Charlie. “I haven’t played it for years.”
“I haven’t played it ever,” said Jack, deciding that his work/life balance really was crap.
“It has to be Christmas themed,” said Bridge.
“I’ll start,” said Luke. “I’ve got a good one.” He stood in front of them all, opened his mouth, and drew some invisible notes out of it.
“A song,” said Charlie. “A carol?”
Luke stuck up his thumb, then four fingers.
“Four words.”
One finger.
“First word.”
Luke held his stomach and bobbed up and down.
“Wind?” suggested Robin, then jumped up excitedly. “ ‘Wind in the Willows’? ‘Wind beneath my Wings’?” Sadly neither were right, so he sat back down.
“Full?” This from Charlie.
Luke pointed to his wide-open smile.
“Laughing?” said Mary.
“He looks in pain to me,” said Bridge. “Pancreatitis? Duodenal ulcers?”
Luke ignored that with the disdain it deserved. He gave up on the first word for now, held up three fingers. The third word. Then he gave his ear a waggle.
“Earrings? I know—hearing aid,” said Robin.
“Sounds like,” Bridge corrected him.
Luke’s mime involved a lot of thrusting forward of hands.
“Throw?”
“Launch?”
“Bat?”
“Overhand balls? Is he playing cricket?” asked Charlie.
“Looks more like tennis to me,” said Jack. “Ace? Smash? Björn Borg?”
“Lob? Is it something to do with volleyball?” asked Robin.
Luke waved his hands as if to wipe his last efforts away, then drew a circle above his head.
“Hair?”
“Static electricity?”
Charlie squealed. “I’ve got it, ‘Angels with Dirty Faces’!”
“Oh, for fu—” Luke cut off the profanity, recalibrated, held up four fingers. The fourth word. He pretended to take off what appeared to be his trousers.
“Strip?”
“You lot are shit at this,” said Luke, exasperated.
“Shh, you aren’t supposed to talk.”
Once again, Luke repeated the mime, then he held up his imaginary clothing, threw it away, and pointed to his groin area.
“Dick,” said Bridge with relish, which earned her a dirty look from her soon-to-be ex.
“Removing your jeans, suit, slacks?” Robin was throwing everything at it.
“Drawers?” said Mary. The look Luke gave her suggested she was closer than any of them so far. He made an encouraging come on motion with his hands, wanting more from her. “Shorts? Knickers?”
Luke grinned. Took off his pretend pants and pointed to his groin again.
Robin made a vigorous leap from his chair, convinced he’d gotten it now. “ ‘Take Your Knickers Off, Father Christmas.’ ”
“Ah yes, that well-known children’s carol,” said Bridge to that, rolling her eyes.
“It’s something definitely to do with knickers,” said Charlie, which triggered near ecstasy in Luke as he once again wriggled out of some pretend underwear.
“Knickerless?” said Bridge. “Of course, I’ve got it! ‘Jolly Old St. Nicholas.’ ”
Luke stuck up his thumbs and collapsed forward in exhaustion.
“Where did the volleyball fit in? I’m confused,” said Jack.
“I was trying to say, ‘sounds like sent.’ When you didn’t get that I drew a saint’s halo above my head.”
“Ah,” said Bridge. “Well, that wasn’t an ordeal at all. Anyone want to go next?”
Robin stood and entertained them all with a very funny—if quite indecent—mime of “Fairytale of New York.” Then Mary followed with “O Little Town of Bethlehem.” Then they had a break for mulled cider, which Luke had also made that morning, so all the spices had plenty of time to marinate. It could have fueled a rocket up to Mars, said Charlie, coughing after his first mouthful before quickly returning for a second. Luke had been delightfully liberal with his addition of Calvados to the mix.
“You really have turned into Superman, haven’t you?” said Bridge, nodding with approval at the taste.
“I’ll take that,” said Luke.
“And what is your kryptonite, then?” asked Jack.
“I don’t have one,” said Luke. “I turned all my weaknesses to strengths.”
“Everyone has a weakness,” said Bridge. “Mine is not being able to resist a bargain. If I sniff even the smallest profit in a plot of land, I have to have it.”
“Mine is cherries,” said Charlie. “I’d do anything for one of those cherry grenades.”
“What’s yours, Jack?” asked Luke.
“His posh twitness,” Bridge answered for him.
“Bridge,” said Luke with disapproval.
“No, Bridge is right,” said Jack. “All education and no common sense.” He couldn’t shake the image of Mary’s lovely face upturned to his when they were outside.
“What about a nice sedate game of bingo,” said Mary, a distraction from anyone asking her what her weakness was because he was there, sitting next to the fire with his eyebrows knit in consternation. When the idea was greeted with tipsy enthusiasm, she got up to distribute bingo cards and counters from the box to cover the numbers. Luke volunteered to be the caller and got very much into the spirit of things straightaway.
“Are we all set? Eyes down, ready for your first number. One and two—three. Leg and a fat lady—eighteen.”
