Just Between Us (13 page)

‘No message,’ the woman said silkily. ‘It’s not business. Thank you.’

Rose stood listening to the dial tone. She put the receiver back slowly.

Holly was coming downstairs with some coats. ‘Are you all right, Mum?’ she asked urgently. ‘Was that bad news? It’s not something wrong with Tara, is it?’

‘Nothing like that.’ Rose managed a faint smile. ‘Just a mistake. Now, I must rush and check the oven.’ She flew into the kitchen, shut the door and sat down on the bench seat under the picture window, feeling a cold sweat emerge all over her body. She knew what had been nagging her about the woman’s voice, she knew the unidentified ingredient: mockery.

At noon on Christmas Day, Stella and Amelia drove to Adele’s house to pick her up for lunch. Amelia, thrilled to have got a bumper haul from Santa, not to mention a pink typewriter from the absent Tara and Finn, could only be torn away from her new possessions with bribery.

‘Aunt Adele has your present under her tree and she might forget it if you don’t come with me to pick it up,’ Stella had said disingenuously.

‘Sure, Mum,’ said Amelia, instantly getting up from where she was laboriously typing her name for the tenth time. ‘What did she get me?’

Rose and Stella’s eyes met.

‘Something lovely, I’m sure,’ Rose reassured her.

Hugh would have gone with them but he’d woken up with a sore throat and was sitting in front of the box with his feet up, being mollycoddled by Holly.

Adele had been at a special carol service the previous evening, which was why she’d missed the drinks party. Now, vexation at having missed the festivities made her sharp-tongued.

‘I suppose last night was the big event of the season,’ she snapped as soon as Stella and Amelia stepped inside her hall door. ‘I’m sure your mother outdid herself, as usual.’

Stella told herself to count to ten. No, she reflected, make that a hundred.

‘The party was lovely, Aunt Adele,’ she said evenly. ‘We missed you.’

Adele harumphed a bit. ‘I’ll get my handbag,’ she said, beetling off. ‘The presents are in the living room, Stella. You can manage them, I imagine.’

A Mount Everest of parcels sat on the living room floor. Stella sighed, thinking of dragging them all out to the car. Adele always bought big, un-Christmassy things like frying pans and fake bamboo magazine racks that she liked the look of in catalogues. Over the years, Stella had received two trays specially designed for use in bed and at least three decorative tea towels covered with slogans about the kitchen being the heart of the home.

‘Can I open mine now?’ whispered Amelia, dropping to her knees to check the labels.

‘Better not,’ said Stella.

In the car, Adele thawed out a bit but the ice shield went back up when she got to Meadow Lodge and saw the hall table groaning under the weight of a huge bouquet of flowers which one of the previous evening’s guests had brought for Rose. Too late, Stella saw Adele reading the card, eyes narrowed as she scanned the message full of praise for Rose and her ‘famous Miller hospitality’. Stella thought it was sad that Adele had never been able to get over her jealousy of Rose. Neither of them had sisters; wouldn’t it have been wonderful if they had been able to love each other in the way that Stella loved Tara and Holly.

‘Poor Hugh, how are you?’ Adele sat down beside her
brother and held his hand as if he was a Victorian hero on the verge of expiring from consumption.

‘Coping, Adele, coping,’ said Hugh stoically.

Stella bit her lip as she arranged Adele’s presents under the tree. Then, leaving Amelia to bash out more typing, she went into the kitchen.

The smell of cooking was delicious but Rose’s normally pristine kitchen was dishevelled, with saucepans, vegetable peelings and various implements all over the place. At least half of the cupboards were wide open and squares of paper towel were strewn on the terracotta tiles where something had spilled. Rose was attempting to wedge a turkey the size of a small ostrich back into the oven.

‘That smells incredible, Mum,’ said Stella, looking round to see what she could do to help. Her mother was normally so organised and this chaos was unusual. ‘Has Dad been helping?’ she asked with a grin.

‘No.’ Her mother shut the oven with a resounding bang and straightened up, sighing as she did so. ‘He’s in front of the television playing the dying swan and asking for hot lemon and honey drinks.’

There was an uncharacteristic edge to Rose’s voice.

‘Adele’s arrived, so she can look after him,’ Stella said easily.

‘She’s welcome to him,’ Rose snapped as she flicked the switch on the kettle.

Stella began wiping up the gunk on the kitchen floor.

‘Are you missing Tara?’ she asked sympathetically. When her mother didn’t reply immediately, Stella answered for her. ‘It is strange without her but I suppose we’ll have to get used to things being different now that she’s married.’

Rose dunked a couple of teabags in two mugs. She missed Tara like hell and resented the notion that bad-tempered Gloria, who didn’t appreciate her daughter-in-law, was benefiting from her company. But the lack of Tara was short term, something Rose could live with because she knew that in a few days, she would erupt into Kinvarra like a tidal wave, making everyone laugh and instantly forget about her
absence at Christmas. What rankled deep in Rose’s heart was the memory of the enigmatic phone call. Painful as the ache of a deep-rooted toothache, it throbbed away maliciously. Rose knew exactly what that phone call had meant.

‘Of course I miss Tara.’ Rose handed one of the mugs to Stella. ‘But it’s only natural that she spends time with Finn’s parents. I didn’t sleep well, to be honest; that’s all that’s wrong with me.’

‘Mum, why didn’t you say that?’ said Stella, exasperated. ‘Holly and I could have cooked dinner and you could have had a rest.’

‘Merry Christmas, Rose,’ said Adele, sweeping into the room carrying the detritus from Hugh’s various sore throat remedies. She sniffed the air, wrinkling her nose doubtfully. ‘Turkey? We always had goose at home…’

‘Yes, it’s turkey, Adele,’ said Rose, speaking in the calm, measured tones she’d found worked best with Adele. Reacting to one of Adele’s snubs was fatal. ‘Merry Christmas,’ she added. ‘But I insist that you don’t do a thing. You should relax and enjoy yourself. You’re our honoured guest.’

Flattery and a stranglehold of calmness was the key to dealing with prickly members of the family. Rose had learned that the hard way.

‘I suppose I
am
tired,’ Adele said, taking the bait. ‘Last night’s 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 me in,’ Tara said loudly and settled down to see how many pieces of pie she could win.

By the time Desmond won, it was time for some of Gloria’s sandwiches with coffee and Tara, who thought she’d never be able to face food again, gamely managed two crustless triangles to be polite.

‘Do you not like spiced ham sandwiches, then?’ demanded Gloria.

Feeling like a foie gras goose, Tara took another sandwich and willed for the day to be over soon. At least tomorrow was the occasion of the drinks party, which meant Gloria would have a whole host of other people to be bitchy to and might forget about Tara.

‘I’ll tape the rest of
The Untouchables
,’ Desmond suggested as Finn and Tara headed for bed.

In their bedroom, Finn flopped onto the bed and began to crawl under the duvet fully dressed. ‘I’m wrecked,’ he groaned.

‘Finn, you’ve got to take your clothes off,’ complained Tara, trying to slip off his shoes.

‘I’m too tired,’ he said, not helping the undressing process by lying like a giant slug in the bed.

‘Cold sponge,’ warned Tara.

‘Not the sponge,’ said Finn, beginning to giggle.

He was still giggling when he sat up and let Tara pull off his shirt.