carol service was exhausting for all of us in the choir.’
Stella, who thought her aunt sang like a strangulated cat and could only imagine the noise of a choir with Adele in it, smothered a grin.
‘Can I get you anything, Aunt Adele?’ she asked.
‘Tea perhaps, for myself and poor Hugh. He’s worn out.’ This last remark was directed at Rose and was designed to remind Rose of how Hugh required cosseting far beyond Rose’s abilities. But Rose merely nodded and turned back to her cooking. One day, she’d like to tell Adele a few secrets about her precious little brother. That would serve Adele right.
They opened the rest of the presents just before dinner.
Holly loved the set of tiny coffee cups and saucers that Rose had trawled the antique shops for. ‘They’re beautiful,’ she exclaimed, holding up a hand-painted china cup, so delicate that it was almost transparent.
Adele gave Holly a copy of The Rules and a contraption for hanging over radiators and drying clothes.
‘I told them in the bookshop that I was looking for a present for my unmarried niece and they said that this book would do the trick. It’s all about teaching modern girls how to get a man,’ Adele said with satisfaction, as Holly leafed through the book in bewilderment.
‘Holly doesn’t need anyone to teach her how to get a man,’ said Stella hotly.
‘And it wouldn’t do you any harm to have a look at it too, madam,’ Adele reproved.
Rose bit her lip so she wouldn’t lash out. How could Adele?
‘Ah now, Della,’ said Hugh soothingly, ‘modern women don’t want men. They have it all tied up and they don’t need us any more. Isn’t that right, girls?’ He put an arm around each of his shocked daughters and squeezed them close. ‘Don’t mind,’ he whispered to Holly. ‘She’s doing her best.’
Holly smiled bravely. ‘Thanks, Aunt Adele,’ she said.
Stella blew her sister a kiss and glared at her aunt.
‘Holly,’ she said, ‘I need a hand in the kitchen.’
They scrambled to their feet and hurried out.
‘Cigarette?’ said Stella.
‘I must look very hurt if you’re telling me I need a cigarette,’ Holly said ruefully.
‘Yeah, well, Adele can put her feet in her mouth more easily than anyone else I know. She must have been a contortionist in a previous life. Let’s sit in the conservatory. You can smoke, and I’ll crack open the wine.’
While Holly sat in the tiny conservatory off the kitchen, Stella opened a bottle of wine that had been cooling in the fridge.
‘It always feels weird to smoke in the house,’ Holly said, lighting up. ‘I was so used to hanging out my bedroom window and blowing smoke outside.’
‘I wish you’d give up,’ Stella said gingerly.
‘How could I cope with Aunt Adele at Christmas without nicotine?’ laughed Holly.
‘Wait till I tell Tara what Adele gave you,’ said Stella. ‘She’ll howl.’
‘She mightn’t howl at all,’ pointed out Holly. ‘She’s probably getting another steam iron or a saucepan from Gloria as we speak.’
‘In-laws, yuck,’ shuddered Stella. ‘That’s the problem with marriage – you get saddled with a whole new batch of people.’
‘Not my problem,’ said her sister.
‘Nor mine,’ replied Stella thoughtfully.
That night in Four Winds, Tara dragged Finn off to bed halfway through the late-night Christmas film. He’d been snoring for at least the last twenty minutes of The Untouchables, although when she woke him, he insisted he was watching the film and that they hadn’t seen the best bit yet.
‘You were asleep,’ she hissed.
‘Wuzzn’t,’ he slurred. ‘Oh all right.’
Christmas at the Jeffersons’ had been a master class in Cold War tactics. Tara and Finn hadn’t emerged until after eleven that morning, which was the first mistake – Tara’s naturally. Finn was nursing a hangover and Tara was nursing a grievance over being in Four Winds in the first place. Arriving downstairs to find a prune-faced Gloria on her way out to church without her son and heir, Tara had managed an apology for being up so late.
Gloria was not full of Christian charity on Christ’s birthday. ‘Good morning, or should I say good afternoon,’ she sniped.
‘And Happy Christmas to you too, Gloria,’ said Tara sweetly.
The present-giving revealed that Gloria had outdone herself in the gift stakes this year, with Tiffany cuff links and an exquisite dress shirt for Finn and a sandwich toaster for Tara.
It had been downhill all the way from then, to the extent that Finn had made sure that the television in the den, the room which backed onto the dining room, was blaring loudly so that the sound of Chitty Chitty Bang Bang made up for the lack of conversation at the dinner table.
Making small talk while having one ear cocked for all her favourite tunes from the film, Tara wished she was in the den watching the TV instead.
After dinner, Gloria and Desmond piled on extra sweaters and coats to go for a walk in the December gloom. Finn, snug in the den with Tara and a fresh bottle of red wine, waved them off, saying he was too full of that fabulous dinner to walk anywhere.
‘Promise me that we can leave the country next Christmas,’ groaned Tara, positioning herself on the couch so that her feet were on Finn’s lap. He idly massaged her feet, giving in to a quick tickle now and then.
‘The Caribbean?’ he suggested.
‘We can camp out on the side of a mountain without a tent as long as we’re on our own,’ Tara said, then regretted being so blunt. ‘I didn’t mean that,’ she added, ‘it’s just that your mum and I…’ she tailed off.
‘Chill out, love,’ said Finn, reaching for his wine glass. ‘Christmas is the ultimate endurance test. I don’t know why the reality TV people haven’t made a game show where they stick a family in one house over Christmas and see how long they last before there’s bloodshed over who gets to pull the last cracker.’ He tickled her toes, then moved his fingers up to caress her calf. ‘I hate Christmas.’
But he shouldn’t hate Christmas, Tara reflected. The holiday wasn’t an endurance test at Kinvarra. She loved spending it with her family. How sad for Finn that he didn’t enjoy it with his family.
The only light relief came when Finn and Desmond dragged out the box of Trivial Pursuit and inveigled Tara to play with them.
‘What about your mother?’ Tara murmured to Finn.
‘She doesn’t like board games,’ he replied.
‘Count
