A Proper Family Christmas (19 page)

Richard did his best to help. He made a meringue. His speciality. Like most men Annabel had known, Richard’s kitchen repertoire was limited but what he could make was flashy crowd-pleasers. He was in charge of alcohol too, his mantra being ‘if in doubt, add wine’. Annabel wished she could add half a bottle of the stuff to herself, straight down the throat. But of course the baby prevented that. Annabel wondered how long it would be before Jacqui spotted that she was pregnant. They still hadn’t told anyone other than Izzy, Sarah and Dr Devon.

At last, the moment came. The Bensons arrived.

‘They’re here,’ Izzy called down the stairs.

‘What? All of them?’

‘They’ve come in convoy.’

Richard, Annabel, Izzy and Leander formed a welcoming party. Leander was the most enthusiastic of the four.

With the three sisters all in one place for the first time, Jacqui could not resist getting out her phone to take a snap of them, on the front step of Annabel’s manor house.

‘I’ll take one of you with the three of them if you like,’ said Richard.

And then Jack wanted to be in the picture and before anyone could protest, it turned into a full family portrait there on the driveway, complete with Granddad Bill in his Coventry City FC shirt.

‘A proper family portrait,’ Jacqui sighed.

Richard, thank goodness, was the consummate host. While Annabel seemed practically to have lost the ability to talk, Richard set about making introductions and ushering the Bensons into the house and handing out drinks to all and sundry. Once the gin and tonics were on the go, the awkwardness of the photograph on the doorstep began to fade away. There was easy conversation to be had on the subject of the Benson family’s journey from Coventry.

‘Roadworks. Should have come the other way,’ said Dave.

And Chelsea’s journey to Coventry from London.

‘Replacement bus services. Always a nightmare at the weekend.’

And how strange it was that most of the Bensons had been to this house before, though they hadn’t seen this room.

‘Well, you know,’ said Annabel, ‘not everything is for the general public.’

Annabel thought she saw her new sisters share a look at that.

Annabel only realised how anxious she had been about meeting Ronnie and Chelsea for the first time (‘Or for the second time,’ as Ronnie reminded her) now that they were sitting in her living room. Ronnie was not as big as she had looked in most of the photos on Facebook and neither was she quite so hard-faced. She would look a good deal better if she simply sat up straight. Chelsea was different. She was dressed very stylishly, as befitted her magazine job, but she was delicate. She had more than a hint of vulnerability about her and seemed keen to be liked. Annabel thought she would probably have most in common with her. She was most at home in her surroundings.

In contrast, Ronnie’s partner Mark seemed utterly discombobulated by the Great House and all but doffed his cap every time Richard asked him if he needed a top-up or some peanuts or anything else at all. His deference was almost painful. Richard kept having to tell him to sit down. There was absolutely no need for him to fetch a drink himself. Richard was their host.

Meanwhile Granddad Bill had captivated Leander, who rested his head on the old chap’s lap as he sat in his electric wheelchair by the fireplace.

‘Always keeps Trebor mints in his pocket,’ said Dave when Annabel observed that Granddad Bill had made a canine friend. So much for Leander being a good judge of character. ‘You all right there, Dad?’

‘I’ve won the bloody lottery,’ Bill said, raising his glass. He seemed to say that all the time.

Sophie, Annabel’s new niece, was very different from Izzy’s school friends at the same age. They were so much more confident around adults. While the likes of Jessica had no trouble whatsoever making conversation, Sophie sat and said nothing unless she was spoken to first. Her shyness was reflected in her posture. It was as though she was trying to sink into the sofa. She couldn’t even look at Izzy.

Then there was Jack. Thank goodness. Whenever the conversation seemed like it might be drifting back into silence, Jack could be relied upon to get things going again. He seemed to take an instant shine to Izzy, who recognised the significance of the tatty plastic wand Jack had brought with him.

‘You know about sonic screwdrivers!’ he trilled with delight.

‘Who doesn’t?’ said Izzy, rolling her eyes. ‘I’ve seen every episode of
Doctor Who
there is. Apart from the really old ones before Christopher Eccleston.’

Jack gazed at Izzy as though he was in love.

And of course he asked about the suit of armour he had almost knocked down the stairs. Annabel assured him that no harm was done.

‘Then perhaps I could try it on?’ he suggested shyly.

‘Jack!’ Ronnie hissed at him. ‘No, you can’t.’

