Christmas At Leo's - Memoirs Of A Houseboy (9 page)

“Frank views her as such.”

“It’s more than he ever did for me then.”

There was a moment of tense silence and then mum made a cautious effort to change the subject. “What are you doing for Christmas this year? You’ve probably told me, but I’ve forgotten. My memory is shocking these days.”

I should have let the moment pass, but I couldn’t. I was too consumed with bitterness. “Do you view Kelly as family? Is she the daughter you never had and would have preferred?”

“Of course not.” Mum’s voice sharpened. “Don’t be silly.”

“It pisses me off the way he fawns over her. Do you remember the last Christmas I spent at home, what he did?”

“Gilli, please, let’s not have this now.”

“He ruined it for me on purpose. He wouldn’t do a thing for me. He didn’t have a nice word, not from the start.”

“He did try.”

“Only when you were around, mam. When you weren’t he’d look at me like I was something nasty. All I got was put-downs from him. She shows up out of the blue and he starts treating her like a long lost daughter.”

“He was always better with girls than boys. He’s the same with his nieces.”

“Shame I didn’t come out as a transsexual then. He might have treated me better. Why isn’t Kelly spending Christmas with her own family?”

“Too far to go for one day. She has to work on Boxing Day.”

The tense silence returned, and stayed. I got up and wandered over to the window, staring outside without seeing, fighting an absurd desire to cry. Mum’s news about staying at home for a ‘family’ Christmas had gotten under my skin in a big way. I felt rejected and something else, something so vague I couldn’t pinpoint it as a feeling. The last Christmas spent with my mother had been a horrible one, but in fact there had been nothing special about the ones before it, not after Frank came on the scene anyway.

After he came ‘family’ Christmases were about his family, not mine. Mum had taken his surname, so she became part of his family. I was the outsider. They were Mr and Mrs Morrison and I was master Brown. You can’t feel an integral part of a family when you bear a different name to everyone else. It made me long more and more for the father I had never known, or at least couldn’t remember. I’d been too young when he died to retain any memories.

Maybe I hadn’t given Frank a chance, but then maybe I’d sensed he didn’t want a chance. It was true what I’d said about him only making the effort when mum or other folks were around to bear witness.

Mum broke the silence. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned Kelly. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“I know.” I made an effort to quash bad feelings. “It’s me who’s sorry. It’s just, you know, Frank and me. It doesn’t matter. I hope you have a wonderful day.”

“Thanks, son. You too.”

Silence again.

Mum cleared her throat. “I know. We’ll celebrate Christmas now, you and me. Get a bottle of the champagne. I’ll buy another one tomorrow.”

It was a tempting idea, but not possible. I turned away from the window to look at her, half smiling. “I don’t think Frank will be thrilled to come home and find I’ve supped his champagne. It’s too expensive for you to buy another bottle. How about I make us some hot chocolate instead?” She nodded and I went into the kitchen to make the drinks.

We drank Cadbury’s hot chocolate and made small talk, but the atmosphere remained strained. To cover both our discomfort, I picked up my bag and withdrew the gifts I’d wrapped for her. I put two of them under the tree for her to open on Christmas Day. One was an expensive bottle of perfume and the other was one of those stocking filler gifts you find stacked near the checkouts in supermarkets at Christmastime. It was a Bryan Ferry CD. A greatest hits collection. She had always rather liked him as I recalled. God knows why. He always looked semi-conscious in the publicity shots I’d seen of him. I’d wrapped the CD up with a box of fancy truffles.

I held out the remaining package, an envelope I’d tarted up with a stick on bow. “Open this now, mum. Please. I want to see you if you like it.”

Her reaction was as good as I’d hoped. She gave a girlish squeal of delight when she saw the theatre tickets I’d bought. They were to see Marti Pellow, her one time pop idol, play the lead in a stage musical adaptation of ‘The Witches of Eastwick.’

