Fern Britton Summer Collection: New Beginnings, Hidden Treasures, The Holiday Home, The Stolen Weekend. Fern BrittonЧитать онлайн книгу.
She felt bad about putting Olly beside her mother but told herself that being next to Fred would be all that really mattered to him. But should she have put Mel next to Richard? No. How much did being apart for a couple of hours matter?
‘Can’t I help at all?’ Richard interrupted her thoughts.
‘Really not.’ She paused, then relented. ‘Unless you want to take charge of the drinks.’
‘I’d love to.’ He ushered Maureen and Ted to their places, pulling back Maureen’s chair so she could sit down. Then, with obvious relief at having a job to do, he set about opening and pouring either Burgundy or Chablis, taking Cokes from the fridge for the kids. Mel nudged Christie to share her glee at the undisguised approval Maureen bestowed on their guest as he moved around the table. Christie managed a smile in return. There was a ‘Snap!’ as Fred and Olly pulled the first cracker, Fred hesitantly reading out the appalling joke before they put on their paper hats. Everything was going to be all right.
Even Maureen couldn’t find fault with the lunch: the turkey moist under its crisped skin; the sprouts and carrots with just enough bite; the delicate dusting of Parmesan on the parsnips; the potatoes crunchy on the outside, soft within; the hint of onion and cloves in the bread sauce; the citrus tang of the relish. Richard kept the wine circulating, admirably circumspect when it came to filling Maureen’s glass. He hadn’t needed to be told.
Once the table was cleared, the flaming pudding was produced to rowdy whoops and the bangs of party poppers. Finally, unable to eat another mouthful, they returned contented to the sitting room where, among cups of coffee, glasses of wine and chocolates, they collapsed in front of the fire to unwrap their presents. The sisters’ predictions had been, of course, right. The scarf was ‘Lovely, but just the wrong shade of blue, darling.’ As for the rose: ‘Beautiful, I’m sure, but it won’t really go with my pink Gertrude Jekylls.’ Christie rose above her growing exasperation with her mother’s ingratitude and carried on smiling, covering the sound of Mel’s amused snort by loudly offering Ted a brandy. He accepted while making appreciative grunts over the socks and scarf he’d been given.
But all Christie really cared about was Fred and Libby. She watched as Libby screamed with delight over her longed-for grey-knit Ugg boots and a skimpy Zara dress, while Fred immediately tried on his combat trousers and climbed into his sleeping bag, before they both crossed the room to hug her. She shut her eyes tight with pleasure.
The smoothie-maker she had given Mel was a wild success (not a surprise, given the heavy pre-Christmas hints) while Mel had presented her with a painted tin kitchen-roll holder in the shape of a crowded yellow St Lucian bus and something flat and floppy. She unwrapped it slowly, rolling up the ribbon then carefully unfolding the paper (ingrained habits instilled by Maureen), aware of Mel itching for her to hurry up. She tore the sticker off the tissue paper and pulled it apart. Oyster silk, black lace. As she touched it, the fabric slid open across her lap, revealing itself as a sexy strappy chemise and matching thong. She snatched at it, not wanting the others to see something quite so personal. Too late. Ted sat forward; Maureen tensed; Richard busied himself with the battery for Fred’s new torch.
‘There! I thought you needed something to spice up your love life. Aren’t they gorgeous?’ Mel was unabashed, oblivious to anyone else’s reaction, least of all her sister’s. ‘I hope you’ll put them to good use.’
‘Melanie, really!’ Maureen’s voice cut through the embarrassed silence. ‘Hardly appropriate in front of the children.’
‘They’re lovely,’ Christie whispered, her cheeks flaming, hurriedly folding her presents any which way back into their tissue. Her sister was several glasses of wine the worse for wear and meant no harm, and any other time Christie would have laughed off the innuendo but today she couldn’t – especially not in front of Richard. Mel subsided into an uncharacteristic silence, a sure sign that she’d been hurt by Christie’s apparent dismissal of her gift.
Richard swiftly crossed to the tree and picked up his and Olly’s present to Fred, deflecting everyone’s attention as Fred tore the wrapping off a metal detector and let out a long gasp of excitement. Between him and Libby, Smudge was pogoing in and out of the discarded paper, ears pricked, tail upright, spooking at invisible shadows, making them all laugh again.
At last there were only two presents left: the small packages from Richard. Mel ripped hers open to reveal a pair of sassy tangerine-coloured gloves made of the softest leather. While she tried them on, thrilled, turning her hands this way and that, Christie carefully unwrapped hers, looking forward to a matching pair (though perhaps in a more muted colour). But instead she found herself staring at two sturdy sheepskin gloves. She did her best not to show her disappointment. Was that how Richard really saw them? She a dowdy country cousin to Mel’s funky city girl?
‘Thank you,’ she said, forcing herself to smile. ‘They’ll be incredibly useful.’
‘I noticed that the fingers on your others had come unstitched,’ he explained, obviously anxious for her to understand his choice. ‘That’s what gave me the idea and Caro approved.’
‘Well, I love them,’ she said firmly, taking a swig of wine, before putting them on the pile of three weighty Swedish crime novels that, to her delight, Ted had given her. ‘More coffee, anyone?’ A moment alone in the kitchen was all she needed.
Five minutes later, coming into the hall with the tray of mugs and Christmas cake, she almost bumped into Richard, who was heading towards the loo. At the same time, Mel came down from upstairs. For a moment, the three of them paused, each waiting for the others to move first, when Mel suddenly stood on tiptoe, put her hands on Richard’s shoulders and kissed him smack on the lips. He didn’t pull away. A punch in Christie’s stomach would have been kinder.
‘There,’ Mel announced, satisfied. ‘I knew that mistletoe would come in handy.’
‘For God’s sake!’ Christie muttered under her breath, but loud enough for them all to hear quite clearly. Immediately she regretted it.
‘What?’ Mel demanded, her mood changing. ‘For God’s sake, what?’
Richard edged past the sisters, mumbling something about the loo being free at last. Mel didn’t try to stop him. She was concentrating too hard on her sister.
‘Nothing. Forget it.’ Christie was aware that she’d gone too far. She turned to the sanctuary of her kitchen, wanting to wind back the clock five minutes. But Mel followed her.
‘What the hell’s wrong with you?’ she demanded. ‘It’s Christmas Day and suddenly we’re all treading on eggshells round you.’
‘That’s unfair and you know it.’ Christie leaped to her own defence. She was not going to be put in her place by anyone, least of all by her little sister.
‘One Christmas kiss and you go all prim and proper. What’s your problem?’ Mel picked up an abandoned wineglass from the table and slugged back its contents.
‘I don’t have a problem.’ Christie could see that Mel was slightly drunker than she was but she wasn’t going to allow her the upper hand. She would keep calm but fight her corner. ‘Look, I’m sorry if I’ve annoyed you but I’ve had a lot of stuff on my plate recently, not to mention putting all this together.’
‘Oh, get a grip.’ Mel had never sounded so unforgiving. ‘Loads of women run jobs, families and Christmas. And they do it without the help of their mother and sister. Mum’s bending over backwards for you to make everything work. Me too, for that matter.’
‘They don’t do it without the help of their husband, though.’ How pathetic she sounded, but it was true.
‘Oh, put the self-pity away or I’ll get out the violin. Please.’
Christie stared at her sister as if she’d been slapped but Mel hadn’t finished. ‘Look, I couldn’t be more sorry that Nick died and nor could Mum. He was a lovely, lovely man. But you can’t keep bringing him out as an excuse whenever things go wrong. He’d hate it and you know he