Fern Britton Summer Collection: New Beginnings, Hidden Treasures, The Holiday Home, The Stolen Weekend. Fern BrittonЧитать онлайн книгу.
stay the course of the day without collapsing.
As soon as she saw Maureen, Christie knew they were in for a bumpy ride. In her mother sailed, looking ever so slightly tiddly, with Ted a few paces behind, carrying two hessian bags of presents. Her mauve beret had slipped to one side, giving her an unusually jaunty look that sat well with the belted mac (more Parisian prostitute than country chic, as Mel would later point out), which was removed to reveal a tweedy suit. They had obviously been down to the Legion for Maureen’s favourite tipple on high days and holidays: a large schooner (or two, by the look of things) of Harvey’s Bristol Cream.
‘Happy Christmas, Mum.’ Christie embraced her. ‘Why don’t you go through to the sitting room?’
Mel took a bottle of Champagne from the fridge. ‘Shall I open this now?’
‘Perhaps we should wait until—’ Christie began, but Maureen interrupted her.
‘That would be lovely, Melanie. So extravagant.’ She led the way through and stood by the roaring fire, her sharp eyes checking the signatures in the Christmas cards while she waited to be given a drink. Ted plumped himself on the sofa, undoing the gold buttons on his blazer and releasing his paunch. He loosened his tie, presumably to clear a passage for some oxygen to get through to his disconcertingly puce face, and scratched about what hair he had left before reaching towards the glass Mel was offering.
‘So Richard’s coming, a little bird tells me.’ Maureen looked her most mischievous. ‘Such a charming man. I really thought he’d be perfect for you, Christine, but am I to gather that Melanie’s got there first?’
Both her daughters stared at her, speechless. Mel was looking uncomfortable, fiddling with the row of tiny buttons that ran down the front of her dress. Christie couldn’t move, knowing that if she did, she’d take a swing at her mother. Both Libby and Fred stared at their grandmother, shocked.
‘I thought a little match-making was all that was required.’ She smiled, all innocence but clearly aware of the effect she was having. ‘That’s why I asked him to pick you up from the airport, dear.’
Christie banged down the plate of smoked salmon and brown bread on the side table, making Maureen jump. ‘Have I said something to upset you, Christine?’
‘Mum! Please don’t make silly, embarrassing assumptions. Richard’s a friend. Of all of us,’ interrupted Mel. ‘Yes, I like the man. So does Chris. But it’s not a competition. And I think we’d both prefer it if you didn’t get involved with our love lives. We’re grown women and quite capable of managing them on our own.’
Ted shuffled uneasily on his seat and sank half of his Champagne in one. Libby and Fred left the room to look for the kitten, which had taken advantage of the situation and skittered out of the door when no one was watching.
‘But you’re not, dear, are you? Or, at least, neither of you are making a very good job of it.’ She nodded knowingly, so the beret slipped a little further over her left ear, and settled herself into a chair. ‘A mother often knows her daughters better than they know themselves.’
Christie instantly thought of Libby. As the two of them struggled to come to terms with Libby’s growing up, neither of them seemed to know her better than the other. But that was not something to dwell on today. Nothing and no one, not even Maureen, was going to spoil this Christmas. She forced a smile and, to everyone’s obvious relief, changed the subject as Libby returned with her kitten.
‘Have you met Smudge yet, Mum?’
With Maureen’s attention distracted, Christie excused herself to finish off the lunch. She took the turkey from the oven and set the roasting tin on the worktop with a crash. Peeling away the tinfoil, she stabbed the skewer into the turkey, checking it was cooked through. Shaking the pan of roast potatoes vigorously to make sure they were evenly cooked before they went back into the oven, she imagined Maureen’s neck between her hands.
Mel joined her. ‘Take no notice. You know what she’s like.’
‘Do you know what?’ Christie said, through gritted teeth. ‘I really don’t care. Who you do or don’t see has nothing to do with me.’
‘Don’t be like that.’ Mel was taken aback by Christie’s sudden hostility. ‘You know I’d tell you if anything was going on. Here, let me help with the veg.’ She was about to tip the carrots and peas from the chopping board into a pan but Christie took the board from her.
‘Do I?’ Christie challenged, surprising herself. Then, remembering her resolution, she changed her tone. ‘Actually, I’d rather you entertained the old bag. I’m fine in here on my own. Really.’
They stood, staring at one another, uncertain what to say next. Mel looked anxious as if she still wanted to defuse the situation while Christie tried to control the resentment, envy and guilt that were warring for first place. The moment had come when she could ask the questions she’d held back over the last couple of days. At the same time, she knew that the timing couldn’t have been worse. She rarely fell out with Mel but when she did it was never pretty. They hadn’t spoken for days after one Fireworks Night, years ago, when, without asking, Christie had borrowed a necklace given to Mel by her then boyfriend and lost it during some vigorous snogging in the back of a taxi.
‘I don’t know what you’re thinking,’ Mel broke the silence, ‘but don’t let Mum ruin everything. It’s just not worth it.’
Before Christie had a chance to say anything, there was a knock and in walked a well-muffled Richard and Olly.
‘Happy Christmas! We let ourselves in. Hope that’s all right?’
Mel and Christie turned together to see Richard already unwinding his scarf and shedding his thick blue coat. Beside him stood a pink-cheeked Olly, clutching a shiny red remote-controlled car to his chest.
‘Of course it is. Come on in. Happy Christmas.’ Mel flung her arms round a somewhat startled Richard before she turned to Olly, admired the car and demanded to see it in action immediately.
Christie hung back, unsure whether to follow suit, but Richard solved the problem for her by stepping forwards, simultaneously spiriting a bunch of red gerberas and white roses from behind his son’s back. ‘Happy Christmas. I wasn’t sure what to get you.’
‘They’re beautiful. Thank you.’ She took the flowers, ran some water into a large ribbed blue jug, put them into it and stood it beside the draining-board. ‘I’ll arrange them in a second.’
‘And there’s this.’ Smiling, he held out a small flat parcel. ‘Caro thought you might like them. And one for you too, Mel.’
‘Let’s put them under the tree and open them after lunch with the others.’ Mel took Christie’s present, apparently quite unperturbed that his ex-wife should have been involved in his choice. ‘Come in and have a drink.’
They followed her through while Christie stood there, watching them together, struggling with another unpleasant rush of envy. This wasn’t the time for that, especially when she was facing the last-minute dash to get all the various bits of Christmas lunch ready at the same time. She turned, quietly relieved to be working to her own (well, Delia’s) timetable, with no one else in the way.
Twenty minutes later, she was ready and the others crowded into the room at her shout, waiting to be told where to sit.
‘Mel! Could you finish off the gravy while I carve?’ Suggesting they work together was her attempt at a truce, but Mel didn’t hear. She was too busy fascinating the boys with the story of a haunted cave high on a St Lucian mountain.
‘I don’t think you need do that, Christine. Here’s Richard. I’m sure he’ll help,’ Maureen purred, obviously having already succumbed to his attention.
‘I can manage, thanks,’ she said,