29
Whilst Miriam wasn’t paying attention, Hazel had acquired an admirer, a lanky Scot called Gavin who taught music and was excruciatingly shy. Judging by her new hairstyle and the perfume she’d taken to wearing, it seemed she was quite keen. This year, instead of going to Devon, she was spending Christmas at home with Gavin. Miriam was delighted that she’d found someone to appreciate her honesty, humour and wisdom. Other good things were happening too. David was officially back with Naomi and, fingers crossed, Frankie was making a go of her job. After months of sorrow and uncertainty, the year was ending well for those whom she most loved.
Angelgate, with its bow-fronted shops and soft street lights, was made for Christmas. The Salvation Army playing on the cathedral green and the scent of roasting chestnuts, enhanced the ambience. Last-minute shoppers wandering down the cobbled lane, were lured into the bookshop with the offer of free gift-wrapping and a tot of mulled wine. They’d sold out of Moleskine notebooks earlier in the week, and the big hit of the season was a pricey book on gargoyles, a tie-in with a popular television series. ‘Thank God for sexy TV presenters,’ Hazel said.
As the light faded, customers evaporated. ‘Have fun,’ Hazel said as they set the shop straight and collected their bits and pieces. ‘I hope everything goes to plan.’
‘This will be my third Christmas as a widow, my first as an orphan,’ Miriam said. ‘Generally people do it the other way. I’m glad we’re going to Naomi’s. I won’t have a chance to be gloomy. You have a lovely time with your Gavin. He’s a sweet chap.’
‘He is,’ Hazel said, ‘but I’m not sure he’s my Gavin. We get on fine but I’m growing selfish in my old age. And lazy. I love my life the way it is. I’m not looking too far ahead. Having a nice man to spend weekends and holidays with, and, yes, have sex with, that may be enough. I hope Gavin’s content to go along with that. If not, I won’t stop him moving on.’
They went their separate ways and, as Miriam stood at the bus stop, she recalled her conversation with Bente – ‘when it stops being good we will shake hands and call it a day’ – and she felt a surge of respect for both women’s resolve not to settle for second best.
Bing was already home and the house smelled of freshly-brewed coffee.
‘What’s all this?’ she said pointing to half a dozen packages piled on the kitchen table.
‘They’re from patients. Bribes to keep them alive.’ Bing lifted up what could only be a bottle. ‘I spend hours telling them to cut back on sugar and alcohol. Come Christmas, they give me booze and chocolates.’
Whilst they pottered in the kitchen, she told him how Frankie was spending the next few days. He seemed less than impressed. If she – Frankie – wanted to gain his approval, she needed to do more than dole out hot meals and blankets once in a blue moon. Miriam wished they would set aside their differences. Their mutual mistrust impacted on her. They should recognise that and at least pretend to get along.
She’d bought turbot from the fishmonger in the market and, to follow, a selection of cheeses from the deli opposite the shop. Bing unwrapped his bottle-shaped gift, on the off-chance that Mr Jenkins had defied expectations and given him something white, dry and delicious, but it was supermarket rosé and they broke out the Pouilly-Fumé, bought when it was on offer at Waitrose.
After they’d cleared away, they sat by the fire listening to Britten’s ‘Ceremony of Carols’. ‘I remember singing this with the school choir.’ she said. ‘My parents would have had forty fits if they’d known, but I honestly didn’t think of it as having anything to do with religion.’
‘Do you believe there’s a god?’ Bing said. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever asked.’
‘I try not to but, once in a while, my defences drop. You?’
‘No I don’t. But seventy-five percent of doctors do.’
‘That’s astonishing,’ she said.
‘Isn’t it. I’ve got this theory. If things go pear-shaped, they can square it with themselves.’
‘How?’
‘They pass the buck. It’s God’s will, and all that.’
‘But you told me you believe in destiny. Isn’t that the same thing?’
‘Not at all. Destiny isn’t wilful or whimsical like God—’
‘Who doesn’t exist.’
‘Exist or not, he’s caused you and me enough grief in the past,’ he said. ‘Let’s not let him spoil our second Christmas together.’
The sky was streaked with slivers of luminous yellow and a skim of frost decorated the fields. The boot was stashed with gifts and goodies, and a carrier bag containing flask and mince pies was sitting on the back seat. They pootled along, marvelling at the lack of traffic. There was something subversive about taking to the open road on this, the most prescribed day of the year. They could be jailbirds out on a spree, making the most of their freedom before recapture and incarceration. They drank their coffee in a layby, exchanging Christmas greetings with another couple who were also en route to a family gathering. On any other day but this, chatting to strangers, offering them mince pies, would be unthinkable. But today regular rules didn’t apply.
