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CHAPTERTWENTY-SIX
George was scrunched up on the sofa. Earlier, he’d turned away his dad’s cousin, Dave, who’d been the first to arrive in search of festive food and instructed him to spread the work and keep the gang away. Dave had done a good job. They had no other visitors. Owen was hanging over the edges of the put-you-up, staring vaguely into the glitter of a Christmas bauble hanging from the tree. Millie had gone upstairs with Sally clutching her bottle of Dalwhinnie. This wasn’t how George had expected to spend what remained of Christmas Day.
‘I think I’m jinxed,’ he muttered.
‘No, that’s me.’ Owen pushed the bauble and watched the reflected lights shimmer on it as it spun slowly.
‘Do you mean because of your mum?’ George sat up.
‘No. Ignore me. I’m feeling morbid.’
‘Me too.’ George scowled and added, ‘Do you believe it was a heart attack?’
‘I don’t know. But say nothing like that to your mum. It won’t help to fill her with suspicions.’
‘You think?’
‘I do. Best to let her believe it was a health issue, even if it wasn’t. You know he hit her?’
‘Yes.’
‘So, she’s better off without him. She’s still a young woman. Beautiful too. She could have a new life, maybe a better one.’
George shifted, stared at the ceiling, and wondered why Owen always seemed to make sense. When did he get to be so wise? He was nearly two months older than Owen; he should have been the one with the wisdom.
Owen sat up; legs folded awkwardly and looked across the room at George. ‘George? You okay?’
‘I will be, and I know you’re right. Truth is, neither of us will really miss the old bastard, but the odd thing is, I still feel bereaved. So, I think it’s going to take some time to get over this.’
‘It will.’ Owen nodded.
‘Shit, Owen, this has been a Christmas of extremes, hasn’t it? It’s been like an emotional roller coaster.’
‘Yep.’
‘You must feel the same.’
‘I do.’
George focused on his friend. He looked ridiculously large, perched on the edge of the put-you-up, elbows resting on knees. Perhaps he should have let Owen have the sofa. He might have been more comfortable. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve been selfish,’ he said
Owen straightened, stiffly stretching his spine, and said, ‘You haven’t.’
‘I think I have. I didn’t really understand what you were going through until today. I’m not sure I completely see it even now. My feelings for my dad were always ambiguous because of what he was, and let’s be honest, he wasn’t a lovable man. But you loved your mum.’
Owen pulled a strange face that made George pause. ‘You did, didn’t you?’ he asked, suddenly unsure. ‘You looked after her all those years. There were no nuances changing the grief.’
‘There are always nuances, George.’
‘Yes?’
‘Yes.’
‘Shit and a Merry Christmas to you too.’ George climbed from the sofa and retrieved the remains of his dad’s whisky. ‘Drink?’
‘Yeah, why not?’
