Your Red Always (19 page)

I giggle and pick up my coffee. “Sure I will.” He’s made me laugh at least.

“So tomorrow, the big day, eh.” He claps and rubs his hands together. “Do you want me to drive you home, or are you taking Beryl?” 

Last year I let Nathan drive me home on Christmas day. His dad lives in the same area, in a big converted barn a mile from my mum’s house. I will not put myself through that again. He was over the legal limit. Not by much, but hell, he would not shut up. He jabbered on and on about football, work, and went into great detail on what his new Audi could do.

“I’m taking Beryl.”

“Aw, come on, I hate driving home alone,” he sulks. “Christmas is a time for being with others.” 

“Nathan, I’m taking Beryl,” I state firmly.

“Okay,” he hums. “Let me take you home now then.”

“Fine,” I blow out. “I’ll let you do that for me.”

He stands up and holds out his hand. “Santa is coming to town, and I’ve heard he’s into miserable waitresses.”

“You really need to work on some new material, Nathan.”

                                                               *** 

As soon as I walk through the door my phone goes off. I pout, tugging my coat over my tender arm. I delve into my bag and take out my mobile. God, it’s my mother.
Get ready for the pre-Christmas timeline info Liz
. Right now she’ll be in a flap, finishing off the decorations and dressing the dining table, in-between a chilled glass or two.  

“Mum,” I drone, resting the phone between my shoulder and cheek so I can pull off my boots.

“Honey, I’m calling to tell you that your uncle Jim and Aunt Carol will be here for one, and I need you here early to help,” she orders. “You know what happen last year when Geoff was let loose in the kitchen.”

Yes, it was fun spending hours trying to clean goose fat up from the kitchen floor. Geoff, morning alcohol, and roast potatoes, are not a good mix.

“Okay Mum,” I sigh.

“And why haven’t you called me,” she whines. “I’ve not heard from you in over two weeks. Are you seeing someone?”

This is all I need. Now I’m going to have to lie to my own Mother. Who is by the way, a human lie detector. She’ll be waiting for how long it takes me to answer to pick up on any evidential clues.

“No Mum,” I reply quickly.

“Hmm, you can’t hide things from me sweetie. You know Mummy always knows.”

“Mum,” I bark. “I’m not.”

“Sure… Well you can tell me all about him tomorrow.”

“Mum, I’ve got to go… Cate needs my help.” I’m lying again.

“Okay, can’t wait to find out more,” she chirps.

“Mum, bye.” I hang-up and fall deadweight onto the couch.

Cate begged me not to go this morning. Her mum arrived at 10pm last night, and spent her intoxicated time drinking, and leaving nasty messages for her dad. I feel bad for her, and if I had the choice I would rather stay. But we all have to cater to our families this one day a year. There’s no way out of it.

I pull onto parliament square when Beryl begins sound sickly. She’s spluttering and there’s a smell, like burning rubber. It’s just typical this. As if this season couldn’t possibly throw anymore shit my way. 

I encourage her to get me home, vocally. She’s never broken down, not once in the whole three years Cate and I have shared her. And I’m in no mood to be calling the RAC to come to my rescue. Not on Christmas day of all days.

I turn left onto Jersey road. A sound, like clanging nails in a tin is getting louder. And now, my damn phone is ringing. I know who it is without even looking. Mum, throwing a hissy fit, getting stressed in the kitchen. I answer through the Bluetooth on the steering wheel.

“Honey, where are you?”

“Mum, I’m driving.”

“Well, how long are you going to be?”

Jeez, give me a break. I swear I’m going to stop this car and find the nearest off-licence. I will drown my sorrows in the backseat for the rest of the day in hiding, if things don’t start to improve.

“About ten minutes.”

“What’s that noise, Lizzy?” 

“Nothing Mum. I’ve got to go.”

“Merry Christmas… see you in ten then.” She hangs up.

Smoke is beginning to billow out from the front of the hood, and now there’s a light flashing on the dash. God not now. I’m nearly there. I should get out in-case this flashing light means fire. But for the sake of a few measly minutes, I’m just going to have to brave it.

I turn left onto Hanworth road, and come to a complete stop. Beryl has died on me, thankfully after exiting the roundabout. Small mercies I suppose. My mum’s house is only a stone’s throw away. But I can’t just leave the car here, there’s traffic.

“Shitty thing.” I hit the steering wheel. “I hate you Beryl. If I thought I could rely on anything, it was you. You’re going to the scrapyard if you don’t damn well start.”

I turn the key hard and all she does is spit, splutter, and smoke. I stoop over the wheel. God I give up.

A car beeps and beeps behind me. The rage rises, my skin heats up, and my eyes bulge. I’ve had enough. I wallop the controls several times with the side of my fist, making my little pink troll swing violently.