When they reached their destination, they sat in the car, enjoying a final few moments to themselves. ‘Thanks for coming,’ she said. ‘If I were at home it would be all too easy to wallow in Christmases past. We shan’t have a chance to do that. Children don’t go in for self-pity. And if they do reminisce, it’s about something funny or scary. I’m sure they’ll tell you about the time the smoke alarm went off and we couldn’t stop it. The noise was intolerable. I could feel it damaging my ear drums. David ended up ripping it off the ceiling and dumping it in a bucket of water. I do love David. I’d given up hope of their getting back together but he hung in there. I’m not sure I would have put up with Naomi’s nonsense. She got to be very prickly. Mind you, my living there probably didn’t help.’
‘Come on, Mim. You were twenty-four-seven childcare.’
‘And a twenty-four-seven reminder that her father was dead,’ Miriam said. ‘I sometimes forget that. Anyway, thanks. I know you’d rather be at home. Next year you get to choose how we spend Christmas.’
‘I can tell you that now,’ he said. ‘I shall whisk you off to a desert island.’
She laughed. ‘Sounds wonderful. Can I bring my eight discs?’
‘Seriously, Mim, much as I love being with your family, I must admit I prefer having you all to myself.’
As if to drive home his point, the front door opened and Rosa and Max, flushed and boisterous, charged out – ‘I’ve got Star Wars Lego, Gamma.’ ‘Dad dropped the eggs.’ ‘How many nights are you staying?’
David, wearing a butcher’s apron, was close behind. ‘Welcome to the house of fun. We’re in desperate need of a bread sauce expert.’
The kitchen was in chaos, ever surface piled high with the makings of the Christmas meal. Naomi was juggling pans, bemoaning the size of the oven. ‘Merry Christmas, you two. Help yourselves to whatever you fancy. I recommend a large glass of something.’
After a brief discussion they concluded that bread sauce was overrated and it was struck off the ‘to do’ list, and while Bing disappeared to set up Rosa’s new digital radio, Miriam cleared debris and set the table.
After lunch, the children’s five o’clock start caught up with them and they fell to bickering. David suggested he and Bing take them out to blow away the cobwebs. Max was up for it but Rosa refused point blank, asserting that everyone should be allowed to spend Christmas Day as they pleased. After ‘the men’ had gone, she tied herself in knots, unable to make up her mind what to do, finally flouncing upstairs to her room and slamming the door.
‘Hormones and Christmas,’ Naomi said, ‘a deadly combination. She’s at that tricky age. Although I can’t say she’s ever been easy. Was I like that?’
‘Not as far as I remember. You didn’t get difficult until you were in your thirties and then you were David’s problem.’ Miriam took a fresh tea towel from the drawer. ‘It’s wonderful seeing you together again. It can’t have been easy but I’m sure you’ve made the right decision.’
‘It was touch and go for a while but we came to our senses and realised what was important. Now it’s better than ever.’ She grinned and hugged herself. ‘Did you and Dad ever wobble? Apart from at the very end.’
‘I can’t say we did. If anything, we went through our bad patch before we got married.’
‘Anything to do with Paul? I know you were teenage sweethearts.’
‘In a way, but it resolved itself.’
‘You’ve never told me the whole story.’
‘Water under the bridge. If I’d not married your father, you and my precious grandchildren wouldn’t exist. That’s good enough for me.’
Naomi wrinkled her nose. ‘We never did get our weekend, did we? Shall I see if I can find something before Easter?’
‘I’d like that.’
Rosa was stamping around overhead, making sure they could hear her. ‘I bet she’s dying to come down,’ Miriam said. ‘She’s afraid of losing face. I’ll pop up and see what I can do.’
‘You’re so patient with her, Mum. Sometimes I feel like giving her a slap. Don’t look so shocked. I would never do it.’
Rosa had fixed a sign to her door. PRIVATE. Knock before entering. Miriam tapped the door and waited to be summoned. Rosa’s face was pink and puffy and, for some reason, she’d pulled all her clothes out of her chest of drawers and heaped them in the middle of the floor. ‘Are they back yet? What are they doing?’ she said, her face contorted with anguish.
‘There’s nothing open today. They’ll have gone to the park.’
‘I expect they’re having fun without me.’
‘Come here.’ She held out her arms, and Rosa burrowed against her and, after a few moments, the child’s body relaxed.
‘Do you still feel sad, Gamma?’ she said. ‘About… you know.’
‘Now and again. And when I do, I think of you and Max and it cheers me up.’
‘I hate Max.’
‘And why’s that?’