‘I think it’s a bit delicate for that,’ Annabel agreed.

‘Then can I see the dungeon?’ Jack negotiated. ‘You said you had a dungeon,’ he reminded her.

‘Ah, the dungeon,’ said Richard. ‘Perhaps we should go there right away. Follow me.’

The ‘dungeon’ was now Richard’s wine cellar. In fact, it had always been a cellar. No prisoner had ever been held there. Still, it was dark, damp and dusty enough to fuel any child’s imagination.

While Jack was thus occupied, Jacqui and Ronnie apologised profusely for the day of the village fete. If only they had known who Annabel was back then. They would have paid more attention to her
very
interesting talk. How on earth did she keep a place like this going? Did she have many servants, asked Ronnie.

‘Just cleaners,’ said Annabel.

‘How many?’ Ronnie wanted to know.

‘Two,’ said Annabel.

‘But you don’t go to work?’

‘Not at the moment,’ said Annabel. ‘No.’

Ronnie shared a look with Jacqui.

‘But there is a lot of dusting,’ Annabel said.

Annabel was grateful to be able to return to the kitchen when the timer on the Aga let her know the bird was done.

‘Can I come and help you in there?’ Jacqui asked.

‘No,’ said Annabel, with slightly more force than she intended to. ‘I mean, no thank you, Jacqui. You’re my guests. Please just make yourselves comfortable.’

‘Hard to get comfortable when it’s so obvious she’s scared we’ll mark the settee,’ said Ronnie when Annabel wasn’t quite out of earshot.

Was the turkey done? Annabel had no idea, but she took it out of the oven anyway and left it on the side to rest. Richard would do the carving. If it still looked pink, they would simply put it back in the Aga.

Sarah had texted to see how Annabel was getting on.

Going OK so far,
Annabel texted in response. No point worrying her mum with anything more detailed.

Lunch was laid out in the dining room that day. Annabel had rather hoped that the weather would be good enough to eat outside – the BBC had promised the Indian summer would continue for another few days – but the gods were not on her side and it had been grey and cold all morning. The dining room it would have to be, with a table protector beneath the crisp white tablecloth to protect the polished walnut.

There was soup to serve first. It was tomato soup. Not Annabel’s first choice but Richard had told her it would be a crowd-pleaser. And what a crowd to please. Annabel had thought she was doing OK with her new sisters but Ronnie’s comment as she left the living room had disabused her of that.

She poured the soup into the tureen and shouted, ‘Lunch is served.’

The Bensons filed into the dining room and seemed to take an age to choose seats. For once, Annabel hadn’t even thought about a table plan. She found herself between Dave and Granddad Bill.

‘A rose between two thorns,’ Dave said.

Fortunately, nobody had any objection to tomato soup. The fresh bread rolls too were accepted eagerly. Mark laughed as he took one.

‘I thought you were going to make us eat oysters or some weird shit like that,’ he said.

‘Daddy!’ Jack piped up. ‘Don’t say shit!’

‘You shouldn’t be saying it either,’ said Ronnie, reaching out to tweak Jack’s ear.

‘Well, all I can say is, I’m bloody glad we’re eating something I recognise,’ said Mark.

‘He said bloody!’ Jack pointed out.

Mark pointed two fingers at his son as if to shoot him. Then he reached for his dessertspoon and began to eat.

Richard flashed a look at Annabel that told her not to point out Mark’s mistake.

‘All this cutlery,’ Jacqui exclaimed. ‘How many courses are we having?’

‘Soup, turkey, cheese …’

‘Leave room for my meringue,’ said Richard.

‘You made a meringue? Aren’t you the perfect husband,’ Jacqui said.

‘Mark doesn’t ever make anything but a mess when he’s in the kitchen,’ said Ronnie.

‘That’s not fair. I made you breakfast in bed the other day.’

‘Only because you wanted to leave me with the kids while you spent the whole day fishing.’

‘Ronnie,’ said Jacqui. ‘Annabel will think you’re always bickering, you two. And you’ve only just got engaged.’

‘After sixteen years!’ Ronnie said to Annabel. ‘Sixteen years I had to wait for him to make an honest woman of me.’

‘You’ve always been honest,’ said Mark. ‘At least when it comes to my failings.’

There was a moment’s silence while it seemed that Ronnie and Mark were considering having a full-on domestic. But Annabel need not have worried. It wouldn’t stay quiet for long. While she was still racking her brain for something to say, Granddad Bill let out an enormous belch.