“I had no idea he was still performing.” She gazed at the production leaflet I’d put in with the tickets, giving a happy sigh. “He’s still gorgeous.” Her eyes filled with tears. “Thank you, Gilli. I always wanted to see him live. It will be a dream come true.”

“They’re good seats. You’ll be able to see him up close. I thought it would give you something to look forward to after Christmas, a goal. You can take your friend Marie. I’ll pay for a taxi to take you there and back.”

She was thrilled enough with the tickets to want to phone Marie straightaway and tell her to mark the seventh of March on her calendar.

While she chatted with her friend, I took our empty mugs into the kitchen and washed them up.

When I returned to the living room, she had moved from the armchair near the hearth to the couch. She had a large box on her lap, one of those printed gift come storage boxes you can buy. It was patterned with snowflakes and tied with a big blue bow. She patted the cushion next to her. “Sit here, Gilli.”

I did as bidden.

“I wanted to give you something special this Christmas, but I don’t have much money. I haven’t worked in a long while and Frank’s been on short time.”

“I know, and it’s okay, mum. I don’t need presents.”

“You have such nice clothes and you live in a big, beautiful house. There’s nothing I can give you that you don’t have or can’t get for yourself. She patted the cardboard box on her lap. “So I made this up.”

“What is it?”

“It’s a memory box, for when I’m gone, for you to look through and remember me by.”

I swallowed past the lump in my throat. “What sorts of things are in it?”

“Mementoes and photos of you when you were a baby and a little boy. Days at the seaside and snapshots of the nativity plays you were in, sports day rosettes, swimming certificates, and little drawings you did.” She paused, flicking me a look, before adding, “just so you know, your birth certificate is inside too, and the little plastic ID bracelet they put on you in the hospital when you were born. I kept it. It has the date and time of your birth on it. You might want to put them somewhere safe.” She rushed on. “There are still things to go in it, like the Christmas decorations you made, and this.” She touched the gold cross at her throat. “I want you to have it. Your dad gave me it when you were born and it’s only right it goes to you. I’ll pass it on later.” She patted the box. “There’s a gold signet ring in here too.”

“My dad’s?”

She shook her head. “Sorry, love. Geoff was never one for jewellery. He wouldn’t even wear a wedding ring. The signet ring belonged to my dad, your grandfather. I know it won’t fit you and even if it did the initials engraved on it are all wrong, but I thought you might be interested in it, as a bit of family history.”

Hearing her mention her father made my heart bump. She had never volunteered such information before. I had a hazy notion her parents, my grandparents, were divorced. I assumed she had fallen out of touch with her father just as she seemed to have fallen out of touch with her mother.

My voice came out husky. “He must be dead, if you have his ring?”

She nodded. “He died when I was seventeen.”

“What was his name?”

“Thomas Duncan.”

“I’m sorry.” I looked at her, feeling my stomach turn. There was real grief in her eyes.

“I thought the world of him.”

“What did he look like, are there photos of him? Do I look anything like him?”

“No.” She smiled. “You inherited all your dad’s genes, blonde hair and pretty blue eyes. My father had dark hair and brown eyes. He was a Scot, though he spent most of his adult life in England. No photos I’m afraid. There were some, but my mother burned them all after he died.”

I was shocked. “Why?”

“She claimed it was to save me upsetting myself by looking at them. The truth is she did it to spite me because she was always jealous of how close I was to dad. She gave all his things away afterwards, those she couldn’t sell anyway. Dad gave me the ring a week before he died from a heart attack, as a keepsake. I think he had a premonition he was going to die. I kept the ring hidden from her or she’d have sold it too.”

“Is that why you don’t have much to do with her?”

“Part of it. She was never there for me, not when I was a kid and not when I needed her later when you were small and I was struggling to cope after Geoff passed. She’s only ever thought of herself. She moved in with a bloke within six months of my dad’s death and showed more interest in his kids than she did in me. He had a bit of money you see, so she wanted to keep him sweet.”

