day.
To begin with everything goes swimmingly. Joe is well behaved and quiet, though I notice him flinching from Mary’s hug. My mum at least has the sense not to touch him unless invited to.
The turkey, which I’ve been cooking since 6.30 a.m., because our oven is so temperamental, is cooked to perfection. The wine is flowing, the conversation is relaxed, and even the Christmas pudding lights first time. Adam and I have been working together seamlessly to make sure everyone has what they want. I couldn’t have asked for more. I pour myself an extra-large glass of wine after lunch, something I reckon I deserve.
And then it’s time for presents. We gather round the tree, complete with decorations that Joe has made at nursery, as well as the more traditional sort Adam went out and bought to mark our first Christmas in our new home. The lights are sparkling and bright, and presents are spilling over themselves.
Joe’s the only grandchild in both our families so I suppose it makes sense that he gets spoiled. But it’s when we start unwrapping presents that all hell breaks loose.
In their wisdom, and without consulting me, Mary and Anthony have decided that Joe needs one of those sound-light jobbies that helps kids learn their alphabet, as Adam has told them he’s behind on a lot of the skills other kids his age have. For a normal kid, it was probably a great idea. For Joe, it’s a disaster.
‘Ah,’ I say, foreseeing trouble, ‘I think I might take that for later.’ (I make a mental note to take it to the charity shop at the first available opportunity.) Joe can be sensitive to noise and light, and coupled with a busy day that has slightly broken his routine, I’m not sure it will go down too well.
But Mary is too quick for me. She is clearly proud of her gift, and wants to share it.
‘Look, Joe,’ she says, ‘look what it does.’
She starts the machine and it emits light, and beeps and whistles. I can see Joe is getting agitated.
‘Wait,’ I say, ‘it’s too much, Joe doesn’t like it.’
‘Nonsense,’ says Mary, who always knows best, ‘of course Joe likes it, don’t you, Joe?’
She’s trying so hard, but she’s got it all wrong.
Then Joe puts his hands over his ears and lets out a high-pitched scream, before throwing himself on the floor and kicking wildly.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I say as I dodge Joe’s flailing limbs to calm him down. ‘He’s sensitive to noise.’
‘Sensitive to noise? Never heard such rubbish,’ says Anthony. ‘Nothing wrong with him, he needs a firm hand.’
‘No. He doesn’t,’ I say as patiently as I can. ‘Joe’s condition means that he needs the opposite. He needs care and consideration.’
‘Well, of course you will insist on spoiling him.’
I look at both my in-laws with increasing dislike. How dare they judge me, when they couldn’t even cope with their own son? Suddenly I feel deeply resentful of them. Adam and I are doing our best to care for ours. We might not be getting it right, but it’s a damn sight better than the way they have behaved. Joe might be hard work, but we both love him. I cannot imagine how any parent could make the decision to hide their child away the way Mary and Anthony have.
‘At least he’s not hidden away, out of sight,’ I burst out. The words are out of my mouth before I’ve registered. Maybe I shouldn’t have had that last glass of wine.
‘Livvy!’ says Adam, shocked.
‘I beg your pardon.’ Anthony’s face goes purple. ‘How dare you?’
‘Sorry, sorry,’ I say backtracking wildly, conscious that Adam is looking at me in horror. ‘I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t know why I did.’
‘You have no idea what we’ve been through,’ Mary has gone pink with anger. ‘You have no right to judge us.’
But you feel the right to judge me, I think bitterly.
‘I’m sure Livvy didn’t intend any upset,’ Dad steps in smoothly, and I feel like hugging him. ‘Did you, Livvy?’
‘No, no I didn’t,’ I say. ‘I’m sorry, it was an unforgivable thing to say.’
‘Yes it was,’ says Anthony tightly, making me angry again. If he and Mary hadn’t been so damned critical I’d never have said anything.
Dad pats me warningly on the arm; I think he can tell I’m boiling up again, and there’s an awkward silence before Mum says brightly, ‘Mary, could you give me a hand in the kitchen? I think we could all do with some tea and Christmas cake.’ Dad meanwhile gets Anthony going about the inadequacies of Tony Blair’s leadership, which distracts him beautifully – it’s a subject close to his heart. It’s such a British reaction. No one is prepared to acknowledge the elephant in the room. Part of me thinks it’s ridiculous and we should talk about this, but that’s just not Adam’s family’s style.
Eventually my in-laws are mollified, I calm Joe down, and an uneasy peace settles over the afternoon. But Anthony and Mary make their excuses early and Mum and Dad aren’t far behind, so I know that the day hasn’t been a success.
Adam is furious when I’ve shut the door. ‘Thanks for that. Didn’t you see how upset Mum was?’
‘What about how upset I am?’ I say. ‘I’m livid. Your dad more or less accused me of being too soft on Joe, when if they hadn’t given him that sodding toy none of this would have happened.’
‘I know,’ says Adam looking uncomfortable. ‘But you know what Dad’s like, he doesn’t really understand.’
‘How can he, when he got rid of your brother as soon as he could,’ I say bitterly.
‘Livvy, it wasn’t like that,’ says Adam. ‘Harry lived with them for a long while before they couldn’t manage any more. Things were different then.’
Harry: the unspoken secret in Adam’s family. I’m not sure Adam even knows where he lives, though I’ve tried to get him to find out. I think they should have a relationship, particularly because of Joe, but he doesn’t want to upset his parents.
‘Not that different,’ I say. ‘If they loved your brother, they’d never have sent him away. I could never do that to Joe.’
‘And I would never ask you to,’ says Adam. ‘I’m sorry about what Dad said, but please don’t be so hard on him. He didn’t mean to upset you.’
I’m not so sure about this, but I can see Adam is trying to make up. Still, I can’t forgive him for taking his parents’ side. Adam should have supported me, and he hasn’t.
‘I’m putting Joe to bed,’ I say, a process that can take some time on his best days. ‘He needs to stay calm after what happened today.’
‘Whatever.’ Adam looks defeated, and I nearly go to him then, and tell him it’s all right. But it’s not all right. My illusion of a happy family has been well and truly shattered today.
When