‘Pardon me for being rude. It was not me, it was my food,’ Granddad Bill said by way of an apology.

‘Granddad Bill can burp to order,’ Jack elaborated.

‘I can indeed. It’s my superpower, isn’t it, Jack?’

‘He does it to music. Show Auntie Annabel.’ Jack clapped.

‘Please, don’t,’ said Jacqui. ‘Granddad …’

But it was too late. While Annabel could only sit and inwardly scream, Granddad Bill launched into a rendition of ‘My Old Man’s a Dustman’ with a burp after every word. Jack was thrilled. He joined in with the words he knew.

‘Bill,’ said Jacqui. ‘Please. We’re at the dinner table.’

But Granddad Bill went for a second verse, while Jack got up from his chair on the other side of the table and did a little jig, pulling at imaginary braces and doffing an invisible cap. His Victorian urchin routine.

‘Jack! Sit down!’ said Ronnie.

Jack took no notice.

‘Jack,’ Chelsea tried. ‘Mummy’s asked you to sit down.’

‘But we’re nearly finished, Auntie Chelsea,’ said Jack brightly. ‘Just one more verse!’

‘Bill,’ Jacqui begged.

‘
He wears cor blimey trousers
… burp …’ Granddad Bill was not to be stopped. He was building to a grand finale.

Annabel closed her eyes in an attempt to lessen the horror like a child who imagines that because they can’t see anybody, no one can see them either. Richard pressed his fist to his mouth as he tried not to burst out laughing. Izzy was wide-eyed with astonishment. And the awful thing was, it was rather impressive. Granddad Bill could hold a tune and the burps provided an oddly effective percussion. He was as good as anything they’d seen on
Britain’s Got Talent
.

Eventually, the song ended and Richard and Izzy clapped politely.

‘Well, that was …’ Annabel gave a game shrug.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Jacqui.

‘No, really. It was quite … something.’

But the trauma was not over.

Now Granddad Bill took Annabel’s hand.

‘I’ve won the bloody lottery,’ he said. ‘Having a granddaughter as lovely as you.’

‘Thank you, Bill,’ said Annabel.

‘So I’d like to sing you this song …’

‘No!’ said Jacqui, Ronnie and Chelsea at once.

The women were overruled.

Jack raised his arms like a conductor and counted Granddad Bill in.

‘A-one, a-two, a-three!’

And Granddad Bill began.

‘
Daisy …
burp
… Daisy …
burp
… Give me your answer do …’

‘For crying out loud, Granddad. Her name’s not Daisy,’ said Ronnie. ‘Mum! Tell him to shut up. Shut up!’

‘Granddad Bill,’ Chelsea pleaded. ‘Please. We’ve heard enough now.’

‘Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God,’ Sophie muttered.

Richard and Izzy both looked in panic at Annabel. She forced herself to smile.

‘Well, isn’t this great,’ she said. ‘What a lovely song. Thank you.’

‘
I’m half crazy …
burp.’

Dave started to sing along. Until Jacqui pinched him.

‘Bill, that’s quite enough,’ Jacqui said.

He wasn’t stopping.

Time seemed to stand still in the dining room of the Great House. Jacqui covered her eyes. Chelsea and Ronnie slid a little lower in their seats. Annabel could hardly breathe.

Eventually, Bill ran out of steam. Or gas. Jack led the applause, leaping up from his seat to give a standing ovation, oblivious to the tension all around him.

‘Sit down,’ Ronnie hissed at him. This time, Jack did as he was told. He knew when he’d crossed the line.

‘I am so embarrassed,’ said Jacqui, on the verge of tears. ‘I’ve never been so badly shown up. Bill, you have really excelled yourself this time.’

‘It’s OK,’ said Annabel. ‘Really. I enjoyed it.’

‘No, you didn’t. And it isn’t OK. Bill, you need to apologise.’

‘What for? I was singing a song about her loveliness.’

‘Seriously,’ said Richard. ‘There’s no need for anyone to be embarrassed or apologise. We feel thoroughly entertained. Don’t we, Izzy?’

‘Oh yeah,’ said Izzy. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it.’

‘Granddad Bill can play the spoons as well,’ Jack told her proudly. ‘He learned in the war.’

Another ping from one of the timers in the kitchen gave Annabel an excuse to escape.

The rest of that lunch passed like a lifetime in purgatory.