“You can’t just stop here,” a familiar voice yells. 

Shit, is that Nathan? I look up and it is. I bet he’s thinking:
you should have took up my offer of a ride home
.

“Get out then,” he orders. “I bet you’ve not serviced her since you’ve had her have you?” He’s right, but I’m not going to tell him that. “When was the last time you changed or checked the water and oil?”

I shrug, crossing my arms in the cold wind. “I think Pete put some water in for Cate not so long back.”

He laughs. “Women and cars; recipe for disaster.”

He pops the hood and takes a look at the engine. He likes to think he can fix everything. It makes him feel all macho. He holds the dipstick up to the light, then runs his finger down it, tutting.

“You have absolutely no oil Liz.” He blows out, nodding his head. “I’ll have to tow you. I have a rope in the boot.”

In a sulk, I open his boot. I should have known it would be something as simple as having no oil. Maybe I should refresh on my car and driving skills.

I hand him the rope. He clips one end to Beryl, and the other onto the bumper of his Audi.

“Take you handbrake off and steer. Use you brakes,” he warns. “You go into the back of this, you’re in trouble.”

Finally, we stop outside Mum’s house. I reluctantly glance up because I know what my vision is going to be inflicted with. God, she’s outdone her efforts from last year. There’s flashing fairy lights around every window and across the guttering. An awful tacky inflatable Santa waving in the wind next to the drive. And I hear it, the dreaded jingles. I suck in air as Nathan gets out, and unclips the rope.

He knocks on my window. “Right, I’ve got to go. I have six missed calls and five messages,” he complains. “Dad’s getting more and more smashed in each one.”

Mum bounces out of the front door like a spring chicken. She’s wearing the traditional Christmas jumper, the one Geoff gave her last year. It has Santa’s bum cheeks on show, stuck in a fireplace. Nathan can see it in my face, just how much I’m not looking forward to this, and laughs.

“Oh Nathan… you’re looking all dapper,” she flirts. Clearly she’s been on the wine.

I haven’t really noticed. But he does look well-groomed today, in his indigo jeans and roll-neck jumper.

“For god sake Mum… please,” I grumble.

“Oh come here you two, give me a squeeze.” She wraps an elbow around each of us.

I pull away and see Geoff. He hasn’t got his jumper on. Has he actually stood up to her this year? I smile and give him a quick hug, before Nathan shakes his hand.

“Your car?” Geoff asks.

“Long story,” I reply.

“Look Nathan, I’ve spoken to your Father, and invited you all for drinks this evening,” Mum announces.

Nathan side-glances at me. I don’t mean to do it. I’m scowling, and he now thinks I hate the idea. Perhaps I’m selfish, mean, and not in the spirit of things. I simply cannot lighten this frame of mind. And I don’t think any amount of alcohol, or company, will help.

“Let’s just see how it goes eh?” He winks in a dejected way. “Have a wonderful day. Eat, drink, and be merry,” he says, getting into his car.

I break away from Mum and dash across to the Audi. I tap on his window as he fights to turn his stereo down.

“Fuckin piece of shit,” he huffs, looking up at me. “Liz, get yourself in, it’s freezing.”

“Thanks for helping me out.”

“Liz, shut your face and get inside will you,” he beams.

I angle my head through his window and peck his cheek. “Merry Christmas.”

“Okay… now go,” he nods, clipping himself him. 

I get that homily feeling as I close the front door. I could easily roam around in my PJs and slippers here. With messy hair, slouching around the house like I did in my teen years. 

Mum’s Christmas tree this year is the subtlest one yet, with one colour, red. But I finding it hard not to associate the ribbons with the silk rope Adrien bound me with. I exhale and place my bag before the coat stand.

“Okay honey.” Mum holds out a small gift box. “Merry Christmas.”

I smile, of course I’m expecting the worst. I untie the cream ribbon, and open the box. My eyes narrow as I pull out a set of gold handcuffs, and a do not disturb door sign, with two stick figures going at it like rabbits. I nod in shame as Geoff sniggers over her shoulder.

“You think that’s bad, wait till you see what she got me,” he says, taking a swig of his apple cider.

“I really don’t want to know,” I cringe.

“Sweetie, eighteen gold carat plated those,” she says. “Thought they’d look good on your bedpost… of course, just for show.” 

“Well, you really didn’t need to.” I drop the cuffs in my handbag.

                                                              *** 

Geoff has the Christmas music up high, while entertaining Uncle Jim and Aunt Carol in the lounge. The table has been dressed with silver and white in the conservatory, and the house smells delicious. 

I help Mum with the plates in the kitchen, then begin to spoon the different vegetables into separate serving dishes. She takes the huge turkey out of the oven, and starts to scoop out the stuffing. I’m quiet, and she knows there’s something wrong. It’s unlike her not to have begun to interrogate me already.