‘He’s a pain. He comes in my room, looking at my things. He follows me around. He talks to my friends. He copies my drawings.’
‘Well, you’re his big sister. He thinks you’re the bee’s knees.’
‘The bee’s knees?’
‘Yes. The cat’s pyjamas.’
Rosa giggled, drunk with tiredness and spent emotion. She ran her fingertips beneath Miriam’s jaw line. ‘Your skin’s so soft.’
Miriam stroked the pale skin on the inside of her granddaughter’s slender arm. ‘Yours is too. Especially here.’
Rosa gently pinched the flesh on Miriam’s neck and smiled affectionately. ‘But I’m not squidgy.’
‘That’s true. Come on. Let’s go down. I haven’t seen all your presents.’
By agreement, the television remained unplugged and the evening drifted pleasantly away. David’s family had infected the children with a love of party games and they’d prepared a list of the ones they wanted to play. They began with ‘Chinese Whispers’, the adults deliberately mishearing to ensure a hilarious outcome. ‘Name-in-the-hat’, ‘Charades’ and ‘Up Jenkins’ (involving a coin, the kitchen table and sleight of hand) followed until, to the adults’ relief, Naomi called a halt. The children, wilting and wan-faced, knew that their staying up depended on immaculate behaviour and they sat quietly, reviewing their stash of gifts. The day had panned out as Miriam hoped. Bing had thrown himself into it – helped with the catering, stacked and emptied the dishwasher (twice), bagged acres of wrapping paper, and dropped whatever he was doing when the children demanded his attention. She’d had barely a moment to think about her parents, or Frankie ministering to the homeless (or hosting an epic knees-up). Or even Danny.
She and Bing had exchanged gifts before setting out – a silk negligée and a book of poetry; the leather wallet he’d coveted – so when he appeared with a plate of mince pies, she was surprised to see a small package – no bigger than a matchbox – nestling amongst them, her name on its gift tag.
‘What’s this?’ she said.
‘It’s for you,’ Bing said.
‘But I’ve had all my presents.’
‘It’s a little extra one. I hope you’ll like it.’
Sensing something interesting afoot, the children, looked up. ‘Open it, Gamma,’ Max said.
‘I think it’s a ring,’ Rosa said, as if this were another party game.
Conscious that all eyes were on her, Miriam untied the ribbon and folded back the wrapping paper. Inside was a leather-covered box, its hinged lid secured with a miniature hook-and-eye. Inside the box, held by folds of satin, sat a gold ring with a greenish-blue stone.
Rosa, squealing, jumped up and down. ‘Told you, didn’t I?’
‘What are you on about?’ Max said.
‘It’s an engagement ring, stupid,’ Rosa said. ‘Paul’s going to marry Gamma. Can I be bridesmaid? Please.’
Max frowned. ‘Has he even asked you, Gamma?’
Before Miriam could think of a thing to say, Bing dropped onto one knee. ‘Let’s ask her now, shall we? Miriam, my dearest love, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?’
She was dumbstruck by his proposal. Horrified by the manner of its delivery. How could he be so crass? Did he not appreciate the pressure this put on her? He was still kneeling, smiling up at her, awaiting her response.
‘What d’you say, Miriam? Will you make me the happiest man in the world?’
David was the first to break the silence. ‘Come on you two. Let’s get you up to bed. Say goodnight to Gamma and Paul.’
‘But Dad—’
‘No “buts”. Chop, chop.’
Placing a hand on the their shoulders, he manoeuvred the children towards the door, Naomi following close behind.
‘Please get up,’ she said.
He moved towards her, arms outstretched, but she took a step backwards. ‘What were you thinking? You can’t spring this on me. And in front of everyone, too.’
‘Spring it on you? You know how I feel – and always have.’
‘That’s not the point. Did it not cross your mind that I might not want to marry you?’
‘What are you saying? Don’t you love me? Don’t you want us to be together forever?’
‘You know I do. But it doesn’t follow that we have to get married.’
He looked wounded. ‘Why are you being so hostile?’
‘I’m not. I simply object to being bullied. Because that’s what it feels like.’ As their voices rose, she remembered that Max’s bedroom was directly above. ‘If we’re going to shout at each other, can we at least do that in private?’
He followed her out to the car, and they sat in the back, a cushion wedged between them. ‘You’re forever telling me how important your family is to you,’ he said. ‘I thought you’d like them to be involved.’
‘Involved? You’re suggesting we get them to vote on it?’
‘That’s ridiculous.’
‘Is it? You actually said, “let’s ask her now, shall we?”.’
‘Who cares what I said? It’s what I meant that matters.’