Bridge was going to ask him if he had to be a twenty-four-seven clown, but she didn’t want to risk stifling his bingo-lingo creativity. Looking at Charlie with his foot-wide grin, eagerly waiting Luke’s next call, she was glad that he hadn’t traded that daft-as-a-brush essence of himself for money and success. They played five games. Charlie won the last one with the most serendipitous of numbers.
“The Figgy Hollow Six… number six, of course.”
“House,” yelled Charlie, throwing his hands up in the air and sending all his counters flying. “What do I win?”
“An overnight stay in a top Yorkshire hotel,” said Luke, putting on his best announcer’s voice. “With a five-star Boxing Day mash-up breakfast thrown in.”
“Wonderful, I’ll take it,” said Charlie.
No one suggested any more games; they were beat. They relaxed their backs into the armchairs and let Radio Brian’s playlist sink into their souls. Judy Garland serenaded them with “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.” Their hearts were light, their yuletide had been gayer than gay. Robin tried not to read deeper meaning into the lyrics about their troubles being miles away. Sitting there in a merry crescent around the fire, it was too easy to believe the world would carry on turning for him—for Charlie—as it had done for the past thirty-odd years, and so he allowed himself to believe it.
He yawned and set off a chain reaction. A day of cooking, eating, drinking, singing, parlor games, and laughing had started to take its toll on some more than others.
“I might have to turn in,” he said. “I need some sleep to generate enough energy to eat my breakfast.”
“We will feast like kings tomorrow. I can’t wait,” said Charlie, his expression filled with glee.
Jack smiled at Robin and Charlie struggling to their feet, leaning on each other for support.
“Good night, one and all,” said Charlie. He stood for a moment, beamed at them. “Thank you for making it special for me today. It’s been joyous. I will see you in the morning, God willing.”
“We will see you in the morning, Charlie,” said Jack with emphasis. “Sleep tight, you two.”
A salvo of more good nights ensued, then the oldest members of the Figgy Hollow Six lumbered noisily up the stairs, leaving the remaining four, contentedly soaking up the last of the Christmas Day hours in front of the softly flickering flames of the fire. Mary’s eyes were shuttering down; she was too comfortable and struggling to fend off sleep as a result.
“I think we gave Charlie a good day,” said Luke.
“He laughed at all your jokes,” said Bridge. “Even I did, Luke. You haven’t lost your touch.”
“Praise indeed. Thank you, kind lady.”
“You should have been a stand-up comedian really, shouldn’t you?”
“If I’d been born a few years before, I probably would have gone for it,” replied Luke. He turned his head toward Bridge. Her hair was mussed, natural, though he imagined she wore it straightened like a copper sheet these days. When he met her it was down to her waist and looked like fiery flames trailing behind her. Jack had said she was formidable, and she was, and so much more. Although elfin, she could take up a whole room simply by being in it. Ben was a lucky man.
“I’m not sure I can keep my eyes open much longer myself,” said Bridge, arching her back and stretching her arms up. “I didn’t sleep all that well last night. Took me ages to get off.”
In the next chair, Mary emitted a little snort. Bridge leaned over to give her hand a gentle shake, as she didn’t want to leave Mary asleep here. Mary’s eyes sprang open.
“Yes, I mean it, I’m leaving, I’m handing in—” She’d clearly been jettisoned at speed from a dream and was disorientated. “Oh, sorry, I thought I was at work.”
Jack turned to her. “Was I keeping you back to do one last job?”
“Sorry? Oh yes, something like that,” replied Mary, not catching his eye. She felt as if the dream had followed her out of her nap and was becoming reality.
“I’m going up to bed, Mary,” said Bridge in a soft voice. “I just thought I’d let you know.”
“Yes, all right, fine. I’ll… er… come with you,” said Mary, getting up from her chair.
“I presume we’re staying for a nightcap?” Luke asked Jack. He didn’t wait for an answer before heading off to the bar.
“Good night, boys. See you tomorrow.” Bridge said it for both of them.
“Good night, Bridge, Mary,”
Jack’s eyes followed Mary as she walked across to the stairs. She’d sounded quite cross when she’d awoken and said she was leaving, said she was handing in… what? It could only be her notice. It was strange really, but people who worked for Butterly’s tended to stay working for them. It hadn’t crossed his mind, until that moment, that Mary would ever find another job and leave. Why would she be dreaming about it if she wasn’t thinking about that?
“Here you go,” said Luke, handing over a generous measure of malt. They’d have no problems sleeping tonight.
“My dad used to drink this,” said Jack. He should have been smashed for the amount of alcohol he’d put away today; maybe he was, but the thinking part of his brain felt remarkably sober. “I could never stand the smell of it until about five years ago. Maybe I’m turning into him more with every year that passes.” His expression told Luke that wasn’t the most welcome of prospects.
“What did he look like? Like you?” asked Luke.
“Quite short, bullish, though, big neck, oozed aggression, and he marched everywhere as if he had a seriously urgent purpose. I seem to remember him being different before my mother left from how he was afterward, less brittle, less stiff. She set off a stick of dynamite inside him and he never recovered from the blast.”
