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‘I’ll baste it now, Christine, and then it should be ready to rest in another thirty minutes. Hello, Lots, Happy Christmas. I’d hug you but I’ve got my hands full right now.’
‘Happy Christmas, Emma. That turkey looks amazing.’
‘Thanks. It’s a recipe that your mum agreed we could try.’
I’ve heard countless tales of friction between mothers and daughters-in-law, but my mother and Emma have got on famously ever since Simon first brought her home, years ago. They even went on holiday together every year for a while, but that had to stop when the girls started school. Mum and Dad did invite Josh and me last year, to be fair, but Josh would rather have ripped his own eyes out than set foot on an aeroplane, so I politely declined.
‘Simon tells me you’re thinking of getting a puppy?’
‘Well, the girls have been going on and on about it and, as I’m not working, I thought a dog might be nice company while they’re at school and Simon’s at work. We’re trying to decide between a Labradoodle and a Cockapoo. We’re visiting a couple of breeders early in the New Year.’
‘I suggested they might want a dog that didn’t shed,’ Mum adds, ‘so Emma doesn’t have to spend all her life hoovering up fur. Also, it will make less mess here if we end up having it to stay.’
I smile. ‘I might have known you’d be in cahoots with this!’
At that point Simon joins us in the kitchen. ‘Are we nearly ready to open presents now Lots is here? The girls have finished their cartoon and are getting antsy.’
Emma shoves the newly basted turkey back into the oven, where it’s joined by a big tray of roast potatoes that my mum has prepared.
‘Yes, we’ll just take our aprons off and top up our glasses. Get the girls to start organising the presents into piles.’
As we walk back into the living room a few minutes later, Grace and Bella are industriously taking presents from under the tree, looking at the labels, and adding them to the growing piles at various stations round the room.
‘Auntie Lottie, you’re over there,’ Bella tells me, pointing at one end of the squishy leather sofa under the window. ‘Mum, you’re between me and Grace on the other sofa, with Dad on the end. Nan, you and Grandad are on the same sofa as Auntie Lottie.’
We all take our places and the ritual of present opening begins. The girls go first, squealing with delight as each new item is unwrapped. Emma and Simon are trying to keep track of what they’ve received and from whom, so they can say their thank-yous later, but it’s a challenge.
Once Bella and Grace have finished, the rest of us take turns to open our presents. Before long, the living room looks like a storm has passed through it, with piles of opened presents, discarded wrapping paper and ribbons everywhere. Amazingly, there isn’t a ridiculous bamboo toothbrush to be seen anywhere. I still have no idea how Josh thought that was an acceptable present.
Emma and my mother disappear back into the kitchen to finish preparing the Christmas dinner.
‘Well, I think we’ve all done very well,’ Dad declares. ‘Let’s get this lot cleared up and have a little top-up before we get called through.’
As we bundle the used wrapping paper into a bin bag, I can’t help noticing a solitary present left under the tree. ‘You can take that and give it to Josh, Charlotte. Your mother chose it. It’s nothing big – he’s not the easiest person to buy for, she says!’ Dad’s eyes twinkle mischievously as he says this.
‘Umm, yeah, OK.’ I have no idea what I’m going to do with it, but I don’t want to think about it now. One thing at a time.
Before long, we’re called through to the dining room, where the table is groaning under the turkey, trimmings and vegetables. Mum has obviously been in and rearranged it since I arrived, as there is no awkward empty space where Josh should have been sitting. I give her a grateful smile as I sit down. After we’ve all admired the turkey, Dad sets about it with his carving knife. He did a course a few years back, and now he takes great pride in knowing how to carve pretty much any joint of meat. Emma busies herself sorting the girls out, while my mum passes plates to the rest of us.
‘How big a piece of this nut roast would you like, Charlotte?’
‘Actually, Mum, would you mind very much if I had turkey instead?’ It looks so good, and my stomach practically growled with anticipation when I spotted the pigs-in-blankets.
If she’s surprised, she hides it well, and passes me a plate of turkey without a word. I add potatoes, vegetables, pigs-in-blankets, gravy and bread sauce. I can sense my family watching me, but I don’t care right now. If I’m really single again, and the evidence of this morning would indicate that I am, then I can eat whatever I like, can’t I?
It all tastes as good as it looks, and my empty stomach rumbles in appreciation as I eat. Thankfully, the conversation round the table is loud enough that nobody else hears. I gladly accept a second helping as the food and wine start to numb the ache in my gut. Normally I limit myself to one glass as I have to drive home, but I have no home to go to this year so I allow my glass to be topped up.
After two helpings of Mum’s Christmas pudding and a glass of port to wash them down, I’m full. The girls have skipped off to play with their presents some more, Dad and Simon are deeply engaged in a conversation about something to do with the business, and Mum and Emma are talking dogs. Every so often Mum looks at me quizzically, as if she’s trying to work out what’s going on, and I know that she hasn’t bought a word of my story.
3
‘Charlotte, would you mind very much helping me to clear the table and load the dishwasher?’
Here we go. She may be a small woman, my mum, but she takes no prisoners. As the others file into the living room to let their Christmas dinner go down, Mum and I start to clear the table and stack the plates in the dishwasher. She deliberately lets the silence settle between us; I know exactly what she wants to ask, but she’s waiting for me to tell her in my own time. I busy myself with washing up some of the glasses that can’t go in the machine, so I don’t have to look at her as I speak.
‘Josh and I have been having a few difficulties. We’ve decided to spend some time apart. Is it all right if I stay here for a few days?’ As the words leave my mouth the tears start to flow again. I lower my head as if I’m concentrating on the sink so my mother can’t see.
‘Oh, love… I knew something was up. What happened?’ She comes up behind me and wraps her arms around me, resting her head between my shoulders. This simple act of kindness tips me over the edge, and the tears start falling much faster. I turn around and we hug tightly.