Christmas night. Ten o’clock. It was freezing cold and here they were, huddled in the back of the car, arguing semantics. Suddenly she was laughing.
‘What in Christ’s name is funny?’ he said.
‘Everything. Max, hell-bent on following protocol. Rosa, desperate to be a bridesmaid.’
‘I’m desperate to be a husband but that doesn’t even raise a smile.’
‘Poor Bing,’ she said. ‘I’ve never been good at surprises. I’m sorry I reacted the way I did. And yes, of course I’ll marry you.’
They stayed in the car for a long time, misting up the windows, stopping short of making love as they agreed it would be foolish to risk injury when a comfortable bed awaited them.
‘Where’s the ring?’ he said when they were back in the house. She pulled the box from her pocket. ‘Here,’ he said, ‘give me your hand. Let’s do this properly.’ He slipped the ring on her finger. ‘I was thinking April. How does that sound?’
The house was silent. Naomi and David were either asleep or afraid to return to the war zone. Bing had sneaked a bottle of pukka champagne into the fridge but they decided it should wait until tomorrow when they could all share it. Instead, they made inroads into David’s single malt. By the time they were getting into bed, it was Boxing Day and they were too squiffy for anything more than a cuddle.
Naomi was emptying the dishwasher when Miriam came down. ‘Sorry about the drama,’ she said. ‘The whole thing caught me on the hop.’
‘It was a somewhat unusual proposal. When we heard the front door go, we thought you’d thrown him out.’
‘Not quite. We sat in the car and had a blazing row.’
‘And?’
‘And then I accepted.’
‘Congratulations. That’s wonderful – and something of a relief. I was afraid we were in for a miserable Boxing Day.’
Rosa appeared, carrying her sketchbook. ‘Did you say yes, Gamma?’
‘I did.’
‘Good, because I’ve been working on my outfit.’ She flipped open her notebook and pointed to a drawing of a girl in orange dungarees and a floppy-brimmed hat. ‘I can do yours if you want me to. Purple’s your favourite colour, isn’t it? D’you like feathers? I do.’
Max and David turned up and the kitchen was soon bustling. ‘What’s the plan for today?’ David said through a mouthful of cereal.
‘Lego,’ Max said. ‘Paul promised he’d help me.’
‘Maybe Paul and Gamma would like some time to themselves,’ Naomi said.
‘I don’t think so,’ Max said. ‘They’re always together. Where is he anyway?’
‘He’ll be down soon,’ Miriam said. ‘He has a few phone calls to make.’
She sat between the children, helping Max fold paper aeroplanes, admiring Rosa’s growing portfolio of wedding garments, watching the minutes tick away.
Max had all but abandoned hope by the time Bing appeared. When Miriam raised her eyebrows, he shrugged and shook his head. Rubbing his hands together he said, ‘Max and I have work to do.’
Boxing Day floated lazily by. They worked their way around the edges of a jigsaw puzzle, watched Toy Story for the umpteenth time, ate too much and laughed at limp cracker jokes. Rosa designed several wedding dresses for Miriam, more appropriate for a pop star than a bride in her sixties.
She’d got out of the habit of wearing a ring – her wedding ring was stashed away awaiting the appropriate time when she would pass it on to Naomi – and Bing’s aquamarine looked out of place on her hand. It clunked against her cup and snagged her sweater and she was conscious of its rigidity between the adjacent fingers. Aquamarine wasn’t what she would have chosen – too big and sparkly – but it was unquestionably arresting and, every now and then, she caught Rosa eyeing it.
‘Would you like to try it on?’ she said.
Rosa’s eyes widened. ‘Am I allowed?’
The ring was too large even for the child’s thumb. Naomi solved the problem by digging out a pair of satin gloves, left over from a fancy dress party. Rosa slid it over her gloved finger, dancing around the room, entranced by the ring, in awe of what it symbolised. Miriam recalled Max once asking if she were granted a super-power, what would it be. Watching her granddaughter hovering on the brink of adolescence, she would without question choose the power to make time stand still.
Miriam would have liked to stay another day or two but Bing had to get back. ‘Why don’t you stay, Mum?’ Naomi said. ‘I’m sure Paul can manage.’ But packing Bing off alone didn’t seem the right way to begin their formal engagement.
Three days of incarceration with ‘nearest and dearest’ was evidently as much as anyone could handle and it seemed the entire populace had chosen today to make their escape. Their road home took them within a block of Moat’s house and, as they waited at the traffic lights, her thoughts returned to the hours she’d spent there. Her involvement had been brief but exhilarating. She might almost have dreamed the whole thing. The pastel portrait, hidden under the stairs in her old suitcase, was the only thing to prove it had happened.