“You couldn’t manage to keep a relationship going with your mother, then?” asked Luke.
“She walked out on us both and didn’t look back. I tracked her down when I was sixteen, but she had a new family with her second husband and I was part of a complicated past she’d painted over.”
Luke sighed, shook his head. He could never abandon his child, never relinquish the mantle of parenthood once it had been placed on his shoulders, couldn’t understand how people did.
“Patterns don’t have to repeat themselves, you know, Jack,” he said. “I wouldn’t be the sort of father my father was to me.” Luke took a sip from his drink. “And Bridge definitely wouldn’t have been the sort of mother hers was either. She has a trove of love in her heart to spend.”
“Why did you give her a tin of tomatoes for Christmas?” asked Jack.
Luke chuckled. “We once made a meal out of them when we were totally broke. It tasted like nectar because we were happy. Just before we started to realize that you actually do need other things apart from love to live on, it’s not that romantic to be permanently worrying about where the next rent is coming from. That’s why I donate a percentage of the Plant Boy profits to low-income families, because I’ve been where they are, and not all of them find their rope ladder to climb out of the hole.”
“That’s noble of you,” said Jack, then in case that came out as patronizing, added, “I really mean it. We should do something like that at Butterly’s. I’ve always taken a comfortable life for granted. Dad always chanted, ‘Charity begins at home,’ whenever anyone approached us for donations.”
“You sound very different from him.”
“I loved him, Luke, but I hope I am.”
Something was weighing down Jack’s eyebrows.
“Penny for them,” Luke asked eventually, as there was definitely some intense activity in Jack’s mind.
“I’m not convinced my present to Mary went down as well as I’d hoped,” he said.
“What did you expect to achieve from it?” asked Luke.
“I don’t know,” said Jack. “I’m…” He shifted forward in his chair, leaned over to Luke, not wanting to chance that he might be overheard. “I’m confused about what’s happening… there.”
Luke wasn’t sure what he meant. Jack, he had come to realize, was not great at putting emotions out there. Hearts worn on sleeves risked a battering, but that was the chance you took for enjoying the feeling of light and sunshine on them, for being willing to win the prize of love.
Jack chewed on his lip. The large malt was lowering his defenses. He wasn’t used to letting people see inside the castle walls.
“When Mary said just then that she was dreaming about leaving, about handing in her notice, I presume, I had a real moment of panic about that and I don’t know why. I felt something.” Jack swallowed, pressed at his chest. “For Mary. I don’t know what, though. Possibly admiration.”
This was painful, thought Luke, pinching the top of his nose with exasperation.
“Jack, for fuck’s sake, you need to man up. I’ll tell you this for nothing. You are never going to find what you most want in your safe zone. What was Charlie’s advice about ships not being built to sit in harbors?”
“Yes, I see what you mean. Right. I have to… sail out there into the open sea.”
“Exactly, my friend.”
Jack looked down into the glass of malt and found an idea in it. A perfect idea. At least, it felt like it at the time.
“What were you dreaming about that made you shout out that you were leaving? You sounded very adamant,” asked Bridge after she turned out her bedside light.
Mary groaned, plunged her head deep into her pillow.
“That I’d told Jack I was handing in my notice.”
“Yes, well, that was obvious.”
“Was it?” Mary’s horror returned.
“Of course, but that’s because I know what’s going on in your head,” Bridge replied. “So why were you dreaming about telling Jack you were handing in your notice is the big question.”
“Because… that’s what I’m going to do in real life,” said Mary. She might have been well past tipsy, but on this she was clear. “I’ll lose all self-respect if I stay. It would be so much easier if I could get him out of here”—she patted the part of her breast where her heart lay—“but I can’t. I’ve tried, and it’s pathetic how sad I feel when one of his leggy girlfriends turns up and how elated I get when office gossip tells me she’s off the scene. So no more. I’m leaving.”
“You should. Come and work for me. Whatever he’s paying you, I’ll more than match it,” said Bridge. She might have been well past tipsy, but she meant every word.
Mary took a deep breath. “Yes, I accept.”
Bridge nodded, smiled. “I’m delighted, Mary.”
“It’s started to hurt me to be around him.”
“Then it really is time to leave,” said Bridge.
“Robin, are you awake?” Charlie asked in a hushed voice.
“No, I’ve been asleep for half an hour,” came the weary reply.
“I’ve thought of something for you to give to Jack and Luke as a present. I’m going to write down my instructions and put them in my suitcase.”
“As if I won’t have enough things to do,” said Robin with a groan. “All you’ve done at me for over thirty years is bark instructions. ‘Robin, drive me here; Robin, arrange for Securicor to deliver that necklace to Lady blah-blah; Robin, book us two tickets for Vegas.’ ”
“Would you have had it any other way?” asked Charlie softly.
“No. Now get some sleep,” said Robin, and tumbled back into the dream he had temporarily vacated.