The New Samurai (3 page)

When Sam woke up the next morning, the air in the bedroom was so cold he could almost see his breath. He really didn’t get the point of having money and a big house if no-one ever put on the central heating. Maybe when they were cold they just threw another dog on the bed. Although he couldn’t imagine Poppy cuddling up to Mrs Wilkinson. In fact he couldn’t imagine Mr Wilkinson cuddling up to Mrs Wilkinson, although he supposed he must have done so at least twice.

He stretched out, careful not to wake Elle, who was lying with her head on his chest. He stroked her hair thoughtfully, watching her dream as her eyelids trembled softly.

Sam could hear angry voices somewhere in the house. The noise woke Elle. She yawned and stretched, narrowly missing punching him in the face.

“Ugh, what a racket!” she said, crossly.

“Mmm,” he said, wistfully, then kissed her on the cheek. “Merry Christmas, Elle.”

“Oh, yeah. Right. Merry Christmas.”

She definitely wasn’t a morning person.

He shuddered as he rolled out of bed into the cold air. Elle had her back to him and seemed intent on going back to sleep some more.

Moving quietly, Sam slung a pair of jeans around his hips, scooped up some clothes and headed for the shower.

He took one last look at Elle snoring softly and carefully shut the bedroom door behind him. He padded along the hall, hoping that his hosts hadn’t skimped on the hot water as well. But as he turned the corner he bumped into Juliet, who was looking rather the worse for wear, mascara smeared unattractively across one cheek.

“Merry Christmas, Juliet,” he said, politely.

She looked up, her eyes huge and surprised. For a moment there was a sweet vulnerability about her face and Sam thought he saw the woman she could have been, or the woman she once was. But the expression was soon wiped away as she swept her eyes across his bare chest.

“I was wondering what Ellie saw in you,” she said, her eyes measuring him. “But my little sister isn’t as stupid as she looks.”

He flushed, embarrassed, and looked nervously over his shoulder – but there was no-one to rescue him.

“Oh, come on,” she said, taking a step towards him. “Don’t play innocent – a good looking boy like you must have women throwing themselves at your feet all the time.”

She reached out to stroke his chest and he had to grab her hand as it snaked across his stomach towards his waistband.

“I’m with Elle,” he said, a note of authority in his voice.

Without warning Mrs Wilkinson rounded the corner, her gimlet eye magnetically drawn to Juliet’s hand.

Juliet jumped as if she’d been electrocuted and scuttled off to her room, slamming the door behind her.

Sam was left standing in the corridor looking guilty-as-charged. Mrs Wilkinson sailed past, as if acknowledging his presence was entirely beneath her.

If Sam had had his boots with him he’d probably have made a run for it there and then. Instead he stumbled into the shower, hoping the tepid water would wash away the scene that ran like a horror film inside his head.

It was turning into a complete nightmare. The father thought he was a gold-digger, the brother-in-law thought he was a loser, and the sister… she seemed to think Christmas had come early. As for the mother… Sam winced. She looked as if she wanted to put rat poison in his turkey. Mind you, if she really had been his mother-in-law, he might well have considered eating it anyway – and then having seconds.

Elle was scowling in her sleep when he came back from his shower. Sam rubbed his temples, tiredly. He didn’t doubt this was going to be a long day.

Quietly, Sam made his way downstairs. The only person who seemed pleased to see him was Poppy. She bounded up, wagging her bottom and stood by the kitchen door, whining. She wanted to get out; Sam knew how she felt.

“Come on then,” he said. “Let’s go for a walk.”

Poppy seemed delighted with the idea. She sprang up to rest her paws on his chest and gave him a doggy lick. There was definitely a theme going on, thought Sam grimly.

He found her lead hanging up by the kitchen door and clipped it to her collar. Then with a feeling of relief, he opened the door and followed Poppy out into the frosty morning.

She was so exhilarated to be going for a walk that she strained at her leash. Sam picked up the pace and together they jogged through the empty lanes, their breath curling like smoke.

Poppy tired quickly, unused to exercise, and seemed content instead to snuffle along at a snail’s pace. Sam didn’t mind: her company was uncomplicated.

A few people filing into church for the early Communion wished him a Merry Christmas, but otherwise Sam’s thoughts were undisturbed.

