‘Camels don’t wear shoes,’ Tom informs her, unwrapping his gift.
Gubba laughs and nods. ‘Aye, true,’ she replies. ‘Now if they’re the wrong size, your mother will change them.’
Tom holds up a pair of Adidas Hulk trainers and begins whooping again.
‘Queen’s on in five minutes, Mum. You want a sherry?’
‘Small one, ducky,’ she tells Paula. ‘Don’t want to be bladdered in front of Lizzy.’
Everyone laughs. Gubba’s a huge fan of the Royal Family (well, except Andrew) and insists that we all watch Her Majesty address the nation before lunch. My mum’s the same. For them it’s the highlight of Christmas, just as Charlie Brooker’s New Year round-up is for Kate and me. . . damn, the thought of never doing that again makes me feel sick to my stomach. Just us on the couch, a bottle of wine, those godawful Twiglets she loves, and the sound of her laughter drowning out mine.
Kate
Just as the broadcast ends, Gary heads back to the kitchen. ‘Lunch will be about another half hour,’ he informs us. ‘Sorry, running a bit behind. Those potatoes just aren’t crisping up.’
‘Need any help?’ I ask. ‘I can set the table in the dining room.’
‘No, love, it’s all done,’ Gary informs me.
Ed gives a little snigger. God, he’s so obnoxious sometimes.
‘Something funny?’ I ask him.
‘Not really,’ he replies. ‘I just think it’s the first time I’ve heard you offer to help in the kitchen. It’s a Christmas miracle! God bless us, everyone!’
Now Mum’s laughing. I tut and turn back to the telly.
‘Have a walk with me,’ Gubba suggests, giving me a nudge. ‘These old legs need stretching.’
‘But it’s freezing,’ Mum exclaims. ‘You’ll catch your death.’
‘Death’ll catch me either way,’ Gubba replies, getting up. ‘Stop fussing. We won’t be long. I’ve got me stick and me snow boots.’
I grab my coat and help Gubba with hers, taking her arm as we step out into the garden, thankful to be away from Captain Snarky. Gary has placed little solar lights down the garden path which leads to a gate at the bottom and on to a country lane. It’s not quite dark yet but it’s getting there.
‘Just up to the top and back,’ she directs. ‘That should beenough time.’
‘Enough time for what?’
‘For you to give me one of your cigs and tell me what’s going on with you and Ed.’
Nothing gets past this woman.
‘You’re not supposed to be smoking,’ I say, taking two cigarettes from my pack.
‘No one is supposed to be smoking,’ Gubba replies. ‘It’s bad for you. Oh, don’t tell your mother– you know she gets her anti-smoking knickers in a knot, and we’ll end up having a barney.’
I light her cigarette before my own. ‘I won’t say a word,’ I promise. ‘I stopped for ages but then. . . ugh, Gubba, everything’s just been a real shitshow lately. Work. . . me and Ed. . .’
Gubba nods, taking a long drag as we walk along the lane. It’s so quiet and peaceful here. I think I’ve forgotten what peaceful feels like.
‘I can tell,’ she replies. ‘You’ve barely said two words to each other, except to snipe.’
‘We had a huge fight in the car on the way here,’ I confess. ‘It’s just not working anymore.’
‘Why?’
‘God, where do I start?’ I reply, my eyes brimming. ‘We just want different things. He wants marriage and kids and—’