“Does she know you have cancer?”

“I wrote and told her a few months ago. I haven’t heard from her since. She didn’t even send a tatty Christmas card this year. She’s probably terrified I’m going to ask something of her.”

“God.” I didn’t know what else to say.

“Families aren’t always perfect, Gilli. We know that.”

“Did she ever show an interest in me?”

“You were almost a year old before she bothered to come and see you. My father would have adored you though.”

“Really?” It was a comfort to think at least one grandparent would have welcomed me. “Mum, do you think my dad’s parents would have liked me, if they’d lived?”

“I’m sure they would.” She changed the subject. “You might not look like my dad, but you did inherit something from him. He had a beautiful singing voice, just like you. He used to do turns in the local pubs and clubs.”

Christ. I swallowed hard. In less than a few minutes I knew more about my mother’s background than I’d ever known. It was a bit of a shock, a glut where there’d been a famine. I felt suddenly confused and a bit angry, as if mum had denied me some aspect of myself and was only now giving it up when I could do nothing with it. “Why didn’t you tell me any of this before?”

“How could I, Gilli? You were gone before you ever reached an age to be interested in the past.”

“I suppose.” I rubbed my head, which was aching with new knowledge. The things I’d thought were random about myself were in fact inherited. I had some of my grandfather’s singing ability and what sounded like a lot of my horrible granny’s jealousy. At least I’d never destroyed anyone’s photos. Okay, I’d once ripped up an anniversary card, but it wasn’t in the same league as burning photos of your only child’s deceased dad. “Thanks for telling me, mum. I’ll look after the ring I promise.”

“It makes me happy to think of you having it. I only wish he could have got to see you.”

I asked an eager, hopeful question. “Are there any photos of my dad in the box?”

“No. He never liked having his picture taken.”

“Why, was he plug ugly?”

“No.” She laughed, but her eyes were sad. “He wasn’t ugly at all. He was attractive, like you. He turned heads.” She tweaked the bow on the box smoothing the tails, veering the conversation away from my father, as she always did. “Gilli. I’ve got a request.”

I suddenly felt nervous. “What kind of request?”

“I’m planning my funeral. I want you to sing at it.”

I felt a chill of fear. “Mum, please.”

“I know it seems morbid, but it isn’t. Arranging my funeral is part of my end of life plan. I’ve been drawing it up with Sandra.”

“End of life plan? That’s horrible.”

“No. It puts me in control. It helps ease my fear. You have such a nice singing voice, Gilli. I want to imagine hearing you at my funeral.”

My Adam’s apple was in danger of choking me again. “Let’s not talk about it now. There’s plenty of time.”

“There’s never as much time as you think there is, Gilli. I’m dying. It has to be faced. Will you sing for me?”

I managed a nod.

“Thank you.”

“What hymn do you want me to sing? Not Ave Maria I hope. I hate that mawkish bloody dirge. It’s the groupie song of Catholic nuns.”

Mum laughed. “It isn’t Ave Maria or Amazing Grace or anything like that. It isn’t a hymn at all. I want you to sing one of my dad’s favourite songs at the end of the mass, as they carry my coffin out. I want to imagine myself going to meet him again, that he’ll be waiting like he used to wait for me at the school gates when I was a little girl.”

Before she could elaborate the front door opened and a voice called mum’s name, adding. “It’s only us. Thought you might like some company.”

Mum huffed and rolled her eyes, muttering. “I bliddy told her you were visiting today.”

‘Bliddy’ was about the closest to swearing mum ever really got. God knows where I get my propensity for swearing from. Maybe my jealous grandmother also has a mouth on her like a trooper. If I ever develop a sudden desire to strangle babies, I’ll know it probably originates from my neglectful granny.

Kelly and her boyfriend Mike came into the living room. I’d have been annoyed about her turning up ordinarily, but given the circumstances I was even more annoyed. It was all I could do to return a civil response to her false bright greeting.