He hoped Elle would like his Christmas present: it had been so hard to know what to get her. She already had a chemist’s shop worth of perfume and buying underwear seemed too obvious. He’d spent a miserable Saturday pounding Oxford Street until he’d stumbled into an antiquarian bookshop, one of the few that survived, in a small courtyard off Charing Cross Road. There he’d found a miniature, hand-printed edition of Shakespeare’s sonnets. It was really more expensive than he could afford, but it was so beautiful, he hadn’t been able to resist. At the time it had seemed perfect, but now he wondered if e-book vouchers might not have been more Elle’s style.

Luckily she’d insisted that her parents wouldn’t expect him to give them presents. Instead Sam had bought a couple of bottles of good wine and the largest box of M&S chocolates he could find. Neither had been received particularly gratefully.

Sam strung it out as long as he could, but he knew he’d have to return to the Old Vicarage sooner rather than later. He prayed that Eleanor was awake and out of bed. He really didn’t think he could take any more quality time alone with Juliet or Mrs Wilkinson.

When he let Poppy in through the kitchen door he was relieved to see Elle sitting at the kitchen table, her damp hair filling the room with the smell of strawberries. He leaned over to kiss her but hesitated when he saw the poisonous expression on Mrs Wilkinson’s face.

“Been out, darling?” said Elle, yawning widely.

“Yes, Poppy took me for a walk through the village. The frost makes it look like a scene out of Dickens, it’s so…”

“That’s nice, darling,” she said, interrupting his description.

He fell silent and thought he detected a smirk on Mrs Wilkinson’s face. But it could have just been wind.

Pulling off his coat, Sam made his way back upstairs and sat on the edge of the unmade bed, his head in his hands. Then he stood up suddenly and started stuffing clothes into his hold-all. As he ransacked the room for his few belongings, he saw Elle’s present; the tiny package of tissue paper wrapped in a ribbon. He hesitated.

His phone rang, distracting him from angry thoughts.

“Hi Sam! Happy Christmas!” sang his sister Fiona. “Rosa, say ‘hello’ to your Uncle Sam.”

There was a pause and a small voice said, “Hellow Unker Sam!”

There was a thud on the other end as Rosa dropped the phone, then his sister’s voice was back.

“Sorry about that,” she said, breathlessly, “Rosa’s been on the go since 5 am. I’m knackered.”

Sam felt himself smiling.

“You sound it. Is she having fun? Did she like her presents?”

“She loved
yours
,” said Fiona, “but I really wish you’d been here to see her open it. I filmed it for you. Of course, the first thing she tried to do was eat it, but I think she’s got the hang of it now. Anyway, how’s it going there? Are you having fun?”

Sam fished for the right words.

“Oh,” said his sister, divining his thoughts, “is it that bad?”

“Worse,” said Sam, grimly. “If we’d come in my own car I’d be on my way home by now.”

He stared at his half-packed bag.

“How’s Elle holding up?” asked Fiona.

Sam frowned.

“I don’t know. She acts really uptight here; she’s not like herself at all.”

His sister’s silence reminded him that she wasn’t particularly fond of Eleanor.

“Well, you’ll be home tomorrow,” she said, comfortingly. “Rosa will be so happy to see you.”

“Yeah, sis. Me, too. Give her a kiss from me, Okay?”

“Will do,” said Fiona. “Hang on in there.”

“No choice,” he said. “See you.”

When his sister had gone, Sam felt the emptiness all the more.

The bedroom door opened quietly and Elle walked in. She looked more tentative than usual.

She sat next to him and leaned her head against his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, darling,” she whispered. “It’s this place: it makes me a bit crazy.”

He took a deep breath and put his arm around her, letting her snuggle into him.

“I promise I’ll make it up to you,” she said, tracing a finger down to the top button of his shirt and pulling it open.

“I’m going to hold you to that,” he said.

She saw his half-packed bag and leaned away to look up at him.

“Going somewhere?” she asked, stiffly.

“Just getting your present,” he lied. “Do you want it now?”

Elle fingered the tiny package longingly.

“We’re supposed to do presents after lunch,” she said, biting her lip.

“I won’t tell if you don’t,” he said.

“No, I really shouldn’t,” she said, at last. “It’s not fair on mummy and daddy. They like to do things a certain way.”

“I can’t argue with that,” he murmured into her hair. “But there is something else I’d like to give you – only I definitely can’t do that in front of your parents.”

