gave us such a big grin I thought his face might explode. ‘God, it’s fantastic to be at home again. Ahm – just want to say it means more to me than you can possibly know,’ he said, swallowed and looked rather wildly up and down the table. ‘Here we all are. It’s Christmas Eve…’ We waited, politely, for so long that I wondered if he was seeking confirmation of the date or had something else to say. Then his eyes came to rest on Rosalie and he gave her his sappiest smile. ‘Happy Christmas, everyone,’ he said.
Supper took on a dreamlike quality, as if we were all being filmed for a reality TV show.
The side of beef was delicious, as was the mash, but Mum’s Christmas Eve speciality, her mini Yorkshire puddings, had fallen by the wayside. I’d seen them earlier, all ready to go into the Aga in their little cups, but they never appeared on the table. Either they’d gone horribly wrong or we were two short and Mum had thrown them away rather than make Rosalie and Mike feel guilty. Hm. I watched Rosalie through slitted eyes as she munched happily away.
After supper, Mum and Kate had the usual stand-off about who was going to do the washing-up.
‘Go and sit down, Suzy, you’ve done quite enough this evening.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Kate. You had to work today, you should be relaxing.’
‘Not at all. I won’t hear of it! Move out of the way!’
‘No, you move out of the way.’
‘Ow, you’re hurting me!’
‘Stop pushing!’
‘God, this is ridiculous,’ said Chin, from the doorway. ‘Both of you, go and sit down in the other room. Why don’t you get started on the sprouts for tomorrow? I’ll bring you through some coffee and we’ll do the clearing up.’
Tom and I looked at each other. ‘Jeez, thanks a lot, Auntie,’ said Tom, but he went into the kitchen and started loading the dishwasher.
Kate dragged a sack of sprouts out of the larder, and she and Mum disappeared into the side-room, with the TV and comfy chairs. It was where we ate when we weren’t having formal meals, lovely and sunny in daytime but surprisingly cosy at night too, with a big open fireplace, shelves of magazines, videos, gardening guides, reference books, photos of the family and postcards from around the world – lots from Mike especially. It was one of my favourite rooms in the house – we’d transformed it from what had been the servants’ hall into what Americans would call a den.
The kettle whistled and I poured water into the cafetière as Tom plucked mugs off hooks. I could hear Rosalie gabbling in the hallway to Mike. Gibbo appeared and asked if we wanted any help.
‘Don’t worry, hon,’ said Chin.
He whipped the tea-towel out of her hand and kissed her. ‘Come on, gorgeous,’ he said into her ear. ‘Time for bed.’
Tom and I exchanged a glance of mock outrage.
‘It’s Christmas Eve. I’m not going to bed yet, even if it is with you, you…’ Chin murmured something that made Gibbo stand up straight, blush and give a little cough. She patted his arm and went back to the drying-up.
‘I’ll be with the others, then. See you in there,’ he mumbled.
‘No fear. I want to watch a bit of TV – I’ve had enough family chats for one night,’ said Chin.
‘Oh.’ Gibbo scratched his cheek. ‘Rosalie’s watching TV. Apparently her favourite film’s on, so she asked Mum and Kate if they wouldn’t mind watching it too.’
‘Urgh,’ said Tom. ‘She’s such a muscler-inner! I wonder what it is – Weekend at Bernie’s? Pretty in Pink?’
‘Pretty Woman,’ I suggested. ‘No, Risky Business. No! Robin Hood, Prince of Thieves!’
‘I’ve got it,’ Chin yelled. ‘Showgirls! In a tie with Top Gun!’
‘Actually,’ said a voice from the door, ‘it’s Some Like It Hot, and it’s on now.’
We turned. There was Rosalie again. The world’s quietest walker. Damn. There was total silence.
Then Rosalie spoke: ‘Hey, where’s that coffee? I bought some chocolates, and your dad says there are chips in the cupboard bit at the back of the kitchen…’ She bustled through to the larder. ‘Here, yeah,’ she said, emerging with two big bags of crisps. ‘I’ll see you in there, but hurry up. Tony and Jack have just nearly been shot – they’ll be getting to Florida any minute.’ She walked out and we gazed after her in astonishment.
‘Is she all bad?’ Chin wondered aloud. ‘Clearly not. And yet, my friends, it is easier to hate her than to like her, no?
‘I say you’re all horrible people,’ said Gibbo, picking up the milk jug and bending over to kiss Chin again. ‘Come on, let’s go and join them.’
Mike appeared in the hall as Tom and I were negotiating our way to the side-room with the mugs and the cafetière. ‘Hold on,’ he said. ‘Let me get the door. Hey, Titch, isn’t that the mug you painted for me in that stupid craft class you used to go to after school?’
‘It wasn’t stupid,’ said Tom, defensively. ‘It was really interesting. And you said it was the best present you’d ever had.’
Mike picked it up and considered it. ‘I dare say. It’s got a dent in the middle, though, hasn’t it? Look.’ He held up Tom’s masterwork, fashioned in blue with ‘Unkle Mike’ in a childish, uneven script. As a drinking vessel it wasn’t an unqualified success – goodness knows why we still used it. It sloped on one side and the handle bent in on itself, which made it difficult to hold. ‘Looks as if it’s had one or two too many, if you ask me. Can I take it back to New York?’
‘Of course you can,’ Tom said, rather chuffed. ‘Sorry I forgot to wrap it.’
‘So that’s the way the land lies, is it?’ Mike said. ‘Très charmant. No presents, after I come all this way.’ His head drooped. ‘Oh, well…’ He brightened, taking the cafetière out of my hands. ‘I haven’t got you chaps anything either, so we’re evens. But Rosalie and I are going to stop off in London before we fly back. We’re staying at Claridges. How about we take you shopping, get you each a present, then treat you to dinner? Jess too.’
‘Oh, do Jess and Lizzy have to come?’ Tom asked. I kicked him. ‘Ouch! Blimey, Mike, that’s really kind of you. Are you sure? Claridges, eh?’
‘Well, in for a penny, in for a pound,’ Mike said. ‘Can’t do these things by halves, can you? Let’s give the coffee to the thirsty troops. And ssh – don’t mention it to the others. It’s a surprise for Rosalie and I don’t want her to find out.’
If you’d told me eight hours previously that I’d spend the rest of Christmas Eve watching the World’s Greatest Film with Mike’s new wife, I’d have said you were mad. But that was what happened. Rosalie hadn’t made a very good first impression – unless a brunette version of Anna Nicole Smith in a twin-set is your idea of a good first
