‘We can make a weekend of it… if you wanted to? It’ll be Valentine’s weekend…’ Mari said.
Kelsey listened to the shy, relieved laughter behind her; the kind that betrayed how new and tentative their relationship was, and she heard the little kiss Rory placed on her mum’s cheek and her soft laugh in response.
‘Right, well, we should probably eat then. Do you want to sit down, Rory? I’ll call the others,’ Kelsey said at last, breaking the blushing buzz in the air, mainly generated by a starry-eyed Mari who somehow looked about ten years younger than Kelsey ever remembered her being. Kelsey was surprised to find she wasn’t a bit put out about Rory joining the family for Christmas lunch, in fact, it felt exactly right. Her lovely Dad would have wanted this for Mari and the thought made her smile as well as a little misty eyed.
The kitchen windows were steamed up and rich foody aromas filled the air as Mari and Kelsey carried dish after dish to the table. When they were finished, Rory had stood up to pull a chair out for Mari and bowed his sandy head to kiss her as she sat down while her mum flustered like a schoolgirl.
Soon they’d all settled around the table and piled their plates high. Jonathan was happily wearing the tasteful Christmas jumper Kelsey had given him that morning – Shakespeare in a Santa suit with drooping red bobble hat on his bald pate. They’d all laughed as they pulled their crackers in a circle with crossed arms and Grandad had joked about how that was enough exercise for one day and asked for extra roasties to make up for the calories burned.
Jonathan had been surprised to learn that the pigs in blankets he’d already eaten three of were in fact the ‘kilties’ that had confused him the day before. ‘Let me get this straight,’ he’d laughed. ‘It’s a sausage, wearing a little bacon kilt?’
‘Aye, what else would it be?’ Grandad had replied matter-of-factly, making everyone laugh again.
There had been wine and cracker puns that made everyone groan and a Christmas pudding that wouldn’t light until Ted took over heating the brandy in a ladle over the gas ring before taking a match to the liquid and pouring the licking blue flames over the pudding, immediately setting off the smoke alarm.
That evening, as Jonathan dried the dishes and Mari made the turkey sandwiches, Kelsey watched them together from the kitchen doorway. They were talking, heads bowed and conspiratorial, and she’d smiled to see how easily her American boyfriend had fit in and how welcome everyone had made him.
Now it was late and Christmas Day was almost over. Everyone had gone to bed. Kelsey yawned on the sofa in her new pyjamas and dragged the duvet around her. Jonathan had showered and wore nothing but a towel around his waist, his hair occasionally dripping as he flicked through the pages of the acting manual of a nineteen-thirties stage star – pictured in tights and codpiece on the cover – that Kelsey had given him that morning, one of Blythe’s donated book haul. As he stood over her, reading aloud, he seemed strangely agitated and in high spirits after the long, exhausting day of eating and merry-making but she didn’t think any more of it.
His hammy, faux-English accent rang out. ‘Ensure to raise one’s voice without elevating the pitch. Consistency of tone is everything and one must employ Received Pronunciation at all times in order to make the Bard accessible to the common theatre-goer. Assume a grand attitude with shoulders and chest broadened. Stretching the throat will create the resonant boom required in large auditoria…’
Kelsey giggled as Jonathan adopted an exaggerated stance, his legs comically wide and face contorted like aCarry Onfilm actor.
‘This stuff is so dated,’ he laughed, folding the book shut. ‘I wear a tiny microphone in my hairline now. Stage acting’s more like TV acting these days, so much smaller and quieter.’
‘So less chest-puffing and booming then?’
‘And less occasion to wear tights.’
‘Shame, that.’ Kelsey lifted the hem on Jonathan’s towel with her foot and waggled an eyebrow mischievously.
He threw the book aside and leaned over her, clambering onto their nest of duvets and pillows on the sofa and kissing her softly on the temple.
‘You should write an up-to-date actors’ handbook,’ Kelsey mused.
‘Hmmm.’ He was kissing her neck now.
‘You are, after all, the greatest Hamlet of our generation.’
‘Never forget it,’ he spoke in a low tone near her ear, pulling the covers and enveloping them both in warmth. ‘Actually, that’s not a bad idea,’ he said, lifting his eyes to hers. ‘I could do with another source of income when I move to England permanently in April.’
‘Meeting my family wasn’t enough to send you running for the airport then?’
‘Not nearly enough. You’ll have to do much worse than that to get rid of me. Even your mom’s boyfriend was nice.’
‘Rory? Yes, he was.’ Kelsey smiled, a little wistful. She’d never seen her mum so transformed. She’d been more carefree than she’d ever seen her.
‘Was it strange seeing her with someone else?’
Kelsey thought for a minute. ‘No, it was nice actually. I hope he sticks around.’
‘I didn’t think he was ever gonna leave, they spent so long saying goodnight at the door earlier.’
Kelsey laughed again. ‘Love, huh?’
‘It’s catching.’ Jonathan pulled her closer. ‘Come here,’ he said in a low murmur before he kissed her again, oblivious to the snow falling in fluffy flakes outside and the sounds of the waves, tempestuous and cold, hitting the sea wall just over the road from the cosy little house where they’d spent the happiest Christmas of their lives.
Chapter Thirty-One