“Oh,” she said, catching on fast. “Can I unwrap it now?”

But his lips were too busy to reply.

After lunch they collapsed into the drawing room with full stomachs. The meal had been fairly uneventful, except for Alex and Juliet sniping at each other across the table. There had also been a sticky moment when Elle was rubbing her foot against Sam’s leg and had kicked Juliet by mistake: it had been smoothed over before blood was drawn.

It was time for the presents. Poppy was nuzzling happily through the small drifts of wrapping paper.

Alex had bought a bottle of expensive perfume for each of the women – the same perfume – earning him an irritated look from his wife. He’d also bought her a voucher for a weekend at Champney’s, which she looked much happier about. For his in-laws, he’d bought an expensive computer-driven sound system that Sam was pretty sure neither of them would be able to operate.

Eleanor’s parents had given both the girls and Alex shares in blue-chip companies and a pot of homemade jam from the local Women’s Institute.

Juliet had booked her husband a golfing weekend in Estonia, and expensive toiletries for her parents and sister.

They all watched curiously as Sam pulled out his gift and gave it to Elle.

“Merry Christmas,” he said, smiling.

She took the tiny package and unwrapped it carefully.

He knew he’d made a mistake when he saw the confused expression on her face.

“It’s got my favourite sonnet in it,” he said, ignoring everyone but Eleanor. “It reminds me of you:

So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,So long lives this and this gives life to thee
.”

Elle stared at him and the room was silent.

“It’s a limited edition,” he said, softly.

“It’s… it’s lovely,” she said.

Alex snorted loudly.

“Poetry! Ha!”

“Hmm, well,” said Mr Wilkinson.

Juliet and Mrs Wilkinson were speechless.

“Er… I got this for you,” said Elle, rather sheepishly.

She handed him a small box, wrapped in silver paper.

“It’s a Kindle,” she said, unnecessarily as he opened the lid. “I thought it would be good for school… and reading.”

“Thanks, Elle,” he said, and kissed her lightly on the cheek. “It’s brilliant.”

“At least that’s
useful
,” said Alex, loudly.

Sam felt an almost irresistible urge to punch his face. Maybe Alex saw something in Sam’s furious eyes because he visibly cringed and backed off.

Poppy chose that moment to pee on the wrapping paper.

“Poppy!” yelled Alex.

“Bloody animal!” shouted Mr Wilkinson.

For Sam, tomorrow couldn’t come too soon.

Elle had dropped Sam off at his sister’s on Boxing Day, refusing to come in on the grounds that she was running late to meet friends. Sam didn’t know if that was true but didn’t much care either.

The relief he’d felt as they left the Cotswolds increased exponentially with every mile. He’d been sorry to say goodbye to Poppy, and she in turn had looked utterly dejected. But as for the others, Sam hoped he’d never see any of them again. His skin crawled at the memory of the kiss Juliet had tried to give him. He’d managed to turn his head just in time, so that her lipstick had left a smudge on his cheek instead of his mouth.

Fiona’s tiny flat contained more real warmth and comfort per cubic metre than the Wilkinson’s entire five-acre plot. Rosa had tackled him around the knees and insisted that he read all her favourite stories to her, several times over. The she’d fallen asleep on his knee, her tiny fingers curled around a toy rabbit.

“So, how do the other half live?” asked Fiona, as Rosa slept softly.

Sam paused, not knowing how to answer.

Fiona raised her eyebrows and supplied her own internal answer.

“Is it serious with you and Elle? She must be keen if she invited you to meet her parents…”

Sam sighed. “I don’t know, sis. Before Christmas I might have said ‘yes’, but now…”

“Blimey!” said Fiona. “Was it really that bad?”

“Worse,” said Sam, darkly.

When he finally went back to his own home, he felt like he’d been away for much longer than a week. It looked scruffy and unloved compared to his sister’s warm and comfortable flat.

Keith, his house-mate, must already be back if the beer cans on the coffee table were anything to go by.

Sam cleared a space and began to read the instructions for his new Kindle. He couldn’t imagine foregoing real books for this but, well, Elle had given it to him and it might come in handy.

Shortly after 7 pm, Keith crashed into the lounge. He reminded Sam of Poppy: all eager enthusiasm with few social skills.