the piss out of people?’
Laughing, Terry turned to his mother. ‘Have you had anything to eat yet?’
‘No, son, we’re fecking starving.’
‘Where’s your mother?’ Terry asked Billie.
‘In bed, feigning illness. Reckons she’s got the flu.’
‘More like alcoholic poisoning,’ Terry said, laughing at his own wit.
Leaving his mum and aunt to put the world to rights, he ushered Billie into the kitchen to help him rustle up some food.
‘Come on then, Bill, spill the beans. Something must have happened for your mother to take to her bed.’
‘She’s drunk, Dad. She started on the wine, first thing this morning. She’s been in a strange mood for a couple of days now. Yesterday, when you were out, I caught her going in your wardrobe and searching through all your stuff.’
Terry looked at Billie with raised eyebrows.
‘As if I’d be silly enough to leave anything lying about for her to get her grubby paws on. Do us a favour, Bill. Go upstairs, tell her I’m home and ask her if she wants anything to eat.’
Obeying his orders, Billie quickly returned to inform him that Chelle was too ill to be joining them.
The rest of the evening passed without incident. Bridie and Pearl opted for an early night, and after a chat and cuddle with her dad, Billie followed suit.
Unable to face World War Three, Terry decided he’d be wise to sleep on the sofa. Usually he dossed in one of the spare rooms, but due to his mum and aunt staying, he had the choice of the sofa or sharing with the wildebeest. The sofa won hands down.
The following morning, Terry woke with a stiff neck. Stretching, he headed for the shower.
Dreading the day ahead, he switched his phone on and called Jade. He wished her a happy Christmas in a whisper and told her how much he loved and missed her.
As he unlocked the shower door, Terry came face to face with Billie Jo, who had been patiently waiting for him.
‘Merry Christmas, Dad.’ Billie Jo threw her arms around his waist. ‘Can we open the presents now?’
‘Best wait for your mum, Bill. Where is she?’
‘In the kitchen, Dad. Apparently she’s preparing dinner.’
Terry knew that was a fucking lie. Chelle and food preparation just didn’t go together. They’d lived on take-aways for years, eaten out or he’d had to cook. Terry crept into the kitchen and wasn’t surprised to see Chelle sitting at the kitchen table slurping a large glass of wine. ‘You ain’t started drinking already, have you? It’s only eleven o’clock, for fuck’s sake.’
‘Oh, don’t start moaning, Tel, I’ve only had one. Everyone starts early on Christmas Day, it’s part of the tradition. Give us a break will you, for Christ’s sake.’
Terry sighed and wandered back into the living room. It was going to be one long day and he’d be glad when it was bastard well over. ‘Come on then, Princess, open your presents.’ Terry watched his daughter’s eyes sparkle with excitement as she unwrapped the gifts underneath the tree. He hadn’t bought her as many as usual because she’d insisted she wanted money this year. She was at an age now where she would rather have the dough to go and buy whatever she wanted. He’d still managed to organise one big surprise for her though. Handing her an envelope, Terry stood back and waited for her reaction.
Billie couldn’t believe her eyes when she saw what was inside. Clocking the two tickets for her and Tiffany to go to a recording studio for a day and make their own CD, Billie was absolutely ecstatic. Herself and Tiff were bang into the old music scene and this was like a dream come true. Terry was pleased with himself as he looked at his daughter’s happy face. He had a pal who owned a recording studio over at Fulham Broadway and who owed him a favour or two. His mate was even throwing in the transport. A car would be picking the girls up in the morning, then dropping them off when they’d finished. All they had to do was ring up and arrange a day.
‘You’re the best dad in the whole wide world,’ Billie said, running upstairs to ring Tiff. Spice Girls eat your heart out, she thought excitedly.
Terry poured his mum and aunt a sherry and welcomed Dave and Lisa as they arrived. Hearing the doorbell ring again, Terry went to answer it. His brother John was standing outside with the ugliest thing he had ever seen.
‘All right, Tel? Meet Maureen, my girlfriend. Mo, this is my brother Terry.’
Terry ushered them into the living room. Maureen was as rough as old boots. She looked like she’d fallen out of the ugly tree and hit every branch on the way down. Still, his brother was no oil painting himself. Truth be known, they made a real nice couple.
The rest of the day passed pleasantly with no major incident. Pearl and Bridie served up dinner, which everybody tucked into, and all seemed to be going smoothly. It was only after watching a rerun of Only Fools and Horses that things started to go tits up. Lisa, who couldn’t handle her drink at the best of times, had managed to guzzle a whole bottle of Baileys to herself.
Deciding she needed to get a bit of fresh air, she rose unsteadily to her feet. Two wobbly steps later and the contents of Lisa’s stomach lay on Auntie Bridie’s lap and Terry’s living-room carpet. Davey Boy went absolutely apeshit and promised to buy Terry a new carpet and Bridie a new outfit. A full-scale argument then developed between Dave and Lisa, which ended with Dave storming out of the house and Lisa running after him, crying and begging forgiveness.
By nine o’clock things had got even worse. John and Maureen were both paralytic and Pearl wasn’t far behind them, sobbing her heart out, talking drivel.
‘I don’t want to be in this world without him. I want to die, so we can be together. I know he had his faults, but he was a good man your father, he was the best, son.’
Terry wanted to remind his mother of what a nasty old bastard Paddy had really been but decided to keep schtum. He needed this shit like he needed a fucking hole in the head. The only thing that kept him sane was the thought that next year he could have a nice quiet Christmas, just him, Billie, Jade and the baby.
‘Bill, get the karaoke machine out for Mummy and we can have a singalong.’
Billie looked at her mother in horror. Chelle’s voice left a lot to be desired at the best of times.
‘It’s getting late now, Mum. I’ll set it up for you tomorrow.’
‘I don’t want it out tomorrow. I want the fucking thing out now.’
‘Yeah get it out, I like a bit of karaoke,’ Maureen slurred. She looked uglier now than ever. She was that pissed, her face was all distorted and she looked like she’d had a stroke.
Half an hour later, after struggling to set up the equipment, Chelle stood in the middle of the room, mike in hand, singing Dusty Springfield’s ‘I Only Wanna Be With You’. Chelle was like a cat with two tails once she had a mike in her hand and was wobbling her fat arse nineteen to the dozen whilst pointing and singing to her husband. Maureen then got in on the act, with a rancid version of ‘Little