I pace around the oval table arranging the plates, when the song Last Christmas comes on. I loath the song. But for some stupid pathetic reason, it’s reminding me of him; when he came to my rescue at Finley’s. I slam down the last plate.
Damn you Adrien, leave me alone.

“Careful,” Mum squeaks.

“Sorry.”

“You think I don’t know what’s wrong with my baby girl,” Mum casually says, placing the bowl of piping hot stuffing on the table. “You’re in love.”

“Mum… I am not!”

“That pent up anger.” Her eyes widen. “You’re in a world of your own, and you persistently lying is a dead giveaway.” She holds the back on the chair staring, with her long layered red hair hanging over her shoulder. “There’s always a few volatile fallouts at the beginning of any relationship.”

How does she do it? She gets all that from me not opening my mouth. I can’t have secrets or heartache. She’s got radar.

“Who is he, Mummy will find out?” 

“It doesn’t matter now,” I whine, not wanting her counsel. “I don’t want to talk about it Mum, so please, let’s try and have a nice day.”

“Well, on a scale of one to ten, how good is he?”

Okay, this is getting to be as ridiculous as the rampant rabbit last year. What kind of personal question is that to ask your own Daughter? Instead of going to an empowering sex seminar, maybe she have gone to parenting do’s and don’ts. Because asking me that, is a definite don’t.

“Mum!” I growl.

She laughs. “Perhaps an eight then.” She toddles back into the kitchen.

He was off the scale Mum. In fact there’s no way on this earth to measure how good he was. How can I miss someone, and hate them at the same time? I miss the sex. God, I’d give anything to feel his touch on my skin; my hands skimming around his waist and back. I can still sense the way he felt on my fingertips. His velvety, firm, statuesque like body. The curves of his chest, and the soft fine hair on the back of his neck. Shit, I’m so screwed up right now.

Eventually, like always, and way off Mum’s schedule, we’re all sat tucking into dinner. Uncle Jim and Aunt Carol are always the same. And this year they seem to be trying to outshine their previous attempts to slate all Mum’s hard work. Critics. They like to compare, and offer their opinion because they are the kind of people who can always go one better. Mum cooks her potatoes in goose fat, whereas Carol will cook hers in liquid gold. Until both of them have been ploughed with wine, they are intolerable to be around.

“Okay, crackers,” Mum laughs, and I know that laugh, she’s up to something. “Come on,” she says excitedly.

I pick up my cracker, and we all cross hands at the table to pull at the same time. The pops sound around the room as the contents drop from the silver tubes. Oh my god, she hasn’t. I glug down my full glass of wine, noticing the very inappropriate items on the white tablecloth.

Carol picks up the deep purple ring, and begins to swish it around on her forefinger. Shit, she has absolutely no idea what it is. I sink into my chair as Mum sniggers.

“So, what is this for?” She asks, still swishing away.

Uncle Jim takes his prize in his hand. It’s tiny a tube of lube. He quickly puts it in his pocket and winks at me. He’s finding Carol’s unaware innocence hilarious.

“It’s a finger exerciser love,” he giggles, holding back the tears. “Feel those muscles working.”

Discreetly, I cover my tiny pink pleasure wand up with my napkin and scowl at Mum. Not one year since she’s opened Tickles You Toys, have I got away with not having some sex toy or game, shoved down my throat.

“Finger exerciser eh.” Carol stares at it. “Never heard of them.” 

She pulls out the tiny instruction paper from within the cracker, while everyone around the table, apart from me, waits for her to click. As she reads, her blue lined eyelids open to full stretch.

“It’s an exerciser alright. Sure you can get Jim here to show you later how it works.” Geoff laughs riotously, as Carol tosses it across the table in disgust.

“I should have known it would be something filthy from you,” Carol whines. “Having a little decorum at the dining table. No chance of that here.”

“Oh stop being so uptight Carol. If I remember rightly, last year we had to restrain you from stripping off to Santa baby,” Mum says to a reddening Carol. “So shut up, and eat your pudding.”   

Usually Geoff wash’s the dishes, but I volunteered. I’d rather be stuck in this hot messy kitchen scrubbing grease and burnt fat from trays, than out there playing happy families. I’ve been in here nearly one hour now, and have only just begun to touch the sides.

Mum comes in with a merry glow. She leans against the archway that leads out to the conservatory. She watches contently as I shuffle around the damp black floor tiles, putting away dishes to make room to wash more.

“Why don’t you leave it… come and join us,” she pleads. “Geoff’s about to give his rendition of the power of love,” she smiles. “You know how he likes an audience.”

“When I’ve finished Mum.” I can’t look at her, she can read me too well.

“Would you like a drink, you’ve only had two glasses… tis the season.” She waves her glass. “I don’t like this… you all depressed.” She sways back and forth.