Page 12 of The Christmas Wish

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Every muscle in my body clenched as my cousin set down his glass, dabbed the corners of his mouth with his napkin and cleared his throat.

‘You, Oliver, are one of the most insufferable people I’ve ever met. And I’ve had drinks with Donald Trump’s hairdresser.’

‘Oh, I’ve touched a nerve!’ Oliver chortled. ‘He fucking loves me. Gagging for a bit of old Oli, he is.’

‘Oliver, language!’ Nan cautioned, tipping her head towards the kids who were far too busy with their phones to pay any attention to the adults.

‘I can swear in front of my kids if I want to,’ he grunted.

‘No, you can’t,’ Cerys replied, snatching his wine glass out of his hand as he went to take another drink.

‘Steve? Where are those matches?’ Mum leaned across the table and rapped hard on the door of the serving hatch. ‘Are you chopping the bloody tree down yourself?’

‘I don’t know why I’m in trouble when he started it.’ A chastened Oliver crossed his arms over his chest like a petulant child. ‘All I said was he fancies me. Probably does, you know what his lot are like. Can’t help themselves, the poofs.’

‘STEVE!’ Mum bellowed. ‘WHERE ARE THE MATCHES?’

The mild expression on Manny’s face never flickered but I could see his hand clenched in a fist underneath the table.

‘Excuse me, everyone.’ He balled up his napkin and tossed it on the table before pushing back his chair with an ear-splitting screech. ‘I’ve lost my appetite.’

‘And now it’s Christmas,’ Nan said, sipping her wine as he strode out the room. ‘Well bloody done, Oliver.’

‘I can’t believe you just said that,’ I said as the back door slammed shut. ‘You need to apologize to him right now.’

But even when he was as wrong as it was possible to be, Oliver was nothing if not committed to being a wanker. ‘I don’t need to do a sodding thing,’ he sniffed, stubborn as ever. ‘I only said what everyone else is thinking.’

‘No, dear,’ Nan replied with narrowed, fox eyes. ‘No one was thinking that. Do you think it’s possible youcould be a latent homosexual yourself? I’ve heard things like this can happen when you’re trying very hard to repress it.’

‘Cerys?’ I looked to my sister for help, but instead of cracking her husband around the head, she took a sip from his wine glass.

‘I’m not getting involved.’

‘You’re going to let him speak to Manny like that?’

‘I don’t let him do anything, he’s a grown man and he can think for himself. Stop trying to run Manny’s life because you haven’t got one of your own.’

This time even the kids turned and gasped.

I folded my napkin and placed it on the table, reminding myself of my promise. I told Mum I wouldn’t fight with Cerys but, as a lawyer, I could argue that ‘fight’ was a very ambiguous term. It could mean don’t verbally spar with your sister at the table or it could mean don’t grab hold of her perfect hair and shut her head in a very hot oven, and right at that moment I definitely felt more inclined towards one of those over the other.

‘I think I might pop out for a minute,’ I said, resisting the urge to give her a slap and standing up instead. ‘Go for a walk.’

‘You’re going for a walk?’ Mum said with surprise.

‘Yep.’

‘In the middle of Christmas dinner?’

‘That’s right.’

‘But it’s bitter outside.’

‘Maybe I’ll freeze to death,’ I suggested with a touch too much optimism.

‘Found the matches! They were on top of the fridge after all that,’ Dad announced, walking into the diningroom with matches in hand as I walked out with tears stinging my eyes. ‘What’s going on? Where’s she going? Where’s Manny?’

‘Oh, shove the bloody matches up your bloody arse, Steve,’ I heard Mum sigh as I slipped out of the kitchen door and into the crisp, cold afternoon.


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