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Placing the bottle on the sideboard, I go in search of a corkscrew while Mum peruses the cupboards for some wine glasses. She’s left bitterly disappointed. We don’t have any of those either. Finally, she settles for a chipped red mug from the drying rack.
“Sweetheart, this cup’s absolutely filthy,” she grumbles. “You never were very good at washing up, were you? You do know you’re supposed to use hot water to get all the bits off?”
I ignore the jibe and put the kettle on.
Muttering to herself, my mother turns on the taps and rinses out the mug thoroughly. I smile grimly. For once, her alcoholic tendencies might actually be helping the situation. Given the bizarre circumstances, she’s coping remarkably well, and I reckon we have the booze to thank for that. Had my mother been sober, I‘m certain this whole thing with Dad would be freaking her out a lot more than it is.
Turning away, I rummage through the bottom drawers and find a bottle opener. I hand it to her. “So, what are we doing for Christmas?” I ask as she fills her cup with the sickly-sweet Lambrusco. “Are we still supposed to be coming up to yours?”
“Of course,” she replies. “If the plan had changed I would have told you. Although, with everything that’s happened, I expect it’s going to be a rather strange Christmas. Everything’s changing and I sense something odd in the atmosphere.”
“What do you mean by odd?”
Cup in hand, Mum leans against the sink despondently. “Oh, I don’t know. I’ve just been feeling strange lately. I’ve been finding it very hard to sleep and I keep having bad dreams.”
A shiver courses through me but I don’t say anything. The kettle finishes boiling. Silently, I spoon some coffee into my mug and pour the water in. “What sort of dreams?” I ask, not looking at her.
She sighs. “Oh, I don’t know. You’ll probably think I’m being silly.”
“Try me.”
“Well, one of them was about you, actually.”
“About me?”
“Yes. I dreamt that you were running away from something: a horrendous creature with no face. It was chasing you through an endless corridor and you kept shouting for help but no one was listening. I don’t usually take my dreams seriously, but this one was pretty disturbing.” She sips her wine and shakes her head dismissively. “Look, please ignore me. I’m feeling groggy. It’s probably nothing.”
Slowly, I stir the spoon in my coffee. “What did the creature look like?” I ask quietly. “Was it some kind of monster?”
“I don’t know what it was. I told you, it didn’t have a face, but the whole thing was horrible. I felt like you were in danger, but from what, I couldn’t say.”
My shoulders stiffen. This is spooky.Has she got some kind of sixth sense?
Pushing the thought from my mind, I switch the conversation back to Christmas. For a few minutes, we talk about inconsequential things. I try to keep the mood light and not think too much.
“Actually,” I say, “thereissomething I’ve been meaning to discuss with you.” She lifts her brows enquiringly. I take a deep breath. “Is it all right if I bring someone to spend Christmas with us?”
She stares at me a second, her face as blank as a sheet of paper. “What, do you mean like a friend? Ronan?”
I flounder. “No, not Ronan. I mean, like as in a boyfriend.”
Her eyes narrow. Hastily, she downs the last of her wine and slams the cup on the sideboard. “Boyfriend? Carly, have you started seeing someone and forgotten to tell me?”
My cheeks burn. “Uh, no. Of course not. I-I wanted to tell you ages ago, but there’s been so much going on and, well… we’ve only been seeing each other a few weeks. You know I’m not that big on… well, you know, making a fuss about things.” I pause. “But so far, everything’s going great. He’s wonderful and I can’t wait for you to meet him.”
Mum continues to look mortally wounded. “But who is he? Where did you meet him? Is he someone from work?”
“No. His name’s Nick and he’s a hypnotherapist. We met when I went to him for help to quit smoking and we just hit it off. He’s a really lovely guy.”
“Well, lovely he may be, but he can’t be a very good hypnotist.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re still smoking like a chimney.”
I shrug. “So, anyway, as I was saying; is it all right if Nick spends Christmas day with us? All his family live abroad and I don’t want him to spend it alone.”
“Darling, of course you can bring him. In fact, I insist. It’s about time I met this mystery man of yours.”
